“You stare hard, my lord.”
He shrugged, then grimaced at the pain that shot through his head. “Just contemplating your identity.”
“Then I’ll keep you in suspense no longer. I am the Black Angel.”
“Your mother must have had a sense of humor. Such an intriguing name.”
“Turn your head and let me look beneath your bandage.”
He did as she asked. He considered going for her sword, but he still thought he could escape peaceably,withhis money.
She untied the cloth from around his head and peeled away the bandage. He closed his eyes, fighting the sickness that turned his stomach. And fighting the rush of sensation her skin ignited in him.
“The bleeding continues, my lord,” she said.
He felt the warmth of her breath against his neck. “Why do you do this?” he asked, turning suddenly until their faces were inches apart.
She remained still, looking at him. “You’ve smeared blood on the pallet.”
He caught her arm and pulled her against his chest. He heard the quick intake of her breath, but saw no fear in her eyes. If anything, cold anger lit her from within. Her hair tumbled about them, filled with the elusive scent of the outdoors.
“Release me, my lord,” she said calmly.
Her heart seemed to betray her, hammering wildly against his chest. Instead of escape, James found himself thinking of her lips.
“You had best not hesitate,” she whispered. “My sword might damage the part of your anatomy you most treasure.”
His head was growing foggy, but he couldn’t miss the weight across his hips. He chuckled and closed his eyes. “Ah yes, you do go right to the heart of the matter. Very well, my lady thief, what are your plans?”
“You may release me.”
He opened his eyes. “Why ever for? I haven’t held a woman in, oh, days.”
She put a hand against his chest and pushed. His arms fell away weakly and he looked at them in bemusement. “That was rather easy, wasn’t it?” He wearily closed his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll sleep now. We can discuss my money at a later time.”
“You do that, my lord,” he heard her say, as if from far away.
Once again he felt her hands at the back of his head, but soon, even that sensation disappeared.
~oOo~
“Lord Bolton! Lord Bolton!”
Someone shook James’s shoulders. Awareness came to him slowly, and he felt the hard earth beneath his back. Had the Black Angel actually left him to be found by his own men?
“My Lord Bolton, thank heaven above!”
James cracked open his eyes. Everything seemed tilted, distorted by the pain that blazed through his head.
“My lord, you were hurt. Is it serious?”
With a groan, he lifted his arms, and hands helped him to a sitting position. Three of his men-at-arms bent over him, their faces worried. One man stepped aside, and a bolt of reddish sunlight blinded James. He covered his eyes.
“How late is it?” he rasped. His head throbbed and his stomach shifted queasily. “Where are the rest of the men?”
“ ’Tis close to dusk, my lord,” said Wiggins, the unacknowledged leader of the three. “The others are a league behind, searching for you. After we were...separated, we found your horse, and we have been looking for you ever since.” He spoke slowly in his usual attempt to master the accent of the nobility.
James found he could barely support his weight. He dropped back on his elbow. “I was robbed, hit over the head. Strange as it seems, the thieves took pity and tried to stop the bleeding. But they have all the dowry money.” He sighed. “Whose idea was it to pretend we carried nothing of value?”
