Love's Savage Bonds (6 page)

Catherine was grateful for the small
mercy that, with the gag tied so tightly over her distressed locks, the
housekeeper was unable to drag her along by the hair, as she doubtless would
have enjoyed doing. Instead, bony fingers clamped down on her upper arm, and
she was impelled up the stairs, and down the hall and into what had been her
bedroom... in some other, sane, lifetime.

Had it been even half an hour since
Catherine had slipped from this very room, with the intention of doing justice
for Charles Redmond? The place now seemed alien and frightening, as the
housekeeper threw her back onto the bed. Catherine risked a kick at the larger
woman, but Mrs. Williams sidestepped it and trapped the girl’s ankle in her
hand, binding it to the foot of the bed with stout cord. With one leg hobbled,
and her bound arms trapped beneath her, Catherine was unable to prevent the
other ankle being similarly fastened, until she lay in a most humiliating and
indelicate position, her legs tied apart, her clothing wildly disarranged, her
mouth filled with the evil-tasting cloth… and the prospect of a visit from
Colonel Lefanu chilling her blood.

Mrs. Williams had evidently done all
the gloating she intended, for after cinching Catherine’s bonds, she spared the
girl one last look of triumph, and left her alone in the room’s darkness.

Charles!
The cry came from her soul—she didn’t even waste
the breath on trying to cry out through her gag—and now the tears came flooding
out, streaking her face. Her helpless body racked with sobs as she could see
nothing before her but death and misery, both for herself, and for the man who
had so recently taken her heart.

She was continuing to torment herself
with these thoughts when amber light flickered outside the door of her prison,
and her husband stumbled through the door, nearly dropping the candle.

If anything, Philip's eyes were even
redder than they’d been before, and Catherine guessed that he’d consumed the
better part of a bottle before coming upstairs to her. Guilt at what he had
done to her? Or for what he had planned? Or was he simply celebrating the planned
disposal of a wife who had made herself dangerously inconvenient?

 "The dutiful wife." The
mocking sneer had probably always been in Philip's voice; Catherine cursed
herself for a fool for not having heard it before.

Through wet eyes, she glared at him
over her mouth-filling gag, wondering if, in his foxed state, he even noticed
her seething hatred.

How different this was to the
experience of having laid on a bed, bound and gagged, in Charles' power. It was
with the stranger, the man with the reputation as a ruffian, that she had
actually felt far safer.

Philip came to sit down on the bed,
lazily reaching a hand out to where his wife struggled against Mrs. Williams'
skillfully-tied bonds. He stroked a finger along the crease mark made in her cheek
by the painfully-tied dustrag, wiping her tears across her satin skin.

"It is him, isn't it?" His
eyes were red, and clearly he and Mrs. Williams had shared more than a single
bottle that night. "He found you, and you gave yourself up like a
slut."  He put his hand to her throat, squeezing tightly. "God,
you stink of him."

Gasping, Catherine snarled into her
gag, trying to convince herself that Philip would not really choke her.

And, indeed, his hand left off its hold
on her throat. Instead, he reached down, and began to stroke the inside of her
left thigh. Her leg muscles twitched spasmodically, the bonds chafing her
ankles as she tried to pull away from his touch.

Philip laughed. "What's wrong,
good wife? Are you not warmed by your husband’s affections?" Her outraged
squalling provoked more laughter, and Philip's motions grew more insinuating...
and disgusting.

Oh, God... Charles!
She had given up a chance to be with Charles for a
philandering cad and scoundrel. Why on earth should she have taken her marriage
vows seriously when her husband clearly did not? God, if she had it to do over
again, she’d have raped Charles Redmond herself!

Now, Philip rudely hiked her nightgown
up as far as her bonds would permit, and reached to the belt of his trousers.

"Still, I should be relieved. The
wife of my bosom has been returned to me. The least I can do is to welcome her
properly."

Now, tears of rage, not despair,
spilled down onto Catherine’s cheeks. She redoubled her efforts to move away
from the man who had suddenly shown himself for a disgusting monster, and
wished with all her heart she had some means of killing him.

Could a woman be raped by her own
husband
? She knew one thing:
Charles had wanted her...wanted her far more badly than Philip had ever dreamed
of--- and when he'd had her at his mercy, he'd not taken advantage. His
brother, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying this... In fact, it occurred
to Catherine that he seemed more to have more interest in molesting her in her
state as a as a helpless prisoner than he ever had as a wife.

 Philip continued to mutter
drunkenly, as Catherine closed her eyes, and she felt his fingers scrabble at
her. There were some grunting sounds, and she felt his weight suddenly sag...
and then she was fighting for breath as all 180 pounds of Philip's weight
collapsed, snoring, on top of her chest.

Catherine gasped into her stifling gag,
trying desperately to catch her breath before Philip's weight smothered her.
She arched her body up from the bed as far as her bonds would permit, trying to
throw him off, while she hummed and buzzed uselessly with her packed mouth to
try and wake him.

Finally, her vision becoming a red
haze, she was able to shift his weight enough to allow her to breathe. It
wasn't enough to throw him off the bed, though, and the drunken man laid an arm
across her chest, nuzzling up to her as if in some ludicrous dream of their
marriage.

Catherine lay in the bed, now,
helpless, bound, gagged, her snoring husband half-sprawled across her. Across
the room, she watched the guttering candle, and prayed that it was not an omen
of her own life flickering out.  

Catherine had held out the faint hope
that morning would bring some inspiration or opportunity for her to slip out
from beneath her snoring husband and effect an escape, but in the cold light of
dawn, Mrs. Williams' knots retained their ruthless efficiency. She was twice as
miserable, physically and spiritually, as she had been, waking the previous
morning a bound and gagged prisoner in Charles' small cabin. She’d alternated
between deciding to remain awake, to look for some slight chance of escape, and
trying to sleep to gather her strength, with the result that she remained too
harried and fatigued to fight her captivity.

For all that, exhausted sleep finally
claimed her just before sunrise. It seemed to last but moments, though, as the
swaying of the mattress roused her into wakefulness, to find Philip gone, and
light from the window assaulting her bleary eyes.

Left alone on the bed, she resumed
trying to free herself from her bonds, but her husband’s absence had done
nothing to make them any less secure, and she whimpered frustration into her
gag as Philip emerged from her small dressing room, his clothes now as stiff
and neat as he could make them after sleeping in them.

"Now, good wife, let’s see about
preparing you to receive our
very special
visitor."

From his pocket, Philip withdrew a
pen-knife, which he used to slice through the ropes holding Catherine to the
bed. Leaving her wrists still bound behind her back, he reached down, took a
fistful of her nightgown in one hand, grasped her benumbed arms with the other,
and yanked her to her feet, Catherine’s unsteady legs nearly buckling under
her.

She staggered, trying to retain enough
of her dignity to frustrate him, but he just laughed, sure of his control over
her as he pushed her toward the door.

The fact that he hadn't ungagged her
suggested to Catherine that he might still consider himself vulnerable to some
form of appeal from her—and, for that, she was almost glad of the gag stopping
her mouth, for she was determined that she would beg this man for
nothing.  Let him do with her as he would, he would not have the
satisfaction of seeing her crawl.

Forcing her downstairs and through the
hall, Philip tightened his grip on her arm, and for an instant, she recalled
the glittering party which had been held in their honor, back in that other
lifetime barely two days ago. Then, she had easily slipped his grip. Now,
however, her bound and weakened state, and Philip's determination to have her
secrets, caused him to keep a strong, easy grip on the helpless girl, as he
smiled down at her.

"I believe I shall join the
Colonel for breakfast. Are you hungry, Catherine?"

The girl growled wearily into her gag
in response, and Philip laughed.

"Perhaps I shall have Mrs.
Williams fetch one of the dogs' dishes. It would seem most appropriate to feed
a bitch in such a manner."

Too miserable to even resent the flagrant
insult, Catherine shuffled along at her captor’s control, trying desperately
not to think of how hungry and weak she truly was.

The door to the dining room stood
slightly ajar, and Philip pushed casually at it as he forced his bound and
gagged wife ahead of him. Philip was still following her through the door when
Catherine stopped short, goggling. Philip bumped into her back, took a look,
and gave tongue to their mutual astonishment.

"Mrs. Williams!"

Catherine's eyes  were wide over
the gag as she regarded the figure posed on a chair near the center of the
room: the buxom housekeeper was seated in a posture so erect as to be almost
unnatural-- a posture enforced by the way her arms were drawn around the high
back of the chair. Catherine couldn’t see the woman's hands, but the tension in
her shoulders made it clear that they must be bound behind the back of the
chair. Coils of rope wound about her upper torso, anchored under her breasts,
pinning her back against the chair, and her ankles had been tightly knotted to
each of the chair legs.

The woman's black livery was
disarranged and stretched taut over her ample bosom by the bondage.

Catherine couldn't see Mrs. Williams’
mouth: some sort of scarf or muffler was drawn so tightly over it as to bring a
flush to the woman's face, but the bulge in her cheeks spoke of her mouth being
filled to aching capacity. Dark hair was tousled about her flushed face, and
her eyes were huge and pleading over the gag.

There was a muffled squeak that seemed
to be the closest that the gagged woman could come to a scream of warning. As
Philip pushed Catherine into the room, she was aware of a shadow looming up
from behind them, and her heart leapt at the sound of the voice that
accompanied it.

"Let her go, Philip... or there
will be a great deal of blood all over your expensive suit."

"Charles!" Philip's voice had
a squeak in it that Catherine had never heard before, as he turned, gaping
foolishly, to face his brother.

"Untie her, Philip." And for
a moment, Catherine once again saw the Charles Redmond from the painting: a
force not to be dreamed of arguing with. He seemed to tower over Philip, the
pistol in his hand unwavering.

"I..." Philip glanced over at
the bound figure of Mrs. Williams, but the housekeeper had nothing to offer
beyond gagged pleas for release. With what he hoped might be taken for a casual
shrug, he began to undo Catherine's bonds.

Once her hands were freed, Catherine
reached numb, aching arms to her face, pulled down the dustrag and yanked the
sodden napkin from her mouth.

"Oh, god." Catherine breathed
the oath through cracked lips as she took her first full breath of air since
the previous night. "Oh, Charles." The tone in her voice made it
clear that she gave not a tinker's dam who knew of her feelings for Charles.

Once his wife was freed, Philip stood,
looking foolishly at the gun in his brother's huge fist.

 "Uh... Charles... surely we
can come to some arrangement..."

"You give me back what's mine, and
you can keep..." there was a strange silence in the room as Charles' voice
trailed off.
He won't bargain me away
, Catherine realized with a mixture
of exultation and horror.
But... what else has he to offer? Philip’s life?
But surely he knows that Charles won’t kill him!?

Stalemate hung in the air, as the same
realization hit Charles. But Philip had no way of knowing the quandary that
burned in his brother's brain, no notion that Charles might be strong enough to
grant mercy even to him, and after a few more seconds of threatening silence,
his courage broke.

"Help!" Murder!
Help!!
"
Philip dropped to the floor, curling into a ball, covering his head with his
hands, and bawling at the top of his lungs.

"What?" For a moment, Charles
froze in astonishment, the gun seeming almost foolish in his grasp as he looked
down at Philip hiding behind his hands.  "You miserable cur!" he
snapped.  "Get up, damn you, if you're a man!"

But Philip simply continued wailing,
curled up into a fetal position on the floor.

Disgusted, Charles shook his head, and
nodded toward the pathetic sight.

"Catherine, get the book."

For a moment, she hesitated, not
wishing to get that close to her poor excuse for a husband. But, no-- there was
no danger here. Philip was a broken man, a coward, and would never threaten her
again.

She bent down, reached into Philip's
pocket and drew out the small leather volume.

She was turning it over in her hand
when Charles snapped. "Let's go, quickly now."

Go?!
The exhausted girl thought as she turned to
Charles.
 I have been assaulted, trussed up, gagged, nearly molested--
where am I going to find strength to go anywhere?

Aloud she said "But... I thought.
We have the book—surely he can't threaten us now..."

"For god's sake, girl—"
Charles grabbed her arm. "That book is nothing until a magistrate sees it
and rules it as evidence. If we stay here, Lefanu and his men will take it from
us by force, and have me in gaol by nightfall." His face darkened.
“Though, by heaven, if they laid a hand on you…”

He didn’t complete the thought, but
instead rushed Catherine out the door, her husband's cries still pathetic in
her ears.

Outside, Orion stood, huge and black,
alongside the smaller horse she'd ridden on her return home. She heard no one
else—evidently, Mrs. Williams had been taken and bound before she could raise
the rest of the house.

"By God," Charles shook his
head as he lifted her up to her horse. "I thought he might try to fight
for you... I never imagined him just screaming like a woman."

"I'm a woman," Catherine
scolded lightly.

Charles surprised them both by actually
laughing out loud at that. He vaulted up into Orion’s saddle.

"You are indeed." His voice
lowered, and his gaze on her was intent. "More woman than any man ever
deserved, let alone that worm of a brother of mine."

"Oh, Charles..."

Charles leaned down from his greater
height, and his warms lips pressed to hers, their souls uniting.

A distant sound came to Catherine's
ears-- horses, and a coach of some kind. Charles broke off the kiss.

"Lefanu! I must be off," he
said. "My solicitors will know how to present this book as evidence, and I
must get it into their hands post-haste."

"You mean that
we
must be
off!"

"You can't come with me." His
voice was flat, as though he were suppressing a terrible pain. "The danger
is too great..."

"No greater for me than for
you!"

"... and you're exhausted,"
he concluded. "Darling Catherine,” and how her heart leapt at those words,
"you haven't the strength for this. Go back to the cottage, eat something,
and get some rest. No one will find you there. I will return for you
soon."

"But..."

"
No!
" Charles cut her
off vehemently. "I have a better chance of outdistancing them if I ride
alone. And besides, I can't take you into danger with me. I will ride more
surely and swiftly if I know that you're safe in hiding."  

"Very well." She nodded, took
one more kiss from his lips, and before she’d turned her horse around, he was
off.

**********

As she watched Charles' figure recede
into the distance, Catherine found herself sighing with guilty relief.

For, no matter how brave a front she
might have put up, she was so utterly exhausted   from her ordeal
that she could never have kept up with Charles. She'd only have slowed him
down, endangering them both.

No, she would do as she was told: make
her way back to the small cottage, eat something, wait for Charles to return...
and sleep.

Sleep. The word had a lovely sound:
sleep.

She found herself studying the horse's
back... then the soft loamy ground beneath its hooves... and she thought of her
own bed...

**********

Catherine opened her eyes, surprised to
see blue sky instead of green ground before her eyes.  She was trying to
decide why her head ached so miserably... and then suddenly realized that she
was no longer sitting atop the horse, and that the headache was as nothing
compared to what might easily have happened, slipping off the horse unconscious
as she had.

Damnation!
  Well bred English girls might not curse so,
but those hardened by India had no such qualms. She rolled over, getting to her
hands and knees, shaking her head to clear it.