Love's Savage Bonds (5 page)

Finally, Catherine spoke in a tiny
voice. “You... you would return me to him?”

Charles swallowed, as though
suppressing what his heart wanted to blurt out. Instead, he spoke quietly.

“For the truth, Lady Catherine, I must.
I am not the only one who suffered from Philip's scheming falsehood. My
satisfaction and redemption are but part of what must be put right.”

“But he... I...” Finally she blurted
out: “It won't work!”

“And why not? Surely he can possess no
treasure more valuable than you are.”

“Oh, but you're wrong. I fear he
measures treasure differently than you or I might. I’ve just been too blind to
see it, to recognize the thousand ways he's shown me that nothing means more to
him than his wealth—not even me.”

“He'd sacrifice your life for it?”

She smiled gently at him. “He has no
need to, does he? He's your brother... do you honestly think you can make him
believe that you would harm me?”

Charles opened his mouth to respond,
but could think of no answer.

“Could you make
me
believe it?”
Catherine went on in a soft voice. “No, he would know you were bluffing.” And,
Catherine realized, not for an instant did she doubt that fact. “He would
pretend to take your offer, but would play you false, setting a trap. If he got
me back safely, all well and good, but if it came to a choice, he'd take the
book over me.”

“Then there is no hope.” Charles' voice
had lost much of its vibrancy; his beautiful face sank, and Catherine feared
her heart would break at the sight.

Catherine sat quietly... and then she
found herself responding. “But there is.” she smiled up at him, her heart
suddenly washed clean of all fear. “Send me back. Let me get it for you.”

“What? Are you...” his voice trailed
off.  “He’s your husband.  Why would you do such a thing?”

“Have you not been watching me as we
spoke?” Catherine cursed her eyes for misting. “You know full well that you and
I are no longer the people we were before you took me. I... I could not live
without you—” she nearly gasped, caught her breath, and continued—
"without you clearing your name."

If Charles noticed the slip, he gave no
sign, but studied her face closely. “And you'd send your husband to a life of
shame and imprisonment?”

And that's what it means if I
agree... ruin for Philip. Back to father's house for me, the disgraced wife of
a convict. How can I risk that?

 She looked once more at Charles'
face.
How can I not?
She answered her own question.

For if there was one thing that
Catherine knew beyond doubt it was that she could not go on as she was. If her
husband was truly guilty, and if he would acknowledge his wrong and accept his
punishment, then she would stand by him, though it meant ruin… and never seeing
Charles Redmond again. What she could
not
do was to remain for even one
more day living in a house of lies. She would get Charles' book, and Philip
would either live honestly or live without her.

Once more, Catherine felt her eyes
moisten. “Do you truly need to ask?”

Charles Redmond's face whitened as
though he didn’t dare entertain his current thoughts. “But what will you tell
them?”

“Why, I shall tell them that I was
abducted from my home by a band of gypsies I found ransacking the house—that's
why you took the snuff box and knife, isn't it? To make it look like a simple
robbery?” He nodded, and she went on, warming to the storytelling. “Well, these
gypsies were perfect fiends,  who kept me bound, gagged, and blindfolded,
but who made the mistake of leaving me alone while changing horses, allowing me
to slip my bonds and escape.”

“Gypsies?” he gave her a soft smile
that seemed to go right through her.

“My husband is always blaming them for
something.”

“Won't he go looking for them?”

“Over a snuffbox and letter knife?
Hardly. Besides, there haven't actually been any gypsies around here for
years.”

“But what about you? Your supposed
'ordeal'. Won't he seek revenge on those he believes responsible?”

“I suppose Philip's feelings for me are
stronger than those he had for the snuff box... but once I'm home—back in his
possession
—that
will satisfy him.”

Charles opened his mouth to speak, but
for a moment, no words would come.

"Lady… no—" he corrected
himself. "Catherine.  You would risk so much for me?"

"For us," she found herself
replying, almost without intending to. Though her eyes continued to tear, she
managed a wry smile. "For if there is anything I am certain of, it is that
my husband will deny his crimes to save his own skin. And by his doing so, I
will no longer be bound as his wife—at least not in my heart or soul. And I
care for no other interpretation."

What am I doing?
In a few hours, she would be back home, working to
unmask her husband’s crimes, and to destroy the marriage she was still pledged
to. And, yet, in her heart, Catherine knew  that she had never in her life
taken a course that was so completely right.

Charles nodded his head, stunned by the
gift of her trust. He reached for the bonds at her wrists, seeking to seal the
bond of trust by untying her, but to his surprise, Catherine lifted her arms
before he could take them in his hands.  She leaned forward, and looped
her bound arms around his neck, pulling him down atop her.

“Remember, I am to tell my husband a
tale of abduction and imprisonment." She smiled into his eyes. "I… I
am your captive... at your mercy.” Through her tears, she gave him a smile of
heart-stopping radiance. “Take your prize.”

For a moment, Charles Redmond's world
faded until nothing remained by the red haze of a passion that he'd scarcely
have imagined just hours before. His lips hungrily devoured Catherine's sweet
mouth, his hands roaming free in the silken mass of her hair. For her part,
Lady Catherine Redmond felt fire burning her lips, and blazing at his touch on
her scalp. She'd have sacrificed Philip a hundred times over for what she was
experiencing now...

And then, just as her world was about
to disappear into a white-hot flame, she heard a groan from Charles, and the
lips that were blazing at her lips, cheek, and throat stopped.

Catherine gasped for breath as Charles
sat upright, slipping her bound wrists from around his neck. Wordlessly, he
planted one last kiss, soft as springtime, on her forehead, and set about
freeing her wrists.

From deep within her, Catherine began
to sob, but Charles gently pressed a finger to her lips.

"My brother is a blackguard. He is
not worthy of you. But I will not expose you to dishonor to satisfy my own
selfish heart."

"It's not just—" but he cut
her off.

"Catherine, do you trust me? Don't
speak."

She nodded her head, shamed and
miserable.

"Then believe me when I tell you
that I would die before I saw you back in my brother's arms. You were made for
my arms and mine alone."

"But you— you won't—"

"I will not expose you to shame
and dishonor. With your help, my brother will be brought to book, confronted
with his crimes, and forced to release you."

"F--forced...?"

Charles' face darkened, and for a
moment, she felt once more something of the terror of their first encounter in
the library.

"I said that justice will be done.
And no power in heaven or earth will prevent me from seeing true justice done
for those whom Philip harmed...  including you." His strong arms then
slowly draped about her shoulders, and she sagged, spent, to bury her head in
his chest, surrendering to his gentle stroking of her hair, praying that
Charles could make good on his vow…

For otherwise, what reason have I to
live?

Had it been too easy?
Catherine mused to herself as she moved
soundlessly through the darkened study. She had taken precautions not to raise
suspicion—even remaining in her long woolen nightdress, rather than putting on
her clothes, lest she be spotted by some unsleeping member of the household—but
the full enormity of what she was undertaking was still causing her to tremble.

She kept the tiny candle shielded as
best she could until she was at the front of Philip’s desk, then set it down
and extinguished it. The room slipped back into near total darkness, but
Catherine had already noted the position of her target: the lowest left-hand
drawer of Philip’s desk; the one with the hidden panel he was sure that
Catherine knew nothing of…

**********

She had spent her day in a state of
terrible anticipation, and not a little confusion. When she was ready to set
out for home again, Charles had led her outside where a smaller brown sorrel
was tethered next to the huge black horse across which her trussed form had
been thrown the previous evening.

"I fear that Orion will respond to
no rider but myself" Charles nodded at the black horse, and Catherine
didn't try to hide her relief—she'd no more have dreamt of trying to manage the
huge beast than she'd have tried to fly!

“Were you always planning to send me
away, then?” She asked.

Charles’ face flushed. “No—no!” He paused,
as if startled by his own vehemence. “Orion’s not a pack horse—this little one
was to bear my luggage should a hasty departure be required.” He took her by
the shoulders, gently but firmly. “Are you still determined to do this?”

She stepped closer, and lifted her face
to his. No words were needed as their lips met. Catherine then quickly turned
and mounted the smaller horse, Charles' kiss still burning on her lips, his
last words ringing in her ears:

“I will expect you back by morning. Be
careful.”

**********

From the moment she spilled from the
horse, gasping out the tale of her supposed abduction and escape, Philip had
acted as though nothing more extraordinary had happened to his wife than a
visit to a sick aunt. He asked few questions, and seemed more concerned with
her tidying her appearance than making sure she had not been harmed. Following
that, she had been left to her own devices, which had certainly made her task
easier… even if it had left her feeling far from easy. She hadn’t expected
Philip to suddenly become a loving husband upon her safe return… but to be so
indifferent?

Every moment away from her captivity
caused it to seem more and more unreal, as will so often happen with an
experience of such trauma. Memories might fade... but not her emotions. If
anything, her determination to be a part of Charles Redmond's life burned more
strongly than ever.

No matter. From now on, there is one
man who matters in my life
—
and
it is not Philip...

Catherine shrugged that out of her mind
as her fingers, deep inside the darkness of the drawer, slid aside the panel
and closed around the small leather-bound volume. She slipped it out, and in
the dim light was able to riffle through the pages enough to recognize Philip’s
hand—the damning ledgers were here, just as Charles had said.

Prison. Disgrace.
Was she truly prepared to send her husband to this
fate for a man she barely knew, a stranger who had kidnapped her, kept her a
bound and gagged prisoner?

No. Not a stranger. Charles Redmond was
the man that had lived in her soul since she was a young girl—the man of
strength and tenderness that every girl keeps in her heart. That she had not
found that man on her wedding day was a tragedy, but one that could be
rectified.

Catherine closed the drawer as quietly
as she could, and slid the small leather book down the front of her dress. She
started across the room to fetch the coat she had brought to throw over her
nightdress, when her ears were arrested by a strange sound coming from the parlor.
She froze, afraid that she had been discovered. After a moment, she decided
such was not the case... but there came the sound again... rhythmic, but
human... intimately so.

She glanced through the crack in the
door, to see Philip on the sofa...with Mrs. Williams! The housekeeper's dark
hair was mussed, her clothing disheveled... and Philip's face was buried in her
bosom!

Catherine gasped, and stumbled
backwards, the back of her legs bumping into the chair, sending it crashing to
the floor, her eyes filling with tears.
My God... what a fool I have been...

Suddenly, as if she had awakened from a
dream, Catherine realized that the sounds had stopped. Ignoring the coat she
had hung on the chair, she made a dash for the door... only to find her husband
standing in it... his clothes awry, but refastened...the look and smell of
drink on him... And a small, black pistol in his hand.

“Well, well, I was right—burglars.
Mrs.
Williams
!” he called back over his shoulder. The housekeeper, in a similar
state of disarray, came to stand beside him. “It would seem that my wife has
decided to play Raffles."

Catherine started to sputter the sorts
of phrases that an outraged wife might throw at a philandering husband, but
Philip waved the pistol, and snapped. "Shut up." He glanced over at
the desk; Catherine had not had time to finish arranging it back the way she
had found it.

“Let's have it, then. I can't imagine
what else you’d have been looking for in there. Return my book.”

“I don't know what you mean!” Catherine
wished she had a soldier's eye, like Major Cathcart, and could calculate the
chances of Philip’s inebriation affecting his shot, but for all that she'd seen
in her time in India, nothing had ever terrified her as much as the wicked
black hole that was aimed straight at her breast. Action was simply not
possible—she stood paralyzed. Because it was suddenly, coldly clear... Philip
would have no qualms about murdering her.

She did her best to brazen it out.
Philip didn’t respond, but nodded to Mrs. Williams who strode over to
Catherine, and casually thrust her hand down into the girl's dress, retrieving
the book.

“As I thought.” For all that he tried
to maintain his smirk of triumph; Philip allowed a wave of relief to cross his
face, an expression so profound that Catherine knew that Charles had been
right: that book would prove her husband a thief and a scoundrel, and she had
allowed it to be taken from her.

“Bind her hands,” Philip instructed
Mrs. Williams, with as little emotion as if he'd been asking her to clear up
after tea.

The efficient housekeeper ripped a
piece of the tie-cord from her apron, stepped behind Catherine, and the girl
felt her arms pinioned, then yanked behind her back. She suppressed a gasp of
pain and faced Philip as defiantly as she could manage.

Mrs. Williams' fingers worked quickly
and smoothly, crossing Catherine’s wrists over one another, then using the
stout cord to tie them together. Each turn of the rope was accompanied by a
painful wrench, as Mrs. Williams made certain to discomfit the woman who,
Catherine now realized, was her rival.

“Now, the question is, what do we do
with you?” Philip posed the question smugly, as though he were soliciting
Catherine’s opinion.

Catherine felt her head yanked back as
Mrs. Williams tangled cruel fingers in her long tresses. “I say we cut off all
this pretty hair and sell it to the gypsies—and her into the bargain!” She
shook Catherine’s head cruelly, then released her with a laugh.

Philip laughed. “No, my dear, I am
afraid we still need some information from Lady Catherine.” He stepped closer
to his helpless wife.

“Now, my dear,” he stroked her cheek,
smiling as she flinched away from him. “Who is looking for my book? Is it my
brother? Is he in England? Where were you taking it?”

Catherine gave him nothing back but the
determined set of her face.

Philip frowned at her reluctance; then
his hand lashed out, whipping against her cheek, snapping her head to the side,
long hair flying. Catherine drew herself to her full height, straightening her
shoulders, emphasizing the fact that she had no hands with which to protect
herself, and curled her lips into a sneer...

“Perhaps I would answer that question
if it were put to me by a
man
.”

She braced herself for the next expected
blow. Instead, Philip smiled thinly. He reached out and gathered her long hair
in his hands. He began to slowly wrap the soft tresses around his left hand as
he spoke quietly.

“You know my friend Colonel Lefanu,” he
murmured. “I expect you imagine him to be a soldier-- most people do.” His hand
was now closing into a fist around her hair, his knuckles tight against her
head; his familiar scent was powerful and suddenly revolting. The muscles in
her neck ached from his tight grip in her hair.

“He is not a soldier,” Philip hissed
into his wife's ear as he bent her head back. “He is a… ‘policeman’, of a sort.
His task is to hunt down those that would endanger the security of his
government. He is very adept at obtaining information from them.” His voice dropped
to a whisper. “He hurts people; he is very good at it. I do believe that he
enjoys it.”

Catherine felt the pulse in her neck as
Philip’s grip tightened further, and her stomach churned at the thought of
being placed into the Frenchman’s hands.

“I will ask the Colonel to visit us in
the morning.” Philip’s mouth was now at her ear, and she sickened at the
feeling of his saliva on her flesh as he pressed his mouth upon her “He will
put my questions to you. If you are in league with my brother, the Colonel will
learn his plan, and his hiding place.” Then, by the hair, he turned Catherine
to face him, and savaged her mouth with a wet parody of a kiss. With snort of
triumph, he released her, and as Catherine tried to suppress the tears of fear,
pain, and loathing, Philip spoke to the housekeeper.

“Mrs. Williams-- please gag my wife,
then take her to her room and secure her for the night.”

The housekeeper picked up a white linen
dinner napkin from the sideboard, and approached Catherine, who would have
shrunk back from the woman's approach, but refused to take even one step closer
to the monster whom she had married. . The bound girl could read the
satisfaction in the woman's eyes: she was clearly delighted at being given the
chance to assist with the disposal of a hated rival.

“Open wide, dearie.” Tied as she was,
Catherine had no choice but to comply as the woman stuffed the huge white
napkin into her mouth, packing it up into her cheeks Catherine could already
feel the reduction in air, and knew this gag would be far more effective than
the one Charles had placed on her.

Mrs. Williams next picked up a long
dustrag, pressed against the mass of cloth in Catherine’s mouth, and wound it
around her head, forcing the napkin deeply into her mouth; the gag pinned her
long hair down so tightly that it was nearly impossible to turn her head. The
dustrag was pulled cruelly snug, and Catherine felt it bite into her cheeks.

The first knot was completed with a
savage yank; strands of Catherine's hair caught in the knot, but no power on
earth would make her give the woman the satisfaction of reacting to that.

The long dustrag encircled her head a
second time. Where the napkin had held her mouth open for the first pass of the
gag to be tied in place, this time the cloth was passed over her gaping mouth,
covering her lips. The housekeeper tied a final knot, under Catherine's left
ear, then turned the girl to face her.

"Not so high and mighty are we
now, Your Ladyship?" she mocked. "Ought to have kept to your place--
soldier's brat, you're no better than me, and why should you have the title?
Well, Missy, we've got you now, and that title will be transferred to someone
more deserving."

"Sleep well, Catherine."
Philip’s breath stank revoltingly of drink. "You'll need to be up bright
and early for the Colonel's visit." That seemed to send him into a fit of
drunken giggles, and Mrs. Williams then took charge of their prisoner.