“I don’t think so,” he murmured. And before she realized what he was doing he clipped her across the jaw with a perfect fist, dropping her like a stone.
He caught her before she landed on the hard-packed floor. Years of training in the pugilistic arts had finally paid off with the best hit of his life. If she hadn’t caved, he didn’t think he would have been capable of hitting her again, even to save her life. He’d never hit a woman in his life, would never have even considered it. But to save her life he’d do anything.
He held her in his arms for a moment, looking down into her peaceful face. “I’m so sorry, my darling,” he whispered, brushing his mouth against hers. “But I refuse to risk your life. You can kill me later. ”
Holding her tight against him, he moved to the farthest alcove, laying her down on a bunch of cushions clearly marked for more licentious activity. He should probably take back the robe, but he couldn’t see leaving her naked and defenseless. He only wished there was enough time to get her back outside again, but he daren’t take the chance.
He took the rope belt and wrapped it around her wrists, loosely, so that she could untie herself if he didn’t come back. There was no guarantee he’d be successful, but sooner or later his sister and the Scorpion would show up with reinforcements. He might despise his brother-in-law, but he had absolutely no doubt that Lucien de Malheur would make hash of these aristocrats and their putative master.
She looked so peaceful, and he wished to God he could just take her and run, leave the rest to Lucien. But he couldn’t. He’d promised her, and even if he hadn’t, he could scarcely leave a child to such monsters.
He drew back. And t
hen, before he could change his mind, he turned and strode out of the room, down the endless warren of tunnels to the quiet buzz of noise that was slowly growing louder.
She waited until his footsteps died away, and then she opened her eyes. She knew she should be angry enough to kill, but at the moment she was past that. She sat up, reaching her bound hands up to her jaw, wiggling it a little. It hurt. He’d hit her hard, and she hadn’t been feigning her collapse. By the time he’d caught her she’d gathered her disordered senses, smart enough to know that fighting him would be a losing battle and only delay him from getting to Betsey. So she kept her eyes closed as he carried her into this place and tied her wrists. Kept her eyes closed as he’d kissed her, so sweetly, with more gentleness than he’d shown her so far.
He’d called her “my darling. ” Did he mean it? She didn’t have time to consider that, either. If he loved her, she’d forgive him for trying to knock her out. If he didn’t, she was going to kill him.
She tugged at the rope around her wrists, then used her teeth, pulling it free with surprising ease. So he would avenge his brother and probably ruin his own life, but he didn’t give a damn about her, trussed up like a Christmas goose. She’d been forced to lie there as they pawed her, and she’d been desperate for anything to get the feel of their hands off her. He’d done the job, quite effectively, and even now, beneath the enveloping monk’s robe, she could feel his seed sticky on her legs, and she wondered if she would go through another ritual scrubbing when she finally got home. Or whether she would let it remain, knowing it was the last time he would touch her.
She managed to scramble to her feet, only the slightest bit shaky. She knew she couldn’t indulge that shakiness, and she started after him, her bare feet cold on the hard stone floor. As she passed the table they’d trussed her to she realized she was starving, and at the last minute she plucked a bunch of grapes to take with her. No one, no one could crush her, no matter what they did. She might fall apart momentarily, but she was ready to fight once more, and she wasn’t going to let a perverted group of randy aristocrats terrorize her.
Author: Anne Stuart
She didn’t bother to consider why he’d come after her; she could only be glad he did. The monk’s robe still retained his body heat, delicious around her chilled skin, and his spicy scent lingered. She wouldn’t give this back, she thought, even though it symbolized everything horrific about the group she was determined to wipe out. It smelled like Rohan, and like a lovesick adolescent she wanted to hold on to it, cling to it for safety.
She could hear the noise of the chanting from a distance. There was no sign of Rohan, and she felt an icy chill sweeping through her body. Had they caught him so quickly? Was he now lying trussed up as well, one more offering to whatever strange god they seemed to worship. She held her breath, praying it wasn’t too late. She’d been insane to stop long enough to…what would he call it? To fuck him, that’s what it had been, plain and simple. Well, perhaps not so plain and not so simple, but it had hardly been making love. Her fear and need had blinded her to the much more important task. Saving Betsey’s life.
By the time she reached the hallway approaching the large gathering room the myriad candles were sending out bright pools of light into the darkened corridors, and she could see Benedick ahead of her. He’d set the lantern down, pressing against the side of the cave, disappearing into the shadows. He was so busy concentrating on the scene in the vast room beyond that he hadn’t noticed her arrival.
She stopped where she was, flattening herself against the wall. She had to face the unpleasant fact that he was, at least this time, right. She needed to be out of the way so she didn’t distract him. The odds were bad enough without her getting in the way.
She held her breath, waiting. And then she closed her eyes and began to pray.
35
Benedick leaned back, not moving. The chanting was loud and mindless, in some kind of Pig Latin. He could only hope his sister and the Scorpion had moved quickly. Things were rapidly getting out of hand, and if he didn’t get out of here alive then someone would need to rescue Melisande. At this rate time was running out.
“Has someone joined us?” A smooth, oddly familiar voice carried from the chamber beyond, and Benedick cursed beneath his breath. Scratch that. The time had come. And without another word he strode into the center of the great hall, grateful at least that Melisande was safely out of the way.
The chanting didn’t stop when he walked into the room. They didn’t even seem to notice, though their faces, hidden in the depths of their hoods, were turned upward to watch as they knelt around the perimeter. But he wasn’t interested in the mind-addled mad monks. It was the center of the room that caught his attention.
The young girl lay spread out on what could only be an altar. She was wearing a lacy white dress and her hair was clean and flowing around her peaceful face. He could only hope that whatever drug the so-called Grand Master used on his acolytes had been given to Betsey, as well. She’d be a lot easier to deal with if she were unconscious.
The man stood alone in the middle of the room, cowled, hidden like the coward he was, an ornamental dagger in one hand. There was something that resembled a tray surrounding the platform where the girl was placed, presumably to catch her blood, and he didn’t want to think what they planned to do with it.
“I was expecting you,” the man said, moving around so that the altar lay between them. He was limping badly, and it took Benedick a moment to realize why. He was pretending to be Brandon, wrapped in the enveloping monk’s robe and hood, so that his drugged followers would believe in his brother’s guilt. “Though I suppose you released that tiresome woman. I would have thought you’d had your fill of her by now. ”
For an opening salvo it was a weak one. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he said evenly, determined not to let the man bait him. “But you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”
“The sentimentality of love?” The Grand Master’s voice was mocking. “I have been spared that particular embarrassment. I would have thought you would be, too, brother. You could always take her back to the banquet hall. Feed her some wine and she’ll do anything you tell her to. By the time you come back this will be over and done with, and you won’t even be a witness. ”
He didn’t turn around. He had the sudden, unbearable suspicion that Melisande had managed to escape his makeshift bonds, but he couldn’t afford to waste his time considering it. “We found Brandon in that hellhole you left him. These idiots might think you’re my brother but I know better. ”
“Yes, but you see, they can’t hear so well. They’re in an altered state, thanks to the drugs I administered to their wine and the advanced practice of mind control. When they awake they will only remember what they think they saw. Which is your crippled brother slashing the throat of an innocent girl and splashing them all with her blood. ”
He heard a strangled noise behind him, but he kept focused. Damn the woman. “But I’m not drugged. And I know who you are. ”