Burke considered this. It was close enough. He was well versed in English politics, and the queen was known to be solicitous of her Howard relations. In any event, this Cummings would certainly want his niece back.
“What are you doing in Eire?” Burke demanded.
Alex sighed. “My uncle is my guardian and did not wish to leave me behind in England.”
Burke looked skeptical but didn’t pursue it. “What are the English plans here?”
“I have no idea,” Alex said.
“Did you hear anything of a prisoner at the castle?”
“I myself was a prisoner at the castle,” she replied. “They didn’t talk to me. I stayed in my room and ate alone. The only person I saw regularly was my guard, and he didn’t talk to me either.”
Burke studied her, and Alex wondered where he had learned to speak such good English. With the exception of the one called Rory, it was clear that the rest of the men didn’t understand her.
“What befell your hair?” Burke asked suddenly.
“It was burned in a fire.”
“Why were you outside the castle walls dressed like this?”
“My uncle didn’t want me to leave the grounds, and I felt like going for a walk.”
“And you just happened to have a set of boy’s clothes at hand?” Burke said sarcastically. “Something is not right about you, English miss, and I mean to know what it is.” He moved away.
“What are you going to do with me?”
He ignored her as he said something in a low tone to Rory. The leader turned his back, and Rory headed toward her. With her hands still bound behind her there was little she could do to resist, but she struggled futilely.
“Don’t you touch me!” she gasped.
Dodging her kicks, Rory scooped her up, strode into a nearby tent, and deposited her on a bundle of skins. A single candle burned on an upturned crate inside, giving feeble illumination to her primitive surroundings.
“Wait!” Alex yelled as Rory walked away, but he gave no indication that he’d heard her.
Time passed, and nothing happened. The rope was cutting into Alex’s wrists, her legs were cramped, and fear of the unknown overcame her. She was trying hard not to cry when Burke suddenly appeared, unbuckling his belt and pulling his tunic over his head. Alex looked on in horror as she realized that this was his tent and he was about to undress for the night.
He glanced over at her and read her expression.
“Never fear, my lady,” he said. “When I take a fancy to twelve-year-old boys you’ll be in danger, not before. All you are to me is a chess piece to trade.”
“For what?” she whispered, finally finding her voice.
He didn’t answer. Alex watched as he stripped to his leggings. The long ropy muscles in his arms stood out beneath his skin as he reached overhead to drop the tent flap.
“Are you just going to leave me here like this?” Alex demanded.
“Oh, and what would Her Ladyship like?” Burke asked.
The light brown hair on his chest fanned out to cover his flat nipples and then narrowed to a line that disappeared below the waistband of his leggings. The trousers were tight enough to reveal the lean, powerful muscles of his legs. Alex swallowed uneasily and looked away.
“I’d like a bath,” she said.
“Would you now?” He put his huge hands, twice the size of hers, on his narrow hips and surveyed her with detachment. He seemed bemused.
“Yes, I would. That ruffian who kidnapped me tossed me about on the ground, and I’ve got dirt in my hair and under my nails and my clothes are filthy.”
“Ah, shall we call one of the maids to wait upon you, then?” Burke said.
Alex gave him a black look. “All I need is some hot water and soap, and well you know it.”
“That will have to do, since we’re sorely lacking in servants here,” Burke replied. He left the tent and returned some minutes later with a length of rough linen and a gray shapeless lump, both of which he dumped in her lap.
“What’s that?” Alex said, looking down at the greasy ball with distaste.
“Lye and tallow soap,” Burke replied. “We don’t have fine-milled beauty soap here. Rory will be in with a tub and hot water in a bit.” He turned away.
“Aren’t you going to untie my hands?”
He returned to her and slashed through her bonds with his knife. Then he held the blade under her nose.
“No tricks, my lady fair, or you’ll be making a closer acquaintance with this, I’m thinking.”
Alex closed her eyes to block the sight of it, and by the time she opened them again, he was gone.
Rory entered shortly thereafter with a wooden tub and a pail of hot water. He carried in two more buckets of cold water to make a tepid mixture. “Don’t be long. The tub is needed.” He handed her a clean linen shift, his face expressionless. It was clear that he disapproved of providing this comfort for their captive, but Burke was giving the orders.
Alex waited until he was gone and then stripped off Luke’s clothes, which were by now almost in tatters. She sank gratefully into the soothing water, which was just deep enough to cover her thighs. The homemade soap did not provide much lather, but it cleansed well and had a clean, piny fragrance. She lost herself in the pure pleasure of bathing, momentarily forgetting her circumstances.
* * * *
Burke walked around the silent camp, giving the woman time to complete her bath. Rory had balked at supplying luxuries for her, but Burke intended to see that she was well treated. If the English knew that she was not being abused, they would be more likely to surrender Aidan in exchange for her. In the morning he would send word to her uncle.
Burke had no reason to suspect that she was lying about her identity, and her arrival at the castle had provided him with a useful pawn. His major task right now was to keep her safe from his own men, some of whom hated the British so indiscriminately that they might vent their feelings on her. It was a testy situation, but he was confident that he could handle it. His hold over his men was a strong one, and one of long standing. He watched the clouds drift past the moon for a while longer, and then went back to his tent.
He pulled back the flap and then froze in his tracks. The woman was not finished, as he’d expected, but just rising to rinse herself off. Bathed in flickering candlelight, she was silhouetted against the canvas backdrop of the tent in all her naked loveliness.
Burke could not tear his eyes away. She bore very little resemblance to the twelve-year-old boy of his earlier reference. Her pale skin was glowing, stained pink from the heat of the bathwater, which was running down her slender arms as she lifted them to douse her hair. Her small, perfectly formed breasts were as round as apples, the tan nipples puckering in the cold air. She had a narrow waist that tapered to a dark red tangle of hair at the apex of her thighs and the delicate, stripling legs of a fawn. When she turned he saw the damp curls clinging to the back of her neck, and his eyes traced the line of her narrow, graceful back down to the dimple at the base of her spine.
Burke stepped back abruptly, swallowing hard. His heart was beating painfully, and he felt a familiar tightening in his groin. It had been a while since he’d had a woman—they were all back at the main camp, deep in the countryside—and he knew he was vulnerable. But she’d stirred more than just a basic need in him; he felt shaken and disturbed, unsettled by the sight of her.
Lord, she was beautiful. He wished fervently that he had not seen her, as he would need objectivity in his future dealings with her.
He had just lost it.
* * * *
When Alex awoke in the morning, she was alone and tied up again, a slipknot fixed firmly around her ankle and secured to a peg hammered into the dirt floor. She could hear the murmur of voices outside the tent and smell breakfast cooking, which made her realize how hungry she was.
Her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered, but when Rory appeared with a clay pot filled with some sort of stew, s
he turned her face away resolutely.
Rory set the pot on the floor within her reach. When Alex saw that he was about to leave without a word, she called after him, “Where’s your leader?”
Rory looked over his shoulder briefly, favored her with a stare, and left the tent.
So much for that, Alex thought.
Several hours passed, during which Alex could glimpse the men striding past the tent purposefully, none paying the slightest attention to their unwilling guest. It did not improve her spirits to realize that she seemed to be the only woman in the camp. When the warmth of the sun beating down on the tent told her that it was about noon, Burke suddenly appeared in its entrance, blocking the light like a storm cloud and filling the space with his unmistakable presence.
“Starving, is it?” he said to her, his alert gaze taking in the cold portion of stew, now congealed under a layer of fat.
“What are you going to do with me?” Alex demanded.
“Cannot you say anything else?” He squatted next to her and picked up the bowl of stew.
Alex eyed him warily, afraid of what she knew was coming next. In the bright daylight, his amber hair was shot through with golden sun streaks, and his eyes were the warm blue of an August sky. When he dipped his fingers into the pot and extracted a large lump of cold meat, she clamped her lips shut and glared at him defiantly.
He responded by pinching her nose closed with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand and waiting. When she finally gasped, unable to hold her breath any longer, he shoved the meat into her open mouth.
She coughed and spat it out.
Burke retrieved the meat, now covered with dirt, and held it to her lips again.
“Please,” she moaned, her eyes filling with tears. “Please don’t force me.”
“Will you eat, then?” He riveted her with his stare.
“Yes, damn you,” she replied, looking away from him in defeat.
“I’ll see that this is heated.” He rose and tossed the scrap he held through the flap of the tent. Alex saw one of the dogs that hung around the camp run over and scoop it up avidly.
“I hope my lord of Essex comes with a hundred men and quarters all of you!” she yelled as he disappeared through the flap of the tent.
Alex sat miserably, nursing her injured pride, until Burke returned with a steaming bowl and a slice of seeded bread. He handed them to her and sat cross-legged on the floor while she ate grudgingly, taking small bites and chewing as slowly as possible.
“What is this meat?” she asked, unable to identify it.
“Coinin.”
“Coinin?”
“Rabbit.”
The mixture didn’t taste like rabbit stew, but she didn’t argue the point.
He studied her without expression as she got it all down and then proffered a flask from the depths of his homespun tunic.
“What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.
“Have a nip. It will settle you.”
“What is it?”
“Uisce beatha,” he said. “The water of life,” he added, translating from the Gaelic.
Thirsty enough for nearly anything, she took the flask from him and downed a healthy slug. Then she sputtered helplessly, spraying him with a fine mist of fluid.
“That’s brandywine!”
“Whiskey,” he corrected, taking a belt himself.
“You tricked me.”
“Not at all,” he said as he put it away. “I said it would soothe your stomach, and so it will.”
“I don’t need a nostrum, I need an explanation of exactly what I’m doing here!”
He stood and took her empty bowl with him.
“You made me eat because I’m no good as a hostage if I starve to death. You think you’ve won, don’t you? But this isn’t over yet!”
He started to walk away.
“Where did you learn to speak English?” she called after him.
“Where did you learn to be such a soigh?” he said, using a Gaelic word she didn’t understand.
“What does that mean?” she demanded, suspecting the worst.
“I thought Englishwomen were quiet and ladified.”
“Like their queen?” Alex asked, smiling thinly.
He sighed.
“Maybe you picked the wrong Englishwoman.”
“Any one would do. They are as alike as pebbles on the shore to me.”
“Have you told my uncle that I’m here?”
“Have you not noticed that you’re talking to yourself? If you don’t let up with that yammering I’ll have to gag you, so have a care and be still.” He left.
If Alex could have found anything to throw, she would have thrown it, but the floor around her was as empty as her hopes.
* * * *
That evening there was some sort of meeting among the rebels. Alex could hear them all talking in their incomprehensible language as they sat around the campfire, the flames casting shadows on the tent. She wondered if the leader—Burke, he was called—had presented his ransom demand to her uncle. The thought did not exactly cheer her, though, as she had reason to suspect that Philip Cummings might not be all that eager to get her back.
She knew that she must conceal that doubt from her captors. To insure her safety, it was essential they continue to believe she was valuable. What puzzled her more was why she had been taken. The Irish had been battling the English for a long time; why this kidnapping now? What did Carberry or Essex have that Burke wanted? He had mentioned chess, so he must be thinking of a trade.
Alex tugged on the knot encircling her leg, and it gave a fraction of an inch. She had been working on it all day, but it felt as if it had been tied by Hercules. What she really needed was a wedge, something to insert between the coils and loosen them.
When Rory appeared with the evening meal she watched him put the bowl on the floor and then fold his arms.
“Don’t worry, I’ll eat it,” she said to him wearily. “I don’t want another feeding session with your chief.”
He stood watching her until she picked up the bowl and began to consume its contents, which tasted quite similar to her earlier repast. Alex bided her time, eating steadily, until Rory walked idly over to the tent opening and looked out of it. While his gaze was occupied elsewhere, she held the clay bowl over her head and hurled it to the floor, where it exploded loudly. Rory turned at the sound and then glared at her, disgusted by her apparent clumsiness and the resultant mess.
“I’m sorry,” Alex said, doing her best to appear meek as she glanced down at the bond that prevented her from moving to clear away the debris.
Rory stalked out of the tent, and as soon as he was gone Alex scooped up the biggest, sharpest shard of crockery within her reach and concealed it behind her back. Rory returned quickly with another portion of food, handed it to her grudgingly, and then proceeded to clean up the floor while she consumed the stew. By the time she was finished he was done also, and he left without a word.
Alex’s heart was beating so loudly she was sure it would be heard and draw attention to her. Rory couldn’t have noticed that one of the pieces of the destroyed pot was missing, but she was afraid to take the shard out and use it, since any of the men could walk back into the tent without warning and discover her sawing away at the rope. As anxious as she was to get started, it was more prudent to wait until everyone was asleep.
It seemed an eternity before Burke entered the tent and began to disrobe, removing his tunic and glancing over at her. Again she was struck by the massiveness of his shoulders and torso, the sheer brute strength of his arms and hands. She shivered inwardly but forced herself to hold his gaze steadily.
“Is there something your ladyship requires?” he asked sarcastically, raising his thick brows. He was as fair-skinned as the rest of his followers, but so tanned that he looked dark, which made his eyes all the paler by contrast.
“I require that you let me go,” Alex replied.
“You are a tedious talker
, my lady,” he replied, tossing his pelt of skins onto the floor and stretching out on it, clad only in his tight woven leggings and skin boots. His panther-like grace in movement did nothing to dispel her fears. If she twitched the wrong way, he would be on her in an instant, and she knew it. “You want a bit of variety in speech, it livens up a dull day.” He crossed his arms under his head and closed his eyes.
“You won’t get away with this.”
“You’d never ken what I plan to get away with, and more,” he said, without opening his eyes.
“A savage like you will never outsmart my uncle.”
“Savage, am I?” he countered. “As compared to who, the civilized English with their civilized royalty? Old King Henry, too busy murdering his wives to run the country? The boy Edward, whose ministers persecuted the Catholics; his sister Mary, who purged the new religion from her realm by burning so many heretics her own people called her Bloody Mary? And now Elizabeth, who beheads any who disagree with her and plants their heads on Tower Bridge to rot as an example? If that’s civilized, I’ll be savage, and grateful.”
This was the most Alex had heard out of him since she’d met him, and she was momentarily stunned into silence. She found her voice only after a long moment.
“When Carberry’s men finally find you, they won’t miss,” she said.
“Carberry’s men have been missing me for years,” he replied, unperturbed.
“My uncle is very fond of me.”
“I don’t see him pelting after you.”
“He’s .. . he’s probably planning an attack, that takes time. And when he finds out what’s been done to me ...”
Burke opened one eye and turned his head toward her slightly. “And what’s been done to you? Are you hungry or cold? Have you been ravished or beaten, mistreated in any way?”
“I’m tied up like a dog!” Alex wailed.
“My dogs are much better behaved. Go to sleep.”
Further attempts to elicit information failed, and Alex watched him fall asleep with remarkable ease. She waited until his chest was rising and falling in an even cadence. Then she took out the piece of pottery and began to fray the rope on her leg with the ragged edge, working until her wrists ached from the repetitive motion. She kept it up relentlessly, her fingers going numb, until finally the unraveling hemp snapped and fell away, leaving her leg free and the tether still attached to the peg.
The Highwayman Page 3