Love's Savage Bonds

by Jeb

  Catherine was sure she should choke beneath her gag as she tried to get breath through the stifling cloth. The fierce visage before her far eclipsed in raw emotion anything that her husband had ever demonstrated.

  “Damn you, stop looking at me!” Charles' voice was hoarse as he reached to his throat, and pulled away the white cravat; it appeared to be somewhat worn, but clearly of the finest silk, and he held it before her face.

  Catherine managed a horrified shriek into her gag, picturing the silk wrapped about her own throat, slowly constricting it. Instead, as she flinched, Charles lifted it to her face, passing it over her eyes.

  He wound the scarf savagely about her head, barely allowing her time to close her eyes as the cloth pressed down upon them, shutting her away into a primal darkness. She felt two passes of the cloth wrapped around her head, trapping her long hair against the back of her neck. The knot that fastened the blindfold in place was tied sharply and firmly. Catherine whimpered into her gag, overcome by the feeling of helplessness in this man's hands.

  After securing the blindfold, Charles seemed to pause; Catherine could hear his heavy, ragged breathing, and she suddenly felt far less reassured about his intentions, a fear that intensified when she felt his huge hand once more at her breast. She screamed feebly into the gag, but choked off the cry as she felt his fingers press against her breastbone, and she was pushed down onto the bed.

  “Lie still, or by heaven, I'll leash you about the neck.” She felt him wrap some sort of cord about her ankles, and felt it jerk as, presumably, he tied it to the foot of the bed. That a determined effort might allow her to find that cord with her bound hands, and release her feet was probable... but it was equally true that Catherine had neither the strength nor the courage to try. Both had been drained from her.

  His scent was powerful in her nostrils, as was the pungent tang of her own fear. Was he watching her, sitting across the room, regarding her as some form of booty? Was she a pawn in some game between himself and his brother? To go from noblewoman-by-marriage to bound and gagged prisoner: it was a transformation as profound as that which had taken her from Catherine Tompkins to Lady Catherine Redmond.

  Though she tried desperately to cling to what she had known as the truth, that she was the wife of Philip Redmond, and would be seen safe and home once more, it was harder and harder to think of anything as a certainty. She was well and truly helpless, and in a way not completely due to the cords at her wrists and ankles.

  As Catherine fell into an exhausted sleep, she was left with only one certainty: whatever else Charles Redmond might think of her, he viewed her very much as a woman, not just a pawn, and she wondered if his resistance to temptation would hold in the light of day, with her so clearly at his mercy.

  And if it did not…?

  Chapter Three

  Light gently caressed at Catherine’s eyes. She blinked, noticing that her night of uneasy sleep had disturbed the blindfold enough to get a better picture of her surroundings.

  She was lying upon a simple cot, in the rough crofter's cottage. The furnishings were spare, but tidy, as though the place were usually unoccupied, but kept in good repair against it being needed one day.

  Catherine's muscles ached. While a night spent bound, gagged, and blindfolded had certainly been preferable to the violation she had feared was to be her fate, she had never been able to find a position that was even reasonably comfortable, her pinioned limbs screaming silent protest against their treatment. Though the gag had not completely stifled her breathing, neither had it made it easier.

  Exhausted though she was, she was equally determined not to let her abductor have an advantage over her. She struggled to a sitting position, and was continuing to try to glean anything useful from what she could see of her surroundings, when she heard the door to the cottage open.

  At the sound, she turned as best she could in its direction: Charles Redmond was closing the door to the outside, his arms laden with some freshly-picked fruit and a small brown jug.

  He turned to face Catherine, and from the look on his face, she could see that he'd expected to find her still asleep. He seemed to flush slightly, as he glanced from the food to his captive.

  “You'll not starve at my hands,” he grunted, seeming almost abashed. He set down his burden, took a large red apple, and polished it absently on the front of his coat. He stepped over to the bed, and reached his huge hand to Catherine's face. The terrified girl flinched, but his fingers slid under the cloth that bound her mouth and slipped it down.

  “I daresay you're clever enough not to scream. We're miles from anyone.” He held out the apple.

  “And the serpent tempted Eve,” Catherine managed to croak out, glaring defiantly.

  For a moment, she saw the dark face redden... then break into a smile—something she'd not have imagined Charles Redmond capable of.

  “But remember,” his voice rumbled, “Eve knew not hunger or thirst— can you say the same?”

  Much as she'd have loved to continue her defiance, Catherine was, indeed, starving… and, she had to admit, more than a little intrigued by this new, warmer side of her abductor.

  Equal parts eager and reluctant, she opened her mouth. Charles brought the fruit close to her mouth, her fine white teeth breaking the taut red skin. Fresh, delicious juice spurted out into her mouth, and dotted her cheeks.

  Good Lord, I'm making a perfect spectacle of myself! She could feel the sticky liquid dribbling down her chin. I'd never realized how hard it could be to eat without hands!

  Doing her best to ignore the shredding of her dignity, Catherine hungrily sought more of the sweet flesh with her teeth. At the edge of her vision, she could see Charles' indulgent smile as he turned the apple this way and that to allow her mouth better purchase on it. She ought to have felt utterly humiliated at his forcing her to abase herself this way, but somehow, all that she felt was relief—that he’d not harmed her, that he’d fed her… and almost as an afterthought, that he’d not molested her.

  Finally, after what seemed no time at all, the apple was nothing but a core.

  Charles dropped the core on the table, picked up a rough cloth, and dipped it into the brown water jug. He brought the cloth to Catherine, and held it to her face, dabbing sticky juice from her chin.

  “I am accustomed to have my maid help me with my toilet, sir. Do you seek to take her place? Perhaps you've always dreamed of wearing a maidservant's frock.”

  Catherine couldn't imagine what had possessed her to take such a jab at this man, who held her helpless in his power, and she flinched for the expected blow.

  Instead, the man shook his head of curly dark hair, and the smile on his face grew wider. If not a blow, then Catherine had surely expected some sort of cruel mockery... but this was something else.

  “Doubtless I have inconvenienced you,” and his face seemed to twitch slightly as he realized the absurd understatement of this description of what he'd done to Catherine. “I didn't know, you see... I'd never met you... I knew you only as some bauble decorating my brother's arm. I… I’m sorry.”

  I’m sorry. How many times had she heard Philip casually say that for some reason or other? Somehow, coming from Charles, it had an entirely different sound.

  “Sorry enough to undo my bonds? My arms are aching most damnably.” She intended the last word to shock, and it had its effect. The tall man looked at her strangely, as though seeing her for the first time all over again. His large hands went to her shoulders, and he gently turned her, her back to him, so she sat now on the edge of the bed, his form towering over her.

  Catherine felt her head spinning far more than the simple motion would warrant. Instead, as he reached behind her, his strong fingers undoing the knots holding her pinioned, her nerves were having trouble distinguishing where the cords ended, and Charles’ touch began. It was as though, the two had merged into something that was holding her captive in ways that went far deeper than a few simple knots.

  �
��Can I trust you…?” He murmured the question into her ear as she felt the ache in her shoulders ease with the removal of the ropes. She felt a strange sag in her spirit at the idea of this release, when he went on, “… if I just tie your hands in front?” He sat back and looked at her, her arms now unbound. Catherine opened her mouth to reply… but she knew that no words could express what she felt. Instead, she lifted her exhausted arms, and held trembling hands out to Charles, wrists crossed one over the other.

  There was a pause, her hands poised in the air… and then a set of large, strong fingers closed about the soft flesh of her wrists, and Catherine’s head swam. The cords that had trapped her wrists behind her back now once more re-encircled them in front, applied with a strange, almost intimate touch. When Charles had finished the knot, he gently set her hands down in her lap.

  “May…” Catherine’s voice cracked, her mouth seeming dryer than it had when she’d been gagged. She cleared her throat, and repeated “May I please have some water?”

  Without taking his deep brown eyes from her face, Charles reached for the jug and placed it into her hands. She sipped silently, watching him, her eyes just as trapped as her hands.

  “Thank you.” Catherine handed the bottle back to him, then looked down at her bound wrists, and surveyed the small house that was serving as her prison.

  “What can this possibly benefit you?” Catherine found a strange anxiety in her voice—as if she were trying to talk him out of the abduction as much for his sake as for her own.

  “Probably nothing.” His voice was a deep rumble. “But after the treatment I've suffered at my brother's hands—”

  “Come now!” While her attitude toward him had softened, she’d not forgotten what she knew of the man. “Surely it is the other way around—it is you that betrayed your own brother—my husband!”

  Charles Redmond didn't answer. He slowly raised his head, dim morning light glinting in his eyes... and looked straight into Catherine's soul.

  My God, she nearly breathed aloud. Charles was making none of the furious protestations that she had expected, no rationalizations, no justifications... Instead, he simply looked at her, more in sadness than in anger.

  “Do you believe that?” His voice was low and even, but she could sense how important her answer was to him.

  Catherine's angry protestation caught in her throat, and died. Her eyes met those of the man who had abducted her, and as though he'd shone a lantern into her heart and soul... she knew.

  “But... but... the stories...” She tried to recall the damning things she'd heard about her brother in law, but they were already receding into some strange place of memory.

  “Ah, yes... Philip's stories of how I beggared my investors... drove my uncle to suicide and my father to an early grave...” A pained smile stirred at his lips. “Your husband's a clever man, my lady. Everything in those stories is true... except for the identity of the main character. It was Philip, not I, that mishandled the funds. I was not even in London when he allowed the situation to come to light... and by the time I saw what had happened, it was too late—my name was already blackened, bailiffs already on my trail.”

  “And the two men you killed escaping England?”

  For the first time, she heard the sound of Charles Redmond's laughter—a hearty sound that seemed to ruefully savor all the madness of the world.

  “Two killed, now, is it? Be seven with the jawbone of an ass before long.” Catherine couldn't suppress a slivery laugh of her own, and Charles went on.

  “Philip had done a good job with the frame, but he still feared being found out— more than that, he had a partner he didn't trust, and decided it would be better all around if I never lived to testify. Of course, he'd never have involved himself in something like that personally—he hired two plug-uglies from down the docks. They set upon me outside my solicitor's office and I—”

  “You— you killed them?” Catherine felt her heart sink.

  “Of course not!” Charles seemed less angry at her accusation than hurt. “I will admit their faces were none too pleasant to look at when I'd finished with them, but they'd hardly been beauties to begin with.” His smile faded. “After that, though, I realized that my brother was determined that I was not to have the opportunity to prove my innocence in court, and knowing he had the deck stacked against me, I fled England for the Continent, lying low until I might return to clear my name.”

  “And how will you do that?” Catherine was surprised at her choice of words—not “if,” but “how.” Somehow, though, she had no doubt that this man could do anything he set out to do.

  “There is a ledger: a small leather-bound book, that has the real accounts recorded in it.”

  “And my husband has it?” Catherine was surprised, trying to recall if she had ever seen such a book.

  “I am sure of it; I doubt it leaves his sight often.”

  “But why would he keep such a record if it could incriminate him?”

  “Because he had a partner who was even less trustworthy than he himself, if such a thing is possible. A weasel-faced Frenchman—”

  “Lefanu?” Just speaking the name started her shivering.

  “You know him?”

  “Well... I've met him. He's one of Philip's friends.”

  “Aye, well then I don't need to tell you about him—fine company for the Lord of the Manor, and future father of your children to be keeping, eh?”

  And, in fact, Catherine had told herself the same thing more than once.

  “So what will you do now?” she asked. “Make another attempt to steal the book? Surely he will be alerted now.”

  “Yes. Yes, I know.” A dark cloud washed over Charles' face, and he looked strangely into Catherine's eyes. “I can't hope to steal it— but I am prepared to barter for it.”

  “Barter? If that book is what you say it is, you couldn’t possibly have anything that Philip would want badly enough to give it up.”

  “But I do have something he wants.” His face was set. “I'll trade you for the book.”

  For a moment, there was silence in the tiny room, as Charles and Catherine regarded each other, the ramifications of his proposal running over and over in their minds.

  Finally, Catherine spoke in a tiny voice. “You... you would return me to him?”

  Charles swallowed, as though suppressing what his heart wanted to blurt out. Instead, he spoke quietly.

  “For the truth, Lady Catherine, I must. I am not the only one who suffered from Philip's scheming falsehood. My satisfaction and redemption are but part of what must be put right.”

  “But he... I...” Finally she blurted out: “It won't work!”

  “And why not? Surely he can possess no treasure more valuable than you are.”

  “Oh, but you're wrong. I fear he measures treasure differently than you or I might. I’ve just been too blind to see it, to recognize the thousand ways he's shown me that nothing means more to him than his wealth—not even me.”

  “He'd sacrifice your life for it?”

  She smiled gently at him. “He has no need to, does he? He's your brother... do you honestly think you can make him believe that you would harm me?”

  Charles opened his mouth to respond, but could think of no answer.

  “Could you make me believe it?” Catherine went on in a soft voice. “No, he would know you were bluffing.” And, Catherine realized, not for an instant did she doubt that fact. “He would pretend to take your offer, but would play you false, setting a trap. If he got me back safely, all well and good, but if it came to a choice, he'd take the book over me.”

  “Then there is no hope.” Charles' voice had lost much of its vibrancy; his beautiful face sank, and Catherine feared her heart would break at the sight.

  Catherine sat quietly... and then she found herself responding. “But there is.” she smiled up at him, her heart suddenly washed clean of all fear. “Send me back. Let me get it for you.”

  “What? Ar
e you...” his voice trailed off. “He’s your husband. Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Have you not been watching me as we spoke?” Catherine cursed her eyes for misting. “You know full well that you and I are no longer the people we were before you took me. I... I could not live without you—” she nearly gasped, caught her breath, and continued— "without you clearing your name."

  If Charles noticed the slip, he gave no sign, but studied her face closely. “And you'd send your husband to a life of shame and imprisonment?”