Free His Stolen Bride BN by Shayla Black

elemental. Lust pierced him
     like a longbow through armor, despite the fact she had done her best to put a dent
     in his skull. Drake wanted to tousle her, engage the fiery side of her spirit. Arouse
     her, possess her. Bury his hands in her riotous curls and bed her.
    Foolish. Dangerous. So unlikely to ever happen.
    He must focus on his revenge, never forget that Averyl was an intelligent woman, gifted
     with perhaps an even craftier ability to entrance and confuse than his mother had
     possessed. For he saw now that Averyl’s fragility was an illusion, just as his desire
     for her was a curse.
    Drake held the poker between them. “Careful, else this could injure someone.”
    “If only it would, preferably by making a dent in your skull.”
    Her dress clung lovingly to the slight curve of her breasts as she moved with furied
     conviction. Thick and hot, a fresh wave of desire settled in his loins. Why could
     Averyl have not been as plain as she believed? And meek besides?
    Shoving the questions aside, he took the last step toward Averyl, watching her eyes
     grow wider. With fear and fury, aye. But something new. What? Curiosity? Challenge?
    “And I would gladly hit you again, harder.”
    How unusually…honest she was. Tenacious and rampageous, too, just like his friend
     Aric’s lady wife, Gwenyth. He frowned. But Gwenyth possessed not the tendency to sentiment
     and greed his captive and his mother shared. Averyl was indeed a puzzle.
    Drake gripped the poker. “Then I consider myself warned and will put this from temptation’s
     way.”
    “You cannot keep me here!”
    “I can and I am.”
    The sound of her curse followed him as he made his way outside. That he ignored as
     he shut the door between them.
    Then he heard a sob, quiet, muffled. Drake strained closer to the window to hear.
     Was that shrew-mouthed Averyl?
    Again it came. Aye, ’twas her. Drake frowned as something foreign bit at his gut.
     It could not possibly be guilt. This revenge was necessary, his very life. Then why
     did he feel…badly?
    Drake set the poker aside. Had he not learned to ignore a woman’s tears from infancy?
     Aye, and why Averyl’s should bother him, he could not fathom. Shoving his fingers
     through his hair, he searched for clarity—only to find a muddle where logic normally
     lived. Damnation.
    Averyl sniffled. Drake’s gut clenched. He rubbed the aching shoulder she had struck
     to remind him she was the enemy. But imprisoning her now seemed…wrong. Frowning, he
     wondered when had he deemed his act unjust. After he’d beheld those bright eyes in
     her comely face and seen her fiery desperation?
    Drake paced. She was a pawn in his scheme. An intriguing pawn, aye, but a pawn all
     the same. True, she had a home to rebuild and vassals to aid. She had a right to a
     wedded life, if she foolishly chose it. And he wanted her in his bed. But all must
     wait until justice had been served.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Averyl crept outside minutes after Locke. Within moments, she discovered he spoke
     true. Escape would be near impossible.
    The ravine, steep as a cliff all about, was a narrow strip of land hidden by an abundance
     of wild heather and short grass, brambles, rock, and eternal Scottish mist. So far
     up did its vertical walls reach, she could scarcely see to the land above.
    Giant oak trees sheltered the hideaway from prying eyes by fanning the sky with their
     far-reaching branches. The ancient trees swayed with the wind, their leaves forming
     a wall of lush green that convinced outsiders nothing lay below nature’s display of
     summer. Beyond that, she heard the tempestuous crash of the surf against the isle’s
     shore.
    The gate he spoke of would indeed keep her trapped. Averyl stared up at its impossible
     height and the razor-edge of the pikes atop it, lethal and smiling, as if inviting
     her to court death. Anger welled in her throat, burned her belly.
    Locke had her trapped, damn him. He had no right to intrude