Carnal Gift (4 page)
She didn’t expect to see him again.
“
Coinneaoidh ml leat, a Bhrighid
!” he shouted, his words following the horses up the winding road.
Coinneaoidh ml leat, a Bhrighid
!” he shouted, his words following the horses up the winding road.
I will come for you. If it’s the last thing I do.
Chapter Three
Brighid clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She would not cry. She would not. She tried to breathe deeply to calm herself, but her breaths came in shudders. Sweet Mary, what was she to do?
They’d ridden forever—across the stream, over countless hills, and past the sacred hawthorn grove that marked the edge of her world—to the
iarla’s
manor. She’d been so stiff and sore when they’d arrived she hadn’t had the strength to dismount without help. The despicable man whose groping hands she’d fought off for the length of their journey had taken advantage of the situation to fondle her breasts.
iarla’s
manor. She’d been so stiff and sore when they’d arrived she hadn’t had the strength to dismount without help. The despicable man whose groping hands she’d fought off for the length of their journey had taken advantage of the situation to fondle her breasts.
“Just give good Edward here a little feel, poppet. That’s nice.”
His touch and the lecherous grin on his face had left her feeling sick.
She’d been taken to a servant’s chamber upstairs where a bath was waiting. Brighid had known from that moment the
iarla
wanted far more than a word. The feeling of sickness in her belly had grown, and she’d felt she could not breathe. A young servant girl, a Dubliner from the sound of her speech, had been sent in to help her bathe and dress in fancy clothes that lay on the bed, but Brighid had refused to cooperate. When the servant had tried to undress her, Brighid had slapped her and cursed her in Gaelic. The girl’s wide eyes as she’d fled the room proved she still understood her mother tongue. Then the
iarla
himself had arrived, the servant girl behind him. He was tall and thin with features that reminded Brighid of a Roman, or a rat—small, brown eyes, a long, thin nose, and high, harsh cheekbones. He stank of drink and something she thought must be men’s perfume. Without his wig, he was all but bald. What little hair he had was clipped short and mousy brown. She had forced herself to meet his gaze, though the lust in his eyes repulsed her.
iarla
wanted far more than a word. The feeling of sickness in her belly had grown, and she’d felt she could not breathe. A young servant girl, a Dubliner from the sound of her speech, had been sent in to help her bathe and dress in fancy clothes that lay on the bed, but Brighid had refused to cooperate. When the servant had tried to undress her, Brighid had slapped her and cursed her in Gaelic. The girl’s wide eyes as she’d fled the room proved she still understood her mother tongue. Then the
iarla
himself had arrived, the servant girl behind him. He was tall and thin with features that reminded Brighid of a Roman, or a rat—small, brown eyes, a long, thin nose, and high, harsh cheekbones. He stank of drink and something she thought must be men’s perfume. Without his wig, he was all but bald. What little hair he had was clipped short and mousy brown. She had forced herself to meet his gaze, though the lust in his eyes repulsed her.
“You are surpassing fair.” His cold fingers had traced the outline of her cheek. “What is your name?” “Brighid Ni Maelsechnaill.” She spoke her name as clearly and proudly as she could. It was an ancient name, a noble name. Nothing this outsider did could besmirch it.
He’d laughed. “That’s certainly a mouthful.” “Brigid, my lord.” The servant girl gave Brighid a look of bitter triumph, a pink palm print still on her cheek. Brighid bit back the curse that leapt to mind at hearing her name twisted into loathsome English. Now was not the time.
“Thank you, Alice.” The
iarla
smiled to the servant girl, but his hand dropped to caress Brighid’s shoulder. “My friend is quite taken with you, Brighid. I saw how he looked at you this morning.”
iarla
smiled to the servant girl, but his hand dropped to caress Brighid’s shoulder. “My friend is quite taken with you, Brighid. I saw how he looked at you this morning.”
Whatever Brighid had expected him to say, it was not this.
“I can see you remember.” The
iarla
had smiled. “It was at my friend’s request I spared your young rapparee. What is he to you, your lover?”
iarla
had smiled. “It was at my friend’s request I spared your young rapparee. What is he to you, your lover?”
Brighid had refused to answer the question directly.
The less this
Sasanach
pig knew about her family the better. “I am a maid.” She’d meant to sound unafraid, but her words were unsteady.
Sasanach
pig knew about her family the better. “I am a maid.” She’d meant to sound unafraid, but her words were unsteady.
“Then your brother, or perhaps your cousin?” He’d waited for her reply. “Well, no matter. Thanks to your beauty, your rapparee is safe tonight. Do as you’re told, and he’ll stay safe.”
Then Brighid had understood. She was to buy her brother’s continued freedom with her virginity. “I expect you to show my friend just how grateful you are. Your willingness is everything.” He’d tucked a finger under her chin. “Do you understand?” Brighid had choked back tears, looked him in the eye, held her tongue.
Two hours later, bathed and dressed in clothes a whore might have found immodest, her hair twisted atop her head, she sat before the fireplace in a long hallway awaiting the
iarla’s
command. A crackling fire had been lit, along with a few candles on the mantelpiece, but neither managed to chase away the shadows that hovered in the comers. Empty chairs lined the walls of the hall, which was so large it could devour the cottage Brighid called home with room to spare. Carpets the color of blood and decorated with exotic flowers stretched across the wooden floor.
iarla’s
command. A crackling fire had been lit, along with a few candles on the mantelpiece, but neither managed to chase away the shadows that hovered in the comers. Empty chairs lined the walls of the hall, which was so large it could devour the cottage Brighid called home with room to spare. Carpets the color of blood and decorated with exotic flowers stretched across the wooden floor.
In the next room, the
iarla Sasanach
and the man she was to be given to were eating their supper. Servants bustled in and out of the large, oaken doors carrying platters of meats, tureens of soup, bottles of wine, loaves of wheaten bread. No one spared a glance for her.
iarla Sasanach
and the man she was to be given to were eating their supper. Servants bustled in and out of the large, oaken doors carrying platters of meats, tureens of soup, bottles of wine, loaves of wheaten bread. No one spared a glance for her.
She was tempted to run, but where could she go? She wasn’t sure how to find the door, and surely someone would see her. Then there was Rhuaidhri. The
iarla
had made it clear that her little brother was safe so long as she did as she was told. She had no choice but to bear whatever horror this night thrust upon her—and to survive. Never had she felt so helpless, so alone. Angry shouts came from the room beyond. She couldn’t make out most of what was said. Something about the French and war and ships. A servant hurried from the room struggling to balance two trays. When one threatened to topple onto the floor, he placed it on a nearby chair, rushed off to the kitchen with the other. On the tray sat a knife.
iarla
had made it clear that her little brother was safe so long as she did as she was told. She had no choice but to bear whatever horror this night thrust upon her—and to survive. Never had she felt so helpless, so alone. Angry shouts came from the room beyond. She couldn’t make out most of what was said. Something about the French and war and ships. A servant hurried from the room struggling to balance two trays. When one threatened to topple onto the floor, he placed it on a nearby chair, rushed off to the kitchen with the other. On the tray sat a knife.
Brighid’s heart beat faster. The tray was a good twenty paces away. If anyone caught her, she’d surely be punished. What good would a knife do her anyway? Did she think she could get away with killing either the
iarla
or his friend? She’d be hanged and her family made to suffer. Besides, could she really kill any man? Then she thought of the man who’d fondled her breast, remembered the sickening feel of his hand on her body, the leer on his face.
Yes.
Without thinking further, she stood, walked as swiftly and silently as she could across the room. The knife lay on the tray, small and silver. She hesitated, took it. She had just taken her seat again and was smoothing her skirts when the servant returned. Without seeming to notice the missing implement, now tucked into the waistline of her petticoat, the servant hoisted the tray and raced back toward the kitchens.
iarla
or his friend? She’d be hanged and her family made to suffer. Besides, could she really kill any man? Then she thought of the man who’d fondled her breast, remembered the sickening feel of his hand on her body, the leer on his face.
Yes.
Without thinking further, she stood, walked as swiftly and silently as she could across the room. The knife lay on the tray, small and silver. She hesitated, took it. She had just taken her seat again and was smoothing her skirts when the servant returned. Without seeming to notice the missing implement, now tucked into the waistline of her petticoat, the servant hoisted the tray and raced back toward the kitchens.
She tugged at the silky cloth of the blue gown they’d made her wear, tried to pull it up over the bared tops of her breasts, which had been shaped into deceivingly large mounds by the corset. The white lace bodice did little to conceal her nipples. Her shoulders were all but bare, and the roll of cloth beneath the skirts made her hips and bottom seem larger—and her waist smaller—than they really were. She felt naked.
Fears she’d tried to quell uncoiled one after another like snakes in her belly. Would it hurt? Would he keep her for more than one night? Would he plant an English bastard in her belly?
Her fingers instinctively reached for her throat. But they’d taken her cross, the little iron cross of St. Brighid, after whom she was named. She had worn it around her neck suspended on a leather thong since she was a child, and it had always made her feel protected. Now it was gone, and her grandmother’s brooch with it. Shaped like a twisting dragon with open jaws and garnet eyes that gleamed red, the brooch was the most precious thing she owned. It had passed for generations from mother to daughter, staying within the Maelsechnaill female line. Now Brighid had lost it.
“Se do bheath’ a Mhuire, ata Ian de ghrasta, ta an Tiarna
leat
...” The prayer spilled from her lips of its own accord.
leat
...” The prayer spilled from her lips of its own accord.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee ...
light poured into the hallway, and a servant motioned for Brighid to come.
light poured into the hallway, and a servant motioned for Brighid to come.
“No!” The word was a whisper, a plea. Brighid stood on trembling legs and forced herself to take a step toward the doorway.
For
.
Another step.
For Fionn.
And another. For poor little Aidan.
For
.
Another step.
For Fionn.
And another. For poor little Aidan.
Her fingers rose to her waist, felt the hardness of the knife. She’d been foolish to take it. She’d never be able to use it. Just in case.
In the doorway, her steps faltered.
He stood on the far side of an enormous, dark table, staring at her just like before. Again Brighid found she could not breathe. His gaze met hers and held it. His green eyes, cold and hard, seemed to see inside her. Brighid instinctively lifted her arms to shield her breasts, looked away.
“This is Brighid. She’s a bit shy, Jamie, but I’ve no doubt you can cure her of that affliction. The ladies at Turlington’s always had good things to say about your abilities.” The
iarla
rose from his chair and strode toward her. His hands grasped her shoulders, and he forced her farther into the room. “When she heard how you’d intervened on the young rapparee’s behalf, she wanted to thank you personally. Isn’t that so, Brighid, my dear?” Brighid tried to speak, could not.
iarla
rose from his chair and strode toward her. His hands grasped her shoulders, and he forced her farther into the room. “When she heard how you’d intervened on the young rapparee’s behalf, she wanted to thank you personally. Isn’t that so, Brighid, my dear?” Brighid tried to speak, could not.
The man the
iarla
had called Jamie was still looking at her, a brandy snifter in his hand. He drained his glass, put it down, his gaze never leaving her. The
iarla
fingered the ribbons of her bodice. “You always did have an eye for the most beautiful women. She’s yours, if you want her.”
iarla
had called Jamie was still looking at her, a brandy snifter in his hand. He drained his glass, put it down, his gaze never leaving her. The
iarla
fingered the ribbons of her bodice. “You always did have an eye for the most beautiful women. She’s yours, if you want her.”
“A gift?” The man’s eyebrows rose, and his gaze shifted to the
iarla.
iarla.
“Consider her a renewed pledge of friendship. I would set things aright between us. You know as well as I things have been strained since you arrived. We scarcely agree on anything it seems. I want things to be the way they were years ago.”
“I see. How . . . thoughtful.”
“I must say, if you don’t want her, I certainly do.” The
iarla
pulled slowly on the ribbons of her bodice until they came undone and the lace parted. “What do you say we unwrap your pretty package now and share what delights she has to offer? It will be just like the old days.” Brighid felt the heat of both men’s gazes on her bared breasts. She heard herself whimper, stifled the sound. They were going to rape her together right here. The man with the green eyes rounded the table so quickly she gasped. Before she could take a step backward, he stood before her and began to remove his frock . coat.
iarla
pulled slowly on the ribbons of her bodice until they came undone and the lace parted. “What do you say we unwrap your pretty package now and share what delights she has to offer? It will be just like the old days.” Brighid felt the heat of both men’s gazes on her bared breasts. She heard herself whimper, stifled the sound. They were going to rape her together right here. The man with the green eyes rounded the table so quickly she gasped. Before she could take a step backward, he stood before her and began to remove his frock . coat.
Icy dread flowed through her veins.
The
iarla
reached for the fall of his breeches, began to free himself. “You can take her maidenhead, of course. I did offer her to you.”
iarla
reached for the fall of his breeches, began to free himself. “You can take her maidenhead, of course. I did offer her to you.”
Brighid felt her legs begin to shake. There was a ringing in her ears. This could not be happening. “Sorry, Sheff, old friend.” The man draped his frock coat over her shoulders, covered her nakedness. “I prefer to have my fun in private nowadays.”
The
iarla
froze in the midst of unbuttoning his breeches and gave a disappointed groan. “Come now! She’s far too fair a flower to be plucked by only one man, and my cock is rock hard!”
iarla
froze in the midst of unbuttoning his breeches and gave a disappointed groan. “Come now! She’s far too fair a flower to be plucked by only one man, and my cock is rock hard!”
Brighid shuddered at the vileness of his words, tried not to hear them.
The fair-haired lord placed his hands around her waist and propelled her through the door. “Be that as it may, I’m of no mind to share her tonight. She’s been in my thoughts all day, and I intend to savor her.” Strong hands guided her down the long hallway to a staircase on the other side. The man was very tall and walked quickly, and Brighid was forced to hurry beside him, taking two strides for every one of his.
The
iarla Sasanach
followed. “You are a cruel man, Jamie. I suppose I shall have to wait until you’ve gone back to England for my taste of her?”
iarla Sasanach
followed. “You are a cruel man, Jamie. I suppose I shall have to wait until you’ve gone back to England for my taste of her?”
The other lord laughed. “That depends. If she’s as fair as she seems, I shall find it hard to part with her.” They talked about her as if she were nothing, a possession to be used as they saw fit, with no wishes, no life of her own, her body a toy. Her rage—and her dread—grew. Would she be used, then traded from one to the other? Would she be spirited to England, never to see her family again?
“So now you threaten to steal her from my service?”
The
iarla
sounded both indignant and amused.
iarla
sounded both indignant and amused.
“You did say she was a gift, did you not?” “Aye, but I didn’t mean for you to take her from under my roof.”
They climbed two flights of stairs to another long hallway, this one lined with doors. The man stopped in front of one of the doors and opened it. Light from several candelabras filled the room. Inside stood an enormous canopied bed with thick, carved posts that jutted toward the ceiling.
Brighid’s stomach twisted in a painful knot. She took an involuntary step backward, collided with the hard body of the Englishman behind her. She would not cry. “Good night, Sheff.” The man forced her inside, turned to the
iarla.
“Thank you for the lovely dinner—and the delightful gift.”
iarla.
“Thank you for the lovely dinner—and the delightful gift.”
He started to close the door, but the
iarla
stopped him with the squared tip of his black leather shoe. “Friends then?”
iarla
stopped him with the squared tip of his black leather shoe. “Friends then?”
“Friends.” With a smile, the man closed the door. For a moment, he stood, arm around her waist, head cocked as if to listen. “Damn!” He swore under his breath and left her side to blow out the candles.
The room fell into shadow. A log settled in the fireplace, sent up sparks.
Brighid started at the sound, clutched the frock tighter around her.
“I won’t hurt you, Brigid.” His features were lit by light from the fire as he came to her. Long lashes framed his eyes. His skin was bronzed, his cheekbones high, his chin strong. His honey-colored hair had been gathered in a ribbon at the nape of his neck. His curls might have given him a boyish look were he not so tall and his shoulders so broad.
Other books
Seeds of Hate by Perea, Melissa
No Turning Back (The Traveler) by Tyree, Omar
Olive Oil and White Bread by Georgia Beers
The Earl's Secret by Kathryn Jensen
Very Private Duty by Rochelle Alers
My Friend the Enemy by Dan Smith
Forever by Pati Nagle
The Winding Stair by Jane Aiken Hodge
Only Ever You by Rebecca Drake
The Scrapper by Brendan O'Carroll