Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas(8)
As they whipped down the hallway, her gaze fixed on the small, delicately tinted shells that were woven into his beard. The effect was rather pretty. She had noticed that he didn't smell rank and primitive as she had expected. His scent was clean, with a hint of spiciness. Did savages bathe and use cologne the way civilized gentlemen did?
A customer was just entering the hall from the rear of the inn. As he gawked, open-mouthed, Chand-a-la shouldered past and burst through the door, bounding down the short flight of stone steps with a force that jarred Roxanne breathless.
The coach yard was deserted. Increasing his pace, the Wild Man bolted into the stables, his captive clutched against his chest. Roxanne felt numb with shock, the familiar scents of hay and horses totally at odds with this bizarre abduction.
With a flourish Chand-a-la set her on her feet, snatched a bridle from a nail, and unlatched the door to a stall. Then he guided her into the stall ahead of him so she could not escape. The bay gelding inside shifted nervously as the Wild Man deftly removed its halter, then slipped the bridle on.
Though Roxanne knew he could not understand, she said urgently, "Please, Chand-a-la, don't do this! There's nowhere to hide, and they might hurt you when they catch you." She placed a pleading hand on his arm. "Come outside with me now."
He glanced down at her hand, and she felt the muscles in his forearm tense. It was an odd moment that ended when shouts arose outside the stables.
He raised his hand and fumbled at her throat. She gasped and tried to retreat, stopping when she backed into the wall. Surely he couldn't be trying to molest her right here in the stable, when rescuers were just a few feet away, she thought wildly. But what did she know about how a savage's mind worked?
With a quick yank he untied her bonnet, tugged it off, and flung it aside. Then he brushed her head with a gesture that was oddly like a caress. Her hair loosened and fell in thick waves around her shoulders. His black beard shivered. Was that a smile behind the shrubbery?
He murmured a few words. Though it was hard to make them out because of the shouting outside, it sounded like, "Don't fear, wahine." But that couldn't be, since he didn't speak English.
Timidly she looked into his face for the first time. He was so tall and the stall was so shadowy that it was hard to see his features clearly. She did discover that his eyes were surprisingly light-colored, not black as she expected.
The door to the stable opened with a squeal of rusty hinges. Swiftly Chand-a-la lifted Roxanne onto the horse's bare back, setting her astride so that her skirts crumpled indecently around her knees.
Then he swung up behind her. Controlling the horse effortlessly, he rode outside, one hand on the reins and his other arm locked around Roxanne's waist as he brushed past the stable boy who had opened the door.
A dozen men were in the yard, several heading purposefully toward the stables while the others milled about in confusion. For a suspended moment everyone stared at the sight of Chand-a-la and his captive.
Sir William was in the midst of the group. Looking more irritated than alarmed, he barked, "There they are." He began striding forward. "Unhand my daughter, you ignorant aborigine!'
An onlooker said with surprise, "Miss Mayfield's hair is quite splendid." Another man said admiringly, "For a savage, that fellow has a dashed good seat on the horse."
Ignoring the comments, Chand-a-la set the horse into a trot, heading for the arch that led to the street. A man cried, "Quick, kill the brute before he escapes!"
A portly gentleman who carried a fowling piece raised it and aimed at the Wild Man and his captive. As he pulled the trigger, Sir George swung his arm, knocking the barrel skyward as it discharged with a boom. "For God's sake, man!" Renfrew roared. "You mustn't kill Miss Mayfield while trying to save her!"
With acrid smoke filling the yard, the Wild Man put his heels to the horse and they broke into a gallop, whipping under the arch and into the street. Turning the horse to the left, Chand-a-la began galloping toward the outskirts of town as if the hounds of hell were pursuing them.
Roxanne clung to the gelding's mane helplessly as they swerved around drays and shrieking pedestrians. The wind whipped her hair free so that it lashed across her captor's chest. It was terrifying to ride without the security of a saddle. If it hadn't been for the firmness of Chand-a-la's grip, she would have been pitched to the ground.
She caught glimpses of white, shocked faces as they roared down the street. Dodging a woman carrying a child, the horse clipped a basket and rosy apples spilled out.
Dizzily Roxanne watched the fruit roll across the cobbles, then raised her head to see a pony cart loaded with hay blocking the street crosswise ahead of them. She gave a muffled shriek, sure a lethal accident was imminent.
Instead of swerving or pulling up, Chand-a-la set the gelding into a suicidal jump. Even though she was convinced they were doomed, Roxanne automatically tightened her legs around the horse and held still so as not to throw the beast off balance.
They soared into the air, the Wild Man's body pressing against hers, keeping their weight centered over their mount's forequarters. A clump of hay tumbled to the street, dislodged by a hoof, but they landed safely. The Wild Man laughed with sheer delight.
Wherever he came from, they had to have horses, for he rode superbly. Roxanne turned her head and looked over her shoulder into his hirsute face. His eyes were gray, like those of ...