Rose of the Mists (42 page)

Never before had she felt so weak, so helpless, so vulnerable. She did not fear dying, but she did fear the brutality of the scene before her. Tears streamed down her face as Lady Elenore’s cries echoed in the rafters of the long hall. No! She
could not allow this! She must try to stop it. Suddenly she knew what method to use.

She propelled herself from the corner before her momentary courage could desert her again. “Stop! Stop!” she cried at the top of her lungs and ran forward into the room.

The men looked up in surprise, then one of them smiled. “Another lass! And younger! She’s mine first!”

As he started toward her, Meghan drew her skean and fell to her knees in the center of the gallery. Without a pause she reached up with one hand, tore her hair free of its braid, and raised her hands heavenward as she cried,
“Mallacht!”

When he was a few feet from her, Meghan lifted her gaze to the hulking soldier’s face, shutting out the whimperings of Lady Elenore. “Beware
bonaght!”
she challenged, and flung the wild tangle of hair back from her face as she turned her marked cheek toward him.

“Tis a
beanfeasa
!”
he whispered as he fell back a step. The men who had been holding Lady Elenore’s arms and legs released her and rose to their feet. With her gown spattered with blood from the dead
bonaght,
her eyes wild, and the blood-red mark upon her livid cheek, the girl appeared to them as an apparition from Hell.

“Mallacht!”
Meghan repeated and aimed the point of her skean at the rapist still astride his victim. “A curse on ye,
bonaght
!”
Then in a loud steady voice she cried,
“No comlund i mbethi memais foraib ocus bethi for seilib agus for sopaib hi each airiucht i mbed!”

The offender scrambled to his feet and reached for his skean.

Meghan leaped to her feet and swung her outstretched hand about to include the roomful of men.
“Mallacht!”
she repeated for the third time. “A curse on all of ye who violate this house.”

She locked gazes with the men one by one, and their fear seemed to feed her courage. She heard boot steps in the doorway behind her, but she could not release the hold she had on the company of soldiers in order to protect her back.

She stretched her arms heavenward a second tune. “‘Defeat in all battles until in every camp ye’re spat upon and reviled!’ That’s me curse on ye if ye touch another woman or child!”

The men’s voices rose in protest but one overrode the others.

“The madwoman’s cursed me. I’ve nothing to lose!” Enraged beyond reason, the rapist lunged at her, his blade raised.

Meghan held her ground. If she was to die, it would be with the knowledge that they would believe themselves cursed beyond redemption.

There came a shout from behind her, and then a pistol shot roared past her ear an instant before a ball slammed into her attacker’s forehead. He staggered back and crumpled to the floor.

“I’ve warned ye, there’ll be nae rape of the nobility!”

Meghan swung around at the sound of that voice. Dressed in a battle-stained tunic, his face shrouded in crusted blood from a head wound, she could not distinguish a single feature. Yet she ran to him, her arms outstretched. “Colin!” she cried, tears blurring her vision of him. “Colin MacDonald!”

Stunned, Colin stepped back from her. “Meghan O’Neill?” he whispered hoarsely, and the strength seemed to go out of him. His pistol arm fell limply to his side.

“Ye know her, Colin?” cried one the soldiers. “Care a care, she’s cursed us!”

Colin’s gray eyes stared down into Meghan’s face and she saw the old fear returning. Suddenly he fell to his knees crying, “Do not curse me,
beanfeasa!
I’m yers to command!”

Appalled at the look of sick fear on the huge man’s face, Meghan turned and ran to where Lady Mary knelt beside Lady Elenore. The woman’s lips were bleeding and five large bruises had begun to redden on her neck where the
bonaght
had choked her, but her eyes were open when Meghan knelt over her. “Are ye bad hurt, Lady?”

“No—” Lady Elenore shook her head slightly. “Edward…will be…so…very…angry. No pistol! I forgot…it.”

“We’ll take ye to safety,” Meghan promised, and with Lady Mary’s help she lifted the woman to her feet.

John Reade pushed through the doorway of the gallery, a pistol in one hand and his sword in the other. His battle-weary eyes took in with disgust the scene of raping and looting. Carew had charged the men to refrain from despoiling the castle, but these men were not soldiers. These men were vermin, scavengers. In all his years of soldiering he had never before seen the devastation and outright slaughter of which these men were capable. With the smell of blood in their nostrils they had not been content until the sanctity of Saint Canice had been broached and the church silver and gold plate stolen. Thank God, he had been able to keep a small group of English soldiers by his side.

“Cowards! Thieves! Irish curs!” he cried, ranging his pistol back and forth among the few remaining
bonaghts
until reluctantly they withdrew to the far end of the hall. “Wilson!” he called over his shoulder to one of his men. “Secure the gallery!”

When he spied the women withdrawing from the room, he called to them. “Are you mad?” he questioned as they turned to him. “You’re safe in this room now with my men to guard you. You cannot leave for any reason.”

Meghan glanced up and away.
John Reade.
She swayed slightly. It did not seem possible, and yet it was he.

Lady Mary pinned the soldier with a haughty stare. “Is that the best you English can offer women in distress?”

John smiled evilly. “Would you rather I not interfere, my lady? I am certain your gallant Irishmen would be more than happy to return to their tasks ere I came.”

Lady Mary’s chin lifted a fraction. “If you can compare your conduct with the manners of swine, I doubt it will make much difference.”

Angered by the noblewoman’s refusal to thank him, John glanced away, and into Meghan’s face. “You!” He grabbed her by the arm as she turned her back and forced her to face him.

“It is, ’tis Meghan O’Neill!” he exclaimed in delight. “Is Revelin Butler among the rebels?”

“There are no rebels here, sir, only Butlers defending their home!” Lady Mary answered him icily. “And if you do not allow me to find a place of rest for the earl of Ormond’s sister-in-law, I will see that you lose your head for having allowed the violation!”

John smiled as his gaze stayed on Meghan’s pale face. “Do as you see fit, my lady. I have business with this girl.” He gazed intently at Meghan. “We do have business, do we not?”

Meghan began to tremble as his grip tightened on her arm. Here was a man who would not fear her power. John was more animal than human, a wolf who stalked in the shadows. Perhaps the vision had played her false, for the predatory look now in his eyes was for her. “What do you want?” she asked.

John’s eyes gleamed. “English, and so quickly. If you learn all things so well, we shall enjoy ourselves thoroughly. Come with me, girl! We need privacy.”

“No! No!” Meghan twisted in his grasp but he did not release her.

“Are you mad? Release her!” Lady Mary demanded.

Instead, John dragged Meghan close and whispered in her ear, “If you truly care for the lives of these people, you will come quietly. If not, I will free the
bonaghts
!”

“You wouldn’t!” With revulsion Meghan saw the answer in his eyes. Looking into the black pit of his fathomless gaze, she knew that she was lost. “I’ll come,” she whispered so softly that only he heard.

Chapter Sixteen

Meghan bit the inside of her lip to keep back the cries for help that trembled on her tongue as John Reade dragged her out of the long gallery. She knew that if she balked, he would withdraw his promise to protect the Butler women and children from further harm.

When John paused in the corridor, she cast a calculated glance at the main staircase, wondering if she might be able to push him down the stone steps. Two
bonaghts
,
dressed in animal skins and hauling a chest down the steps from the floor above, bumped a man standing on the landing. He looked up and cursed, and Meghan saw that it was Colin. This time she turned away from his startled glance. He had run away and left her in the gallery; he would not help her now.

“You, soldier, take those two men and set a guard at the gallery doors,” John ordered the Scotsman. “And keep your men away from the east tower. I’ve business there that will occupy me some little time.”

Meghan did not resist, but when John jerked her after him she could no longer keep back a whimper of fear. At the sound, he swung around and slapped her.

“Quiet, bitch! You gave your word; will you keep it?”

Meghan shrank back from him as far as the length of her arm’s reach and lifted her hand to her stinging cheek, but she did not try to free herself. Aware that the
bonaghts
who had moved out of John’s path were openly staring at her, she lifted her chin and looked at John.

“I will honor the bargain,” she said softly in Gaelic. “But whatever pleasure you imagine, you’ll be disappointed.” There it was, said between them, the unspoken knowledge that John was bent on rape.

John’s mouth curved. He did not understand her but he saw acceptance in her eyes. “Come, mistress, it grows late and we’ve the night before us.”

Meghan did not know if he chose her room by design or chance, but as he dragged her up the narrow winding stairs she wondered what his reaction would be to the overturned bed and dead man sprawled across the floor. Perhaps he would give up in disgust, she thought as a bubble of hysteria percolated to the top of her simmering emotions. Yet, she was not without a defense of her own. When her sleeve slipped back to her elbow, exposing the O’Neill skean, she reached out and jerked it back to her wrist.

John paused again at the top of the staircase, his jaw beginning to work agitatedly when he saw the ax-shredded door hanging on a single hinge. He debated whether he should find a more secluded room, for he wanted no intruders. If he retraced his steps he would risk being diverted by orders.

Undecided, he looked back at Meghan’s blanched face, and the hot dark currents of his lust rose to the surface. He felt by turns burned and chilled and, above all, stiff. His lust for her was a canker; he was eaten alive with need. He feared that in another moment he would be on his knees before her, begging
her to pleasure him. A beautiful woman: she was his weakness. His hand trembled on her arm, which he held in a viselike grasp. He must have her! Now!

John glanced back at the room beyond the battered door and tugged Meghan after him. “God’s death!” he roared as he nearly sprawled over the body of the dead
bonaght
.

Meghan kept her eyes averted for fear that the sight would bleach the conviction from her voice as she said, “’Tis my room. I killed that man. I’ve cursed your soldiers and I curse you, John Reade!”

John looked at her in faint surprise. “Do I seem a man afraid of curses?”

The eyes staring down into Meghan’s were glazed with wildness of purpose that made her stomach flutter. Her head ached and her mouth felt like sand but she could not look away. His grip had all but cut off the circulation and her fingers were numb, but she did not concentrate on the pain. She stared at him. “I saved your life on Lough Neagh.”

John’s clenched jaw eased into a smile. “Did you?”

“You were guilty of murdering the O’Neill clansman. I saw it in your eyes.”

“I remember that night well.” His smile deepened in recollection. Her body had been like a white flame in the darkness, her skin luminous and inviting. It had been Revelin who had knelt between her thighs and eased himself. This time, he would know that pleasure. The thought of it made him burn. He had hoped to arouse her as much as he was, but he knew now he would not be able to contain himself. After the first time, he would be more in control; then he would teach her games he doubted Revelin knew.

Still holding her by the wrist, he reached down to unhook the metal points of his codpiece. “I remember the night because you were young Butler’s slut. You bared yourself to him on the riverbank and then you spread yourself for him.” He licked his lips as his hand began to work on his own flesh. “Bare
yourself for me, girl, and I’ll show you how it feels to be ridden by a real man.”

“You…you followed us?” Meghan whispered in horror.

“Aye, I did, and now I’ll possess what you gave to Butler.” He yanked her nearly off her feet as he roughly pulled her close. With his free hand he grabbed the neck of her gown and tore it open to the waist. His gaze greedily covered her naked breasts. “Ah, I remember them proud breasts, how they shone in the moonlight. Revelin suckled them well, I recall. Then that damned nosy Irishman came creeping through the underbrush and I had to kill him.”

His breath was hot and fetid on her face, but Meghan kept her eyes level with his, while revulsion and fear shrank her flesh against her bones. What she and Revelin had shared had been pure. Knowing now that this man had hidden in the bushes and watched made their actions seem an obscenity. The thought made her angry and in her anger she forgot a little of her fear.