Sally MacKenzie Bundle (184 page)

Sarah struggled to free herself, but Richard’s hands were like manacles. He squeezed tighter, and she gasped in pain, certain her bones would splinter from the pressure. Her fingers opened, and the chamber pot shattered on the floor. Richard kicked the shards out of the way and slammed the door shut behind him with his foot. He smiled.

“So here we are, Duchess, just you and I. I wonder how we shall pass the time.” He jerked her up against his body.

Sarah swallowed, trying to clear the roaring from her ears. She could see the pores of Richard’s skin, the stubble of his beard. She breathed in his stench, the musty smell of oily hair, dirty linen, and dried sweat. She tried to pull back, but his hands trapped her body against his.

“I have an idea. This
is
a bedchamber.” He twisted her arms behind her back, gripping both her wrists in one hand. He grabbed her chin and forced her to face the bed with its gaudy red sheets. “Why don’t you show me the games James likes to play? I imagine you’ve taught my little cousin quite a few tricks.”

“No.”

Richard jerked her hands up and a sharp pain shot between her shoulders. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.

“Does that hurt?” He laughed. “It’s nothing compared to what you’ll feel in a moment.” He dragged her to the bed.

“Don’t do this. You don’t want me.”

“Of course I don’t want you, you red-haired whore. This isn’t about wanting.” He thrust her back up against a bedpost, holding her still with his body. “Not that kind of wanting, at least.”

He pulled the remaining pins from her hair, and ran his dirty fingers through it. “Does James spread your whore-red hair over his pillow when he rides you, Duchess? Or does he like it feathering his chest while you ride him? Does he wrap his hands in it like this?”

He twisted his hands roughly in her hair, pulling it so tight she was sure it would come out from its roots. She grabbed his wrists.

“Let me go.”

“Oh, no.” His eyes moved from her hair to her throat. “I’ve waited too long for this day.” He yanked her hair, forcing her chin up. “I bet your fair skin bruises nicely, Duchess.” He put his mouth on her neck, just under her jaw line, and sucked hard on the tender skin there. Sarah tried to lean away from him. He laughed and bit her. She felt a bead of blood trickle down to her collarbone.

“That’s my first mark, Duchess—the first of many.”

“Stop. Please stop.”

“No, I won’t stop. I won’t stop until I am finished.” He yanked her hair again, causing her eyes to tear. “Do you know what my very first memory is, Duchess? The image I most remember from my childhood? It’s my father thrashing me in his study. I was only four years old. He birched me on my bare ass. And do you know why?”

Richard paused, clearly expecting a response.

“No,” Sarah whispered. He had her head bent back so far her neck and shoulders ached.

“He birched me because I’d pushed my snotty little cousin down and made him cry. ‘James is the Marquis of Walthingham,’ he said, ‘and will be the Duke of Alvord. A peer of the realm.’ God.
He
should have been the duke, but he didn’t have the guts to challenge his brother and take the wealth and position that were rightfully his. He didn’t want them. He was happy with his dusty old books and smelly dogs. He didn’t care that he was giving away my birthright as well.”

Richard loosened his grip and Sarah straightened slightly. Would he get so caught up in his story she could escape?

“At Cambridge, there was a girl I wanted, but the only way I could get her into my bed was to promise her James. You should have heard the bloody bitch. Even when I was screwing her, all she talked about was him—his shoulders, his legs, his goddamned ass. Well, she never made it to James’s bed. I broke her neck and dumped her in the river.”

Sarah straightened a little more. She could see the door. It wasn’t that far away. If she could knee Richard as she had Dunlap…

He was holding her too tightly.

“So no, I’m not going to stop, not now that I have revenge in my hands. I’m going to enjoy every minute of this night. When I rape you, I’ll be raping James. When I drag your skinny body downstairs and watch thirty lusty fellows take their turns with you, it’ll be James’s face I’ll see.”

“James will kill you.”

“I don’t think so. I think he’s going to have an accident. It’s very rough on the wharves, you know. Or perhaps he’ll be so maddened to find your bloody body covered by seamen—do pardon the pun—he’ll take his own life.”

“No!” Sarah shoved at his chest and tried to jerk her knee up. He blocked her easily.

He laughed. “You have only yourself to blame, Duchess. I tried to discourage you from marrying James, but you were blinded by lust. This is where your lust has led you.”

He flung her onto the bed. She scrambled for the other side, but he came down on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. She bucked and thrashed, but she could not move his weight. She clawed at his eyes, but he batted her hands away as if they were no more than irritating flies at a summer party.

“Yes, Duchess, fight me. I love it when you bitches fight. It’s so much more fun.”

Sarah heard the excitement in his voice. She felt his erection digging into her thigh. He leaned up on his elbows, pinning her to the bed with his body, and pulled a length of rope from his pocket.

“Silk would be kinder on your delicate flesh, Duchess, but I suspect raw wrists will be the least of your pains come morning.”

He tied her hands to the bedposts and then straddled her, running the tip of his index finger slowly along the low neck of her ball gown.

“Tell me about your husband, Duchess. Is James all that is proper in bed? Does he fumble your skinny body with the candles snuffed and your nightgown buttoned up to your chin?”

Sarah swallowed her terror. “Let me go, Richard. I’m sure we can work something out if you let me go. James is a reasonable man.”

“Is he?” His finger dipped lower, tracing the swells of her breasts. “I doubt he is reasonable about you. And I don’t want reason, I want passion. Passion and pain. James stole what is mine, now I have what is his. I want him to feel what I have felt all these years.”

His fingers curved under the delicate fabric of her dress and pulled hard, ripping it to her waist. He stared at her breasts. She tried to move her arms to cover herself, but the rope just cut deeper into her flesh.

He ran his filthy fingers all over her skin, molding her flesh, touching her nipples. She closed her eyes to shut him out.

“Look at me, Duchess.”

Sarah shook her head, turning her face away.

“Do not defy me, bitch.” He slapped her hard. She tasted blood. “Look at me.”

“No.” If he hit her hard enough, she would be free. Oblivion offered her the only escape from this nightmare.

Richard might well have read her mind.

“I’m an expert at this game, Duchess.” He squeezed her breasts hard. She gasped. Hot tears ran from the corners of her eyes to trickle over her ears. “I will give you more pain than you have ever known, but not quite enough to give you peace.”

He laughed and slid down her body. She tried to kick him, but she was hampered by her skirts and his weight. He spread her legs wide, tying her ankles to the posts at the foot of the bed.

“And now I shall see where the Monk has worshiped.” He took out his dagger and slit her skirts, ripping them up to her waist.

Philip Gadner sat in the shadows of the common room and took another swallow of ale. God, he hated this place. He looked over at a nearby table. Alf and Scruggs each had a tankard and a whore to entertain them. They’d been willing to stay till this was finished. They wanted a chance to rearrange James’s face in payment for the beating they’d taken from him outside the Spotted Dog when they’d still been working for Dunlap.

Richard needed to send that letter. One would think he could keep his breeches buttoned long enough to get that single task done, but no, a little blond whore with big tits had caught his eye. He was upstairs now, plowing the piece. Philip hadn’t complained too much. It was better than having him plow the Duchess of Alvord.

He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. Surely Richard was done now. He never took very long with women. Philip glanced over at the stairs. Yes, there was the whore now—with a big, beefy sailor following her, a broad smile of satisfaction on his ugly face.

Damn! Philip surged to his feet. Where the hell was Richard?

James, Robbie, and Charles left the hackney with a sailor lounging by the waterfront.

“James.” Charles pointed at the Rutting Stallion. “Look, there, over the river.”

“I see it.” A red length of fabric fluttered from a window. James counted. “Third floor, end room.”

“Do you think that’s where Sarah is?” Robbie asked.

“I hope so.” James pushed open the door.

“You!” The madam recognized James and Robbie from their earlier visit. She was not pleased to see them.

There was a roar from a nearby table. James looked up to see Dunlap’s thugs spilling women and ale on the floor in their rush to get to his throat. He also saw Philip Gadner’s shocked face. There was no sign of Richard.

“Robbie, Charles, I leave you to entertain our friends.” He nodded at the two men bearing down on them. Philip had not moved. “I have to find Sarah.”

“Go, James,” Charles said. “We’ll be along shortly.”

James took the stairs two at a time.

Sarah had never felt so exposed or so humiliated.

“Look at me.” The sharp edge of Richard’s dagger pricked the underside of her breast. “I want you to see who it is between your legs. I want you to know whose seed will be planted in your belly.”

She felt the dagger scrape across her stomach and down to the curls at the apex of her legs. She tried to flex her knees to shut him out, but the rope was tied too tightly. She felt him touch her, felt his dirty fingers pry her open, and then pain shot into her belly as he thrust one finger inside her. A hot tide of shame surged over her. She swallowed tears and opened her eyes. Richard looked back at her. There was no mercy in his cold, blue gaze.

“Still young and fresh, Duchess,” he said, running his free hand over her. “Sweet. And tight. So tight. A treat for me—and the first few of the men downstairs who will have you. By tomorrow morning, you’ll be as loose as the oldest, cheapest slut in the London stews.”

He withdrew his hand to fumble with his breeches.

The door slammed hard against the wall before Richard had worked the first button loose. He whirled to face James striding over the threshold.

“Richard!”

Sarah saw the shock and pain in James’s eyes just before she felt Richard’s knife at the entrance to her womb.

“Come a step closer, James, and you’ll see my blade buried in your whore.”

James froze. “What do you want, Richard?” His voice was calm, but Sarah saw how intently he watched his cousin. This was not the inn yard at the Green Man. They both knew that this time Richard would not back down.

“Too bad you arrived so early, James. I was just about to enjoy your whore.” Richard ran his left hand over Sarah’s leg. “Shall I continue? Perhaps you would like to watch? You might learn something.”

James did not rise to the bait. “What do you want, Richard?” he asked again.

“I want what is mine.”

Sarah felt the cold metal move as Richard shifted to face James. The dagger rested against her thigh now.

“I want the dukedom.”

“It’s yours—just put the knife down.”

“Just like that?”

“As long as you put down the knife and don’t hurt Sarah.”

“You care so much for your whore?”

“Put down the knife,” James repeated.

“Perhaps I’ll carve my initials into her white thighs first. Shall I? Then every time you kneel between her legs, you’ll remember that I was here, too. You’ll remember how I beat you.”

Richard turned back to Sarah and in that instant, James moved. He dove for Richard’s knife hand and grabbed it, twisting it up and away from Sarah’s body.

“No!” Richard screamed. He would not let go of the knife. “You bloody bastard.” His free hand swung at James’s face. James deflected the blow with his forearm, and Richard swung lower. James blocked that punch with his thigh.

“Richard, stop,” James panted.

“No, you whoreson. I won’t stop until you’re dead.”

Sarah strained against her bonds, but none of them loosened. She could do nothing but watch the men struggle between her legs. James had grabbed Richard’s other hand, and the two men were locked in a horrible parody of the waltz, with the grunts and pants of their exertion as their music. James was taller and stronger, but he was trying to control Richard, not kill him. Richard was wild with the strength of madness. Death shone in his eyes.

“Richard!” Philip appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing? Stop it, now!”

“Philip…” Richard glanced toward the other man, and in that instant, the knife flashed down. James jerked his arm back, but it was too late. Blood spurted from Richard’s chest.

“Richard.” The knife clattered to the floor as James put both his hands over the wound. He tried to staunch the bleeding, but the damage was too great. Blood pulsed out, turning Richard’s shirt and James’s hands bright red.

Richard gaped down at the spreading stain. His face was white as if all the color in him was draining out through the gash in his chest.

“You’ve won,” he whispered. Sarah heard a rattle echo in his throat. “God damn it, you’ve won.” His eyes closed and he crumpled, falling facedown between her legs.

The thick smell of fresh death filled the room.

“You’ve killed him.” Philip stared at Richard’s body.

“It was an accident.” James took his own knife and cut the rope holding Sarah, pulling her away from Richard’s corpse, off the bed and into his arms. She clung to him, burying her face in his shirt and breathing deeply. His familiar scent, the feel of his body against hers, the strength of his arms around her and the steady beat of his heart all calmed her and gave her solace. She dared to think that the nightmare was over.