Across Captive Seas

by Michele du Barry

  He was going to kill her or worse! Angela turned and fled for the first open door, slamming it shut and locking it just as Scott reached it. What could she do? He was pounding and shouting angrily for her to open the thick door, but instead she looked around frantically for something to put in front of her. With great effort she pushed and pulled at the large desk, wedging it against the door. She added several chairs and then sank down in a heap on the carpeted library floor.

  How in the world had Scott found out? Angela’s heart beat a tattoo against her ribs. She couldn’t stay here forever but maybe by the time she came out his temper would have cooled down. What was she going to do now? He would never let her go. She was trapped like a rat. Angela could see herself here forever, growing old; a prisoner, unloved and unwanted except as a possession.

  The door shuddered under violent attack from the outside and Angela jumped to her feet, wringing her hands in distress. There was no escape and if the door didn’t hold she shuddered to think of what would happen, her imagination taking over.

  Why had Angela been on the verge of leaving him? Scott kicked at the stout door again, his rage giving him superhuman strength. The lock wouldn’t hold forever and when it gave way—just what would he do? He felt like hurting Angela the way she had hurt him but that would be no solution. Above all he must not let his temper get the better of him and injure her in any way. That only made her more stubborn, as he had learned from past experience. He must get to the bottom of this puzzle, find out why and he would know the solution.

  The lock gave way with a metallic grating sound and the furniture began to be pushed slowly into the room. As Scott strode into the room Angela just stood there defiantly. He had recognized the terror in her eyes when she had slapped him but still she had attacked first. And now there was only insolence in her level stare, and perhaps resignation. What a Tartar—she was indomitable! But he had to show strength and teach her who the master of the castle really was.

  Grasping her wrist Scott pulled her from the room and past the group of awed servants milling around in the hall. Angela wanted to scream for help but clenched her teeth instead. She wouldn’t give Scott the satisfaction, or give the servants more to gossip about. He hauled her up the stairs so fast that she fell but he didn’t stop. Scott just dragged her fiercely over the stone steps, each one jarring and bruising her body. She regained her footing at the top and he pushed her into what had once been their bedroom and locked the door behind them.

  “Now,” Scott said in a dangerously quiet voice, “tell me what the hell you were doing, eloping with Macdonald—and taking the children to boot!”

  “I have only one thing to say to you, Scott Harrington,” Angela hurled at him scornfully, “I don’t want to be your wife any more! I want an annulment!”

  “Why?” His voice was as cold as ice but his face was livid and his lips were compressed into a thin white line.

  ‘You are a liar.” She said it, suddenly calm. “I don’t wish to remain the wife of a liar. I refuse to sit quietly at home, the meek little wife, and raise your children while you ride all over the Highlands lying with every woman in sight. Whoremonger! Bastard! Adulterer!” Her voice became louder. “Do you think I’m a fool? Well I was—but no more! I will never believe another word you utter! Our marriage is a sham, and I will dissolve it come hell or high water!”

  She should have known by the way Scott said nothing, letting her go on and on, but her anger was fueled by her own words. Angela was taken by surprise as he grabbed her and threw her on the bed, his own long body following closely, pinning her down.

  “So,” Scott snarled, his darkened face inches from hers, “you want an annulment? Well you will never get one; I’ll see to that right now!”

  With swift, sure movements he hiked her skirts up holding Angela’s writhing body and struggling hands still as if she had no strength at all.

  “I hate you!” she screamed as Scott’s body strained against her without preliminaries.

  “Good! At least I know how to deal with that!”

  His mouth burned against hers, moving slowly until her lips slackened and parted but he continued on, the violence of his attack unremitting. Angela screamed but his mouth absorbed the sound. And in the midst of the intense suffering he was causing her, her body arched sharply against his—pain and pleasure following rapidly on each other’s heels.

  Angela gasped for breath beneath him, buffeted between hate and love, hot and cold. How could such ecstasy exist amidst such torture? She was dying, caught up in turbulent throes when Scott’s body separated violently from hers, spilling his seed onto the white lace of her ruffled petticoat.

  Scott’s face was closed and unemotional as he got up and rearranged his clothes, as if what had just happened meant nothing to him but an inconvenient interruption of his day. His eyes glanced hard over her body sprawled like a broken doll on the green coverlet.

  “The marriage has been consummated; there will be no annulment!” His voice held the finality of doom and he turned and unhurriedly left the room.

  Her last chance at escape had been bungled, and Angela felt an odd desire to laugh and cry at the same time. Where Scott and his actions were concerned her feelings attained an incongruity that amazed her. She struggled to her feet grasping hold of the bedpost as her shaking legs threatened to give way. The petticoat felt wet and sticky against her thighs and she pressed one hand against the taut flatness of her belly. She still felt the unaccustomed ache of his savage possession.

  They rarely spoke at all any more and when they did it was to argue. Their brief marriage consisted of one long storm with only the briefest interludes of calm. Angela could count those times on the fingers of one hand. She had never been so unhappy and her aqua eyes were always sad even when she made a pretense at being happy. They feigned indifference but that too was dissimulating, for between them it was impossible. Their emotions were too volatile to be contained for long, leading to outbursts of hate and love. But as things stood, hate was the only safe alternative for both of them.

  The castle was an armed camp and Angela the prisoner. Ever since her attempted escape she could go nowhere outside of Seafield Castle without being accompanied by Angus or another of the servants. For her own protection, Scott had said, but everyone down to the scullery maids knew he didn’t trust her out of his sight. If Angela rode, walked or went into the village to shop she was escorted, usually by an eagle-eyed Angus who stuck to her like glue.

  She grew restive under the scrutiny of everyone and took to hiding herself away in some nook or cranny of the castle. Sometimes she spent hours walking round and round the balcony of the round tower wishing she was free to fly like the birds that circled so near. One time she spent the entire day in the secret mural closet Scott had once shown her, located behind the fireplace in the great hall. She read a whole novel curled up on a hard wooden chair and when she heard a flurry of activity she watched amused through the spyhole as every available person was sent to search for her.

  But on days when the sun shone bright against the brilliant blue of the sky Angela had to be outdoors, no matter that Angus dogged her. She would lose herself in the feel of a powerful animal beneath her, eating up the distance between glen and moor; the wind cool against her face, tugging the pins from her hair till it flew heavy and free behind her. Sometimes, for a moment, as Angela rounded a bend she could imagine she was alone, but then Angus would appear in the distance as persistent as always, charged with keeping her in sight.

  Today Angus trailed after Angela, carrying a big basket which she slowly filled with purchases in the village. He might as well be useful, she thought, perturbed by his presence as she chose some satin ribbons for Lorna’s hair. Her captivity was beginning to chafe sorely after all these weeks.

  As Angela left the shop, looking cool and slim on the warm summer day she ran smack into portly Doctor Fletcher. He eyed her intently, his gaze lingering on the curve of her waist, and Angela flushed t
o think that even he had designs on her. But that idea was quickly dispelled.

  “I see your husband took my advice,” he beamed, his round face glistening in the sun as they walked slowly down the street.

  “Advice?” asked Angela baffled. “What advice?”

  “I can see by the look of you that you’re not breeding—admirable for a man of Lord Harrington’s nature—wouldn’t have believed it of him.”

  Mystification was plain upon Angela’s face as she frowned trying to decipher the doctor’s words. She drew him aside beneath a shady tree determined to get to the bottom of his cryptic remarks. “What in the world are you talking about, Doctor Fletcher?”

  He too looked puzzled. “I’m talking about the fact that you’re not with child.”

  “But what has that got to do with anything?”

  “Damn!” The exclamation slipped out before Doctor Fletcher could catch it. “Excuse me, milady. I just assumed he would have told you about the conversation we had after your son’s birth.”

  “What conversation? Please explain yourself.”

  “Well,” he began dubiously, “I told Lord Harrington that you should have no more children. Your pelvis is too narrow to take the rigors of a child every year.” He warmed to his subject not noticing the shock in Angela’s eyes. “Another child, could be the death of you. Well your husband was beside himself when I told him—he had almost lost you. It probably wouldn’t have mattered to most men, they could get themselves another wife. He must love you very much to give up—"

  Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “What else did you tell Scott?”

  “Only that there was only one sure way to prevent conception, to keep away from you.”

  “Do you mean,” Angela’s voice rose alarmingly, that you told him never to lie with me again, for fear I would get pregnant and die in childbirth?”

  “That’s putting it bluntly, milady!” She had shocked even him.

  Doctor Fletcher couldn’t help noticing her distraught actions as Angela turned from him, shouting for Angus and hurrying down the street toward the carriage without another word. He shook his head; there was no way of remotely understanding the nobility and he wasn’t going to try now.

  The pieces of the puzzle fell into place and the picture everything that had happened since Robert’s birth was crystal clear. That’s why Scott hadn’t touched her, why even when goaded into consummating their marriage he didn’t completely fulfill the act. It explained the incident the first time they went riding, his cruel rejection and his infidelity. Even his lies were understandable in the light of her conversation with Doctor Fletcher, and it was all her fault!

  Everything was up to Angela now, their whole future together, and for a moment the past washed over her like a tidal wave, crushing her hopes. Their lives couldn’t be irreparably damaged. She loved him more now than ever before and Scott loved her so intensely he had relinquished the single most important part of his life for her! How could she ever have doubted him? With this new knowledge deep within her heart Angela knew that everything would work out.

  He loves me, he loves me, he loves me! Her heart whispered the refrain joyfully over and over again as they made their way back home.

  Scott wasn’t home for dinner and as the evening wore on it seemed he wasn’t going to make an appearance. Angela alternated between nervousness and exhilaration. She couldn’t eat, she put the children to bed and then went to her room taking unusual pains with her appearance. After a long, hot bath in perfumed water she had Molly brush her hair till it bounced and glowed with a life of its own. Then Angela chose a nightgown of diaphanous black silk, a mere whisper of material that let her body gleam through the folds.

  Still he didn’t come and Angela sat in a chair beside the fireplace gazing at the flames leaping red, orange, and yellow, sometimes blue as the logs were consumed. Waking with a start she realized from the dying fire just how late it was. She had fallen asleep in the chair and rose, stretching languorously. Angela was wide awake, refreshed by her nap and she smiled as she thought, I’ve had enough sleep for this night.

  Silently Angela padded on bare feet down the hall toward Scott’s room. She paused outside his closed door as a feeling of panic overcame her. What if he still rejected her? She wasn’t above a few little lies of her own. With a determined breath she opened the door and dropped her gown to the floor.

  She could hear Scott’s breathing from the bed. He couldn’t have been back for very long because the fire was newly built and cast flickering shadows over the room. Angela’s heart beat erratically and even in the cool of the night her body was flushed and hot. She clipped beneath the covers and pressed against his naked body, thrilling as even asleep his arms pulled her to him and he whispered her name.

  For a few minutes Angela lay very still savoring the feel of her head on Scott’s shoulder, the warmth of his bare skin and the clean masculine smell that permeated the bed. Her eyes grew accustomed to the dark and she could make out his closed eyes, the lashes as long as her own, the arrogant sweep of his nose and the sensual, chiseled mouth.

  Angela shivered with anticipation as Scott’s arm tightened around her and the tumultuous flooding of her senses began. Her hand moved through the hair on his chest, tracing downward until her fingers found him, stroking and teasing him alive.

  He rolled over on her, his mouth seeking hers and then his eyes flew open. Scott stared down at her. She couldn’t be real—she must be part of the provocative dream he was having. But Angela felt real enough, the soft taut-tipped breasts rising and falling rapidly against his chest, her slim arms twined around his neck and the warmth of her loins against his. No, it wasn’t possible! He shook his head in disbelief, his hair falling across his forehead and she smiled and pressed a kiss on the cleft in his chin.

  "Scott, Scott,” Angela whispered, her need of him overwhelming. “I love you, darling. Please, love me!”

  Damn—you’re real!” Scott made the supreme effort and rolled away from her, even though everything in him whispered that he should take her. “What game are you playing now, you little she-devil? Have you come to tease and tempt me and then disappear into the night?”

  “No games.” Angela moved closer, but he thrust out his arm stopping her.

  “Then get out of here!” Scott’s voice was ragged with pain and desire.

  “But listen to me. . .”

  “I’m not going to listen and I won’t spend another moment in this bed with you!”

  Scott leaped from the bed, pulling Angela with him. They struggled as he pulled her to the door, flesh against burning flesh. And as he removed one hand from her to open the door Angela twisted in his grasp, freeing herself; the momentum sending her crashing to the floor at his feet.

  With one lithe movement he bent to pick her up and thrust her from the room but she twined both arms around his leg, pressing her cheek against his hard-muscled calf. “No, no! You must listen!” And she clung tenaciously. “I saw Doctor Fletcher today.”

  Scott froze, all his attention riveted on the small clinging figure at his feet. One breast pressed against his leg like a point of fire and he could feel the spreading heat radiate up his body.

  “I saw the doctor,” Angela repeated, the words rushing like a waterfall from her lips. “He told me everything—that I shouldn’t have children, that you weren’t to touch me. And then I knew why so many things had happened and I couldn’t bear to go on in the same way.

  “I love you, you love me, and we are tearing each other apart. We hurt and strike out at one another until there is only hate and emptiness. Scott,” Angela pleaded, tears slipping down her face, “please, let’s stop it now before it’s too late! You are my husband and I’m your wife. I’d rather be dead than living like this, halfway to hell!”

  Scott bent down and loosened her hold, his hands clasping Angela’s tiny waist, lifting her into his arms. He kissed away her tears and with a groan of defeat crushed his mouth feverishly across hers. H
er lips bloomed with desire beneath his and their tongues met, wildly exploring, renewing their vows of love. Their breathing merged and Angela felt the hot press of his desire surge against her belly, sending the glowing embers within her bursting into flames.

  She was lifted into the air, briefly cradled against his chest as Scott strode back to the bed and the cool sheets welcomed them. He held her tightly but made no further advances.

  “Angel,” Scott groaned huskily against her cheek, “I want you and love you—you are the earth, moon, and stars to me! But can you see now why I can’t make love to you?”

  “I only know that there’s no longer any need to hold back. I made Doctor Fletcher examine me again,” she lied, “and he changed his mind. I can have a dozen children if I want!”

  Scott caught her chin and probed the depths of her green-blue eyes, doubt and then joy flickering across his face. “Oh, love, is it true?”

  Angela nodded and there was no longer any need for words between them—their bodies did the talking in the language of love.

  Scott’s hands rioted over her body followed closely by his mouth. Hot burning kisses trailed a stream of fire along her throat, breasts, and her quivering belly. Angela arched up against him as his tongue shot into her navel and his fingers caressed her silken flesh.

  There was no restraint between them as there had always been in the past, one of them holding back for reasons of their own. Angela was completely uninhibited, a primitive wanton, demanding everything from Scott and giving everything in return.

  Then she pressed him back on the bed, her mouth on his, her long black hair falling around their faces like a curtain. Her lips teased and nibbled and just when Scott thought he would go mad they pressed full against his open and moist, allowing him full rein, her tongue doing things no woman ever had done before.