The Black Rose

by Christina Skye

  Around her all was silence — suffocating and total. She frowned, straining to hear, and finally made out something that might have been water dripping, far in the distance.

  Almost like the chill, damp void of Fairleigh's stone tunnels, Tess thought wildly. Dear God, she couldn't have been taken there, surely. Not down into the tunnels!

  White-faced, she stumbled to her feet and began to inch across the stone floor, at the same time attacking the wool wedged against her face.

  What if it were dark? What if she were trapped here forever, captive in the darkness? She began to shiver then, blackness pressing around her. There were things in the dark. Invisible, silent things. Deadly things.

  Stop it! she told herself, tugging feverishly at the knotted cloth around her head. Someone brought you here. Whoever it was will come back for you. Stiffly she made her way forward until she felt the cold ridges of a stone wall beneath her fingers.

  Then magically she heard the scuff of feet, followed by the metallic clang of a key in a lock.

  The door creaked open and the steps hammered closer. Warm air wafted over her neck, shocking after the dampness and cold.

  A moment later she felt the unseen figure move behind her. Without warning the heavy wool, damp from her breath, was stripped away from her face. She blinked, seeing before her a large stone cellar, bare except for the chair she had been sitting in and a rickety table lit by a flickering lantern.

  During the few seconds it took for her eyes to became accustomed to the light, the person behind her still had not moved. Hawkins? Tess thought wildly.

  Her shoulders stiffened in defiance. "This is kidnapping, you know," she said flatly, refusing to turn around. "The magistrate will hear of it."

  "I believe not, my dear." Ravenhurst sauntered forward into the lantern light. His white shirt was open at the neck, hastily tucked into a form-fitting pair of buckskin breeches. Around his forehead was wound a thick white strip of linen. The bandage, Tess saw with satisfaction, was dotted with blood.

  "Hobhouse will come looking for me, you know."

  Ravenhurst's lip curled in a thin smile. "Hardly likely, my dear. Not when your staff believes you to be enjoying a cozy visit with Lord Lennox and his sister."

  "You bloody, despicable ..." Tess struck wildly at Ravenhurst's face, but he only shoved her hands away.

  "I told you it was not over between us. But it soon will be."

  "And Thomas?" Tess demanded, knowing the answer even before she asked.

  "At this moment Thomas is finishing off a fine meal of roast mutton and mince tarts, unless I miss my guess. A remarkable recovery, is it not? And sharing his meal will be a helpful village boy with sixpence fresh in his pocket. The lad was only too happy to carry a message to Jem at the Angel. Of course, he had no idea what the note said."

  Angry sparks shot from Tess's eyes. "You think you've taken care of everything, don't you? But I'll scream. I'll scream until someone hears me."

  "You are welcome to try, of course. But these stone cellars are wondrously well built. Laid down in the Armada's time, I should imagine. Yes, they are entirely soundproof, which is why I chose this house."

  "Where have you taken me, blackguard?"

  "It is really of no consequence, my dear. All you need to know is that you are where no one can find you. Except myself, of course. For you are now entirely subject to my commands."

  Tess backed against the cold stone wall, watching in disbelief as Ravenhurst's long fingers moved to his shirt. She stared blindly, unable to believe this was really happening. "You can't mean to ..."

  The button was freed, and then another, revealing a dense mat of black, springy hair. "Oh, I mean it, my dear Tess. I'll have the Fox's name tonight, and the plans of his runs. One way or another, I shall find out everything I need to know, you may be certain of that. But whether by the easy way or the hard way — that choice I leave up to you." Another button sprang free. His cold eyes fixed on Tess's face, Ravenhurst began to pull the shirt from his breeches, every movement cool and lazy and deliberate.

  "I have no choice in any of this, and well you know it!" Tess spat, straining wildly at her bonds until her wrists and ankles were raw.

  Ravenhurst's hard eyes never left her face. "Tell me what I want to know, Tess."

  "Never!"

  "Give me his name," her captor repeated inexorably. "Unless you choose to know my wrath." Suddenly his arm shot out, forcing her face up to meet his gaze. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Tess? How it will be between us?"

  "You are foul, contemptible! At least Hawkins is honest in his lust. But you try to mask it as duty!"

  "It is so simple, really. A few words will suffice."

  Tess countered with a look of cold fury. "Vermin! Arrogant slime!"

  Ravenhurst's face darkened, but he said nothing. His strong hands left her chin and moved to his waist. Slowly he freed the last button of his shirt, then pulled the fine linen from his broad, muscled shoulders.

  It was a dream, Tess told herself, staring at his naked chest. It could not be true.

  But then Ravenhurst's hands dropped to the buttons at his breeches. "Having second thoughts yet, my dear?"

  "How vile you are! Worse than Hawkins, I see now. For he, at least, makes no pretense of being other than what he is — a liar and a bully."

  Tess saw his jaw tense at her words. Some faint spark of emotion came and went in his cold, clear eyes.

  Yes, she thought wildly, perhaps this was the way!

  "Did you treat your French prisoners so?" she taunted, desperate to distract him. "Did you force the women to serve your pleasure? Did you slit their throats when they would not?"

  Ravenhurst's jaw hardened. "Cease this wild babbling. You know nothing of what you're saying."

  "I know enough about you to guess, however."

  "Be careful what you say, then, lest you feel the force of my violence now."

  "I'm not afraid of you," Tess blazed. "You are but one more bellowing male in a very long list of bellowing males who have sought to control me. What could you possibly do that would frighten me?" Her small chin rose defiantly. "Well, my lord?"

  "One name, Tess. One set of signals," he said harshly.

  "Never!" she spat back.

  Grim-faced, Ravenhurst stalked closer. "I'll have his name, Tess. One way or another."

  Slowly Tess backed away until she felt the cold ridge of the wall at her shoulders.

  Then he was upon her, sweeping her up and over his shoulder before she could loose a single oath. "Since you don't choose to talk, I see I must find some other activity to loosen your tongue," he growled, carrying her toward the door.

  Tess's mouth flattened to a taut line. "I'll tell you what you want to know, then," she cried, kicking her feet but meeting only emptiness. "The Fox? He's the mayor, Mr. Tredwell. He — he has four assistants. Hobhouse, you know already. Jem is another, as is Amos Hawkins. Yes, Hawkins." She laughed once, raw and hoarse. "You don't believe me? Oh, yes, I know all of them. Indeed, I ride with them upon the marsh. And I've had them all, do you hear? Shared my bed with each one of them! Shall I tell you what sort of lovers they made?"

  "Stop it, Tess!" Ravenhurst grated, his fingers digging into her hips.

  "Stop? Why? I thought you were after secrets this night, my lord! Now where was I? Oh yes, next are the vicar and the baker. They share the watch on Mermaid Street."

  "Stop it, damn you!"

  "And then there's the captain of the dragoons," she continued wildly. "I mustn't forget him, for he is quite insatiable. And so very — inventive in the bedroom."

  Ravenhurst lurched to a halt; his fingers gripped her thighs like steel traps. "Don't, Tess!" he growled.

  "You mean you don't want to hear my secrets? Don't tell me you've turned fainthearted, my lord?" Tess twisted, turning glazed, bitter eyes on her captor's face.

  And recoiled at the hatred she saw blazing there.

  It makes no difference, she told herself
. He is no one and nothing to me now. He's dead to me, and I to him.

  She pressed her eyes closed, unable to bear the sight of his contempt any longer. Even when Ravenhurst caught her roughly and pulled her from his shoulder, she still did not open them.

  "Tricks. Always tricks," he said hoarsely. "Very well, since I see you mean to play this game through to the end."

  That is when Tess began to retreat, searching for the place she used to go. The quiet place she learned to find when she couldn't bear the sound of her parents' arguing and her mother's muffled sobs. The place she went when her father locked her in the cold, silent tunnels.

  It had been two years now, she thought dimly. She only hoped she remembered how ...

  "What are you doing?" Ravenhurst demanded, his fingers tense on her cool skin.

  Already Tess felt his touch receding. Already the images around her began to waver and lose their clarity.

  Only then did her eyes open, two smoky, green pools in the pale oval of her face. Huge and unfocused, they met his gaze — and looked far beyond.

  To another time and place.

  "Look at me, damn you!" Ravenhurst growled, gripping her chin and forcing her face upward. "No more of these tricks."

  But Tess did not answer, indeed heard him only faintly. She certainly did not recognize the harsh note of fear that entered his voice.

  For now the scent of roses and lilies filled her lungs. The sound of the wind rushed through her mind. The white garden was before her, cool and sheltering.

  Almost there. Almost safe, where no one can find me. Safe ...

  "Tess!"

  Even Ravenhurst's rough, tortured cry did not pierce her abstraction. For now she was running up the hillside, the grass thick with dew beneath her feet. Before her she could see dark-veined leaves and rose petals trembling in the wind.

  She did not feel him flatten his palms against her cheeks. She did not hear his harsh, checked breath.

  "Very well, if that's the game you wish to play, I'll give you some time to think it over. Maybe a night down here in the cold will loosen your lying tongue," he said harshly.

  His boots hammered over stone. Somewhere in the distance Tess sensed a door clanging shut.

  The door of hope, she thought dimly. But only for a moment.

  Then she was sinking down to the damp earth, the wind playing through her unbound hair, sorrel and foxglove soft at her feet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  For long minutes Dane stood staring down at the woman in his arms, his fingers unmoving upon her cheek. Her eyes did not open, nor her expression change in any way.

  Grim-faced, he thought of his midshipman's broken body, of the ragged wound that had drained the lifeblood from his young throat.

  Black rage washed over him and for a moment he could not see. Then his fingers flew away from Tess's cold skin as if burned.

  He could not stay here now, Ravenhurst realized dimly, not feeling as he did. He did not know what he might do to her if he stayed.

  Scowling, he lowered her to the cold floor and pounded to the door, returning soon after with his greatcoat. Quickly he spread it over the damp stones, then laid Tess down upon it. His eyes were cold as night as he jerked the door's solid weight closed behind him. A moment later his key grated in the lock.

  In his desperation to be away from her, he took the stairs three at a time, muttering black curses with each step.

  Nor did he halt the stream of ragged oaths until he had reached his sparsely furnished study and drained two very large glasses of brandy.

  In his rage Ravenhurst did not hear the strange, discordant noises that welled up far below, from the darkness of the locked cellar.

  By then it was too late anyway.

  * * * * *

  Tess felt their hairy bodies first, then the prick of their tiny, sharp jaws. They plunged down onto her in the darkness, tracing restless paths over her unshielded skin.

  Please! Someone ...

  Another probing shape hit her leg, and she wrenched her body into a tight ball.

  Anyone!

  The darkness wrapped itself around her, dense and taut, enveloping her, stretching to shut out all sound. She had felt the insects there too. In the tunnels where her father had locked her, when the drunken rages were upon him.

  Light a candle, she begged silently. Please! Just this once.

  Their tiny fangs pierced her skin; their sharp legs clamored over her bare arms. Through her hair, in her ears, upon her eyelids.

  "No more!" The cry exploded from the darkness, ragged and terrified. Her own cry, Tess realized dimly.

  Her trembling fingers tore at the cold stones, desperate to avoid the poisonous creatures skittering up out of the night. Something dropped onto her thigh, and she ground at it frantically, digging her nails into her skin, trying to sweep away the relentless attackers.

  Her fingers curved into talons as she flayed wildly — at herself, at the stones beneath her feet, at the damp wall above her head.

  The spiders were everywhere now, an angry, relentless swarm.

  No — please!

  And then she began to scream.

  * * * * *

  Ravenhurst meant to stay away longer, but an hour later he was back at the cellar door, tense and determined. For a moment his features darkened with something that might almost have been regret. But the emotion soon vanished.

  The woman beyond that door wasn't worth his regret, Ravenhurst told himself. Anything that happened to her now, she'd brought on herself.

  A blast of damp, chill air rushed into his face as he opened the cellar door and waited at the threshold, preparing for another trick, knowing he must never underestimate her. Around him the shadows danced in the light of his flickering candle. He frowned, wondering what had happened to the lantern he had left lit upon the table.

  And where in bloody hell was she? Could she have somehow managed to escape?

  Raising his candle, he searched the shadows, his frown turning to a scowl. He plunged inside, his feet hammering across the ancient stone floor.

  Then he saw her, wedged tightly against the far corner of the room, her body curled into a protective ball. Her gown was rent with jagged tears at chest and hem, and one sleeve dangled by mere threads.

  But it was the queer, soft humming that caught Ravenhurst up short.

  As he watched, she began to rock back and forth, her hands locked around her bent knees. Her eyes, he saw, were huge and haunted; as he strode closer they stared at him, unblinking, unknowing, passing right through him.

  "Get up, Tess," he ordered grimly.

  The rocking did not cease, nor her odd, wordless melody.

  "Stop this playacting." Grim-faced, Ravenhurst knelt before her and looked deep into her eyes, surprised when they registered no change at his presence. Muttering a curse, he gripped her arms and tried to pull her to her feet.

  Her body was an unresisting weight. His thumbs tightened on the fragile bones of her hands while he dragged her against him, wondering what new sort of trick this was.

  A grimace crossed her face.

  "Look at me, Tess," Dane ordered harshly.

  The soft humming continued, unchanged. He could feel her breath, jerky and light against his neck. He stared down at her in anger and disbelief, his hands circling her slim wrists.

  It was only then that Ravenhurst noticed her fingers. Raw and swollen, they oozed blood from a dozen angry sores. Every nail was broken, dark with dirt and dried blood.

  Impossible! And yet ...

  "Soleil," he whispered hoarsely, regret battering him like a fist. "My wild sweet sun. What have I done to you?"

  At that old epithet, Tess blinked. Some spark of emotion flickered deep in her eyes, then disappeared. Silently she shrank back from him, her eyes blind with pain.

  Then her hands began to quiver. She twisted, straining to brush something from her shoulder.

  Something Dane could not see.

  "No — no more," sh
e stammered. "Dear God, make them g-go away." She raised her eyes, searching but seeing nothing of what was around her, lost in another world.

  "Make what go away?"

  Once again Tess's hand moved, this time gouging a deep hole in the fabric along her neck, her broken nails carving welts in her ivory skin.

  "What is it?"

  "S-spiders," Tess gasped. "Dear God — can't you see them?" Her trembling fingers attacked the empty air before her. "Here!"

  "There are no spiders," Dane said harshly.

  "All — over me," she gasped, struggling desperately in his arms. "L-let me go!"

  A muscle flashed at the hard line of Ravenhurst's jaw as he looked down into Tess's white face. Her eyes widened, dark and terrified. Her ragged sleeve snared a button on his shirt and tore free, leaving the bodice of her dress gaping open.

  With stiff, awkward fingers Ravenhurst pulled the cloth together over her naked skin, forcing his eyes away from that erotic swell of breast and rosy nipple. He cursed, feeling desire slam through him like a lightning bolt, smoking and sparking through every painful inch of his body.

  At a time like this, how could he think of ...

  In his arms, Tess stiffened and began to shiver convulsively. Stifling a curse, Ravenhurst cupped her neck and tried to draw her closer to his heat. But she fought him wildly, her muscles rigid and straining, her eyes glazed and fixed.

  On things only she could see.

  "Don't fight me, Tess. I only want to help you." Swiftly Dane shrugged out of his jacket, then slipped it around her shivering shoulders. Beneath the torn fabric her skin was faintly blue tinged. She felt cold, far too cold, beneath his hot fingers. "Let me do that much for you at least," he whispered.

  And then, without waiting for her struggles to resume, Ravenhurst swept his trembling captive up into his arms and carried her out of her dark prison.

  * * * * *

  She was still no warmer when he set her down upon his four-poster bed.

  Her eyelids flickered, blue-veined, and she twisted restlessly, mumbling incoherent words beneath her breath.