Tossing the note to George, Royce cracked his whip, and as the horses sprang forward, he snarled softly, “It seems that we have some advantages, after all—we know Newell is the one-eyed man, we have over a two-hour head start, and we won’t have to waste time searching for the bastard—he’s given us a bloody map to follow!”
CHAPTER 32
Morgana’s head ached dreadfully, and as she gradually became aware of her surroundings, she was bewildered at first by the predicament in which she found herself. It took her several increasingly terrified seconds before she realized that she was bound and gagged and lying on the bottom of a vehicle that was traveling rapidly down the road. Something heavy and scratchy covered her, and she guessed that it was a blanket or a rug. Hazily those last few minutes as she had stepped from the road came back to her, and when the full, horrifying realization of her disastrous situation hit her, for one awful moment she thought that she would faint from utter fright. The one-eyed man had captured her!
She allowed herself only a moment of stark terror, and then, closing her eyes and offering up a fervent prayer to whatever gods looked over fools like her, she focused all her thoughts and energies on considering how to escape from this perilous situation. From the murky gloom within and the bright glitter of sunlight that danced at the edge of her covering, it was obvious that the sun was still up. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but from the degree of light, she suspected that it had been for more than an hour.
Ignoring her aching head, keeping at bay demoralizing thoughts of what her fate might be, she experimentally wiggled her fingers and hands, which were tied behind her back, but it was apparent almost immediately that her captor was taking no chances—her bonds were secure and tight ... painfully so. Since the fact that she was conscious seemed to be the only advantage she had at the moment, she kept her movements to a minimum, not wanting to alert him that she had awakened. Cautiously she tested to see if the ropes on her ankles were as firmly fastened as those on her wrists. They were. Suppressing a despairing groan, she next tried to dislodge the gag from her mouth, but that, too, had been tied in such a manner that defied her attempts to remove it.
Angry frustration welled up inside her, and she cursed herself for having been tricked so easily—she should have known that he would have set some sort of trap, and gullible fool that she was, she had waltzed eagerly into it. Longingly she thought of the dagger that she had concealed in her reticule and wondered if he had discovered it or had even bothered to bring her things along with him. She suspected that he had—he wouldn’t have wanted to leave her belongings where someone else would find them—and she could only hope that, at some point, she might be able to reach the dagger ... if he hadn’t found it!
Assessing her grim situation, she came to the dismal conclusion that things could not be much worse for her, but she took comfort from the knowledge that at least Royce’s life was not in danger... . She swallowed nervously. At least she hoped that Royce’s life was not in danger—the one-eyed man was not to be trusted, and there was a tiny niggle of fear that once he had her safely disposed of somewhere, he would return and kill Royce anyway. A shudder went through her slender body. Oh, God! Please, she begged silently, don’t let him kill Royce!
It was horrible enough that her fate hung in the balance, terrifying enough that she might be forced to endure whatever pain and degradation the one-eyed man intended to inflict upon her, but to know that it had been for nothing ... to know that while she suffered whatever ugly destiny the one-eyed man had planned for her, she was powerless to stop the brutal murder of the person she loved with all her valiant heart, was nearly unbearable.
Conscious of the fact that she was doing herself no good dwelling on such painful musings, she tried to concentrate on something else, anything else, but though she could blank it from her mind for a while, insidiously those torturous thoughts would return again and again. Unfortunately when she would try to switch her thoughts to something else, inevitably they would turn to the stunning meeting with Julian Devlin this afternoon and the unsettling discovery that a woman she had loved deeply and had always believed to be her mother might not have been related to her at all! But what had devastated her was the knowledge that there was also a distinct possibility that she was an heiress to a fortune and that her husband might very well have married her simply because he already knew these things and hoped to gain from them.
With the one-eyed man’s threat against Royce’s life uppermost in her thoughts, however, there had not been even a moment in which to seriously consider what effect George Ponteby’s disclosures might have upon her life, and now, as she lay bound and gagged, the helpless prisoner of a man she loathed and feared, did not seem a particularly propitious time either! Her emotions in a frantic, restless turmoil, her head pounding furiously from the blow she had received, and the ache in her tightly bound arms increasing with every jolting mile that the vehicle traveled, she gave up, stoically enduring the physical discomforts, waiting almost defeatedly for whatever fate had in store for her.
The journey seemed interminable, but just when she was certain that she was going to have to plead with him to untie her arms, the motion of the vehicle changed and she sensed that they had reached their destination. Her heart began to bang with sharp, painful beats, and like a small, frightened animal, she froze as the daylight around the edges of her covering disappeared and the horses were pulled to a stop. From the sudden cessation of light, she guessed that they had driven inside a stable or a barn, and tensely she waited for what would happen next.
The vehicle swayed as he stepped down, and for the next few moments, she heard the sounds of the horses being unharnessed and put away. A door closed and she could hear his footsteps fading as he walked away. Her listlessness had vanished, and lifting her head, she listened alertly, her mind racing with wild schemes to affect her escape. Silence descended for several moments, and she wondered how long it would be before he returned. Time enough for her to flee? She was just on the point of struggling to a sitting position when she heard him approaching and she stiffened.
Walking directly up to the vehicle, he drawled hatefully, “Still pretending to be unconscious, my dear? It won’t do you any good—I have been aware of your wakefulness for quite some time.”
Since the gag in her mouth effectively prevented any coherent speech, Morgana simply glowered in the direction of his voice and remained silent.
As if he could see her reaction, he laughed, and a second later, she was swooped up, rug and all, and the breath was knocked from her as she was tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder. He rummaged around for another moment and murmured, “Mustn’t forget the lady’s basket and hat.”
Her heart gave a great leap at his words. Was the reticule still in her basket? The dagger still safely hidden? For the first time since she had awakened and discovered her terrible peril, hope sprang to her breast.
As they left the barn, he said mockingly, “I’m sorry for the delay, but you see, I had to ‘become’ the one-eyed man—until I have taken care of a few more little details, I’m afraid the eye patch and the rest of it are most necessary.” He chuckled, and it was obvious that he was in high fettle, very pleased with himself. “If all goes well,” he continued easily, “after tonight, the one-eyed man will be no more!”
If I can get my hands on the dagger, Morgana vowed grimly, he certainly won’t be!
He carried her what seemed like a considerable distance, and the bobbing motion of her body as he walked did not help the throbbing in her head at all. From her position, she caught occasional glimpses of the ground and could see that they were not traveling on any particular path—the ground was sparsely covered with wild grasses and weeds, dotted now and then with scrubby brushes, and as they walked, the sound and scent of the sea grew stronger. From the ever-increasing roar of the waves and the salty mist that seemed to permeate her very clothing, she knew that they must be on a cliff right at the very edge
of the sea.
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of weather-beaten boards and he swerved, as if going around a corner; a few feet later, he stopped abruptly. Pushing open a door, he walked inside a building. A second later, Morgana found herself flung down onto a hard wooden chair, the rug falling away from her, and for the first time, she was able to fully see her surroundings. She was seated, she discovered, in a small, open-beamed room, two salt-stained windows on either side of the door through which she had entered giving her her first sight of the turbulent, ever-changing sea. A stone fireplace, obviously used for cooking, from the utensils hanging nearby, was against one wall, some tall oak cupboards were on the opposite side, and another doorway in the fourth wall presumably led to sleeping quarters at the rear of the building. Two surprisingly handsome leather chairs were placed on either side of the fireplace; the only other furniture in the room was a heavy chest near the entrance door and a sturdy table with three wooden-back chairs around it, one of which Morgana occupied. The floor and walls were bare.
She had deliberately avoided looking at the one-eyed man, but once she had completed her survey of her surroundings, she looked up at him, contempt flickering openly across her lovely features. He was standing directly in front of her, appearing as he always did—clothed in black, the dark slouch hat pulled low, the patch covering his one eye—and when her gaze touched his face, he smiled. That smile sent a shiver down her spine, but she lifted her chin proudly, determined not to let him know how very frightened of him she was.
“Still the haughty little bitch, I see,” he observed mockingly, and carelessly tossed her basket and hat upon the table. He reached out and caressed her cheek and murmured, “I’ll soon break you of your defiant ways, my dear ... and take pleasure in doing so!”
She jerked her face away from his touch, and it took everything she possessed not to look at the basket to see if her reticule was still there, and more important, the dagger. Glaring ferociously at him, through the gag she spat out a muffled curse.
Her reaction seemed to please him and he laughed. To her astonishment, he loosened the gag and said smoothly, “There is no longer any need for this—you may scream all you want, but there is no one who will hear you. Unfortunately, I’m afraid you will have to remain tied up until after I’ve taken care of that husband of yours.”
Her eyes huge, she demanded fiercely, “What do you mean? You promised not to hurt him if I obeyed your command.”
“Promised?” he repeated with a lift of his one brow. “Odd, I don’t remember promising not to hurt him. I only recall that I threatened to kill him immediately if you didn’t meet me—I didn’t write a thing about not killing him later... .”
“You bastard!” she shouted, struggling to launch herself at him, but the ropes prevented her from doing more than falling off her chair.
An angry glitter in the black eye, he lifted up her twisting body and thrust her back down on the chair. “That’s enough! If you are wise, you will keep a civil tongue in your mouth,” he snarled, and struck her brutally across the face.
Her ears ringing from the force of his blow, she glumly concluded that there was nothing to be gained from further antagonizing him, and sullenly she asked, “What do you plan to do with me?”
He smiled. “Oh, nothing very terrible, my dear—once I’ve eliminated Manchester, you and I will wed and you will take your rightful place in society.”
Morgana gaped at him. “Are you mad?” she asked harshly. “I would rather die than marry you!”
“But would you rather your brothers die ... than you marry me?”
She paled. “Why are you doing this?” she asked despairingly. “What do you hope to gain?”
A finger caressed her cheek and she flinched. “I intend to gain the Lady Morgana Devlin for my bride, and a very wealthy, aristocratic bride you will make me, my dear. I’ve planned this for a very long time and I don’t intend to be deterred now—not even if I have to kill a dozen people to gain my way. With you at my side, there will be no door closed to me—your fortune, combined with mine, will make me one of the richest men in England, and with you as my wife, I will have the social prominence and power that I have always wanted.” He glanced kindly at her. “You will find me a generous husband—you will have whatever you wish, and I will only require your presence at my side ... and your willing cooperation in my bed.” His eye traveled boldly over her small bosom. “Your very willing cooperation,” he muttered, and pulled her into his arms, hungrily pressing his mouth against hers.
She fought to escape his ravaging kiss, but he held her fast, cruelly forcing her lips apart, his thrusting tongue brutally violating her mouth. Nearly gagging from the feel and taste of him, she finally managed to twist her head aside. “Don’t!” she pleaded softly, her head lowered and turned away from him.
He was breathing heavily, and to her horror, even between the layers of clothing that separated them, she could feel his rigid member pushing insistently against her. Oh, dear God! Not this!
With an effort, he set her from him and said thickly, “There will be time enough to enjoy each other after I have disposed of Manchester.”
Her heart icy, she cried desperately, “You will never get away with it! And even if you do kill Royce, you have no proof that I am Morgana Devlin—your plan will come to naught!”
“No proof?” he repeated archly. “Oh, but you are wrong there, my dear—I have a great deal of proof! Would you like to see it?”
Her eyes searched his face. Slowly she nodded. “Yes, I would.”
He walked over to the chest and, taking a key from his pocket, unlocked it. Opening the chest, he scrabbled about for a second and then lifted out a leather-bound book. Smiling, he walked back toward her. “I must tell you that this modest place is my own particular little hideaway. I come here when I want to be alone or to admire some of the more fascinating, er, mementos I keep here.”
He held the book in front of her, and she saw that it was a Bible. “You don’t recognize this book, but it is your mother’s Bible,” he said conversationally. “I took it from her the night she died—the night you were born.” He flipped it open and showed her the writing on the page.
Bewilderedly she read the delicate, flowing script in the right-hand corner of the page before her. Hester Devlin, Countess St. Audries, her book, July 1, 1795. It gave Morgana a peculiar feeling to read those words, and yet, of themselves, they proved nothing.
“Just because you have her Bible doesn’t prove that she is my mother!” she said sharply. “Jane was my mother!”
Clearly enjoying himself, he shook his head. “Oh, no, that’s not true. Your uncle, Stephen Devlin, at that time only a mere younger brother to an Earl, arranged for me to take you away... . Of course, he wanted me to kill you and get rid of your body, but it amused me to give you to Jane. Believe me, Hester Devlin was your mother, and Andrew Devlin, the sixth Earl of St. Audries, was your father. You have some of the finest blood in England running in your veins.”
Confusion evident in her expression, she inquired helplessly, “But why?”
“Why did Stephen want you dead? Or why didn’t I kill you?”
“Both!”
Smiling complacently, he sat down in one of the wooden chairs at the table near her. “Rather than telling it to you piecemeal, it will be much easier if you just listen while I regale you with a most diverting little story about the past,” he explained cheerfully.
In fascinated horror, Morgana listened to the ugly and twisted events that had taken place over twenty years ago, events that had shaped her life and brought her to this moment in time. He spared her nothing, telling her with relish every tiny detail, from Julian’s conception to the night that her mother had died from Lucinda’s final dose of poison. The most difficult part for Morgana was when he read aloud her mother’s pitiful letter, which he had extracted with flourish from the spine of the Bible. Hester’s fear came through clearly, as did the love s
he bore her child and the betrayal she was trying so desperately to avenge. Morgana felt tears trembling on her lashes, and frantically she blinked them away, not wanting him to realize how powerfully her mother’s letter affected her. Pale and shaken, reeling from the sheer vindictiveness of Stephen’s act of violence against her father, stunned to learn that Julian was actually her half brother and that his mother had murdered her mother, she could only stare at him, her features full of revulsion and loathing.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” she forced herself to ask.
He looked thoughtful. “I don’t really know,” he admitted. “You were rather a sickly baby—probably the result of the arsenic—and for a while Jane feared that you would die. But you didn’t, and I really can’t say why I let you live. A whim, perhaps? A perverse sort of pleasure in knowing that as long as you lived, I could crush Stephen at any time?” He shrugged. “I didn’t actually think of marrying you for quite a number of years, but then one day I looked at you and realized that you were growing up to be quite a fetching little baggage.” He smiled meaningfully at her. “I had arranged to sell you to a nobleman who preferred very young virgins, but Jane would have none of it and so I had to change my plans. I considered merely making you my mistress, the idea of having the Lady Morgana Devlin in my bed and at my command appealing rather strongly to me, but then I carried that thought one step further—what if I married you and saw to it that the truth came out ... ?” He chuckled. “Of course, not my part in it! The one-eyed man would be the villain, while I would simply be your loving husband—the man who accidentally uncovered the entire dastardly plot. I thought that after we were married, I would ‘discover’ your mother’s Bible in an old trunk that had been Jane’s. No one will be more surprised and outraged than myself to find out that my half sister, a woman who, because of her, ah ... unsavory way of life, I had not heard of in years, was part of such a dastardly plot. Clever, don’t you agree?”
Whisper To Me of Love Page 51