Teresa Medeiros - [FairyTale 02] (9 page)

She could hear him slow in his pacing. “I seem to recall some vague mention of a curse.” When he paused, she found it easy to imagine him tapping that insolent mouth of his with one elegant finger. “Ah, yes, I remember now. It seems the clan’s own chieftain called down doom upon the heads of the good folk of Bally-bliss with his dying breath. Tell me, Miss Wilder, just what did your clansmen do to deserve such a terrible fate?”

“It wasn’t what they did. It’s what they didn’t do.” Gwendolyn bowed her head, thankful that he couldn’t see the shadow of shame in her eyes. “Our chieftain was a secret sympathizer with Bonnie Prince Charlie and his cause. When the prince needed somewhere to hide after his defeat at Culloden, the MacCullough offered him sanctuary at Castle Weyrcraig.”

“A noble, if misguided, impulse.”

Gwendolyn jerked up her head. “Misguided? I think
not. The MacCullough was a dreamer—a man of vision who dared to imagine a Scotland free of English tyranny, a Scotland united beneath the banner of its rightful king.”

“But at what price, Miss Wilder? Even the most magnificent of dreams has a way of turning to ashes by the light of day.”

Gwendolyn’s passionate denial died in her throat. She couldn’t very well defend her chieftain while entombed in the ruins of his dream. She bowed her head again, toying with a fold of the sheet. “ The Duke of Cumberland somehow discovered the prince’s hiding place. Charles escaped into the night, but Cumberland was determined to make our chieftain pay for betraying the Crown. So he and his soldiers dragged their cannons up the hill and opened fire upon the castle.”

“And I suppose this is when the MacCullough’s loyal clan rushed to their chieftain’s defense, drums thundering and bagpipes howling the doom of any redcoat who dared to lift a sword against their laird.”

“The clan didn’t come to his defense,” she said softly. “The MacCullough was forced to stand alone.”

“No wonder he cursed them,” the Dragon said with a cynical snort of laughter.

“They were afraid!” Gwendolyn cried. “Every man, woman, and child in that village knew why Cumberland’s enemies called him The Butcher. They’d heard how he’d slaughtered the wounded at Culloden until the soil ran red with Scots blood.”

“So the villagers of Ballybliss just huddled in their
cottages behind their bolted doors while their laird and his family were massacred.” Somehow, the utter lack of emotion in his words made them even more damning.

“They believed Cumberland would spare them if they didn’t interfere.”

“And did he? “

“They weren’t murdered in their beds. Their cottages weren’t razed to the ground.” The blindfold did not hide the blush creeping into her cheeks. “Their wives and daughters weren’t raped and forced to bear the babes of English soldiers nine months later.”

The Dragon began to pace again, the husky counterpoint of his voice mesmerizing her. “But what little gold they’d managed to hoard was confiscated by the Crown in the name of taxation. Everything that had bound them together as a clan was outlawed—their faith, their tartans, their weapons. The youngest and the strongest fled Ballybliss, while those who were left behind spent the next fifteen years looking over their shoulders, waiting for the doom they’d been promised to swoop down from the sky like some angel of vengeance and destroy them.”

“How do you know all of this?” Gwendolyn whispered.

“Perhaps I am that angel.” Before she could decide if he was mocking her or himself, he laughed. “Or perhaps I’m simply an opportunistic devil who bought a drink for some pathetic old Highlander in a run-down tavern somewhere. Perhaps he spilled all of Ballybliss’s secrets in my ear, including the morsel that someone in
your village might be hoarding the thousand pounds they earned for betraying their chieftain. Perhaps he even told me that the badge of the MacCullough clan was a flame-breathing dragon.”

“Perhaps he did,” Gwendolyn agreed, wanting desperately to believe him. “After all, no one blathers more than a drunken Highlander.”

“You’ve never seen Tupper after a few glasses of port.”

“Nor do I care to. Which is one of many reasons why I want you to let me go.”

“So we’re back to that, are we? “

An image of Papa’s face, crumpled with confusion as he wondered why she hadn’t come to dress him and feed him his porridge, drifted into Gwendolyn’s head. “What of my family? Have you no regard for their feelings? Would you have them think I was dead?”

A disarming note of anger edged his voice. “Where was your precious family when that mob of savages made off with you?”

Tucked in their beds with a warm brick wrapped in flannel. Thanking her for her noble sacrifice. Promising to have their lovers write songs in her honor. Vowing never to forget her. Gwendolyn swallowed, her silence condemnation enough.

“Just as I thought,” he said. “The way I see it, you’re safer in my hands than in theirs.”

Now that, Gwendolyn thought, was the greatest lie he had told. “What if I promised not to expose your little charade?”

She was unprepared for the sweet shock of his fingers cupping her cheek. “You’d be lying.”

As he stroked his thumb across her bottom lip, she closed her eyes beneath the blindfold, seeking to deny the melting effect of his touch.

“Couldn’t you pretend to believe me? “ she whispered. “ I can be very convincing.”

“I’m sure you can,” he murmured. “But I haven’t trusted anyone for a very long time, and something tells me I’d be a bloody fool to start with you.” He drew away, the clipped formality returning to his voice. “If you’ll promise not to render him unconscious, I’ll send Tupper up with more breakfast. Will there be anything else you require during your stay?”

Gwendolyn surged to her feet. She cast one corner of the sheet over her shoulder and thrust her chin toward the general direction of his last comment. “There will be much I require. I strongly suggest that you double your demands for food. As you can see by my appearance, I am a woman of hearty appetites, and I shall expect them to be well satisfied.”

He seemed to have something stuck in his throat, making his reply sound choked. “I’ll consider it my privilege. I just hope you’ll find me up to the task.”

“And surely you can’t expect me to spend the remainder of my incarceration garbed in this—this— rag.” He didn’t have to know that the cool satin felt like bliss against her bare skin compared with the scratchy wool she usually wore.

“Most certainly not. You can remove it anytime you like.”

“And I shall also require some amusements to brighten the long hours. I prefer the stimulation of books to the tedium of needlework. Dozens of them. I’ve been known to devour two or three a day.”

“Ah, so we return to your hearty appetites.”

If she hadn’t believed he’d have her hands bound before she could get them to her face, Gwendolyn would have jerked off the blindfold purely for the satisfaction of shooting him a venomous look.

“Will there be anything else, Miss Wilder?” he asked. “I could arrange for some musical entertainment. A quartet of string musicians fresh from their triumphant performance at Vauxhall Gardens, perhaps?”

“I don’t believe I’ll be needing anything else.” She waited until she heard him moving toward the panel before spitefully adding, “Yet.”

Gwendolyn sank toward the thronelike bed, hoping to maintain her air of regal dignity. Which might have been possible if she hadn’t misjudged the distance and plopped down onto the floor, landing in a puddle of cold chocolate.

Her captor’s rich laughter poured through the room.

Gwendolyn furiously jerked off the blindfold, only to discover that the Dragon had flown.

A short while later, Gwendolyn was perched on the foot of the bed, clinging to her soggy sheet and glaring at the panel when it crept open.

Tupper poked his head into the chamber like a timid turtle. “ If you’re going to bash me over the head again, miss, would you mind letting me put down the tray first? White flour and Swiss chocolate are rather hard to come by in this particular corner of the Highlands.”

“You’re safe for now, Mr. Tuppingham. I’m all out of birdcages.”

“That’s a relief. Although getting clobbered did take my mind off the headache I’d earned from imbibing too much port last night.”

As he moved to set the tray on the bed, giving her a wide berth, they eyed each other warily. With his puppy-dog eyes and sandy cowlick, Gwendolyn supposed he looked harmless enough. But she couldn’t afford to forget that he was one of Satan’s minions.

“I gather your master won’t be joining us.” Gwendolyn gave one of the crossbuns a poke, pretending indifference.

“Oh, he’s not my master. He’s my friend,” Tupper replied, offering her a delicate china cup.

She took it, savoring the aroma of chocolate wafting up from its depths. The first sip was sheer rapture. “I can’t help but wonder how you came to make the acquaintance of such a”— she had to grit her teeth against the urge to bring her captor’s parentage into question—”mysterious fellow.”

Tupper chuckled. “ It’s a long story, and my great-aunt Taffy always said I talk too much. I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

“Oh, please do,” Gwendolyn implored, gesturing at the barren chamber. “What else have I to do?”

When he appeared to be wavering, she offered him a crossbun, recognizing the kindred gleam in his eye. He wasted no time in plopping down on the opposite corner of the bed and tearing off a buttery hunk of the bread. Gwendolyn helped herself to a bun, in the interest of being companionable and encouraging him to confide in her. If she hoped to defeat the Dragon in his own lair, she would have to learn both his strengths and his weaknesses.

“We met in one of the gambling hells in Pall Mall two years ago,” Tupper confessed, pausing just long enough in his chewing to brush a sprinkling of crumbs from his rumpled waistcoat.

“Why am I not surprised? “ Gwendolyn hid the acid sweetness of her smile behind another sip of chocolate.

“I was alone in one of the back rooms preparing to shoot myself in the head—” At Gwendolyn’s horrified gasp, he paused just long enough to give her a heartening smile. “As I was saying, I was in one of the back rooms preparing to shoot myself in the head when—” He paused again, his mouth hanging open. Gwendolyn leaned forward, praying the name on the tip of his tongue would come tumbling out. “—
the Dragon
came strolling in.”

“And he stopped you? “

Tupper shook his head vigorously, speaking through a hearty mouthful of bun. “Oh, no. He simply pointed out that I’d neglected to properly tamp down my charge and was just as likely to blow off my foot as my head. He removed the pistol from my hand, used his own rod to do the honors, then handed it back.”

Gwendolyn lowered her crossbun, her mouth falling open. “If he was determined to be so accommodating, why didn’t he just shoot you himself?”

Tupper chuckled. “I was deep in my cups at the time, and I do believe it was his matter-of-fact manner that sobered me out of my self-pity. You see—the Marquess of Eddingham had just threatened to call in all my vowels after he discovered I wasn’t good for them. He was intent upon ruining me. The scandal would have killed my father. Of course, that wouldn’t have been such a tragedy, since the ill-tempered old goat has always considered me the most wretched disappointment of his life and his death would have made me a viscount. But all of his assets are tied up in entailed land, and a fat lot of good a title would have done me while I was rotting away in debtors’ prison.”

Gwendolyn shook her head. “Please don’t tell me the Dragon paid off your gambling debts.”

“Not exactly.” A rueful smile played around Tupper’s mouth. “But he did engage the marquess in a game of dice that went on until dawn.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen a grown man so close to tears as the marquess was when he realized he had no chance of
recouping his losses. And I can assure you they were quite staggering. As the sun began to rise, my new friend turned around and handed me his winnings. I then handed them back to the marquess to pay off my debts in full. When he realized what we’d done, he tore up my vowels and hurled them in our faces, shouting that he hoped we choked on them.”

“The Dragon didn’t keep any of the winnings for himself?”

“Not so much as a ha’pence.”

Gwendolyn stopped chewing. “So why would such a benevolent soul choose to prey upon villagers who have little more than the rags on their backs? Does he need the money to pay off his own gambling debts?”

Tupper let out a bray of laughter. “I should say not. Why, there are some who say he’s one of the wealthiest men in—” He snapped his mouth shut, his mustache twitching guiltily. She could almost see his round, guileless face withdrawing into its shell.

He sprang to his feet and began to back away from the bed. “He warned me about you. He told me you were more clever than I am by half and I should take care to guard my tongue whenever I was around you.”

Gwendolyn scrambled to her feet, narrowly averting disaster when she tripped over the hem of the sheet. “Surely you can’t blame me, Mr. Tuppingham, for seeking to learn something of the man who has made me his hostage. Please don’t go, I implore you!”