Carnal Gift (37 page)

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Authors: Pamela Clare

Tags: #Historical Romance

BOOK: Carnal Gift
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Worse, there were rats. She could hear them scurrying about in the inky darkness. She could hear their squeaks, the gnawing of their sharp teeth. A few times they had gotten close enough that she could see the outline of their bodies. She’d kicked at them as best she could, sent at least one flying.
Her side ached. Her wrists were bound with rope that pinched and burned her skin. They’d given her no blanket, no straw for a bed. Just damp wood and rats. She breathed deeply, tried to quell her intense nausea.
She hadn’t suffered from seasickness on the way to England. But then she hadn’t been locked in a putrid stinking hole either. Jamie had given her a berth with a bed and a window and . . .
Oh, Jamie!
She prayed, not for the first time, that he was safe. She’d walked into the chapel’s back room, sat in the confessional. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” But it wasn’t Father Owen’s voice that had answered.
“I bet you have, poppet.”
Her heart had all but stopped and her mouth had gone dry. She knew that voice.
Then the
iarla’s
man had reached in, crammed a cloth inside her mouth so she could not scream, dragged her roughly out of the confessional and to her feet. “Gentle, Edward, gentle. I won’t have you hurting her.” The
iarla
ran a finger down her cheek. “You’ve led me on quite the merry chase, little one. But it’s over now. Oh, don’t look so sad. You’re going home.” In no time, she’d found herself bound, gagged, and dragged out the back door and over to the
iarla’s
waiting carriage.
“I regret I can’t join you just yet, love.” The
iarla
lifted her into the carriage. “I have unfinished business with your erstwhile lover. But don’t worry. Edward will keep an eye on you in the meantime.”
Edward climbed in, sat across from her, his eyes filled with undisguised lust.
The
iarla
started to close the door, stopped. “A word of warning, Edward. If you hurt my prize, if you spoil her, it will cost you dearly.”
They’d taken her straight to the
iarla’s
waiting ship and had set sail.
The clang of iron bars in the distance jarred Jamie into consciousness.
He heard someone groan, recognized his own voice.
Pain split his skull, made it almost impossible to think. He tasted blood, his own blood, felt it thick on the side of his face. Iron bit viciously into his wrists, made his fingers tingle. His shoulders ached, as if his arms were being pulled from their sockets.
Through a fog of pain, he realized he was in a gaol, his arms shackled to the wall.
The full reality of the situation hit him. He was in chains, behind bars, a prisoner. And Sheff had Brighid. He heard voices, the sound of a key in heavy lock, the squeak of iron hinges, the flicker of light “He’s just down ‘ere, me lord. Are you sure you want to take ‘im, me lord? We know how to deal with traitors, me lord.”
“I’m sure you do.” It was Sheff’s voice. “But, as I’ve already explained to your superior, this is a personal matter.” “As you wish, me lord. Thy will be done, as I always say.”
So Sheff had gotten him arrested to subdue him and had now come to take him .. . where?
Then Jamie remembered what Sheff had said in the chapel.
I will take her before your very eyes, and you will be helpless to stop me!
Jamie had a feeling that wherever Sheff was taking him, he would find Brighid. An idea half formed in his mind, he forced himself to go limp, ignored the screaming agony in his shoulders.
Sheff held the handkerchief to his nose, waited for the turnkey, a small man with an equally small allotment of intelligence, to unlock the door. “Hurry up, man!” Sheff couldn’t abide the stench of this place. He’d have been wiser to have the constable’s men carry Jamie directly to the hold of his ship, but the constable might have found that odd. Instead, he’d paid good coin to have them subdue Jamie and bring him here, thinking it might teach Jamie a lesson.
Sheff had already planned what he would say. “See what I can do to you? See where I can put you?” But now he felt Newgate might be too vile a place, even for the likes of Jamie.
The bolt clicked into place.
The turnkey opened the door, held up the lamp. “There he is, my lord. I’ll stay ‘ere in case you need ‘elp.” “He’s still unconscious.” Sheff turned to face the gaoler.
“Can you wake him?”
“Aye, sir.” The gaoler strode forward, began to slap Jamie’s face with the back of his hand. “Stop, I say!”
“You wanted me to wake ‘im, me lord.”
“Yes, wake him, but not by injuring him further!” Then Sheff saw Jamie begin to stir. Jamie moaned, tried to lift his head.
“Wake up, you!” The gaoler shouted in Jamie’s face.
“His Lordship wants a word with you!” Jamie slowly opened his eyes, let his gaze fall first on the gaoler, then on Sheff.
Sheff pushed the gaoler out of the way, stepped forward.
“Jamie, can you hear me?”
Jamie brought his gaze into focus, stared into the eyes of the man who used to be his best friend. How long ago that seemed. “Where .. . ?”
“You’re in Newgate.”
Jamie did his best to look disoriented—unfortunately not a difficult task. “New . . . gate?”
“Aye, the gaol. In London. Don’t you remember?”
Jamie said nothing, let.his eyes close, his head drop. “Oh, bloody hell!” Sheff lifted Jamie’s chin with a gloved hand. “The constable’s men seemed to have done their job too well. At least I know you’re not invincible, old friend. My men will take him to my ship now.” “Aye, me lord.”
Jamie heard the shuffle of more feet, felt the gaoler begin to unlock his wrists and ankles. When the shackles gave way, he forced himself to stay limp, fell forward, sure he would hit stone.
Rough hands broke his fall, seized him, and he soon found himself being carried between two men like a corpse;
Stay strong, Brighid. I am coming.
Rhuaidhri heard the key in the lock, sat up.
Light appeared at the top of the stairs. Ailis.
“It’s my angel come with manna from heaven.” She handed him the basket. “Hush! You know very well ‘tis but bread and water.”
Though he was used to her chiding, it was somehow different this time. She seemed troubled. Rhuaidhri took the basket, careful not to tip it, and set it in his lap. He pulled back the napkin, uncovered a chunk of stale bread and a cup of water. “Sure and it’s a feast.” She said nothing.
“How are you and the babe farin\ Ailis? Do they feed you well, now you’re with child?” Rhuaidhri took a bite, chewed, grateful for anything to fill his rumbling belly. “I eat fair enough, better than I did at home.” Then he said what he’d wanted to say for days. “Come away with me, Ailis. When I get out of here, come with me.”
She shook her head. “Nonsense. Why would I take up with a boy who’s always gettin’ himself in trouble?” “I can give you a home.”
“I have a home.”
“When I get out, I’ll take you to my cousin’s home in—“ “You’re not gettin* out of here, Rhuaidhri! Don’t you understand? When the
iarla
gets back, you’re going to be hanged!” Her voice took on a note of despair. Rhuaidhri set the basket aside, stood, lifted a hand to her cheek. He expected to see tears on her face, but instead he found the lines of anger. “I’m goin’ to do all I can to free myself when the time is right. Come with me, Ailis. I promise I’ll take care of you.” “You can’t even take care of yourself, silly boy!” She spat the words at him, stepped back from him. “It’s not the way you think. I wasn’t brought here against my will like your sainted sister. I came of my own choosin’. I wanted a better life, and the gave it to me. And when he wanted me in his bed, I went freely.” Stunned, Rhuaidhri, gaped at her.
She laughed, a cruel, high-pitched sound. “Aye, and all that I’ve done to make your life easier I’ve done for a reason. Did you ever wonder why I was so interested in the
Sasanach
who had helped your sister? Ever wonder why I asked so many questions? No? Silly boy! I passed every word you spoke on to the
iarla’s
men.” For a moment Rhuaidhri could do nothing but stare at her. Then, his thoughts began to come together again, and he tried to sift through his memory, recall everything he’d told her. They had nothing on him, no information that could harm him. Nothing but—
The pistol!
She knew whom the pistol belonged to, who had taught him to shoot, what he’d planned to do with it. “Aye, Rhuaidhri, when they hang you it will be my doing.”
She was smiling, but tears poured down her face. His mind buzzed with fury, and a shard of pain pierced his chest.
She had betrayed him. She had given herself to the
iarla Sasanach,
had done so of her own will. And she had helped the
iarla
dig Rhuaidhri’s grave.
Rhuaidhri reached out, grabbed a fistful of her hair, forced her head back until she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Get out of here,
Alice,
before I end your worthless life and that of your bastard child!”
He released her with a little shove.
She turned and fled, forgetting the basket and her candle.
Chapter Thirty
Brighid didn’t know when she’d ever been this tired. The two-day journey in the ship’s hold had seemed an eternity. Seasick and afraid, she’d slept little if at all. Now her eyes felt heavy, lulled by the rocking motion of the carriage, and her mind ached for lack of sleep. Still she fought to stay awake, aided by lingering seasickness and pain in her bound wrists.
Across from her sat the man from her nightmares. Edward—that’s what the
iarla
had called him. So far the man hadn’t touched her, his restraint no doubt the result of the
iarla’s
promise of punishment. But she could see the lust in his eyes, lust tinged with malice. But worse than anything—worse than fear or nausea or exhaustion—was the anguish of not knowing what had become of Jamie. Did he yet live? Was he hurt? Was he held captive in some reeking gaol? Was he on his way to free her? Did he even know where they had taken her? Sweet Mary, what if she never saw him again?
Let him be alive and safe!
She looked out the window of the carriage at the
iarla’s
hulking manor, ugly and gray against the gray Irish sky. The carriage stopped, and the door was opened from outside.
Edward lifted his bulk from the seat, climbed out, turned for her.
Brighid met his gaze. “Don’t touch me! I don’t need your help!”
Edward scowled, but he stepped back. Unable to lift her skirts, she clasped the doorsill with both hands, felt carefully for the steps with her feet. They crossed the courtyard, Brighid aware that people were staring at her.
Edward led her inside and up the stairs. But instead of taking her to the small servant’s room on the third floor, he led her to a familiar room on the floor below. The room that had been Jamie’s.
A lump formed in Brighid’s throat.
Jamie, please be safe!
Edward motioned for her to hold out her hands. With a small knife, he cut the ropes that bound her. Then he opened the door to the room. “Get in. They’ll be bringin’ in bathwater soon. You’d be smart to do as you’re told.” The door locked behind her.
The room was as she remembered it, except for the copper tub that sat in the middle of the floor, waiting for water. Then she saw the gown lying draped over a nearby chair. It was the same one she’d been forced to wear that night.
A shudder ran through Brighid, and she understood.
The
iarla
wanted it to be just like it had been that night. But this wasn’t going to be like last time. Things weren’t going to go the way the
iarla
planned. She was no longer the helpless peasant girl he’d frightened half to death a few months ago. Last time he’d used Rhuaidhri to force her into submission, but Rhuaidhri was safe. This time she would resist him. She would fight.
And if she failed?
Brighid felt nausea and fear well up inside her, reached not for the cross at her throat, but for the dragon brooch.
He might violate her body, but he could not change who she was. There was nothing the
iarla
could steal from her—not her virginity, nor her dignity, nor the love she felt for Jamie and her brothers.
If she failed tonight, she would still find a way. She would survive.
Sheff was grateful when his manor came into view. He’d had as much of the confounded carriage as he could stand for one day. What he needed was a brandy. The bottles he’d brought with him for the journey were empty, and he’d had precious little to drink all day.
He stepped out of the carriage, just as the second carriage rolled into the courtyard. This one was barred and closed up tight—a prison cell on wheels. A handful of sterling had persuaded the gaoler at Desmond Castle to let Sheff borrow it for a few days.
Sheff was taking no chances where Jamie was concerned. Jamie would kill him if he escaped—Sheff was sure of it. Of course, he’d have to regain consciousness first.

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