Sharp little pants came to her lips, cries of fear, but she bit them back. With every breath, it was more and more difficult.
Guy’s grip on her hair softened and he began stroking her hair, touching her shoulder. His expression was almost loving.
“Tell me, sweet. Was de Russe as good a lover as I? Was he as tender, or as fulfilling? You can be honest.”
She knew her honestly would most likely bring severe injury. “No, Guy, he wasn’t,” her lips were quivering, her eyes filling with tears.
“Tell me the truth,” Guy purred, his hands gently touching her shoulders. “I want to know.”
“I told you,” she whispered, his touch bringing bile to her throat.
Guy massaged her shoulders, smelled her hair. Remington wished she would die.
“You look even better than I remembered,” Guy whispered against her ear. “Your body is fuller and more luscious. I think I would like to taste you, sweet.”
She did cringe from him then. “No, Guy. You…’tis my woman’s time.”
He was upon her in a minute. “What does that matter to me? Spread your cloak. I will have you now.”
The tears came. She took a step back, attempting to refuse, but he grabbed her wrists roughly, even as he tore her cloak from her shoulders and threw it on the ground. Remington began to struggle, fighting him with every ounce of strength she possessed, until he hit her and knocked her cold.
When she came to, it was upon her damp cloak with Guy standing several feet away, eating something she could not see. His back was to her and he didn’t seem particularly interested in her. Having no idea how long she had been unconscious, or what had transpired during that time, she realized she didn’t want to know any of it. All of this, this hell she was forced to endure, was more horrific than anything she could have imagined. Closing her eyes, she feigned unconsciousness for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Taran was builtfor stamina, thankfully, but even he needed rest. Gaston could have ridden all the way to Mt. Holyoak, were it not for his horse.
It was after nightfall when he stopped outside of the small town of Rothersthorpe to water and rest his horse. Just south of Northampton, he guessed that Guy and Remington were all the way to Leicester by now, possibly even nearing Sheffield. He had tried so hard to keep from focusing on the horrors of the situation that he was mentally exhausted.
He sat by the small stream in the light of the moon, listening to his horse slurp fresh water.
Why did this have to happen? Was it God’s punishment for betraying Richard, an evil man at that, but nonetheless Gaston had betrayed him. Was it punishment for the men he had killed, the battles he had won, the women he had widowed or the orphans he had made?
All of his life he had been a loner, the consummate warrior, pure knightly perfection. He had no flaws. But he had one weakness– Remington Stoneley. Dear God, how he loved her.
Suddenly, his head came up. He had left a skeleton crew at Mt. Holyoak, men faithful to him. Guy did not know this; at least, he hoped he did not. He could imagine Guy riding through the gates of Mt. Holyoak and Remington sounding the alarm, only to have Guy swarmed with his soldiers and dismembered.
He wondered if Remington would see through her fear long enough to remember that it was Gaston’s men who staffed Mt. Holyoak, for he could only imagine how terrified she was. It was enough to make him boil with anger all over again.
The urge to reach Mt. Holyoak pushed at him as never before.
*
“If you weregoing to steal a horse, why did not you steal a fast one?” Trenton demanded, shifting his bottom on the animal’s boney rear.
“At least I got us a horse. You would have us walking,” Dane shot back, steering the nag along the road. “And this horse could go faster, only you complain every time we move faster than a walk.”
“That’s because he trots too hard,” Trenton said. “His backbone digs into my arse and it hurts.”
Dane pursed his lips irritably. “Get down and run beside him, then. I am sick of listening to you complain.”
Trenton bailed off the animal and Dane gored the old nag into a trot. As ordered, Trenton ran alongside easily.
“We shall make time now,” Dane insisted. “We’re closing in on Northamptonshire.”
“In two or three hours,” Trenton puffed. “We have a long way to go yet.”
“Then run faster,” Dane yelled back, spurring the horse into a canter and leaving his friend in the dust.
