Free Falling for Her Captor by Elisabeth Hobbes

head, arching her back in a manner that did nothing for Hugh’s peace of mind. With a yawn she opened her eyes, then closed them tightly with a groan. Hugh watched with amusement as it dawned on her where she was lying. She sat bolt upright, her cheeks colouring.
    ‘I… How…? Oh!’
    Seeing her embarrassment, Hugh looked away and called to Jack and Duncan to wake up. With difficulty he pulled himself to his feet and left Aline to regain her composure. Hugh walked round to the front of the cart and sluiced his face in the water bucket. The coolness went some way to alleviating his headache.
    He could no longer put off what he was afraid to see. He took a couple of deep breaths, anticipating the sight of his torn and bloodied body. He pushed the dressing away from his wound. The sight of the scorched and blistered flesh sent his stomach rolling as he recalled the agony of the knife. Aline’s stitching seemed to be holding, however. The wound was clean, though it would no doubt be painful for a while to come, and his shoulder felt stiff and sore. All in all, he considered, he had come out of the escapade remarkably well.
    His tunic was torn and stiff with blood, so he awkwardly shrugged it off and plunged it into the water. He wiped himself down, relieved to be washing away the grime, blood and sweat of the previous night. He turned and without warning found himself face to face with Aline, a mug in her hand, her mouth a circle of surprise.
    * * *
    Aline stopped abruptly at the sight of the half-naked man standing before her. Only the fact that he looked as taken aback as she felt stopped her turning on her heel and running back the way she had come. Though she had been intimately—many would say indecently—close to Sir Hugh the previous night, it had been almost dark. She had been aware of the strength in his body as she sat astride him, but her only concern at the time had been to staunch the bleeding and stitch his wounds. Now she became intensely aware of what the night had hidden from her.
    She had interrupted him in the act of bathing, and rivulets of water ran from Sir Hugh’s hair. Aline’s eyes followed their journey across the arc of his collarbone to the fine thatch of hair across his chest, where beads of water clung to him still. Sir Hugh slowly lowered the wet cloth. His chest and arms were taut and well defined. Aline’s eyes travelled further downwards to his lean waist and the line of dark hair leading from his belly down past the waistband of…
    Aline realised with shock where her eyes and imagination were leading her and forced herself to look upwards, hardly daring to meet Sir Hugh’s eyes. She could sense a slow blush creeping across her chest and neck.
    ‘Can I help you, Lady Aline?’ Sir Hugh asked pleasantly. ‘I hope last night has not taken too much of a toll on you?’
    Aline shook her head. He gave no indication that he had seen her staring, though how could he not have?
    ‘I thought…that is… Here. I brought you some ale. Take this—you’ll need to drink more than usual today.’ She faltered and thrust the mug into his hand.
    Turning on her heel, she walked away, desperately hoping that the chill morning air would bleach the colour from her cheeks before anyone noticed how flushed they were.
    Hugh appeared a few minutes later. Aline bent over a pile of blankets, rolling them carefully, not trusting herself to look him in the face. From the corner of her eye she could see him watching, his eyes burning into her. She carried the blankets to the cart, passing Jack as he walked Bayliss round to where Hugh waited. Hugh put his foot in the stirrup and stretched up to grasp the pommel. He stopped abruptly with a curse and took a step back.
    ‘Let me help, sir,’ Jack offered, taking hold of the bridle.
    ‘I can manage alone,’ Hugh growled, brushing away the young guard’s hands.
    He rolled his shoulders back and reached up again. He swung his leg over the horse and landed