by Ruth Langan
Chapter Twenty
“Are the soldiers in place?”
Sir Cecil helped himself to a goblet of whiskey from a crystal decanter on Kieran’s desk. The ledgers were strangely gone, as were all the account books. No matter. He had read them carefully in the short time he had at Castle O’Mara before Kieran returned from prison. He knew every piece of property listed and how many crops were raised on the land. No longer would these peasants work to fill their own stomachs. In the next few years they would give their lifeblood to fill his coffers in England.
“Aye.” James accepted a drink and strode to the fireplace. The fire had burned down to ashes. Mistress Peake, sulking, as were the other servants, would feel the sting of the lash when his father took possession of this estate. “I go now to meet the Scotsman.”
“What of our…accomplice?”
“I have not seen him. But I told him where to meet us. I fear he has become remorseful over his betrayal of his friends. But I still think he will see this through.”
“You realize what you must do?” In the privacy of the library, all pretence of honor fell away. Sir Cecil’s eyes glittered with evil. “You must kill him.”
“Aye. Have no fear. It will be done.”
Cecil lifted his goblet and met his son’s look. “On the morrow, the lady will learn what it means to defy the Ketterings. I have waited a lifetime to avenge her casual dismissal of me when we were young. All that Sean O’Mara cherished will become mine. And his sons will die before their mother’s eyes.”
“Will that be enough to purge the hatred from your heart?”
The older man shook his head. “I think not. I have carried my hatred of O’Mara for so long, I cannot imagine life without it.” He paused, staring into the ashes. “I had hoped to turn his sons against him in Elizabeth’s court. But even in that I was thwarted. This time I will not be denied my vengeance.”
The two men drained their goblets. “Go now,” Cecil said, “and see that the soldiers are in place. As soon as the ceremony concludes and the papers are witnessed by the bishop, I want the O’Mara men seized.”
“What about the bishop? His power in Rome and in England are legend.”
“Aye.” Sir Cecil barely paused before saying, “See that he becomes a casualty during the confusion. We will blame his untimely death on the discontented rabble of this untidy land.”
Darkness came early in the forest. Overhead, the tall spires of ancient evergreens blotted out any trace of moonlight.
Megan shivered and drew her cloak tightly around her. Except for an occasional call of a night bird and the sound of insects, there was an eerie stillness in the chill air.
Malcolm’s horse picked its way carefully through the dense woods. To keep them from becoming separated, Malcolm had insisted upon taking the reins to Megan’s horse. When a wet tree branch brushed his face he swore viciously, sending a chill of alarm along Megan’s spine. What sort of person had she been that she could have ever contemplated marrying such a man? Each time they had paused in their journey, she had felt his gaze upon her, soiling her. And now, with the night upon them, she felt her fear growing until it bordered on terror.
She thought about slipping away under cover of darkness. Had that same thought caused Malcolm to take her reins. She glanced around wildly. But a single tantalizing thought kept her from leaving. Home. At the end of this journey she would see her home again and the people who had once mattered to her. As uneasy as she felt about this man, he was the key to her past.
At the same moment they both spotted a light in the distance. Malcolm muttered an oath and tugged roughly on the reins. Megan swallowed her fear and concentrated instead on the thought of a warm bed and dry clothes.
As they drew closer, Megan saw that there was a small cottage built along the far banks of the river. The horses splashed through the shallow water and clambered up the rock-strewn bank.
As they dismounted, Megan heard the whinny of a horse. Too late she turned and saw the cluster of horses sheltered in a nearby stand of trees.
Before she could protest, Malcolm grasped her arm and thrust her ahead of him through the half-open door of the cottage. Inside, a dozen men were drinking from tankards and warming themselves before a roaring fire. When they turned, Megan found herself face-to-face with the hangman’s soldiers. Soldiers she had prayed had long ago returned to England.
“What is this?” As the men turned, one stocky guard, recognizing Megan, separated himself from the others.
Megan looked into the blazing eyes of Whip, the cruel guard from the forest.
“So. ’Tis our dancer.” He advanced menacingly toward her. “We found Captain Wilkes’s body in the river, my lady. Where ye lured him. It would seem,” the guard said, slamming down his tankard, “that we have been given another chance to take our revenge upon ye.”
“Aye,” shouted another. “We have been too long without a woman. And this time we will need no dance to stir our blood.”
His words were followed by a chorus of coarse laughter.
As Whip’s hand snaked out toward Megan’s bodice, Malcolm drew her away. “All in good time,” he said with an evil smile. “But first I have a score to settle with the lady. As does the gentleman who paid for your services.” As he dragged Megan toward a small room, he said over his shoulder, “When we are finished, you may have what is left of her.”
James felt a wild exhilaration as he made his way to the cottage by the river. The deed was almost done. He and his father had had their differences in the past, but this would seal their relationship forever. His grateful father would be most generous. There was a house in London that James had been coveting, as well as an estate in Bedford. He had no doubt his father would now secure them for him. The women at court would fawn over him. The same women who had once vied for the attention of Kieran O’Mara.
O’Mara. How he hated him. Hated his calm assurance, the easy way he had with both men and women. Even in Elizabeth’s court, the Queen and her ladies seemed taken with the Irish rebel who defied convention. James had resented the fact that his father had brought Kieran and Colin to England when he was a lad. He had seen them as rivals for his father’s affection. But very soon he had realized that his father had other reasons for bringing them there. He had watched his father’s manipulations. And he had learned.
Deep in thought, James saw nothing but the faint flicker of candlelight from the cottage. When he crossed the river, he dismounted and hurried inside, his blood hot for revenge.
“Where is the woman?”
One of the soldiers pointed and James strode toward the small room.
A single candle stood atop a scarred trunk. A filthy linen covered a pallet in the corner of the room. Malcolm held a tankard of ale to his lips. Against the far wall Megan stood stiffly, holding her cloak around her. Through the open window beside her drifted the chill night air.
“James.” For a moment her eyes lit, but when he and Malcolm began talking, her hopes plummeted. He had not come to rescue her. He was in league with this devil.
“We only now arrived,” Malcolm said with a puzzled look. “How could you get here so soon?”
“You took an…indirect route. To confuse the lady.” James felt himself becoming aroused as he looked at Megan. It was not just her beauty; it was the knowledge that she belonged to Kieran O’Mara that tantalized him. How sweet would be the revenge.
Megan stepped forward. “Why are we here, James?”
He looked at her with an insolence that brought color flooding her cheeks. With the back of his hand he slapped her so hard it sent her reeling. “You are here for our pleasure, my lady.”
She felt the sting of his blow, and the blood rushed to her head. When had all of this gone wrong? And how had the quiet, unassuming son of Sir Cecil become this cruel monster?
James turned to Malcolm, coldly dismissing her. “Have the soldiers been given their orders?”
“They know only that they will finally
have their revenge upon the one who evaded them for so long now.”
“As will we all.” Striding to the door, James called to the captain of the guard. “Your men will begin their march now. If you encounter any villagers who might reveal your presence, kill them.”
Kill the innocent villagers? At his harsh words, Megan glanced from James to Malcolm. A rush of conflicting emotions rippled through her. This man, who claimed to be her betrothed, was in league with the English. That meant that he was not who he claimed to be. Perhaps everything he had said was a lie. She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. Perhaps she was not even Megan MacAlpin. Through a haze of confusion she heard James’s voice issuing orders.
“When you reach Castle O’Mara, conceal yourselves until the wedding party is inside. Then encircle the chapel and await my signal to attack.”
“Attack? The wedding party?” Megan’s breath caught in her throat as James turned toward her with a chilling smile. “You would send soldiers after your own father?”
“Little fool. This was all my father’s plan.” James stood in the doorway and watched as the soldiers filed from the cottage and pulled themselves into their saddles.
As the hoofbeats faded, Megan stared at James with a look of stunned disbelief. God in heaven. Lady Katherine. Her marriage to Sir Cecil was all some terrible, elaborate trap. But was that good woman the only prey? The answer sprang instantly to mind. She knew with certainty that the capture of the lady’s sons was the true quest.
“So. Kieran and Colin have not evaded the English soldiers after all. You and your father have merely been toying with them, accepting the hospitality of the mother to ensnare the sons.”
“Very astute, my lady.” James closed the door of the cottage and leaned against it. As he surveyed his prize, his eyes glittered with a strange light.
Megan felt a fresh wave of fear. She had seen that look of lust before, when she had been captured by the soldiers in the forest. Her mind raced. She needed to keep James talking.
Running her tongue over her dry lips, she asked, “How did your father persuade Lady Katherine to accept his offer of marriage?”
James laughed. “Perhaps she loved him.”
“Nay.” Megan took a tentative step, hoping to inch her way toward the door. “It was not love I saw between them. Yet she agreed to the marriage. Why?”
James’s eyes glittered dangerously. “My father is a very shrewd man. He knew the one thing he could count on with Lady Katherine.” At Megan’s arched brow he added, “A mother’s love. He offered his protection for her precious sons and all in Killamara if she would but wed him.”
“And his word meant nothing,” Megan said with a tone of disgust.
“Beware, my lady.” James watched her, anticipating her next move. “Speak not against a Kettering in my presence.”
“But why marriage? What does Sir Cecil gain from this?”
“The woman humiliated him in his youth. Do you think he would forget? Or forgive?”
“He would force a woman into marriage merely for the sake of revenge?”
James took a step forward and watched as she backed up. “Everything Sean O’Mara cherished will now be in my father’s hands. The woman, the land, and best of all, the fate of his sons.”
“Enough talk,” Malcolm said, advancing on them. “There is the matter of my revenge, as well. Or have you forgotten?”
Megan turned to watch him, gauging the distance to the door. “Why do you seek vengeance against me?”
As he advanced she took a step back, then another, until she felt the cold wall of the cottage against her back.
He reached out a hand and caught a strand of her hair, yanking her head painfully. His eyes glittered with hatred. “You are the MacAlpin, the leader of our people. And you refused my offer to become your second in command.”
A leader. The thought sent her heart soaring. Had she somehow known that she was not born to follow?
“You would ally yourself with the English to avenge a personal affront?”
“I had already allied myself with them, my lady. It was the reason you would not accept me.” His lips curled in a sneer. “That, and the fact that I did not always adhere to your lofty code of honor.”
With his hand still holding her hair, he drew her head back and lowered his face to hers. “We shall see how much your precious honor means when I have finished with you. I tried to punish you once, in a highland meadow. That blow cost you your memory, but your life was spared. You will not be so fortunate a second time.”
When Megan tried to pull away he caught her roughly by the shoulder, holding her still. With a mocking smile he covered her mouth with his and ground his teeth over hers until she tasted her own blood.
“Relax and enjoy yourself, my lady,” he said with a cruel laugh. “I have only begun.”
Across the room she could hear the sound of James laughing as he watched her useless struggles. Malcolm pressed his body against her until his thighs pinned her firmly to the wall, making her aware of his arousal. She felt a moment of sheer panic as she realized she was no match for his strength. He would take her savagely. And when he was through with her, James would use her, as well. For a moment she went limp in his arms, and he seized the moment to capture her mouth with his. Then her fingers found the hilt of the knife at her waist. Malcolm’s knife. With great care she slid the weapon from its place of concealment. Her fingers were damp, and she feared she would drop it. She would have but one chance to find his heart. Gripping the hilt firmly in her hand, she drew back her head, as if offering her throat for his kiss.
“So,” he murmured against her lips, “you are not so reluctant as you pretend.”
He bent his lips to her throat just as she plunged the knife into his chest. For a moment he stared at her with a look of amazement. Slowly the look turned to one of horror, as he realized what had happened. His hands reached up to grasp the offending weapon, but before he could close his fingers around it, he slid to the floor.
James was across the room in seconds. Stepping disdainfully over Malcolm’s still form he said coldly, “You spared me the effort, my lady. I would have had to kill him before I left here anyway. There can be no witnesses to what we do.”
As she attempted to move away he unsheathed his sword and pointed it at her heart. “Now, my lady, it is my turn. And I assure you, I am not the fool your Scotsman was.” With the tip of his sword he cut away the cord that held her cloak. As it fell to the floor, he allowed his insolent gaze to roam her until her cheeks flamed. His voice was low with desire. “Remove your gown, my lady.”
When she merely stared at him he said, “Either you remove it, or I shall.”
With a wave of revulsion, Megan clenched her hands at her sides.
He lifted the tip of his sword to her throat and met her icy stare. “I welcome the chance to inflict pain, my lady.”
Before he could cut her, she reached for the buttons of her gown. His lips curved into a hint of a smile. “That is better. Now you understand who is the master here.” His shrill laugh sent fresh waves of terror through her. “And you are the slave, my lady.”
As Megan slowly unbuttoned her dress, her mind raced. This was a madman. He would stop at nothing to have what he wanted. With hands, teeth, fingernails, she must fight him until he killed her. She would never submit.
When she reached the last button, he brought the tip of his sword to slide her gown from first one shoulder, then the other, until it joined her cloak on the floor at her feet.
She lowered her head in shame, that this man should see her in her chemise and petticoats.
“You are a vision, my lady. It is no wonder the lord of Killamara lost his heart to you.” He closed the distance between them and caught her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his look. “And now,” he cried with a note of triumph, “the Ketterings will own everything once held dear by the O’Maras.”
As he bent to her, Kieran’s steely voice stopped h
im. “Not everything, James. The lady will never be sullied by you.”
James and Megan looked up to discover that Kieran had climbed in through the window of the cottage. Megan gave a little cry of joy at the sight of him.
“O’Mara.” James swung around to find Kieran’s sword pointed at his heart.
Lifting his own sword, James lunged. The tip of his sword missed Kieran’s heart by mere inches, tearing through his tunic but failing to cut his flesh.
Kieran easily avoided his next thrust, then drove James back again and again until he tripped over the body of Malcolm. As he fell, James’ sword slipped from his hand. Desperate, he pulled the bloody knife from Malcolm’s chest and lunged at Megan. Holding her in front of him as a shield, he placed the blade against her throat and snarled, “Now, O’Mara, you will drop your sword or I swear I will spill the lady’s blood.”
Kieran felt a surge of helpless rage. There had been a time when he would have ruthlessly driven home the point of his sword without regard for such threats. But this was Megan in the hands of this madman. And he could not bear the thought of any harm coming to her. “Let Megan go, James.” His voice was low, deadly.
“I will kill her, O’Mara, and her blood will be upon your hands.”
“Nay, Kieran.” Megan fought to keep the fear from her voice. “You must not lower your weapon. He will kill us both.”
With a glance at Megan, Kieran allowed the sword to drop from his hand. In the silence, it clattered to the floor.
Shoving Megan into Kieran’s arms, James bent and retrieved the sword, then brandished it menacingly.
“The lady was right, O’Mara. Now I will have the pleasure of killing both of you before returning to the chapel to witness my father’s marriage to the lovely Lady Katherine.”
Megan felt Kieran’s hands tighten at her shoulders, but he continued watching James through narrowed eyes. As James lifted his sword and advanced on them, Kieran thrust Megan behind him. But when James took another step, the door to the cottage was thrown open. Standing in the doorway was Tavis Downey. His face was red, his brow beaded with perspiration.
