Scandalous (19 page)

It seemed to John that the area in front of him was faintly lighter than the darkness around him. He slowed his steps even more, then stopped and brought down the final panel of the lantern, plunging himself into darkness. Slowly his eyes adjusted, and he could make out the shapes of trees in front of him. He was right. There was some small amount of light somewhere. He moved forward carefully and stopped beside a tree. In front of him lay a long, narrow clearing. The faint light came from the stars and moon that streamed into the clearing, not blocked by tree branches. It was not much, but it was enough for him to see the small, square mass of the hut sitting in the clearing. No light gleamed inside it.

They had her in the darkness. That fact made him burn with anger, but at least it meant that there would be almost no light to give away his presence as he approached the hut. He waited, half hidden by the large tree, and made a slow survey of the trees around the clearing. He could see no sign of a person standing or sitting anywhere among them. But he knew that did not mean there was no one. They would be as difficult to see as he was.

He moved through the trees to his right, on the lookout for guards, until he was positioned straight across from the door of the hut. There was an odd, shapeless bulk at the bottom of the door, and John stared at it for a long moment before he realized that it must be one of the men, sitting on guard outside the door—probably sleeping, judging from the way his form was sprawled.

It was possible, of course, that this was a trick, that
the man's alert companion was hiding in the trees, watching to see if anyone would come and take the bait of the sleeping guard. John hesitated for a moment, looking around the edge of the clearing again.

He found it difficult to believe that either of these two had the mental capacity to think of a trick such as that. This, after all, was how they had guarded him, one there and one away, presumably sleeping in the comfort of a bed. He doubted that they would think a woman was worthy of another guard, even if he had demonstrated that they had been foolishly lax with him.

Or perhaps the other one was inside with Priscilla.

He hurtled forward at that thought. Even though he knew it was probably untrue—the man would have had some light with him, surely, and Priscilla would be screaming if anyone was hurting her—he could not stop himself from rushing forward. Propelled by the anxiety and fear of an entire evening, he charged the recumbent form and, dropping the lantern, he grabbed the man by his clothes and jerked him to his feet.

“Wha—?” The man's eyes flew open, and he gaped at John, but before he had time to even get a question out, John's fist smashed into his face.

The man lurched backward, letting out a cry of astonishment and pain. John went after him, hammering him with his fists. The man fell to the ground like a rock. He lay limp. John halted, frustrated. He would have liked to vent all his anger and fear on the man, but the damn fellow hadn't put up enough of a fight.

He swung around and went to the door of the hut. It was fastened crudely but effectively, with a bar of wood across it. John jerked the bar up out of its slot and pulled
open the door. He bent into the low doorway and peered inside. “Priscilla?”

A huddled heap in the corner launched itself at him, but even as John instinctively took a step back, Priscilla flung her arms around his neck and clung to him. “John! Thank God! I knew you would come!”

“Priscilla.” Her name was a sigh of relief this time. His arms went around her, and he pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. For a long moment he luxuriated in the sheer sensation of holding her, murmuring soft endearments into the silken mass of her hair.

Priscilla turned her face up to look at him, caressing his cheek with her fingertips. “I was so scared. I told myself you would find me, that you would know that they had taken me here. But I was so afraid that you wouldn't be able to find it in the dark.”

“I would find you anywhere,” he murmured, gazing hungrily into her face, and then he bent to kiss her lips. As soon as his mouth touched hers, the pulse of fear that had been driving him turned into passion. Heat flamed between them, fiercer than any fire.

He pulled her into him, his arms tightening around her, as if he could pull her into his body until she became part of him. He made a noise deep in his throat, a sound of pure animal desire. Priscilla clung to him, as suddenly, overwhelmingly, alive with passion as he was. It was as if the emotions of the last few hours had stripped away all pretense, all trappings and teachings of society, and there was in them now only the elemental reality of their hunger for each other.

His hands moved eagerly up and down her back, smoothing over the curve of her hips, as they kissed again and again. Lips clung, tongues twined, fingers
pressed into flesh. They were giddy and greedy, incapable of speaking, even of thinking.

He slipped a hand between them, curving it over her breast and cupping it, delighting in the exquisite softness, the contrasting hardness of the small pointing nipple in the center. Priscilla gasped at the sensations that flooded her at his touch. He rubbed his thumb over the hard little bud, and it tightened eagerly. Warmth flooded Priscilla's abdomen, and she was aware of a curious moisture between her legs. She squeezed her legs together tightly, wanting something, though she was not sure what. A pulse began there and grew as he stroked her nipple with his thumb, his hand gently cupping and squeezing her breast beneath the cloth of her dress.

His lips left her mouth and trailed down her neck, arousing the gentle flesh with hot, velvety kisses. Priscilla let out a soft mew of desire and leaned back against his arm, soft and pliant, her head drooping back, exposing more of her throat to his mouth. He took advantage of the mute invitation, raining kisses down her throat. His hand moved to her other breast, arousing and caressing it the same way. All the while, the heat built low in Priscilla's loins, pulsing and aching, turning her to fire.

Impatiently John pushed up her skirts and petticoats, delving beneath them to find her leg, clothed only by her soft cotton stocking. His breath came out in a groan as he caressed her thigh, sliding upward and over her garter to the bare skin above it. A shudder ran through him, and he raised his head and pressed his lips into hers once again. His tongue plunged inside her mouth, fierce and demanding, as his fingers teased her flesh.
His hand moved upward, under the loose legs of her underwear, until it reached the hot, damp source of her passion.

Priscilla gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth on hers, and jerked in surprise. He murmured to her soothingly, soft, meaningless words, and kissed her cheek and eyes and ears, until she relaxed again. Then he returned to the long, drugging kiss on her mouth, and his fingers crept up to the joinder of her legs.

This time Priscilla did not jump, only quivered at the unexpected pleasure that rushed through her. It was startling, embarrassing, and yet it was incredibly exciting, as well. She wanted it to continue, wanted to follow this passion wherever it might lead.

Gently his fingers probed, separating the slick satin folds of flesh and sending exciting shivers through her. He caressed her, and her knees went so weak that she was afraid they would give way and she would fall to the ground. She trembled, feeling as if she were on the edge of a different world. Her breath rasped in her throat, and her hands dug into the front of his shirt, holding on for dear life.

And then there was a groan outside the cabin.

P
RISCILLA AND
J
OHN FROZE
.
There was another groan. They remembered then the man who had been standing guard outside the cabin, the man John had knocked down and left as he rushed to open the door of the shack.

John let go of Priscilla and stepped back, aghast at his own loss of control. He had been so caught up in his passion, so blind to the outside world, that the guard he had knocked unconscious earlier could easily have awakened and come in and struck both of them down. It was sheer luck that the man had started groaning as he returned to consciousness.

He ran outside to where the man lay. Behind him, Priscilla hurriedly adjusted her clothing, a blush spreading over her cheeks. She had never in her life experienced anything like the past few moments, not even when John had kissed and caressed her before. She had been flooded with desire then, but that had been nothing like the all-consuming passion, the greed to couple with him, that had overtaken her tonight. It had been as if nothing in the world existed except the two of them. Her limbs were still weak and trembling, her skin was tingling, and her blood was pulsing through her like mad.

A little shakily, she followed John out of the hut. She glanced around and found his darker form in the dim
landscape. He was kneeling beside the tall guard, and he hauled the man up into a sitting position as Priscilla came up behind him. Blood trickled from the villain's nose and smeared his chin. His eyes rolled vaguely. He moved his arms and legs a little, as though not quite sure where they were or what they were supposed to do.

“I am glad to see that you're coming to,” John said conversationally. “I was wanting to have a bit of chat with you.”

The other man let out a snuffle that conveyed surprise.

“You thought I wouldn't? Oh, no, I am most eager to talk to you. Or, I should say, to hear what you have to say.”

“Won't tell you nothin',” the man mumbled.

“You think not?” There was a dangerous quality to John's voice that Priscilla found rather chilling. “Somehow I think you will change your mind. Priscilla, dear, does that dress of yours have a sash?”

Priscilla blinked. “Uh, yes.”

“Good. Then may I have it?”

Priscilla began to untie the sash, asking uneasily, “What are you planning to do?”

“Just tie up our friend here,” John replied, whipping the man over onto his face and pulling his arms behind him before he could even begin to struggle. “Thank you.”

He took the sash from Priscilla's hand and proceeded to tie the man up efficiently, knotting the fabric around his hands, then pulling the long strand of cloth down to tie it around the man's ankles, so that he lay awkwardly, his hands drawn back and down, and his feet up behind his back.

“'Ey!” the man protested.

“What? Are you uncomfortable? How unfortunate. Of course, I could have tossed you into that cabin and left you there in the dark for a few days, the way you did Priscilla and me. Until I brought back the constable. How long do you suppose you will get in prison?”

It occurred to Priscilla that John was talking this way in order to scare the man so that he would talk freely. But his voice and face were so cold, so suddenly foreign to her, that it frightened her a little. She went on hastily, “I think that getting the constable is an excellent idea. Why don't you put him in the shack and let's go?”

“The English are very law-abiding people, I find,” John remarked. “I admire that in them. Of course, in America, we are not quite so particular. There's not always law around in the wilds, you see, and we are more apt to mete out our own justice. They hang men, you know, just for thievery.” He lowered his voice, saying, “Worse than that, when it comes to harming a woman.”

He hunkered down beside the man's head, staring down steadily into his eyes. “I don't take kindly to man-handling women. Especially when it is a woman who belongs to me.”

Normally Priscilla would have bridled at the way he had referred to her, but she was too worried now about what his intentions were to bother with such niceties. She laid a hand on John's shoulder, softly saying his name.

Without moving his gaze from the other man's face, John patted her hand and said, “It's all right, Priscilla. Maybe you should go back into that little cabin, or over on the other side of it.”

“Why?”

“So you won't have to hear or see anything that would offend you,” John replied. “A slow death is not a pleasant thing to watch.”

Priscilla's jaw dropped. The captive's eyes widened, the whites of his eyes glistening in the dark.

Priscilla stared at John, then said firmly, “No, thank you, I shall stay right here. John, what are you planning to do?”

“I wanted to ask this man—Will, your partner called you, wasn't it?—I wanted to ask Will some questions. For instance, who his partner is and why they attacked me. Why they kidnapped you. How they know Benjamin Oliver. That sort of thing. The only problem is, he said that he was not going to answer.”

Priscilla went a little weak with relief. He
was
trying to frighten the man into answering questions. It had been foolish of her to suspect anything else. However, she was careful not to let her feelings show. It would ruin John's plan if she acted as if she didn't believe him.

“Oh, dear. Well, he might talk to you, you know. Perhaps he has changed his mind.” She turned toward the ruffian on the ground. “Won't you reconsider?”

“I ain't no bleeding ratter,” the man named Will responded, but his voice was less sure than it had been earlier.

“See? I told you. I will try to make him talk, of course. There are several things I learned from the Indians. Not many men can stand up to them.”

Will's face turned a paler color, but John went on, oblivious, “But in the end, I imagine I shall have to kill him. Give him the death he deserves for hurting you.”

“I'm not sure that it is worth
killing
over, you know,” Priscilla suggested.

“We handle things differently in the United States. You can't let anyone get away with harming you or yours, or people will think you're weak. It's a hard land. Fortunately, living with the Indians those two years toughened me up.”

“I—I've read of the sort of things they do to their captives. It's horrid, barbaric,” Priscilla said, putting a quaver into her voice.

She was certain now that he must be putting on an act. But even so, she could not suppress a little gasp when he reached behind him and pulled a large knife from his belt. “John!”

“Did you think I would go out without a weapon when I came hunting for you? A knife is better than a gun in many ways, when you know how to use it. It's quiet, and it's better for what I need to do now.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked dutifully, sneaking a glance at the other man's face. Beads of sweat had popped out on Will's upper lip and forehead, and she could see his throat bob as he swallowed nervously.

“I'm not sure. I thought of cutting out his tongue, but that would be defeating my purpose, now, wouldn't it? Staking him out on an anthill would take too long. Besides, I haven't got the equipment I'd need. I saw the Apaches skin a man alive once. It would probably be most effective.”

A choked noise came from Will, and John glanced at him indifferently.

“I do know what I will do when I have finished with him. I am going to scalp him. Start cutting right about
there.” He leaned over and touched the edge of the man's hairline. “Then peel the skin right back.”

“John!” It did not take much acting for Priscilla to sound appalled.

“Don't worry, Pris, you don't have to see it. That's why I told you to move away. It isn't a sight for a fine lady like you.”

“No! I won't let you do this!” Priscilla exclaimed.

“You don't have any choice.”

Priscilla swung agitatedly to the man on the ground. “Please! Tell him what he wants to know! You can save yourself.”

Will was sweating profusely now; the front of his shirt was soaked. He licked his lips, his eyes darting to the large knife in John's hand.

“Well, I might as well start.” John moved closer, the knife glittering in the moonlight. Will tried frantically to wiggle back from him, but John rolled him over and planted a foot firmly on his chest, pinning him to the ground. He leaned closer and placed the knife between the edges of Will's shirt. Slowly he drew the knife downward, and the fabric parted like melting butter beneath the sharp blade, leaving a thin line of blood down the front of the man's chest.

Priscilla jumped, her stomach turning, and let out a cry. Will yelped.

“Guess I better gag you,” John said, whipping his handkerchief out of his pocket. “Can't have you making too much noise.”

“John! You cannot! You must not!” Priscilla ran forward and dropped down on her knees beside Will. “Please, you must tell him what he wants to know.”

“Step aside, Pris.”

“Please! Tell him! Where is your partner? What is his name? How do you know Benjamin Oliver?”

John leaned over him with the gag, bringing the cloth down toward Will's mouth.

“All right! All right!” Will burst out. “I'll tell ye everything I know. Just—just don't let that madman loose on me.”

“Excellent.” Priscilla settled down on the ground beside Will. “Now, let us begin with Benjamin Oliver. Who is he?”

“I don't know. I never seen the bloke ‘fore ‘e ‘ired Mapes ‘n' me!”

“Then you were not cohorts of his?” Priscilla asked.

“I don't know what that is, but we wasn't nothin' to ‘im. ‘E's some bleedin' gen'leman, ‘e is, always puttin' on airs and actin' like some ladies' man. Bleedin' pouf. ‘I paid you good money,' ‘e says, ‘and now you say you've lost ‘im. Well, find ‘im, man.' As if it was that easy. I'd like to see ‘im keep ‘is ‘ands on that one. I'd like to see ‘im duke it out with ‘im.”

“Believe me, I'd like to see it, too,” John put in dryly. “But why is Oliver so concerned about keeping hold of me?”

“'Ow should I know? The likes of ‘im don't confide in the likes of me. Ye'll ‘ave to ask ‘im that yerself.”

“I suppose I shall. Did he tell you to kill me?”

“No. It'd of been a lot easier, I can tell ye that, but ‘im, ‘e's all squeamish about blood, ye see. ‘E says as we're just to lock you up in that cabin and keep ye.”

“But why?”

The man attempted a shrug. “I told ye, ‘e didn't let us in on ‘is plans. ‘E just said follow ye, and knock ye
on the ‘ead right before ye get to Elverton. ‘E paid us ‘alf before, and ‘e was goin' to pay the other ‘alf when the job was ended.”

“And when was that to be?”

“I don't know. ‘E said ‘e'd get to us if we ‘oled up at the Dolphin—that's where ye found us. Only ‘e came stormin' in right before ye came, jawin' at me ‘cause ‘e'd seen ye in town. ‘E wanted to know why we ‘adn't told ‘im we'd lost ye—and I'd like to know ‘ow we could, when ‘e ‘adn't ever showed up there before. Wot was we supposed to do, I'd like to know? ‘E told us we'd better get ye back if we wanted our money. I told ‘im we was tired of playing cat ‘n' mouse in the wilds. It ain't right to live out ‘ere with all them trees and the like. Everybody watches ye when ye walk down the street, ‘n' there's no place to hide. We just wanted to go back to London, and that's the truth. Only ‘e said ‘e'd ‘ave our ‘ides if we did that.” Indignation filled his face. “'E said as ‘ow ‘e'd bring us up afore the constable and tell ‘im we'd stolen from ‘im. So if we wanted to stay out of jail, we'd better find you. And that's when ye and yer lady friend showed up, and we figured we could get ye back if we took ‘er. Mapes, see, remembered ‘er from when we was lookin' for ye, and she said she hadn't seen ye.”

Will shot a resentful look at Priscilla. “Ye lied to us.”

“Well, yes, I did,” Priscilla admitted.

“Damn!” John sat back on his heels. “So we still have no idea why Oliver would want to get rid of me. Or why he wanted me held and not killed.”

“Maybe it was what this man said—he was squeamish about killing someone.”

“'E said as ‘ow ‘e'd talk ye into leaving. ‘E thought if you were ‘ungry and scared enough, ye'd take off if ‘e let you go.”

“Or maybe he hoped you would die from exposure and starvation, and he could pretend he was not responsible,” Priscilla said. “That would fit Mr. Oliver's personality exactly. He's cowardly and sneaky.”

“The only thing to do now is to confront Oliver.” John looked down at Will with narrowed eyes. “And what am I going to do with you?”

“Let me go?” the man suggested hopefully, trying what Priscilla assumed he must think was a winning smile.

“To run around trying to kidnap me or Priscilla again? I think not.”

“We wouldn't!” Will assured him. “I swear, we wouldn't. We'd shake the dust of this bleedin' place off our feet in a trice. All we want is to go back to London, and that's the truth.”

“So I should let you return to London to rob and kidnap people there? I don't think so. No, I'm afraid that Priscilla is right. I must take you and your accomplice to the constable. However, if you were to tell him your story about Mr. Oliver, you might have an easier time of it. They usually enjoy catching the bigger fish more than the small fry.”

“'E wouldn't believe me, not against a gen'leman like Oliver.”

“Ah, but Priscilla and I can testify that we saw him talking to you. I think the constable will believe you. Besides, I hope to get a little information out of Mr. Oliver that might help your story make more sense. Anyway,” he pointed out practically, “look on the bright side of it.
I am not going to scalp you now, or any of those other things, since you told me about Oliver. Now, where's Mapes?”