Tamed By Your Desire Part 51

NIGHT FELL AND STILL Fayth stood on the roof of the tower, watching and waiting. Like the lady of the keep, watching for my lord's return. Or the fair maiden, waiting for her moon prince... Why should she think such fanciful thoughts? She sighed, the cool breeze blowing at her back, snapping her skirts around her. She hadn't yet attempted to escape. She wanted to give Alex time to return. No reason to be rash... give him a few days, at least.

"Are ye no ready to go down now?" Skelley asked. He stood beside her, sheltered from the bracing wind behind a merlon, cloak wrapped tightly around him and cap pulled low over his ears.

Fayth sighed again. It was becoming a habit with her, as if she could somehow expel the emptiness inside her heart. She was not ready to leave, but felt sorry for the poor man, having to follow her about all day on her wanderings.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. When I'm not up here, watching, it's the only place I want to be. And when I am here, I become so frustrated because there's naught to see."

"Ah, la.s.s. It's yer lad ye long for." Skelley's voice was wistful, dreamy almost.

"He's not my lad."

"So ye both say..."

She slanted Skelley a sharp look. "What do you mean?"

Skelley shrugged, his gaze respectfully turned downward. "I know what I know."

"And what do you know?"

"That he fretted o'er ye when yer wound festered, though he was just as feverish. And that he spent many a night, diligently keeping you from harm-"

"He mistakenly thinks I am worth a great deal. That was the reason for his care and diligence."

"Och, la.s.sie, there's no mistakin' yer worth." He glanced up at her, eyebrows raised.

Fayth felt herself blush. "That's very kind, Skelley. I have enjoyed your company as well." She paused, gazing through the crenel at the setting sun. Mists rose in the distance and would soon billow out to meet the fog rolling in from the sea, blanketing the Rhins in a ghostly shroud. "I find myself at ease here, among Alex and you and the others. It's not like Graham Keep."

"If ye've never had a home, it's hard to ken what it feels like."

The dull ache began in her chest, only to curl and settle in the pit of her stomach. Home. Would she ever find one? She could not stay here. The longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave. And if Alex returned and took her to his bed again... she might never break away, at least of her own will. He would eventually send her away and she would grieve for him. Perhaps even hate him.

The thought brought a smile to her face. Wasn't that how it began? With hate? How she'd loathed the Maxwells and Red Alex in particular. And now everything had changed. The anger, the hurt, the hate, were gone. Perhaps it was only buried by infatuation, or misplaced loyalty. But when she searched her heart, she could find no trace of the old emotions, even toward Ridley. She pitied him, knowing now how his unrequited love for Mona cankered his heart.

Fayth turned slightly, facing the older man. "Have you ever... loved another. A woman, that is?"

"Och, aye," Skelley said, straightening, suddenly impervious to the cold. "My Jennet. She's been gone some ten years now. She died in childbirth and took our daughter wi' her. They're buried together."

"I'm sorry."

"Dinna be sorry, I'm not. Well, that she died, of course I am, but I was blessed to have her at all." He paused, gazing out at the misty sea. "And the babe... she was so verra bonny, not quite of this world. Methinks the Lord wanted her."

Fayth regarded Skelley curiously. "You're a Musgrave?"

"Aye."

"And yet you sound very much like a Scot. Oh, I know, on the border, sometimes it's hard to tell, we all sound the same. But even so, you seem more Scots than English."

"I was raised in Scotland. My mother was a Maxwell, so when my father got in a spot of trouble with the English warden, the Maxwells took us in. I've been in Scotland, most of me life-'cept when we're making forays into England, that is." He looked down at his hands. "My Jennet was a Maxwell."

Fayth turned back to watch the now obscured horizon. She should go in. Even if Alex climbed the steep track to the tower she would not be able to see him. She sighed, deep and heartfelt, then turned from the crenel.

Skelley watched her. "You never know how much time ye have, la.s.s. Dinna forget that."

Fayth knew he spoke of Alex, but it made her think of Jack. She'd had so very little time with him. She knew now she'd never loved him. She'd hardly even known him.

"How did Jack Graham die?"

Skelley became very still. "If he hasna told ye that, then it's no my place. But I will say this, la.s.s, ye canna blame him for what happened."

Fayth grasped his arm. "Then Jack instigated it? Did he attack Alex?"

Skelley's lips thinned in his thick grizzled beard, but he only shook his head. "I wish I could say but I canna."

Fayth nodded dejectedly. The mist had crept over the rooftop while they spoke and now swirled around them. "Come, let's get out of the cold."

Skelley went down the ladder first. Fayth stared into the fog a moment before following him. She knew something was amiss the moment she pa.s.sed through the hole. The corridor was dark, no torch or candle lit it, though Fayth still smelled the burning fat, as if the light had been recently extinguished. Beneath the smoky smell was another, one of rotting fish.

She paused on the ladder, halfway to the ground, and peered into the darkness. "Skelley?"

When he didn't answer, Fayth began to panic. He would never leave her. Something was wrong. There was no escape if she went back up and yet the darkness about her was complete. Her only hope was surprise. Rather than finis.h.i.+ng her descent, she swung to the side and leaped to the ground. Only it wasn't ground beneath her feet, but something soft and lumpy. Fayth stumbled and fell, her shoulder connecting hard with the stone wall.

"Christ! She jumped."

Fayth jerked toward the male voice, even as pain stabbed her shoulder. She scrambled to her feet, trying to remember which way to the stairs. Movement and muttering was all around her and before she could move, arms encircled her. Quite suddenly she recalled where she was and that she had only to scream to bring help rus.h.i.+ng. She opened her mouth, but before she could let loose, a hand clamped hard over her lips.

"Hush now, la.s.sie," a voice breathed in her ear.

Fayth struggled-his hand was too big, too filthy-covering not only her mouth, but her nose as well. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs strained and she bucked, moaning pitifully.

A flint struck and the corridor was illuminated by candlelight. She could see little, but someone hit the man holding her.

"She cannot breathe, fool!"

His hand slid down incrementally as Fayth's vision fragmented. Air rushed into her nostrils, burning on its way down. The stink of old fish surrounded her, emanating from her captor's clothes and body. When she could think again, her gaze darted wildly about at her other captors. Armless Eliot, accompanied by two Grahams she recognized as Ridley's men and another she suspected belonged to Carlisle. The man holding her was not a Graham. He would not be groping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s if he were.

One of the Grahams quickly took note of his roaming hand and hit him. "She is to be unharmed!"

Her captor grunted, but lowered his hand, gripping her tightly about the waist.

"Gag her," Eliot said, handing a filthy rag to a Graham. The hand was replaced by the rag, stuffed in her mouth and secured around her head with another. The rag tasted of oil and rancid meat. Fayth's tongue receded to the back of her mouth as she willed herself not to retch. She was turned so her hands could be bound, and that's when she saw Skelley, sprawled at the foot of the ladder, blood streaming from a wound on his forehead.

The cry stuck in her throat, tears p.r.i.c.king her eyes. They yanked her arms roughly as they tied them. When they turned her back around, Eliot's black eyes stared into hers.

"Dinna fret," he said softly. "I'm here to rescue ye. I'm takin' ye back to yer betrothed."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head vigorously.

He chuckled. "Oh, ye're going. I'm no so much a fool as Alex. Ye may be bonny but you're no that bonny."