Bradford kept his suspicions quiet. After listening to the old man’s venomous viciousness toward Ilsa, he would wager it wasn’t good.
“What’s happened?” The pastor hurried over. “Shall I send for the doctor?”
“Not for me,” Buckles said, pulling his ruined top hat back onto his head. “Takes more than a little knock to bring me down.”
“Buckles, can you ride?”
He narrowed his eyes and patted the scabbard at his hip. “I can do much more than ride, sir.”
* * * * *
“I can hardly believe it,” Dietrich hissed in Norwegian. “He married you. How did you manage that? You find some nasty business on him?”
She glared in response. She wouldn’t have answered even if she wasn’t wearing a filthy cloth gag. Had her feet and hands not been bound, she would have jumped from the carriage.
“You heard about Katrin’s babe.” His gaze narrowed accusingly. “Did you know before? You were all laughing at me. You, Katrin, Roberta and those bitch midwives. I was the idiot of your joke, wasn’t I?”
She mumbled an answer.
“What?” He leaned across the carriage and yanked off her gag, scratching her cheek.
“You’re no joke. You’ve got me pregnant.”
He eased back into his seat and looked her over. “Eh? You don’t look it.”
His expression never lost its severity, yet she could see the hope bristling in him. She would do anything to stay his violence, if only to protect Bradford’s baby. Please, oh please, if I indeed carry it.
She did a quick mental calculation. The last time he’d used her…was it March, just after Katrin had come, or April?
The carriage veered sharply to the left and Ilsa’s heart lurched again. If they only stayed on the main road to London, Bradford and Frederick were sure to catch up. They would realize she was gone any minute…
But Dietrich obviously had other plans. Oh Bradford, please, find me!
“I’m almost five months along. It doesn’t show much yet, but the months without blood prove it.”
He made a hmph noise, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
The carriage wound through a twisting narrow road overgrown with thicket before drawing to a stop at a dilapidated manor house lost in the damp shadows of overgrown trees. Window shutters hung askew and the front door stood halfway open, jammed that way by leaves and branches. Tree litter and wildly overgrown vines made a moldy carpet that soured in her nostrils like brine. Cracked plaster exposed the wood and wattle beneath. This had once been a grand cottage, but no one had lived here for many years.
“Out,” Dietrich ordered.
“I can’t walk with my feet bound.”
He grumbled and yanked her feet up to fumble with the knot. The carriage door opened from outside. It was indeed the burly man from that horrible night. Panic clawed its way into her throat and choked her.
Stay calm. You’re smarter than both of them put together. There is a way out of this. Bradford will come.
“He’ll kill you, you know. If for nothing more than stealing his horses.”
“Shut up.” Dietrich slapped her. “His horses is all he’ll want back when I’m finished with you.” He grabbed her arm and shoved her into the burly man’s grip.
“’Allo love.” He smiled a rotted grin. “Missed ye.” He dragged her from the carriage and through the weeds to the house.
She pounded on his arm. “Unhand me, you troglodyte.” It was like striking a tree. Her stomach twisted as she saw he’d only grown more burly in the year since he’d violated her. She could not bear it again. She would rather die.
“Careful with her,” Dietrich barked. “She says she’s breeding.”
The man stopped and turned back to him. His fingers dug painfully into the soft underside of her arm. “I still get her, don’t I? You said I could have as much as I want.”
Ilsa shuddered. Her gorge started to rise.
“Did you deal with the other one yet?”
The other one? Ilsa held her breath. The ogre hauled her around and dragged her forward. She heard the wails of a baby from within the house. Katrin.
“I ain’t done nothin’ with her, and I ain’t drownin’ no brat, neither. Killin’s a crime. Fuckin’ isn’t.”
Ilsa gasped and stumbled on the mossy stone steps leading up the door. The man dragged her along, heedless. Once inside the dark house, Ilsa strained to see through the shadows. The baby’s cries came from somewhere deeper, in what sounded like the first floor. Dietrich trailed behind. He hissed a vicious curse when he heard the baby crying.
“Take her upstairs and tie her up.” Dietrich pointed as he headed for a doorway leading into the rear of the house. “Do what you want.”
Strangely, her fear had shifted more for Katrin and the child than for herself. “Dietrich, no, what are you going to do? Dietrich! Don’t hurt her!”
“Quiet, you.” The younger man wrenched her around and gave her a shake hard enough to rattle her bones. “I been waiting for this. I’m gonna sink my teeth into yer juicy tits.”
* * * * *
Bradford reined his horse to a stop. Frederick, galloping beside him, had to turn his mount around.
“Bradford, what are you doing?”
Buckles came up from behind on the pastor’s slower nag.
Bradford surveyed the ground. “They’ve gone this way. Look, the tracks turn here.” Thank God for the recent rains leaving deep mud, and his Brougham’s discernable wider rear wheels.
“We’re two miles from London. Why would he turn off now?”
“Perhaps he’s not headed to London.”
“There’s naught up this way but the old Glenmoor estate,” Buckles said. “Nothing but a shell of a house.”
“We have to look,” Bradford insisted. “My carriage turned here.”
“He’s right,” Frederick agreed. “We can’t risk passing her over. Whatever he’s taken Ilsa for, it is most certainly dastardly.”
They charged their tired mounts up the overgrown drive. Around a bend and over a small rise, the house came into view at the end of a long meadow. The Brougham stood unattended, his horses sweating and agitated.
Bradford leapt off his horse and ran for the door. From inside, he heard Ilsa’s scream. There came an agonized grunt and she screamed again. Her shrills came in repetition, like the cries of someone engaged in rough sex.
“God, no.” He drew his sword as he ran to the front door.
* * * * *
The burly man hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, hands clasped at his balls. Ilsa’s toe throbbed and her ankle had twisted with a spike of pain, but her kick landed precisely on target. The satisfaction felt exquisite.
She whirled and ran, but he managed to grab her ankle. She fell, landing on her hands and knees across the bottom steps of the stone staircase. He was dragging her back and she knew he would rape her right here on the dirty floor if she didn’t get away.
She grabbed a rod in the wrought iron banister. Now anchored, she glanced over her shoulder and aimed her second kick. The spooled heel of her fancy shoe connected with his forehead, creating a gash that instantly bled. He released her, but the next instant grappled a better grip on her ankle.
The banister rod snapped free, rusted at the points where it had been welded to the base and handrail. She twisted around and clubbed him with it. The ogre opened his mouth in a silent cry and his eyes rolled back in his head. She brought the bar down again, smashing his nose. The effort brought an animalistic cry from her. She struggled to her knees and then her feet, all the while swinging the bar like a madwoman. The seams of her sleeves ripped from her bodice and the elegant twist in her hair shook loose. She kicked and felt the toe of her shoe digging between his ribs.
Kick. Strike. Kick. Strike. She’d never felt such triumph. She screamed with each effort, warrior cries burning in her throat.
Strong arms grabbed her from behind. No, not another one—
&nbs
p; “Ilsa!”
Bradford spun her around and gathered her close. She dropped the iron bar. It clattered across the once fine marble floor.
“Oh Bradford!” She fell into his arms. He pulled her tight against his body and seized her mouth. His lips urged hers open and their tongues tangled. She kissed him back madly, loving the taste of him. They moved hotly against each other, stoked by their near tragedy. Bradford drove his hand into her now-loose hair. His kiss slowed, but deepened.
Dimly she became aware of Frederick, running past, and another man—Buckles?— trailing after him.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Intense pleasure overrode her fear and she couldn’t stop her smile.
“I’m sorry it took me so long.”
“I meant the kiss.”
He smiled back. “So did I.”
The wail of a baby rose from deep in the house. “Katrin!”
Buckles stood over the burly man, sword tip to the throat.
“If he moves,” Bradford said with a deadly tone, “kill him.” He stalked through the door toward the sounds of scuffling and Ilsa trotted after him. Behind his burly frame, she felt safe. Dietrich and his ugly friends could never hurt her again.
They found Frederick in a tense stance with fists clenched. Dietrich was sprawled on the floor holding a hand to his bloodied nose.
Frederick tipped his head. “The girl’s over there,” he said over the shrill cries of the baby. “Ilsa. Don’t look.”
His warning only sent her there faster.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Dietrich called after them. “She grabbed for my knife…it wasn’t my fault.”
“Dear God!” Katrin lay on the floor behind an old chaise in the grimy drawing room.
Bradford seized her arm. “Ilsa, don’t touch it. She’ll bleed out.”
Dietrich’s knife was stuck deep in her chest. She was alive, but only barely so, her eyes glassy and her lips blue. A furniture belt, the kind used to fasten heavy items under repair, was fixed tightly around her wrists. Ilsa and Bradford knelt beside her and Ilsa pried the belt loose. As though awakened by the touch, Katrin sucked in a breath that rattled with blood when she exhaled.
“Can’t we do anything for her?” The girl’s face blurred behind the tears welling in Ilsa’s eyes. She looked up, but Bradford only shook his head.
“My baby…” Katrin reached for her. “He’s going to drown it.”
Ilsa grasped her hand and brought it to her heart. “Katrin, don’t worry. You’re going to be all right.”
“His name…Bryan…” Her next breath seemed final. “Take care of him…please, Ilsa. There’s no one else.”
Ilsa sobbed and nodded, unable to speak.
“He will be raised with privilege,” Bradford promised her.
“Blackjack…Duke Pendleton’s…” Katrin’s sighed words were her last. Her eyes went vacant.
Ilsa bent her head and cried.
Bradford closed Katrin’s lids. He moved away and moments later came back with the swaddled child. It stopped crying, but squirmed and made perturbed squeaking noises, no doubt hoping for its mother. “One of the maids at Stratton House has just given birth. Perhaps she can nurse it.”
He eased it into her arms. Ilsa looked down at the tiny creature. It was as Roberta had said, dark of skin and hair, but a handsome child with Katrin’s deep blue eyes.
“Not what you’d hoped for our wedding night,” she whispered.
“On the contrary, the image of you whacking away at that cretin will keep me smiling into my old age.”
He was smiling now, and Ilsa tearfully matched it. “I was owed my due.”
* * * * *
It seemed days later she was finally eased into a warm tub, but in fact it was only three hours since the wedding had concluded. A magistrate and two officers had arrived at the old house, having been stopped in the road on their way back to London by the frantic pastor, and Dietrich and his accomplice were taken away. Buckles drove the carriage back to Stratton house while Fredrick rode back to the church, leading Bradford’s mount and the pastor’s nag.
Only now, when calm and safe in her bath with Bradford kneeling beside the tub, did she realize Katrin had named her baby’s rightful father before she died.
“She had an old lace napkin with a monogrammed ‘P’ stenciled upon one corner. She must have worked for Duke Pendleton. She may have fled, or been dismissed, when she learned she was pregnant. We must find this Blackjack and tell him of his son.”
Bradford smoothed a loose lock of hair away from her temple. “We will. Don’t worry.”
“You’re a good man, Mr. Stratton.”
“And you are a good woman, Mrs. Stratton.”
She smiled and lifted a wet hand to grasp his. The rough iron bar had torn through her gloves, but her abraded skin wasn’t as badly injured as she’d first thought. The bath had cleaned the rust away and pruned her fingers. “I’m wrinkled.”
“Someday we shall both be.” He bent over the tub and kissed her. She closed her eyes and lost herself in it. Her insides melted as she realized he had turned his head, opened his mouth, and delved into hers with his tongue just as she’d seen him do with Frederick.
“Never stop kissing me like that.”
“It shall be my pleasure.”
She stood and he wrapped her in a fluffy towel.
Frederick peered in. “How is she faring?”
Ilsa held out her hand, beckoning him. “I’m well.” Holding tight to each of them, she stepped out of the tub. When Bradford pulled her toward her bed, she stopped him.
“I’m ready for the final test.”
His brow crinkled. “Ilsa, you’ve been through so much. You don’t have to do this tonight.”
“I want to, Bradford.” She squeezed their hands. “When that man attempted to take me upstairs, my fear was unimaginable.”
Bradford and Frederick both stepped closer at the same instant. They pressed their bodies against her and wrapped her in their arms. She gripped them back. It felt simply enchanting.
Ilsa blinked away tears. “But I realized that it didn’t matter if it was one man or three, it was the idea of this stranger hurting me that frightened me. Just as it doesn’t matter if you take me alone or together, it will always be magic.”
They both nuzzled her and Ilsa was overcome by the beauty her life had found.
“I understand now I can love you both, together or one at a time. You will always be good to me, and I will always be good to you.”
“I promise it.” Bradford nuzzled her neck.
“Now if you please, don’t make me wait a moment longer. I am anxious to join with you.”
She stepped out of their embrace, pulling each one toward the master boudoir. Bradford went to the armoire to remove his clothing. Frederick slid his hands over Ilsa’s shoulder and she turned into his embrace.
“Tonight will be so good for you Ilsa. I promise it.”
She smiled and pecked a kiss against his lips. “I know.” She circled his neck with her arms and pulled him closer. Her next kiss was deeper, and Frederick met her urgency eagerly. She dabbed at the seam of his lips with her tongue and he responded by opening his mouth and meeting her tongue with his. His kiss was different than Bradford’s, softer and less bold, but it revealed the man as the subservient of the two. His role, she realized. Within our group of three. And me, happily in the middle.
Frederick led her to the bed and Ilsa dropped her towel and climbed in first. He lay next to her and continued those soft kisses, sliding his hands over her body with reverence. Ilsa intensified their kiss as she pushed his robe off his shoulders and dragged it away from his body.
“Getting started without me, are you?” Bradford’s voice was light. The bed dipped behind her and the next instant, his warm body pressed close.
A tingle of intense satisfaction ignited upon her flesh. She gripped Frederick and leaned her head back to receive Bradford’s kiss at her cheek. For a long mome
nt they all simply hugged. It was the most wonderful way she could think of to spend the rest of their lives.
Ilsa eased onto her back and both men rolled up against her. Bradford cupped and squeezed one breast while Frederick caressed her stomach, slowly teasing lower.
When she bent her arm to touch his face, Bradford took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Tonight is all for you, Ilsa. You don’t need to prove anything to us.”
“You’ve already proven you’re the strongest woman alive,” Frederick agreed. “Just lie back and let us pleasure you.”
She smiled, embarrassed at the same time delighted. “That sounds wonderful, but I feel as if I should contribute to some of the work.”
Bradford grinned. “Another time, love. There will be many ‘another times’.” His kisses moved across her jaw and down her throat. Frederick shifted and kissed a ticklish path across her stomach, hesitating to poke his tongue into her bellybutton, before continuing to her mound. Bradford found one rigid nipple and suckled on it.
“Oh.” The pleasure from two mouths and four hands was overwhelming. She arched her back, lifting her breast to Bradford’s greedy mouth. Frederick’s soft caresses urged her legs up and apart, and then his hot tongue was driving through her nether lips, parting and teasing, probing and licking. He took her nub between his lips and tugged. She arched off the bed and cried out as the first wave of ecstasy hit her like a sudden storm.
Frederick slid the tip of a finger inside her and everything came to a halt. The intense pleasure of that simple touch was both magnificent and excruciating. She needed so much more it hurt. He wriggled his finger and pressed up, but didn’t push it deeper.
“Oh God.”
She felt another hand, Bradford was touching her now. Together their curious, exploring fingers drove her mad.
“She’s so hot and wet,” Frederick uttered.
She rolled onto her side even as two fingers dipped and probed. Their teasing touches made her ache to be spread wide and filled deep. She grasped Bradford’s cock and squeezed. He groaned low in his throat.
“I need you inside me,” she whispered. There came no shame from those words, no embarrassment. There was no sin in wanting her husband, nor in wanting their lover. She urged Bradford onto his back and threw her leg over his hip. Frederick’s hands found her hips and helped her into position. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and glanced back at him. “And you.”
Saving Lady Ilsa Page 15
