by Aileen Adams
She stepped away from the wall, then, rather than cowering before it as though she were little better than a criminal.
A tall figure approached—not the Marquis, as he was not even as tall as she—and when she made out his features, she gasped. “Geoffrey!”
“Ysmaine Fraser.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You made it, after all.”
“So did you. I am glad you arrived safely.” She meant it with all her heart, he had driven them both away from the thieves who’d overtaken them and killed Leon, in spite of the injury he had sustained and the blood which had all but blinded him.
That, and he was an innocent man. He did not deserve to freeze while tied to a tree.
An idea occurred to her then. She took him by the arm and pulled him into the shadows. “You might be able to help me,” she whispered, looking around to be certain no one else lurked nearby.
“How?”
This would not be easy. He would likely think her foolish or worse for entertaining the notion. “You can show me to the dungeons, where I might find Quinn.”
“Quinn?” Understanding dawned on his face, leaving him with a scowl. “I see.”
“Geoffrey, he might have killed you in the woods. He took pains to see to it you would survive. And you did survive. He never harmed me,” she was quick to add. “I merely wish to find him, to ask whether he’s been mistreated, to see if there is anything I might do to help.”
“There is nothing you can do to help if he’s been locked in the dungeon,” Geoffrey warned in a solemn tone. “I have seen many men broken by the conditions there.”
“Oh, please.” She took his hands, squeezing as hard as she could. “You do not understand how much it would mean to me.”
“And you do not understand what the Marquis might do to you if he finds out you took pains to visit your captor,” he warned.
She nodded. “I will have to take that chance, then. I have no other choice. I must go to him. Will you help me?”
He let out a low growl, deep in the back of his throat, as though he knew that what he was about to do was the height of ill-advisedness, but he was powerless to stop himself. “Follow me, and do not say a word.”
He looked up at the guard tower, one arm thrown in front of Ysmaine to hold her back, then pulled her along behind him as he crossed the courtyard and entered a small door she might never have noticed on her own. It looked ancient, was covered in moss, and squealed horribly on rotting hinges as Geoffrey pulled it open.
When he did, a terrible odor emanated from the deep darkness. Ysmaine covered her mouth and nose.
“Yes, it is rather unpleasant,” Geoffrey admitted before fetching a torch from the wall inside the door and lighting it.
She followed on his heels as they climbed down slime-coated stone stairs and hurried over dirt-floored tunnels. He knew the way, turning right and left without hesitation, looking both ways for signs of fellow guards.
They stopped at a door which looked like so many others which lined the walls. She’d heard groaning, and the shuffling of feet coming from behind one or two along the way, and wondered who was down there and what they’d done to deserve imprisonment in such a desolate place.
“This is the one.” Geoffrey opened a small window in the door. “You have a visitor,” he murmured when he looked inside.
Quinn’s face appeared in the window. “You,” he whispered, staring at Geoffrey.
“I do not do this for your sake, but for hers.” Geoffrey stepped back, revealing Ysmaine.
Quinn’s face lit up, though his eyes remained troubled. “Ye ought not be here, lass,” he warned. “Ye must go.”
Geoffrey cleared his throat. “I will return for you in three minutes. Say what it is you need to say, then we have to go.” He disappeared.
Ysmaine went to the door, pressing herself against it in spite of its filthy condition. “Have they hurt you?” she asked in a trembling whisper.
“Nothing more than I’ve suffered before,” he chuckled. It was a dry chuckle, empty of humor.
“I am so sorry. I had no idea he would already know by the time we reached the harbor.”
“Nor did I. How could anyone know?” he asked.
“It is terrible in there, is it not?”
He nodded. “I canna lie. I would not choose such a place to make my home.”
“What are we going to do?”
His face hardened. “Ye shall be the wife of the Marquis, shall ye not?”
She gasped. “How did you know?”
“He told me. Ye lied when ye said you were not to be his.”
“No, no! I did not know that was what he intended.” Furious tears overflowed onto her cheeks, stinging and hot. “He lied. He fooled me into coming here, making me think my grandfather willed his estate to me. He did, but only under the condition of my marriage. I have no intention of marrying that man.”
Quinn softened. “Ah, lass. He played ye false, to be sure.”
“He did that. And now, I don’t know how to get away!”
“Ye truly do not wish to take ownership of the estate?”
“I care nothing for estates and titles. Do you know nothing about me?”
He smiled, a sad, soft smile. “Aye, lass. I do indeed. I had only forgotten.”
“I have to get you out of here,” she hissed, more desperate than ever when she knew Geoffrey might return at any moment. “Before it’s too late.”
“I wish there was a way,” Quinn murmured.
“There must be! If you can find a way to escape and take me with you, we could find a way to secure the rest of what is needed for your brother’s debt. I’m certain of it. But we need to go, now.”
“I’ve tried every way I can think to break this door,” he muttered, thumping it with his arm. “It is no use. I do not believe I can do this alone.”
“You are correct in that,” a third voice replied in Ysmaine’s place. “It is hopeless. There is no chance for you to escape.”
Ysmaine cowered against the door at the sight of the Marquis, striding out from the shadows.
27
“How is it that I knew the two of you would find a way to each other?” He sneered at them both, his florid face as repulsive to her as ever.
Ysmaine made it a point to stand tall before him, shoulders back and chin jutting out the way she had always seen her father stand while he faced a foe. “I merely wished to see about his condition, and I found my way down here in order to do so.”
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “We both know that isn’t so, girl. You convinced Geoffrey to show you to the dungeons.”
She went cold inside. How was it that he seemed to know everything that went on in the castle?
“I have eyes and ear everywhere,” he explained, as though he could hear her thoughts. “It behooves a man in my position to know exactly what transpires and where it transpires. Otherwise, a castle such as this one might fall into utter waste, and then where would we be?”
“You’ve already begun the process,” Quinn snarled from behind the closed door. “For this dungeon is far past the point of utter waste.”
“By design,” the Marquis snapped before turning his attention to Ysmaine. “I see I was correct in keeping a watch on you. You are no more to be trusted than your mother was.”
“She was not yours to order about,” Ysmaine reminded him.
“We had a bargain!” His voice echoed deafeningly off the walls, causing her to cringe. Even he appeared alarmed by his outburst. “We had a bargain,” he repeated, modulating his tone this time.
“You made a bargain with her father, but not with her. She did not wish to marry you any more than I do,” Ysmaine announced.
“Then you are no more intelligent than she was,” he snarled, dropping all pretense of gentility. This was the true Marquis, this snarling, spitting, vicious creature before her. His already unappealing features twisted into something even more terrible as he glared at her.
Still, she would not back down. She would not cower before him like a beaten dog. A Fraser did not cower. She lifted her chin further. “Be that as it may, I do not wish to be your wife, and I have no intention of doing so.”
Oh, how she wished she could hold Quinn’s hand as she stood up to this man. How she wished for just a bit of his strength. She thought she’d held her own up until then, but there was no telling how much longer she would be able to maintain a false front.
The Marquis shrugged. “It matters not. If you are to claim your inheritance, you are to marry me. Those are the terms of the will, as I explained earlier.”
“If those are the terms, I have no wish to claim my grandfather’s estate.” She hadn’t expected to speak it aloud, but there it was nonetheless. She had just relinquished her claim to a fortune she could not begin to imagine, one greater than that possessed by the Marquis.
Why would he be so keen on absorbing it otherwise? It would increase his stature and his wealth immeasurably, and he was greedy enough to behave unspeakably in order to secure it. As though he were seated before his favorite meal, shoving great handfuls of food into his mouth simply because it was there, and he could.
Even if it meant the misery and hunger of others seated at the same table.
Who would wish to wed such a man?
This surprised him. His mouth hung open, his eyes bulged. He reminded her for all the world of a great, dead fish.
“You would refuse the right to such a lavish inheritance, when it is just beyond the tips of your fingers?”
She nodded. “I knew nothing of it prior to receiving your letter, and it means nothing to me. I would be no more the worse for having refused it. I had a good life in Scotland, whether you wish to believe it or not, thanks to my father. He was a good man, a brave man. No matter what it is you wish to believe about him.”
He took this in, silent for what seemed an eternity. Ysmaine could hear her heart beating in her ears, could hear Quinn’s strained breathing from the other side of the door.
When he spoke again, his response could not have surprised her more. “I am sorry to hear that.”
“You are?”
He took one step, then another, closing the distance between them. “Yes, because this all might have gone much more smoothly for you. I am afraid you will be most unhappy in our married life if this is the attitude you maintain.”
It was her turn to gape like a great fish.
This pleased him, for he laughed. “Do you truly believe that your desires are of any consequence? That I care whether or not you wish to be my bride? I cared not about your mother’s wishes, and I care even less for yours. The fact is this, our families are to be united through marriage, and our estates along with them. It is an unfortunate turn of circumstances that you happen to have been sired by a filthy Highlander, but that can be bred out in our children, and even further in theirs. Before long, it will be as if your father had never existed, and all will be as it was meant to be twenty years ago.”
He did not care. How could he not care?
How could he speak of marrying a girl who loathed the thought of touching him, and even more the thought of being touched by him? Had he no self-respect?
A single look at him answered her question. No, he had none. He carried himself and conducted himself like an animal.
“Now,” he continued, calmer than before since he felt as though his point had been well-made, “we ought to leave this disease-ridden place and return to the keep. There is much to settle prior to the exchange of our vows.”
“There will be no such occasion,” she insisted, pulling her arm away when he reached for it. “I will not marry you, Marquis d’Orsay. I will never be your bride.”
He sighed, and now he behaved as though speaking to an obstinate child. Ysmaine had sighed in such a way many times while overseeing her charges. “Do you truly believe you have a choice? Where will you go? If you think for a moment I will allow you to escape the castle, you are gravely mistaken. You are here, now, having willingly accepted my invitation to the estate.”
“Under false pretenses,” she was quick to add. Oh, how could she ever have thrilled at the thought of beginning a new life in France? How could she have fallen so easily into his trap? The entire notion of her estranged grandfather leaving her his estate was too good to be true.
“Be that as it may,” he continued, eyes narrowing, “you are here. I have you, and I will not let you go.”
No, he would not. With Quinn in a cell, there was little chance of her making an escape, and even if she did, where would she go? How would she manage all alone? She was not even aware of the route back to the harbor.
The man’s eyes burned with a manic fire; he clearly believed all of his dreams were about to come true. He had lusted after her grandfather’s estate for twenty years, after all, more than enough time for a man to go mad with obsession.
He had spent part of those years writing to her mother, which explained why Ysmaine had recognized the crest in the sealing wax. She had seen it before, perhaps when her mother had left a letter lying about, before Ysmaine knew how to read.
She could only imagine what those letters had contained. How unforgiving he must have been toward the woman who had run from the prospect of marriage with him.
How he would take that rejection out on the daughter if he could not take it out on her mother.
Life with him would be no better than a waking nightmare.
“I would sell you the land, everything the estate entails,” she suggested. “I would even give it to you, sign it over in your name. Whatever it takes, you may have what you wish for. So long as I can leave and be on my way.”
“I wish for more than just land, daft girl,” he sneered. “And why would I pay for something I can much more easily obtain through marriage? I wish for heirs, the heirs who should have been mine years ago. You might have been my daughter, were it not for your mother’s obstinacy.”
What a chilling prospect.
Her eyes met Quinn’s through the window, and it was plain to see he was at a loss. Just as she was. What recourse was there? No matter what she offered, the man refused.
An idea bloomed inside her head. Unthinkable, really, and impossible.
But it might be just what she needed to turn the Marquis away for good.
If only Quinn would forgive her for it.
She threw back her head with a bitter laugh which she prayed sounded confident and not panicked. “Very well, then, if the thought of your first-born heir carrying Highlander blood does not dissuade you.”
He frowned. “As I’ve already expressed, daft girl, it matters not that your father was a filthy brute.”
“I was not speaking of my father, or of his blood.” One more glance at Quinn. “I was speaking of the fact that I carry the child of this man inside me. You’ll have no choice but to claim the child as your own and allow it to inherit your estate, or else be branded worse than a fool by everyone who knows you.”
If the admission shocked Quinn, he did not show it.
The Marquis did not appear to be shocked, either.
He merely smiled.
And continued smiling as he raised his foot and kicked her squarely in the stomach.
28
Quinn had never known such utter shock, followed by burning, murderous rage.
“What do ye think you’re on about, you bastard?” he bellowed as Ysmaine crumpled to the floor, arms crossed over her stomach. He kicked and slammed his fists against the door, never so helpless in the face of another’s pain. There was nothing he could do to reach her.
The Marquis spoke not a word to him. He merely sneered down at Ysmaine, who gasped for breath between moans of pain. “If that did not take care of the problem, I will bring in a doctor who will see to it that the deed is done
. Either way, you will not bear the child of this man. You will bear my heirs after we are wed.”
He looked up at Quinn then, their eyes locking. “If you refuse to our marriage, I will kill this man. With great pleasure. Thieves have no business breathing the same air as the rest of us, especially when they happen to be thieving Highlanders.”
“You’re the thief,” Quinn spat. “Forcing a lass to marry ye, taking what was never yours to take. She doesn’t want ye.”
“What she does or does not want means nothing to me.” The Marquis strode away, leaving Ysmaine on the floor.
“Ysmaine,” Quinn whispered, straining to see her through the small window. “Ysmaine, speak to me, lass. Tell me he didna harm ye.”
It was a long time before she spoke. “I wish… I could…”
“Oh, lass.” He slammed both fists into the door, wishing he could break it down. “Why did ye say such a thing? Ye know it isn’t true.”
“I was desperate. It was the only thing I could think to say. That he might… be too disgusted with me…”
“Aye, he was disgusted, all right,” Quinn muttered. “But ye had no idea what he would stoop to doing.”
He wanted to kill the bastard for his cruelty. He had never enjoyed killing before, but thought he might in this instance.
At the very least, he would have liked to try and see how it made him feel.
She grunted with exertion but managed to pull herself to a standing position, though leaning against the door was the best she could do. “I am sorry to have brought you to this.” She sounded on the verge of tears.
“Och, lass, ye need never blame yourself. I was the one who took ye, remember? I might have left ye alone. Tis not your doing, not a bit of it. It’s glad I am that I had the chance to know ye.”
“Truly? Even with all of this around us?”
“Even so.” He meant it with all of him. She was the one, true, pure thing he’d ever known. A woman he would have been proud to call his own, were he given the chance.