“Ah, but I will.” He left the window and walked toward her, smiling as she shrank back in the chair. He grabbed hold of her bodice and wrenched it, tearing fabric. She caught his hand, screaming, clawing at his flesh. He drew her up, laughing as her gown gaped open, laughing still as she wildly clawed for his face. Her nails gouged him and the laughter left his face. “When I have him, bitch, he’s going to suffer a long, long time before he dies. I can have the rope set so that he dangles and dangles and slowly chokes to death!” He caught hold of her hands, forcing her back toward the fire, nearly snapping her fingers with the force of his hold. When he pressed her against the wall he smiled again. “Nice house, eh? Of course, your Continentals had pretty well stripped it of food and supplies before we came. Seems the owners must have deserted some time ago. You should see the bedroom. There are silk sheets on a huge bed with the softest mattress you’ve ever touched. You’re used to luxury, though. That’s why I thought maybe it should be right here. On the floor, against the wall. You shouldn’t be taken in luxury like a lover—no, because you turned on me. You teased and taunted and beckoned—and then you turned on me. So I’m going to have you like a whore. Just like a whore. Right here, and right in front of your husband.”
She screamed, twisting her face, praying for death as he reached into her torn bodice and wrapped her fingers around her breast. “I’m going to do this right in front of him—”
Tarryton broke off at a knock on the door. He did not take his hands off of Amanda but called sharply, “Come in!”
She tried to fight him again, kicking, twisting, shoving. But then the fight left her, and she went numb with fear and horror.
Two men with hats low upon their brows dragged Eric into the room. His shirt was bloodied, his hat was gone, his frock coat torn from him. He stood before her, tall and defiant, his eyes deadly, his arms locked behind his back by the men who held him.
“Eric! Welcome!” Robert said. “I was just talking with your wife. No, let’s be honest here, we’re among old friends. I was just enjoying your wife.”
Eric swore violently.
“You’re going to hang, Cameron. Within seconds. You’re going to hang, and I’m going to watch you, and I’m going to make Mandy watch too.”
“You’re a dead man, Tarryton.”
“No, sir. You’re a dead man.”
“No!” Amanda cried out. She looked from Eric’s passionate, hate-filled gaze to Robert. “Don’t kill him. I’ll do anything. Anything at all. Please—”
“Amanda!” Eric roared.
“I’ll trade my life for his, anything!”
“You won’t have that opportunity. How much of your wife do you want to see, Cameron? One last glance of at her throat, at her breast? At my hand upon her—”
“You are dead, Tarryton! Now!” Eric thundered.
Eric shook off the arms holding him and slipped a sword from the scabbard of one of the men beside him. When the redcoat raised his head, Amanda gasped. He was no enemy, but Frederick.
Tarryton dropped hold of Amanda, screaming for his guards. Instantly men flooded along the hallways. Something hurtled through the window, rolling upon the floor. It was Damien. He leapt to his feet, sword in his hand, his knees bent, ready for the fight.
Men flooded in. Amanda stood flat against the wall, holding her dress together at the bodice, still stunned as Robert and Eric set to deadly combat before her. They parried with a clash of steel, they backed away, they met as tight as dancers again, steel clenched together in a battle of strength and wills. Robert fell back, tossing a chair into Eric’s path. Eric leapt over the obstacle. His fury led him. Coming before Robert, he thrust toward him with a shuddering blow. Robert’s sword flew high in the air, landing at Amanda’s feet. She knelt down and grabbed it. Eric held the tip of his sword against Robert’s throat. “How dearly I would love to run you through! But what a prize you would be for General Washington!”
“Amanda, get their small arms!” Damien called to her suddenly. Damien, Frederick, and the young captain with them had bested the British guards. Two men lay dead, and two stood still and silent while Damien and Frederick held their swords upon them. Amanda ran to do as she had been beckoned. With her back to the empty doorway, she suddenly felt cold steel against her own neck.
“My, my, gentlemen! What a ruckus over naught!” came a pleasant voice.
Nigel. Nigel Sterling. Her father was behind her again, his arm wrapped about her, his small dagger digging into her throat. Damien looked to Eric, who stared cold and frozen at Sterling.
Robert Tarryton laughed and shoved the sword from his throat, rubbing the sore spot where the tip had dug into his flesh. “Cameron, you will hang! Unless I can find a way to crucify you!”
“But one life to give for your country, eh, Cameron? And one life to give for your wife,” Sterling said pleasantly. “No swordsman could take you, Cameron. Seems it was only love and beauty needed to down you all the while. Eh, my dear daughter? Well, perhaps we shouldn’t play around here any longer. Lord Cameron must be hanged and quickly, and, my dear daughter, I intend to see that you thoroughly enjoy the spectacle—”
Suddenly Sterling went silent. Amanda could not turn to see behind him, but she heard the strong voice with the deep tenor that spoke next, the voice with the trace of French within it, cool and furious and ruthless. “Take your hands off of her, you filthy pig!”
It was Jacques Bisset.
“I’ll kill her. I’ll rip open her throat without a thought,” Sterling ground out. And he would. Amanda could feel the chill of the steel, closer and closer against her throat, so sharp, so cold, cold like death.…
“Pig!” Jacques swore in French. Then, to Amanda’s amazement, the grip on her went lax. She stepped forward, desperately rubbing her throat, then crying out as she watched her father fall. His eyes were wide—his arms, at the last, reached out to her. Blood-soaked, he fell against her. Horrified, she moved away. She saw Jacques then, standing behind Sterling’s fallen body. Tall and immobile, his dark eyes devoid of emotion. He looked at her. Emotion returned to him. “He had to die.”
“Bloody bastard—” Tarryton suddenly roared. He lunged forward, trying to capture Eric’s sword. Eric barely flicked his wrist, and then Robert had fallen too. He had thrust himself upon the blade.
“It was your choice to die!” Eric murmured, drawing back his sword. He looked to Amanda, reaching out a hand to her with an awkward smile. “We’ve got to go, we’ve got to hurry—”
A new thunder of footsteps on the hallway floor alerted everyone to his meaning. The troops from the pines were coming back, trying to ascertain what had happened.
