Highland Thirst (20 page)

“You
wait here, Lucy. I shall see to your mount while your brother saddles his own,”
Carbonnel said with a smile, which Lucy automatically returned even as she once
again experienced surprise at how well he was taking all this. Wymon wasn’t a
man to take disappointment well. She supposed that spoke of how little he’d
really wished to marry her. She wasn’t terribly surprised. Marrying her would
have gained him very little. John had inherited the bulk of their parents’
assets on their deaths a year ago, gaining Blytheswood castle and its environs,
while she’d inherited a small demesne from her mother. She had no doubt Wymon,
as a second son, would prefer to bride a woman with her own castle for him to
run. It was really rather surprising that he’d offered for her hand at all.

Lucy
started to glance back into the depths of the stable where her brother and
Wymon were saddling the animals, but paused as the inn door suddenly opened and
the first of the two Scots came out. She’d noted in the brief glance she’d cast
their way when they’d entered the inn that both men were attractive, but hadn’t
really taken the time to examine those good looks. Now, as the two men stumbled
out of the inn, she took the time to do so, allowing her eyes to slide over
wide strong shoulders and sculpted features.

The
first Scot was handsome enough, but for some reason her attention kept
returning to the second man, getting caught on his stern, strong features in
the torchlight of the inn yard. She finally forced her gaze to continue on,
noting the long dark hair that fell about his shoulders, and wondering if it
was as soft as it looked. Her gaze then dropped over the white tunic and dark
plaid he wore, then touched briefly on the big, wicked sword strapped to his
side before continuing on to his naked legs.

Englishmen
wore leggings or braies on their own legs, so it was only with Scots that a
girl could see the fine shape of a man’s knee and calf. She found herself
ogling the poor man, grateful that he was unable to see her standing in the
shadows of the stables.

Her
eyes were still on his legs when the man stumbled. Frowning, she shifted her
concentration to take in the whole scene and noted that the other Scot seemed
to be having trouble walking as well. Both were staggering a bit as if drunk,
though she hadn’t noticed them drinking much in the inn. Still, there was a
definite wobble to their walk.

Even
as she began to frown over this, first one, then the other of the two men
suddenly stumbled and sank to his knees so that they knelt in the dirt of the
inn yard, swaying weakly. ‘Twas obvious they were fighting whatever was
happening to them, but were unable to combat it and the next moment both of
them collapsed side by side in the dirt. They’d barely settled on the ground
when the inn door opened again and most, if not all of the men from inside,
began to pour out. Even as they began to surround the two Scots on the ground
more men began to appear from the sides of the building, milling out to join
the others until she could no longer see the Scots.

Knowing
something underhanded was happening, Lucy glanced back toward the rear of the stables
to call her brother forward and see what they could do for the two men, only to
freeze as she saw Wymon plunge a knife into her unsuspecting brother’s neck
from behind. She and John both stiffened in shock as the blade went in, then it
was withdrawn and plunged in again, this time a little to the side of the first
spot.

With
her mouth still open on her unspoken cry, Lucy’s horrified gaze met her brother’s.
They stared at each other with shared shock for a moment, then the life left
his eyes and her brother crumbled like an empty cape.

“Why
so shocked?”

Lucy
blinked and slowly turned her eyes from her fallen brother to Wymon. While she’d
gaped in horror, he’d retrieved his knife and crossed to stand before her. She
stared at him with incomprehension, her mind not yet capable of accepting
anything that was happening.

“Surely
you did not think I would take your refusal gracefully, did you?” he asked with
a chiding smile, then shook his head and took her arm to turn her away and lead
her out of the stables.

In
her stunned state, Lucy followed docilely for perhaps two steps before
regaining enough of her sense to begin to struggle. The moment she did Wymon
paused and punched her in the side of the head. Light exploded behind her eyes,
followed quickly by pain, and Lucy gasped as she began to fall. Then she felt
herself scooped up and carried. She was barely conscious when she felt herself
being passed off to someone else to hold.

The
last thing she heard before darkness claimed her was someone saying, “Ye take
the MacAdie, I’ll take the other, and guid luck to us both.”

Two

It
was a constant, dull throbbing pain in her head that nagged Lucy back to
consciousness. Grimacing against the relentless pounding, she squeezed her eyes
more tightly closed, trying to block out the bright light beyond her eyelids
that seemed to be aggravating her discomfort.

“Finally.
I thought you should never wake up.”

The
voice rather than the words themselves drew her eyes abruptly open and Lucy
ignored the pain in her head as she lifted her face to peer wide-eyed at the
man standing before her. Wymon Carbonnel. He was so close he filled her vision,
blocking out everything and anything else in the room with both his imposing
size and the torch he held in his hand.

Made
mute by the memories rushing into her head, she stared at him with both fear
and loathing and finally said, “You killed my brother.”

Wymon
smiled faintly, though whether at her words or the raspy voice that spoke them
she couldn’t say. Then he shook his head.

“Me?
Nay. I fear you are confused. Tearlach MacAdie killed your brother,” he assured
her with a smile. “And he carried you off after doing so. I have witnesses who
say so.”

“Liar,”
she snarled. “Murderer!”

Wymon
merely arched his eyebrows with amusement. “Nay. Not I. That blow you took to
the head has scrambled your sense somewhat, my lovely Lucy.”

“The
blow
you
gave me has done naught to my memory, Carbonnel. You killed my
brother and then hit me and brought me here...Wherever here is,” she added with
a frown and glanced to both sides as she became aware of a gnawing pain in her
wrists. The pain was explained away the moment she realized she was hanging
from chains on her wrists. She was chained to the wall like a common thief.

“Welcome
to Carbonnel’s dungeons,” he said easily as she forced herself to stand and
take the weight off her arms. “I hope you shall soon come to think of this as
home.”

Lucy
turned an amazed gaze back to him. “You are mad.”

“Oh,
now, is that any way to talk to your future husband?” he chided.

Her
mouth dropped briefly. “I shall never marry you.”

He
shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “‘Tis your choice, of course. However, I
still hope to make you see the benefits of marrying me and going along with my
version of events.”

“Benefits?”
she spat with disbelief.

“Aye.
There are many,” he assured her easily. “Living, for instance.”

When
Lucy stilled, his smile widened. “I shall give you a few days to consider the
matter. Marriage is a grave undertaking and should be considered carefully,” he
assured her with sardonic solemnity. “If you decide to marry me, we shall be
wed right here in this lovely room by torchlight. We shall probably consummate
it here too to ensure you do not have second thoughts.”

Lucy
shuddered at the very thought of the hands that had taken her brother’s life
touching her, but he wasn’t done.

“Understand.
If you convince me that you truly have seriously considered the matter and seen
the wisdom of our union, the story shall be that I hunted down the MacAdie who
had killed your brother and taken you. That I rescued you and that you married
me out of gratitude and, of course, undying love.” His mouth widened in a
toothy smile.

“And
if I do not see the wisdom of our union?” she asked bitterly, suspecting she
already knew the answer, but wanting everything on the table from the start.

“If
you do not?” he echoed with amusement, then shrugged. “Well, the MacAdie shall
need feeding, will he not?” he said as if it were the simplest matter in the
world. And then he added, “And once you are dead your cousin Margaret will
inherit Blytheswood. I suspect she may be more easily led than you anyway,” he
confided and then shrugged again. “One way or another, I shall have a
Blytheswood bride and Blytheswood itself.”

Lucy
merely stared at him blankly, her mind caught on the comment that the MacAdie
would need feeding. Feeding? If she refused to cooperate would Wymon cut her
up, boil her, and feed her to this unknown MacAdie? It was the only sense she
could make of the threat, and really it was rather gruesome as threats went,
though she supposed she shouldn’t much care what happened to her body once she
was dead and had shed it. Still, the idea of being someone’s dinner was just
disgusting.

“Think
on that,” Carbonnel suggested and turned to move away toward the door of the
dungeon. “Now, I shall go eat and relax. There is a fine new maid I should like
to break in. Then I have to rest up. Tomorrow we start torturing the MacAdie
for information and I do wish to be in fine form for that. I hope you two enjoy
your evening as well.”

She
stared silently at the heavy wooden door as it clanged shut. There was no clink
of it locking behind him. Why bother locking it? She was chained to the wall
and helpless to leave anyway, she supposed.

Sighing,
Lucy leaned back against the cold, hard stone behind her and allowed her gaze
to slide over her present home, stiffening when she spotted the man chained to
the wall opposite. She would have seen him earlier if Wymon hadn’t stood
directly before her, blocking her view of the dungeon. Now, she peered at the
man noting that he was double chained across from her. Obviously, they hadn’t
trusted one set of chains to hold him like they had her. She thought that was a
bit ridiculous. While the man was big and strong looking, one set of chains
surely would have held him too.

Her
gaze slid down to the chains at his ankles, noting there were two sets on each
leg as well. And that he had naked knees. It was one of the Scots from the inn.
The MacAdie whom Wymon had kept mentioning, she supposed. He was pale and
looking a little the worse for wear, but his eyes were open and he was obviously
awake and alert. She doubted he’d missed any of the conversation that had just
taken place.

They
stared at each other silently. Lucy was trying to think of something to say,
but the only thing that came to mind was a compulsion to apologize to the man.
However, she really had nothing to apologize for.

With
her aching head making it impossible to think of anything intelligent to say,
she closed her eyes with a little sigh in the hopes that the pain would ease
some and give her back her faculties. Unfortunately, the moment she closed her
eyes, thoughts of her brother filled her mind. The image of Wymon plunging the
knife into John’s neck seemed to be burnt onto the back of her eyelids. Lucy’s
breath left her on a small sob as the moment replayed through her head,
followed immediately by recriminations. If only she hadn’t allowed herself to
be distracted by the Scots. If only she’d saddled her own horse. If only she’d
been close enough, mayhap she could have saved him.

Lucy
knew that wasn’t really true, Wymon simply would have chosen a different method
or time. No matter how it had played out, her brother would still be dead...and
all because she’d refused to marry Wymon Carbonnel.

But...if
she’d agreed to marry him, Lucy thought and then shook her head. Wymon probably
still would have killed her brother to get Blytheswood for himself. Wymon
Carbonnel was a second son. His older brother, Frederick, had inherited
Carbonnel castle several years ago and left his brother to run it while he
played at court. However, he’d fallen out of favor at court recently and
returned home to take up the reins himself...leaving Wymon without. The man
enjoyed the power he’d had and wouldn’t be eager to give it up. He would want a
castle of his own to rule. She supposed Blytheswood had seemed easy pickings to
him. Marry the sister, get rid of the brother, and voila! One castle and estate
for him to be lord over.

Teeth
grinding together, Lucy silently wished he’d just killed his own brother and
continued ruling Carbonnel rather than come after her family and what they had.
Of course, maybe he eventually planned to do that as well. How much better to
have two castles? She wouldn’t put it past him. It was part of the reason Lucy
had refused to marry Wymon. She’d suspected the man was lacking in character,
although that was putting it mildly. While he had never been anything but
polite and even gallant in her presence until now, servants spoke and there
were rumors about the man, his temper, and cruelty.

Lucy
didn’t trust him, didn’t like him, didn’t want him. And frankly, she’d rather
be dead with her brother and the angels than married to the bastard.

It
was looking like she’d get her wish.