Authors: Heartstorm
A
flicker of annoyance crossed his face, cracking the thin veneer of polished
politeness she had always seen. He raised his arms from his sides, palms up, in
a gesture of submission. "You've no need to fear me, Anne," he said soothingly.
"Come, sweetheart, you know me better than that." As he spoke, he
moved slowly toward the table.
She
glanced frantically about the room. There was nothing at hand to use as a weapon.
Her eyes darted longingly toward the door. She could never reach it.
Campbell
lunged forward suddenly, seizing her wrists and dragging her around the table
into his embrace. He held her tightly, then lowered his head, forcing his wet,
suffocating kiss against her mouth. She attempted to twist away, but his grip
on her arms tightened until she cried out in pain.
As
he fumbled to unfasten her gown, unreasoning panic seized her. She struggled
wildly to free her hands, but there was no loosening his grip. His mouth closed
over hers, insolent, punishing. Like a frightened animal, she fought him,
finally biting down hard upon his lip.
Percy
jerked back with an oath, one hand held to his lip where a tiny trickle of
blood began forming. Before she could move, he struck her hard across the face,
twisting her head around with a snap and flinging her several feet across the
floor with the force of the blow. She came up short against the wall, stumbling
to her knees on the hard floor.
Through
the blinding clouds of pain in her head, she wondered dully if her jaw were
broken. She leaned against the wall, staring at Campbell in revulsion.
There
was no one to come to her aid even if she screamed for help. Nigel was on his
way to England, and Charles was somewhere to the south on business for her
father. Had it been planned that way all along? She wanted to cower upon the
floor and weep, but the very knowledge of her helplessness gave her unexpected
strength.
Campbell
grinned at her, his chest heaving with the rise and fall of his uneven
breathing. "I never thought you'd be such a vixen, sweetheart. You've
always seemed such an obedient creature."
He
moved to the door and slid the bolt into place, the noise grating loudly in the
silence. Anne closed her eyes and swallowed heavily, knowing that the sound
would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Drawing
herself slowly to her feet, she faced Campbell with forced calm. "I would
have you know," she said evenly, "that if you continue in this
manner, you'll ruin for all time any hope of a cordial relationship between us.
I shall never come to you willingly after this."
He
laughed harshly, as if amused by her ignorance. "I don't believe you
understand, Anne. Your willingness is a matter of complete indifference to
me."
There
was nothing else to say. She closed her eyes as he reached for her, his brutal
grasp on her shoulder triggering a sharp pain that shot through her but
scarcely pierced her numbed disbelief.
As
he drew her against him, she thought fleetingly of Francis and of those golden
moments between them that would never come again.
Anne
stared dully at a golden ray of sunlight that crept across her window sill to
brighten the shadowy room. She had lain awake all night watching the darkness
fade to dawn and the dawn to morning light. She had swallowed a sea of bitter
tears, wondering what trick of fate had brought her to this—the end of all her
hopes, of everything.
She
shifted her head against the pillow, and a throbbing pain shot through her jaw
to her temple. Glancing at Campbell, she wished for the thousandth time that
her hair were not caught beneath his shoulder. She had lain beside him all
night, not daring to move for fear of waking him, trapped so closely she could
smell his unwashed body. A wave of nausea swept her, and she drew a deep,
shuddering breath.
Percy
stirred beside her, and she closed her eyes, feigning sleep. She felt a slight
tug at her hair as he moved. The bed creaked. He rose and crossed the room to
the chamberpot. Hoping he would leave without disturbing her, she kept her eyes
tightly closed, forcing herself to breathe slowly and evenly.
The
rustle of clothing told her he was dressing. She willed herself to keep still,
even when she heard the sound of his footsteps moving nearer. He eased himself
onto the bed, his cool fingers brushing her face.
Her
eyes flew open and she jerked away. God, not again —please, not again! She
studied him fearfully, her gaze never leaving his face.
Percy
smiled. His hand dropped from her chin to caress her naked shoulder bared above
the covers. "Good morning, Anne. I trust you slept well."
She
stared at him, refusing to answer.
"I'd
no idea what a pleasurable evening I'd find with you, my dear." His hand
slid from her shoulder toward her throat, and she flinched away instinctively.
"Come
now, Anne," he continued smoothly. "We've gotten off on the wrong
foot, but I can assure you you'll have no cause to regret becoming my wife. You
may have whatever money can buy. Position, houses, jewels... you'll be the envy
of women all over Scotland. And who knows," he added, "you may learn
to enjoy my company in other ways. I'm sure you'll not force me to repeat
another scene like last night."
She
continued to stare at him in unblinking silence, hating him for the way he had
used her—trembling lest he do so again.
He
twisted his hand in her hair, drawing her head forward. "Will you, my
dear?" Holding her close, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her
possessively.
She
forced herself to lie still, unresisting at his touch, though her stomach
churned sickly and her gorge rose.
After
a moment, Percy lifted his head, smiling in approval of her new passivity.
"So you've learned something already," he said, releasing her and
sitting up. "Were I not so late for a meeting with your father, I'd stay
and see what else you've learned." His lips curled into a dark smile above
his pointed beard. "I suppose it'll wait. After all, we've plenty of time
to get to know each other."
She
heard the door close behind him. The sound of his footsteps died away down the
hall. Curling herself into a tight, miserable ball, she let anguish sweep over
her, submerging every thought.
Lost
in her own hell, she did not hear the door open and close or the sound of light
footsteps crossing the floor. She started violently when a gentle hand touched
her shoulder. "I waited for him to leave, mistress. I thought you'd have
need of me," Bess said softly.
Anne
dragged herself to a sitting position, drawing the covers across her chest to
cover her nakedness. She stared dully at the rumpled blankets, unable to meet
Bess's eyes. "I...I'd like..." she stammered brokenly. Her throat
constricted and a wrenching sob strangled her words. She could not speak—she
could not even think. Shutting her eyes tightly, she struggled to hold back the
tears, but once begun, they were impossible to stop.
"You'll
want a bath," Bess whispered in a choked voice. "A bath and some
fresh clothing. I'll be right back. Just you sit still, mistress."
Anne
nodded, attempting to wipe the fast-falling tears from her cheeks.
Bess
touched her arm, sympathetic tears swimming in her luminous green eyes.
"I'll order the water heated and be right back. Now don't you move."
True
to her word, Bess returned almost immediately to urge Anne out of the bed and
into her robe. The girl efficiently stripped the bloodied sheets from the bed
and remade it with fresh linens. She picked up Anne's torn garments, folding
them neatly and carrying them out with the ruined sheets to remove all traces
of struggle from the room before the other servants arrived with the water.
How
easily the room could be repaired, Anne thought bitterly. It looked once more
as if nothing unusual had happened there. But she would never be the same.
Memories
of those hours in Campbell's arms welled inside her, and she began to tremble
uncontrollably. She was dirty—so dirty. Dear God, why didn't they hurry with
her bath? She moved to the window and leaned against the comforting solidity of
the wall, desperately clutching the stone ledge.
Footsteps
sounded in the corridor, and Bess flung open the door, scolding the startled
servants for their tardiness. Anne did not turn around as the steaming pails
were poured into the tub. She did not want anyone else to see the ugly bruise
along her jaw where Percy had struck her.
Campbell...
her hands curled into tight fists. How she hated him! She would see him dead
before he used her like that again. And her father... her dear father. How he
must have hated her to have planned this with Percy. Francis was right.
She
closed her eyes against the sudden ache. Oh, Francis...
For
the first time in many hours she allowed herself to think of him. What a
difference a day could make. They had missed happiness by so narrow a margin.
Only three more days at the most until his arrival—he was probably on Ranleigh
lands even then.
But
it was too late. It was over between them—everything was over. She was not the
woman Francis had left behind. He would not want her now, and she could not
blame him. Not after the night with Campbell.
"Come,
mistress. Lean on me. Oh, my dear lady, you'll feel better soon."
Bess's
arm went around her, and Anne realized she was shaking. She allowed Bess to
help her across the floor and into the tub. The warm water felt good, but there
was no easing the hurt inside her. She took the cloth Bess handed her and began
to scrub. She scrubbed with soap and water —scrubbed her whole body until her
skin was raw and burning—but she could not wash away the memory of Campbell's
touch.
She
stared in fascinated horror at the purplish bruises on her arms. Time would
erase them, but she was marked inwardly in a way that would never change. There
was no going back, and the future...
Her
mind shied away from the thought. It was too grim to consider. There was nothing
even to hope for.
She
drew a deep breath. Think, she had to think! There was no one to help her—no
Francis MacLean to save her. If she were to escape Percy Campbell and her
father, she must do it on her own. If she could only make her way north to her
uncle, Ian would help her. He would get her onto a ship for England or France.
She
glanced at Bess. The girl was hovering anxiously beside her. "I'm done
with my bath," she said quietly. "Fetch me a fresh gown. Something
with long sleeves," she added, glancing ruefully at the dark markings
along one arm.
After
her bath, Bess helped Anne dress in an old gown of deepest blue muslin with
long concealing sleeves and a high starched ruff. Glenkennon might not like it,
but at least the ruff partially concealed the ugly mark along her jaw.
When
she was dressed, Bess bade her sit before the mirror. The girl gently brushed
the tangles from Anne's hair, pinning up the sides with her pearl-studded
combs. The caress of the brush was soothing. Anne closed her eyes, willing her
mind to a merciful blankness.
The
brush halted abruptly in its passage through her hair. "Oh, mistress,
perhaps it's not my place to speak," Bess whispered, "but I think I
know how I can get a message to Sir Francis MacLean."
Anne's
eyes met Bess's in the mirror. "And why should you wish to do that?"
Bess
drew a determined breath. "Perhaps I'm wrong, but I did believe there was
something between you." Her fingers tightened on Anne's shoulder.
"He'd help us now if he knew."
Anne
smiled bitterly and shook her head. Taking the brush into her own hand, she
continued the soothing strokes through her hair. "I wonder how many others
knew of it, then."
"I
only guessed, mistress. No one else is aware of..." Bess dropped her eyes,
"... of anything as yet."
"You
were right. There was something once—but Sir Percy ended that last night. I'll
not endanger Francis by seeking his help now." She sighed deeply and put
down the brush. "I must get out of Ranleigh tonight, Bess. If I can reach
my uncle, he'll see me to safety."
Bess
knelt beside her chair, gazing at Anne with wide, troubled eyes. "I'll
come with you. I'll not let you go alone."
Anne
shook her head. "No, Bess. My father would kill you if he discovered
us—I've no doubt of that now. But there's nothing worse than what's already
happened that they can do to me. I've nothing to lose."
***
The
chapel grew cold and dim with the fall of evening. With one last whispered
prayer, Anne rose from the cold stone floor. She moved slowly up the darkening
aisle, smiling cynically at the twist of fate that made her thankful, for once,
her father was not a pious man. She had hidden there all afternoon, knowing
neither her father nor Percy Campbell would stumble upon her.
The
day had turned too soon into evening, and she had made few preparations for her
escape. She had tried to think of a way to get out of Ranleigh with a horse but
could come up with nothing save bribing the guards with the coins Francis had
given her. But that was too risky. They might decide to turn her in for an even
larger sum from her father.