Tamed By Your Desire Part 52

He turned away from her and she kicked out with her feet, knowing her captor would not drop her. Her foot connected squarely with Eliot's back, sending him stumbling forward several paces. He caught himself before he tumbled down the steps. Her satisfaction at hurting him quickly evaporated as he turned around, his face thunderous.

"You stupid b.i.t.c.h. Ye think it amusing to push the one-armed man?"

They stared at each other for a long time. His normally well-groomed beard was gnarled and matted with filth, his clothes caked with dried mud. His fury abated and he scanned her body dismissively. "You're no worth it." He jerked his head at one of his men. "Bind her at the ankles and knees. We'll roll her in a rug and carry her down. If anyone sees us, I'll claim to be taking the rug as payment due."

Fayth struggled in earnest, fear blossoming in her chest. She scissored her legs wildly so they couldn't get them together. The tower was practically deserted with Alex gone. He'd taken more than half his men, and surely Eliot had killed or disabled the guards on duty. Fayth kicked out forcefully, catching a Graham in the nose. Blood spurted forth.

Angry now, they fought her to the ground and onto her stomach. Eliot sat on her legs, his muscular thighs clamping her legs together. Pain shot through her hands, trapped awkwardly beneath her, and she ceased her struggles. She tried to scream when groping hands slid up between her legs. But they did no more than sneak a feel before binding her securely so she could do little more than wiggle about like a worm.

Alex. The thought comforted her. She prayed Skelley wasn't dead, but even if he was, someone would send word to Alex and he would come. He would see Eliot dead for this. Eliot yanked her to her feet and as she stared into his black eyes, she let him see her fury.

His mouth, full and sensual in the waves of his beard, quirked at the corner, acknowledging her unspoken threat. "If ye knew it all, la.s.s, ye'd want to geld me yerself."

They were in a boat, that much Fayth was cognizant of. She'd fainted for lack of air, wrapped so tightly in the musty rug they'd yanked from the wall of an empty room. She'd wakened to the salty air p.r.i.c.king her nose and the rocking of waves. Water sloshed as someone wielded oars. They'd taken her below, through the honeycombed corridors beneath Gealach to the sheltered cove to escape by sea. They'd likely been below all along, waiting for their opportunity, hidden in some undiscovered chamber or corridor. They'd probably killed Biddy, too.

Fayth tried to move her arms and legs as her mind teetered at the edge of another swoon. She could not lose her wits or she'd never escape. She jerked her arms, bent awkwardly against her stomach, until the pain in her wounded arm brought her to full, excruciating consciousness. She heard voices nearby, but the rug and the surf m.u.f.fled their words.

Her mind was filled with Alex. What if he went straight to Edinburgh, to join the king? How long would it take a messenger to reach him with the news of her kidnapping? With war imminent, would he come for her? Her heart sank as she realized how unlikely it was that he would rush to her rescue. Using her as ransom had failed to work. She held no value there. She was a Graham and marriage to her would bring him nothing but trouble. He would cut his losses and try a different tack to secure his home. It was the only logical thing to do.

As the boat wallowed in the water and the misty cold penetrated the rug and set her to s.h.i.+vering, she knew she would have to save herself.

Alex left the keep and Maxwells gathered eagerly around him. A bell had tolled compline hours ago. Dark had long fallen and fog had finally seeped from the nearby bogs to blanket the castle. When Alex left them, Caroline and Celia had been sewing a shroud for Laine. Alex inhaled deeply, steeling himself for the battle ahead. The infernal waiting was slowly driving him mad. A terror had seized his soul, unlike anything he'd ever known. Fayth would not be there when he returned. Eliot was at this very moment hurting her, taking her to Ridley and Carlisle, where the most sickening and horrifying acts would be administered to her as punishment.

He must not think of Fayth. To think of her in the coming conflict would fragment his concentration, cause him to falter, to fail. He could not fail. Not now. Not when he had to get through this and back to her. But Laine's information pressed down on him. Eliot was in league with Ridley, which meant it was unlikely he had truly left. In fact, Alex leaving with more than half his men was probably the very opening the b.a.s.t.a.r.d needed.

His stomach lurched yet again with the sickening realization that he had played right into their hands. The men all watched him expectantly. He wanted to take them all and rush to Gealach, but they were trapped. One man might get through the loch grate, but not a small army. His only hope was to secure Annancreag as quickly as possible and ride home as fast as Bear could go.

Father Jasper joined them. He'd insisted they join him in prayer and that he bless each one of them, commending their souls to G.o.d. They all knelt and bent their heads. Father Jasper went down the line, stopping before each man.

After praying, Father Jasper turned to leave, but Alex caught the priest's robes. "Shrive me, Father. It's been ten years since my last confession."

Father Jasper's brows arched, but he nodded. Alex swallowed hard. He'd put G.o.d and the church behind him long ago. But he feared he couldn't do this alone and he would not return to Fayth with his soul burdened with avarice and hate. When this was over he would go to her as a man, not a Maxwell, or a landless, t.i.tleless third son. What filled him when he was with Fayth went beyond land or towers. She was more than that to him and he could not lose her. Ridley could have Gealach, but he could never have Fayth.

Father Jasper was making the sign of the cross over Alex when he heard splas.h.i.+ng and a cheer went up from the men. Alex turned to see his brother, Robert, emerging from the river entrance, just as he had. He jogged across the bailey, his hand raised in acknowledgment, water flying from his clothes and hair.

Alex chased after him as he burst into the keep, bellowing his wife's name. Alex found them in the great hall, clinging to each other, heedless of Rob's current state of foul saturation.

"All is well," Caroline was saying when Alex approached them, her voice hoa.r.s.e with emotion. "I sent word to Alexander and he came."

Rob released his wife and turned to Alex. Alex was stunned to see his brother was close to tears. He took Alex's hands and gripped them so hard Alex swore his bones creaked. "You came."

"Of course I came. What would you have me do?"

"I will not forget this."

Alex pulled his aching hands away. "Aye, well. It's hardly over. Don't bother drying off, we'll take out the Johnstones guarding the river entrance. You brought men?"

"Aye," Rob said. "I brought a score. They wait in the forest for my signal."

Alex nodded, turning to leave Rob with his wife, but his brother caught his arm. "Any word of Patrick?"

Alex shook his head regretfully.

Rob swore. "The king sends for him. Few men have his fighting experience. He wants him to advise Huntly."

It wasn't the first time King James had sent for their brother. He'd even written to Ridley once, pleading their case, but even the king of Scotland didn't have the kind of coin Ridley was asking for Patrick's release. Perhaps that was the reason Ridley had held him for so long. Though many Scots served as mercenaries on the continent, few had such wide experience as Patrick, who'd had great honors bestowed on him by foreign rulers. He was very valuable to the Scots army. Ridley must have known that.

"The king will have to make do without him for now."

Rob nodded, grim-faced, and turned back to his wife. Seeing Caroline and Robert reunite only made the ache for Fayth more acute, though he was glad for his brother's presence. There was no one he'd rather have beside him in the coming fight than his brothers. They were fierce and strong and single-minded in a fight, protecting their own like lions. Aye, with Rob here, they would finish this quickly.

A short time later, Rob joined Alex. They slipped into the black, freezing water near the wall and disappeared beneath the surface.

0="19"19.

BY DAWN, Fayth's abductors had abandoned the sea for land. Her legs were now free, but as she straddled a horse and was doing everything in her power to stay mounted, her legs did her little good. It was necessary, as her riding companion was Eliot and he gripped the reins with his only hand. Fayth's hands were bound before her and she clutched the horse's mane, swaying precariously as the horse clopped over the dangerously craggy terrain. Fayth did want to escape, but not by tumbling headfirst into sharp rocks, only to be trampled by a foul-tempered stallion. And Eliot's horse was in a nasty temper. It was no doubt due to his rider sawing angrily on the reins and digging his spurs into the horse's flanks until blood was drawn.

Fayth had never seen such abominable treatment of a horse and when the rags were finally withdrawn from her mouth and she'd drunk nearly a skin of sour ale, she said so.

"Shut yer mouth," was Eliot's only response.

But Fayth wasn't about to shut her mouth, not now that her ability to speak had been regained. "You are a b.a.s.t.a.r.d and a blackguard and I vow you will be dead in a sennight."

Eliot laughed loudly. "Oh and will ye do the deed yerself?" They had stopped at the edge of a small stand of birch to rest the horses and eat.

Eliot stood and came at her, pus.h.i.+ng her so she stumbled, grinning all the while.

When Fayth regained her balance, she stepped forward boldly, her chin held high. "If Alex doesn't kill you first."

He snorted, shaking his head, and pushed her again, this time sending her reeling into a tree trunk. "You're aboot as threatening as yer betrothed was."

Fayth righted herself, furious. "Who? Carlisle?"

Eliot looked at her from beneath thick black brows. "Och, no, la.s.s. I mean yer Graham lad."

A strange p.r.i.c.kling heat infused Fayth's skin. She leaned back against the tree, afraid her legs would buckle beneath her. She couldn't take her eyes from the empty black ones, from the grinning face.

"He meant to see me dead, too." Eliot made a mock angry face. "Vowed on it, he did."

Fayth slid down against the tree, until she was sitting, her knees to her chest, her mind a maelstrom, her stomach nearly heaving. Eliot-that one-armed b.a.s.t.a.r.d-had murdered Jack. And Alex had lied to her... why? To protect Eliot? Or to keep Fayth at a distance?

Her head came up, staring again into Eliot's evil visage. Yes, she saw it, the sharp, arrogant nose, the chiseled cheekbones. He was a Maxwell, Alex had told her that. Cousins. Alex had trusted him, as Caroline had once trusted Fayth. And he had betrayed that trust, and still Alex tried to recoup his losses, allow Eliot to earn back his trust. And look where it got him.

Eliot stood, stretching. "Aye, he said I cheated him at cards. Why, he was the one cheating. But he was a vicious wee b.a.s.t.a.r.d, just like yer brother, Wesley-"

Fayth surged to her feet, tree bark sc.r.a.ping her back. "What about Wesley? What have you done to him, you devil!"

Her outburst elicited no more than amused laughter from the men, Eliot most especially.

"Lord, they said you was a wildcat. Good riddance, I say. I like me women meek." Eliot went to his horse, still laughing and shaking his head. When he was mounted he held out his arm.