Tempted (6 page)

She passed through a room filled with barrels and kegs of ale and wine. Scufflings and squeaks came from the shadows, and she stopped dead in her tracks as she realized what creatures caused them.

“The rats can sense me,” Damaris said. “Don’t be afraid.”

When Tina realized the rats had fled, her courage returned, and she ventured down a narrow, whitewashed passageway. Here were empty cells with barred doors, similar to the ones beneath Castle Doon. When she looked through the bars of the fourth door, she gasped as she saw her brother nursing a bandaged arm.

She put her fingers to her lips and didn’t speak until they were only inches apart. “You’re wounded. What did they do to you, Davie?”

“They burned me!” he lied.

“Give him the knife,” Damaris urged.

“What the hell are you doing here, Firebrand? Are ye here tae ransom me?”

She shook her head. “They don’t know who we are, and we must get away before they find out. There isn’t much time, Davie. That bastard Douglas has gone to the Hamiltons to demand ransom for you. I can’t unlock the cell, but here’s my knife, Davie.”

As he grasped the haft, he said, “When the mosstrooper brings me food, he’ll be a dead man if he doesn’t unlock this door.”

“Don’t kill him unless you must, David—there’s been no bloodshed yet,” she urged.

He held up his arm grimly. “Someone will pay fer this.”

“I’ve done all I can. I’m leaving before the Douglas returns.”

“Done all ye can?” he scoffed. “Fire the castle afore ye leave—raze the bloody place tae the ground!”

“God’s passion, keep your voice down. I just want us
both out of here with our lives!” Her heart was hammering as she retraced her steps and walked a direct path to the hall.

The spirit of Alexander Douglas sensed the presence of Damaris immediately. He left the small group of men-at-arms who were casting dice and approached the two beautiful women, one flesh, blood, liver, and vibrant with energy, the other ethereal and hauntingly remote. “Damaris, beloved, who is this ye guard so carefully?”

Not by the flicker of an eyelash did the lovely wraith acknowledge that she had seen or heard him. Alexander sighed. For fifteen years he had begged that his bride listen to his denials, but he had begun to conclude that though he saw her apparition, she could not see his.

At first he had tried to communicate with the living, consumed by the need to exonerate his name and honor, but it had been impossible. The horses in the stables were aware of him, and Ram’s wolfhound had seen him so often, he’d begun to wag his tail when Alexander approached, but Damaris always acted as if he were invisible. He suspected that she saw him and heard him well enough, but she believed the lies that he had poisoned her and like all females was too pig-headed and stubborn to listen to his pleas.

As she glided past him, his breath caught at her loveliness. She was still exactly as she had been that fateful night over fifteen years ago. Her blush-pink nightgown with its trailing sleeves emphasized her delicate beauty. Her skin was like porcelain and her hair like silken strands of moonlight.

Alexander was heartsore that his beloved Damaris was lost to him, yet he was willing to exist through eternity if he could see her like this and know they were together at Douglas He still clung to the hope that someday she would look at him, smile at him, or even curse him—anything that would indicate she was aware of his spirit’s existence.

Tina knew the moss-troopers were staring at her. She shrugged her shoulder and removed the dark green plaid. Then she picked up her purple velvet cloak from the wooden settle, wrapped it about herself, and pulled the hood close.

Colin Douglas moved slowly across the hall toward her. “Are ye leavin’ us, mistress?” he puzzled.

“No, no. I thought I’d walk about the castle now that the rain has stopped. Lord Douglas suggested that seeing my horse might bring all back to me. I promised to sup with him when he returns from Lanark.” She bit her lip. She knew immediately that she had made a slip. Her own knowledge provided the information that the closest Hamilton castle was at Lanark, less than ten miles north. But it went unremarked by Colin Douglas, who must have assumed Ram had mentioned his destination, and the blush that colored her cheeks began to fade. A pulse beat in her throat as she tried not to quicken her steps outside.

Damaris did not want to accompany her niece inside the stables because her presence always made the horses skittish. She knew that Tina would get away safely, and she was grateful she had had a chance to see the lovely creature. She kissed Valentina’s brow and whispered, “Goodbye—please never return.”

Tina’s hand came up unconsciously to brush back the hair from her brow, then boldly she walked to her mare and led her from the stable. The saddle had been removed, but luckily the bridle had not.

Tina vaulted onto the mare’s back and dug in her heels. She didn’t think anyone would ride after her to bring her back. The men of Douglas were likely glad to be rid of the strange female.

It was full dark before Tina clattered over the drawbridge into the bailey of Castle Doon. A grim-faced Duncan was awaiting her by the time she climbed the stairs
to the elegant living quarters. He grabbed her unceremoniously and shook her until her teeth rattled.

“Do ye ken how worried I’ve been the day? Yer a right thoughtless bitch, Tina! Ye knew Donal wouldn’t be back till the morrow, so ye went runnin’ off tae yer stinkin’ Gypsy friends! Do ye even care I ha’ all the worry an’ responsibility on ma shoulders?”

“Don’t you dare be fierce with me, Duncan. I went to Douglas to rescue Davie! I’ve just ridden thirty miles—I’m exhausted”

“Are ye insane? How many times must ye be told tae stay out o’ men’s affairs?” He ran his hand wildly through his flaming hair in an effort to keep from striking her. He breathed deeply before passing sentence “I’m goin’ tae recommend Donal give ye a beatin’.”

Tina was dead on her feet, and giddiness made her flippant. “It’ll give him practice for when he weds Meg Campbell.”

“Donal has more sense than tae wed a lass who needs beatin’ Meggie is obedient and gentle. She’s no’ a curse tae her menfolk Father lets ye get away wi’ murder Ye twist him aboot yer finger. Meggie canna do that wi’ Archibald Campbell”

To be fair, Valentina saw his point now that he made it so graphically. She only knew one man as coarsely dominant as Archibald Campbell, and that was Archibald Kennedy, Earl of Cassillis and head of their own clan Perhaps it was the name Archibald that made them so unpalatable.

A great shout went up outside, and hope sprang into Duncan’s eyes. “Mayhap it’s Davie.”

“Of course it’s Davie,” Tina said, shrugging a pretty shoulder. “Haven’t I been telling you I went to rescue him?” She quickly closed her eyes and crossed herself, praying that it was so.

When Duncan saw the state his young brother was in, he carried him to his bedchamber and undressed him. He sent
for Ada to tend the lad’s arm because his pain was almost unbearable

“Get me whisky, Duncan,” Ada bade, assuming the role of female authority While a servant was dispatched for a full jug, she examined the soiled bandages.

“It must have been Colin who dressed your arm. He’s the only Douglas who is half civilized,” Tina said.

“Aye, the cripple,” Davie said, gritting his teeth in front of the women.

Ada took the whisky from the servant and told Davie to drink up He grinned at her and took a long slug of the fiery liquor “He shouldn’t have put grease on it. I’ll have to wash it off,” she said regretfully “Do you think you’re up to it, David?”

He took another long pull on the stone jug and began to laugh. “When the Douglas asked ma name, I spit on him an’ told him tae hang me an’ be damned, so I think I can suffer your ministrations.”

“One day your temper will be the death of you!” Tina said.

“I dinna ha’ a temper, and I’ll knife anyone who says so!”

Duncan grinned “And here was I thinkin’ Flamin’ Tina had all the Kennedy guts.”

“And so I have. You would have been proud of me if you’d seen my performance.”

David had consumed half the jug of whisky and couldn’t stop laughing. “The Douglas said if the Hamiltons were tightfisted, he would hang me. I’d like tae ha’ seen his bloody face when he found the bird had flown. I bet it was blacker than the hobs o’ hell!”

“Tina, help me with this bandage—it’s stuck to his arm,” Ada implored.

As Valentina saw the extent of the ugly burn, she was furious and called the Douglas every foul name in her extensive vocabulary.

David laughed between long mouthfuls of whisky all the
while Ada bathed the arm. Then she took the jug from him and ordered Duncan to hold him securely. Before Davie was aware of what she did, she poured the last half of the fiery liquor over the burn

David screamed and passed out.

“I had to do that. If that arm starts to fester, he might lose it,” she said plainly.

Valentina’s face was white. “I never really knew what hate was until today. Ada, I hate Black Ram Douglas with all my heart and soul, and I pray God I never, ever see his ugly face again.”

“Get her tae bed,” said Duncan. “Sufficient untae the day is the evil thereof.”

Tina did not get her wish. The moment she succumbed to exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep, she was back at Douglas, an unwilling prisoner of the Black Ram. He was The Emperor sitting upon a throne decorated with carved ram’s heads. As she lay at his feet clutching a dark green plaid over her nakedness, she was aware that he had the power and strength of ten men. He was unyielding and unbending in his judgments, and he ruled with an iron hand.

Across the room Butcher Bothwick stood before a steaming caldron, his instruments of torture displayed upon the wall behind him. He held her brother David in a grip of iron. “Guilty! Hang him!” ordered the Black Ram.

“No! Please!” begged Tina, crawling to his feet, which were booted and spurred with spiked ram’s horns.

“Arise! Disrobe!” ordered the Black Ram.

“Never!” cried Tina defiantly, her golden eyes blazing her fury.

The Black Ram raised his thunderous brows to Bothwick, who plunged David’s arm into the vat of boiling oil. The boy screamed in agony.

“Obey me, and the torture will stop!”

Slowly Valentina arose and let the plaid fall to the floor. She stood before him naked, trembling with loathing and fear. She knew she must not let him see either the loathing or the fear Pride straightened her back and lifted her flaming head high. Her breasts thrust forward impudently, her rouching nipples drawing his eyes, which were devouring her with animal lust. He held out a commanding hand: “Come!”

She hid her seething emotions behind a cold mask as she drew close to the cruel monster. His callused fingers brushed the flaming triangle of curls upon her mons, and he leered, “Firebrand.”

She shuddered as he lifted her upon his knee and placed a large ruby in her navel. “The jewel is cursed,” he told her cruelly. “Any other who touches you will die.” The palm of one hand opened, and she gasped aloud as it cupped her bare breast; his other hand moved down her thigh, and he whispered hoarsely, “Open for me.”

Her mind refused to believe he meant her to open her legs, then suddenly he was holding a golden chalice filled with bloodred wine. “Open for me,” he repeated coaxingly. She was relieved that he meant her to open her lips, but as she drank from the goblet, she realized with horror that the wine was poisoned.

Valentina sat bolt upright in bed and cried out. As she sat shivering, it was a long time before she realized she had been having a nightmare and that in reality she had never
sat naked upon the Black Ram’s knees while he fondled her and took pleasure in feeding her poison.

She slipped from bed and lit a candle to dispel the darklings; then on her knees she gave a quick thanksgiving for their deliverance. When she recalled Old Meg’s tarot cards and her tortoise, she got back into bed and hugged her knees. Safe and secure in her own bed, she began to laugh. She savored the victory she and David had won over Ram Douglas, and warmth crept back into her limbs as she exulted over the impotence he would experience when he discovered his pigeons had flown the coop.

Tina’s first stop in the early morning was David’s bedchamber, where she discovered that Duncan had slept there to keep an eye on Davie. They were relieved that he was looking considerably healthier and that most of the pain had left his arm.

“Duncan,” she said in a coaxing tone, “I don’t believe it would be politic to tell Donal about what I did yesterday. In fact,” she said, giving David a speaking look, “why even tell him that Davie was caught, since everything worked out so beautifully? He’ll rant and rave and read us a sermon cataloguing all our shortcomings, and before you know it Beth will be in tears, the maids will be embroidering the tale, and that Kirsty will have a face like a pikestaff and will make a point of letting Father know you went raiding as soon as his back was turned.”

David pressed, “She has a point, ye know. The raid was a success. Why spoil it fer Donal?”

Duncan eyed his uncontrollable young siblings. “If ye stop in bed all day,” he told Davie, “and ye dinna leave Doon tae go gallivantin’ God only knows where,” he told Tina, “I’ll think on it.”

“Duncan, we promise to do whatever you say. We won’t give you the slightest trouble,” she vowed.

“Trouble is yer middle name, Valentina Kennedy, as half
Scotland already knows and the other half will discover before yer twenty!” Duncan said.

“Wheesht, man, when ye flatter her like that, there’s no living wi’ her, Duncan!” said Davie.

With a light heart, Tina flew downstairs to the kitchens. She sat herself on Mr. Burque’s worktable, a favorite perch whenever she wanted to beguile the attractive Frenchman. “Mr. Burque, I need your assistance. I’ve invited Patrick Hamilton to dinner tonight, and I need you to serve something superb. And please, my dearest Mr. Burque, make it something that doesn’t wear horns.”

He chuckled. “Chérie, a Scot doesn’t feel he’s been fed unless he’s served mutton.”

“Patrick is the Earl of Arran’s son. He’s not quite as coarse as last week’s visitors.”

“Then I suggest smoked salmon followed by grouse. I’ll make the skin brown and crackling, just the way you like it.”

“I don’t know—men always eat game with their fingers,” she said doubtfully.

“Then I’ll provide rose-water fingerbowls and napkins,” he suggested.

“Mr. Burque, I said he wasn’t coarse, I didn’t say he was refined!”

“Donal will be back today. Just to be on the safe side, chérie, I think I’d better do a rack of lamb. It’s in your best interests to have him in a mellow mood,
n’est-ce pas!”

Tina was not worried that Mr. Burque was privy to Kennedy business. He knew enough to keep his mouth shut about her secrets. “Last time Patrick Hamilton was here, he went mad over your
pâté en gelée.
Could I impose upon you to make it again, Mr. Burque?”

He cast her a provocative glance. “Beware! It will make him very frisky!”

“Oooh la-la, promise?” Tina giggled.

* * *

Ram Douglas would not have taken the word of a lying Hamilton for all the whisky in the Highlands, but something about the gatehouse guard of Lanark Castle rang true. He told Douglas that he was the highest-ranking Hamilton in residence. Patrick and his men were at Ayr, where his father had anchored the king’s new flagship. The Earl of Arran’s younger sons were on border patrol, and the rest of the Hamiltons were at Hamilton Castle, much farther north. Too, the deep-seated rivalry between the two clans was so ingrained, a Hamilton would have found it impossible to cower inside his castle while a Douglas with half a dozen moss-troopers sat without. The challenge would have been too insulting, too provoking, too damned deliciously tempting to pass up.

On the ride back to Douglas, Ram pondered who but the Hamiltons would dare lift his cattle. The English would never get this far north because even when he and his moss-troopers were on leave, other borderers guarded the marches. His brow cleared. When he got back, he would soon persuade the lad languishing in the dungeon to enlighten him. He’d never seriously considered hanging the young devil, but he was ready to give his head a damned good bashing against the stone wall of his cell.

That decided, Ram’s thoughts turned to the fiery beauty who awaited his return. His loins tingled, and his shaft began to fill just thinking about her. Had she seen him at the Gypsy camp and decided to try her luck at snaring him? Women tended to throw themselves at him when they learned he was a wealthy, powerful Douglas. He hadn’t wholly swallowed her tale of memory loss. He smiled. She was up to some female mischief, and he was willing to join her in whatever game she wanted to play. He’d had little sleep in the last few days and was ready for bed in more ways than one.

His mouth went dry at the thought of undressing her. He’d never realized it before, but lacy undergarments that both concealed and revealed the delicious curves of a
woman’s body were erotically arousing. Ram Douglas licked his lips in anticipation.

The hallful of hard-bitten Douglas men looked very sheepish indeed as Ram read the riot act. “Christ’s holy wounds, to be outfoxed and duped by a bairn!” His brothers hung on to their tankards, knowing his fondness for sweeping them from the table in his rage. “Did ye lend him a horse and pack him a bag of oat cakes for his ride home?”

“Logan’s bad wounded,” Gavin said. “He was a vicious wee bastard.”

“Ye didna even strip him tae see if he had a knife concealed,” he said with contempt. “The Boozer here wouldha made a damned sight better guard. Ye make me spew!” He ordered a servitor. “Ye can take food tae my chamber— enough for two.” He looked at Colin. “Where’s the girl?”

“Overwhelmed by Douglas hospitality, she fled while her virtue was still intact,” he said sarcastically.

Gavin shrugged helplessly and tried for a light note. “She must ha’ come tae her senses and bolted when she realized she was in the evil clutches o’ Douglas.”

Cameron ventured, “Let me pour ye a dram o’ whisky.”

“Stay back,” Ram warned, picking up a jug of whisky from the table and taking it with him. “Tonight I dinna trust myself!”

He threw off his leather jack and poured whisky into the first thing that came to hand—a silver goblet wrought with Celtic patterns. He tossed off the liquor in one mouthful. Its heat warmed his throat and blossomed in his chest. He braced his arms on the mantel, then pressed his forehead against them and gazed down into the flames. It was a few minutes before he realized how good it felt.

The wolfhound sat beside him and leaned into his leg. Absently he reached down to ruffle the dog’s shaggy head. The minute his hand stopped, the Boozer lifted his paw
and prodded him, a tiny wheedling whine emitting from the animal’s throat.

“Oh, all right, for Christ’s sake! Don’t cry about it.” He unbuttoned his fine linen shirt and threw it on a chair. As if that were a signal, the wolfhound stood on his hind legs and placed his front paws on Ram’s shoulders. As they stood eye to eye, a low growl gathered in their throats, and then they were rolling together on the floor, each trying to pin the other down, ferocious as a pair of wild beasts, pitting their strength and wits against each other.

Ram grabbed two great handfuls of hair and had his opponent on his back for about three seconds, but the flailing legs and sharp, nipping teeth soon reversed their positions. The minute the Boozer had Ram on his back, his great tongue came out to wash his master’s face. Ram doubled over with laughter, and the dog lay down beside him, paws in the air, belly shamelessly exposed, knowing Ram would scratch it for him until he was in ecstasy.

When the servant brought the food, he knew enough to knock. “Enter,” called Ram with an amused eye on Boozer. The dog was immediately on his legs, hackles raised, body rigid with warning. He knew better than to play the puppy when any but Ram was about.

Ram Douglas sighed with regret as he saw the tray set for two. He put the second plate on the floor for the wolfhound. “To lowest hell wi’ all women,” he said, “especially redheads.” Then he gave his full attention to his meat and his whisky. Two hours later, as he watched the play of the firelight on the wolfhound’s silvery pewter coat, his eyes closed and the silver goblet rolled from his nerveless fingers.

He descended into sleep and began to dream. He was astride a tireless garron, facing into the wind. He’d been in the saddle twelve hours on border patrol, and Castle Douglas just beyond the River Dee called to him to come home. He wasn’t tired, he was alive with anticipation. As the massive fortalice shadowed by moonlight rose before
him, he suddenly knew what drew him so irresistibly. It was the woman. At sight of him, her face was filled with joy. Her flaming hair tumbled about her in a fiery mass. His heart overflowed with happiness because he knew she would always be there to welcome him, day or night.

He vaulted from the horse and ran up the stone steps to lift her against his heart. She laughed up into his face, clinging to him, inviting his touch, inviting his kisses, inviting his body to claim hers. Then suddenly he was naked, carrying her to his wide bed. He was fully aroused and taut and could not think beyond her body. He knew if he did not soon see and touch the blazing red curls between her legs and burn himself in her fire, he would die of need.

She wore the most erotic garment he’d ever seen. It was pale lavender, embroidered with flower petals that cupped her breasts. The centers of the flowers, however, were her nipples that burst through slits in the sheer material. Filmy panels floated from the navel down, and each time his hand lifted one of the silken panels to reveal her treasure, there was another to impede and frustrate him. His callused hand ripped the garment from her body with one brutal tear, and he buried his face against her fragrant satin skin. “I know who ye are,” he whispered huskily.

“Who?” she begged

“Ye are my woman,” he shouted exultantly, ready to plunge in and drown in her. Suddenly the chamber door was flung open, and the handsomest man he’d ever seen challenged, “She was mine first.” He sprang from the bed to face the Gypsy, who was as swarthy and naked as himself They faced each other with knives, eager for the fight that would give the victor the undisputed prize. Through his teeth he snarled, “Ye may have been first, but I shall be last” He plunged in the knife, and blood covered his hand, wet and sticky. His eyes flew open, and he realized it was just his hound licking his hand. He arose and went to bed, laughing at himself ruefully. Perhaps if he fell asleep again he could call her back in his dreams. As he drifted off he
distinctly heard her voice:
“Well, at least you have a sense of humor.”