Love's Savage Bonds (4 page)

Light gently caressed at Catherine’s eyes.
She blinked, noticing that her night of uneasy sleep had disturbed the
blindfold enough to get a better picture of her surroundings.

She was lying upon a simple cot, in the
rough crofter's cottage. The furnishings were spare, but tidy, as though the
place were usually unoccupied, but kept in good repair against it being needed
one day.

Catherine's muscles ached. While a
night spent bound, gagged, and blindfolded had certainly been preferable to the
violation she had feared was to be her fate, she had never been able to find a
position that was even reasonably comfortable, her pinioned limbs screaming
silent protest against their treatment. Though the gag had not completely
stifled her breathing, neither had it made it easier.

Exhausted though she was, she was
equally determined not to let her abductor have an advantage over her. She
struggled to a sitting position, and was continuing to try to glean anything
useful from what she could see of her surroundings, when she heard the door to
the cottage open.

At the sound, she turned as best she
could in its direction: Charles Redmond was closing the door to the outside,
his arms laden with some freshly-picked fruit and a small brown jug.

He turned to face Catherine, and from
the look on his face, she could see that he'd expected to find her still
asleep. He seemed to flush slightly, as he glanced from the food to his
captive.

“You'll not starve at my hands,” he
grunted, seeming almost abashed. He set down his burden, took a large red
apple, and polished it absently on the front of his coat. He stepped over to
the bed, and reached his huge hand to Catherine's face. The terrified girl
flinched, but his fingers slid under the cloth that bound her mouth and slipped
it down.

“I daresay you're clever enough not to
scream. We're miles from anyone.” He held out the apple.

“And the serpent tempted Eve,”
Catherine managed to croak out, glaring defiantly.

For a moment, she saw the dark face
redden... then break into a smile—something she'd not have imagined Charles
Redmond capable of.

“But remember,”  his voice rumbled, “Eve
knew not hunger or thirst— can you say the same?”

Much as she'd have loved to continue
her defiance, Catherine was, indeed, starving… and, she had to admit, more than
a little intrigued by this new, warmer side of her abductor.

Equal parts eager and reluctant, she
opened her mouth. Charles brought the fruit close to her mouth, her fine white
teeth breaking the taut red skin. Fresh, delicious juice spurted out into her
mouth, and dotted her cheeks.

Good Lord, I'm making a perfect
spectacle of myself!
She could
feel the sticky liquid dribbling down her chin.
I'd never realized how hard
it could be to eat without hands!

Doing her best to ignore the shredding
of her dignity, Catherine hungrily sought more of the sweet flesh with her
teeth. At the edge of her vision, she could see Charles' indulgent smile as he
turned the apple this way and that to allow her mouth better purchase on it.
She ought to have felt utterly humiliated at his forcing her to abase herself
this way, but somehow, all that she felt was relief—that he’d not harmed
her, that he’d fed her… and almost as an afterthought, that he’d not molested
her.

Finally, after what seemed no time at
all, the apple was nothing but a core.

Charles dropped the core on the table,
picked up a rough cloth, and dipped it into the brown water jug. He brought the
cloth to Catherine, and held it to her face, dabbing sticky juice from her
chin.

“I am accustomed to have my maid help me
with my toilet, sir. Do you seek to take her place? Perhaps you've always
dreamed of wearing a maidservant's frock.”

Catherine couldn't imagine what had
possessed her to take such a jab at this man, who held her helpless in his
power, and she flinched for the expected blow.

Instead, the man shook his head of
curly dark hair, and the smile on his face grew wider. If not a blow, then
Catherine had surely expected some sort of cruel mockery... but this was
something else.

“Doubtless I have inconvenienced you,”
and his face seemed to twitch slightly as he realized the absurd understatement
of this description of what he'd done to Catherine. “I didn't know, you see...
I'd never met you... I knew you only as some bauble decorating my brother's
arm. I… I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry
. How many times had she heard Philip casually say
that for some reason or other? Somehow, coming from Charles, it had an entirely
different sound.

“Sorry enough to undo my bonds? My arms
are aching most
damnably
.” She intended the last word to shock, and it
had its effect. The tall man looked at her strangely, as though seeing her for
the first time all over again. His large hands went to her shoulders, and he
gently turned her, her back to him, so she sat now on the edge of the bed, his
form towering over her.

Catherine felt her head spinning far
more than the simple motion would warrant. Instead, as he reached behind her,
his strong fingers undoing the knots holding her pinioned, her nerves were
having trouble distinguishing where the cords ended, and Charles’ touch began.
It was as though, the two had merged into something that was holding her
captive in ways that went far deeper than a few simple knots.

“Can I trust you…?” He murmured the
question into her ear as she felt the ache in her shoulders ease with the
removal of the ropes. She felt a strange sag in her spirit at the idea of this
release, when he went on, “… if I just tie your hands in front?” He sat back
and looked at her, her arms now unbound. Catherine opened her mouth to reply…
but she knew that no words could express what she felt. Instead, she lifted her
exhausted arms, and held trembling hands out to Charles, wrists crossed one
over the other.

There was a pause, her hands poised in
the air… and then a set of large, strong fingers closed about the soft flesh of
her wrists, and Catherine’s head swam. The cords that had trapped her wrists
behind her back now once more re-encircled them in front, applied with a
strange, almost intimate touch. When Charles had finished the knot, he gently
set her hands down in her lap.

“May…” Catherine’s voice cracked, her
mouth seeming dryer than it had when she’d been gagged. She cleared her throat,
and repeated “May I please have some water?”

Without taking his deep brown eyes from
her face, Charles reached for the jug and placed it into her hands. She sipped
silently, watching him, her eyes just as trapped as her hands.

“Thank you.” Catherine handed the
bottle back to him, then looked down at her bound wrists, and surveyed the small
house that was serving as her prison.

“What can this possibly benefit
you?”  Catherine found a strange anxiety in her voice—as if she were
trying to talk him out of the abduction as much for his sake as for her own.

“Probably nothing.” His voice was a
deep rumble. “But after the treatment I've suffered at my brother's hands—”

“Come now!” While her attitude toward
him had softened, she’d not forgotten what she knew of the man.  “Surely
it is the other way around—it is you that betrayed your own brother—my
husband!”

Charles Redmond didn't answer. He
slowly raised his head, dim morning light glinting in his eyes... and looked
straight into Catherine's soul.

My God,
she nearly breathed aloud
. Charles was making none of the furious
protestations that she had expected, no rationalizations, no justifications...
Instead, he simply looked at her, more in sadness than in anger.

“Do you believe that?” His voice was
low and even, but she could sense how important her answer was to him.

Catherine's angry protestation caught
in her throat, and died. Her eyes met those of the man who had abducted her,
and as though he'd shone a lantern into her heart and soul...  she knew.

“But... but... the stories...” She
tried to recall the damning things she'd heard about her brother in law, but
they were already receding into some strange place of memory.

“Ah, yes... Philip's stories of how I
beggared my investors... drove my uncle to suicide and my father to an early
grave...” A pained smile stirred at his lips. “Your husband's a clever man, my
lady. Everything in those stories is true... except for the identity of the
main character. It was Philip, not I, that mishandled the funds. I was not even
in London when he allowed the situation to come to light... and by the time I
saw what had happened, it was too late—my name was already blackened, bailiffs
already on my trail.”

“And the two men you killed escaping England?”

For the first time, she heard the sound
of Charles Redmond's laughter—a hearty sound that seemed to ruefully savor all
the madness of the world.

“Two killed, now, is it? Be seven with
the jawbone of an ass before long.” Catherine couldn't suppress a slivery laugh
of her own, and Charles went on.

“Philip had done a good job with the
frame, but he still feared being found out— more than that, he had a partner he
didn't trust, and decided it would be better all around if I never lived to
testify. Of course, he'd never have involved himself in something like that
personally—he hired two plug-uglies from down the docks. They set upon me
outside my solicitor's office and I—”

“You— you killed them?” Catherine felt
her heart sink.

“Of course not!” Charles seemed less
angry at her accusation than hurt. “I will admit their faces were none too
pleasant to look at when I'd finished with them, but they'd hardly been
beauties to begin with.” His smile faded.  “After that, though, I realized
that my brother was determined that I was not to have the opportunity to prove
my innocence in court, and knowing he had the deck stacked against me, I fled
England for the Continent, lying low until I might return  to clear my
name.”

“And how will you do that?” Catherine
was surprised at her choice of words—not “if,” but “how.” Somehow, though, she
had no doubt that this man could do anything he set out to do.

“There is a ledger: a small
leather-bound book, that has the real accounts recorded in it.”

“And my husband has it?” Catherine was
surprised, trying to recall if she had ever seen such a book.

“I am sure of it; I doubt it leaves his
sight often.”

“But why would he keep such a record if
it could incriminate him?”

“Because he had a partner who was even
less trustworthy than he himself, if such a thing is possible. A weasel-faced
Frenchman—”

“Lefanu?” Just speaking the name
started her shivering.

“You know him?”

“Well... I've met him. He's one of
Philip's friends.”

“Aye, well then I don't need to tell
you about him—fine company for the Lord of the Manor, and future father of your
children to be keeping, eh?”

And, in fact, Catherine had told
herself the same thing more than once.

“So what will you do now?” she
asked.  “Make another attempt to steal the book? Surely he will be alerted
now.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.” A dark cloud washed
over Charles' face, and he looked strangely into Catherine's eyes. “I can't
hope to steal it— but I am prepared to barter for it.”

“Barter? If that book is what you say
it is, you couldn’t possibly have anything that Philip would want badly enough
to give it up.”

“But I do have something he wants.” His
face was set. “I'll trade you for the book.”

For a moment, there was silence in the
tiny room, as Charles and Catherine regarded each other, the ramifications of
his proposal running over and over in their minds.