What was he going to do with her?
It was a question that plagued her on the long ride to his keep until, weary with fear and exhaustion, sleep claimed her.
Reyes felt the woman slump in his grasp. His arm tightened around her and he drew her closer, cradling her head against his chest, all too aware of her hips and thighs cradled between his. She was warm and soft in sleep. Once, she whimpered softly. He refused to be moved by it. Hardening his heart against her, he reminded himself that she was his prisoner and nothing more, a pawn in a dangerous game. He had sworn a blood oath to avenge his father's cruel death. It was a vow he would honor no matter what the cost. If her father refused to take her place in the dungeon, then Reyes would kill the girl and send her body back to Montiori a piece at a time.
The girl was still asleep when he drew rein for the night.
Holding her in his arms, he swung his right leg over his mount's withers and slid to the ground. Cradling her against him with one hand, he untied his bedroll from behind his saddle and spread the blankets on the ground for the girl. She murmured in her sleep when he put her down, but didn't awaken. He stared at her for a moment, then drew the covers up to her chin.
In a short time, fires were laid and food was being prepared. His men sat in small groups, sharing tales of old battles, or refighting the battle they had just won.
Reyes moved through the camp, taking time to speak to each of his men, commending them for their bravery, consoling the wounded, stopping to spend time with two of the men who he knew would not survive the night.
A short time later, the women arrived—a dozen whores and camp followers who made their living the best way they knew how. They followed him and his men whenever they rode out of the keep, setting up their gypsylike wagons on the outskirts of the camp.
Reyes allowed it because his men were, after all, red-blooded fighting men. Warriors all, after facing a day of battle where death might find them at any time, they had a need for a woman. It was more than the pleasures of the flesh that they sought. It was a reaffirmation of life. Sometimes he envied his men. Though tempted, he had never bedded any of the camp followers. He knew his men wondered why he never visited any of the wagons. Some thought he must be a eunuch, but he shrugged off such speculation as idle talk. He was not a man to indulge in meaningless copulation with a woman who was available to any man for the right price. If he mated, it would be for life. Cursed as he was, he dared not spill his seed wantonly.
He sought his bed when the fires burned low. The girl was sleeping soundly, one small hand tucked beneath her cheek, her lips slightly parted. He could see the shapely outline of her form beneath the thin blanket. He took a deep breath, drawing in the sweet scent of her skin and hair.
She is here. She is mine for the taking…
His body responded to the words moving through his mind.
Muttering an oath, he stalked into the darkness.
Shanara woke to the sound of rough male laughter and the smell of food cooking. Disoriented, she sat up, her gaze darting right and left. Where was she? And then it all came rushing back to her—the battle, the stink of blood and death borne on the early morning air, being captured by Reyes, who was known among her people as the Lord of Black Dragon Keep.
Where was he?
She saw no sign of him. Many of his men were gathered around a large campfire. She saw others moving back and forth between the wagons that surrounded the camp. No one seemed to be paying her any attention.
Taking a deep, calming breath, she threw back the covers, then gained her feet.
No one noticed.
As causally as she could, she walked toward the water wagon and took a drink.
No one paid her any heed. Nor did anyone seem to notice when she took a knife from a sheath someone had carelessly left lying on the ground. Tucking the weapon into the pocket of her skirt, she turned away from the wagon and headed for the darkness beyond the camp, hoping that anyone who saw her would think she was one of the camp followers seeking a momentary bit of privacy.
Had anyone noticed her departure? She didn't dare look around, only kept walking, moving deeper into the shadowy darkness beneath the trees.
A capricious wind stirred the leaves.
Far off in the distance, she heard the melancholy howl of a wolf.
Glancing upward, she reckoned her direction by the position of the moon. All she had to do was keep heading west. With any luck at all, she would make it to her brother's estate. Thomas was her oldest brother, and her favorite. He would take her in and give her shelter until her father came for her.
She ducked under a low branch, wondering how long it would take her to reach her brother's estate. She was hungry and weary and not at all certain how much farther she had to go.
With a sigh, she increased her stride. She could rest later. For now, she needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and the camp she had left behind. She had gone only a short way when she paused, a shiver of unease prickling her spine. Someone was watching her.
"Who's there?" she called softly. "Show yourself." Delving into her pocket, she withdrew the knife and held it close to her side, hidden in the folds of her skirt.
A rustle to the left drew her attention. Heart pounding with fear, she turned to see a giant of a man striding toward her.
"So, missy," he said in a voice like rumbling thunder, "what are you doing out here all by yourself?"
She shook her head, her hand tightening on the knife even as she wondered if the weapon would do her any good against a man of his size.
"Are you lost, girl?"
She shook her head again.
"Are you deaf, then?" he asked, moving closer. "Mute, perhaps?"
She took a step backward, her eyes widening as he began to unfasten his belt.
"Lucky I am that I followed you out here," he said with a leer. "I was getting tired of waiting my turn."
Shanara's heart plummeted to her toes. She had hoped anyone seeing her leave the camp would think she was one of the camp girls. Now she saw the error in her thinking.
She turned to ran, but he was too fast for her. One beefy hand closed on her shoulder. With a cry, she twisted in his grasp, the blade glinting in the moonlight as she raised her arm to strike.
Muttering an oath, he grabbed her wrist, his hand squeezing it until her fingers went numb and the knife tumbled from her grasp. In the next instant, she was flat on her back, held in place by his knee while he unfastened his trousers, then tossed her skirt over her head.
She screamed in terror and revulsion as he parted her thighs and she felt his skin against hers. Desperate to stop him, she pounded her fists against his head and shoulders, but he only laughed, one meaty hand holding both of hers over her head.