Knights of de Ware 02 - My Warrior by Glynnis Campbell

almost broke her with his unnerving silence, which seemed to stretch into torturous eternity. But at last he sank to a crouch beside her, so close she could feel the moisture of his breath on her cheek. And the harsh intimacy of his measured whisper inspired more terror than either his shouting or his silence.
    “I will not strike you down,” he growled, “as you are by some strange providence a lady. But, by God, you shall be chastised.”
    She bit back a startled shriek as he muscled her up and nudged her roughly toward the castle, pinioning her arm. Shite, he could probably snap her bones like twigs in his great hand. He pushed her through the main gate, ignoring the curious stares of the guards. He snarled at a groom to fetch their grazing mounts, and then hauled her across the courtyard as if she were no more unwieldy than a sack of chain mail.
    She balked when he pushed open the doors of the great hall, but he prodded her forward, kneeing her with the sharp poleyn of his armor. Her face burned with shame as he forced her through the crowded hall. Even with her eyes lowered, she could see men and women stepping out of the Wolf’s path, hear them gasp in shock at the spectacle.
    They came to a stairwell at the far side of the hall, and he half-dragged her up the winding stone steps. Her heart began to beat against her ribs like a caged falcon as she imagined what horrible punishments he intended, and suddenly she longed to be in the great hall again among witnesses. She struggled against him, but he only cursed and drew her other arm behind her as well.
    At the top of the steps, he kicked open a thick oak door, revealing a dismal little room with a thin straw pallet and a barred window. There, he shoved her in and followed after, slamming the door behind them. Before she could whirl to face him, he pressed her back against the wall with his immense body, leaving her breathless. He pinned her to the rough stones, holding her wrists immobile on each side of her head.
    She shuddered. She’d thought about her confrontation with the Wolf for days now—planned her attack, practiced her blows, imagined his defense—but nothing she’d envisioned had prepared her for this. At this proximity, the beads of sweat on his face were too real, his body too intimate, his anger too palpable. She felt like a moth trapped in his fist, to be crushed at his whim. De Ware’s eyes seared her with their intensity while his voice remained dangerously quiet.
    “What have you done with my brother?”
    Cambria was momentarily dazed. What kind of a question was that?
    The human manacles on her wrists tightened a fraction. She swallowed convulsively. Damn, he was strong.
    “Garth?” she gasped.
    “Of course Garth,” he said between his teeth.
    She saw now. It made perfect sense. Lord Holden had concluded that her escape from Blackhaugh meant that some ill had befallen Garth. Leave it to an Englishman to consider his kin infallible to the simple wiles of a Scotswoman.
    “What have you done?” the Wolf hissed, the cold fire in his eyes burning her far more than his grasp on her wrists.
    For a moment, she thought her voice had deserted her. Then she managed to choke out, “He is well.”
    “You’re certain?” he demanded, pressing so close that she could have counted his eyelashes.
    She closed her eyes and nodded.
    “Look at me,” he ordered. “Where are the others you brought with you?”
    “There are no others.”
    He snarled at her, making her flinch. “You’re lying!”
    “Nay!” she insisted. “I came alone, of my own choosing. No one knows.”
    This last bit wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t wanted Malcolm the Steward to worry. The squire who had armed her for the journey had been given a message to deliver to him after she was long gone. It would inform Malcolm that she was safe, that she would return shortly, and that he wasn’t to interfere.
    Apparently convinced, Lord Holden inspected her at greater leisure now and