Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(5)

Leaning forward, he slid his hands along Waya’s neck, tangling his fingers in the coarse mane of hair, knowing he was dangerously close to losing consciousness.

His gaze narrowed on the face looking up at him, on the expression both concerned and imposing, as if his not being well was strictly forbidden.

Bones and muscle suddenly fluid as water, he pitched forward off his mount and fell with a hard thud to the ground.

“Hell,” he muttered, staring up at the gray clouds moving overhead. Felled by a rock. It was damn humiliating.

Again, her face emerged, looming over him and blocking out the sky. That pale lock of hair fluttered in the wind and, absurdly, he wondered if it felt as soft as it looked.

Her lips moved quickly, speaking. And yet he could hear nothing beyond the roaring in his head, the pulse of cold unyielding earth beneath his back.

She might have been an angel with her flawless skin and fair hair. And yet those demon dark eyes void of emotion, and her hard unforgiving mouth, proclaimed the opposite.

A fallen angel, he mused.

One of God’s banished.

And he was at her mercy.

Chapter 3
Astrid studied the man at her feet, cringing as a knot the size of an egg swelled upon his forehead. Biting her lip, she considered her options. A quick glance around her revealed what she already knew.

Three Scotsmen lay dead—and for that she could not summon a scrap of remorse, not even for the human lives lost. She still tasted the fetid kiss Red-beard had forced on her, felt the coppery tang of her own blood as his teeth mashed against her own, felt his filthy hands foraging at her skirts. A shudder rushed through her. She could not regret the end to his life if it meant saving her from the depravity he would have forced on her.

John still did not move from where he had fallen. Coral, whose screams had now ebbed into pitiful moans and sniffles, leaned against the side of the carriage and mopped at her face with a handkerchief. Useless as ever. The clouds thickened overhead. A threatening nip of snow rose on the air. All in all, a rather dire state of affairs.

She glanced down at the unconscious man at her feet again. His wide-brimmed hat lay several feet away. His brown hair, unfashionably long, flowed into the earth, nearly as dark as the trickle of blood running from his forehead.

Squatting, she assessed the injury, pressing her fingers gently to the goose-egg knot, wincing at his low moan. Blood oozed slowly from the short, jagged tear at the center of the fast-forming lump.

Clucking her tongue, she reached under her skirt and ripped several long strips off her petticoat. Carefully, she lifted his head and snugly wound the strips around his head, hoping to impede the flow of blood altogether.

She gave a gentle pat to his chest, the fabric of his fleece-lined jacket remarkably soft beneath her palm, unlike anything she had ever felt before.

“Coral,” she called.

When the girl failed to respond, she looked up and spoke sharply, “Coral, come here.”

Still sniffling, the girl approached, pulling the tatters of her dress over her corset.

“You take his feet,” she directed. “I’ll take his shoulders. We need to move him inside the carriage.”

“W-what?” Coral stammered, looking from the man to Astrid.

“You heard me, take his feet—”

“But my lady,” Coral objected, eyes wide, “we know nothing of him. He looks little better than the vermin who attacked us.”

“Only he is not one of them,” Astrid reminded her. “Not even close. He saved us.”

“It isn’t fitting that we should—”

“He saved my life…and yours,” Astrid emphasized with a wave at Coral’s person. “Now bite your tongue and take his feet.”

Coral reluctantly moved to his feet. With a grunt, she lifted his boots.

Astrid hauled him up by the shoulders. His head fell back to rest against her chest. With several grunts of exertion, they half carried, half dragged his considerable weight toward the carriage, stopping when they reached the door.

“How are we going to get him inside?” Coral panted, unceremoniously dropping his feet. Propping a hand on her slim hip, she scratched the back of her head with no thought that she left Astrid struggling with the weight of his upper body.

Trying not to feel disconcerted from his head resting snugly between her breasts, she carefully lowered him down to the ground, only noticing then that his horse had followed them. A peculiar-looking beast—white with brown spots lightly scattering his neck, increasing in number on his rump. Handsome, she admitted. Her father would have paid through the nose to purchase such a stallion. The creature stood near, watching them almost suspiciously from large brown eyes.

Shaking off her uneasiness at being evaluated by a horse—and judged lacking—Astrid positioned one foot on either side of her rescuer. Wrapping her arms around his chest, she hefted him up with a deep exhalation.

“Grab his legs,” she wheezed, her nose buried in his hard chest, fingers laced tightly behind his back.

For once, Coral scrambled to obey.

The stranger’s chest purred against her face, his breathing deep and shallow. The rough texture of his vest made her nose itch.

With much huffing and puffing they guided him inside the carriage. With Coral shoving him from behind, Astrid managed to pull him in after her.

Exhausted, Astrid collapsed on the seat, the stranger sprawled atop her, a dead weight wedged between her legs. Her chest heaved beneath the hard press of his body, the smell of him swirling around her, a heady mix of man, wind, and horse.