Defiant Captive

by Christina Skye

  And then she was trapped against a hard body, held immobile as her slim frame was racked with uncontrollable shudders.

  "Ayah?" she sobbed in panic. "You lied! The Devil's fire has come again! Father? Where are you? The guns — dear God, the blood!"

  "Only a storm," a new voice said, far away.

  The smell of death was acrid in her nostrils, mingled with the smoke of the burning house. "Must get out," she mumbled. "Fire everywhere." Still the iron claws gripped her. "Let me go!" she screamed, recognizing for the first time that her nightmare was strangely altered, that this voice was a strange and unfamiliar element among the shadows of her old fear. "Please," she moaned, "else we burn to death in here!"

  "Hush," the dark voice whispered. "The storm will soon pass. 'Tis only a spring squall rolling in from the Channel. Hush — hush now."

  Silver eyes narrowed and glowed for an instant in the lighting's flare. What madness was upon her? the duke wondered, watching her trembling fingers rake the empty air.

  A bolt of lightning exploded directly overhead and threw the room into ghostly brilliance. At the same moment the woman on the bed wrenched herself free, her eyes blind with terror.

  And then she sank back into darkness, screaming as if the very bowels of hell itself were torn open before her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  At five o'clock the next morning Alexandra awoke to the sound of drums pounding in her head. With a low moan she rolled onto her side and dragged the feather pillow closer around her head. But the pounding continued, worse than before.

  What were the servants about? she wondered, grimacing at a stab of pain that bit into her temples. Repairing the roof at — one watery eye cracked open to ascertain the hour — at the first gray light of dawn?

  Her tongue was dry and felt like the ragged stuffing inside a well-used quilt. Her red-rimmed eyes sank closed, and she burrowed back beneath the cool sheets.

  Too late. Her stomach twisted with nausea.

  Then she felt the hoarseness in her throat, the heavy ache of her arms and shoulders. The dreams! They had come again in the night with the tempest, sweeping her once more back in time.

  Into darkness. Into the Terror.

  First the lightning, always the lightning. Kolimin, the villagers called it, but Ayah was a superstitious woman, and to her it was the Devil's fire — the fury of nature at its most savage, blazing across the plains.

  Afterward, Alexandra never remembered anything. Only the tension and aching of her body remained the next day, dim reminders of the war she had waged with her fear.

  The war she always lost.

  But something had been different last night, she realized, unable to remember what it was. Frustrated, she racked her mind, but as always the memories eluded her.

  She sat up with a start and immediately regretted it. This was pain, she discovered, as her temples throbbed in earnest and the vague terrors of the night were forgotten in the grating agony behind her eyes.

  The wine, of course. What a fool she'd been. And to have eaten so little!

  With a growing sense of uneasiness Alexandra tried to recall exactly what had happened the night before. She remembered only scattered images — a cozy study. Warm laughter. Lilies. Dancing candles. And Hawke's demanding mouth on hers, his teeth moving to her neckline, his lips upon her breast.

  She heard the doorknob click and in her misery did not even turn.

  "Whoever you are, go away," she whispered.

  "Why, it's only Lily, miss. Beggin' your pardon for intrudin' so early, but His Grace said you was wishin' to be wakened for an early ride. But first he said as how you'd be wantin' coffee and a cold wash. Though how he did know is beyond me ..." The girl's voice trailed off when she saw Alexandra's hands covering her cheeks and forehead. "Are you feelin' poorly, miss?"

  "Dear Lily," Alexandra said very slowly and very carefully, "not ill — dying at the very least. Now please go, and let me die in peace."

  The girl stood frozen, her face tense with worry. "I'll fetch Shadwell — there's a doctor in Alfriston. He could be here in an hour." She turned and started for the door.

  A feeble moan from the bed stopped her. "Please! No doctor."

  "But, miss —"

  "Oh, my cursed head! Quiet is all I need — blessed quiet and darkness."

  Lily fell into puzzled silence. Alexandra had just begun to conquer the feeling that she was swimming in swells of black ink when the maid exclaimed, "So that's the way of it! Cup-shot, are you? Well, His Grace was in the right way of it then. All you'll be needin' is a cold wash and a spot of coffee to make you more the thing."

  A muffled groan emerged from beneath the pillow, followed by an inaudible order.

  "Aye, it's hurtin' now, but you'll see soon enough. Coffee's what you're needin'. So if you'll just sit up ..."

  Alexandra sighed. There would be no getting rid of her determined helper if she didn't comply. "Very well. But one drink and then" — she winced as she sat up — "then leave me to expire in solitude."

  Lily smiled sympathetically, holding out a heavy earthenware cup. Alexandra's nostrils flared in rebellion as the bitter smell of coffee assailed her. Her face twisted with distaste, but the maid held firm.

  "Just a sip or two. 'Twill help you, believe me. My da was one to swear by it, and he should know, bein' as how he was three sheets in the wind once a week."

  Eyes closed, Alexandra found the cup, grasped it with nerveless fingers, and forced down a mouthful.

  "Now one more, miss."

  She sighed and took another. The hot liquid burned her throat, and her stomach lurched in protest. "Sweet heavens! Lily — the basin!"

  The deed was done, and almost immediately the nausea was gone. Slowly, Alexandra opened her eyes. Her head still hurt and her eyes were watery, but the awful pain and dizziness had begun to lift.

  By the time she finished the coffee, Alexandra felt restored to something partially resembling normalcy. She went to the window, threw open the pane, and filled her lungs with cool, crisp air. Pink and purple clouds streaked the sky in the east, and a low mist hung across the downs.

  All in all, a fine morning for a ride, she decided.

  With a slight smile, Lily produced a riding habit of russet velvet with matching boots and gloves. The habit was a novelty to Alexandra, cut in an archaic style with a tight fitted jacket and a full skirt, in two separate pieces. But the effect would be quite lovely, Lily assured her. Twenty minutes later, feeling like a new woman, Alexandra descended the wide staircase, smiling to the footman holding the door open for her.

  The duke was waiting by the stable block, one polished boot propped with lazy grace against a wooden fence rail.

  Alexandra's heart took a slow dive at the amused speculation on his face, and she wondered again exactly what had transpired the night before.

  "You knew!" she said accusingly. "You knew how it would be!"

  Silver eyes traced her face, lingering upon the faint smudges beneath her eyes, the angry bruise at her temple, and the slight pallor of her cheeks. "Of course I knew, for all you put up a gallant fight. Although not as gallant as the fight you made upon arising, I expect."

  "You must be very familiar with the condition!" Alexandra said indignantly. "You might have warned me!"

  "Would you have accepted a warning from me?" For a moment the air between them sizzled with tension.

  "No," Alexandra admitted at last. She raised wide, slightly hesitant eyes. "What — what exactly happened last night?"

  Hawke's mouth slowly curved into a smile. "You don't remember?"

  "Obviously not, or I wouldn't have to ask, knave!"

  "What a blow to my ego! For me the earth shook, while you have no recollection of the event." Hawke shook his head sadly.

  "Liar!" Alexandra whispered, horrified.

  "Am I? Have you no memory of my hands, my lips ..."

  Alexandra gritted her teeth, only too aware of her aching recall — but only up to the p
oint where he deposited her on the chaise; after that, all was a blank. "You didn't!" she rasped, choking. "I wouldn't! Im-impossible!" she hissed finally.

  "Are you so certain?" Dancing silver eyes taunted her.

  "No, damn you, I'm not! For you, scoundrel that you are, would be quick to —"

  "Take cruel advantage of your inebriation? No, hornet, that I did not, for I like my bed partners to do more than snore. You passed out and I took you upstairs, where I deposited you chastely in your bed. Remember this," Hawke growled. "When I bed you, you'll be awake and entirely aware beneath me, I assure you."

  "Never!"

  "It's only a matter of time. We both know it."

  "I know nothing of the sort, you cur!" She spat.

  "You're repeating yourself, my dear," Hawke answered negligently. With his mocking eyes fixed on Alexandra's furious face, he bowed slowly and with elaborate courtesy, waiting for her to precede him to the stables.

  She did not move. "Why don't you leave so that I can enjoy my ride in peace?"

  "You have nothing to fear from me, Miss Mayfield. I want the very same thing you do — if only you were honest enough to admit it."

  "Rubbish!" Alexandra tossed her head angrily, her blue-green eyes darkening. "A very wise man once warned me never to trust anyone who promised he was harmless, Your Grace." How much she missed that man! Alexandra thought.

  "Hawke," her companion corrected, taking her arm and starting up the graveled path. "Who was he?"

  Alexandra wrenched her arm free and stalked toward the stable. "I'd rather not say," she said stiffly. She knew she would have to get used to questions about her father one day, but his loss was still an open wound. Perhaps she had never really faced his death.

  Iron fingers circled her wrist, holding her motionless. "Who?" Hawke repeated coldly.

  "Very well, damn you — my father!" she snapped, struggling to free her hand.

  "Tell me about him."

  "Why would a man like you be interested in my father?"

  "A man like me?" Hawke repeated, his fingers tightening. "I fear you know nothing at all about me, Miss Mayfield. But we are going to change that soon enough, for I find I am interested in everything about you." To Hawke's astonishment, it was true. He had never before felt the slightest interest in the lives of the women he'd bedded. "And no matter how cleverly you deflect me, I mean to have an answer."

  Alexandra's chin rose proudly. "Very well. He was wonderful.

  He taught me to ride, to hunt, and to read Sanskrit. He taught me to judge horses — and people. He knew everyone and everything." She spoke defensively, as if she expected an argument. "The Indians loved him and the English did, too, all except for—" She stopped suddenly.

  "Except for whom?"

  "The kala nag, the black snake. There are always black snakes," she added flatly. "But it's of no consequence now." Alexandra was suddenly aware that she had said far more than she intended.

  "Remarkable," Hawke said quietly. "But you do not mention drawing, French, or deportment. You'd make a sad governess, I fear."

  "Oh, I'd a string of governesses for those things," Alexandra said dismissively. "My father taught me all the important things."

  "Quite astonishing." Hawke's silver eyes narrowed upon her face.

  They had reached the stables, Alexandra noticed in surprise. A sleepy-faced groom emerged from the shadowed interior, bits of straw clinging to his jacket.

  Hawke released her arm. "Saddle Aladdin and bring him around. Then have Bluebell brought for Miss Mayfield."

  Just then, a high-pitched voice hailed them, and Alexandra turned to see a small figure fly from the rear of the stables. She frowned, unable to make out the boy's face.

  " 'Tis me, Pence! Just got back from London we did, me and Mr. Jeffers."

  Alexandra laughed with delight to see that impish smile once more. The urchin looked older, she thought, for his face was fuller and less pale. Things had gone well for him. Nor did she miss the telling note of respect in the boy's voice when he spoke of the duke's groom. "And very fit you're looking too. So Mr. Jeffers is treating you well, is he?"

  "Ain't he just! Teachin' me how to care for the cattle, how to blow up the yard o' tin. Hasn't let me hold the ribbons, yet, o' course." The small pang of regret vanished almost immediately. "Says I got light hands, though. Says as how I'll make a good coachman someday if I keep to it!"

  The boy's enthusiasm was infectious. " 'Tis fine to see you, Pence, and fine to know things are going well."

  "Better'n I ever dreamed," the boy said frankly. "Only hope things be half so good for you, Miss Ma—"

  At that moment Alexandra developed a sudden paroxysm of coughing. Pence darted a bright, curious look, first at her and then at the duke, who was leaning against the open stable door.

  "We brought your things, too, miss. Thought you might be missin' them." After waiting for a nod from Jeffers, Pence flew back to the rear of the stables, returning a moment later with a bulky object beneath his arm.

  Alexandra stiffened, her eyes riveted on the battered wicker hamper he carried. "Rajah!" she cried, springing across the gravel.

  The Duke of Hawkesworth's gray eyes widened, and he frowned. With sharp curiosity he watched her spin about and set the container down upon the ground. His frown deepened as a flurry of scratching erupted from the battered case, followed by a series of odd, high-pitched squeaks.

  "Yes, my little love," Alexandra crooned, oblivious to the rapt stares of Pence and the two men. "Never think I forgot you! I'll have you free in a trice!" Her trembling fingers gently slipped the hempen clasps free of their closings, and she raised the lid.

  With a shrill squeak a small circle of brown fur shot out from the hamper and landed in Alexandra's outstretched hands, which promptly enveloped him in a careful embrace.

  "I know, my love," she whispered against the sleek fur. "I've missed you too."

  "Tried to take care of him, I did," Pence said anxiously. "Wasn't overly pleased with me, I can tell ye. Pecked at his food an' whimpered fit to break a person's heart. Reck'n he was wantin' ye."

  So this was her Rajah, Hawke thought curiously, studying Alexandra's delighted face as she stroked the creature in her arms.

  Suddenly, Richard Decimus Sommerton, the Duke of Hawkesworth, peer of the realm and inheritor of 100,000 acres, with ancient estates and vast holdings in Sussex, Derbyshire, and Scotland, was pierced with a sharp stab of jealousy.

  Jealousy for one tiny quivering mongoose.

  "I take it this is some sort of pet?" he inquired coolly.

  Alexandra looked up from the sleek line of fur. "Oh, infinitely more than a pet, Your Grace. A friend. Yes, the very best friend one could ever hope to have."

  "My friends are generally of the two-legged sort," Hawke said, irritated and still oddly jealous of her loving attention to the skittish creature in her hands.

  "Perhaps that is your loss."

  Hearing the tension in their voices, Rajah looked up curiously. His pink eyes darted to the tall man beside his mistress, and his little pointed head tilted to one side. A sharp squeak emerged from his throat.

  "Longing to explore, are you, Rajah?" Alexandra asked, and was immediately answered by a burst of staccato sounds.

  Carefully, she lowered Rajah to the ground. His head aslant and his tail bristling, the little mongoose picked a careful path to Hawkesworth's feet. Intently, he sniffed one of the duke's gleaming black riding boots.

  Four pairs of eyes watched with differing emotions as the mongoose analyzed the sight and smell of those immaculately polished creations. And then as swiftly as the investigation had begun, it was over. The curious mongoose turned to pursue a more intriguing scent that led toward the rear of the stables.

  The Duke of Hawkesworth, it seemed, had been summarily dismissed.

  Alexandra could restrain herself no longer, and her laughter spilled out in a rippling wave. An instant later, she was joined by Pence, while Jeffers abruptly pul
led a cloth from his pocket to nurse a sudden cough.

  Only the Duke of Hawkesworth appeared unamused. "Rajah, is it? The name appears well chosen," he commented dryly.

  "He is most particular about his friends," Alexandra explained sweetly.

  "I expect Rajah and I will come to terms." Hawke leveled a quelling glance at his suddenly discomfited groom. "A spring cold, Jeffers?" At the old man's mumbled denial Hawke's eyebrows rose. "Perhaps you'd better go and tend to it then. And take that damned creature with you," he ordered.

  Suddenly, Alexandra was alone with Hawkesworth, even Rajah having deserted her for the challenge of new terrain. "Rajah stays with me!" she began mutinously.

  "Even when you ride?"

  As the duke spoke, Bluebell, the duchess's horse, was brought out of the stables, and Alexandra felt her irritation melt away. The roan had a skittish disposition, and a great deal of action. She might as well ride, she told herself, since she would not be able to pull Rajah from his exploration so soon.

  She accepted the groom's help to mount, and with a challenging look back at Hawkesworth, she was off.

  The ground was cloaked in gray patches of low-lying clouds. When Alexandra galloped through the mist, the world seemed to disappear. She was caught inside a soundless white room, only to burst out a moment later and find color and form miraculously restored. On she galloped, ignoring the rider beside her, focusing on the beauty of the morning.

  For almost an hour they rode, climbing steadily to the east. The sun rose over the downs and had burned off the last of the fog when Hawke reined in Aladdin and pointed directly ahead.

  Following his hand, Alexandra turned and saw a narrow, sheltered valley bordered by deep green pines and low bushes. Down through the center flowed a twisting ribbon of silver.

  "Did your father teach you to fish?" he asked thoughtfully.

  "We often fished together. Why?"

  "Because I mean to offer you a wager." Then, as if in afterthought, he shook his head. "But it is out of the question, of course. You are merely a female — and still cup-shot from last night."

  "I am not cup-shot!" Alexandra said indignantly. "And what has being a female got to do with it?"