Rape of the Soul

by Dawn Thompson

  "I almost told you today,” she said. “Oh, God, you don't know how I wanted to, but the horrible rage in your eyes. Then later, when I realized that you might tell Malcolm we'd spoken again, I was petrified. You didn't, did you, Colin?"

  He spun from the hearth and sprang toward her. Pulling her to her feet, he crushed her close. “No,” he cried, “Christ, no! Do you think I'd have told him that first time if I'd know he was going to hurt you like that? If you'd only told me, I'd have finished him then and there and been done with it.” He looked her in the eyes. “Now will you tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?"

  "I don't know where to begin . . ."

  His eyes darkened with a shadow of hurt that brought tears to hers looking toward them. “Why did you marry him, Jean?” he said, through a riveting tremor that distorted his voice.

  "Colin, I didn't marry him—not willingly. I was sold to him—no, not even that, given outright as payment of a debt."

  "What are you saying?"

  "When you asked me that question earlier and I told you to ask Malcolm, I wasn't really being facetious. He's the only one who knows what actually happened."

  "Go on,” he breathed. His lips had formed a rigid line, and the muscles in his jaw throbbed, collecting shadows in the firelight.

  "My father was a compulsive gambler, Colin,” she began. “He and Malcolm gambled regularly—cards usually, and Father became very heavily in debt to him. He couldn't pay, and it seems that Malcolm settled for me. There's more to it, of course, but I don't know what it is.” Tears welled in her eyes remembering, and she bent her head low. “Father forced me to marry him,” she faltered. “Malcolm seduced him into believing it was the only way for him to redeem himself without complete ruination and scandal, and that it would be best for all concerned, but he couldn't seduce me. Father was desperate, and he evidently realized his mistake too late and couldn't live with it, so the ruination and scandal he was so afraid of happened anyway.

  "I ran from Malcolm, but he brought me back and made Father accompany us to the ship where the captain performed the ceremony. Afterward, he gave Father back his markers, and Father went ashore and killed himself—shot himself in the head. The police came to tell us, of course, but the ship was set to sail and Malcolm wouldn't let me go back ashore for the burial. My family despises me, my brother—my aunt—all of them. They didn't know about the debt. God only knows what they think."

  Colin groaned, pulling her close. His strong hands soothed her, caressing her face pressed against his breast, and he brushed her hair with his lips. “What is he doing to you, Jean? What's going on?"

  "I don't know the answer to that, either,” she murmured. “There's something he wants here. I don't know what it is; he won't tell me."

  Colin stiffened against her and his eyes grew cold. “I can answer that for you,” he snapped, “it's Cragmoor he wants—he's always wanted it. Well, he's going to have to kill me to get it—if he lives long enough now, that is."

  "It's more than that, Colin. He's obsessed with some kind of dark vengeance toward you, and the vicar, and God only knows who else."

  "Ahhh, yes, of course,” he said, “and he's brought you along to hide behind until he can carry it out, is that is?"

  "That's part of it I'm sure, but there's more to it than that. I can't reason it out."

  "Where were you going when you ran out of here before?"

  "I was going to try and find the vicarage. The vicar seemed so kind. It's obvious that he despises Malcolm, too, but he didn't seem to despise me because of it the way you did. It was the only thing I could think of, Colin."

  "Elliot has good cause to despise Malcolm. Amongst other things, that bastard tried to slaughter his son, Jean. You have no idea what it is you're dealing with—neither do we."

  She gasped and he gathered her close against him again. The quivering pressure of her body so alive in his arms prompted another arousal. Finding her mouth, he covered it with his own and held her there fast in a smothering embrace that drained her senses. His strong hands explored the slender shape of her body through the gown. Though they sought impatiently they weren't cruel, and she leaned against them drawing him closer as they caressed her.

  All at once a sharp knock at the door froze them both where they stood, wrenching their lips apart with breath suspended. Colin's head flashed toward the sound, and Jean trembled against him shivering in his arms. Slowly his hands fell away and he motioned her quiet while he crept to the door and leaned near it listening. When the knock came again he gave a start.

  "Sir, are you in there, sir?” said Amy's scratchy voice from the other side.

  Colin's posture collapsed and he raked his hair back with a rough hand. “Jesus Christ,” he roared, setting Jean atremble. “What the bloody hell do you want, Amy?"

  "'Tis Harris, sir,’ she whined, “he's come up ta the house again. He says he's got ta talk ta you. He says ‘tis a matter o’ great importance and he has ta have his say over it now. Will you come, sir . . . please?"

  "No, I will not,” snarled Colin. “You go back downstairs and tell that witless dolt that I'll hear what he's got to say at my convenience—not his. Whatever it is, it's going to have to keep ‘til morning. Jesus Christ, woman, who's master here?"

  "But sir, he's fair off his head over what's got him so wound up. He won't even tell it ta me. Won't you come? It'll take but a minute, sir."

  "Bloody Hell! How many times do I have to tell you, eh?” he thundered. “Get your worthless carcass back down to the servants’ wing where it belongs, and tell that old jackass what I've told you to tell him. And don't you dare disturb me again this night—am I plain?"

  "Y . . . yes, sir . . . I'll tell him,” she regretted, turning away from the door.

  Colin blew out his breath on a mammoth sigh and turned back to Jean.

  "Colin, I think I know what Mr. Harris wants to tell you,” she said.

  "What?"

  "He saw Malcolm and I out on the cliff today. He was watching us and saw what happened out there."

  "He hurt you again, didn't he? What did happen out there today, Jean?"

  "You heard him, Colin, he knows how I feel about you. I begged him to let me go, but he only laughed. He threatened me and I told him I'd go to the vicar. He grabbed me then. He was like an animal, clawing at me—molesting... He had me right on the edge. The cliff was crumbling underneath our feet. I saw Mr. Harris watching us and I broke away and ran inside. Then you brought me here."

  "And your fear of me was so great that you'd rather endure such as that than speak out? Did I seem that evil to you? Couldn't you tell the difference? Ahhh, Jesus,” he groaned, “I'm hardly a saint, but I told you once that I'm not a fiend."

  "Colin, all I could sense in this house was death. It doesn't discriminate between good and evil. I could feel it the minute Malcolm dragged me through those front doors downstairs. I still can, and I'm still afraid."

  Tears welled in her eyes again and he soothed her there for a long, quiet moment before he turned her around and slipped the gown from her shoulders, examining the scars on her back. “How did he do this?” he forced.

  "With his riding crop."

  "I nearly killed him with one once. But for Elliot, I would have. Damn his meddling. He should see this."

  Spinning her toward him he gathered her into a throbbing embrace, then taking her face in his hands he looked deep in her eyes. “I love you, Jean,” he murmured. “I've never said those words to another woman in all my life. Christ knows I didn't want to love you, but I do, and you're going to have to help me. I . . . I don't know how."

  Murmuring his name, she pulled his head down until his lips closed over hers. His hand left her face and traveled over her shoulder to the breast beneath. It was warm, full and round, the nipple erect at the touch of his fingers and she moaned with the urgency of his arousal swelling against her.

  The scent of spice tantalized her nostrils. His closeness was like a drug, and
she felt nothing but the firm pressure of his body exciting her and the pulsating sensations it ignited until they lay naked together in the brass three-quarter bed.

  He buried his hand in her hair. It seemed alive in the firelight—a separate living thing—a stream of coppery silk sweet with the scent of lavender tumbling over the pillow. “You're trembling,” he murmured. “You're still frightened of me aren't you?"

  "I'm terrified, Colin,” she breathed, “but not of you. Not now."

  "My God, you mustn't fear me. Please don't be afraid. I want to marry you, Jean—I want you for my wife."

  Gathering her close in his arms he caressed her, mesmerized by the depth of a passion that yielded so totally to his touch. Finding her lips with his, he offered the arousal that would not wait and froze there in her arms scarcely breathing. She felt the heart tumbling in his breast, felt his muscles tighten against her as his anxious member was denied admittance. “No,” he groaned. Jerking his head back sharply he searched her face, his eyes dazed in confusion. “My God, how is it possible, this—"

  "Please, Colin,” she begged.

  The words grazed his ear as he dropped his head down on her shoulder. “I can't,” he murmured. “Jean, I can't do this.” He shifted his weight, though he held her still, and looked deep into her eyes again. “How?” he breathed. “I . . . I don't understand."

  "It's what he's been threatening me with,” she murmured. “Today, out on that cliff he said that if I don't do exactly as he says in this house that he'll—"

  Colin's groan interrupted her.

  "He means it, Colin,” she went on over the mad, feral noises leaking from him then. “After what he did out there today, I realized that it's going to happen very soon now, and I'm neither clever enough nor strong enough to prevent it. When I threatened to go to the vicar, he said that if I tried to do that he'd rape me and I'd be in no condition to tell anyone anything."

  Remembering Mary, Colin stiffened against her. His mind was reeling, and he dropped his forehead down on her shoulder again and shut his eyes.

  "Colin, please,” she sobbed. “He could decide to come back this very night and have me. I love you. Are you going to leave me to that—can you? Please, Colin, we have this hour together."

  "No—no,” he cried, “let me think! Let me sort all this out. Christ, I need time to think things through. I always have. The only deadly mistakes I've ever made in this life have been made in haste without thinking."

  "Colin, there isn't anything to think about. If you don't have me, Malcolm will, plain and simple, and I'll be dead because I'll not live with that I promise you. I won't, Colin. I'll take my own life first, I swear it."

  He grabbed her arms and shook her hard, his wild eyes dilated with rage. “Don't say that!” he spat through gnashed teeth. “Don't ever even think it. We had all that here four years ago. I won't stand it a second time."

  Tears welled in her eyes and he crushed her close in his arms. His brow was on fire and clammy with sweat, and he dropped it down on her shoulder once m ore. “I want you so,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire, “but this . . ."

  She held his head back in gentle hands and looked deep into his eyes. There were tears in them. “Please, Colin,” she begged him through her own.

  Leaking a primitive sound she couldn't identify, he drew her closer still and buried his face in her hair. Moaning in spasms, he found her lips with his own trembling mouth as she arched her body against him, and he took her, and took her with all the power left in him, until at last he lay depleted in her arms, his hot face cradled against her breast.

  Outside the wind had risen on the moors. It rattled the French doors and hail spat against them. The cool fingers of a draft snaked their way across the floorboards teasing the flames in the hearth, and howling gusts whispered their sorrows and chanted their laments long after Colin lay quiet, his swollen eyes shut and his breath coming short.

  Aglow from the tender force of his explosive body, Jean lay at peace in the strong, greedy arms that absorbed her. She could still feel the painful ecstasy of his penetration, and the power of his strong life moving inside her. Her heart leapt at the wonder of it. “Colin, it's all right,” she soothed, stroking his hair. “Malcolm can never take this away. He can never have me now. I belong to you. It doesn't matter what he does to me anymore."

  "Christ, it matters to me,” he cried. “Do you think I could live without you now?"

  "No more than I could without you."

  "I will have you, Jean. I will marry you."

  "We could ask the vicar to help us arrange for an annulment. I'm sure under the circumstances . . ."

  "An annulment?” raved Colin. “Ha! The bastard isn't going to live long enough for an annulment now.” Vaulting from the bed, he snatched his clothes from the floor and began tugging them on roughly.

  "Colin, you can't do that,” she cried.

  He grabbed her gown and tossed it toward her. “Put that on. You're going out of here right now."

  "No, Colin, I won't leave you—you'll kill him and they'll hang you."

  He yanked her out of the bed and helped her into the gown without ceremony. “You'll go, all right,” he promised her, “you can't stay in this house now, Jean. I need no time to arrive at that. Suppose he decides to make good his threat? He'll know it was me that's had you and he'll kill you. Do you suppose I'll leave you in a position like that? Are you mad?” He wrapped her cloak around her and put on her slippers getting no cooperation. Striding to the wardrobe, he grabbed his Ulster and struggled into it.

  "I won't leave you, Colin,” she despaired. “I'm lost either way if I do."

  "We're both lost if you don't. I can't deal with him if I'm worrying about you. I'll handle this, but not until you're safe. I'm going to take you to Elliot.” He raked his hair nervously. “I didn't want him mixing in this, but there's no way ‘round it now. He doesn't know what I feel for you. I didn't want him to. Elliot's the closest thing to family I've ever had, Jean. I love that man as though he were my own flesh and blood. He's been father, brother, and friend to me ever since he came here over twenty years ago, and he's stuck by me through . . . Christ, I can't begin to tell you the sum of what I've put him through. He's got a bad heart. He's suffered three seizures in this bloody horror over Malcolm already. I've been trying to spare him a fourth. Christ, I don't know what to tell him. No matter what I say he'll get in the middle of it and God knows what will happen to him. I can't bear to see Elliot come down again—much less be responsible for it. Just be careful what you say to him, Jean. I don't want to lose him."

  "Colin, it's no use,” she argued. “Malcolm will only come after me before you can lift a finger just like he did with Father. I told you I ran from him once. It was uncanny. He found me and very nearly... Colin, I couldn't go through that again now. Believe me, I'll be safer right here."

  "You don't understand. I'm taking you to the church, not the vicarage, Jean. The bastard won't go into a church. He has violent reactions to it. I've never seen it, but Elliot has, and he's convinced that Malcolm's some sort of evil entity because of it."

  Speechless, Jean gasped.

  "I haven't time to go into all that now,” he said, “but Elliot will tell you what happened in the church in depth I'm sure. We've got to go. The bastard could be back at any moment."

  "No,” she cried, darting away as he moved toward her. “I won't go, Colin."

  "I'm not going to argue with you,” he snapped, scooping her up in his arms. “My sanity is forfeit if you stay in this house now. The only safe place for you is inside St. Michael's Church, and you're going to be locked up there until I resolve this thing."

  A deaf ear turned to her protests he carried her down the stairs and out of the house into the ravaging wind. The rain and hail had stopped momentarily between squalls, and he set her on her feet and pulled her along toward the stable. They hadn't reached the corner of the house, when Colin spied Malcolm riding up the south road, and h
e flattened Jean up against one of the pilasters in the shadows. “Christ,” he spat, “blast the luck. You'll just have to go afoot on your own the way you tried to do earlier—now, before the rain starts again. Go quickly. Take the footpath. It'll lead you right to the church. I'll deal with Malcolm."

  "No,” she breathed, breaking away. “I am not going to leave you, Colin."

  And before he could argue the point further, she'd run back into the house.

  * * * *

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  Chapter Thirty-seven

  * * * *

  Colin didn't sleep in his chamber that night. Instead he stole to the old tutor's suite next to Malcolm's and waited within earshot of any sound that might signal danger for Jean. Lying wide eyed there in the darkness, he wrestled with the dilemma until his head ached from the thunder of his heartbeat ticking off the minutes until dawn.

  For the first time in his life, living meant something to him and the gallows loomed real. For the first time in his memory he felt whole and he desperately wanted the offering no matter the cost. But that meant steering clear of a noose. The murder that had been his delicious fantasy since Malcolm was born became something only to be considered as a last resort, and by morning he'd reached a decision that took him to the stable.

  Having made up his mind to enlist the help of Harris as well as the vicar, he waited until Malcolm and Jean had joined Ira in the dining hall for breakfast before slipping out of the house. He knew that Jean would be safe with the artist until the noon meal, and he wanted to alert Harris to keep an eye on the situation there while he went to finally tell Elliot what he'd been begging to know.

  Involving Elliot still worried him, but he knew at last that he couldn't handle the situation alone. He also knew that, considering what had gone before over the years, no matter what happened he would need witnesses. For the sake of Jean's safety and his sanity something had to be done quickly, and he'd convinced himself that, with Harris’ help keeping Jean and Elliot out of the way, he might just be able to find a solution that would resolve the matter without the hangman's rope.