Carnal Gift (40 page)
She heard herself whimper in pain, struggled to stay conscious. She must fight!
He was shouting at her, filthy words, terrible words. She felt his fingers begin to tug on the laces of her bodice. She had failed.
Then her hand touched something cold, something metal. She closed her fingers around it, felt its familiar shape, its weight.
She opened her eyes, saw him above her, blood on his
cheek where she’d scratched him, his eyes alight with a mad hunger as he worked to bare her breasts. Her fingers clenched the brooch. With all her strength, she drove its thick iron pin deep into his chest. He howled in pain, stared in disbelief at the bloodstain that bloomed like a rose against the white linen of his shirt. He grabbed the brooch, pulled it free, threw it across the room.
She took advantage of his surprise and pain to twist away from him. Frantic, she rolled off the bed and started to run.
But pain now fueled his rage. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerked her roughly backward onto the bed. “You little bitch!”
She screamed, lashed out at him blindly with her fists and feet, but she was no match for his strength. His fingers closed around her throat, cut off her breath. “I warned you not to defy me! Try to fight me now, little Irish bitch!”
Fight she did. She struck at him, struggled in vain to pry his fingers loose until her lungs ached from lack of air and she grew weak. The world around her broke into spots, became distant—a world of shadows. And she knew she was going to die.
Pain. Surrender. Darkness.
As if from another world she heard a familiar voice.
“You’re a dead man, Byerly!”
Jamie.
Chapter Thirty-two
He was too late.
Jamie saw blood on Brighid’s face and gown, saw the pallor of her skin. A rage born of anguish ripped through him. “You’re a dead man, Byerly!”
Sheff released her, whirled about, eyes wide, terror on his bloodied face. “How—“ Jamie raised the sword hed stolen from its rest above one of the hearths downstairs. “It’s time you fought a man, old friend!”
Jamie stepped slowly forward, blade pointed toward Sheff’s heart. “Rhuaidhri, get your sister and Ailfs out of here!”
Rhuaidhri rushed in behind him, and Jamie heard him speaking softly to Brighid in Gaelic.
A cough. A whimper.
She was alive.
Jamie caught a glimpse of Rhuaidhri lifting his sister into his arms, heard his heavy footsteps, followed by Ailfs’s softer ones, vanish down the hallway. He forced himself not to think of Brighid, focused his wrath on Sheff. Slowly, he moved forward, the blade pointed at Sheff’s chest. “It’s just you and me now, old friend.”
Sheff raised his arms in a gesture of supplication, took another step backward. “I’m unarmed. I know you, Jamie. You wouldn’t kill a man in cold blood.”
“I hardly call this ‘cold blood,’ Sheff.” Jamie moved closer. “You murdered one priest, perhaps two. You had me beaten and locked in chains. And you have twice tried to rape and kill the woman I love.”
Sheff’s eyebrows jerked upward in surprise. “Aye, I know it wasn’t Rhuaidhri’s bullet that nearly ended her life, but yours!”
Sheff took another step backward, stopped, his back now pressed against a chest of drawers. “I—It was Edward’s doing!”
“Edward is dead.” Jamie took savage pleasure in the look of fear and shock that crossed Sheff’s face. “Why would he want to kill Brighid unless you ordered him to do it?”
“He was supposed to shoot your horse, not the girl! It’s his fault!”
“My horse?” Jamie heard himself laugh, a cold sound. He stepped forward, pressed the tip of the blade against Sheff’s chest. “Why should you want to kill Hermes?” “It would have been a blow to your insufferable superiority!” With a flick of his wrist, Jamie sliced the front of Sheff’s shirt open. “So you attack helpless animals and defenseless women to get at me. How like a coward!”
“Defenseless? The litde bitch stabbed me!” Sheff tore at his ripped shirt to bare his wounded chest. Jamie saw the deep puncture wound where something had penetrated skin and muscle, was relieved to realize the blood on Sheff’s shirt—and probably the blood on Brighid—belonged to Sheff.
But blood wasn’t what caught and held Jamie’s gaze.
“Holy God!”
Sheff’s chest was pitted with scars that could only come from one thing—the pox.
And then it all made sense. Sheff’s changed manner.
The strange light in his eyes. His sickly pallor. His drinking. Sheff followed the line of Jamie’s gaze. “Now you know.”
“Syphilis.” Jamie looked into the eyes of his friend, felt pity.
“Aye, syphilis.” Sheff spat the word. “One of the whores at Turlington’s gave it to me about a year after you left—the little bitch!”
“Did you not seek treatment?”
Sheff’s eyes widened. “And let them poison me? Do you know what they gave me? Mercury ointment. Arsenic tonic. I tried it all, but it made me sicker, so much sicker.” “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have tried to help you.”
But Sheff didn’t seem to hear Jamie. His eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Jamie, you have no idea. The pain at night—it shoots through my arms and legs like lightning. My headaches— I feel it eating at my insides, eating me alive. It’s killing me, Jamie, but I’ll take them with me, I swear it!” “Take whom with you?”
“All the little whores—sluts like the one who gave this to me. I pass it to them to keep it from my wife. They’ll die, too.”
A shiver ran down Jamie’s spine, and he realized without a doubt that the man who had been his friend was insane. “And all the young servant girls you’ve tupped, Sheff—the women you’ve bent to your will—do they deserve to die, too?”
Sheff sneered. “They’re sluts, all of them. They spread their legs for next to nothing—a bite of food, a trinket, a pretty dress. I give them what they want—and something more.”
Jamie struggled to control his anger, sickened by what he heard. “You were going to rape Brighid, to infect her, too—an innocent woman.”
“She’s Irish! There are no innocent Irish! But that’s not why I wanted her.” Then a strange look akin to satisfaction came over his face. “I wanted you to watch, to see who had the power. I wanted you to watch while I took her, as I watched you.”
“You didn’t see what you think you saw that night, old friend.”
“I saw you unwrap your gift. I saw how randy you were. I watched while you took her maidenhead. I listened to her scream!”
“You saw me undress her and pretend to take her. That was my blood on the sheet, Sheff—my blood, not hers!”
“You lie! I saw—“
“You saw and heard what I wanted you to see and hear, nothing more!”
Sheff looked stunned. “You knew?”
“Aye, I knew you were in the next room, watching through the wall. I remembered what you told me about your father all those years ago, so I pretended. I wanted you to think I had claimed her so you would leave her alone. She left this house a maiden still.” Sheff shook his head in disgust. His eyes narrowed.
“What kind of man are you?”
“One who still knows the difference between right and wrong.”
Sheff laughed, one long howl. “You? You’re a criminal, my friend. Or have you forgotten the bit with the pistol, the papist church, your being a traitor?”
“The sickness has driven you mad, Sheff. You need—“ Jamie realized he’d lowered his sword arm the instant Sheff hurled the candelabra at him, but that was an instant too late. Hot wax burned his bare chest. Flames licked his skin. He deflected the worst of the blow with his arm, sent candles flying onto the bed and floor. Fire leapt up the damask, instantly set the bed curtains and mattress ablaze.
The room began to fill with smoke.
With a howl, Sheff dashed toward the fireplace, grabbed the poker, brandished it like a sword, a look of triumph on his face. He swung, tried to force Jamie back into the fire.
Jamie easily turned aside the blow. “Don’t make me do this, Sheff!”
“You’re the one who’s going to die tonight, Jamie, old friend.” Sheff coughed, thrust the point of the poker at Jamie’s abdomen.
Jamie sidestepped, countered the blow, felt the heat of the flames behind him. “Let me take you someplace where you can get help!”
“An asylum? I’ll not be left to die like some leper in a colony!” Sheff glared at him, began to thrust and cut in earnest.
Jamie’s throat stung from the smoke, but he parried Sheff’s blows with ease. “A poker is poorly weighted for swordplay. Your arm will tire.”
“Not before I’ve watched you burn!” Sheff tried to force Jamie’s blade down.
Jamie circled his blade, freed it, raked several quick cuts over Sheff’s forearm in hopes he could force Sheff to drop his makeshift weapon.
“You bastard!” Sheff jerked his arm back, hissed in pain, and swung—hard.
Jamie deflected the blow, but the blade of his sword snapped.
Sheff saw his chance, swung again.
Jamie tossed his useless weapon aside, grabbed the poker as it arced through the air toward him, twisted with the force of the blow.
Though he had intended only to rip the weapon from Sheff’s hands, the power of their combined actions sent Sheff hurtling past Jamie into the flames. Sheff screamed, an animal sound of agony. Jamie shielded his eyes from the heat and smoke, tried to reach in to pull Sheff free.
But Sheff panicked, ran past him out the door and down the hallway, shrieking, his clothes ablaze. Jamie started after him.
Wood groaned like a tortured beast.
Out of the comer of his eye, Jamie saw the bedpost, a pillar of fire, falling toward him.
He leapt back, flames missing him by inches. The post crashed against the bedroom door, shutting it, blocking his path.
He was trapped.
Brighid heard Rhuaidhri’s voice, felt cold air against her skin. From the pain in her throat and head she knew she was still alive.
“You did it, Brighid.” Rhuaidhri stroked her cheek. “You fought him off just long enough for us to get to you. And from the looks of him, you did a bloody good job of it.” A woman spoke—Alice, the Dubliner. “She’s comin’ round.”
Brighid heard someone moan, recognized her own voice.
“Open your eyes, Brighid. Talk to me.” She struggled to do as he asked, said the first word her lips could form. “Jamie.”
“He’s here, Brighid. He’s inside helpin’ the
iarla
pack for his trip to hell.”
iarla
pack for his trip to hell.”
Her eyes fluttered open. Jamie.’
Rhuaidhri’s face swam into view above her, beyond him bare tree branches and the night sky. They were outside. And though Rhuaidhri was doing his best to keep her warm, holding her close to his chest, it was bitterly cold. She tried to sit, felt the pain her head explode, couldn’t help crying out.
“Easy now.” Rhuaidhri helped her slowly to sit. “Irish girls who go about brawlin’ with
Sasanach
lords should take time to rest.”
Sasanach
lords should take time to rest.”
“Where ... ?” She rubbed her fingers across her swollen throat. “Where is he?”
“He stayed behind to finish the
iarla.”
Finally she understood. Jamie was inside the manor still, locked in a battle with the
iarla.
“What if—“ “He’ll be fine, Brighid. After what I saw tonight, I’m surprised he’s not already out here. He killed near half of the
iarla’s
men, so he did—with my help.” “And mine!”
iarla.”
Finally she understood. Jamie was inside the manor still, locked in a battle with the
iarla.
“What if—“ “He’ll be fine, Brighid. After what I saw tonight, I’m surprised he’s not already out here. He killed near half of the
iarla’s
men, so he did—with my help.” “And mine!”
Brighid stared in surprise at the Dubliner. “Aye, Ailis, with your help, too. You fetched the key to our shackles and managed not to scream. We’re all grateful.” Rhuaidhri’s voice was thick with sarcasm.
“I thought it was ‘Alice.’” Brighid met the girl’s gaze.
“My name is Ailis Nf Riagain.”
Rhuaidhri nodded toward Ailis. “She’s decided she’s bloody Irish after all.”
Brighid’s head throbbed fiercely, and she felt more than a little dizzy.
“When I first saw you lyin’ there, his hands at your throat, I feared you were dead. I thought—“ Rhuaidhri looked beyond her toward the manor, leapt to his feet. “Bloody hell!”
Brighid followed his gaze, gasped.
Fire! The room she’d been kept in was ablaze. “Oh, sweet Mary! Jamie!” Brighid tried to stand, but even had she found the strength, Rhuaidhri would not have let her.
“You’re not goin’ anywhere, Brighid! Stay here! Ailis, watch over her. If you betray her, if you harm her in any way...” He glared at Ailis, then turned toward the manor.
“Rhuaidhri!” Brighid looked up at her little brother, reached out, gave his hand a squeeze. “Please be careful!” “Aye.”
Then ne was gone.
Jamie realized his peril. He could not escape through the window, as that side of the room was engulfed in flames. He could not open the door, as it was blocked by the burning bedpost. The air was full of smoke, making it hard to breathe, and the fire was spreading. Already, nearly the entire room was ablaze, and the heat was all but unbearable.
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