Blackwells: My Timeswept Heart Part 34

Sitting on a milking stool, Dane leaned his head back against the doorframe of the stable, his breath hissing through his teeth as Duncan applied a salve to his arm.

"She should be tendin' this," Duncan muttered 358 tightly as he wrapped the bandage.

Dane glanced to his side. "I doubt her care would be as tender this night, my friend." " 'Twould serve you right, Dane." Dane looked at the old mariner with a bit of surprise. "You, seriously believe I should have taken her along?"

Duncan considered the question for a moment. "Aye, the lady is not like any other female, Dane, She's a true mate and can pull her own."

"She is my wife. Cannot even you understand that I dare not risk her being harmed?" Duncan chuckled despite the sharp tug he gave the ends of the cloth, and Dane winced, shoving off his hands. "Sweet Mercy, old man,' Mayhaps suffering her anger would bring me less agony." Dane flexed his scorched arm.

"I see through your eyes, Dane," Duncan said, climbing to his feet and looking down at the young captain. "My Meggie was like your bride, full of vinegar and spice, ready to fight the British face-to-face with her pots and kettles if I'd but allowed it. But she fought in other ways - smuggling information-" Duncan looked away, his eyes misting, the pain of his loss stabbing through his wide chest." After ten years the mere mention of her name still brought him to his knees. "I could not stop her in doing what she wanted-nay, needed to do, lad. "I was a wee bit like trying to stop mornin' from comin'. Yer Tess, G.o.d bless her, has Meggie's heart." His smile was tender as he looked back at Dane. "You've lived a dangerous life, lad. Now is not the time to coddle the woman for your own 359.

peace of mind. 'Twill destroy yer love. Me 'n' Meg-gie never had the opportunity to make peace before she was - " Duncan swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Dane came to his feet, giving the old man's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I hear you, Duncan. I swear, I do."

Duncan turned his back to Dane. "Go on wit' ye, ye young whip." He waved. "She'll be havin* me hide if she knows 'twas me that kept you from her arms."

Dane pushed away from the wall and strode quickly toward the kitchen door, eager to make amends with Tess. He smelled of smoke and spilled rum and considered washing and changing before going to her, but the ache to hold her needed appeasing. He took the crooked steps two at a time, thrusting open the door. There was a collective sigh from the men scattered about the kitchen, and their soft thanks to the Lord warmed Dane's heart.

They raised their tankards. "A successful plan, sir."

"To Mistress Blackwell," Aaron bellowed, "and her finely brewed-what were they, Gaelan?"

"Molotov c.o.c.ktails, I believe, Mr. Finch."

"She is not here?" Dane asked, scanning the room.

"Nay, sir. She has not shown herself."

Several expressions showed their concern about this. Dane grabbed a tankard held out for him and washed the burn of smoke from his throat, then thrust the pewter at Aaron as he strode from the kitchen. He climbed the stairs, gesturing in dis- 360.

missal to the guards.

"She ceased asking to be let out hours ago, sir," Sikes offered. "Bless her heart, she tried well, though"

Dane nodded curtly, feeling even more rotten at how he'd treated her. Locking her away? G.o.d's teeth, what was he thinking! He waited until the guards were down the stairs before he turned the key and pushed open the door. His gaze darted to the bed. It was mussed, the depression in the pillow telling him she had been there. He frowned, stepping inside and calling her name. His eyes lit on the open window, then to the spot where he'd tossed the black garment, and Dane instantly knew the depth of her hurt. Tess was no longer in the house.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

Dane moved swiftly around the room, searching her trunks, trying to discover what else she had worn and mayhaps taken with her for protection. Ahh, Tess, what have I done? His shoulders drooped when he ascertained the leather pouch of tools was all she had with her. Leaning his forehead against the bedpost, he cursed his insensitivity and her recklessness, truly understanding how deeply she'd wanted to be with him: enough to risk her life to escape. Escape! He rubbed the back of his neck. Jailing his own wife. Sweet Christ, what mind was he in when he did that?

Duncan was right; his coddling would destroy what they had. He stiffened, looking toward the window. Where in G.o.d's name was she now? he thought with a strike of fear. Surely she'd heard the explosion? Time had well pa.s.sed for her to return. Was she staying away to see that he suffered? I do, my love, I do, he thought, his heart br.i.m.m.i.n.g with guilt. Fool! Tis my fault. I should have realized the 362.

woman would never sit idly and take orders. From anyone.

"Sir?"

Dane didn't move. "You should have counseled me sooner, Duncan. I am too late. She has fled."

Duncan's expression fell. "There is someone here to see you, lad."

"Send them away or tend the matter yourself." He waved. "I've a wife to find." Dane went to his trunks, retrieving pistol and sword. He primed the weapons and checked the honed edge of the blade. Duncan remained silent, still standing at the door.

"Please, sir, come with me, now."

Dane looked up at the pleading tone, his features pulling tight. Duncan appeared ready to cry, he thought, his heartbeat escalating. Dane dropped the weapons into the trunk and ran out of the room, leaping down the stairs, his boots thundering on wood floors. He froze in the center of the parlor, his gaze on the wretched-looking man standing at the door, a thin packet in his gnarled hands.

"You be Capt'n Blackwell?" he asked, shuffling from foot to foot.

Dane nodded curtly, his eyes pale jade and narrow.

"This be fer you." The messenger held out the package. Terror crept up Dane's back, settling heavily on his shoulders as he reached. He turned the parcel over in his hand. There were no markings. Only his eyes shifted to the man. "Who gave this to you?"

The man shrugged, glancing away. Dane with- 363.

drew a small blade from his boot and slit the ties, peeling back the layers of parchment.

His bellow of rage ricocheted throughout the house, penetrating the rafters, making the men in the building shiver at its power. Gaelan's eyes went wide at the agonized sound, and he quickly set his mug on the table and raced from the kitchen, officers fast on his heels. He halted just inside the parlor. Dane was on his knees in the center of the room, his head thrown back, a paper crumpled tightly in his hand. Gaelan's sight flitted to the filthy man standing near the door, attempting to flee past the burly Sikes.

The captain slowly came to his feet, then with a harsh growl, he lunged.

"Who gave this to you?! Who?!" Dane shouted, hauling the man up off the floor by his shirt front. "Spill his name before I tear it from your b.l.o.o.d.y throat!" He shook him so hard the man's teeth clicked.

"Ah-ah bloke in red, I swear! Paid me ten shilling to give it te ye. Here-take the coin." He tried frantically to reach his pockets, seeing his death in those green eyes. Dane slammed the man against the nearest wall, sending a powerful fist into his ribs. The air left his lungs in a sharp grunt, and there was the unmistakable crack of bone.

"Jesus! Tis only a messenger!" Gaelan was there, using all his strength to keep the captain's fist from bludgeoning the man to death. "For G.o.d's sake, Aaron! Help me! He's mad!" It took no fewer than four men to hold him back.

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"Release him, sir," Gaelan pleaded. "He is naught but a courier."

Dane's breath came fast and hard, his eyes green frost with rage as they knifed the henchman. A muscle ticked violently in his jaw. He shrugged his men off like an old coat, then stepped back, letting the small visitor drop to the floor with a hard thunk. Staring at nothing, he slowly raised his trembling hand, unfurling long fingers from around the parchment. Gaelan took it, spreading it open. A familiar odor of gunpowder rose up to meet him.

In the center of the crumpled paper was a swirling lock of black hair, one end thick with coagulated blood. Through the crimson stain smeared on the paper, three words could be seen.

Dane loves Tess.

"Oh Phillip, what have you done?" Elizabeth pulled the dressing gown tightly about her, her eyes on the still body sprawled across the bed.

"Go to your rooms, Lizzie. Tis naught of your concern." Phillip removed a blade sheathed at his waist, hovering over the woman.

"Phillip! Nay!"

He spared her an impatient glance, then cut the woman's clothing from neck to waist, an angry red line blooming in the wake of the blade.

"What on earth-?" he spoke to himself, fingering the black covering, then pulling at it. His eyes widened the merest fraction when it gave beneath his touch. He released it as if burned, then rent the 365.

fabric to her thigh. Both peered closer at the bright sc.r.a.p of fabric covering the essentials, then Elizabeth stepped back.

" Tis her, is it not?" He didn't answer, his hands smoothing over the woman's body. Elizabeth's anger flared. "Is it not?"

"I would do the honors of introduction, but as you can see-" Phillip stripped off his waistcoat and bent one knee to the mattress.

"He will surely kill you now," she said in a panicked rush.

There was a smugness in her tone he didn't care for, and he swiftly left the bed, moving toward her.

She retreated. "I apologize. I didn't mean that."

"Are you trying to anger me, my pet?"

"Oh, nay, Phillip. I swear."

He advanced, catching her about the waist. "You know what happens when you anger me, Lizzie."

She swallowed thickly, immediately understanding the look in his eyes. "Oh, please, not again. I did not mean it, Phillip," she begged. "But Dane-" He shoved her back onto the bed, then grasped the neck of her nightrail, tearing it from her shoulders. Elizabeth trembled, knowing it was not she that had brought this urge but something more than the capture of Dane's bride. She banished the horrifying thoughts before they could form and let the pain overwhelm her as he bit into her tender nipple. He shoved the night clothes up about her hips and wedged himself between her thighs. He didn't bother to remove his clothes, simply opened a few b.u.t.tons of his breeches. He took her violently, his 366.

eyes never wavering from the unconscious woman lying beside them as he quickly climaxed.

"For Chrissake! Can't you do that elsewhere?" Tess moaned, avoiding a look at what was transpiring beside her.

"Leave us," he said to Elizabeth, withdrawing from her and fastening his breeches. Elizabeth knew not to disobey, moving quickly off the bed and racing from the room.

The pounding in her skull told Tess to ignore the odor of s.e.x and go back to the painless black void. She felt for the tender spot, her fingers coming away with dried bits of blood. Her memory instantly flashed to the friar, his lifeless body bleeding on the dirt. Bile rose in her throat, and she rolled off the bed and onto the floor, blindly reaching for the chamber pot and retching violently, managing to aim, and vomiting until nothing else came up. He made no comment, and she slumped back against the side of the bed.

Oh, Father Jacob! I'm so sorry, Tess screamed silently. Tears dripped off her chin. The friar was dead because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The old man was dead because of her. No! He was responsible. And she'd make the son of a b.i.t.c.h pay with his b.a.l.l.s.

She started to stand, then fell back onto the floor when she discovered her clothing shredded. Jesus! What a pervert!

"What were you doing?" she sneered, not looking at him. "Checking to see if I was really a woman?" "Of that I am quite certain, my dear."

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Tess cringed at fthe implication, clutching the ruined clothing about her. Oh G.o.d! Did he rape her while she was unconscious? She fought the new rush of tears. No. Now, don't panic, she told herself, examining her body and discovering she still had the lock picks tucked in her sleeve. She didn't feel as if she'd been s.e.xually a.s.saulted, and somehow Tess was certain he hadn't gone that far. But he would, she realized. He killed for the h.e.l.l of it.

"Do get off the floor, Mistress Blackwell. Tis so unbecoming of a lady."

The air rushed into her lungs as she twisted sharply, glaring over the mattress to see him reclined on a settee, casually popping bits of food into his mouth. He brushed crumbs from his brocade waistcoat, lace frothing from his wrists, gems sparkling in the oil light. Beneath the expensive clothes and jewels, he was pond sc.u.m. Squarely she met those eyes, ice blue and empty, and he paused in his eating, Tess wasn't stupid. This was the man Dane sought - Desiree's killer. I understand the hatred now, she thought, wanting to see the b.a.s.t.a.r.d die a slow and agonizing death. She grabbed the bedcovers, yanking them off the bed and pulling the thick satin about her shoulders. Dane's probably frantic by now, she thought guiltily, and likely taking it out on the men. Knowing how idiotic it was to leave the house was minor now. She had to figure out how to deal with this murderer. G.o.d. A murderer!

"Welcome to my home, Mistress Blackwell." He made a sweeping gesture to the lavish pink and 368.

white bedchamber.

"Can't say I'm pleased to be here," Tess snorted, climbing to her feet. With measured steps she crossed the elegant room to examine the wound in the mirror. She could see him in the reflection. He looked like a vampire, his skin milky white, making his lips appear blood red. He hadn't moved, and she could feel his pale eyes raking down the back of her spine as she took up the pitcher and poured water into a bowl. Her fingers shook as they brushed the hairs clipped short near the purple bruise. It didn't surprise her. She rinsed her mouth, then soaked a cloth, dabbing at the sticky cut.

"Jeez." She winced at the sting. "You sure packed a wallop in that punch, ah-?"

"Phillip," he supplied, leaving the settee and shifting around the low table. "Phillip Rothmere."

Tess spun around. Rothmere, Was it possible this man was Phalon and Sloane's ancestor? What a trip! He moved closer. Though slender and willowy, Phillip measured no more than four or five inches taller than she, yet she'd already felt the strength in those thin, elegant hands. Killing hands. He advanced. She sidestepped. "What do you want from me?"

Phillip smiled to himself. She was a graceful creature, he admitted silently, as she moved like a queen across the carpeted floor in tattered rags and bedcovers. He would enjoy squelching her hopes. "Why, everything, my dear."

Tess darted, and he swiftly covered the distance, his hands catching her shoulders. He felt her trem- 369.

ble beneath his touch. It aroused him, the smell of fear. His gaze briefly skimmed her features, flawless but for the bruise. He bent close. She flinched, jerking her head back," small hands shoving at his chest. With surprising speed, he shackled her wrists at the base of her spine. She wrestled to be free, and he tightened his grip, pulling her up until she was forced to stand on her toes. His tongue slithered out to lick at her wound. She made a soft panicked sound.

"I apologize, mistress. My temper, you see."

A silver spark flamed in her eyes. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d thought that would take care of it? "Take your filthy paws off me," she ordered softly.

His smile was quick, not reaching his eyes. "Your life is mine now, Mistress Blackwell." He pulled her flush against him, dragging the coverlet away. "Your body is mine." She struggled as his hand moved roughly over her bared b.r.e.a.s.t.s, twisting her nipple, his body warming to her battle. "The sooner you understand this-"his smile widened a fraction -"the healthier."

Tess felt his arousal press against her. It was a target she couldn't ignore and brought her knee up hard to meet his groin. He barely flinched, mashing her tighter, his grip on her hands cutting off any circulation. Pain shot up her arms to her shoulders. His eyes watered, his lips curling in a snarl that instantly calmed to a pleased smile.

He's not used to anyone fighting back, she realized, but he enjoys it. Takes real brains to antagonize a killer, Renfrew, she railed at herself, 370.

recognizing the huge mistake she'd just made. Her childhood on the streets had taught her well about creatures like Phillip. His type preyed on one's fears, enjoyed playing the dictator, the struggle of his helpless victims, their screams and cries arousing him. Well. He'd got her once, but it was the last time. Dane w6uld come for her, that Tess was certain of, yet in the meantime, she had to find out all she could about this slime ball in order to help Dane when he arrived.

"Since you've mangled my only clothes," Tess said, her terror of him masked as deeply as she could bury it, "I suggest you provide me with more."

"Phillip! What are you doing?" Tess's gaze shifted over his shoulder to the woman entering the room. She was blond and beautiful, her gown a rich blue and heavily adorned with gold. Pear-shaped sapphires glistened around her neck, and Tess didn't mistake the venom those dark eyes directed at her.

"The lady desires fresh garments, Lizzie. Provide them." He didn't take his eyes off Tess.

"But, Phillip, she's far too thin," Lizzie said in a snide tone. "Naught of mine will fit the-"

He didn't look at Elizabeth. "Are you questioning me again, my pet?" His voice was pleasant, yet somehow threatening. Lizzie cringed and looked away. She's afraid of him, too, Tess thought. What a combination!

"Nay, of course not, Phillip." She and her haughtiness were gone, departing in a crisp rustle of fabric.

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He released Tess, turning sharply and striding to the door. "Dress and come join me for breakfast."

"No, thanks. Lost my appet.i.te."

He paused, twisting to look her. "Do not force me to come and retrieve you, Mistress Blackwell. I a.s.sure you it will be most unpleasant." He briefly bared his teeth, sharp and white, his eyes fathomless, offering nothing but a solid promise of pain and torture. "That is to say, unpleasant for you." He was gone, and Tess reached for the commode, trembling uncontrollably. She didnt know how long she could take this. Hurry, Dane, she prayed, gazing out the window into the darkness. Oh, please, hurry!