Chapter 27
The light from the flickering candles cast a golden honey glow on Catherine’s skin as she stood, waiting for Phillip’s command. Unable to bear Rian’s wretched expression as he watched another man look at her, she closed her eyes. Phillip walked in a slow circle around her, savoring the sight of her nude body. He spent a long time staring at the scar on her back, and Catherine wondered how many others he planned to add to it.
Even though she had told herself to expect it, she still jumped when he took hold of her hand. His palm was damp, his fingers sweaty, and it took every ounce of her resolve not to snatch her hand away. But she wasn’t able to completely hide her disgust.
“You do not welcome my touch?” Phillip murmured.
It was the laugh that provoked her. The high pitched, schoolboy giggle that sounded obscene coming from the mouth of a grown man. With no regard for the consequences, Catherine opened her eyes and spat at her cousin, then calmly steadied herself for the blow she was certain would follow. But Phillip did not strike her. Instead he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the gob of spittle from his cheek.
“You will pay for that,” he told her as he moved behind Rian’s chair.
Keeping her face as blank as she could possibly make it, Catherine watched her husband rein in his rage. She was not deceived by his calm exterior. He carefully flexed his arms against the rope binding, testing it for weakness. He was close to erupting like some fantastic volcano she had read about, spewing forth the molten lava of his fury, and giving no mercy to those who stood in his path.
“Isn’t she captivating?” Phillip asked silkily as both men stared at the woman bathed in candlelight.
Head held high, Catherine stared at an imaginary point in the middle of Phillip’s forehead. She did not try to cover herself. Instead she let her arms hang loosely at her sides, keeping her body as relaxed as possible.
“To be able to partake of such forbidden fruit, inhale the sweet fragrance of her woman’s perfume, and feast on such succulent flesh…what would a man give for the chance to do all that, I wonder?”
Rian made a low guttural sound in the back of his throat.
“Tell me, my dear,” Phillip said, addressing Catherine, “what would you give to save his life?”
Alarm flashed in her eyes. She didn’t trust her cousin, and she had no explanation for his strange obsession with her. But could it be used to her advantage? Would he, in his madness, be willing to strike a bargain with her? Keep her and let Rian go? If there was a chance, no matter how small, she had to take it. In a voice that was strong and unwavering, Catherine gave him the only possible answer.
“Anything. I will do anything.”
Rian felt his heart break. He knew what she was doing and why. It would do no good to tell her Phillip was lying. He would never allow Rian to leave this room alive. But his wife, his beautiful wife, was willing to give everything she had if there was any possibility, no matter how small, that she could save him. Rian had never been more in love with her than he was at that moment, or more proud to have her as his own. Or more filled with pain and anguish. He willed her to look at him, and, hearing his silent plea, she turned her head. His warm brown gaze held fast to her deep blue one.
“Shall we put that to the test, cousin dear?” Phillip sounded sly and cunning. “Your willingness to do anything I ask of you.”
“How do I know you will keep your word?” Catherine asked. “How do I know you will let my husband go once I have done whatever it is you ask of me?”
“Grace is no longer here, is she?” It was true. He had allowed her to leave, and Catherine was grateful. She gave Rian one last, lingering look, hoping he would not hate her for what she was about to do. “Come here, Catherine,” Phillip ordered with a lascivious twist to his mouth as he stared at Rian’s face. “And get on your knees.”
* * * *
Grace crept closer to the open doorway, listening to the voices coming from the room. The master was speaking, saying things she didn’t understand. His voice sounded funny. A little like the cutpurse boys, excited and fearful all at once. The man in the chair was also talking, and though he did not yell or shout, Grace could tell he wanted to hurt the master. Good. She wanted to hurt him too. The master was leaning back against the bed, while the lady was kneeling in front of him. It looked as if she was praying, but Grace did not think so. Her ma had told her you prayed if you wanted to talk to God, but you could only talk to him in a church. And you wore a lot more clothes in church.
Seeing Catherine’s fingers move to the fastenings of the master’s breeches, Grace put a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She had seen her ma do this many times. One time a man said she bit him, and he hit her in the face hard enough to knock out a tooth and then wouldn’t pay her. The side of her ma’s face had swelled up something fierce. Grace didn’t want the lady’s face to swell up, but the smile on the master’s face reminded her of the man who hit her ma. It was the same smile that always made Grace’s stomach hurt. She didn’t like it, and she didn’t think the lady liked it either, but then the master closed his eyes and leaned back his head, giving Grace the chance she needed to slip into the room unnoticed.
Thankfully the chair the man was tied to was big enough to hide her. Using the shadows and Rian’s body as an additional shield, she took out the kitchen knife and began sawing through the ropes.
Rian jerked at the tug he felt on the ropes binding him. Phillip’s two thugs had not troubled themselves with securing his legs, and no one had reckoned with the determination of a ten-year-old girl.
Catherine was in no doubt about what Phillip wanted her to do. A foul, rank odor assaulted her as she loosened his breeches, making her gag. She knew the moment Phillip forced himself into her mouth, she was going to vomit. The sound of his lustful moan made her freeze, and Phillip grabbed her by the back of the neck in a grip of iron.
“Remember,” he warned her, “his life will be in your hands, or rather your mouth.” Pleased by the cleverness of his own wit, Phillip released his hold on Catherine’s neck so she could finish with her task. However, her fingers were shaking so much she was having a difficult time getting the fastenings undone. “Oh, for God’s sake!” Phillip declared as he slapped her hands away.
When the flap of his breeches fell partially open, Catherine braced herself with her hands as her body fell forward. His body odor was more than she could bear. Accompanied by the most awful retching sound, she vomited all over Phillip’s lower legs and feet. Spitting and coughing, she trembled weakly as tremors ran through her. Kicking her in the side with a dripping foot, Phillip sent her sprawling.
Rian could hear Grace panting from the effort of sawing through the ropes, and he prayed Phillip did not. He thought about making some sort of a disturbance to muffle the sound of Grace’s efforts, but that might draw attention to her instead. He stared at Catherine as she lay sprawled on the floor, noting the strange expression on her face. It took him a moment to realize that from her vantage point she could look beneath the chair, and could clearly see Grace kneeling behind it. Cautiously Rian flexed his biceps, and felt the rope give.
The next few minutes brought complete and utter chaos, minutes that would remain with Catherine until the day she died. With a primitive, deep-throated growl of animalistic rage, Rian launched himself from the chair and grabbed Phillip by the throat. He shook him like a dog with a rat, intent on choking the life from him, but Phillip fought back with a maniacal strength only those in mortal peril possess. He struck Rian about the head and temples with his fists, sending blood gushing down Rian’s face and momentarily blinding him. Seizing the moment, Phillip kneed him in the groin. Rian stumbled back as pain flared, and points of light danced before his eyes. Gasping for breath, he dropped to one knee.
With a cry of rage, Phillip threw himself on his attacker, using the surprise of this counter attack to his advantage. Well aware that he was no match physically against Rian’s size and strength, Phillip fought like a demon. It was almost as if Lucifer himself had blessed him with a savagery to compensate for what he lacked in physical prowess. He clawed at Rian’s face, but Rian’s answering punch bloodied Phillip’s nose and split his lower lip. With an agonized shriek Phillip sprayed blood everywhere, but he still managed to hold on.
Thinking he was never going to free himself from the disgusting piss-pot masquerading as a man, Rian redoubled his efforts. Now he gripped Phillip’s throat more tightly, sinking his fingers into the doughy flesh while ignoring the flailing arms and wildly aimed punches. Grabbing Phillip’s shoulder, Rian intended to flip him over onto his back, but he was suddenly deafened by a loud retort that made both men drop to the ground. Phillip jerked his head toward the open doorway, a look of almost comical surprise on his face before he slumped forward in an untidy heap. The acrid smell of gunpowder in the air told Rian all he needed to know. He stared curiously at the small woman holding a Queen Anne flintlock pistol with both hands; smoke still curled from the end of the barrel. Her long brown hair, threaded liberally with grey, fell to her waist in a loose braid. The shabby robe she wore was stained and torn, but it was her face that held Rian captive. He had never seen an expression that was more serene or more blissful, and she gazed at him with a smile that was positively beatific.
“Lettie!” Catherine’s cry cut across the room.
Rian moved forward, catching the small woman in his arms as she stumbled, dropping the pistol from slack fingers. She did not faint, but her entire body trembled violently and it was a few moments before Rian could determine that shock was the culprit, and she was not suffering a seizure. Carefully he seated her in the chair he had recently occupied before turning and selfishly pulling his wife into his arms.
Sobbing tears of relief, Catherine held up her face, and he smothered it with kisses. Wrapping his arms about her naked body, Ryan buried his face in her neck, his own silent tears of gratitude wetting her skin. All he could do was hold her to him, press her close and feel her heartbeat against his own.
“I thought he would kill you!” Catherine said as she clutched his shirt in her hands. “I’m sorry…I’m so, so s-s-sorry.”
“Whatever for? You did nothing wrong.”
“I l-l-lost my d-d-diamond necklace, Rian, the one you g-g-gave me!” Catherine hiccupped, her eyes huge and swimming with tears. “And my h-h-hair, he cut my hair!”
Afraid that if he let her go, she might be taken from him again, Rian continued to hold her. He murmured soothingly in her ear while his hands moved gently up and down her bare back, and Catherine shuddered silent sobs against him.
He had come, as she had known he would. He had come.
“Here, missus.”
Grace’s quiet voice prompted Rian to release his wife long enough for her to take the robe the child held out to her. It was a much more modest garment than the last one Catherine had been forced to wear, and she slipped into it gratefully. Rian’s face flushed slightly at the realization that even under such horrible circumstances, the sight of his wife’s naked body was arousing a familiar stirring in him. With his forefinger he lifted her chin so he could look at her. She had stopped crying but her cheeks were still wet and her eyes redrimmed and glistening. Rian put one arm around her shoulders, and the fingers of his other hand moved back and forth gently across her lips.
“Your diamond will find its way back to you again, I promise,” he told her solemnly. “You are not the first to have lost it and yet, somehow, it always comes home. In the meantime you still have this.” His fingers left her lips, he reached into his pocket, and took out the ring that John Fletcher had given him earlier. He slipped it on the third finger of her left hand. “As for your hair”—he paused, and gently ran his hand over her shorn skull—“it will grow back.”
Lettie’s sudden coughing fit made them all jump, and Rian felt a spasm of guilt. In truth he had forgotten she was there, but he looked at her, almost lost in the huge chair.
“Is he dead?” Lettie asked, unable to bring herself to look at the still figure on the floor.
Rian glanced at Phillip’s body. “I would imagine so, but we need to be certain.” Placing his hands on Catherine’s shoulders, he guided her toward the other woman. They sat together, the seat wide enough to accommodate both of them easily. Catherine wrapped an arm around Lettie’s shoulders while holding onto Grace with the other.
Rian rolled Phillip over, seeing the large black hole in the middle of his back. It really was quite amazing that Lettie’s aim had been so true. “He’s quite dead,” he told the two women somberly, as he pulled a cover from the bed and draped it over Phillip’s body.
“God forgive me, but I’m not sorry,” Lettie told him in a voice that ached with weariness. “He was a monster.” She took Catherine’s hands and gently stroked her cheek as fresh tears spilled. “I am sorry for you though, for what you had to endure. I am so sorry that I was not brave enough to come to you sooner, to help sooner.”
Catherine hugged her and pulled her in close, gently stroking her hair. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered reassuringly. “He was quite mad.” She stared into Lettie’s face. “You do know that, don’t you?” A shuddering nod was her answer.
“Come,” Rian said, offering his hand to his wife. “We need to leave.”
Like a shepherd with his flock, Rian ushered the three females out of the room, but at the doorway Catherine stopped and turned back to gaze at the room, as if wanting to commit it to memory.
“What is it, darling?”
“I want to be certain…”
“Of what?”
“That this will never hurt me again, not in my dreams, not anywhere,” she told him as she finished taking in every detail, especially the dead body on the floor. It was just a room, she told herself. Four walls covered with silk that had no power over her. Not anymore.
At the bottom of the stairs, Lettie gave Rian directions to the stables, where he would find a carriage and horses. As reluctant as he was to have Catherine out of his sight for even a minute, this was the only way to get them all to safety. He would have taken them all with him, but coming downstairs had drained the last reserves of Lettie’s energy. He returned in less than fifteen minutes, driving the coach and pair himself. His relief at seeing Catherine open the front door was palpable.
Lettie pressed Grace’s hand into Catherine’s. “Get her settled. I’ll just be a moment.”
Alarmed, Catherine reached for the smaller woman’s other hand. “Where are you going?”
“The drawing room,” Lettie said, her hand reaching up to cradle Catherine’s cheek. “I want my music box. It’s all I have left from my father. I’ll be but a moment, I promise you.”
“A moment, no longer.” Catherine nodded as she took Grace down the wide steps to where Rian was now waiting with the carriage. He took Grace from her, settling the child upon the padded seat, but the frown creasing his brow as he looked over Catherine’s head made her turn around in time to see the front door closing.
“No!” she screamed, picking up the hem of her robe and running back up the steps. Pounding her fists against the heavy door, she heard the unmistakable sound of bolts being slid home on the other side. “Lettie! Lettie! What are you doing? Come out of there!”
Lettie’s voice was eerily calm, and reached her clearly. “Catherine, it is the only way I can expect to be forgiven. Promise to take care of Grace for me. You’re a good person. Give her the life she deserves.”
Catherine redoubled her efforts, as if striking the door with her fists would change Lettie’s mind and stop whatever course of action she was intent on. Coming up behind her, Rian seized hold of her hands. Her knuckles, already bruised, were now skinned and bleeding. Wrapping his arms about her, he pulled her away.
“Rian, stop her!” she implored, clutching his arm frantically and blinking back tears.
A quick assessment of the door told him there was no way it could be forced open from the outside. “Stay with the child,” he ordered, pushing Catherine toward the carriage. “I will see if the back entrance is still open.”
Grace’s high scream wheeled Catherine about, and she followed the thin arm that stretched out the open carriage door toward the house. Both of them watched in horror as Lettie deliberately put a candle to the curtains, setting them ablaze. She must have known they were watching her because she raised her hand to her mouth, and blew a kiss to them before moving to the adjacent window and continuing with her task.
The rooms on either side of the front door glowed with unnatural light as flames licked hungrily up the draperies, consuming all in their path. From the swift passage of the fire, Catherine had to wonder if Lettie had used something to accelerate it. Phillip’s brandy possibly? The fire took on a life of its own, spreading quickly through the lower level of the house, and Rian came stumbling back from the dark alley, his face dirty and his chest heaving.
“It’s no use!” he gasped as he reached Catherine’s side. “The door is bolted, and all the windows shuttered. I cannot get inside.” Alarmed by the smell of the smoke, the horses whinnied and stamped their hooves. Rian took charge of the situation. “Get in!” he ordered as he pulled Catherine toward the carriage.
“No. I cannot leave her!”
Framing her face with his hands, he forced her to look at him and ignore the house. “She has decided her own fate, Catherine, and we must leave. Do not let her sacrifice be a meaningless one.”
She hesitated a fraction longer, and then nodded, allowing Rian to bundle her inside. He would accept no further protest. She was too precious to him. Jumping onto the driver’s seat, he picked up the reins and urged the anxious horses forward.