Tamed By Your Desire Part 7

Her questions annoyed Fayth, so she busied herself pouring water in the basin to wash her face, pretending she hadn't heard. Then she made a big show of yawning.

Diana took the hint and stood. She wandered to the door, rather than the hidden panel, and Fayth turned to frown at her.

"Aren't you going out the way you came?"

Diana shook her head. "Not now. Father will be occupied in his bedchamber. He'll be vexed if I interrupt."

Fayth's shoulders slumped. d.a.m.n.

Diana turned a speculative eye on her. "You're not thinking of running, are ye?"

Fayth blinked. "Of course not!"

Diana scowled. "Well, ye should."

Fayth stepped forward eagerly. "Will you help me?"

Diana blinked in horrified amazement. "Lord, no! He'd beat me dead. I'm just saying ye should try. It would vex him so if you succeeded." Smiling at that thought, Diana left.

Fayth paced the room, stopping when she spotted the gla.s.s vial she'd thrown at Ridley earlier. She picked it up and squeezed it angrily, her eyes on the carpet-covered door. If not for Ridley, she could administer enough poison to incapacitate Carlisle and then escape.

Fayth pushed a heavy trunk in front of the hidden door, though she doubted that would keep him out if he were determined. The sky was already darkening, though full night was still some time away. Fayth scoured her room, hunting for a weapon to use against her betrothed when he arrived. There was nothing. She emptied the juice from the vial and broke off the top, so she had a sharp edge. She could ram it into his eye or throat.

Fayth sat on the bed, waiting, alternately chewing her fingernails and stroking Biddy. The anxiety was making her ill, but the dog helped soothe her. She fell asleep and the dream returned. Red Alex pawing at her. Except now she was Diana and she wanted it. She pressed herself against him like a wanton, putting her tongue in his mouth.

She was ripped awake by screaming. The candles had gutted and she was damp with sweat, her chest heaving as she labored for air. The screaming grew louder and more voices joined in. Men shouted. The thunder of pounding hooves was deafening. Metal clashed violently. The acrid scent of smoke made her nose twitch.

Lochnith was under attack.

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FAYTH ROSE FROM the bed and looked out the window. The bailey was alight with torches. More of Carlisle's men poured into the bailey, engaging the raiders. Fayth spotted Grahams among them, though they fought with considerably less enthusiasm than the Carlisles who were defending their home.

Her blood surged. It was a perfect night for a raid. She ran to the door and swung it open. The guards were still there.

"What's happening?" she asked.

"We're being raided."

"I can see that. Are you just going to stand there? Or help?"

"I have orders, Mistress Graham."

She slammed the door and returned to the window, peering down at the fighting below. Even with the numerous torches and the outbuildings ablaze, she couldn't make out the raiders. Probably broken men. More people rushed out bearing buckets of water and wet blankets to fight the fire.

Carlisle and Graham men dominated the fight and the raiders were retreating. Fayth saw her betrothed, wearing a leather jack and wielding a huge sword. He lost his targe when his opponent's sword hammered it to splinters, but still he fought on like a man half his age. She turned away from the window, slightly queasy. He would be randy tonight. Men always were after battle.

Her gaze went to the rug where the door to his room was hidden. If he was out there, then he wasn't... She ran, pushing the trunk away and throwing the rug aside. She pushed on the paneling until it popped open. The narrow stairwell was unlit. Fayth felt along the wall until she reached the bottom, the dog snuffling at her heels. She was faced with a wall. She ran her hands over the surface before her until she encountered a latch. The wall sprang open.

She found herself in a bedchamber, even more elaborate than her own. The bed was enormous and hung with heavy brocaded curtains. A bust of Ashton Carlisle stood beside the bed. There was a small room, just off the bedchamber, where Carlisle's attendants slept. Fayth rummaged through their meager belongings until she found an extra set of clothing. She shed her gown and shift and slipped into the hose, fumbling to tie only the most strategically placed points. When she was fully dressed, her hair tucked into a cap and pulled low over her eyes, she slipped out of Carlisle's chambers.

Carlisle's device was sewn prominently on the shoulder of the tunic she wore, so she wasn't worried about being mistaken for a raider. She was, however, worried she would come across one of the raiders who would slay her with no questions. The keep was fairly deserted and those not fighting were too busy hiding the valuables to take much note of her. In the kitchen, a man filled a sack with food. Fayth's heart stopped when he turned around but then she saw the device on his arm, matching hers. Her relief was short-lived. He came after her-to shut her up with his fists no doubt-and she sprinted into the bailey.

She was just outside the stables when the man grabbed her and shook her. "Ye tell no one what ye've seen."

Fayth shook her head vigorously-she didn't care that he was pilfering his master's larder. But she was afraid he would realize she was a woman. A figure loomed behind him. Fayth's mouth dropped open, but before she could say a word, the man struck her attacker in the back of the head with a sword b.u.t.t. He crumpled to the ground.

Fayth shrunk against the wall. Her rescuer's broad, heavy shoulders were encased in chain mail, covered with a leather jack. A small, light crossbow-a latch-and a bundle of quarrels hung from his belt. He carried an enormous two-handed sword-that he wielded with one hand. His metal helm had no nose guard, so his face was visible. It was a face she'd never forget, one that had been branded in her memory by his hands and his mouth.

Alexander Maxwell-better known on the borders as Red Alex.

Not again! she wanted to cry. She'd escaped him once today, she prayed luck was still with her. She shrunk farther into the shadows, hoping he couldn't see her face.

"Carlisle's bride," he said, his dark eyes freezing with purpose. "Where is she?"

He thought she was a servant. She pointed to the castle and started to edge away. His scowl was fierce as he came after her.

"I know she's in there-where?" He grabbed the front of her tunic, dragging her out of the shadows. "Take me to her."

She fought him, kicking, scratching, punching. But he was a rock. Her cap fell off in the struggle. His breath hissed between his teeth. "Well, if it isn't the wee wh.o.r.e herself." He leaned over, pulling her onto her toes by the front of her tunic. His face was inches from hers. "In yet another disguise." His eyes were dark, dark blue. She had noticed that before, but then they'd been hazy with drink and desire. They froze her now, made her bowels watery. This man would kill a woman without a single ounce of remorse. Her gaze went to the ugly wound on his temple.

Fayth knew the price for that bit of work would be heavy. She was rarely at a loss for words or a plan of action, but she found herself scared to immobility, her mind frozen with fear.

He sensed it, his eyes roving over her face. His wicked smile was smug. "You're not getting away this time, little one." He picked her up under his arm, as if she were no more than a sack of grain, and carried her into the stable.

She squirmed and bucked silently. She didn't scream. Carlisle might come to her rescue. She didn't know whom she feared more, Carlisle or Red Alex. She'd left her broken vial in her gown and had nothing but her wits to save her.

A thick candle rested on a wooden table, illuminating the interior and casting an orange glow over his chain mail and the blade of the sword as he sheathed it. He pushed her against a wall and ripped off the band sewn around the sleeve of her shirt, removing Carlisle's device. Biddy appeared with Fayth's cap in her mouth. Red Alex took it from the dog.

"Good la.s.s," he said, scratching the dog between the ears. Biddy's tail swished vigorously through the dirt.

Fayth scowled at her newfound friend turned traitor. Biddy watched the proceedings with her long pink tongue lolling out the side of her mouth.

Red Alex put the hat firmly onto Fayth's head, pulling it low over her face and stuffing her hair under it.

He stepped back, keeping a hand on her, but looking her over. "I cannot believe ye almost fooled me again-you look nothing like a lad." He met her gaze and shook his head. "You're a stupid, stupid girl, out here, alone, dressed like a boy."

"What do you want with me?" She was almost afraid to hear his answer, but he wasn't inclined to talk. He merely stared down at her, hands hard on her shoulders.

Fayth returned his look boldly, refusing to show fear, her mind speeding forward. She'd been working on how to get out of the gates unnoticed and he just solved that problem. If she left with him, as a raider, she'd get out safely. But what then? At least Carlisle didn't plan to kill her-not right away, at least. And who knew what Red Alex had planned before he murdered her? Torture? Rape?

Once outside the walls of Lochnith she would be free. All she must do was escape Red Alex and run. He'd never catch her on foot, enc.u.mbered with his armor and weapons. And Red Alex was but one man. Here at Lochnith she had scores of Carlisle's and Ridley's men-at-arms to worry about. The odds of her living and seeing Mona again were far better if she let Red Alex kidnap her.

"Are ye going to scream?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He gave her a suspicious look, as if attempting to gauge her honesty, then took her wrist, dragging her from the stable. He moved swiftly along the wall until he neared the gatehouse. Fayth saw that the raiders were gone. Only Red Alex remained. Her heart sank. He'd never get out alone-he didn't even have a horse. Carlisle's men were gathering near the keep entrance, Carlisle at their center. Fayth spotted Ridley, just stepping outside, his armor unscathed, having missed the entire battle.