Ignore the tears, take her to his lair.

Charlotte was seated on the lush grass, her dress and camisole torn from her shoulders and skirt gathered high on her thigh exposing both her silk encased calves and the white ruffled petticoats that had so stymied Randy. Her arms covered most of her bosom but the white sides of her round breasts were still visible, even sobbing as she was, Charlotte was the finest looking woman he had ever seen.

Randy felt for the young woman, she was not responsible for his sister's pregnancy, nor was she responsible for her father's callous treatment of Mary. For just an instant he considered letting her go. Give up the opportunity to finally hurt Marlton as he had hurt him and his family. Randy would have to move from this location to one of his less comfortable hideouts, and the outrage over his treatment of the mistress of Marlton manor would intensify the efforts of the forces who searched for him. But none of these reasons were why he could not let his captive go free.

The fleeting moment of passion had burnt a searing brand on his heart, he could no more let this woman go free than he could pluck out his heart and walk away. He picked up her unresisting body and tossed her over his shoulder noting again as he did how firm her abdomen and thighs were as well as the softness of her breasts as they pressed against his bare back. He climbed the steep bank of the falls in determined silence ignoring her muffled protests and the weak kicking of her legs.

The surprise of being lifted from the riverbank to her captor's naked back ended her sobs more effectively than anything else Black Brand might have said or done. Charlotte had read about women being carried away by men, but the heroines in her romances were tiny, delicate maids barely five feet tall and always light as a feather. None of the gentlemen callers who tried to woo her looked like they'd even be able to pick her up, but this highwayman was climbing the steep bank with ease taking her to his secret lair.

Panic set in again as Charlotte realized that her ordeal was not yet over. She tried to twist from his grasp, kicking her legs and striking at his back with her small fists. The result of her struggles were ridiculously ineffective, the iron grip of the man's hand around her thighs tightened a little, and if he noticed the blows at his back at all he gave no indication of it. Worse, with her hands busy, her bared breasts now rested directly against the cool wet skin of the brigand's back. Each time she squirmed and twisted her tits pressed against his back sending sparks of electricity shooting from her nipples deep into her core. The hard tips of her breasts were an unmistakable reminder of just how little control she had over her body's treacherous response to his brutal treatment.

"Let me go you beast!" Her words had as little effect as her futile struggles as the steady climb continued. The sudden splash of cold water dampened the fire that was once again building in her loins; in order to enter the dimly lit cave from this side of the falls they had to pass through a thin wall of water and mist from the falls. The combination of the cool water and the darkness cave brought Charlotte's struggles to an end, she allowed her feet to be lowered to the floor and did not even protest when once again her wrists were secured.

Only when he tied them high above her head to a thick root which protruded from the roof of the cave did she murmur in shock and protest. Her torn dress fell to her waist and her breasts half fell from the camisole that had been pushed out of the way during their earlier encounter.

"Please..." She did not even know what she wanted, but her words dropped of as her captor moved deeper into the dark recesses of the cave. He returned shortly with a great ship's lantern that filled the room with light. In the light of the lantern his eyes roamed over her hanging form hungrily. All too clearly the color plate lithograph of the captured innocent auctioned off to the dessert sheikhs of Africa filled her thoughts. At least only one man stood before her, not dozens. Charlotte tried to emulate the fierce determination of the heroine as she waited for her fate.

Would he punish her attempt at escape? It depended on what his ultimate intentions were, was she to be held for ransom, or now that she was once again at his mercy would he continue his outrageous **** on her virtue?

"What are your intentions?" She asked, trying to keep her voice calm. "What are you going to do to me?"