My Timeswept Heart

by Amy J. Fetzer

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  "Release him, sir," Gaelan pleaded. "He is naught but a courier."

  Dane's breath came fast and hard, his eyes green frost with rage as they knifed the henchman. A muscle ticked violently in his jaw. He shrugged his men off like an old coat, then stepped back, letting the small visitor drop to the floor with a hard thunk. Staring at nothing, he slowly raised his trem­bling hand, unfurling long fingers from around the parchment. Gaelan took it, spreading it open. A fa­miliar odor of gunpowder rose up to meet him.

  In the center of the crumpled paper was a swirl­ing lock of black hair, one end thick with coagu­lated blood. Through the crimson stain smeared on the paper, three words could be seen.

  Dane loves Tess.

  "Oh Phillip, what have you done?" Elizabeth pulled the dressing gown tightly about her, her eyes on the still body sprawled across the bed.

  "Go to your rooms, Lizzie. Tis naught of your concern." Phillip removed a blade sheathed at his waist, hovering over the woman.

  "Phillip! Nay!"

  He spared her an impatient glance, then cut the woman's clothing from neck to waist, an angry red line blooming in the wake of the blade.

  "What on earth—?" he spoke to himself, finger­ing the black covering, then pulling at it. His eyes widened the merest fraction when it gave beneath his touch. He released it as if burned, then rent the

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  fabric to her thigh. Both peered closer at the bright scrap of fabric covering the essentials, then Eliza­beth stepped back.

  " Tis her, is it not?" He didn't answer, his hands smoothing over the woman's body. Elizabeth's anger flared. "Is it not?"

  "I would do the honors of introduction, but as you can see—" Phillip stripped off his waistcoat and bent one knee to the mattress.

  "He will surely kill you now," she said in a pan­icked rush.

  There was a smugness in her tone he didn't care for, and he swiftly left the bed, moving toward her.

  She retreated. "I apologize. I didn't mean that."

  "Are you trying to anger me, my pet?"

  "Oh, nay, Phillip. I swear."

  He advanced, catching her about the waist. "You know what happens when you anger me, Lizzie."

  She swallowed thickly, immediately understanding the look in his eyes. "Oh, please, not again. I did not mean it, Phillip," she begged. "But Dane—" He shoved her back onto the bed, then grasped the neck of her nightrail, tearing it from her shoulders. Elizabeth trembled, knowing it was not she that had brought this urge but something more than the cap­ture of Dane's bride. She banished the horrifying thoughts before they could form and let the pain overwhelm her as he bit into her tender nipple. He shoved the night clothes up about her hips and wedged himself between her thighs. He didn't bother to remove his clothes, simply opened a few buttons of his breeches. He took her violently, his

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  eyes never wavering from the unconscious woman lying beside them as he quickly climaxed.

  "For Chrissake! Can't you do that elsewhere?" Tess moaned, avoiding a look at what was transpir­ing beside her.

  "Leave us," he said to Elizabeth, withdrawing from her and fastening his breeches. Elizabeth knew not to disobey, moving quickly off the bed and rac­ing from the room.

  The pounding in her skull told Tess to ignore the odor of sex and go back to the painless black void. She felt for the tender spot, her fingers coming away with dried bits of blood. Her memory in­stantly flashed to the friar, his lifeless body bleeding on the dirt. Bile rose in her throat, and she rolled off the bed and onto the floor, blindly reaching for the chamber pot and retching violently, managing to aim, and vomiting until nothing else came up. He made no comment, and she slumped back against the side of the bed.

  Oh, Father Jacob! I'm so sorry, Tess screamed si­lently. Tears dripped off her chin. The friar was dead because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The old man was dead because of her. No! He was responsible. And she'd make the son of a bitch pay with his balls.

  She started to stand, then fell back onto the floor when she discovered her clothing shredded. Jesus! What a pervert!

  "What were you doing?" she sneered, not looking at him. "Checking to see if I was really a woman?" "Of that I am quite certain, my dear."

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  Tess cringed at fthe implication, clutching the ru­ined clothing about her. Oh God! Did he rape her while she was unconscious? She fought the new rush of tears. No. Now, don't panic, she told her­self, examining her body and discovering she still had the lock picks tucked in her sleeve. She didn't feel as if she'd been sexually assaulted, and some­how Tess was certain he hadn't gone that far. But he would, she realized. He killed for the hell of it.

  "Do get off the floor, Mistress Blackwell. Tis so unbecoming of a lady."

  The air rushed into her lungs as she twisted sharply, glaring over the mattress to see him re­clined on a settee, casually popping bits of food into his mouth. He brushed crumbs from his bro­cade waistcoat, lace frothing from his wrists, gems sparkling in the oil light. Beneath the expensive clothes and jewels, he was pond scum. Squarely she met those eyes, ice blue and empty, and he paused in his eating, Tess wasn't stupid. This was the man Dane sought — Desiree's killer. I understand the ha­tred now, she thought, wanting to see the bastard die a slow and agonizing death. She grabbed the bedcovers, yanking them off the bed and pulling the thick satin about her shoulders. Dane's proba­bly frantic by now, she thought guiltily, and likely taking it out on the men. Knowing how idiotic it was to leave the house was minor now. She had to figure out how to deal with this murderer. God. A murderer!

  "Welcome to my home, Mistress Blackwell." He made a sweeping gesture to the lavish pink and

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  white bedchamber.

  "Can't say I'm pleased to be here," Tess snorted, climbing to her feet. With measured steps she crossed the elegant room to examine the wound in the mirror. She could see him in the reflection. He looked like a vampire, his skin milky white, making his lips appear blood red. He hadn't moved, and she could feel his pale eyes raking down the back of her spine as she took up the pitcher and poured wa­ter into a bowl. Her fingers shook as they brushed the hairs clipped short near the purple bruise. It didn't surprise her. She rinsed her mouth, then soaked a cloth, dabbing at the sticky cut.

  "Jeez." She winced at the sting. "You sure packed a wallop in that punch, ah—?"

  "Phillip," he supplied, leaving the settee and shifting around the low table. "Phillip Rothmere."

  Tess spun around. Rothmere, Was it possible this man was Phalon and Sloane's ancestor? What a trip! He moved closer. Though slender and willowy, Phillip measured no more than four or five inches taller than she, yet she'd already felt the strength in those thin, elegant hands. Killing hands. He ad­vanced. She sidestepped. "What do you want from me?"

  Phillip smiled to himself. She was a graceful crea­ture, he admitted silently, as she moved like a queen across the carpeted floor in tattered rags and bed­covers. He would enjoy squelching her hopes. "Why, everything, my dear."

  Tess darted, and he swiftly covered the distance, his hands catching her shoulders. He felt her trem-

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  ble beneath his touch. It aroused him, the smell of fear. His gaze briefly skimmed her features, flawless but for the bruise. He bent close. She flinched, jerking her head back," small hands shoving at his chest. With surprising speed, he shackled her wrists at the base of her spine. She wrestled to be free, and he tightened his grip, pulling her up until she was forced to stand on her toes. His tongue slith­ered out to lick at her wound. She made a soft pan­icked sound.

  "I apologize, mistress. My temper, you see."

  A silver spark flamed in her eyes. The bastard thought that would take care of it? "Take your filthy paws off me," she ordered softly.

  His smile was quick, not reaching his eyes. "Your life is mine now, Mistress Blackwell." He pulled her flush against him, dragging the coverlet away. "Your body is mine." She struggled as
his hand moved roughly over her bared breasts, twisting her nipple, his body warming to her battle. "The sooner you understand this-"his smile widened a frac­tion -"the healthier."

  Tess felt his arousal press against her. It was a target she couldn't ignore and brought her knee up hard to meet his groin. He barely flinched, mashing her tighter, his grip on her hands cutting off any circulation. Pain shot up her arms to her shoulders. His eyes watered, his lips curling in a snarl that in­stantly calmed to a pleased smile.

  He's not used to anyone fighting back, she real­ized, but he enjoys it. Takes real brains to antago­nize a killer, Renfrew, she railed at herself,

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  recognizing the huge mistake she'd just made. Her childhood on the streets had taught her well about creatures like Phillip. His type preyed on one's fears, enjoyed playing the dictator, the struggle of his helpless victims, their screams and cries arousing him. Well. He'd got her once, but it was the last time. Dane w6uld come for her, that Tess was cer­tain of, yet in the meantime, she had to find out all she could about this slime ball in order to help Dane when he arrived.

  "Since you've mangled my only clothes," Tess said, her terror of him masked as deeply as she could bury it, "I suggest you provide me with more."

  "Phillip! What are you doing?" Tess's gaze shifted over his shoulder to the woman entering the room. She was blond and beautiful, her gown a rich blue and heavily adorned with gold. Pear-shaped sap­phires glistened around her neck, and Tess didn't mistake the venom those dark eyes directed at her.

  "The lady desires fresh garments, Lizzie. Provide them." He didn't take his eyes off Tess.

  "But, Phillip, she's far too thin," Lizzie said in a snide tone. "Naught of mine will fit the—"

  He didn't look at Elizabeth. "Are you questioning me again, my pet?" His voice was pleasant, yet somehow threatening. Lizzie cringed and looked away. She's afraid of him, too, Tess thought. What a combination!

  "Nay, of course not, Phillip." She and her haughtiness were gone, departing in a crisp rustle of fabric.

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  He released Tess, turning sharply and striding to the door. "Dress and come join me for breakfast."

  "No, thanks. Lost my appetite."

  He paused, twisting to look her. "Do not force me to come and retrieve you, Mistress Blackwell. I assure you it will be most unpleasant." He briefly bared his teeth, sharp and white, his eyes fathom­less, offering nothing but a solid promise of pain and torture. "That is to say, unpleasant for you." He was gone, and Tess reached for the commode, trembling uncontrollably. She didnt know how long she could take this. Hurry, Dane, she prayed, gaz­ing out the window into the darkness. Oh, please, hurry!

  Dane sat in the chair, his body tense and tightly coiled as Gaelan shoved Whittingham into the room. His gaze shifted, skewering the fat man. "I want a detailed plan of Rothmere's house."

  "Surely you are mad, sir!" Nigel bristled, straight­ening the cuff of his nightshirt. "He would kill me."

  Dane stood abruptly, the chair scraping back. "I will kill you if you do not!"

  Nigel staggered as the man lunged at him like an enraged panther, his muscles rippling as he lifted Nigel up to meet his face.

  "You will draw a map," his tone was glacial, his eyes narrow, predatory. "And if I find a crevice or a corner out of place, be assured this world is not large enough for you to escape me. Is that clear?" Nigel nodded meekly, the thought of bargaining

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  with this man quickly tossed aside. Though his ap­pearance spoke of a man living on the edge of his emotions, it was those eyes, burning with hatred, pale frost green, displaying a desperate need for re­venge, that sent Nigel to quake in his slippers. He needs a kill, he thought. And 'twill not be me.

  "You cannot get to him. Tis impenetrable unless he allows you entrance."

  "Nothing is that safe." Dane released the man with a snarl of disgust.

  " 'Tis so." Nigel straightened his clothing. "Over forty guards, a moat, the walls. Tis why he selected the location."

  Dane shoved Nigel into a chair and pushed parchment and graphite in front of him. "Draw as if your life should depend on it." The look Dane dealt the man said that it did.

  I at least will be prepared, Dane thought, raking a hand through his hair, then rubbing the back of his neck. It was tearing him apart to know Tess was in Phillip's hands. His stomach twisted, clenching in a tight knot. His worst nightmare. Phillip had the upper hand. And if I were not so driven with revenge, he railed silently, Tess would be safe. Sweet Christ! After finding the priest—he wasn't certain she was even alive. Nay! He immediately banished the agonizing thought. Phillip enjoyed the taunt, the torture Dane was suffering, knowing the twisted bastard had possession of his most cherished love. I must get to her and soon. She is intelligent and resourceful, he reminded himself, trying to regain control of his emotions, and she is exceptionally

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  strong for a woman. He'd no doubt she was already attempting to regain her freedom, taking advantage of what lay at her fingertips. But Phillip was mad, and madness brewed ungodly power. Dane had to get inside the white fortress and, it seemed now, he must be invited.

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  CHAPTER THIRTY

  "Allow me the honor of introductions."

  Phillip's voice jerked Jess's attention away from the veranda doors. The couple walked beneath the archway with an almost comical flourish. "Don't bother. You're Phil, I'm Tess, and she's Elizabeth Cabrea."

  Lizzie's eyes widened, and she glanced quickly at Phillip.

  Bennett's log had revealed the gruesome details about Desiree's murder, and Tess supposed the man had intended to blackmail Phillip, but now she needed to put that knowledge to good use. And Tess knew her target. The weakest link.

  She moved slowly around the room, casually ex­amining the knick-knacks. "What did you do, Liz­zie, hold Desiree down for him?"

  Elizabeth paled. "Nay!"

  Tess spared her a glance. "You enticed her to come with you that day, didn't you, Lizzie?" she asked, fighting to keep anger from her voice. "Kinda like leading a lamb to slaughter, wasn't it?"

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  Elizabeth dropped into a chair. "Phillip, make her

  stop."

  "Cease, Lizzie,** he warned. "She knows naught." "Suit yourself, Phil." Tess shrugged, observing his reaction, turning a Dalton piece over in her hands. He was frowning, and she knew it was because of her clipped speech. "You betrayed all women, Eliza­beth. You delivered that innocent girl into his hands, and for what? Money? What was your cut?" Tess's gaze bounced off the deep blue stones draped around her neck. "Those sapphires? You got cheated, big time," Tess said disgustedly replacing the porcelain. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lizzie's shoulders droop a bit more. "My husband will be pleased to know you're here, too." Tess lifted a silver creamer from a service, then put it down when she saw her reflection, the bruise on her cheek an ugly purple. No wonder it hurt so bad. Servants paraded into the dining hall, each bear­ing a tray laden with food. Her stomach protested at the sight. Jeez, it was four in the damned morn­ing!

  "Blackwell cannot rescue you, my dear," Phillip said with a ring of smugness. "This dwelling is im­penetrable."

  "Yeah, right," she scoffed, running a finger over the polished sideboard. "For Dane?" Let them stew,

  she thought. "Sit down, Mistress Blackwell," he commanded,

  taking his seat.

  At the mention of her name, a slender dark-haired man clad in black paused in his serving, his

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  wary eyes darting to Tess, then Phillip. She caught it, Rothmere didn't, too busy with filling his plate. Was the butler an ally? The staff had refused to ut­ter a word when she tried to question them earlier. Jeez. Were they prisoners, too? Tess wondered if she could trust one of them to get a message to Dane as she dropped into a chair, staring at the platters. I can't eat this stuff, she thought, uncertain if the food was poisoned, which was probably silly since Phillip and Elizab
eth were digging in like there was no tomorrow. There wasn't, for them, she thought confidently, scooting eggs onto her plate.

  Phillip wanted her husband, and she was nothing but a lure he had to keep alive until Dane arrived. God, what a morbid thought! But what if she could find something better, she pondered, glancing out the open doors. Guards shifted back and forth like Dobermans sniffing prey.

  "I suggest you banish all thoughts of escape, Mis­tress Blackwell," Phillip said, and Tess glared at the skinny bastard.

  "Never say die, Phil."

  His brows drew together thoughtfully, unable to recognize her accent. "Might I ask where you hail from?"

  "The twentieth century. How about you?" Score one for the good guys, she thought when Phillip choked on his tea.

  He cleared his throat. "It will do you no good to fabricate tales, mistress." Then he shoved a large portion of sausage into his mouth.

  "Tales, huh? I know this might come as a shock,

  but I don't lie." He gave her a condescending look. "You've got it all figured out, don't you? Dane will storm this—this crumbling pile of rocks, and you'll have a chance, right?" Another annoyed look. "Guess again, chump. He didn't travel this far to do something so predictable. Regardless of his loyalty to me, he'll get you, Phil." Tess looked pointedly at Elizabeth. "You, too, Lizzie. Was it your suggestion that Phillip slit Desiree's wrists and allow her to bleed to death in that potting shack?"

  Tess hit a nerve, at least in Elizabeth. The color drained from her features while Phillip absently toyed with a dinner knife, looking at her more strangely than usual.

  "I suppose cutting out her tongue so she couldn't talk was your idea, eh, Phil?" Tess took a sip of

  juice.

  "Oh, Lord, Phillip -!"

  "Shut—up —Lizzie." She obediently paid close at­tention to her meal.

  "Was that before or after you let those men have

  at her?"

  He didn't respond to her latest dig, but simply wiped his lips and tossed the napkin aside, then leaned back in the chair. Without a command a ser­vant was instantly at his side, removing his plate.