by Amanda Scott
His hands on her breasts felt surprisingly smooth this time, not as rough as they had felt the first time. They were naked, and they lay beside each other on a soft bed of lush grass in Tarras Wood. Slanting rays of pale sunlight penetrated the green canopy overhead. Birds sang, and a brook babbled nearby, but conscious only of his touch, she barely heard those sounds.
Maybe Tarras Wood was heaven, she thought. A chuckle stirred in her mind at the sacrilege, and then he touched her again, and the chuckle turned to a gasp of pleasure. She forgot the woods, the birds, the brook, everything but the magic of his touch. His hands stroked lightly up and down her body, and wherever they touched her, sparks leapt to flame until her whole body was burning for him.
He kissed her shoulder, then her breasts and belly, his hands still moving gently, cupping a breast when he kissed it, then stroking her belly and moving lower as his lips moved lower. He touched her in places she was sure no other man had ever touched a woman. Surely, her father had never done such things to Blanche. Still, the things he did did not shock her. They seemed right and wonderful.
He did not speak, not a word, but she did not care. Had he spoken, she would not have known what to reply. Her thoughts were focused on the movements of his hands and lips. They moved over her body like warmth from the sun.
That he was hungry for her was evident from the increasing urgency of his touch. He would take her soon. She knew that, and she welcomed the taking. She would belong to him as she had to no other man, and he would be hers. The thought no longer dismayed her. It, too, seemed right, and she silently urged him on.
His body shifted, looming above her, but his weight seemed oddly centered on her right thigh, even though he had not lowered himself yet to claim her. He seemed to hover, stretched long and large above her, smiling down at her, his smile warm and inviting, teasing her; but the weight on her thigh was heavier, making the muscles cramp. It hurt, and that was not fair. The thought of that unfairness brought the woods crashing down and set the flames of Hell dancing all around her.
Startling at the sound of wood crashing against stone, Laurie jumped, and the fierce cramp in her thigh forced a cry from her lips before full awareness set in. Hugh’s hand was resting between her legs, where it ought not to have been, but that was the least of her worries. The orange glow flickering on the walls around her came not from the flames of Hell, as she had feared, but from the flame of a torch held high by the burly man who had flung open the door to the cell.
“What the devil?” Hugh sat up, and evidently did so too quickly, because he shut his eyes tight and put a hand to his forehead.
“Ye’re to come with us now, the pair o’ ye,” the man with the torch said gruffly. “And dinna be thinking ye can play off any o’ your tricks, Sir Hugh Graham, for we’ve orders to bind your hands again. If ye dinna cooperate, we’ll take the lass first and let the lads above play wi’ her a bit whilst we teach ye manners. Then we’ll take ye along up to play with, as well.”
“I’ve no wish for trouble,” Hugh said quietly. “My head aches, and I want only to know who is responsible for this outrage.”
“Turn and face yon wall then,” the man with the torch said. “Put your hands behind ye wi’ your wrists together. Lass, ye come to me, and be quick about it.”
Getting stiffly to her feet, Laurie repressed a cry when a sharp pain shot through her thigh. She had no idea how long she had slept, but it was dark outside, and her stomach was growling with hunger. Striving to retain a semblance of her normal dignity, she said quietly, “I had begun to think you meant to starve us.”
“We’re no taking ye to a feast,” the torchbearer said with a laugh as he grabbed her arm and pulled her nearer. “Ye’ll no be needing food, either, unless I mistake the matter. Take him now, lads.”
Two men who had been waiting outside the cell stepped in and moved warily toward Hugh. One was as large as he was, the other only a bit smaller. Laurie hoped that Hugh would not try to fight them.
He did not. He stood quietly while they bound his wrists with cording. When he turned, his face was set and pale, and she could see that he was in pain, but the look he shot Laurie told her he was more concerned for her welfare than for his.
The man holding the torch pulled her into the corridor, saying as he did, “Ye’ll go ahead of us, Sir Hugh. If ye try anything foolish, know that I’ll burn the lass wi’ my torch. I’d not enjoy spoiling such a little beauty, but it’ll no matter in the end, and I’d do it just to prove that I keep my word.”
“I believe you,” Hugh said. “I won’t try to escape.”
“Good. Go on, then.”
The men did not bother to bind Laurie, and her emotions wavered between gratitude and indignation that they did not think her worth restraining. Their accents were English, but although she was glad they were not fellow Scots, she did not think the information would prove useful.
As the little group passed along the narrow corridor, she saw other torches in brackets and wondered if one might serve her as a weapon. The brackets were high on the wall, though, and logic told her that she could not reach one quickly enough or wield it deftly enough to make it practical.
When she slowed, the man with the torch jerked her arm and shoved her ahead of him.
“Move along, lass. Ye’ll gain nowt by dawdling.”
The short corridor ended in stone steps spiraling upward. One of the men guarding Hugh went ahead to the top and pushed open the door there. Hugh followed with his second guard close behind.
Laurie’s escort pushed her again, urging her to follow. Reluctantly, she obeyed, filled with dread at what must lie ahead of them.
Hugh realized that the second man was close enough to him that a well-aimed kick would send him toppling back down the stairs, and the temptation to do it was nearly overwhelming. He dared not turn, lest he somehow give them warning of his intent, but he was nearly certain from the sounds below that Laurie was far enough behind the fellow that she would not be harmed by his fall. If the stunt succeeded, he would have only two men left to deal with.
As he hesitated, testing the bindings on his wrists, he became aware of new sounds ahead—muffled masculine laughter, the murmur of numerous voices, the shuffling of feet, and the clanking and clinking of metal and crockery. More villains were at hand than he had realized, and they were well within shouting distance. He would have to bide his time.
Stepping over the threshold, he emerged into a small anteroom lit only by an ambient glow through a low, narrow archway to his left.
“Go on,” the first man said, standing aside to give him a push. “You lead the way now.”
Taking a deep breath, wishing he were in possession of all his strength and that his head did not ache, Hugh ducked through the archway into a narrow stone corridor and eventually found himself entering a hall larger than the one at Corbies Nest but less than half the size of the great hall at Brackengill.
A score of men sat at two long tables set side by side down the center, their attention and that of the numerous dogs with them fixed on the laden platters and trenchers of food on the tables.
Hugh’s gaze shifted to a high table set perpendicular to the other two, where, flanked by two henchmen with places set for several others, the master of the castle sat at his ease. He held a pewter goblet, but at their entrance, he paused in the act of raising it to his lips and watched Hugh intently over the goblet’s rim.
Stiffening, feeling his mouth fall open, Hugh knew that his reaction must have been everything the villain had hoped for.
Behind him, he heard Laurie gasp.
Their host said, “I’m told that you believed me dead, Hugh Graham. Doubtless you are relieved and delighted to discover your error.”
Grimly, Hugh said, “So it is you, Martin Loder, and your death naught but a hoax connived by you and Cornus Grant. Does Scrope know you’re alive?”
Loder smirked. “His lordship knows, and he approves. His debts are nearly paid now, you see, a
nd his coffers soon will be straining their hinges.”
“The recent raids,” Hugh said. “You’re the one who’s been leading them.”
With a shrug, Loder said, “I carried out orders, as usual; that’s all. Once we realized that no one was likely to blame a dead man for raiding, especially since the raiders’ leader wore a familiar red cloak—”
“But why take us?” Hugh demanded. “What can you hope to accomplish?”
“That were my own notion,” Loder said with a sneer. “You’re in my way, Hugh Graham. Scrope should have dismissed you and named me in your place long ago, when he learned how soft you were, but he were feared o’ your uncle in London. Then your uncle died, and you and Eure were helpless against the raids, but Scrope could not manage to dismiss you even then, though he swears that he wrote Her Majesty and told her that you were inept. But what did she do? She appointed you warden in Eure’s stead! Well, I know how to end the nonsense. You’ll plague me no more. I mean to see to it once and for all.”
“That’s despicable,” Laurie snapped.
“You shut your mouth, woman,” Loder snapped back. “No woman speaks out of turn here. I don’t want to hear your voice again.”
Hugh glanced at Laurie and saw that her mouth was already open to reply. He caught her eye and frowned warningly.
Though she glowered at him, she held her tongue.
“That’s right,” Loder said. “You keep silent, lass. Women soon come to know their place in my household. Not that you’ll grace it much longer.”
“You mean to kill us then,” Hugh said matter-of-factly, wanting to draw Loder’s attention from Laurie.
He succeeded, but Loder said, “You’ll agree that killing you would be wiser than setting you free. What would I do with you if I kept you? I doubt that Scrope wants you, and he certainly won’t want you running amok, prattling to everyone about what he’s been doing.”
“He’s been stealing from his own people.”
“Aye, if you want to put it that way. He prefers to think of it as providing a service, finding their property and then charging a small fee to restore it.”
“By finding their livestock on their land and then selling it back to them?”
“Aye, well, you never did display much of a sense of humor or imagination. Scrope, now, he’s a man of vision.”
“He’s a liar, a gambler, and a damned villain. It won’t be long before the entire world knows it, too,” Hugh said. “Regardless of what you’ve done for him or what you do to us, he’ll soon gamble the proceeds away again. His wife will help him. Then what will the pair of you do?”
Loder shrugged again. “You’d do better to worry about yourself.”
“What exactly do you plan to do with us?”
“Me?” Loder sounded surprised. “I’m not going to do a thing. I’m a peaceful man, I am. I mean to turn you over to Rabbie Redcloak.”
“You’d not dare,” Laurie said. “Rabbie would never deal with the likes of you, especially since you’ve been pretending to be him and have been doing dreadful things in his name.”
Loder gestured to the man standing beside Laurie, and the man slapped her hard enough to send her staggering.
Without a thought for himself, Hugh lunged toward them, but his two captors grabbed his arms, yanking him back and holding him despite his struggles. His head began to pound.
In a quiet but deadly voice, Loder said, “I warned you to hold your tongue, woman. Don’t speak again, or before God, I’ll have it cut out. As for you, Hugh, my lad, stand easy, or I’ll let each of my men taste the lass’s charms in front of you before Rabbie Redcloak murders you both out on the fells somewhere.”
“So that’s your game,” Hugh muttered. “You’ll kill us and blame the reiver.”
“Aye, and Buccleuch. He’s to be freed again, you know, and Scrope has a score to settle with him. We know that Buccleuch is the power behind the reivers, and his lordship wants to make him pay for his crimes. This time he wants to make sure that neither Elizabeth nor Jamie can turn a blind eye.”
Hugh didn’t doubt that they could make things look bad for Buccleuch, but he wondered if either Loder or Scrope understood the man’s true power. He was not responsible for every raid on English soil, of course, but he was responsible for most of the great ones. And since the reivers were not choosy about victims, he was doubtless responsible even for a few that had taken place in Scotland.
In any event, it was no great secret that Buccleuch afforded his protection to Rabbie Redcloak and others of his ilk. Buccleuch’s greatest strength lay in the fact that his enemies, even knowing what he had done, generally lacked sufficient evidence to convict him.
“Have ye lost your tongue, Hugh Graham?”
“You are mad, Loder,” Hugh said. “You and Scrope both.”
“Aye, perhaps, but calling me names will not help. You’ll die tonight, and your lass with you, unless I decide to keep her here to amuse my men.”
“No!”
At first, Hugh thought the feminine shriek of horror had come from Laurie. It made sense that such a threat would terrify her. Moreover, the shriek was so loud that it reverberated from the walls of the chamber, making it difficult to tell where it had begun. But even as he turned toward Laurie and saw the stark amazement on her face, he realized that it had not been her voice.
She was staring beyond him.
Turning back, he saw a young woman in a very low-cut blue gown striding from the main entrance of the hall along the narrow pathway between the two long tables. As she strode angrily toward the dais, her blue skirts swirled and her plump bosom heaved with emotion.
She paid no heed to the other men in the room, having eyes only for Loder. Coming to an abrupt halt at the foot of the dais, she shouted at him, “You cannot kill them! I won’t let you!”
Hugh had never seen her before, but Laurie’s amazed expression revealed the woman’s identity even before she told him.
“It’s May,” she said, her hand still touching her reddened cheek, but lightly, as if she had forgotten that she put it there when the man slapped her. “May heaven help us all! That’s my sister, May.”
Twenty-four
O lie you there, you traitor false
Where you thought to lay me…
LAURIE COULD NOT BELIEVE her eyes. While the English had held her hostage, May had been living with Loder, the very man everyone believed she had killed.
When Loder stood up, May paled and took a step backward.
The men in the hall fell silent, but it was a silence filled with anticipation.
In the lengthening hush, Laurie saw some of Loder’s men exchange smirks, and she wished she could see May’s face. The angle was wrong, though. She could see only her sister’s profile and not enough of that to guess what she was thinking.
Then May stiffened and Laurie saw that Loder had leaned forward and put both big hands flat on the table. His expression was murderous.
“You dare,” he growled. “You burst into my hall, snapping like a fractious bitch at its master, but I’ll soon school you, my lass. Come here to me.”
The little color left in May’s face vanished, and one slim hand moved to her throat as if to protect it. “Please, sir, she is my sister,” she said in a voice that carried only because the room was silent. “You must not harm her.”
“Fetch me a riding whip, one of you,” Loder said without taking his eyes off May. “You’ll take your lesson here, sweetheart, and if I have to come and fetch you for it, you’ll strip off every stitch of clothing for their entertainment—just as you do for mine—before I take my whip to you.”
May’s body swayed, and Laurie could stand no more. The man-at-arms standing beside her, fascinated like the others with what was taking place in the center of the room, was paying no heed to her. So, without a thought for fear or consequence, she ran to May and put a protective arm around her shoulders.
“Now, that’s touching, that is,” Loder said sarcasti
cally. “You may share her punishment if you like, lass. I’ve no objection. Indeed, I warrant we’d all enjoy it.”
“Is it not enough that she betrayed her people to bide here with you?” Laurie asked. “You should be ashamed to repay such devotion and loyalty with brutality.”
One of his lads ran up to him with the whip he had demanded, and Loder gripped it without comment. Then, seeming only to shift his weight to the hand still on the table, he leapt over it. One long stride put him directly in front of them.
Laurie felt May tremble.
Loder snarled, “Devotion? Loyalty?” Fury burned in his eyes. “Is that what you believe your sister offered me? You think she came here with me willingly?”
“Did she not?” Laurie asked.
Beside her, May moaned and buried her face in Laurie’s shoulder.
“Clinging to your sister will not save you, my lass,” Loder said to her. “Tell her how devoted you are. Tell her how much you love me.”
A wracking sob shook May, and Laurie held her tighter. “Stop torturing her!” she exclaimed. “She cannot help what she feels. If you killed her love when you tried to drown her—”
“Aye, now you’re thinking,” Loder said with an abrupt nod. “She does hold that little incident against me. ’Twas why she forced me to seek her out, to take her out of her bedchamber with the help of that fool maid of hers, then to bring her here with me and teach her to mind me.”
“Bridget helped you?”
“Aye, of course, she did.”
“He killed her,” May wailed. “He throttled her and threw her in the river!”
Loder slapped her. “I should have flung you in, to pay you out for tumbling me into that river. But I wanted more, did I not, sweetheart?”
May put her face against Laurie’s shoulder again.
“She had been doing rather well, too, until this unfortunate incident,” Loder went on tauntingly, “She was foolish to take your part, though, because now we shall have to begin her lessons all over again. Do you hear me, May, my love?”
