Francine said nothing for a moment. Then, sighing, she said, “I miss his humor.”
“What?”
“Robert’s. When I was hurt, he’d come in and joke with me. It helped.”
Sean studied her face carefully, noting the faraway look in her doe like brown eyes. He had been right about them, he thought. “He’s a good man. A good friend,” was all he said.
His thoughts, which had been riveted to the room on the other side of the house where Kira had been sequestered, now turned to his sister.
He could not keep the truth from Francine any longer. He was about to tell her of Chatham—of the doctor’s secret desire—when they heard the commotion outside.
“He loves you!” he told her as he ran from the room, leaving Francine’s mouth agape. She stared in astonishment at her brother’s departing back.
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Birds. Hundreds of birds whistling, calling, crying to their mates; baby birds calling to their mothers for food; the forest filled with birds. Kira awoke to the sound, her arms numb. Fetid smells assaulted her; there was garbage rotting nearby, and unwashed bodies had occupied this space too often. Slight rays of light came through the ill-fitting boards that served as walls for the hut, but the general impression she had was that it was dark and dank.
Her head hurt, and when she turned her neck, lances of pain shot along her back. She tried to move her arms, but could not. She knew she was tied, but she felt no sensations in her wrists.
Slowly she swiveled her head and saw the man half-sitting only a few feet from her. He was dark and ugly; his eyes were closed. Suddenly, she knew what was in store for her. She had heard too many tales of highwaymen and marauders to even pray that she would be spared.
The stinging sensation of the ropes against her wrists brought tears to her eyes, but she bit her lip and kept up the movements of her hands. She had to get free!
“What be y’ doin’, me loverly?” called the raspy voice. Kira froze and turned her eyes to him. “I be watchin’ yer tryin’, and y’ be too trussed to get loose,” he informed her. Then he smiled at her. Disgust and revulsion roiled in her stomach at the sight of the dark, rotting teeth peeking through a matted black beard.
He came to her then, leaning over her, still smiling as he breathed heavily in her face.
“Y’ be Dick Spanial’s now, luv. And y’ ken give thanks that y’ be alive. He bent over, forcing his mouth over hers. Kira gagged, choking with horror as she felt his weight press against her. She tried to move again, but she was tied fast. Then she pulled her legs up—and found that they were only bound at the ankles. Quickly, using all her remaining strength, she jackknifed her knees.
His muffled cry echoed in the hut as he rolled off her, his hands cupping his groin.
“Bitch!” he groaned, pulling himself to a sitting position. His naturally ugly features were distorted and now he seemed viler than a demon from the depths of hell. What was visible of his face, between hair and beard, had turned a deep red. His mouth gaped in an obscene sneer as he lifted his hand and slammed it against the side of her head.
The sound exploded in her ear and the force of his attack sent her rocking. His hands dug into her hair and pulled her back to him. She saw her fate in his wild eyes as he slapped her again. Pain shot through her mouth: she tasted the metallic flatness of her own blood.
“Whore! Rotten whore! Dick Spanial’s not good enough fer ye, is he? I’ll teach y’ a thing er two, damn ye!” he shouted, reaching for the top of her chamois shirt.
“Dick!” cried a voice. The cabin door flew open.
“Get the ’ell out o ’ere!” he shouted at the intruder, loosening his grip on Kira’s shirt.
“Dick, ’tis the sheriff’s men. They’re gettin’ close…hounds, too!” he warned. Spanial leaped up, but before he charged through the door, he turned back to Kira.
“Don’t worry none, me lass, I be not near finished with ye.” He rushed out shouting orders to the men. She breathed easier but knew this was only a brief respite. Then the door opened again and a different man entered. He looked down at her and shook his head sadly. He took his knife and sliced the ropes that bound her feet, grabbed her shirt and, bunching the material like a handle, pulled her to her feet. Then, as if he’d done this often, he grabbed her before she fell over. Her legs were numb and she could not stand unassisted.
She let the man half carry her out of the hut. Suddenly the returning circulation caused her to cry out.
“It’ll pass,” the man said, as he kept her walking. “You be a lucky one. I thought fer sure he was gonna kill y’ just then.”
“My arms?” she asked. He smiled sadly at her and shook his head.
“If I were to cut yer hands free, I’d like as not lose me own.” He fell silent when they reached the others of the band. They were all thin and, for the most part, unwashed and unshaven. Their clothing a totally mismatched conglomeration of cast-offs.
One man wore a fine silk shirt and had two heavy gold bands on his fingers. His breeches were old and tattered and he wore no shoes. Another wore a pair of well-made leather riding boots, with a handsome pair of jodhpurs, but his shirt, or what remained of it, was a rag. He wore a stocking cap and his face was as scarred as a map was lined. After her brief inspection of the group, Kira turned her attention back to Dick Spanial, who was directing the men to pour oil on the huts and to cast what was left in all directions. Kira was jerked to one side, and another rope was attached to her wrists. This one would be her leash.
The men, with Kira in the middle, gathered at the edge of the clearing. The horse she had ridden had its hooves bound in rags, and Spanial smacked the horse’s haunches hard, sending it careening wildly into the forest.
Then the torch was thrown, and flames leapt toward the sky. Kira was pushed forward roughly. Although the pain had diminished in her legs, it was agony to walk.
The sound of the fire frightened Kira more than their sight. She had never seen such ruthlessness; the igniting of a dry forest for no reason other than to deter a pursuer seemed cruel and senseless.
“’Tis a loverly sight, them flames,” said Spanial, as he moved to Kira’s side.
“It is a horror.” She flung the words at him angrily.
“Ho—such spirit,” he laughed. “No lass, ’tis our safety. The flames will hide us as we go, and yer ’orse, he be the best yet. We put some of our clothin’ on ’is ’ooves. The dogs’ll foller’im fer hours.” He laughed, then he pinched Kira’s cheek. “Soon lassie, soon old Dick’ll ’ave ’is due.”
Kira kept her silence then as she bent her head and continued forward. She was afraid, but no longer terrified. A merciful haziness fogged her brain, and she found it hard to concentrate on anything.
A root sticking out of the ground took Kira by surprise. She tripped and fell hard. Sean’s knife, in its sheath, poked into her, and she winced with the small pain that reminded her who she was and what she had been attempting. One of the men helped her up and gently pushed her forward. She walked through the trees and bushes, keeping her eyes forward, always on the back of her repulsive captor. Spanial must have felt the hatred of her stare because every few minutes he would turn and look at her, an ugly smile on his lips.
At one point, Kira heard the excited barking of the hounds, but before she could cry out, a large hand closed over her mouth.
“Now, now, y’ wouldn’t be tryin’ anything foolish, lass,” cautioned Spanial. He held her until the baying stopped.
Several hours later, the ragged group stopped at the entrance to another small clearing. Spanial and one other man went ahead to scout the area. They were gone for fifteen minutes.
“It be safe, boys,” he said when they returned. “Looks like it did when we left.” At this news, a murmur of relief came from the men. “Let’s go,” ordered Spanial, and the group marched into the clearing.
The only shelter was a rough lean-to, but the remains of old cooking fires were everywhere. Spanial ca
lled to the man who had taken Kira from the cabin and told him to change his clothing. The man nodded and, taking the small bag that he’d carried on his shoulders, he disappeared into the lean-to.
When he came out, he was dressed almost normally. If his hair had been trimmed and his face shaved, he would have passed for a respectable traveler. Spanial pulled several coins and one of Kira’s rings from the purse he had at his side and flipped them to the man.
“Y’ find out what y’ ken, Jack, and git back ’ere afore midnight,” Spanial ordered, before turning back to Kira; “Now, me fine-bred lassie-—come along with me.” He took the rope that was attached to her wrists and, laughing, led her into the woods.
CHAPTER 27
The Cornwall estate dissolved in utter chaos when Lord Ramsbotham’s wild cries shattered the stillness of the night.
“Someone hit me on the back of the head when I went to investigate the open stable door. What in the name of the devil is going on,” he demanded.
“She’s gone, m’lord,” cried a wild-eyed Polly, whose breath came in hard gasps. She had gone to search Kira’s room as soon as Cornwall had ordered her to. Now she seemed frightened and Sean saw that she grew even more so when Stephan Cornwall glowered at her in a rage.
“The fool,” he shouted. “She’ll not last the night alone.” Then, anxiously, he turned to his guests. “I’m terribly sorry, you see, but the real reason the girl was sent to England was to keep her away from people. She’s been unbalanced since her father’s death and, naturally, her uncle refused to allow her to become the laughingstock of Charleston.” Stephan looked around to see how his story was being accepted. “Also, my cousin had hoped that my wife and I could help the girl over her crisis.”
Charles came racing in from the stable. “Sir,” he interrupted, “Master William’s horse is gone.”
“Could he be with her?” asked Sean.
“No,” Stephan answered hastily. “When William is ill, he closes himself in his room. Most likely he’s not heard us.”
“Why did you say she’d not last the night?” asked Francine, who stood near Albert, clenching his arm.
“Highwaymen. Lately there’s been a terrible rash of killings and robberies. A young woman would have no chance.”
“Then we must go after her!” declared Albert Ramsbotham.
“Where would we look?” Cornwall’s tone was sarcastic. “The girl has never left the estate. We have no idea where she might be going.”
“But we do,” said Sean, and everyone stared at him. “Did you not tell us, last night, that she had recently come from America?”
“Why, yes,” replied Stephan.
“Where did her ship dock? Portsmouth?” Stephan nodded his assent.
“How difficult would it be for someone to ride to Portsmouth if they’d only been over the road once, but recently?”
“Not very,” admitted Cornwall, “but she was sick when she arrived, she couldn’t possibly remember a two-day journey—and a good portion of it was done at night,” he reminded them.
“But she must have remembered,” observed Sean. “There can be no other possibility.” Sean hated this game. He wanted to tell this stupid fool Cornwall that he was trying to win at a game he had no chance in. Kira would find her way to Portsmouth blindfolded if she had to. Still, he wished she’d held back an hour. Then he smiled to himself, because now that he thought about it, he realized she could not have waited when opportunity arose any more than he could have.
“I have been bored long enough on this trip to London. I would enjoy some excitement. Get me a horse, Lord Cornwall. 1 will find your errant cousin,” he declared gallantly.
“Malcolm, you’re not in the service any longer,” cautioned Lord Albert. “You have a higher duty now.”
“Bosh!” he replied. “I’ll dress,” he told Cornwall. “Have the horse ready for me.”
For a moment Stephan stared at him mistrustfully. Then he agreed, realizing the man would have no way of learning the truth. “But you’ll take some of my men with you?”
“If you insist.”
“Take Ian,” cut in Ramsbotham. “He knows the area well.”
“I’ll do that,” returned Sean, over his shoulder. He almost ran up the stairs, so eager was he to change to his riding clothes and be off after Kira.
When he returned, Ian was waiting beside two horses. Sean bowed to Cornwall and then pulled Albert aside. “If I don’t return by tonight, get Francine on a ship home tomorrow.” Ramsbotham silently agreed and gripped Sean’s hand.
“Good luck, Sir Malcolm—we pray you find her,” said Cornwall. “But remember, pay no attention to what she says. She’s nearly mad with grief.”
Sean bit back an angry reply and urged his mount on. Ian followed swiftly behind him as they raced off down the road to Portsmouth. In the east, the rim of the sun was just breaking over the horizon.
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Kira felt the hot fetid breath on her cheek. He pressed his body against hers; his hand reached to the waist of her breeches. She fought him, twisting her body away and trying to bite at his lips.
Dick Spanial was too strong for her and too wary from their last encounter. He laughed at her vain struggles, while his hand reached inside the waistband of the breeches and she felt his calloused hand on the soft skin of her belly. His fingers rubbed and pulled at the downy hair, when suddenly she felt him stiffen and draw away.
His head flew up, and Kira could not believe her good fortune. Directly above Dick Spanial, his rapier held against the back of the vulgar highwayman’s neck, was William.
“Get off her, Spanial!” he ordered. The bandit’s face turned a deep crimson, as he stumbled to his feet.
“How dare ye!” said Spanial in a low growl.
“Shut up!” William pushed the rapier at the man’s chest, a bare inch away from his heart. “Kira, can you stand?” Kira did not bother to answer but turned on her stomach, pulling her knees under her. Then somehow, she got to her feet and went to William’s side. She had no idea how he had found her—all she felt was an overwhelming flood of relief at her rescue.
Smoothly, William pulled out the knife that hung at Spanial’s waist and cut the bonds that held Kira’s wrists. When that was done, he threw the knife and Spanial’s pistol into the bushes.
“Kira, can you travel?” he asked.
Kira nodded.
“I’ll not be fergettin’ this day, young William,” said Spanial, and Kira saw the way William stiffened at the sound of his name. The highwayman knew him. Why? How?
“You best forget not only this day, but every day before it.” William spat the words out and pressed the point of his sword a half inch into the highwayman’s chest. Kira had never heard him talk this way. Even his manner had changed dramatically. He was like another person.
“You’ve taken what’s mine. I’ll not be fergettin’ it.” Spanial pressed against the blade, forcing William to retreat or kill him. When William stepped back, the highwayman laughed in his face.
“She not be worth what you ’as to pay, young William,” Spanial growled, eyeing Kira lasciviously.
“He took my jewels and your rapier,” Kira cut in. Somehow she would have to be the one to break the spell Spanial held over the boy. “I must have them, William. They’re my only way home.”
“Yes,” agreed Spanial. “Go with her, William; my men have the jewels.”
“He’s lying!” she yelled, running toward the bushes where William had thrown the highwayman’s dagger. She found it lying on top of some roots, and returning to Spanial, she cut the purse that was still attached to his waist.
“I’ll have my jewels and some of your coins—the coins will pay for the ring you’ve already sent away.” She turned to William. “Where are the horses?”
“Mine is in the brush.”
“Let’s go,” she commanded, but William stood there transfixed. He could not leave Spanial to call in the alarm, and Spanial knew this. He had just b
een playing with them. Now he smiled and opened his mouth to call his men. Kira, realizing what he intended, began to scream as if Spanial were indeed raping her. The men would never interrupt their leader while he was “getting his due.”
Spanial broke away from William and tried to run back to his men, but Kira cut across, blocking his way. She ducked beneath his fleshy arm, feinting with the dagger. Suddenly she pressed the blade into him and Kira felt a ripping sensation, until the knife was jerked out of her hand.
Spanial did not move, so astonished was he at the sight of the knife handle protruding from his arm. William ran to Kira’s aid, putting the blade of the rapier against the highwayman’s throat.
Spanial’s eyes widened and his Adam’s apple began to bob wildly. Kira could barely control her breathing and gagged as she tried to force back the bile souring her mouth. But she managed to gain control and ran for the rope that had been attached to her wrists. She pulled his arms back and tied his wrists, before drawing the knife from his arm. She ripped a piece of cloth from his ragged shirt and knotted it around the wound to form a bandage. She tied another strip of material over his mouth.
When approaching footsteps sounded from the direction of the clearing, she began to scream again, yelling for Spanial to stop or to kill her. “No more,” she begged, “no more…” Then she let out a loud, sobbing cry. The footsteps ceased. There was silence. The highwayman stared at Kira with what could only be described as respect.
When they had tied him to a tree, Kira and William left the highwayman and went to his horse. William mounted first and then pulled Kira up behind him. They rode silently, Kira leaning her head exhaustedly against William’s back. But one question was still burning in her mind.
“How did he know you?” she asked. She felt him stiffen, but he said nothing. “How?”
“It’s not important.” Kira, unable to get any response from the recalcitrant boy, kept her silence also. About a half hour later they broke through the trees and found a road. William stopped the horse, letting Kira dismount, and then he followed suit.
A Whisper Of Destiny Page 25
