Scoundrel of Dunborough (19 page)

“S’truth!” Verdan murmured.

“Aye, she’s a marvel,” Gerrard said. “And she better be alive, by God, and unharmed when we find her, or whoever took her will be sorry he was ever born.”

And if it was Lewis who had taken her, he would pay even more dearly for that crime, made worse because Celeste had tried to help him.

“Verdan, go to Ralph and have him get ten men mounted as quick as he can, to follow me along the north road. You and Arnhelm and Hedley should be in the party, too. And Ralph should organize more search parties for the other roads from Dunborough. Tell Peg to have the servants search the castle again, and Lewis’s chamber especially. I want to know if there are any signs he’s left the castle for good, and if so, any clue as to where he might be going.”

After issuing his orders, Gerrard went back to the yard, threw himself on Snow and set off along the northern road.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I
n a clearing off the road some miles from Dunborough, Lewis threw his horse’s reins over a low tree limb, then dragged Celeste, bound and gagged, from the other horse he’d stolen from his father. Blood had dried on her lip and chin. Her body, especially her ankle, ached from hours in the saddle. The cold made her shiver, for she had no cloak. Her wrists were bruised from the tight belt around them and she could hardly breathe because of the gag in her mouth.

Yet her physical discomfort was nothing compared to her dread of what might happen as Lewis took her farther and farther from Dunborough. It could be hours before someone realized they were gone, and she hoped the disarray in the house would tell Gerrard, or anyone, that she’d been taken by force.

Worst of all, she had dropped the last of peas some time ago. Hopefully, she’d left enough of a trail that they would realize what she’d done, and figure out which direction they’d gone.

Lewis pushed her down onto the ground near a tree. “We’ll rest a bit. Are you thirsty?”

She nodded.

To her relief, he crouched down and began to remove her gag. “No one will hear you if you cry out here,” he said, his breath hot on her ear.

And then he licked her.

Sickened, she turned away. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “You’re going to love me,” he said.

Although he spoke with the whining voice of a child, he glared at her with the hard, angry eyes of a man before, then let go abruptly and went to the horses. As he’d led her farther from Dunborough, he’d bragged about stealing them. Surely by now his father would have realized his animals were gone and started looking for them, and perhaps his errant son, as well.

Lewis untied a wineskin that had been affixed to his saddle and brought it to her. After pulling out the stopper, he held it to her lips. “Drink!”

She did, but he poured too fast and she began to choke, wine spilling over her clothes and making her shiver more. Ignoring her discomfort, Lewis took a drink. Maybe he would keep drinking until he fell asleep.

As he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his lustful gaze roved over her, making her tremble with fear as well as cold. She never should have accused Gerrard of looking at her that way. She knew now there had always been respect and admiration in his eyes as well as desire.

“I’m hungry, too,” she said, hoping to turn her abductor’s attention to different needs.

Putting the stopper back in the spout of the wineskin, Lewis frowned, then mercifully got to his feet and went back to the horses. While he rummaged in the pack tied to one saddle, she looked around, seeking anything she could use as a weapon. There was a stick nearby, too thin to be effective. Still, it would be better than nothing and she could jab it at his throat or eye.

Lewis pulled out something wrapped in a length of linen. It proved to be a small loaf of brown bread. He broke off a piece and put it into her mouth, forcing her to eat without using her hands.

“It would be easier if I were untied,” she said as she chewed.

“I can’t trust you,” he replied with a weary, petulant sigh, as if she were the one at fault.

“I give you my word that I won’t try to leave.” She wouldn’t use the word
escape
, or any other that might upset him. Nor would she consider herself bound by any promise she made to him. “I can hardly walk for my sore ankle.”

He studied her a moment, then smiled. “All right. Even if you could run, you wouldn’t get far.”

No, she wouldn’t, unless she could get on a horse.

She didn’t answer as she leaned forward to let him reach the belt binding her hands, and uttered a silent prayer of thanks when he knelt behind her and began to loosen it. She’d planned to be patient and wait for her chance, yet once the belt was undone, his hand snaked around to cup her breast. Shocked and frightened, she instinctively pushed back with her elbow, hitting him hard in the neck.

He fell back, gasping.

This might be her only chance!

She clambered to her feet, nearly tripping on her habit. Lewis was between her and the horses. He could stop her if she went that way.

Gathering her skirt up in her arms, she ran in the other direction, ignoring the pain in her ankle and going as fast as she could. She paid no heed to the bare branches of trees and underbrush scratching her face, or the mud splattering her clothes and soaking her shoes.

Her breathing harsh and ragged, she saw a tangle of holly bushes ahead. A horse wouldn’t be willing to follow her in there.

Falling to her knees, she threw the skirt of her habit over her head to protect it from the sharp points of the holly and pushed her way inside, shoving dead leaves behind her to hide any signs of her passing.

There was a bare spot in the middle of the bushes and she lay curled up on her side, clutching her swollen, aching ankle, trying to calm her breathing, listening for any sound of pursuit, while praying fervently to God to help her.

* * *

With growing desperation, Gerrard surveyed the brush and trees and ground around him. The trail of peas had stopped several yards before, and he and his men had fanned out in the wood, seeking any sign of Celeste and Lewis or their horses.

He’d followed some promising hoofprints this far. Now they were petering out.

“Anything?” he shouted to the others.

“Not yet, sir!” Hedley answered, followed by a chorus of “Nothing!” and “No, sir!”

“Keep looking!” Celeste couldn’t have disappeared into thin air, and if they were looking for a body, there would be some sign of that, too.

Oh, God, not that!
he prayed. She didn’t deserve a terrible death any more than her sister had. If someone deserved to die, it was him. He’d made his useless, worthless life a disaster.

He scanned the undergrowth again and saw a broken branch. And then another. It could be from a deer. Nevertheless, he went that way.

* * *

“Where are you, Celeste?” Lewis called out in a singsong voice, as if they were playing some sort of game. “You might as well show yourself. I’m going to find you, and the longer I have to search, the more you’re going to regret running away from me.”

Her muscles sore, her face and hands scratched and bleeding, she could hear the anger and agitation in his voice, and that he was getting closer. Yet hard as it was to stay still, she didn’t doubt that if she tried to flee again, he’d catch her. Her only hope was to hide and stay quiet, like when she’d been little and her father was on a rampage.

She’d had Audrey to cling to then. Audrey, who always seemed so brave and determined, who was so keen to make a better life for herself. Was it any wonder Gerrard had admired her? He and Audrey were alike in many ways. The truly great surprise should be that Audrey had apparently finally seen his merit, a worthiness Celeste had always known was there.

If only she had told Gerrard that she loved him, she thought, as the cold grew more and more unbearable. She had loved him before she left Dunborough. She loved him now. She would always love him.

Here, in her most desperate hour, she realized what she truly wanted, and it wasn’t being shut out from the world in a convent, no matter how peaceful and secure such a life would be. She wanted to be Gerrard’s wife, to live with him and bear his children and, yes, even quarrel with him. To share his bed and his concerns, to help and comfort him as she was sure he would help and comfort her. And he would make her smile, no matter what troubles they faced.

“Where are you?” Lewis called again, and from close by.

Stay still
, she silently ordered herself.
Keep quiet. Don’t even breathe.

“There you are! Thought you were clever, did you?”

* * *

Gerrard’s heart leaped to his throat at the sight of the horses through the bare trees.

Drawing his sword, he started to run. He was going to call out to his men until he realized that might alert Lewis. Better to keep quiet. He was stronger and better trained than the chandler’s son. He could best him easily in a fight and he didn’t want to take the risk that the desperate lout would harm Celeste.

Difficult though it was, Gerrard slowed to a walk when he drew closer to the horses, which were now shifting nervously.

“Shhh,” he whispered, looking for any sign of their riders.

There! Footprints in a patch of mud where the leaves had been blown clear. Two sets, one large, one smaller.

Gripping his sword, he moved away from the horses and began to circle the area, looking for more footprints or any other sign of the people he sought. He spotted a long, narrow piece of damp black fabric at the base of a tree and bent to pick it up.

He felt the stickiness of blood on it.

His resolve hardened. Whatever had happened here, he would find Celeste and soon.

He
must
find her.

* * *

As Lewis started slashing at the holly, Celeste rose to her hands and knees and, grimacing, began to crawl away, until her hair got caught on some of the leaves. She desperately tried to pull it free, tearing at the holly with her bare hands, paying no heed to the painful nicks and cuts that gave her, until Lewis clutched her swollen ankle.

“Now I’ve got you!” he cried as she yelped in pain. He started to drag her out of the bushes.

Despite her agony, she did all she could to stop him—kicking, twisting, grabbing at sharp leaves and branches, digging into the ground with her fingers.

But he was too strong and she was too tired to prevent the slow, inexorable progress. Yet she wasn’t going to give up. Once free of the holly, she flipped onto her back and kicked at him with her other foot. When he moved out of range, she struggled to her feet. He got hold of her shoulder and threw her to the ground. Then he stood over her, one foot on either side of her torso, his knife in his hands and ire in his eyes.

“Don’t try that again or I’ll gut you like a pig!” he warned as she lay panting beneath him.

She said nothing. All her effort was concentrated on trying to breathe and gather her strength. Tired and hurt though she was, she wasn’t going to surrender. Not yet. Audrey had fought for her life and so would she.

Lewis took hold of the front of her scapula and pulled her up. He was no trained mercenary, not like Duncan, and she could see that he was tired, too.

“Is this any way to thank me?” he demanded, pushing her back against a tree. “Is this any way to repay my devotion? And saving you from a miserable life in a convent?”

She didn’t answer as she gripped the trunk, grateful for its support. Her mind still sought a way to defeat her enemy, to hurt or incapacitate him if she couldn’t outrun him. Sister Sylvester had said something once about men’s weaknesses. No matter how big and strong and apparently invincible they were, there were places where a well-aimed blow could hurt them.

What were they? Where?

The ears. And that spot at the bottom of his neck above the collarbone, where there would never be muscle.

Like a snake striking, Celeste suddenly and swiftly raised her arms and smacked Lewis’s ears with her palms.

He shrieked and fell back, unsteady, giving her enough time to shove her way past him.

“Bitch!” he snarled, again grabbing hold of her scapula.

She was ready for that this time and with the last of her strength managed to duck out of the garment. Her fear and desperation gave her the energy she needed to limp swiftly toward the trees.

Not fast enough. Lewis threw himself at her and sent her sprawling. She clawed at the dirt, trying to stand, until he struck her shoulder hard with his fist. The blow sent her facedown into the mud and leaves. He put his foot on her back and held her there as she gasped for breath.

“You stupid woman!” he snarled. “I would have made you happy.”

Never. The only man in the world who could make her truly happy was back in Dunborough.

“Leave her alone, you dog!”

Gerrard! Oh, thank God, thank God!

She managed to raise her head to look over her shoulder. His sword drawn, Gerrard was racing toward them as fleet as a stag fleeing the hunter’s hounds.

“By God, I’ll kill you!” he shouted as Lewis took off through the trees.

She tried to get up. Before she could stand she felt a pair of strong arms raising her and heard Gerrard whisper her name.

Then pain overwhelmed her and darkness closed in.

* * *

Carrying Celeste in his arms, Gerrard jogged toward the small clearing where he’d found the horses. His breathing was hoarse and rasping, his arms and calves were burning, yet his discomfort meant nothing. He had to get Celeste back to Dunborough, although that meant letting Lewis escape.

For now.

There! There were the horses, placidly munching a few bits of grass.

One of them suddenly raised its head and looked not toward Gerrard, but something else.

Verdan.

Gerrard tried to call out to him, but the only sound that escaped his throat was a hoarse croak. Nevertheless his progress was far from quiet and Verdan heard him. In the next moment, the soldier was lumbering toward him.

“S’truth, is she...?” he gasped, sliding on some damp leaves as he stopped.

“She lives,” Gerrard managed to say. “Get me a horse.”

Verdan did so at once. Meanwhile, Gerrard looked down at Celeste’s pale face. Her lip was cut and bleeding, her cheeks scratched and bruised.

But she was breathing.

For the first time, he noticed her hair, long and curling just as he remembered.
She
was just as he remembered and more. She was his past, his present, his future, his redemption and his life.

He hugged her close and blinked back tears. “Live, Celeste, live!” he whispered. “Live for me, I beg you!”

She stirred and her eyes opened and she gave him a weak smile. “Gerrard...my hero...you saved me,” she whispered, before her eyes closed again.

“No, Celeste, it’s you who saved me,” he murmured.

“Here, sir, let me take her while you get on the mare,” Verdan said with quiet reverence, as if she were dead.