Her heart had flipped quite acrobatically when Collin looked up from his third reading, gentled his features, and apologized for "putting her in a position of believing that little prick's threats." In short, he understood. Truly.
And now even Collin had relaxed, riding abreast of her borrowed nag, though his eyes roamed the trees ahead and his hand stayed close to his pistol. Brinn tagged along quite happily behind them, naked back twitching beneath the midday sun. Collin and Alex did not speak but snuck dozens of smiles at each other, until she was hard-pressed not to giggle at each touch of his eyes.
She felt like a bride, finally. Like an innocent girl just stripped and stroked for the first time. She actually blushed at the thought.
Collin growled from her left. "Are you thinking of last night, wife, or the night to come?"
She let her laughter free. "Both."
"And what about this afternoon?"
"This afternoon?"
His wolf smile was back. Alex squealed like a cornered lamb when his long arm shot out and plucked her from the saddle to ride his lap instead.
Thor danced sideways under the strange weight, and Alex reached in panic for a handhold. She found one—a perfect one—and felt the huge expansion of Collin's chest as her fingers tightened convulsively.
"Shit," he gasped, a croak of pleasure and alarm.
"Sorry!" she squeaked, releasing her grip.
"Just glad you didn't fall off and take it with you." The words were strained, but he composed himself enough to grab her hand and tuck it back into his lap. "Not so tight this time, lassie."
She wiggled her hip against him, easing closer to his growing length. Thor shied again. Collin bit her neck. "Mm."
"I don't think Thor appreciates the weight," he murmured, lips sliding over her skin to her ear. "Mm."
"He's tired, probably. Needs a rest."
"Yes."
"There's a stream just ahead. A clearing. And we must stop for lunch."
"Perfect."
And so their day went.
They were not three miles from Westmore when Alex shook her head to clear away the haze of languid satisfaction. "It was Jeannie in Fergus's bed, I hope."
"And how could you know that?"
"Instinct." Her eyes flew to his and away again. "I did not know she'd been to his bed."
"He says he will ask for her hand."
"Oh, Collin! That's—"
The world slipped, shifted under her, spinning till it hit her face. The whole of the earth seemed to have landed on her chest and she could not draw a breath past the weight.
"Alex!" Hooves danced near her head. She saw Collin's face above her as he slid from the saddle, saw him look to the horse, saw a stream of blood flowing from the gelding's chest. Then a pistol clutched in a fist fell from the sky and her husband dropped away, disappearing from her vision.
Air flooded suddenly into her stunned lungs. "Collin," she coughed when she had enough air to exhale. She could not roll her eyes far enough to see him, so she forced her cringing body to push to the side. Shadows swam before her like fish darting through water.
"Greetings, Lady Westmore. What a pleasure to see you again."
The shadows melted together to form a man.
"I do not appreciate being ignored, my dear. Lied to again. But perhaps this is for the good. Your husband is better leverage than a threat, after all. And if you refuse to turn over the money, I will simply rid myself of the underlying problem."
"Damien?"
"Oh, my name still sounds so lovely on your lips."
She searched the road at his feet till she found her husband, still and bloody. "What have you done?"
"He is only unconscious."
"But. . . Why?"
"I warned you to leave the money. Imagine my disappointment when I found you had left without paying me."
"I didn't. . . I meant to return with it."
"Oh, what a pretty liar you are. No, you meant to leave your brutish husband; however, I did not worry. I knew he'd retrieve you, animal that he is."
"I have the money, the jewels. I'll turn them over."
"Yes, you will. Or I'll slit his ugly throat."
"No! You can't—"
"Come, let's get off this road, shall we? I've a campsite just off this trail. Too bad he's too heavy to lift."
He turned away, busied himself with rope and the horses. Alex tried to heave herself up and managed to raise her chest from the ground.
"What a pity. Your face will swell. We shall have to say he beat you. That is in keeping with his nature, is it not?"
"No," she mumbled and folded her legs beneath her. If she could stand, perhaps—
St. Claire bent over her, pulled her wrists up and tied them together. Even the barest try at resistance set her arms shaking.
"You're not going to vomit on me, are you? Good." He patted her head. Alex blinked at the swarm of dots before her eyes. "I will help you to mount. If you try to escape, you'll come along behind your husband."
She realized, in a sudden rush of horror, what he'd been doing with the rope. Collin lay on the road, hands limp and tied above his head. The rope bound him to Thor's saddle. He was to be dragged.
"No!" Her eyes rolled again, taking in every jagged edge of every rock that jut from the roadside. They found the small hint of a trail and the litter of branches and tree roots across it. "No, you'll kill him."
"Oh, it's not far. And I can't possibly lift him. A moment, please." He held up an elegant hand to stop her words before reaching for the trailing rein of the injured horse. She was thankful for the moment to think, thankful till he led the horse a few feet into the brush and slit its throat.
A sob and a rush of bile choked her.
"What?" St. Claire scoffed when he returned. "Was I to leave it limping about for anyone to find?"
Alex stared at his bloody hand as he wiped a crimson streak over a handkerchief. She bent over to be sick, but the wave of nausea passed.
"All right, come along. Into the saddle."
By the time he'd dragged her to her feet and led her to Thor, she'd begun to beg. She had no thought of pride or will, she only wanted Collin alive. "Please," she pled. "Don't do this."
"For God's sake, shut your mouth. You always did talk too much."
She pushed up, tried to straddle Collin's saddle, and nearly tumbled to the ground.
"Here. Let me help." His hateful hands pushed up and under her skirts, shoving dress and petticoat to the tops of her thighs. "That should be easier. Taken to wearing drawers, have you?"
She shivered and made herself swallow her cries when his fingers edged underneath the drawers, and she sat forward in the saddle to keep his hand from exploring further. Still, he traced over her, touching flesh still tender from her husband's attention.
"He's been at you already, has he?" The touch lifted from her, thank God. She watched him wipe his wet hand over her skirts, horrified to see the red crescents of horse blood under his nails. "Punishment for running away?"
"No."
"Was he rough with you, Alex dear?" "Shut up."
"Perhaps you like it rough. I wouldn't be surprised."
"Keep your hands off her, you filthy whoreson."
A little scream leapt past her lips, part joy that Collin was alive and part horror that he would antagonize their captor.
"Ah, Blackburn. Happy to have you join us. Hope you can keep your legs under you." With that, he led Thor to his own horse and mounted, leading Brinn as well.
Alex twisted and stretched, trying to guard Collin with her eyes, as if her gaze could keep him safe. He had pushed to his feet, thank God, and stumbled behind them on the trail, blood dripping down his face. She prayed fervently, prayed he would not fall to his knees and be dragged. The trail would shred his legs, and Brinn crept close behind him, hooves like stones waiting to crush.
Thankfully, the trail had grown over with vine and brush and slowed them to a careful wal
k. Collin tried to catch her eye, but he could not look away from his feet for long and Alex could not think well enough to interpret his brief stares.
The smell of crushed fir needles overwhelmed her suddenly, the scent sharp and acrid in her nose, her mouth. She had to turn away from Collin to lean over Thor's neck and retch. She heard the harsh pant of Collin's breath even over her own sickness.
"Almost there," St. Claire called cheerfully a few moments later, voice conveying his absolute pleasure with the situation.
Alex's stomach heaved again, but she forced back the sickness. She must push past the blackness that crept into her vision. Collin could not get them out of this alone.
The sun shone ahead of them, lighting a clearing. The grassy circle was so eerily picturesque that she wanted to weep. A lovely place, and terrible.
This was where he had camped, next to a stream, beneath the shelter of a solitary tree. The sun would warm the air during the day; the tree kept out the wet. It was perfect.
St. Claire led them to the far edge and tied the horses, seeming at ease under Collin's watchful glare. At ease, but not unaware. The click of a cocking pistol snapped through the air.
"Do not move, Alexandra. Blackburn, you come with me."
Collin bit out a Gaelic curse, straining against the jerk of the rope in St. Claire's hands.
"I have your wife at my mercy, bastard."
Collin snapped the rope, pulling free. "We both know you are not planning to let her go."
"Au contraire." The gun rose to stare at Collin's chest. "She will return to Westmore to retrieve her jewels. If she refuses or tries to bring help, I'll kill you."
"Do not listen to him, Alex. He'll kill me anyway."
"Silence! Walk to the tree now or I'll cut off one of her pretty ears." The knife he'd used to kill the horse appeared suddenly in his hand. "She could still function quite nicely sans earlobe, don't you think?"
"Collin. Don't. He won't hurt me."
St. Claire's chuckle iced her nerves. Collin met her eyes, then walked to the tree, wrapped his hands behind him around the trunk. "Don't come back, caitein."
"Very good," St. Claire crooned, following to tie Collin's wrists in a tight knot. He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket with a flourish and stepped around the tree to face him. "Can't have you distracting her," he grinned and stuffed the fabric into Collin's mouth. Another length of rope secured the gag and pulled his head against the bark.
"You don't look much like your brother, you know. Must have been the peasant blood that made you so large."
"Why are you doing this?" Alex asked again, desperate to distract him from whatever he meant to do to Collin.
"I need the money, of course."
"But why did you start this? Why did you kill John?"
"I didn't mean to kill him. I only meant to break him. The killing was an impulse, though perhaps not a smart one. I simply couldn't resist."
"But why? Why?"
"Oh, so many reasons, really. He had everything I wanted—money, his father's title, the friendship of every damned buck in school. Still, he stole from me. First that blond whore at The Priory . . . pulled her right from under my nose when he knew I wanted her. He stole my money, though he had too much to spend. Goaded me into playing too deep, then threw my notes back in my face to show everyone I couldn't pay them."
"He was only being kind!"
"Do you know nothing? He may as well have slapped me in the face right there in the club. And then he did it again, the little fool. Turned over his hand with that mew of pity. You should have seen their faces. Oh, they loved watching that.
"I wanted to kill him then, but I didn't have the nerve, not yet. But everyone knew he was in love with you, so I stole you from under his nose. A whore for a whore."
Her temper flared, finally, worming its way from beneath her fear and injury. He had killed John for a petty
slight, an imagined insult. He had lured her to that room, had set her on that desk and faced her toward the door so that John would see her naked thighs and busy hands as soon as he turned the doorknob.
"You're a coward," she growled as he left Collin and approached her. She regretted her words almost instantly. Her eyes fell on the rope binding Collin's hands. She couldn't goad him on, couldn't give him the excuse he wanted to hurt them. If he let her go, surely she could do something. . .
"Come down and visit with me, beautiful."
He reached up and yanked her off the horse, letting her fall to her knees before him.
"I don't know that I'd call myself a coward."
He pulled her, dragging her toward her husband. Collin's eyes drilled into her, demanding she obey him. But she wasn't stupid. She knew he planned to kill them both.
"I'll admit to being cautious. For example, it would have been easy enough to swive you, to truly ruin you. You were certainly itching for it." She tried not to moan in disgust. "But I did not wish to bring down the wrath of a duke on my head. It was a near enough thing as it stood, but I counted on you to protect me; everyone knows your brother indulges you. Perhaps he was the one who had you so primed, hmm? Was big brother after you in the nursery?"
"You're vile."
"Mm." He stopped in front of Collin, pulling her to face her husband as he pressed his chest against her back. One hand held her to him, the other rose to cup her chin, angling first one way, then the other, as if offering her for examination. Alex studied Collin's face, memorized it.
"And I am still cautious, so this is what we'll do. When we leave here tomorrow morning"—Tomorrow—"I will release you to go to Westmore. Your dear husband and I will move on to new environs. Wouldn't want you leading a hunting party back to us, would we?"
His hand slipped from her jaw to her neck. His fingers caressed her skin. "You will leave the money somewhere convenient for me, but—listen to me now—Blackburn will not be with me when I come to fetch my prize. Do not think to ambush me or you will never find out where I've hidden him."
"But you will not hurt him?" She felt her voice shake against his fingers. Collin's eyes flared.
"Oh, no. I give you my word as a gentleman."
She nodded, ignoring the silver fire that leapt at her. "Don't hurt him."
"I won't." His hand crept lower, playing over her collarbone, flicking aside her wrap. "Not if you cooperate."
Nodding again, nodding past the lump in her throat, she felt the hand cup her breast and jerked her eyes from Collin's scarlet face. The thickness of her wool habit proved a paltry defense to the sensation of a killer's fingers pinching her nipple.
Collin roared past the gag in his mouth. Alex closed her eyes altogether, and felt a tear creep down her face as Damien's hand crept lower still.
"We have the whole night to kill, my sweet. Shall we pick up where we left off those years ago?"
"Yes," she choked. "Yes. Anything you want. Anything." Her muscles shook, but she forced herself to let him touch her, forced herself to lay her head back against his shoulder. When his hand pressed against the juncture of her legs, she bit her lip until it bled, then curled her fingers over his to cup them to her.
"Oh, yes. I shall enjoy your cooperation immensely. Does this excite you? To do this right in front of his eyes? I can see that it does."
Alex couldn't speak. If she opened her mouth she would begin to scream and she would not be able to stop. It wasn't just this violation, this horrible fear. It was the terror that if she looked she might find Collin's eyes full of rage, full of hurt and betrayal and the sure knowledge that she was a whore. But she had to distract St. Claire.
"Your husband had good reason for his jealousy." St. Claire's laugh was warm this time, burning the delicate skin of her neck.
She nodded as he jerked a handful of her skirt up. His hand snaked beneath the fabric and pressed between her thighs. "You've always been so wonderfully easy to excite. Right here, eh? Right in front of him?" His tongue traced a wet line up her neck t
o her ear. "A fantasy of yours, maybe?"
Despite her intent, there was no stopping her body's reaction when he pushed a cruel finger into her body. She jerked away and shook her head, biting back a sob as she tripped toward the far side of the clearing. St. Claire's laugh followed behind her, not quite covering the hoarse sound of her husband's cry.
Alex faced the trees and began to undress.
Warmth dripped down Collin's thumb, then more as he pulled desperately at the ropes that bound him. The blood slicked the knot, so he pulled harder, pulled till the bark of the tree scraped and tore at his skin, pulled till his arms threatened to pop from their sockets. His hands would not come free.
Oh, God. Her eyes. Her eyes. He had watched them dull and fade, had watched as she decided to sacrifice herself for him. And she could not save him, couldn't she see that? St. Claire would kill him as soon as she disappeared toward Westmore, and she would blame herself. If St. Claire let her live.
Collin stilled, pressed his back to the tree, straining to hear. The man had stopped laughing. What the hell was he doing?
There. A whisper of sound. Collin's mind tumbled, sending rough fragments of pain flying and crashing in his head. He should have resisted, should not have fallen for that monster's threat to cut her. Maybe he wouldn't have done it. Maybe.
"Are you playing shy?"
Collin froze.
"Take off your shift. I never did get to see you naked." A pause. He heard his wife's voice, couldn't make out the words over the blood in his ears. "I can't wait long enough to build a fire. Later though."
"Please. . . the cold."
"Now."
Footsteps. Rustling. Alex's panting breath.
Collin felt frozen and constrained, ready to burst past his skin. Oh, God, no. Oh, please, no. Not after all the terrible things he'd said to her. Not this.
St. Claire's voice whispered urgent commands, then he heard it. A grunt, a moan. Alex's sharp, sobbing cry.
Collin screamed against the rag in his throat, roared until his voice cracked and died against the linen. No. No. No. He arched off the tree, pushed with his feet. He felt blood drip from the wound on his head and trickle from his hands. He collapsed against the bark and sobbed, helpless and dying inside.
To Tempt a Scotsman Page 26