"Almost there," St. Claire called cheerfully a few moments later, voice conveying his absolute pleasure with the situation.
Alex's stomach heaved again, but she forced back the sickness. She must push past the blackness that crept into her vision. Collin could not get them out of this alone.
The sun shone ahead of them, lighting a clearing. The grassy circle was so eerily picturesque that she wanted to weep. A lovely place, and terrible.
This was where he had camped, next to a stream, beneath the shelter of a solitary tree. The sun would warm the air during the day; the tree kept out the wet. It was perfect.
St. Claire led them to the far edge and tied the horses, seeming at ease under Collin's watchful glare. At ease, but not unaware. The click of a cocking pistol snapped through the air.
"Do not move, Alexandra. Blackburn, you come with me."
Collin bit out a Gaelic curse, straining against the jerk of the rope in St. Claire's hands.
"I have your wife at my mercy, bastard."
Collin snapped the rope, pulling free. "We both know you are not planning to let her go."
"Au contraire." The gun rose to stare at Collin's chest. "She will return to Westmore to retrieve her jewels. If she refuses or tries to bring help, I'll kill you."
"Do not listen to him, Alex. He'll kill me anyway."
"Silence! Walk to the tree now or I'll cut off one of her pretty ears." The knife he'd used to kill the horse appeared suddenly in his hand. "She could still function quite nicely sans earlobe, don't you think?"
"Collin. Don't. He won't hurt me."
St. Claire's chuckle iced her nerves. Collin met her eyes, then walked to the tree, wrapped his hands behind him around the trunk. "Don't come back, caitein."
"Very good," St. Claire crooned, following to tie Collin's wrists in a tight knot. He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket with a flourish and stepped around the tree to face him. "Can't have you distracting her," he grinned and stuffed the fabric into Collin's mouth. Another length of rope secured the gag and pulled his head against the bark.
"You don't look much like your brother, you know. Must have been the peasant blood that made you so large."
"Why are you doing this?" Alex asked again, desperate to distract him from whatever he meant to do to Collin.
"I need the money, of course."
"But why did you start this? Why did you kill John?"
"I didn't mean to kill him. I only meant to break him. The killing was an impulse, though perhaps not a smart one. I simply couldn't resist."
"But why? Why?"
"Oh, so many reasons, really. He had everything I wanted—money, his father's title, the friendship of every damned buck in school. Still, he stole from me. First that blond whore at The Priory . . . pulled her right from under my nose when he knew I wanted her. He stole my money, though he had too much to spend. Goaded me into playing too deep, then threw my notes back in my face to show everyone I couldn't pay them."
"He was only being kind!"
"Do you know nothing? He may as well have slapped me in the face right there in the club. And then he did it again, the little fool. Turned over his hand with that mew of pity. You should have seen their faces. Oh, they loved watching that.
"I wanted to kill him then, but I didn't have the nerve, not yet. But everyone knew he was in love with you, so I stole you from under his nose. A whore for a whore."
Her temper flared, finally, worming its way from beneath her fear and injury. He had killed John for a petty
slight, an imagined insult. He had lured her to that room, had set her on that desk and faced her toward the door so that John would see her naked thighs and busy hands as soon as he turned the doorknob.
"You're a coward," she growled as he left Collin and approached her. She regretted her words almost instantly. Her eyes fell on the rope binding Collin's hands. She couldn't goad him on, couldn't give him the excuse he wanted to hurt them. If he let her go, surely she could do something. . .
"Come down and visit with me, beautiful."
He reached up and yanked her off the horse, letting her fall to her knees before him.
"I don't know that I'd call myself a coward."
He pulled her, dragging her toward her husband. Collin's eyes drilled into her, demanding she obey him. But she wasn't stupid. She knew he planned to kill them both.
"I'll admit to being cautious. For example, it would have been easy enough to swive you, to truly ruin you. You were certainly itching for it." She tried not to moan in disgust. "But I did not wish to bring down the wrath of a duke on my head. It was a near enough thing as it stood, but I counted on you to protect me; everyone knows your brother indulges you. Perhaps he was the one who had you so primed, hmm? Was big brother after you in the nursery?"
"You're vile."
"Mm." He stopped in front of Collin, pulling her to face her husband as he pressed his chest against her back. One hand held her to him, the other rose to cup her chin, angling first one way, then the other, as if offering her for examination. Alex studied Collin's face, memorized it.
"And I am still cautious, so this is what we'll do. When we leave here tomorrow morning"—Tomorrow—"I will release you to go to Westmore. Your dear husband and I will move on to new environs. Wouldn't want you leading a hunting party back to us, would we?"
His hand slipped from her jaw to her neck. His fingers caressed her skin. "You will leave the money somewhere convenient for me, but—listen to me now—Blackburn will not be with me when I come to fetch my prize. Do not think to ambush me or you will never find out where I've hidden him."
"But you will not hurt him?" She felt her voice shake against his fingers. Collin's eyes flared.
"Oh, no. I give you my word as a gentleman."
She nodded, ignoring the silver fire that leapt at her. "Don't hurt him."
"I won't." His hand crept lower, playing over her collarbone, flicking aside her wrap. "Not if you cooperate."
Nodding again, nodding past the lump in her throat, she felt the hand cup her breast and jerked her eyes from Collin's scarlet face. The thickness of her wool habit proved a paltry defense to the sensation of a killer's fingers pinching her nipple.
Collin roared past the gag in his mouth. Alex closed her eyes altogether, and felt a tear creep down her face as Damien's hand crept lower still.
"We have the whole night to kill, my sweet. Shall we pick up where we left off those years ago?"
"Yes," she choked. "Yes. Anything you want. Anything." Her muscles shook, but she forced herself to let him touch her, forced herself to lay her head back against his shoulder. When his hand pressed against the juncture of her legs, she bit her lip until it bled, then curled her fingers over his to cup them to her.
"Oh, yes. I shall enjoy your cooperation immensely. Does this excite you? To do this right in front of his eyes? I can see that it does."
Alex couldn't speak. If she opened her mouth she would begin to scream and she would not be able to stop. It wasn't just this violation, this horrible fear. It was the terror that if she looked she might find Collin's eyes full of rage, full of hurt and betrayal and the sure knowledge that she was a whore. But she had to distract St. Claire.
"Your husband had good reason for his jealousy." St. Claire's laugh was warm this time, burning the delicate skin of her neck.
She nodded as he jerked a handful of her skirt up. His hand snaked beneath the fabric and pressed between her thighs. "You've always been so wonderfully easy to excite. Right here, eh? Right in front of him?" His tongue traced a wet line up her neck to her ear. "A fantasy of yours, maybe?"
Despite her intent, there was no stopping her body's reaction when he pushed a cruel finger into her body. She jerked away and shook her head, biting back a sob as she tripped toward the far side of the clearing. St. Claire's laugh followed behind her, not quite covering the hoarse sound of her husband's cry.
Alex faced the trees and began to undress.
Warmth dripped down Collin's thumb, then more as he pulled desperately at the ropes that bound him. The blood slicked the knot, so he pulled harder, pulled till the bark of the tree scraped and tore at his skin, pulled till his arms threatened to pop from their sockets. His hands would not come free.
Oh, God. Her eyes. Her eyes. He had watched them dull and fade, had watched as she decided to sacrifice herself for him. And she could not save him, couldn't she see that? St. Claire would kill him as soon as she disappeared toward Westmore, and she would blame herself. If St. Claire let her live.
Collin stilled, pressed his back to the tree, straining to hear. The man had stopped laughing. What the hell was he doing?
There. A whisper of sound. Collin's mind tumbled, sending rough fragments of pain flying and crashing in his head. He should have resisted, should not have fallen for that monster's threat to cut her. Maybe he wouldn't have done it. Maybe.
"Are you playing shy?"
Collin froze.
"Take off your shift. I never did get to see you naked." A pause. He heard his wife's voice, couldn't make out the words over the blood in his ears. "I can't wait long enough to build a fire. Later though."
"Please. . . the cold."
"Now."
Footsteps. Rustling. Alex's panting breath.
Collin felt frozen and constrained, ready to burst past his skin. Oh, God, no. Oh, please, no. Not after all the terrible things he'd said to her. Not this.
St. Claire's voice whispered urgent commands, then he heard it. A grunt, a moan. Alex's sharp, sobbing cry.
Collin screamed against the rag in his throat, roared until his voice cracked and died against the linen. No. No. No. He arched off the tree, pushed with his feet. He felt blood drip from the wound on his head and trickle from his hands. He collapsed against the bark and sobbed, helpless and dying inside.
A branch snapped to his left, springing open his eyes and jerking his head to the side.
Alex.
Alex. She stood, limp and sightless, blood covering her white shift in a swath of gore. Collin shook with terror and cried out. My God, it hadn't been enough to rape her, the man had killed her too. He'd killed her. Why?
She took a step toward him, then another, blood dripping from her sleeve. Her eyes blinked and saw him. Then Collin spied the dagger, so covered in red it had been invisible in her bloody hand. The dagger he'd reminded her to put in her boot just this morning. He pushed his feet beneath him and stood, sliding his body up the tree.
"Collin," she breathed. The knife flew in a low arc from her hand and she rushed forward to throw her arms around him. "Collin."
He tried to curl into her, to cover her with his body, but the ropes held him tight. The absence of his arms seemed to wake her, and she jumped away, falling to her knees in the grass to scramble for the blade.
A high cry flew from her lips and she jumped to her feet, dagger caught in her fist.
He felt the pull and tug of her sawing at the rope, then his head fell free. Then his hands.
"I killed him," she whispered into his chest as he wrapped her tight against him.
"Thank God, Alex. Thank God. Are you hurt?"
"I killed him," she repeated and her head came up, eyes on his. "I didn't want—"
"Don't ever say it. Never. I know. I know. Tha gaol agam ort, caitein. My God, I love you."
His legs gave way, and he carried her to the ground with him.
Epilogue
The bride blushed like a virgin, pink face clashing horribly with her beautiful red hair.
"I can't believe I'm married," Jeannie whispered to Alex just before her husband took her hand and led her down the aisle to the church door. The guests began to crowd the aisle, fighting to get outside and pile into waiting carriages for the drive to Kirkland Hall. Jeannie's father had relented after all, though not easily. The groom had worn a black eye to the ceremony.
Alex felt her fingers pulled into a strong hand and beamed up at her husband. She softened with such love that she nearly melted. Instead of falling upon him like the starving wanton she was, she settled for brushing a hand over his brow where a jagged cut was healing.
What a ragtag wedding party they were. Fergus with his black eye, Collin with the head wound, and Alex herself, with the ugly yellow shadow of a fading bruise spread out over her cheek. Only Jeannie had looked pristine, glowing in a pale gold gown. She'd been lovely.
Alex felt the stares of dozens of eyes on her and Collin. She could hear the muted roar of their whispers. Everyone knew what had happened, or thought they did. A man had been killed, after all. Authorities had been dispatched to Westmore to clear up the question of murder.
But their avid eyes did not bother her in the least. She beamed and walked down the aisle at Collin's side and even he smiled, a satisfied curve of his lip that would wag tongues for weeks, she didn't doubt. The unhappy couple had suddenly bloomed into newlyweds. Alex laughed into the bright cold sunlight as they stepped from the church.
