Page 6 of Ena’s Surrender

He pulled at the lead and the goat strode forward on spindly legs, revealing a tabby cat snoozing lazily in a corner of the small stable.

The unarmed woman in her underclothes took a step closer, casting her completely in the silvery glow of moonlight and revealing creamy skin and a generous, rosy mouth. “Leave Maribel be.”

Maribel?

“After all the cattle you helped to steal?” He tsked. “Looks as though you should have killed me when you had the chance.”

Her cheeks flushed with color. “I shouldna have hesitated. I should have killed ye the way ye murder the Scottish, without mercy, filled with blinding hatred.”

“And you think the Scots are different?” He chuckled and strode around her with the goat.

“I’m warning ye now to leave Maribel be.” Her voice was laced with the threat. One he would not be heeding.

Which was why the punch to his head should have been expected.

3

Ena was a fighter and always had been–back all those years ago when death threatened to claim her and starvation plucked at her mortality. Now was no different, when she had nothing more than her fists and spirit to defend poor Maribel.

The Englishman shook off her blow. Strong. Determined. Usually those were traits she respected in a man. Except that no Englishman would ever be respectable in her eyes.

She reached for Maribel’s lead, but he drew it away from her.

“Damn ye.” She lashed out at him once more.

Once more, he evaded her blow. She’d knocked him down the night before. She could do so again, then grab Maribel’s lead and bring her into the hut, locking them both securely inside. Moggy hadn’t been a bit of help, the lazy beast. To think Ena had been the one to beg Bran to keep her when she was a bony kitten nearly frozen to death.

“My name’s Renault, in case you wished to know.” He grinned at her, as if they were at a festival rather than fighting over a goat.

Ena swept her leg toward his. He sidestepped quickly.

“You can’t get me with the same trick twice.” He laughed in a way that was more entertained than threatened by her.

Little did he know, he’d played right into her hand. She shoved with him so much force that he staggered back, right into Maribel’s lead, which he held taut. In the end, he tripped himself.

Ena clambered over the top of him and grabbed the rope holding Maribel from his hand. She threw it out of his reach. “Run, Maribel,” she cried.

The goat blinked, lowered her head to the close-cropped grass and nipped at the tender blades.

Renault flipped Ena over in that brief blink of an eye, pinning her to the cold, dewy ground with the weight of his body. The scent of leather and horses clung to him and mingled with the damp earth.

He framed her slender arms with his large hands so she could not struggle. “I won’t fight you,” he said.

“Ye’ll rape me instead?” She glared up at him, steeling herself for what would come next. She’d heard enough stories, seen enough victims, to know what Englishmen did to women they trapped.

“Nay.” He pulled back slightly, not enough for her to escape, unfortunately. “I would not so much as kiss you unless you wished me to.”

“I willna ever wish ye to.”

His hands were firm as they held her in place, but not painful. The heat of his body seeped through his clothes and her thin sark, offsetting the chill of the ground.

“I’m sure you’ll change your mind.” He winked at her. Actually winked at her.

Were her hands not pinned down, she would have slapped him across his fine-featured face. She hated his congenial, flirtatious demeanor, as if they were friends rather than enemies. And he was her enemy. Every Englishman was.

“I assure ye, I never will,” she vowed. “And the next time I see ye, I will kill ye.”

He gazed down at her, studying her face with an intimate closeness she didn’t care for. His breath held a spicy scent that wasn’t unpleasant and there was a softness to his gaze she didn’t want to find intriguing.