Free Knight of Runes by Ruth A. Casie Page B

used to facing men eye-to-eye. Most were intimidated and unable to hold his stare. He gave her his fiercest look, expecting her to look away, and was stunned to find her staring back at him in the same manner. Arrogant, he thought to himself. But there was also a spark of something he couldn’t pinpoint, an instant chemistry of recognition and challenge. He quickly hid his feelings, a practiced talent.
    She wasn’t as adept. He saw the recognition in her eyes before she won control of her reaction. She registered confusion, a sense of disbelief, and white-hot anger.
    Arik turned to take a full look at her. She probably came up to his shoulder. He marveled how the gold and copper flecks in her mahogany hair reflected in the sun. Although her hair was bound up, wisps fell in gentle waves, framing her oval face. He thought her skin looked soft to touch and was vibrant and healthy even through the bruises. Her mouth was full and inviting, her white teeth perfectly straight. But it was her deep-set eyes—an extraordinary shade of violet shot through with flecks of silver—that held his attention. He saw intelligence in them, and passion. The intelligence was a surprise. The passion, well, he stirred that in many women.
     
    Rebeka wrapped herself tighter in the cloak. Arik’s scrutiny made her feel exposed. Uncomfortable under his stare, she didn’t look away. She refused to give him that power.
    Seated on his horse, he forced her to look up at him. It was a purposeful tactic, giving him the advantage. Smiling to herself, she knew what he meant to convey and didn’t buy it for a minute. It would take more than a few inches to intimidate her. She stood her ground. He had the advantage and picking a fight was out of the question. But she wouldn’t be bullied either.
    “Doward said he found you on the trail. How do you come to be unescorted?” His voice was controlled but she could tell he was annoyed. His attitude could use an adjustment but she didn’t have the time or the inclination to move on it. Her patience was wearing thin.
    “I have no idea.” She tossed the words back at him a bit more tartly than she intended. She couldn’t believe he had the audacity to interrogate her. Who did he think he was, the local guardian angel on horseback! He’s playacting, for God’s sake.
    Doward stepped in. “Arik,” he said slowly, “she tumbled down the mountain from The Ridge.”
    She glared straight into his eyes. Rebeka was used to men scrutinizing her but she felt this man was not only judging her looks but also her character. She was surprised when she read the smirk on his face and realized he found her lacking. Perhaps he was unaccustomed to a woman not swooning over him. Two could play this game and she would not back down.
    He was tall, probably over six feet. He couldn’t hide his muscular body under his close-fitting woolen britches, loose white shirt and leather vest. Every part of him, legs, arms and chest looked powerful. His voice was deep and melodic. It almost hypnotized her.
    Everything about him spoke of command and control. She felt him more savage than civilized, tinged with a sense of danger. She suspected in a crowd, people were compelled to move out of his way. This was a man with whom you could not reason.
    But there was something outside her reach. Something she could not grasp made her feel this man was important to her. She felt bound to him in some way, which made no sense at all.
    Something—the tilt of his head, the look in his eyes, or maybe the angle of the light, she wasn’t certain—jolted her. Her heart pounded as she realized she had seen him before. In the Grand Gallery at Fayne Manor, staring at her from the wall. The painting. She recalled a light touch she had felt that had reminded her of a kiss. Her fingers lightly touched the spot. This is impossible. He must be a descendent, a throwback to the ancient gene pool. It would explain his “lord of the Manor” attitude. She