Read Online The YIELDING by Tamara Leigh - Free Book Online Page A

take!” He fell onto his back and stared through the breach at the clouds gathering over late afternoon. He cursed himself for not accepting Canute’s offer to accompany him, cursed himself again for not sooner seeing the rope. He would lay hands to Beatrix Wulfrith. And the next time she would not escape.

    Wincing as D’Arci’s pained shout sounded around the wood, wishing her conscience was as lost to her as words, Beatrix stared at the golden destrier where it grazed near the stream. Or perhaps it was not conscience that refused to let her flee.
    She looked back the way she had come, then right the way she ought to go. Perhaps fear of the horse held her here. But if that were so, she could simply walk away. God-given conscience, then. Still, she fought it, telling herself He would not wish her to risk her life.
    She glanced at the darkening sky. Would the rain bring any travelers to shelter at Purley? It had not during the last rainfall, and previous to that it had brought brigands who had trod the false floor beneath which she lay. If one of ill repute answered D’Arci’s call, it could mean his death, but if she remained, of what use was she to him?
    She dropped to her knees, bowed her head, and prayed for guidance. Unfortunately, the guidance that fell heavy upon her was not the guidance she wished.
    “’Twill mean my death,” she whispered into the Lord’s ear, but still she could not leave D’Arci.
    She straightened. What was she to do? Just as she could not send for help, neither could she go into the crypt to tend her enemy. He was too much alive for that, though for how much longer?
    Her writhing thoughts nearly made her cry. Wishing she could smooth them flat and look upon them without rent or wrinkle, she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes in hopes the darkness would free her from distractions.
    Food and drink. That she could provide D’Arci. She lowered her hands and looked to the man’s destrier that eyed her as it chewed a mouthful of grass. Struck by its beauty, a thrill of old rippled through her.
    If she sent the animal from the wood, might it lead D’Arci’s men back here? If so, the sooner she could begin her journey to Stern—providing she stayed alert and ready to flee. Even so, D’Arci would surely be fast to her path.
    She groaned, causing the destrier to turn one ear forward and the other back.
    First the leather packs tied to the saddle, Beatrix decided. As she stepped forward, the horse snorted and jerked its head.
    Though perspiration crept her neck, Beatrix continued forward. As she neared, she saw D’Arci had not tethered his mount, apparently confident it would await his return.
    At ten feet, the destrier tossed its head. Great eyes staring, it followed her approach.
    Beatrix swallowed. All she wanted were the packs and the skin that hung from one—hopefully full of wine that D’Arci could use to cleanse any open wound. A broken leg, he had told, which could mean the bone had come through the flesh. She prayed not—
    Dear God, why must I care? Wishing He did not reside so full within her, she took the last steps to the destrier and only realized how near she was when she stood before it. Ears twitching, it continued to regard her.
    “Be still, steed. I vow I shall not mount you.” Feeling as if about to reach a hand to a flame, she took a step toward the packs.
    The destrier snorted and tossed its head again, causing its white mane to ripple like silk.
    “Upon my word, I shall not try to…gain your back.”
    He sidled and shook his head.
    The protest striking her as exceedingly human, she smiled. “You do not believe me?”
    Again, it shook its head.
    A bubble of laughter parted Beatrix’s lips and, for a moment, made her fear someone was in the wood with her. When was the last time she had laughed? It had been far too long.
    She snapped a handful of grass from the earth. “I tell you, true, I shall not.” Wishing her hand did not quake so, she