know you are. You’re a strong woman, Isabella. You’ve had a long ride this morning, and what with being taken from the only home you’ve known for a matter of years, you’re weary and confused. And then I’ve forced you to ride before me, forced you to allow my touch on your body. Something I feel you have not experienced before.” He bent to her, tracing the lines of her forehead with his lips.
“I’ve given you a bad time, haven’t I?”
“I’m glad you admit at least that much,” she said with a trace of haughtiness she hadn’t known she possessed. Gone was the weak-willed girl who had disgraced herself just moments ago. She felt now the strength of a woman pouring through her veins, and she stood erect, as though she had been offered a chance at freedom.
“I came with you willingly, but only because you seemed to offer the best chance I had at leaving the convent, lest the arrival of Juan Garcia should occur, for I knew he would be coming for me. The convent is my home and I would have become one of the Sisters of Charity were things different.” She looked up at him, meeting his hard gaze with certainty. “I am not ready to be a bride. I won’t marry anyone. Not you, not Señor Garcia. I couldn’t face the thought of speaking marriage vows with him almost five years ago when I entered the convent, and I still can’t.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my love,” he said mockingly. “You will say your vows in the chapel at Diamond Ranch. Whether you feel ready for it or not, you’ll marry me. And before Señor Garcia can claim you, you will be my bride, my wife.”
And I will cherish you, body and soul. He pondered the words that begged to be spoken to her, wondering for a moment where such poetry had come from.
For Rafael McKenzie was not given to spouting words that described soft emotions. Yet, this girl, this woman he had claimed as his own, had already forged a place for herself within his life.
Rafael inhaled her fragrance and knew it for what it was—a combination of soap and fresh, clean skin. And beneath it the underlying aroma of woman; that sweet, sometimes pungent scent that lent tenderness to his touch, desire to his thoughts. He was not a stranger to desire or passion, but felt now a softer strain of the emotions he associated with the females he had known.
For Isabella aroused in him the knowledge that she was what he had yearned for, that her flesh would be like nectar to his senses, her skin softer than any he had touched. Her mouth would give him pleasure, her arms a refuge against the harshness of life and her body would offer itself as a vessel for his sons.
No matter that he married at the behest of his father, that the ceremony was a necessity before he could inherit his destiny, he would have chosen Isabella Montgomery from all the women in the world, once he had seen her, once his hands had held her finely boned form in his grasp. She appealed to the depths of his soul, the part of him that sought out beauty and purity. For she was clean, fresh and all that was lovely.
The task of winning her heart would not be without difficulty, but the arrogant soul of Rafael McKenzie soared as he thought of the path he would take to accomplish that end. He would use kindness as a tool, tender touches as a means to an end and his natural urges to conquer would be held in abeyance, his desire would be curtailed until she was his bride, his wife.
And then…and then, he would claim her, know her in the most intimate sense, and she would be his.
He bent closer to her and his whisper was soft, coaxing in her ear. “You will be mine, Isabella. My bride. My wife.”
My bride. My wife. The words resounded within her and Isabella found them unacceptable. The movement of her head was a rebuttal of his words, one that seemed to amuse him, for he laughed aloud. “You have no choice, sweetheart. Once you’re mine, once I’ve taken you to my bed, the fine señor will no longer be interested in you. He bargained for a young girl, a virgin. And you will no longer be able to claim that title.”
“I’ve known no man,” she said quietly. “My virtue is to be given only to the man I marry, the man I choose.”
“You chose me when you walked out of the convent,” he told her, and the words rang with conviction. “You will be my wife.”
“Would you take a woman to your bed who is not willing?” she asked, daring a look into mysterious eyes that seemed to search her secrets out.
He smiled darkly, and yet she caught a glimpse of warmth glittering in those black eyes that met hers. “You will be willing. I guarantee it.” He pulled her against himself, her head cupped in his big hand, pressed tightly to his chest. “Rest easy a moment, and then I will give you something to drink that will settle your stomach.”
She breathed deeply, fighting the incipient dizziness that gripped her. “I must sit down,” she whispered. “I feel faint.”
Her lifted her instead, carrying her to a rude shelter formed by tree branches that bent to afford a private place. He leaned forward to deposit her slight form on a blanket, a folded bit of fabric, perhaps a shirt, placed beneath her head, and then hovered over her, this man who had so changed her life in the past hours. He brushed back stray wisps of hair from her forehead, his fingers tangling in the covering that hid the dark locks of hair from his sight. With a gentle movement, he pulled it from her, tossing it aside, leaving her hair open to his view. Even tangled and matted against her head, it captured the light and glowed with a deep beauty he admired.
His fingers raked through its length, and he gentled his touch, fearful of pulling it and causing pain, but she lay quietly beneath his hands, her eyes half-open, yet her gaze never leaving him, watching him closely, as if she would shield herself from his presence. Beside him, Manuel appeared, holding forth a cup, tendering it to Rafael with a look in her direction, as if he would beg her to accept his offering.
Rafael took it from him and his query was silent as he looked into her eyes. She read it clearly in the questioning look he gave her and nodded, a slight movement of her head. With a smile, Rafael bent closer.
“Thank you, Manuel. This isn’t too hot for her, is it?” he asked, lifting the cup to his own lips before offering it to Isabella. He tasted it as Manuel shook his head, and then handed it to her. “It won’t burn you, sweetheart. It’s coffee. Drink a bit.”
She wrinkled her nose at the scent of the strong brew. “I’m not fond of the stuff,” she said. “Do you have tea?” And then she almost laughed as she thought of the foolishness of her request. “No, of course you don’t,” she whispered, reaching to touch the cup he’d offered.
A small sip passed her lips and she swallowed it obediently as he urged her compliance. It lay strong and warm in her stomach and she felt a bit of the heat travel through her, as if she’d been chilled and now was being warmed from the inside out. Another swallow followed the first and she leaned her head back, away from the cup as he would have urged her to drink more.
“Enough for now,” she murmured, inhaling deeply and finding herself leaning against him, his arm beneath her shoulders, his body hovering over hers.
“We’ll stay here for a bit, give you a chance to rest,” he told her, and she only nodded, unable to speak the words that would have rushed from her lips.
Where was he taking her? Why did he want her…why her and not any other woman? She heard the words in her head, but found them impossible to speak aloud, and only shivered as she delivered herself into his hands.
Rafael watched her slip into unconsciousness, not a faint
