The Rogue’s Stolen Bride

Chapter Eighteen: The Creek

Kaida

For long hours we rode in the creek, the horses patiently walking against the current. With each passing hour my hopes of finding a town to spend the night in slipped away.

Most of the time the water was no deeper than the horses’ knees, but now and then they would wade through deeper stretches where it came up to their bellies. The sun was blazing hot, and the way it reflected off the slow-moving water made my head ache behind my eyes. Sweat trickled down my neck and soaked my dress beneath my breasts, and flies buzzed around my head, trying to get at the tender skin behind my ears.

The only small mercy was the slow pace. No bouncing and jostling in the saddle.

It was late afternoon when Jace finally guided his horse up a sandy bank. “We’ll camp here tonight.” Gerald grunted as he hauled himself up the riverbank to the grassy spot Jace had designated. Maggie slid off with a softly muttered curse. I tried to follow but my legs would not budge.

“Maggie!” I hissed. “I can’t get down! Help me!”

Maggie looked at me, tipping her head to one side. “Help you how?”

“I don’t know. Pull me!” I reached out a hand.

“Pull you? You’ll fall!”

“Maybe! But at least I’ll be off the damn horse!”

Jace brushed Maggie aside, wrapped his large hands around my waist, and lifted me from the saddle. I wish I could have landed gracefully on my feet, but my legs had all the strength of a soggy loaf of bread, and I grabbed for anything that could hold me up. Which happened to be Jace Blackwood’s thickly corded neck. I fell into his hard chest and clung to him while I tried to force my shaking legs to hold my weight.

His hands held me steady until I got my feet under me and straightened. It was then I became aware of our bodies pressed together — the way my fingertips were tingling where they touched the sun-scorched skin at the back of his neck, the way my breasts were flattened against the hard planes of his chest.

I squeaked and pushed myself away. I didn’t know whether to apologize for falling on him or scold him for catching me, so I did neither. I just took a large step back.

He didn’t look embarrassed. Those dark blue eyes, almost black in the afternoon light, revealed nothing. His face, which was badly in need of a shave, was perfectly composed. He took Gerald’s reins and led him to where his black gelding was tethered, swiftly pulling the saddle and giving him a chance to graze on the long green grass.

I walked stiffly toward the tree line and began gathering windfall branches for the fire.

“I’m going to hunt,” Jace announced. “I’ll be back by sunset. Stay in the glade. Don’t wander.” He turned on his heel and strode off into the forest without another word. He carried no weapon, which told me he intended to shift and hunt as his wolf.

Part of me wanted to follow. I wanted to see what this rogue’s wolf looked like. Rogues were notoriously lean and ragged — their wolves suffered from being cut off from a pack, the fur thinning, the ribs showing. But somehow I couldn’t picture Jace Blackwood with patchy fur and hollow flanks.

I didn’t go after him. Even if I’d wanted to, my legs wouldn’t cooperate.

Instead, I turned back to the creek. “I’m taking a bath,” I said.

“Good,” Maggie said with a firm nod. “You smell like a sweaty horse.”

I suspected it was worse than that. I had just pressed my stinking body against Jace Blackwood’s chest, which was a thought I intended to set down and walk away from immediately. There was no soap, no sweet-scented oils. But I could wash away the sweat and the dust, and the cold water might do something for the hot, inflamed skin on my thighs and my backside.

“Go on.” Maggie gave me a nudge toward the water. “I’ll start the fire and get out your clean shift.”

The sun was low, but the heat was still heavy and close. I made my way down the bank to where the creek curved behind a stand of willows that created a natural privacy curtain, and the water cut a deep channel where I could submerge myself properly.

I stripped off Jace’s trousers, then pulled the green wool dress over my head. I would have liked to wash it, but the heavy fabric would never dry before morning. I hesitated a moment before skimming off my linen shift as well.

Jace had gone hunting. I had until sunset. I pulled the remaining pins from my hair and unbraided it before I waded in, covering my breasts with my hands as my bare feet sank into the sandy bottom. The water was shockingly cold against the heat of the day. I gasped as I walked deeper, the current swirling around my waist with more force than I expected.

At first the water stung where it touched the saddle sores. But after a moment, the cold began to numb the pain, and I took a breath and bent my knees until the water flowed over my shoulders, and began working my hands over my skin. Rubbing away the sweat, the dirt, the grime of two days on the trail.

When my fingertips reached my hips, I stilled.

I was remembering the feel of large, rough hands holding me steady. The way my heart had beaten faster, the blood rushing to cheeks already flushed from the sun.

I shoved the thought aside and dropped lower, kneeling on the creek bottom until even my head was submerged. I held my breath and scrubbed my face and dragged my fingers through my tangled hair, staying under until my lungs demanded otherwise. Then I broke the surface with a gasp.

I had no business noticing the size and shape of a rogue’s hands. No business noticing the shape of his mouth that so rarely smiled, or the way his eyes had darkened for just a moment before he looked away.

Ten days. Ten days and then I would likely never see Jace Blackwood again. Maggie and I would start a new life in Havenhill, as human women, without complications. We would grow old together as spinster aunts in a tiny house with flowers in the windows. The plan was beautiful in its simplicity. A man would only mess it up.

I cupped water in my hands and brought it to my lips to drink, then used a second handful to wash my sunburned face.

Then I heard it — the crack of a branch from the bank above.

Instinctively I sank back below the surface as I turned. Jace was there, silhouetted against the setting sun, a young boar slung across his shoulders. With the light behind him, I couldn’t read his expression.

But I was fairly certain of one thing.

He had seen me. Standing waist deep in the water, completely bare.