Both men were staring at her with a mixture of fear, curiosity, and suspicion. They thought she was trying to trick them in some way so that they would set her free. Penelope suspected that a part of them probably wondered if she would conjure up a few spirits to help her. Even if she could, she doubted they would be much help or that these men would even see them. They certainly had not noticed the rather gruesome one standing near the bed. It would have sent them fleeing from the room. Despite all she had seen and experienced over the years, the sight of the lovely young woman, her white gown soaked in blood, sent a chill down her spine. Penelope wondered why the more gruesome apparitions were almost always the clearest.
The door opened and, before Penelope turned to look, she saw an expression upon the ghost’s face that nearly made her want to flee the room. Fury and utter loathing twisted the spirit’s lovely face until it looked almost demonic. Penelope looked at the ones now entering the room. Tom had returned with a middle-aged woman and two young, scantily clad females. Penelope looked right at the ghost and noticed that all that rage and hate was aimed straight at the middle-aged woman.
Beware.
Penelope almost cursed as the word echoed in her mind. Why did the spirits always whisper such ominous words to her without adding any pertinent information, such as what she should beware of, or whom? It was also a very poor time for this sort of distraction. She was a prisoner trapped in a house of ill repute and was facing either death or what many euphemistically called a fate worse than death. She had no time to deal with blood-soaked specters whispering dire but unspecified warnings. If nothing else, she needed all her wits and strength to keep the hysteria writhing deep inside her tightly caged.
“This is going to cause you a great deal of trouble,” Penelope told the older woman, not really surprised when everyone ignored her.
“There she be,” said Jud. “Now, give us our money.”
“The lady has your money,” said the older woman.
“It ain’t wise to try and cheat me, Cratchitt. The lady told us you would have it. Now, if the lady ain’t paid you that be your problem, not mine. I did as I was ordered and did it quick and right. Get the wench, bring her here, and then collect my pay from you. Done and done. So, hand it over.”
Cratchitt did so with an ill grace. Penelope watched Jud carefully count his money. The man had obviously taught himself enough to make sure that he was not cheated. After one long, puzzled look at her, he pocketed his money and then frowned at the woman he called Cratchitt.
“She be all yours now,” Jud said, “though I ain’t sure what ye be wanting her for. T’ain’t much to her.”
Penelope was growing very weary of being disparaged by this lice-ridden ruffian. “So speaks the great beau of the walk,” she muttered and met his glare with a faint smile.
“She is clean and fresh,” said Cratchitt, ignoring that byplay and fixing her cold stare on Penelope. “I have many a gent willing to pay a goodly fee for that alone. There be one man waiting especially for this one, but he will not arrive until the morrow. I have other plans for her tonight. Some very rich gentlemen have arrived and are looking for something special. Unique, they said. They have a friend about to step into the parson’s mousetrap and wish to give him a final bachelor treat. She will do nicely for that.”
“But don’t that other feller want her untouched?”
“As far as he will ever know, she will be. Now, get out. Me and the girls need to wrap this little gift.”
The moment Jud and his men were gone, Penelope said, “Do you have any idea of who I am?” She was very proud of the haughty tone she had achieved but it did not impress Mrs. Cratchitt at all.
“Someone who made a rich lady very angry,” replied Cratchitt.
“I am Lady Penelope—”
She never finished, for Mrs. Cratchitt grasped her by the jaw in a painfully tight hold, forced her mouth open, and started to pour something from a remarkably fine silver flask down her throat. The two younger women held her head steady so that Penelope could not turn away or thrash her head. She knew she did not want this drink inside her but was unable to do anything but helplessly swallow as it was forced into her.
While she was still coughing and gagging from that abuse, the women untied her. Penelope struggled as best as she could, but the women were strong and alarmingly skilled at undressing someone who did not wish to be undressed. As if she did not have trouble enough to deal with, the ghost was drowning her in feelings of fear, despair, and helpless fury. Penelope knew she was swiftly becoming hysterical but could not grasp one single, thin thread of control. That only added to her terror.
Then, slowly, that suffocating panic began to ease. Despite the fact that the women continued their work, stripping her naked, giving her a quick wash with scented water, and dressing her in a lacy, diaphanous gown that should have shocked her right down to her toes, Penelope felt calmer with every breath she took. The potion they had forced her to drink had been some sort of drug. That was the only rational explanation for why she was now lying there actually smiling as these three harpies prepared her for the sacrifice of her virginity.
“There, all sweets and honey now, ain’t you, dearie,” muttered Cratchitt as she began to let down Penelope’s hair.
“You are such an evil bitch,” Penelope said pleasantly and smiled. One of the younger women giggled and Cratchitt slapped her hard. “Bully. When my family discovers what you have done to me, you will pay more dearly than even your tiny, nasty mind could ever comprehend.”
“Hah! It was your own family what sold you to me, you stupid girl.”
“Not that family, you cow. My true parents’ family. In fact, I would not be at all surprised if they are already suspicious, sensing my troubles upon the wind.”
“You are talking utter nonsense.”
Why does everyone say that? Penelope wondered. Enough wit and sense of self-preservation remained in her clouded mind to make her realize that it might not be wise to start talking about all the blood there was on the woman’s hands. Even if the woman did not believe Penelope could know anything for a fact, she suspected Mrs. Cratchitt would permanently silence her simply to be on the safe side of the matter. With the drug holding her captive as well as any chain could, Penelope knew she was in no condition to even try to save herself.
When Cratchitt and her minions were finished, she stood back and looked Penelope over very carefully. “Well, well, well. I begin to understand.”
“Understand what, you bride of Beelzebub?” asked Penelope and could tell by the way the woman clenched and unclenched her hands that Mrs. Cratchitt desperately wanted to beat her.
“Why the fine lady wants you gone. And you will pay dearly for your insults, my girl. Very soon.” Mrs. Cratchitt collected four bright silk scarves from the large carpetbag she had brought in with her and handed them to the younger women. “Tie her to the bed,” she ordered them.
“Your customer may find that a little suspicious,” said Penelope as she fruitlessly tried to stop the women from binding her limbs to the four posts of the bed.
“You are an innocent, aren’t you.” Mrs. Cratchitt shook her head and laughed. “No, my customer will only see this as a very special delight indeed. Come along, girls. You have work to do, and we best get that man up here to enjoy his gift before that potion begins to wear off.”
Penelope stared at the closed door for several moments after everyone had left. Everyone except the ghost, she mused, and finally turned her attention back to the specter now shimmering at the foot of the bed. The young woman looked so sad, so utterly defeated, that Penelope decided the poor ghost had probably just realized the full limitations of being a spirit. Although the memories locked into the bed had told Penelope how the woman had died, it did not tell her when. However, she began to suspect it had been not all that long ago.
“I would like to help you,” she said, “but I cannot, not right now. You must see that. If I can get free, I swear I w
ill work hard to give you some peace. Who are you?” she asked, although she knew it was often impossible to get proper, sensible answers from a spirit. “I know how you died. The bed still holds those dark memories and I saw it.”
I am Faith and my life was stolen.
The voice was clear and sweet, but weighted with an intense grief, and Penelope was not completely certain if she was hearing it in her head or if the ghost was actually speaking to her. “What is your full name, Faith?”
My name is Faith and I was taken, as you have been.
My life was stolen. My love is lost. I was torn from heaven and plunged into hell. Now I lie below.
“Below? Below what? Where?”
Below. I am covered in sin. But I am not alone.
Penelope cursed when Faith disappeared. She could not help the spirit now, but dealing with Faith’s spirit had provided her with a much-needed diversion. It had helped her concentrate and fight the power of the drug she had been given. Now she was alone with her thoughts and they were becoming increasingly strange. Worse, all of her protections were slowly crumbling away. If she did not find something to fix her mind on soon, she would be wide open to every thought, every feeling, and every spirit lurking within the house. Considering what went on in this house, that could easily prove a torture beyond bearing.
She did not know whether to laugh or to cry. She was strapped to a bed awaiting some stranger who would use her helpless body to satisfy his manly needs. The potion Mrs. Cratchitt had forced down her throat was rapidly depleting her strength and all her ability to shut out the cacophony of the world, the world of the living as well as that of the dead. Even now she could feel the growing weight of unwelcome emotions, the increasing whispers so few others could hear. The spirits in the house were stirring, sensing the presence of one who could help them touch the world of the living. It was probably not worth worrying about, she decided. Penelope did not know if anything could be worse than what she was already suffering and what was yet to come.
Suddenly, the door opened and one of Mrs. Cratchitt’s earlier companions led a man into the room. He was blindfolded and dressed as an ancient Roman. Penelope stared at him in shock as he was led up to her bedside, and then she inwardly groaned. She had no trouble recognizing the man despite the blindfold and the costume. Penelope was not at all pleased to discover that things could quite definitely get worse—a great deal worse.
Yours for Eternity
HANNAH HOWELL
ALEXANDRA IVY
KAITLIN O’RILEY
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
HIS FOR ETERNITY
“Adeline,” he groaned against her throat, “I think we had best cease. The tether on my desire isnae a verra strong one. I am but a heartbeat away from spreading your fine little body out beneath me.”
“Nay, kiss me again,” she demanded. “And again and again until I cannae breathe or think.”
“If I kiss ye again, I willnae stop until ye are fully mine.”
“Oh.” She trembled, passion tearing through her at the mere thought of what they were about to do. “I ken it. Kiss me again.”
Lachann growled softly and kissed her, making no attempt to govern his need. She did not pull away as he had feared she might but pressed even closer. When she tentatively parried the thrust of his tongue with her own, he cast aside all doubt and restraint and pushed her down onto the rough pallet. It took what little willpower he had left not to tear off the thin linen shift she wore, hurl aside his own clothing, and bury himself deep inside her . . .
Books by Hannah Howell
ONLY FOR YOU * MY VALIANT KNIGHT
UNCONQUERED * WILD ROSES
A TASTE OF FIRE * HIGHLAND DESTINY
HIGHLAND HONOR * HIGHLAND PROMISE
A STOCKINGFUL OF JOY* HIGHLAND VOW
HIGHLAND KNIGHT * HIGHLAND HEARTS
HIGHLAND BRIDE * HIGHLAND ANGEL
HIGHLAND GROOM * HIGHLAND WARRIOR
RECKLESS * HIGHLAND CONQUEROR
HIGHLAND CHAMPION * HIGHLAND LOVER
HIGHLAND VAMPIRE * CONQUEROR’S KISS
HIGHLAND BARBARIAN * BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
HIGHLAND SAVAGE * HIGHLAND THIRST
HIGHLAND WEDDING * HIGHLAND WOLF
SILVER FLAME * HIGHLAND FIRE
NATURE OF THE BEAST * HIGHLAND CAPTIVE
HIGHLAND SINNER * MY LADY CAPTOR
IF HE’S WICKED * WILD CONQUEST
IF HE’S SINFUL * KENTUCKY BRIDE
IF HE’S WILD * COMPROMISED HEARTS
HIGHLAND PROTECTOR
Books by Alexandra Ivy
WHEN DARKNESS COMES
EMBRACE THE DARKNESS
DARKNESS EVERLASTING * DARKNESS REVEALED
DARKNESS UNLEASHED * BEYOND THE DARKNESS
DEVOURED BY DARKNESS
Books by Kaitlin O’Riley
SECRETS OF A DUCHESS * ONE SINFUL NIGHT
WHEN HIS KISS IS WICKED * DESIRE IN HIS EYES
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Table of Contents
HIS FOR ETERNITY
Books by Hannah Howell
Books by Alexandra Ivy
Books by Kaitlin O’Riley
Title Page
Highland Blood
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Taken by Darkness
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Immortal Dreams
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Highland Blood
HANNAH HOWELL
Prologue
Scotland
Summer, 1511, In the Reign of James IV
The sound came in on the wind. Voices and a soft mewling. Adeline sat back on her heels and put the blackberries she had just picked into her basket as she strained to listen. She hoped it was not the blacksmith’s boys torturing a cat again. Unable to hear clearly and determined to discover just what was going on, she crept toward the sound, pausing only to pull the hood of her cloak over her head. Her cursed red hair could easily be visible even in the shadows of the trees.
When Adeline drew near enough to not only hear but to see what was happening, it took all of her willpower not to rush forward and confront the couple standing over a wounded child. The child was bleeding from a slash on his small arm and neither the woman nor the man was doing a thing to help. She pushed aside the anger pounding in her head and listened. It soon became clear that Anne Drummond was the child’s mother but Robbie MacAdam was not the father. What also became clear was that they were arguing over the best way to dispose of the child.
“Nay right to just leave him here to get eaten by the beasts,” said Robbie. “Ne’er liked that, though ’tis done from time to time. Why dinnae ye just kill the little bastard?”
“And have that sin on my soul?” Anne shook her head. “Nay, this will do.”
“He will still be dead at your hand.”
“Nay, he willnae. ’Twill be the beasts what kill him, nay me.”
“Dinnae see much difference, woman. Ne’er have. Dead be dead whether ye kill him yourself or leave him for the beasts to gnaw on.”
“If ye think this is so wrong, then ye kill him!”
“I willnae kill a bairn.”
“I dinnae see ye
doing anything to save him, either.”
“He be a demon, the devil’s own son. I dinnae want naught to do with him.”
“Then can we leave now?”
“Still doesnae seem right,” muttered Robbie, but he hurried to catch up with Anne, who was already striding away through the trees.
Adeline did not move until she was certain the couple was gone and would not return. It hurt to see the child sitting there, fat tears falling from the little boy’s wide eyes, but she fought the urge to immediately go and comfort the child. Anne and Robbie wanted the child dead. She could not give them any reason to think the boy had survived.
Then the boy looked in her direction. Adeline knew he was aware of her but she did not know how he could be. She had not moved and had made no sound. Cautiously, she stood up and moved toward him. When he showed no sign of fear, she quickly hurried to his side to tend to the cut on his arm. She frowned when she found that it no longer looked as bad as it had first appeared. It did not even need to be bandaged. Shaking away all thoughts of that oddity, she began to plan how she could help him.
“The only curse ye have, my bonnie laddie, is your mother, aye? Now, what to do to make them think they succeeded in their crime?”
She looked at his bloody, ragged clothing. The thought that it was a lot of blood to have come from a cut that was already closed slipped through her mind, but, again, she shook it aside. Murmuring soft words to ease whatever fears the child might feel, she stripped him of his clothes. Tearing the rags, she scattered them over the ground, hoping it would appear that some animal had taken the child.
“Now, ye look a sturdy lad,” she said as the little boy toddled up to her side. “I wonder what your name is.”
“Demon,” the boy said.
“Nay.”
Born to Bite Bundle Page 27