She’d worked hard at avoiding Pembroke since the night she’d appeared as a diminutive highwayman, though she couldn’t imagine that he would have recognized her beneath her disguise. She realized now that it had been foolish of her to take such a risk when she was still needed at the manor, but at the time, it had seemed the only way to keep Quinn from being killed or captured.
On the fourth day after her mad escapade, Maggie trudged slowly up the stairs from Ian’s cell, resenting eighteenth-centuryservantdom, and her boss, the cook, in particular. The woman was evil, that’s all there was to it. She hadn’t liked the way Maggie had mopped the floor the night before,and had made her do it again. Now her back felt like it was about to break.
Halfway up the steps she realized she’d left the supper tray behind. She paused, so tired she could have stretched out on the steps where she stood and fallen asleep.
“Later,” she mumbled aloud. “The tray can wait.”
She turned to go up the stairs once more, when her way was suddenly blocked by the looming shadow of a man.
“Duncan?” she called, thinking it was one of the guards on duty. Maybe he would go and get the tray for her. The guards were all fairly smitten with her and Jenny and did anything they asked of them.
The man moved down another of the dark steps, and the light from a lantern hanging from a hook on the wall suddenlyilluminated his face. Maggie felt the blood drain from her face. Pembroke.
Not thinking, she took a step back and almost fell. The captain of the guards was at her side in a second, one arm under her elbow, the other around her waist.
“Careful, my dear,” he said, his smooth voice sending a chill down her spine as she looked up into his dark, hungry eyes. His fingers tightened around her waist, and he pressed her back against the wall as she glared up at him, her heart pounding.
“Okay,” Maggie said, “I’m fine now, just fine. Let me pass, please!”
At her words, something flickered in his gaze and his mouth curved up in a cruel smile. A sudden wave of real panic swept over her as Maggie realized she was alone and unprotected. James was at the end of the corridor, beginninghis nightly check of the prisoners. Jenny was in the kitchen. Not that either one of them could do a thing to help. They were servants, and just like her, at the mercy of their employers—and this man.
Pembroke must have seen her sudden fear, for he chuckled, and suddenly Maggie gasped for breath as he grabbed her around the throat, his fingers biting into her neck. He leaned against her and she could feel his erection through the soft cloth of his breeches. Terror raced through her veins and her hands came up flat against his chest, weakly trying to push him away.
Pembroke had her at a distinct disadvantage, staggered on the stairs as they were, but when his grip on her neck finally relaxed and she could breathe easier, she thought he was going to let her go. Instead, he slid his hand down to squeeze her breast so hard she cried out.
“So, it was you,” he said, his voice casual, contemplative.“I knew I recognized that curious pattern of speech, though you did do well in your imitation of a lad’s voice. It was your delectable little body, however, that gave you away, though in truth, I did not put it all completely togetheruntil now. What is this ‘oh-kay’ that you speak of?”
Maggie drew in a sharp breath. He knew. He knew she had been the one beneath the highwayman’s mask. She beganto struggle in earnest then, and his hands tightened around her arms as he slammed her back. Her head hit the stone wall and she saw stars in the blackness that flooded her vision. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she opened her mouth to scream.
Pembroke quickly leaned down and thrust his tongue roughly between Maggie’s lips, effectively cutting off her cry and making her choke and gag. When he broke off his assault, his breathing was ragged, the look in his eyes terrifying.
“You see,” he said, “I have waited for the right time to taste your wares, and after seeing you in action the other night, I do believe now is the perfect moment.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered,frozen with fear.
“Your little performance with the highwayman,” he said, lifting her skirt with one hand and then slipping his hand beneath.
Maggie grabbed his wrist and struggled to keep him from touching her.
“I’ll tell—”
“Who?” He dropped her skirt and jerked away from her. Grabbing both of her wrists, he slammed them against the wall on either side of her head, and then pressed his hips against hers and began a slow grinding movement. “Who will you tell? Your precious Piper? Good. I look forward to telling him how wet and willing you were for me when I took you.”
“I’ll tell the duke!” she cried.
He laughed loudly at that. “As if Montrose cares what I do to a serving wench. Besides, all I have to do is let His Grace know that you aided the highwayman, and you will be hanged with that piece of trash below.”
Revulsion filled her as Pembroke moved her right wrist over her left so that he could hold them both in one hand, freeing the other to allow him to unbutton his breeches. Maggie began to fight him again and almost retched as he pressed his now bare flesh between her legs.
“Now,” he ordered, “spread your legs, my little whore.”
“No!” She spat in his face and then stared in horror at what she’d done.
Pembroke released her, stepped back slightly, and reached inside his coat, drawing out a lace handkerchief. Maggie saw this was her chance, but she couldn’t move. She was paralyzed with fear. The man wiped the drop of spittle away carefully and then, without warning, drew back his fist and punched her in the face.
Maggie cried out and fell to her knees. The momentum of the blow sent her rolling down the steps until she lay in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. She looked up through the pain and saw James running toward her. Maggie stretched her hand out to him.
“Help me!” she moaned. James made a move toward her, when Pembroke’s sharp command stopped him in his tracks.
“Leave us!”
Maggie pushed herself up on one hand and saw Pembrokewalking slowly down the steps, buttoning his breeches. She looked back at James, and their eyes met for half a second,then without a word, he turned and headed up the stairs.
Good. It was good he was leaving. His life would be forfeitif he defied his captain. But damn, she’d hoped for an instant that he would draw his sword and run the bastard through.
The entire right side of Maggie’s head throbbed, and she lifted her hand to her face. He’d caught her across her right cheekbone, and when she brought her hand away, blood dripped from her fingers. The faceted rings he wore on almost every finger must have cut her.
“Get up.”
Maggie’s heart thudded beneath her chest like a hammer.He was going to beat her and rape her, and when Quinn heard of it, he would seek Pembroke out and kill him. And then Quinn would be hanged for murdering one of Montrose’s kin.
No.
Pembroke stopped a few feet away and watched her struggle to her feet, amusement curving his lips. His smug smile sent a wave of strength through Maggie. She straightenedher shoulders. She was not going to give up without a fight. C’mon, Maggie, she thought, for once in your life, be brave!
“Does it make you feel like more of a man to think you can physically overpower me?” she asked, forcing strength into her voice.
He gazed down at her, his handsome features ugly now that she knew the depth of his depravity. “I do hope you will at least put up the semblance of a fight,” he said. “It is so boring when the wenches simply lie there unmoving. That little maid you befriended, what is her name?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Ah, Jenny. Yes, Jenny is a perfect example. She lay beneath me like a limp rag.”
Blinding rage filled Maggie and chased away the fear. “And speaking of limp rags—can you say erectile dysfunction?I knew the moment I felt your flaccid bit of flesh betweenmy legs that I was in no real danger.”
A te
rrible fury flared up in his dark gaze, and she took a step back and hit the stone wall again. There was no place to go.
Okay, Maggie, her inner voice chided, I said be brave, not stupid.
“You will regret those words, my dear Maggie,” he said, and lifted his hand to strike her again.
“Not as much as you will,” she promised, and with every ounce of strength she had left, Maggie slammed her knee up, aiming for his groin. Pembroke saw her intent at the last moment and managed to move just enough in that second to deflect the impact slightly. He still went down, though, and trembling, Maggie turned and ran—straight into a broad, familiar chest. A strong arm caught her and held her tightly.
“Quinn,” she whispered, clinging to him. Then she looked up into his face and he looked down into hers. Too late she remembered the blood on her cheek, the swelled evidence of Pembroke’s violence. A new wave of fear danced down her spine as his jaw tightened and the anger in his green eyes shifted into cold, murderous rage.
“Ah, I presume this is your companion from the other night?” Pembroke said, his voice flat. “However, you must excuse us, my dear man, for this is a private party.”
“Stay here, lass,” Quinn said, setting her away from him. It was then she saw he had his sword in his hand. Maggie threw herself back against him.
“No, Quinn,” she begged. “Please. Let’s run. We can make it to the horses.”
“Aye, run,” Pembroke agreed, drawing his own sword from the scabbard at his side. “Like all MacIntyres and MacGregors are wont to do.” Maggie drew in a quick breath, and the man laughed. “Oh, aye, I know who your lover is, sweet Maggie. I have my spies, even in Rob Roy’s camp.”
Quinn pushed her back with his left hand and half turned. “I willna run,” he told her under his breath. “But ye will. Ride to the place I first found ye, and once I have ended the life of this vermin, I will join ye there.”
Maggie shook her head wordlessly as he advanced upon Pembroke.
Quinn had not been worried when Maggie was late coming to the stables to meet him. She was often delayed by her duties after supper. He hated that she still had to work so hard in her guise of servant and was determined to end her servitude soon.
As he had waited for her to arrive, Quinn was going over his latest plan for freeing Ian as he lay upon the hay in the loft. His mind had wandered to thoughts of a cottage where he and Maggie could find happiness together, somewherefar from Montrose’s holdings, perhaps Ireland, or even France, when someone came in through the side door of the stable below and slammed it. The terrified outburst that followed sent him quickly to his feet.
“Bittie! Bittie, where are ye?” a man’s voice cried out. “’Tis Pembroke, he’s attacking Maggie! I dinna know what to do!”
Quinn had grabbed the scabbard and belt holding his sword and reached for a rope hanging from the rafters. Swinging down to land directly in front of the man, he recognizedthe guard helping Maggie care for Ian.
“Take me to him,” he’d said grimly, buckling his sword around his waist.
Now as he faced Pembroke, Quinn tightened his grip on the hilt of the blade and prepared to kill the man who had dared touch his love.
“Quinn,” Maggie pleaded, “I’m all right. If you kill him, Montrose will hunt you down.”
“Do not worry, my little doxy,” Pembroke said, brandishinghis sword in front of him. “For in a matter of momentsthis outlaw’s life will be at an end, effectively putting your fears to rest once and for all.”
“T’will be hard to do once ye are skewered on the end of my blade,” Quinn told him, and slashed his sword in an arc downward toward Pembroke’s neck. The man parried with his weapon, and for a moment, Quinn had no thoughts other than exacting a quick dance to one side and a rapid series of feints and thrusts that kept him alive. Pembroke was fast, and if he was not careful, the blackguard’s predictionswould come true. That could not happen, for if it did, Maggie would be left at his mercy.
“Go on, Maggie,” he said over one shoulder. “Do as I say and leave me to deal with this bit of refuse.”
“No,” she said. “We’re in this together.”
“By all the saints,” Quinn said, raising his blade to stop a downward cut from Pembroke as he spoke, “will ye no listen to me, woman? I canna think while ye are in danger!”
“And I can’t leave while you’re risking your life,” she countered.
“Shall I ring for tea to accompany this sweet interlude?” Pembroke asked, and then lunged forward, slashing his blade sideways.
The tip of the sword sliced across Quinn’s chest, and Maggie screamed. Quinn stumbled back, the cut burning as blood began soaking through the rough linen shirt he wore. Pembroke lowered his sword and made a small bow.
“First blood is mine,” he said.
“Aye, but last blood shall be mine.” Quinn attacked, layinga rapid succession of blows upon his enemy that kept the man from retaliating. Maggie had grown silent, and Quinn was thankful. Perhaps she had fled after all. He prayed that she had.
He forced Pembroke backward toward the wall behind the man; relentlessly he bore down upon him, steel clanging in rhythm until they were almost chest to chest, their blades sliding practically hilt to hilt as Quinn glared into his assailant’s face only inches from his own.
“Do you truly imagine that you can beat me, MacIntyre?” Pembroke asked, amusement in his eyes. “I have studied at the finest schools in the world.”
“And I am fighting for the woman I love,” Quinn said.
“The whore, you mean.”
Quinn’s left hand was free and he had Pembroke’s throat before the man knew what had hit him. Pembroke’s sword fell to the floor as he gagged and choked, and Quinn discarded his own. So murderous was the rage within him that he wanted to kill the vile predator with his own hands.
“Ye will never speak so of any woman again,” he promised,as his right hand joined his left.
The pain sliced into him without warning, sharp and deep. He staggered backward and stared down at his chest. A small dagger—a skean dhu—buried to the hilt, protruded from just below his sternum. The handle was fashioned from carved bone, some part of his mind realized. Then Pembroke stepped forward and pulled the blade out.
“Ironic, wouldn’t you say, that the great highwayman, the Piper, would be brought down by his own countryman’s pathetic little weapon?”
Quinn gasped as blood gushed from the wound, eating up the stains already soaked into his shirt. Maggie screamed from somewhere behind him, and he sank to his knees and then fell forward. The side of his face struck the stone floor, adding new pain that laced through his head. He reached out blindly with one hand, groping for Pembroke’s leg, determinedto bring him down. His fingers brushed against a boot, but the man lifted his foot and kicked him in the head. Quinn rolled to his back, away from the next blow. Then Pembroke laughed, and Maggie was crying out something— and the last thing Quinn heard before oblivion claimed him was the clang of a bell, not bright and sharp, but dull, hollow.
Och, Maggie, he thought sorrowfully. Why did ye not run? And then he knew no more.
Maggie stood staring down at Pembroke and Quinn. The heavy pewter tray dropped from her nerveless fingers to clang against the stone floor. Pembroke lay unconscious, and she stepped over him to reach Quinn. Luckily, the supper tray on the small table nearby had been within easy reach. When the captain had stabbed Quinn, Maggie grabbed the heavy rectangle and slammed it into the back of Pembroke’s head.
Quinn moaned, and Maggie hurried to his side. He had one hand pressed to his chest as if to catch the blood flowing from the wound. Quickly she shed the cotton petticoatshe wore under her skirt and began ripping it into long strips. Wadding a few together, she pressed them into Quinn’s chest and then wrapped the longest strips around him, pushing him to one side and then the other to get the bandage around him. They had to get out of there, but first she had to stanch the wound, get the bleeding undercontrol.
> Maggie held both hands on top of the thick padding and pressed down slightly, keeping pressure on the bandage as she crouched beside him, her gaze darting from Quinn to the stairway to Pembroke and back again to Quinn. If only James had not turned tail and run. If only Bittie or Jenny would come and help her. How could she lift Quinn? How could she even get him up the stairs, let alone away from the manor?
Footsteps sounded on the stairway. Maggie reached across Quinn’s body with one hand, the other still applying pressure, and picked up his discarded sword. She wasn’t going to let them take Quinn without a fight. Her heart pounded as boots thudded against stone, her breath catchingin her throat as the first man came into view.
James. With several guards behind him. He stopped at the last step and cursed under his breath.
“Move out of the way, lass,” he said.
“No!” Maggie shook her head fiercely and lifted the sword. It was heavy, and she could barely keep it level as she pointed it at the guard. “Pembroke attacked me, as you well know. Quinn was only defending my honor.”
“Aye,” James said, “’twas I who ran to the stable and told him. Now step aside and let me and my cousins carry him to the stable. Bittie can ready a wagon, and we’ll take him to safety.”
“Your cousins?” Maggie’s mouth fell open as six husky young men, two in guard uniforms, the other four in clothes common to servants, hurried to her side.
He stepped closer and laid one hand on her shoulder. “Come, lass. We must hurry, for by the looks of it, Pembrokemay have dealt him a deathblow if we dinna get him the help he needs. There is a healer nearby, true to our clan.”
Maggie turned back to Quinn and stared, aghast, at the bandage beneath her fingers. It was soaked through with his blood. Her heartbeat began to thud in her ears like the roar of the ocean, and for a moment, she thought she might faint. She drew in a deep breath.
Highland Rogue Page 19
