Devil's Mistress (7 page)

“You are a traitor, Treveryan,” he told Sloan. And suddenly Brianna wondered if there was more going on here than she knew.

“Nay—never a traitor to the people,” Sloan retorted, “but you, Matthews, are a coldblooded murderer.”

“He who deals with the devil becomes the devil,” Matthews charged, pointing a finger toward Sloan’s chest. “And witch doth harbor witch! I charge you—”

“I charge you to get your ugly carcass out of my doorway this instant!” Sloan demanded with quiet, deathly fury. Again Matthews took a step backward, his gaunt face with its fevered eyes acquiring a considerable pallor. Brianna swallowed back a gasp as she saw why; Lord Treveryan was now brandishing a cutlass. The finely honed muscles in Sloan’s shoulders and back rippled—as if with impatience. “Get out of here, Matthews!” Sloan commanded once more. “And disturb me no more!”

“Leave him be!” Brianna heard the voice of one of the officers standing behind Matthews in the hall whisper loudly with nervousness. “James will surely have you set to the stake if he hears that you have created problems with Treveryan.”

“Treveryan is trouble!” Matthews declared.

“Aye, that I am,” Sloan said with a soft threat.

Matthews paused only a moment longer, visibly shrinking from the razor edge of the cutlass aimed toward him. “I am going, Treveryan. Take your heathen pleasure with the girl. But know this: I will find her. She is a witch and an affront to God and all men who are holy. I will see that she burns. And I will pray that your soul can be saved from the clutches of the devil.”

Sloan threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t pray for my soul, Matthews. They already call me the devil, and there have been times in the past when the crown was glad to do so. Pray for your own soul. You seek out this girl for your own lust, Matthews, but I promise”—he paused, the laughter leaving his voice—“she will never be touched by dirt such as yourself. Now, get out of here.”

“I’m leaving, Treveryan, but I will get the girl.”

“You will get the girl?” Sloan ridiculed. “And then what, Matthews? Will you answer to the law you claim to serve? Will there be a trial? Will you torture a confession from her? Torture is illegal, Matthews, in Scotland as in England.”

“Never have I tortured an accused person.”

“Never? What do you call it, sir, when you seek your ‘witches’ marks,’ stabbing your victims with your picks until they can feel nothing at all? Declaring when they no longer scream that you have found their devil’s mark?”

“That is legal procedure.”

“Damn your form of legal procedure, Matthews. And damn you—you make a mockery of justice.”

“You know not what justice is! This whore of Satan has bewitched you, and you are her slave.”

“Take care that in your determination to have the last word between us you do not discover that the words you speak are truly your last.”

Treveryan’s voice was quiet once more, and yet the threat was there. Matthews took heed. Brianna was amazed when she saw the witchfinder’s lips whiten and his jaw snap shut. He turned and started down the hall with his retainers following him.

Relief flooded through her.

Sloan slammed the door closed. Still amazed that the immediate threat to her life had vanished, Brianna walked around the screen in a daze. Instinctively, she wrenched a sheet from the bed in which to wrap herself. Then she turned to find the Welshman gazing at her in brooding silence.

“You were—incredible!” she acknowledged, clinging to the sheet as she might to a lifeline. She added quietly, with all the dignity she could summon, “I do thank you, milord.”

He bowed low. “The pleasure was mine, Mistress Brianna.” His eyes became deadly as he added, with gravel lacing his tone, “ ’Twould truly have been a pleasure to run the man through.”

There was nothing that would have given her greater pleasure, either, Brianna thought, feeling the tautness in her body ease as she came to realize more and more that she was truly safe—for the moment at least.

And yet, as she looked at Sloan Treveryan, the trembling seized her again. Treveryan. He, too, was a man to be feared. And she was in his debt. What price was she going to have to pay?

She had already paid with her virtue, she reminded herself bitterly. She did not regret the cost—but the blow to her pride still wounded her deeply. In less than an hour’s time she had become more intimate with him than she’d ever envisioned possible. Already she knew the pleasant masculine scent of him; it was like a sea breeze. She knew the depths of those sea-jade eyes, the timbre of that deep male voice with its soft lilt.

She knew the feel of muscle play beneath his taut bronzed flesh. She knew the strength of his arms, the rough feel of manly hands that could be infinitely tender.

She wished she could trade all the intimacy for his respect. She hurt and felt humiliated to the core of her heart.

Nervously she pulled the sheets more tightly about herself, clearing her throat. A hot trembling riddled through her with the memory of their passion. Her flesh burned from his mere glance and her body recalled the touch of him—warm, secure, steely. She couldn’t control these feelings, these automatic responses to his eyes, the handsome planes of his face, the caress of his lips, and the masculine scent that was both earth and sea.

Confusion gripped her. Not because she had paid this price to save her life but because he had touched a part of her that had never been touched before.

But she had lost her pride and honor today and she must resign herself to that loss. Perhaps she had also lost the ability to love—along with her dreams of love, and the adoring knight of her imagination. She was not completely naive. Pegeen had taught her something of the physical expressions of love between men and women, but she had really only learned today.

But what she had learned had not been love. It was lust—primal desire. Treveryan had proven himself to be a courteous lover, but still, his touch had had nothing to do with love. He had taken her and then defended her because he was, it appeared, a determined fighter. He was smiling slightly. Full mouth curved, eyes ever so slightly mocking that seemed to hold within them a smoldering fire. Truly a hint of the devil.

Brianna straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. A sob was welling within her and she choked it back. The look in the Treveryan’s eyes and upon his handsome rakish face spoke desire. There was something totally male and predatory about it. He had saved her, and indeed, he thought that she was his.

In his debt, yes, she decided angrily—but his possession? Never! All she wanted to do was find a place of refuge, time to heal her wounds with her family. Dear God—how she wanted to forget him and the terrible fear and humiliation.

He lowered his cutlass and took a step toward her. She backed away, blue fire snapping in her eyes. “No! Don’t come near me! Would you add the gravest insult to one you’ve injured?”

“Injured?” he thundered. Infuriated, he swept his gaze over her. “Damn it girl, but you’re—” He broke off, grating his teeth so hard that she heard the sound. He took a swaggering, taunting step, but only to snatch up his shirt and slip quickly into it. He warned her sharply, “If you are fond of living, Mistress Brianna, I suggest you don your clothing quickly. I have no men nearby to respond to an alarm. Matthews will be back in full force. I assure you that he is carefully planning my demise and even more carefully planning yours. Of course, you will not die quickly. I may be the devil, but the anticipated rewards feeding the fires in his eyes are hardly godly, if you can follow my meaning. If bedding with me so abused your sensitivities—imagine bedding with Matthews.”

He had no need to say more. A white pallor touched her cheeks and she dropped her sheet to scramble hurriedly for her clothing. Sloan paused for a second as he watched her, his eyes narrowing. She was, indeed, a beautiful woman. So young and slender, and yet rounded with enticing perfection. She was as fresh and lovely as the coming of the dawn, as ripe for the taking. Watching her slip into her shift and dress and stockings caused his flesh to burn with hunger all over again, despite the circumstances.

He pushed these thoughts from his mind and pulled on his second boot. “Come on,” he urged her, slipping into his greatcoat and returning the cutlass to the scabbard at his side. “Let’s go.”

Brianna hastily finished lacing her left shoe and hopped to her feet, then paused.

“Go where?” she demanded curtly.

“To my ship, of course.”

“No—I’ll not go to your ship. If I can just—”

“You will go to my ship, you idiot! Don’t you understand—”

“Don’t you ever listen? I have family in England. All I’ve got to do is get to the forest, and from there—”

“You’ll never get anywhere. Matthews will have you by midnight.”

“I’m not going with you.”

“And I’m not going through life with your death on my conscience.”

“Treveryan, we part ways right here,” Brianna cried out determinedly.

“The hell we do!”

“You got your money’s worth. I’ve my life!”

He laughed dryly. “I’m not so sure about my money’s worth, and your life will be worthless if you don’t listen to me. Oh, the hell with it—there’s no time left to argue.”

Brianna backed quickly away from him, her eyes warily upon him as he came to her with determined strides. “No, Treveryan,” she warned him, but her words were useless. He caught her outstretched hand and ducked low, heaving her over his shoulder while she cursed away at him and furiously pounded against his back. “Let me down. I despise you, I’ve no wish to go with you—”

“Stop pounding on me and shut your mouth, or I’ll knock your head into the wall!” he warned her in a deathly rage.

“You will not.”

“Don’t test me!”

Where would he take her? Oh, God, she would never get to her family! “Let me go!” she cried again, slamming a fist hard against his shoulder. He grunted and she felt his palm crack full force against her buttocks, causing a stinging pain. Salt tears of fury and humiliation stung her eyes; she blinked them away, stunned and seething with rage.

“You—” she began.

“Shut up!” he finished, swinging about so that she flounced hard against him and totally lost her breath.

With her as his burden he threw open the door and hurried down the stairs. Liam stood at the landing. “I’ve a horse ready outside, Cap’n. Godspeed, m’lord.”

Sloan nodded his thanks. “Take heed, Liam.”

He carried Brianna through the tavern and out into the cool night—oblivious to her muffled curses.

A tavern youth held the reins of a handsome bay gelding. Thrown roughly, over the saddle, belly down, Brianna once again found herself breathless and unable to curse him any longer. With an agile leap he mounted behind her, tossing coins to the boy, and smacking his mount soundly upon the rump.

The horse broke into a gallop. She could do nothing but cling to the gelding and feel the coolness of the night sea breeze as it whipped against her face. The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves against the cobblestones was like the hard and trembling beat of her heart. Tossed about by the horse’s gait, she barely noticed the shops that they passed and the few stragglers still walking the streets. She was aware only of the strong muscles of the horse bunching beneath her as they reached the docks and veered northward along the berths.

Darkness had descended. The glow of the moon and the oil lamps from the various tall ships that lined the harbor lit their way. Before one of these ships their wild ride through the night suddenly ended. Sloan reined in and leapt from his horse in one fluid movement, then reached for Brianna and swept her to the ground without ceremony.

The second his arms released her, she turned to run.

“Get back here!” he exploded. “I swear to God you’re the most stubborn creature I’ve ever met!”

She cried out as his fingers tore into her hair, pulling her back hard against his chest. She saw pure fury in his eyes as they met hers for an instant—and then she was gasping again because he was tossing her over his shoulder and swearing viciously as he hurried along.

“Paddy!” he shouted loudly, his strides long as he carried Brianna along with him to a broad gangplank.

“Who goes there? Cap’n? Is that you?”

“Aye, Paddy, ’tis me. Rouse the crew and make way to sail.”

“Now? Damn, Cap’n, but we weren’t
due
to sail—”

“Now, Paddy. I’ve a feeling in my bones we’ll be contested if we don’t leave port with all haste.”

Brianna finally saw the man called Paddy as Sloan jumped to the deck and swung around. He was tall and slender, and a cap covered the shock of snow-white hair upon his head. His face was weathered by wind and sea, but his eyes were a young and brilliant snapping blue.

“Did ye get yerself in trouble, then, Lord Treveryan?”

“Aye, and ‘trouble’ is with me!” Sloan replied irritably. Brianna struggled to sink her teeth into his back. He cried out sharply, slapping her rear soundly once again. “More trouble than she’s worth!” Sloan muttered, further irritated by Paddy’s laughter.

“She seems to be quite a woman,” Paddy observed with amusement.

“I’m glad you approve,” Sloan said with a scowl. “Now, Paddy, cease your prattle and rally the crew. I’ll be topside as soon as I’ve secured Brianna within quarters.”