To her fury, Reynolds regarded her with the same amusement as hitherto. “You are overwrought and obviously concerned for your husband, therefore I am prepared to overlook your insults, Lady Drummond. Fetch me pen and parchment!” He clicked his fingers and in seconds his demands were answered. Dipping the nib of his quill into ink, he raised it above the paper. “Ordinarily you would have several choices, the pair of you. You could be handed over to the King. I can see by the fire in your eye, Drummond, that you’d rather die than languish at His Majesty’s Pleasure. You Puritans are a strange lot,” he added as an aside. “Or you could die in mysterious circumstances tonight.”
He smiled, almost beatifically, drawing out the silence as he looked from one to the other. “Alternatively, I could draw up a charter guaranteeing you both safe passage in the morning. We have seized your castle. I have what I want. Almost.” His gaze encompassed Elizabeth, assessing her from the top of her now uncovered head, following the line of her body past where her golden hair ended at her waist, and down to the floor. “I want you, Lady Drummond. I am a gentleman. I would not take you by force. But if you come to me tonight, willingly, I will guarantee your husband’s safety.”
She considered his words. “My husband’s safety,” she repeated in a whisper.
“And yours, Lady Drummond, if, as I say, you come to me willingly.”
“Refuse him!” Silas glared, his face a swollen mass edged with congealed, black blood. “On no account entertain a single proposition this blackguard makes you. There is greater glory in death than making bargains with the infidel.”
Torn and terrified, Elizabeth looked from her husband to the captain, then at the other men in the shadows of the room. Soldiers in need of entertainment, with little feeling for those concerned, who watched the scene with prurient interest.
“You promise to guarantee my husband’s life?” she whispered. “In writing?”
Reynolds nodded, his pen still poised above the paper. “In writing. With all my men as witnesses. Tomorrow your husband will walk out of Drummond Castle, with this paper guaranteeing his free passage, if you agree to my proposition. And so will you, depending on your willingness, Lady Drummond.”
Elizabeth was conscious of Silas’ pent-up hatred. Reynolds’ supercilious smile filled her with a similar emotion. She dared not trust him but they were helpless. Icily, she said, “Allow me five minutes alone with my dear husband so I can persuade him of the merits of this bargain.”
“A final tender moment between the two of you seems fitting.”
Above her husband’s roared objection, Elizabeth inclined her head. “You are accountable to a great many men, Captain Reynolds.”
She caught Silas’ look, mad with rage. “Do not do this to save me, wife, for I’d rather be dead than the husband of a whore to this…”
Nettled, she managed coolly, “And I’d rather see you walk free tonight so you can fight another day and our children will still have a father when this war is over.”
“The agreement is between your wife and myself.” Reynolds looked at Silas with contempt. “I’d throw you to the wolves if I could.”
They all turned at the sound of desultory clapping.
A man appeared from the darkened outer reaches of the room, raising his head, which caught the light from beneath the shadow of his broad-brimmed hat. Like Reynolds’, his hair was light and curling, but it was his own rather than a wig and he was a little younger. Judging by the fine silk and leather of his clothes, he was clearly of similar rank.
“If now is the time for bargains,” he said, crisply, “let me propose one of my own.”
The look in Reynolds’ eye made plain that he half expected what it might be, and that he was not pleased.
“Captain Charles Trethveyan at your service.” The newcomer rose from his bow with a flourish, his smile trained on Elizabeth, who lowered her head, more terrified than she had been hitherto of anything else that the fierce pounding of her heart and the fire in her cheeks would betray her. To her husband, most of all.
She could not look at Charles, though her initial glimpse of him showed him to be as handsome as she remembered. His physique was stronger now that he was a man, and his jaw had firmed, but his mouth was curved in just that half ironic way she remembered so well. Her heart thudded to the pit of her stomach. Had he just arrived? Did he know he’d find her here? A million unanswered questions crowded her brain, pushing aside her concern for her husband’s fate and the implications of the bargain she’d just made with Reynolds.
The two Cavaliers were engaged in low dialogue. Silas’ shoulders heaved beneath his suppressed emotion. He knew exactly who Charles Trethveyan was. That he was the suitor over whom Elizabeth had waged a long and protracted battle with her father.
He wouldn’t know that it was his image Elizabeth conjured up every night to block out the unpleasant reality of her husband. The cold hard truth was, however, that Charles had not been there when she’d needed him.
The reflection enabled her to finally look at him as he and Reynolds continued their discussion, terminated abruptly by Reynolds’ harsh tones.
“Another time, Trethveyan!” Reynolds rose swiftly, closing the distance between him and Elizabeth as he thrust the signed parchment at her. “Our agreement in writing. Now, I’m tired and hungry and I have no wish to entertain company.” His tone was churlish though he darted a calculated glance in Silas’ direction as he added, “I wish to rest as I’ll need all my energy for tonight.” He clapped his hands. “Take them away. Separate quarters for both of them.”
“You granted my request for five minutes with my husband,” Elizabeth reminded him, stepping forward.
He waved at one of the guards. “Five minutes—that’s all.”
Elizabeth was confused. His attitude had changed in an instant. As if he couldn’t wait to be out of that room. She could make no sense of it. She needed to gauge him if she was to have any hope of surviving the night.
“Filthy whore!” The moment the heavy oak door closed upon them in the south tower room Silas turned on her. His face was contorted by rage and pain and she shrank away from him as she’d done so many times before.
“Afraid I’ll beat you? I’ve beaten you but three times in our married lives, wife, but this time I’d be justified in murdering you!”
“You don’t understand, Silas,” she beseeched him.