Besieged Heart (No Ordinary Lovers Collection) Read Free Page A

stop. Preservation prevented one and self-respect would not permit the other.
    The sight of a low building through the trees was a godsend. She thought they must be approaching the cottages of a village. Perhaps there would be a manor, or even some nobleman’s castle where she might take shelter until she could decide what she must do.
    She had been too optimistic. The building was no more than a woodsman’s cottage made of logs. It stood alone in a small clearing in the deep forest, with no other habitation of any kind was in sight, no pretense whatever of protective walls or fencing.
    Disappointment flooded through Mara, bringing trepidation in its wake. She halted for a moment. However, the strange man called Rayne was outdistancing her. She followed again with dragging footsteps.
    It was only as she came closer to the cottage that she noticed how oddly it was constructed. Quite commodious for its kind, it had a roof of colored metal almost like armor, and a chimney of handsome red brick from which rose a trail of smoke. The logs were cut and fitted with such perfection it seemed impossible human hands could be responsible. Real glass shone in every window. A finely fitted and molded door swung open at a touch to admit them.
    The interior was like any cottage in that a main open space served several functions. There all resemblance ended. Surfaces had the polish of marble or the sheen of fine silver. Walls were covered with an amazingly smooth paper on which were painted intricate and brilliantly colored designs. Underfoot was a rug which had the feel of wool sheared from the softest of lambs. Light appeared at the flick of a finger. There were no drafts, no dirt, no odors, nothing but cleanliness and bright space.
    Mara stood in a daze while she watched Rayne move about, preparing a hot drink. She marveled at the utensils he used and apparatuses he manipulated, particularly the arc of shiny metal from which water miraculously flowed.
    His task completed, he placed the drink on a table, and then indicated that she must be seated. As she moved forward, he glanced at her face.
    His gaze narrowed. “You’ve hurt yourself. Let me see the damage.”
    Her face was stinging where a dangling brier vine had raked it. As she reached up to touch it, she felt a raised welt and a trace of what might be blood. Then the stranger was in front of her, taking her face in his large, firm hands and turning it toward the light.
    His gaze met hers, black as a storm-tossed night and just as turbulent. She felt it like an invasion, felt also the heat of his hands on her skin. Her heart jolted, then began a heavy beat, while her breath made a soft sound as she drew it between parted lips.
    His lashes flickered before lowering like protective shields. He fastened his gaze on her scratch. “A minor wound,” he said in low tones. “Come closer to the sink and I will tend it.”
    He released her, turning away toward a double basin of silver metal set into a long trestle-like board and enclosed across the front with small doors. She followed him, but a frown pleated her smooth brow. There had been something in his voice just then, some inflection or change in the tone or choice of his words, which was disturbingly familiar.
    Impossible.
    This man was too brusque, too presumptuous, too lacking in veneration to be anyone she had ever known. That he had so casually placed his hands on her person was clear proof he was unaware of her identity. It was only her need for reassurance in this peculiar situation that had given rise to such a wild surmise.
    Yet, this Rayne’s touch was not unwelcome as he used a warm cloth to clean her face before applying a soothing salve from a tube. She knew she should object, should turn away, but did not. Instead, she stood quite still while her stomach muscles contracted, and she fought the surprising turmoil that rose inside her.
    She felt the brush of regret that he was not a forest outlaw. If he had been, he might