Before she could backtrack, he launched himself at her, knocking her to the ground. His greater weight pressed her against the grass. She struggled to turn over so she could punch and scratch and bite.

"Enough!" He punctuated his command by sliding lower so he straddled her buttocks. Leaning forward, he splayed his hands over her shoulders. With her arms reaching for nothing and her face buried in grass and rotting leaves, she tasted panic. He began tugging on her thick braid as if playing with her.

He was going to kill her! Or rape her. Or both.

Or even more terrifying, enslave her.

"No!" She bent her knees and kicked. Her heels connected with his lower back, but there was no power behind her blow.

Still holding her hair, he rocked on her, grinding her breasts and belly by turn against whatever she was on. Her flailing arms found his thighs, and she buried her nails in his flesh. He grunted and grabbed her upper arms, the grip so tight she began to lose feeling. She thrashed her head from side to side.

"Fight, Baasta chattel. Fight. It'll do you no good, but at least this way I know you're alive."

Chattel? Never!

"Dung!" she threw at him. "Eater of rotting flesh."

Capturing a wrist, he yanked her arm behind her and up. "I'll teach you what you can and can't say. What you will or won't be allowed to do."

"Animal dung!"

He forced her arm higher. Pain exploded between her shoulder blades, but she fought him and the pain, twisting under him. He rode her as if she was a bucking wilding, prompting her to increase her struggles. Maybe he'd relaxed his hold on her arm because it no longer hurt as much. Still she continued to tear at his thigh with her free hand, her breath harsh and hard, sweat turning her skin slick.

Reaching behind him with his free hand, he repeatedly slapped what he could reach of her buttocks. The sharp sting told her that her short skirt had ridden up during her struggles. Thoughts of what he'd do to her once she was truly helpless sent more strength to her failing muscles, and she bucked and thrashed.

Sweat ran off her sides and throat and between her breasts and legs. Her muscles trembled. He stopped slapping and pulled her other hand up between her shoulder blades. Robbed of what little leverage she had left, she collapsed and breathed in the scent of grass and dirt.

"That's all, chattel? There's no more fight in you?"

Again she tried to kick him, but this time her heels barely tapped his buttocks.

"There. The answer I was waiting for. You're mine now. Do you understand, mine."

Determined not to say anything, she turned her head to the side and panted. He brought her hands down so they rested at the small of her back. After crossing one wrist over the other, he held them in place with a large powerful hand. Then he released one wrist. An instant later she understood why. He was wrapping rope around the still-held wrist. She tried to pull free, but he easily looped several strands around it.

When he took hold of her other arm again and began lashing her wrists together, her struggles became like those of an old woman.

Caught. Like a captured wilding.

"There," he announced once her arms were secured behind her. "Now you aren't going to hurt either me or yourself."

Thinking he'd force her to stand, she wondered if she had the strength. Instead, he shifted position so he was sitting on the backs of her thighs and took his time removing her knife from around her waist. He threaded first one and then another rope loop around her waist and tied her wrists to that, making it impossible for her to move her arms.

Only then did he get off her.

By rolling onto her side a little, she got her first look at him-or she would have if sweat and tears hadn't blurred her vision. She saw dark bulk. And movement.

Fear took another bite out of her when he reached for the ankle closest to him. When she kicked, he planted his forearms on her thighs and pressed down. Although she made him work for it, all too soon, he'd tied another rope around her ankle, leaving a long length which he held up for her to see.

"I have to leave for a while." His tone was calm. "And I don't want you trying to get away."

Gripping her shoulder and buttocks, he rolled her onto her stomach. She felt her tied leg being pulled up behind her, held in place by his damnably strong fingers. He ran rope under the loops against the back of her waist and pulled, bending her knee so her heel nearly touched her buttocks.

Then he stood.

Desperate to see what he was up to, she struggled to roll onto her side. The leg under her was free, but the other was useless. When she tried to straighten it, she understood that he'd hobbled her.

Looking down at her, he folded his arms across his too-big chest. Despite her blurred vision, she saw his confident smile.

Why not? After all, he'd captured her.