Read Online The Rose of Blacksword by Rexanne Becnel - Free Book Online
Authors: Rexanne Becnel
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crowd. With a shudder of revulsion she slipped away from the vulgar pressure of the mayor’s hand on her shoulder. In doing so, however, she placed herself directly before the last of the three prisoners, the one who had prompted her to take such a mad course of action.
She was terrified as she slowly raised her eyes to him. He was so big. So powerful and clearly dangerous. As her gaze raised timorously from the tall boots that encased his feet and calves, then farther, past his muscular thighs wrapped in what once had been fine linen braies, she became even more unnerved than she already was. This was like no man she’d ever seen before. There was a brutal strength evident in both his magnificent physique and his proud carriage. His tunic was half torn from him, as was his shirt, and she saw a raw scrape where a portion of hischest was exposed. His hands were still bound, yet the muscles of his arms bulged against the rough rope.
Finally, when she could bear the suspense no more, she lifted her gaze to his face.
Rosalynde wasn’t sure what to expect. He was younger than she had first supposed, perhaps a half score years her elder. He was dirty, of course. Filthy. His unkempt hair was plastered to his skull, and she could not have guessed its true color. His jaw was stern and rigid, his nose straight save for a crook where it might have once been broken. All in all, however, he would probably be quite acceptable to the eye once cleaned and properly dressed.
But none of those things mattered to Rosalynde. He was a thief and a murderer. And yet he perversely seemed the only one who could help her. She had it within her power to save him, it appeared. Would he return the favor? It was that which she hoped to determine as she met his ferocious stare.
But the very fury in his eyes took her completely aback. He would as happily strangle her as look at her, she thought with a gasp of dismay. For an endless frozen moment she stared at him, her eyes wide with fear and desperation. Then he spoke, although it sounded more a low, menacing snarl.
“Begone from here, madame. I do not like your game!”
He had all his teeth, she noted obliquely. And better speech than she would have guessed. She shook her head sharply, trying to focus on the very real problem at hand.
“ ’Tis no game,” she whispered urgently.
But he only raised one of his straight eyebrows mistrustfully as his jaw tightened. “Then what? Why choose a husband from the gallows—”
“Is this the man you choose? Blacksword?” the mayor interrupted imperiously, although he did not venture toonear. “You know, you might find one of the others a bit more biddable.”
At this the crowd erupted in laughter, and he paused to take another gulp from the skin at his side.
“I want him ,” Rosalynde answered, raising her head to stare at the man known only as Blacksword. Her eyes searched his face for some sign that she was making the right decision, some reason to believe she wasn’t delivering herself into the hands of the devil himself.
But his face was as hard as granite, set in the same rigid expression he’d assumed when he had first crossed to stand under the noose intended for him. Did he prefer hanging to marrying her? she wondered disbelievingly. Was he so lost to the world that he would seek his own death and perhaps doom her and Cleve as well?
In that moment anger flared within her, anger at everything that had happened to her, but mostly anger at him for being the horrible creature he was.
“I choose you !” she muttered through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing with fury. Without pausing to think, she grabbed hold of his grimy tunic and clenched a knot of the fabric in her small fist. “You have no other choice. Except to die.…” The rest faded away as his cold, colorless eyes met hers.
Fire leapt between them, angry and selfish and sizzling. Against her knuckles the heat of his skin seemed almost to burn her. She wanted to jump away,
She was terrified as she slowly raised her eyes to him. He was so big. So powerful and clearly dangerous. As her gaze raised timorously from the tall boots that encased his feet and calves, then farther, past his muscular thighs wrapped in what once had been fine linen braies, she became even more unnerved than she already was. This was like no man she’d ever seen before. There was a brutal strength evident in both his magnificent physique and his proud carriage. His tunic was half torn from him, as was his shirt, and she saw a raw scrape where a portion of hischest was exposed. His hands were still bound, yet the muscles of his arms bulged against the rough rope.
Finally, when she could bear the suspense no more, she lifted her gaze to his face.
Rosalynde wasn’t sure what to expect. He was younger than she had first supposed, perhaps a half score years her elder. He was dirty, of course. Filthy. His unkempt hair was plastered to his skull, and she could not have guessed its true color. His jaw was stern and rigid, his nose straight save for a crook where it might have once been broken. All in all, however, he would probably be quite acceptable to the eye once cleaned and properly dressed.
But none of those things mattered to Rosalynde. He was a thief and a murderer. And yet he perversely seemed the only one who could help her. She had it within her power to save him, it appeared. Would he return the favor? It was that which she hoped to determine as she met his ferocious stare.
But the very fury in his eyes took her completely aback. He would as happily strangle her as look at her, she thought with a gasp of dismay. For an endless frozen moment she stared at him, her eyes wide with fear and desperation. Then he spoke, although it sounded more a low, menacing snarl.
“Begone from here, madame. I do not like your game!”
He had all his teeth, she noted obliquely. And better speech than she would have guessed. She shook her head sharply, trying to focus on the very real problem at hand.
“ ’Tis no game,” she whispered urgently.
But he only raised one of his straight eyebrows mistrustfully as his jaw tightened. “Then what? Why choose a husband from the gallows—”
“Is this the man you choose? Blacksword?” the mayor interrupted imperiously, although he did not venture toonear. “You know, you might find one of the others a bit more biddable.”
At this the crowd erupted in laughter, and he paused to take another gulp from the skin at his side.
“I want him ,” Rosalynde answered, raising her head to stare at the man known only as Blacksword. Her eyes searched his face for some sign that she was making the right decision, some reason to believe she wasn’t delivering herself into the hands of the devil himself.
But his face was as hard as granite, set in the same rigid expression he’d assumed when he had first crossed to stand under the noose intended for him. Did he prefer hanging to marrying her? she wondered disbelievingly. Was he so lost to the world that he would seek his own death and perhaps doom her and Cleve as well?
In that moment anger flared within her, anger at everything that had happened to her, but mostly anger at him for being the horrible creature he was.
“I choose you !” she muttered through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing with fury. Without pausing to think, she grabbed hold of his grimy tunic and clenched a knot of the fabric in her small fist. “You have no other choice. Except to die.…” The rest faded away as his cold, colorless eyes met hers.
Fire leapt between them, angry and selfish and sizzling. Against her knuckles the heat of his skin seemed almost to burn her. She wanted to jump away,
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