Love's Savage Bonds

by Jeb

  And that's what it means if I agree... ruin for Philip. Back to father's house for me, the disgraced wife of a convict. How can I risk that?

  She looked once more at Charles' face. How can I not? She answered her own question.

  For if there was one thing that Catherine knew beyond doubt it was that she could not go on as she was. If her husband was truly guilty, and if he would acknowledge his wrong and accept his punishment, then she would stand by him, though it meant ruin… and never seeing Charles Redmond again. What she could not do was to remain for even one more day living in a house of lies. She would get Charles' book, and Philip would either live honestly or live without her.

  Once more, Catherine felt her eyes moisten. “Do you truly need to ask?”

  Charles Redmond's face whitened as though he didn’t dare entertain his current thoughts. “But what will you tell them?”

  “Why, I shall tell them that I was abducted from my home by a band of gypsies I found ransacking the house—that's why you took the snuff box and knife, isn't it? To make it look like a simple robbery?” He nodded, and she went on, warming to the storytelling. “Well, these gypsies were perfect fiends, who kept me bound, gagged, and blindfolded, but who made the mistake of leaving me alone while changing horses, allowing me to slip my bonds and escape.”

  “Gypsies?” he gave her a soft smile that seemed to go right through her.

  “My husband is always blaming them for something.”

  “Won't he go looking for them?”

  “Over a snuffbox and letter knife? Hardly. Besides, there haven't actually been any gypsies around here for years.”

  “But what about you? Your supposed 'ordeal'. Won't he seek revenge on those he believes responsible?”

  “I suppose Philip's feelings for me are stronger than those he had for the snuff box... but once I'm home—back in his possession—that will satisfy him.”

  Charles opened his mouth to speak, but for a moment, no words would come.

  "Lady… no—" he corrected himself. "Catherine. You would risk so much for me?"

  "For us," she found herself replying, almost without intending to. Though her eyes continued to tear, she managed a wry smile. "For if there is anything I am certain of, it is that my husband will deny his crimes to save his own skin. And by his doing so, I will no longer be bound as his wife—at least not in my heart or soul. And I care for no other interpretation."

  What am I doing? In a few hours, she would be back home, working to unmask her husband’s crimes, and to destroy the marriage she was still pledged to. And, yet, in her heart, Catherine knew that she had never in her life taken a course that was so completely right.

  Charles nodded his head, stunned by the gift of her trust. He reached for the bonds at her wrists, seeking to seal the bond of trust by untying her, but to his surprise, Catherine lifted her arms before he could take them in his hands. She leaned forward, and looped her bound arms around his neck, pulling him down atop her.

  “Remember, I am to tell my husband a tale of abduction and imprisonment." She smiled into his eyes. "I… I am your captive... at your mercy.” Through her tears, she gave him a smile of heart-stopping radiance. “Take your prize.”

  For a moment, Charles Redmond's world faded until nothing remained by the red haze of a passion that he'd scarcely have imagined just hours before. His lips hungrily devoured Catherine's sweet mouth, his hands roaming free in the silken mass of her hair. For her part, Lady Catherine Redmond felt fire burning her lips, and blazing at his touch on her scalp. She'd have sacrificed Philip a hundred times over for what she was experiencing now...

  And then, just as her world was about to disappear into a white-hot flame, she heard a groan from Charles, and the lips that were blazing at her lips, cheek, and throat stopped.

  Catherine gasped for breath as Charles sat upright, slipping her bound wrists from around his neck. Wordlessly, he planted one last kiss, soft as springtime, on her forehead, and set about freeing her wrists.

  From deep within her, Catherine began to sob, but Charles gently pressed a finger to her lips.

  "My brother is a blackguard. He is not worthy of you. But I will not expose you to dishonor to satisfy my own selfish heart."

  "It's not just—" but he cut her off.

  "Catherine, do you trust me? Don't speak."

  She nodded her head, shamed and miserable.

  "Then believe me when I tell you that I would die before I saw you back in my brother's arms. You were made for my arms and mine alone."

  "But you— you won't—"

  "I will not expose you to shame and dishonor. With your help, my brother will be brought to book, confronted with his crimes, and forced to release you."

  "F--forced...?"

  Charles' face darkened, and for a moment, she felt once more something of the terror of their first encounter in the library.

  "I said that justice will be done. And no power in heaven or earth will prevent me from seeing true justice done for those whom Philip harmed... including you." His strong arms then slowly draped about her shoulders, and she sagged, spent, to bury her head in his chest, surrendering to his gentle stroking of her hair, praying that Charles could make good on his vow…

  For otherwise, what reason have I to live?

  Chapter Four

  Had it been too easy? Catherine mused to herself as she moved soundlessly through the darkened study. She had taken precautions not to raise suspicion—even remaining in her long woolen nightdress, rather than putting on her clothes, lest she be spotted by some unsleeping member of the household—but the full enormity of what she was undertaking was still causing her to tremble.

  She kept the tiny candle shielded as best she could until she was at the front of Philip’s desk, then set it down and extinguished it. The room slipped back into near total darkness, but Catherine had already noted the position of her target: the lowest left-hand drawer of Philip’s desk; the one with the hidden panel he was sure that Catherine knew nothing of…

  **********

  She had spent her day in a state of terrible anticipation, and not a little confusion. When she was ready to set out for home again, Charles had led her outside where a smaller brown sorrel was tethered next to the huge black horse across which her trussed form had been thrown the previous evening.

  "I fear that Orion will respond to no rider but myself" Charles nodded at the black horse, and Catherine didn't try to hide her relief—she'd no more have dreamt of trying to manage the huge beast than she'd have tried to fly!

  “Were you always planning to send me away, then?” She asked.

  Charles’ face flushed. “No—no!” He paused, as if startled by his own vehemence. “Orion’s not a pack horse—this little one was to bear my luggage should a hasty departure be required.” He took her by the shoulders, gently but firmly. “Are you still determined to do this?”

  She stepped closer, and lifted her face to his. No words were needed as their lips met. Catherine then quickly turned and mounted the smaller horse, Charles' kiss still burning on her lips, his last words ringing in her ears:

  “I will expect you back by morning. Be careful.”

  **********

  From the moment she spilled from the horse, gasping out the tale of her supposed abduction and escape, Philip had acted as though nothing more extraordinary had happened to his wife than a visit to a sick aunt. He asked few questions, and seemed more concerned with her tidying her appearance than making sure she had not been harmed. Following that, she had been left to her own devices, which had certainly made her task easier… even if it had left her feeling far from easy. She hadn’t expected Philip to suddenly become a loving husband upon her safe return… but to be so indifferent?

  Every moment away from her captivity caused it to seem more and more unreal, as will so often happen with an experience of such trauma. Memories might fade... but not her emotions. If anything, her determination to be a part of Charles Redmond's life
burned more strongly than ever.

  No matter. From now on, there is one man who matters in my life— and it is not Philip...

  Catherine shrugged that out of her mind as her fingers, deep inside the darkness of the drawer, slid aside the panel and closed around the small leather-bound volume. She slipped it out, and in the dim light was able to riffle through the pages enough to recognize Philip’s hand—the damning ledgers were here, just as Charles had said.

  Prison. Disgrace. Was she truly prepared to send her husband to this fate for a man she barely knew, a stranger who had kidnapped her, kept her a bound and gagged prisoner?

  No. Not a stranger. Charles Redmond was the man that had lived in her soul since she was a young girl—the man of strength and tenderness that every girl keeps in her heart. That she had not found that man on her wedding day was a tragedy, but one that could be rectified.

  Catherine closed the drawer as quietly as she could, and slid the small leather book down the front of her dress. She started across the room to fetch the coat she had brought to throw over her nightdress, when her ears were arrested by a strange sound coming from the parlor. She froze, afraid that she had been discovered. After a moment, she decided such was not the case... but there came the sound again... rhythmic, but human... intimately so.

  She glanced through the crack in the door, to see Philip on the sofa...with Mrs. Williams! The housekeeper's dark hair was mussed, her clothing disheveled... and Philip's face was buried in her bosom!

  Catherine gasped, and stumbled backwards, the back of her legs bumping into the chair, sending it crashing to the floor, her eyes filling with tears. My God... what a fool I have been...

  Suddenly, as if she had awakened from a dream, Catherine realized that the sounds had stopped. Ignoring the coat she had hung on the chair, she made a dash for the door... only to find her husband standing in it... his clothes awry, but refastened...the look and smell of drink on him... And a small, black pistol in his hand.

  “Well, well, I was right—burglars. Mrs. Williams!” he called back over his shoulder. The housekeeper, in a similar state of disarray, came to stand beside him. “It would seem that my wife has decided to play Raffles."

  Catherine started to sputter the sorts of phrases that an outraged wife might throw at a philandering husband, but Philip waved the pistol, and snapped. "Shut up." He glanced over at the desk; Catherine had not had time to finish arranging it back the way she had found it.

  “Let's have it, then. I can't imagine what else you’d have been looking for in there. Return my book.”

  “I don't know what you mean!” Catherine wished she had a soldier's eye, like Major Cathcart, and could calculate the chances of Philip’s inebriation affecting his shot, but for all that she'd seen in her time in India, nothing had ever terrified her as much as the wicked black hole that was aimed straight at her breast. Action was simply not possible—she stood paralyzed. Because it was suddenly, coldly clear... Philip would have no qualms about murdering her.

  She did her best to brazen it out. Philip didn’t respond, but nodded to Mrs. Williams who strode over to Catherine, and casually thrust her hand down into the girl's dress, retrieving the book.

  “As I thought.” For all that he tried to maintain his smirk of triumph; Philip allowed a wave of relief to cross his face, an expression so profound that Catherine knew that Charles had been right: that book would prove her husband a thief and a scoundrel, and she had allowed it to be taken from her.

  “Bind her hands,” Philip instructed Mrs. Williams, with as little emotion as if he'd been asking her to clear up after tea.

  The efficient housekeeper ripped a piece of the tie-cord from her apron, stepped behind Catherine, and the girl felt her arms pinioned, then yanked behind her back. She suppressed a gasp of pain and faced Philip as defiantly as she could manage.

  Mrs. Williams' fingers worked quickly and smoothly, crossing Catherine’s wrists over one another, then using the stout cord to tie them together. Each turn of the rope was accompanied by a painful wrench, as Mrs. Williams made certain to discomfit the woman who, Catherine now realized, was her rival.

  “Now, the question is, what do we do with you?” Philip posed the question smugly, as though he were soliciting Catherine’s opinion.

  Catherine felt her head yanked back as Mrs. Williams tangled cruel fingers in her long tresses. “I say we cut off all this pretty hair and sell it to the gypsies—and her into the bargain!” She shook Catherine’s head cruelly, then released her with a laugh.

  Philip laughed. “No, my dear, I am afraid we still need some information from Lady Catherine.” He stepped closer to his helpless wife.

  “Now, my dear,” he stroked her cheek, smiling as she flinched away from him. “Who is looking for my book? Is it my brother? Is he in England? Where were you taking it?”

  Catherine gave him nothing back but the determined set of her face.

  Philip frowned at her reluctance; then his hand lashed out, whipping against her cheek, snapping her head to the side, long hair flying. Catherine drew herself to her full height, straightening her shoulders, emphasizing the fact that she had no hands with which to protect herself, and curled her lips into a sneer...

  “Perhaps I would answer that question if it were put to me by a man.”

  She braced herself for the next expected blow. Instead, Philip smiled thinly. He reached out and gathered her long hair in his hands. He began to slowly wrap the soft tresses around his left hand as he spoke quietly.

  “You know my friend Colonel Lefanu,” he murmured. “I expect you imagine him to be a soldier-- most people do.” His hand was now closing into a fist around her hair, his knuckles tight against her head; his familiar scent was powerful and suddenly revolting. The muscles in her neck ached from his tight grip in her hair.

  “He is not a soldier,” Philip hissed into his wife's ear as he bent her head back. “He is a… ‘policeman’, of a sort. His task is to hunt down those that would endanger the security of his government. He is very adept at obtaining information from them.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He hurts people; he is very good at it. I do believe that he enjoys it.”

  Catherine felt the pulse in her neck as Philip’s grip tightened further, and her stomach churned at the thought of being placed into the Frenchman’s hands.

  “I will ask the Colonel to visit us in the morning.” Philip’s mouth was now at her ear, and she sickened at the feeling of his saliva on her flesh as he pressed his mouth upon her “He will put my questions to you. If you are in league with my brother, the Colonel will learn his plan, and his hiding place.” Then, by the hair, he turned Catherine to face him, and savaged her mouth with a wet parody of a kiss. With snort of triumph, he released her, and as Catherine tried to suppress the tears of fear, pain, and loathing, Philip spoke to the housekeeper.

  “Mrs. Williams-- please gag my wife, then take her to her room and secure her for the night.”

  The housekeeper picked up a white linen dinner napkin from the sideboard, and approached Catherine, who would have shrunk back from the woman's approach, but refused to take even one step closer to the monster whom she had married. . The bound girl could read the satisfaction in the woman's eyes: she was clearly delighted at being given the chance to assist with the disposal of a hated rival.

  “Open wide, dearie.” Tied as she was, Catherine had no choice but to comply as the woman stuffed the huge white napkin into her mouth, packing it up into her cheeks Catherine could already feel the reduction in air, and knew this gag would be far more effective than the one Charles had placed on her.

  Mrs. Williams next picked up a long dustrag, pressed against the mass of cloth in Catherine’s mouth, and wound it around her head, forcing the napkin deeply into her mouth; the gag pinned her long hair down so tightly that it was nearly impossible to turn her head. The dustrag was pulled cruelly snug, and Catherine felt it bite into her cheeks.

  The first knot was completed with a s
avage yank; strands of Catherine's hair caught in the knot, but no power on earth would make her give the woman the satisfaction of reacting to that.

  The long dustrag encircled her head a second time. Where the napkin had held her mouth open for the first pass of the gag to be tied in place, this time the cloth was passed over her gaping mouth, covering her lips. The housekeeper tied a final knot, under Catherine's left ear, then turned the girl to face her.

  "Not so high and mighty are we now, Your Ladyship?" she mocked. "Ought to have kept to your place-- soldier's brat, you're no better than me, and why should you have the title? Well, Missy, we've got you now, and that title will be transferred to someone more deserving."

  "Sleep well, Catherine." Philip’s breath stank revoltingly of drink. "You'll need to be up bright and early for the Colonel's visit." That seemed to send him into a fit of drunken giggles, and Mrs. Williams then took charge of their prisoner.