Collin roared past the gag in his mouth. Alex closed her eyes altogether, and felt a tear creep down her face as Damien's hand crept lower still.
"We have the whole night to kill, my sweet. Shall we pick up where we left off those years ago?"
"Yes," she choked. "Yes. Anything you want. Anything." Her muscles shook, but she forced herself to let him touch her, forced herself to lay her head back against his shoulder. When his hand pressed against the juncture of her legs, she bit her lip until it bled, then curled her fingers over his to cup them to her.
"Oh, yes. I shall enjoy your cooperation immensely. Does this excite you? To do this right in front of his eyes? I can see that it does."
Alex couldn't speak. If she opened her mouth she would begin to scream and she would not be able to stop. It wasn't just this violation, this horrible fear. It was the terror that if she looked she might find Collin's eyes full of rage, full of hurt and betrayal and the sure knowledge that she was a whore. But she had to distract St. Claire.
"Your husband had good reason for his jealousy." St. Claire's laugh was warm this time, burning the delicate skin of her neck.
She nodded as he jerked a handful of her skirt up. His hand snaked beneath the fabric and pressed between her thighs. "You've always been so wonderfully easy to excite. Right here, eh? Right in front of him?" His tongue traced a wet line up her neck t
o her ear. "A fantasy of yours, maybe?"
Despite her intent, there was no stopping her body's reaction when he pushed a cruel finger into her body. She jerked away and shook her head, biting back a sob as she tripped toward the far side of the clearing. St. Claire's laugh followed behind her, not quite covering the hoarse sound of her husband's cry.
Alex faced the trees and began to undress.
Warmth dripped down Collin's thumb, then more as he pulled desperately at the ropes that bound him. The blood slicked the knot, so he pulled harder, pulled till the bark of the tree scraped and tore at his skin, pulled till his arms threatened to pop from their sockets. His hands would not come free.
Oh, God. Her eyes. Her eyes. He had watched them dull and fade, had watched as she decided to sacrifice herself for him. And she could not save him, couldn't she see that? St. Claire would kill him as soon as she disappeared toward Westmore, and she would blame herself. If St. Claire let her live.
Collin stilled, pressed his back to the tree, straining to hear. The man had stopped laughing. What the hell was he doing?
There. A whisper of sound. Collin's mind tumbled, sending rough fragments of pain flying and crashing in his head. He should have resisted, should not have fallen for that monster's threat to cut her. Maybe he wouldn't have done it. Maybe.
"Are you playing shy?"
Collin froze.
"Take off your shift. I never did get to see you naked." A pause. He heard his wife's voice, couldn't make out the words over the blood in his ears. "I can't wait long enough to build a fire. Later though."
"Please. . . the cold."
"Now."
Footsteps. Rustling. Alex's panting breath.
Collin felt frozen and constrained, ready to burst past his skin. Oh, God, no. Oh, please, no. Not after all the terrible things he'd said to her. Not this.
St. Claire's voice whispered urgent commands, then he heard it. A grunt, a moan. Alex's sharp, sobbing cry.
Collin screamed against the rag in his throat, roared until his voice cracked and died against the linen. No. No. No. He arched off the tree, pushed with his feet. He felt blood drip from the wound on his head and trickle from his hands. He collapsed against the bark and sobbed, helpless and dying inside.
A branch snapped to his left, springing open his eyes and jerking his head to the side.
Alex.
Alex. She stood, limp and sightless, blood covering her white shift in a swath of gore. Collin shook with terror and cried out. My God, it hadn't been enough to rape her, the man had killed her too. He'd killed her. Why?
She took a step toward him, then another, blood dripping from her sleeve. Her eyes blinked and saw him. Then Collin spied the dagger, so covered in red it had been invisible in her bloody hand. The dagger he'd reminded her to put in her boot just this morning. He pushed his feet beneath him and stood, sliding his body up the tree.
"Collin," she breathed. The knife flew in a low arc from her hand and she rushed forward to throw her arms around him. "Collin."
He tried to curl into her, to cover her with his body, but the ropes held him tight. The absence of his arms seemed to wake her, and she jumped away, falling to her knees in the grass to scramble for the blade.
A high cry flew from her lips and she jumped to her feet, dagger caught in her fist.