His touch was almost gentle, but she knew that could change at any moment. He had already shown her that his touch could turn hard and brutal in the blink of an eye. And, gentle or not, skilled or not, he was still intending to take from her something she would never give him willingly. She pressed herself up hard against the table in the vain hope of evading his touch.
Although she usually liked to be right, she did not find it comforting that she had been so about the wine. Vachel had sent up a carefully measured amount. He had suspected that she might consider getting senseless with drink. As he trailed his almost soft fingers over her cheek, she heartily wished he had not been so clever. It would have been almost pleasant to be able to pass out from an overindulgence in wine right about now.
A soft cry of alarm escaped her when he suddenly grabbed her and threw her onto the bed. Her whole body tried to press itself deep down into the soft, feather mattress when he sprawled on top of her. There was an unsettling look of consideration in his dark eyes as he looked down at her.
“So, you were caressing my walls in an attempt to find some hidden door,” he murmured as he slowly began to unlace her gown.
“You know exactly what I was doing.”
Gisele struggled to hold herself very still. Her husband’s brutal attentions had taught her that fighting only added to her pain. She had no weapon to kill or maim Vachel, and he was bigger and stronger. Honor might demand that she fight him, but honor did not have to suffer the pain of the beating resistance brought.
“If I had a small hiding place, you must know that I would want it to remain a secret. If you tell me you know my secrets, then you cannot be surprised if I decide it would be wise to silence you.”
“Is it not pointless to threaten me with death? You have already made it clear that there is nothing I can do or say that will save my life.”
“A person can be silenced in many ways.” He slid his hand inside of her bodice and fondled her breasts. “You do not fight me.”
“One thing your cousin taught me was that all I gain from that is more pain.”
“So you mean to lie beneath me like a corpse.”
“If that troubles you then I suggest you go and find your pleasure elsewhere.”
He just smiled. “I did not say that it troubled me. I but thought that you had more spirit than that.”
“Spirit does not make one witless. I have no weapon and I cannot match your strength. This crime you commit will bring me pain and humiliation. Trying to stop you will only bring more of the same. I will save my spirit for the time that I can cut your throat.”
“As you did my cousin’s?”
“I have said that I did not kill Michael. You should be honored. You will be my first kill.”
“And mayhap you believe your Scotsman will come riding to your aid,” he said.
“Non, I left him. He will not follow.”
“Then he will survive. We watch for him, you know.”
“If Nigel wanted to get into your keep, you would never see him do so. He is like the thin smoke of a dying fire. He could slip in here and cut your throat before you even realized the door had opened.”
“The empty boasts of a besotted lover.”
“I will remind you that you said that while you lie drowning in your own blood.”
“Enough talk. I have not come here for conversation or idle pleasantries.”
“Non, you have come here to steal what would never be given to you willingly.”
“I have. After all, who is there to stop me?”
“Weel, I might be willing to give it a wee try,” drawled a deep voice, enriched with a thick Scottish accent.
Eighteen
Dusk was rapidly increasing the shadows all around him, and Nigel stood up to stretch. Although he had sat there for several hours, no one had seen him or confronted him. He decided he was right about an arrogant sense of power and safety making the men at arms careless. Nigel felt sure that he could slip into the keep without being seen, but despite long hours of plotting he was still not sure of what he would do once he was in there. Soon they would close the heavy gates, and that left him with just two choices—getting inside the keep before they did and hope for the best, or sitting where he was for the rest of the night praying they did not kill Gisele before he could devise a good plan of rescue, one that had some small chance of success.
Just as he decided that he would slip inside and do the rest of his plotting within the walls of the keep, he watched a lone man ride out through the gates. The man rode straight for the trees, and Nigel moved quickly to intercept him. There was a dark, brooding look on the man’s narrow face, and Nigel knew he was troubled about something. Better yet, the man was sunk deep in his own problem, oblivious to all around him. That distraction would allow Nigel to slip up on his prey unnoticed, catch him alive, and pull some important information from him.
Barely a sound escaped the man as Nigel leapt from the shadows, pulled him from his saddle, and threw him to the ground He pulled his dagger, sat on the man, and held his knife to his throat. Nigel frowned as he looked closely at his prisoner’s face. His captive should at least look surprised, preferably afraid, but the man just looked a little amused.
