Highland Honor [Murray Brothers Book 2]

by Hannah Howell

  Nigel had so carefully eased her fears, so gently shown her that passion could be a beautiful thing. She had not forgotten all the cruel, ugly things her husband had done to her and probably never would, but Nigel had helped to soften the hard edges of the memory. Now yet another DeVeau was about to ruin it all. She would have to endure new horrors, new humiliations. Everything she had shared with Nigel was going to be spoiled, even the pleasant memories drowned by new ones bred of cruelty and pain. Gisele found that to be the saddest thing of all.

  The bolt was slid back on the door and it slowly opened. Gisele resisted the urge to try to hide somewhere in the large room like a terrified child. She stood tall and straight as Vachel entered. A little maid scurried in silently behind him and set a tray of food and wine on a table near the bed, then scurried back out. As the door shut behind her, Gisele caught sight of the hulking Ansel just outside of the door.

  She tensed as Vachel drew near, plucking at her growing curls with his long, pale fingers. It was hard to look at such a beautiful face and believe that it belonged to such a cruel, evil man, but Gisele had no doubt about his true nature. Michael had also been beautiful. It would be a sort of justice, she mused, if such men had faces as twisted as their souls so that they could be more easily recognized.

  "You even cut your hair,” Vachel murmured. “Was it vanity that made you then curl it as it grew?"

  "I did not curl it.” The way he studied her as if she were some unusual creature he had found in the forest made her nervous. Gisele did not think it was safe to have a man like Vachel find her interesting. “It grows like this."

  "Intriguing. Have you guessed what I plan for you?” He placed his hands over her breasts, his gaze fixed upon hers. “You did not have to bind yourself."

  It was hard, but Gisele made herself act as if his touch meant nothing to her, as if she felt absolutely nothing, not even the disgust that was churning her stomach. “It rapidly becomes clear that you do not mean to flatter me to death,” she drawled.

  "I may yet utter a few flatteries. I am sure my late, unlamented cousin taught you nothing, but I am curious as to what that rough Scot may have shown you."

  "He showed me how to escape your family and how to fight. Give me a sword and I will show you."

  Vachel stepped back and then slowly circled her before coldly smiling at her. “Non, but I will keep your boast in mind. If you speak the truth about your skill, I may be able to make interesting game of it."

  Gisele did not even want to think about that. “It will be hard to show you when I am dead, and the hanging will be soon, will it not?"

  "It will not,” he murmured. “I have other plans. My family hungers for their revenge upon you, but they can hunger for a while longer. They do not need to know that you have been found. You may take your ease here, with me, in this room. We will pleasure each other for a while."

  "Do you think I will play the whore for you just to save my neck?"

  "I did not say that it would save your pretty neck.” He lightly encircled her throat with the long, cold fingers of one hand.

  "If it will not save me from the hangman, then why would I even consider letting you touch me?"

  She struggled against gasping for air as he tightened his grip on her throat. For a brief moment she thought he was going to kill her right then and there. Gisele suspected that she should welcome a quick death when none of the other choices offered to her were ones she could accept, but she realized that she wanted life more than she wanted anything else. She clutched at his hands, but he just silently continued to tighten his grip, seemingly oblivious to the pain of her fingernails digging into the flesh of his hand. Then, just as suddenly and calmly as he had grabbed her, he let her go. She rubbed at her bruised throat as she gulped air back into her body.

  "You will do as I wish because you do not wish to die,” he said.

  "But you just told me that what I do or do not do will make no difference. You still mean to hang me. It just becomes a matter of when."

  "It becomes a matter of how much pain you wish to endure before you give me what I want. And there is always that sweet, useless thing people try to cling to when all seems lost—hope. I think you are very good at clinging to hope. You will want to stay alive as long as you can because you will hope that you can escape me.” He smiled faintly. “Or kill me."

  She watched silently as he walked to the door. “I begin to think I will do more than hope I can kill you,” she rasped as he started to leave the room. “I believe I may pray for it, may come to crave it."

  "Good. Such passion puts the color in your cheeks, and you do not look quite so frail. Rest. I shall return to your sweet arms after my meal."

  The door shut behind him and she sank down on the edge of the bed. She did not know which she wanted to do more, vomit or cry. One moment the man nearly choked the life from her, the next he was telling her to rest so that she could properly pleasure him when he returned. Madness obviously ran rampant in the DeVeau family. She had been right to think that Vachel was far more dangerous and evil than his cousin.

  She looked at the food, briefly considered the possibility of starving herself to death, and then took some bread and began to eat. Vachel was right. As long as she remained alive, she would continue to hope. She would suffer the humiliations and the pains and try to keep herself strong with hope. She would hope that she could escape and that her family would finally prove her innocence and help set her free, and she would also hope that Vachel DeVeau would die a gruesome, agonizing death.

  As she ate, Gisele drank a lot of the wine. She idly wondered if she could get drunk enough to be numb to what Vachel did to her or, even better, be so drunk that he lost interest, if only for one night. Even as she contemplated the possibility she poured another goblet of wine, and the black leather jug was suddenly empty. She shook it over her half-filled goblet, then cursed and threw it across the room.

  The man had even thought of that, she mused, and then felt an almost overwhelming urge to scream and weep. How could she fight a man who was not only cruel, but clever? If he thought of everything she might do before even she thought of it, there was no chance to outwit him.

  To stop herself from sinking too deep into her own misery, she got up and began to meticulously search the room. It did little to improve her mood when she found nothing she could use as a weapon. That struck her as odd, for she was sure this was Vachel's room, and a man like that had to have so many enemies that he would never dare to go to bed without some weapon within reach.

  She carefully studied the room again, and cursed. It was not his room. Rather it was made to look like his room. Gisele was astonished at the man's slyness, his secretive nature. She suspected that everyone who came to visit Vachel and probably everyone who lived and worked here thought this was the master's bedchamber, but she sincerely doubted that Vachel ever slept here. Probably not even after he had stolen his pleasure from some poor woman. Vachel's true sleeping quarters were secreted somewhere where no one could find him. The only other person who would know where the lord of the manor slept would be Ansel, and that man would go to his grave before he would betray Vachel.

  His little hideaway could even be inside the walls, she mused as she idly inched her way around the room, running her hand over the wall. Gisele was not quite sure what she looked for, just some subtle thing that would be pulled or pushed to reveal a doorway. If his true bedchamber were not in the walls, then the hall leading to it was, for he could not be seen coming and going from this room.

  "What are you doing?” asked a cold voice from right behind her.

  Gisele gasped softly in surprise and turned to look at Vachel. She had not even heard the door open, yet a quick glance over his shoulder revealed Ansel taking one last look inside before shutting the door. Vachel DeVeau had obviously learned the same little trick that Nigel had. She supposed she should not be surprised. A man like him would find it very useful to be able to move around silently.
/>   "I was looking for your escape door,” she answered truthfully.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Just what I said."

  "Why should I wish to escape from my own room?"

  She could tell by the way his voice grew colder and softer that he was becoming angry. It was not wise to tell him that she knew one of his greatest secrets. Then she decided that it did not matter. She might even get lucky and say or do something that finally broke his tight control over himself and make him kill her—quickly.

  "Because you are hated so much that your enemies number in the thousands. The last thing you would wish them to know is where you sleep. The bedchamber can be the one place where a man is most vulnerable."

  "Cleverness is not always appreciated in a woman."

  "So your cousin was fond of telling me, either before or after he beat me."

  "My cousin obviously did not beat you often enough or hard enough."

  "He did his best,” she said, moving away from him and picking up the wine decanter she had hurled against the wall.

  "Michael did not have a best."

  She had just set the decanter down on the table by the bed when she felt his body close to her back. He had neatly pinned her between himself, the table, and the bed. Gisele cursed her own stupidity. She should have watched him more closely.

  "You did not send up enough wine,” she complained, but her voice wavered ever so slightly as she turned around to face him, their bodies only a deep breath apart.

  "I sent up all you would need,” he said as he reached out to stroke her hair.

  His touch was almost gentle, but she knew that could change at any moment. He had already shown her that his touch could turn hard and brutal in the blink of an eye. And, gentle or not, skilled or not, he was still intending to take from her something she would never give him willingly. She pressed herself up hard against the table in the vain hope of evading his touch.

  Although she usually liked to be right, she did not find it comforting that she had been so about the wine. Vachel had sent up a carefully measured amount. He had suspected that she might consider getting senseless with drink. As he trailed his almost soft fingers over her cheek, she heartily wished he had not been so clever. It would have been almost pleasant to be able to pass out from an overindulgence in wine right about now.

  A soft cry of alarm escaped her when he suddenly grabbed her and threw her onto the bed. Her whole body tried to press itself deep down into the soft, feather mattress when he sprawled on top of her. There was an unsettling look of consideration in his dark eyes as he looked down at her.

  "So, you were caressing my walls in an attempt to find some hidden door,” he murmured as he slowly began to unlace her gown.

  "You know exactly what I was doing."

  Gisele struggled to hold herself very still. Her husband's brutal attentions had taught her that fighting only added to her pain. She had no weapon to kill or maim Vachel, and he was bigger and stronger. Honor might demand that she fight him, but honor did not have to suffer the pain of the beating resistance brought.

  "If I had a small hiding place, you must know that I would want it to remain a secret. If you tell me you know my secrets, then you cannot be surprised if I decide it would be wise to silence you."

  "Is it not pointless to threaten me with death? You have already made it clear that there is nothing I can do or say that will save my life."

  "A person can be silenced in many ways.” He slid his hand inside of her bodice and fondled her breasts. “You do not fight me."

  "One thing your cousin taught me was that all I gain from that is more pain."

  "So you mean to lie beneath me like a corpse."

  "If that troubles you then I suggest you go and find your pleasure elsewhere."

  He just smiled. “I did not say that it troubled me. I but thought that you had more spirit than that."

  "Spirit does not make one witless. I have no weapon and I cannot match your strength. This crime you commit will bring me pain and humiliation. Trying to stop you will only bring more of the same. I will save my spirit for the time that I can cut your throat."

  "As you did my cousin's?"

  "I have said that I did not kill Michael. You should be honored. You will be my first kill."

  "And mayhap you believe your Scotsman will come riding to your aid,” he said.

  "Non, I left him. He will not follow."

  "Then he will survive. We watch for him, you know."

  "If Nigel wanted to get into your keep, you would never see him do so. He is like the thin smoke of a dying fire. He could slip in here and cut your throat before you even realized the door had opened."

  "The empty boasts of a besotted lover."

  "I will remind you that you said that while you lie drowning in your own blood."

  "Enough talk. I have not come here for conversation or idle pleasantries."

  "Non, you have come here to steal what would never be given to you willingly."

  "I have. After all, who is there to stop me?"

  "Weel, I might be willing to give it a wee try,” drawled a deep voice, enriched with a thick Scottish accent.

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  Eighteen

  Dusk was rapidly increasing the shadows all around him, and Nigel stood up to stretch. Although he had sat there for several hours, no one had seen him or confronted him. He decided he was right about an arrogant sense of power and safety making the men at arms careless. Nigel felt sure that he could slip into the keep without being seen, but despite long hours of plotting he was still not sure of what he would do once he was in there. Soon they would close the heavy gates, and that left him with just two choices—getting inside the keep before they did and hope for the best, or sitting where he was for the rest of the night praying they did not kill Gisele before he could devise a good plan of rescue, one that had some small chance of success.

  Just as he decided that he would slip inside and do the rest of his plotting within the walls of the keep, he watched a lone man ride out through the gates. The man rode straight for the trees, and Nigel moved quickly to intercept him. There was a dark, brooding look on the man's narrow face, and Nigel knew he was troubled about something. Better yet, the man was sunk deep in his own problem, oblivious to all around him. That distraction would allow Nigel to slip up on his prey unnoticed, catch him alive, and pull some important information from him.

  Barely a sound escaped the man as Nigel leapt from the shadows, pulled him from his saddle, and threw him to the ground He pulled his dagger, sat on the man, and held his knife to his throat. Nigel frowned as he looked closely at his prisoner's face. His captive should at least look surprised, preferably afraid, but the man just looked a little amused.

  "I am George,” the man said. “You must be the Scotsman."

  "The Scotsman?” Nigel asked in English, praying that the man not only understood his language but spoke it.

  "Oui.” George spoke in a thickly accented English as he explained, “You are the man who rides with the Lady Gisele DeVeau. All know about you. I was surprised when we found her alone."

  "Ye mean when ye captured her and turned her over to the bastards who want to kill her,” he said coldly, pressing his knife just a little closer to the life-giving vein in George's throat.

  "I was told that she was a murderess, that she had killed her husband in a particularly brutal way."

  "And ye believe without question everything ye are told? Or was your haste to believe that tiny lass capable of such a crime aided by the coin that now weights your purse?"

  "I am a poor man, sir, with six whining children and a whining wife. Oui, I hungered for the bounty, and I thought it would be fairly earned. As I have said, I believed I joined the hunt for a murderess. There is no crime in that."

  Slowly, Nigel got off the man, but he kept his dagger at the ready and watched George carefully as he sat up. George was right There was no crime in trying to get a share
of the bounty offered for a murderess. It had taken him a while to believe Gisele had never killed her husband, and he knew the whole sordid truth of her brutal marriage. George did not. He had been told by men of title and wealth that one of their number had been murdered by a woman. Why should he doubt it? Yet, Nigel began to get the feeling that George had had a change of heart.

  "Did ye hurt her?” he asked coldly, not willing to trust the man too quickly.

  "Non. I went to her with my sword sheathed. I agreed to capture her. It was not my place to mete out her punishment. We did have a small battle, however. I think I might have won that, but one of the other men came along and put a stop to it."

  "Ye didnae laugh at her, did ye?” he asked, able to smile briefly at the image of Gisele facing this man, sword in hand and ready to fight.

  "I admit that I was amused, but I did not laugh. My amusement was short-lived. You taught her well."

  "And she will get better. She has a gift for it, if not the strength. So, ye didnae hurt her, but did someone else?"

  "One of the men knocked her on the head a couple of times."

  "A couple of times?"

  "One was to put a stop to the fight, a light blow that knocked her to her knees, but no more. He also was driven to hit her once or twice because she goaded him."

  Nigel cursed softly. “She should learn when to guard her tongue."

  "It is a little sharp."

  "A little?” Nigel murmured. Then he looked at George carefully. “Ye have had a change of heart."

  George nodded and sighed, grimacing as he looked down at the purse tied to his scabbard. “I have. I looked at that tiny woman and could not believe she did what they said she did, not even when she tried to skewer me. But what changed my mind the most was the way Sir Vachel looked at her and spoke to her."

  "Who is this Sir Vachel?"

  "The lord that squats in that keep. He is the cousin of her husband."

  "Ye dinnae think he believes she is guilty?"

  "I do not believe he cares if she is or not. He certainly does not care that someone killed his cousin. Sir Vachel is a frightening man. I am glad to be free of him and this place. He will hang her, but not any time soon. He means to have his fill of her first.” George hastily edged away from Nigel when the man cursed.