Reaper's Justice Read online

  He braced the spits by the fire and looked around. More than likely, Adelaide had just gone to relieve herself. He took the carcasses down by the stream and skinned and dressed them, burying the pelts and entrails. When he got back to the site, Adelaide still wasn’t there. And her scent was fading. Shit.

  It only took a couple seconds to spit the rabbits and brace them over the hot coals of the fire. It was two seconds more than he wanted to spare, but he couldn’t forget the rumble of her stomach. She would be hungrier still when he got her back. He didn’t want to sit there again in that small space and know he had nothing to offer. He adjusted the spits a bit higher, buying himself a little time.

  It wasn’t hard to track her scent. She’d headed down, which wasn’t a surprise. His beast snarled as the trail led him farther away from the camp. Her path was a zigzag from wooded area to wooded area. She’d been looking for wood to add to the fire. His beast’s snarl subsided to a growl. She shouldn’t have left from where he’d put her, and they’d be talking about that later, but she wasn’t running away.

  He found the point where she’d decided to head back, noted from the rotation of the footprints when she realized she was lost, and followed her determined steps as she headed back up the mountain, about thirty degrees to the right of the direction she needed to go.

  He shook his head. He’d have to train her in how to use landmarks to find her way back to her point of origin. Otherwise she’d be lost half her life. Sprinting, he soon caught up with her. She was sitting in the middle of a clearing, hands in her lap, staring directly at him. He paused. Had she heard him? He slowed his approach. Impossible. Yet there she sat, a pile of wood at her side, looking for all the world as if she’d been expecting him.

  “I’ve been waiting for you.” Her voice was thready. He narrowed his eyes and studied her. She was out of breath.

  “If you’d stayed at the campsite, the wait would have been short.”

  “I needed wood.”

  “The wood could have waited.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She didn’t give him an answer. Probably because all she’d managed to achieve with her efforts was to exhaust herself while getting lost.

  He came closer. “Next time, stay where I put you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “There’s not going to be a next time.”

  If she continued her stubborn ways, he could see a lot of next times unless he took control. “I agree.”

  Isaiah’s arrogance grated Adelaide’s already raw nerves. She counted to four while rubbing her worry stone. When she got to five, she just kept going. By the time she hit twenty, she had a semblance of control. She opened her eyes. Isaiah was still standing there staring at her with that calculated patience that reminded her of a predator. She had the impulse to check her buttons to make sure they were all aligned. But what was the point? After the night she’d just had, she was no doubt a mess, and ascertaining it would just send her into an episode. She couldn’t afford an episode.

  Isaiah held out his hand. “Got your breath back?”

  She didn’t know about back, but she wasn’t breathing like a winded bronc.

  “Are you taking me home?”

  He wiggled his fingers. “I’m taking you back to the campsite.”

  She sighed. Not what she wanted, but the campsite was still better than here. She placed her hand in his. Hers was hot and sweaty. His was cool to the touch. He pulled her to her feet. Her knees buckled. She expected him to laugh. He didn’t.

  “Do you need me to carry you the rest of the way?”

  She ran her free hand through her hair. She was so tired of this. “I need you to take me home.”

  “Not yet.”

  Her hope latched on to that “yet” like a chicken on a June bug. “But you will?”

  “We’ll see. Can you walk?”

  She didn’t think she could do anything but collapse. Pride—either her savior or her downfall—stiffened her spine. “Of course.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Let’s go then. Supper’s waiting.”

  “Supper?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She let go of his hand to retie her skirt. The memory of his touch lingered on her skin. Adelaide curled her fingers into a fist, rubbing her thumb across her knuckles. What was it about the man that stayed like a sweet memory tugging her toward him? He started forward up the path. She groaned. Up. He was still going up?

  She got to her feet and shook out her skirt. “There are other directions, you know.”

  “This is the one I want.”

  He didn’t even look over his shoulder as he said that, just kept walking as if he expected her to follow. And why wouldn’t he? What other choice did she have? Turn around and go back to the men who’d kidnapped her? Go right or left and get lost in the denseness of the forest? Up was all she had. And so was he.

  She sighed and took a step. A stick snapped. He turned around, his hair fanning out slightly, catching the morning sun. The clean lines of his profile struck her anew. She hadn’t thought of him as handsome before, but she bet if he cut off that beard, he would be.

  “How much farther is it?”

  He looked up the path. She didn’t like the angle of his chin, which implied a long way up. She’d thought she was almost there by the time she’d had to sit.

  “We should be there in time for lunch.”

  Her stomach growled at the mention of lunch. It’d been hours since she’d eaten. Almost a day. She was hungry. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought Isaiah paused. There was no way he could have heard her stomach growl. Could he?

  He started walking again. She followed, but with every step, he got farther and farther away. She couldn’t keep up that pace, so she just kept walking in his wake, and when he disappeared from sight, she followed what she thought were the slight breaks in the underbrush marking the trail he’d taken. She was done yelling at the man. Sooner or later he’d find out he’d outpaced her.

  Step after step, she kept going, wanting to cry at the agony in her legs and the burn in her lungs. In fifteen minutes, she had no idea where she was, where he was, and the bandits in her memory became a lot cleaner, a lot nicer, and a lot more viable as an option to run back to. Which was ridiculous and just proved how tired she was.

  A hand closed over her arm. She screamed. Another clapped over her mouth. She recognized the scent immediately. Isaiah.

  “You can’t escape me.”

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to do a lot of things. Violent, out-of-control emotions washed over her. Unwelcome companions from her past. She stood there while they battered her control. Anger, pain, frustration . . . They all flowed together into an ugly mess inside. She hated messes. She yanked at Isaiah’s hand. Not surprisingly, he didn’t let go. Just one more frustration to toss into the mess.

  She bided her time until he eased his hand from her mouth.

  “I wasn’t trying to escape. I was following you.”

  “You left my trail ten minutes back.”

  “Well, why the heck didn’t you say something?”

  He blinked. “I wanted to see what you would do.”

  “Well, now you know. I got lost.” She was sure her feet would never be the same. Her boots had rubbed them raw. Just standing there was agony. Isaiah’s nostrils flared. His brows came down.

  He knelt. “Sit down.”

  “Stop giving me orders.”

  “Stop being foolish. Your feet are bleeding.”

  How could he possibly know that? “So?”

  This time his eyebrows rose. And he waited in that way that said he knew he was going to win in the end so why was she bothering with her token fight. Well, she needed this token fight. She needed something. Some control, somewhere. She reached for her worry stone. It wasn’t in her pocket. Damn. Damn. Damn. Tears burned her eyes. She’d lost it. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  The big brute just stood there and watched as a second joine
d the first. She could feel more trembling on her lashes. Soon she’d dissolve into full-out bawling.

  She sniffed and wiped at her cheeks. “Don’t look at me.”

  “There’s nothing else to look at.”

  She hated logical men.

  “Find a bird.” She didn’t want him to see her cry. No one had seen her cry since she was eleven years old. She fumbled in her pocket again. Her worry stone had to be there. There was no way it had fallen out. She’d taken a few tumbles looking for more wood, but her pocket was deep. She sighed as she found nothing but a few loose threads. It was possible, if the skirt bunched at the right angle, it could have fallen out. Tired, she’d tripped over a fair amount on logs and stones and her own two feet. It was possible.

  She sat before she crumpled. “It’s all your fault.”

  “No doubt.”

  It irritated her that he didn’t even argue with her.

  “Mind telling me what it is I’m guilty of?”

  She hated that she liked that gravelly edge to his voice.

  “I lost something.”

  “What?”

  “My rock, all right? I lost my rock.”

  Isaiah reached into his pocket and pulled something out. She swore to God if he handed her the worry stone, she would scream. It was just the ultimate unfairness that the cause of her misery could so easily provide the solution to her problem.

  He opened his hand.

  She grabbed the stone and screamed as loud and as hard as she could. It felt good, so good. She had a lungful of air and she planned on expending it all on a screech loud enough to wake the dead, but all she got were a couple seconds before he tackled her, knocking her to the ground, taking her weight on his chest as he rolled, tucking her against the shelter of a log, before leaping to his feet so fast she wasn’t sure he actually moved. But there he was in front of her, legs splayed in a half crouch, hands open at his sides, ready to attack, facing the direction she’d been looking. Protecting her.

  “What is it?”

  She closed her fingers around her worry stone and quickly tucked it in her bodice. Isaiah was going to be ticked when he realized she’d screamed out of pure frustration. He looked the type who might take the stone back. She licked her lips and glanced around. The answer to her dilemma shone with the morning dew. A spider web.

  “I saw a spider.”

  He didn’t move for two seconds. Then he slowly turned back to her and just . . . stared.

  “A spider?”

  She nodded. “Horrible things, spiders. I hate them.”

  “You screamed.”

  “Yes. It surprised me.”

  Good grief, she hoped he didn’t keep asking questions. She didn’t have a lot of lies stocked up. The worry stone was a heavy weight between her breasts. An inappropriate place to rub, but she wanted it safe with her because she was pretty sure a man that big, who carried that much aggression in his shoulders, wouldn’t be fun to see angry. She feigned innocence.

  “Don’t tell me you like spiders?”

  He didn’t even blink. “I don’t like bugs at all.”

  “Then you understand.”

  He leaned down. She scrambled back.

  Hooking his arm around her waist, he lifted her. He didn’t put her down until there were ten feet between her and the spider. It was actually kind of sweet. For a kidnapper, he had some chivalrous impulses.

  “Worried about seeing another one?” she asked as he looked around.

  His mouth tightened. It felt perversely good to irritate him. “Yes.” He motioned to the ground. “Sit.”

  “I’m not a dog.”

  “It’d be easier if you were.”

  His right hand clenched into a fist. She reminded herself she didn’t know him that well. He might have brought her worry stone, he might have saved her from the bad guys, but she really didn’t know him that well nor what he’d do when his patience snapped. She sat.

  “That’s good to know.”

  “What’s good to know?” she asked.

  “That you can take an order.”

  “I don’t take orders.”

  That irritating smile sat on his lips. “You’re sitting.”

  “That’s because my feet hurt.” She hitched the pelt up around her shoulders. “It makes sense to sit.”

  A cock of his eyebrow accompanied the motion of his hand toward her foot. “You’re bleeding.”

  She was pretty sure she had a blister, but bleeding? She put her foot in his hand. He unlaced her shoe with deft movements.

  “I don’t think so.”

  His “I know so” was a simple statement of fact.

  He gently slid the boot off her foot. When he slid the stocking down, it stuck. He might just be right. She forgot all about asking how he had been right when air hit her foot.

  “Ow!”

  His thumb rubbed her ankle. “You can’t walk on that tonight.”

  It burned like heck. “Maybe not ever again.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  He slid the stocking back on. And then the boot. “Don’t you want to see the other one?”

  “Nope.”

  She did. “Why not?”

  He stopped her before she could reach for the laces. “No need to waste time. We can’t do anything about it until we get back to the lean-to.”

  “And what will we do with them there?”

  “Soak them while I cook the rabbits I caught.”

  Her stomach rumbled at the prospect of food.

  “How many rabbits?” Rabbits were notoriously short on meat.

  He smiled and slid his arm around her back. His scent enveloped her along with his arm. How could he always smell so good? His other arm slid under her knees.

  “Enough to quiet your stomach.”

  He lifted her. She resisted the urge to slide her arm around his neck and turn her face into his chest. She was so tired. He started walking as if she weighed nothing. “How come you don’t get winded up here?” she asked as he began climbing.

  “I’m used to it.”

  Being used to it didn’t begin to cover the exertion carrying her back up the steep slope required. But she was tired, and there was the foreign thrill of being carried. She’d thought that was a luxury reserved for small, vulnerable women. It was revealing to discover, in Isaiah’s arms, she felt small and vulnerable. It was even more revealing to realize she liked feeling that way. The last twenty-four hours had revealed many flaws in her assumptions, and when she had more time, she’d have to examine them. But right now, she could use another nap.

  Adelaide let herself drift as Isaiah carried her back above the tree line, marveling at the strength of his legs as he never faltered, wondering how they’d feel under her hands. She slid her fingertip over his chest. It was hard, with no give. She bet his thighs were harder. The space between the buttons beckoned. She’d never felt a man’s chest, but that slight gap tempted her with the promise of the forbidden. Oh my God! She closed her eyes. She’d turned into a hussy.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She wasn’t answering that question. Honestly anyway. “I just feel so guilty that you have to carry me again.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He’d probably mind less if he knew the latent hussy who had just emerged. “Still I’m sorry.”

  “I said I didn’t mind.”

  Well, she wasn’t going to apologize again for that anyway. “I’m sorry I left the campsite to get wood.”

  His hair brushed her head. “You were cold.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was smart of you to start a fire.”

  The morning wasn’t a total waste. At least he’d noticed her efforts. “Thank you.”

  “How did you start it?”

  That was a question she didn’t want to answer. She feigned sleep. “I used some stuff.”

  “Gunpowder?”

  It was hard to keep faking it when she was burning with curiosity. “How did you know?
”

  “The smell.”

  What kind of nose did the man have? She’d ask but then she didn’t want him discovering her emergency supplies and maybe taking them away. She settled for a simple “Oh.”

  Feigning sleep had the benefit of bringing on reality. It seemed like only seconds before he was setting her down. The drugged feel to her senses told her she’d drifted off. The smell of roasting rabbits replaced the scent of his skin. She couldn’t decide what was more delicious. The rabbits were propped over the fire and drippings sizzled in the flames. Saliva flooded her mouth. The rabbits won for the moment.

  “Where did you get the wood to rekindle the fire?”

  “I had some behind the lean-to.”

  “There’s a ledge behind the lean-to.”

  “There’s a small cave. It stays dry there.”

  A place for everything. She smiled. “I’ll remember.”

  He went behind the lean-to and pulled out a large, shallow wooden bowl. She admired the line from his broad shoulders to his lean hips as he poured water into it from a flask. Clearly she should have explored more. He bent over the bowl. Her eyes jerked up as he did . . . something.

  “Did you just spit in that water?”

  He turned, holding the bowl carefully. “Why would I do that?”

  She didn’t know. “I just thought—”

  “Take off your shoes.”

  She eyed the water. “Why?”

  “So we can soak your feet.”

  “What are those green things floating about?”

  “Herbs for healing.”

  They didn’t smell obnoxious. And now she knew what he’d been doing. She took off her shoes and gingerly placed her feet in the cold water. After the initial shock there was a strange tingling. The area around the blister felt warm. And then the burning pain eased.

  “Better?” he asked, turning the spitted rabbits.