Love's Savage Bonds Page 7

  “And now, we have only to wait until your precious Charles shows up... how sad it will be, when it is found that these two brothers finally killed each other.” He nodded to Philip’s corpse, and to the pistol he had left on the sideboard.

  No... No no no no!! This was beyond imagination! Cad though he might have been, Catherine was filled with sorrow at Philip’s death… but to imagine Charles lying there, cold, beside his brother… while this monster had his way…

  “You English women-- such fragile creatures.” Lefanu interrupted her nightmarish visions by going to one knee above her supine form, and taking her chin in his clawlike hand. “And with the strain you have been under, who can say how long you'll survive past our wedding day.” Catherine nearly vomited into her gag at the words, then realized the worst was yet to come. “Perhaps,” Lefanu smirked, “rather than take chances... I think it would be best if we were to consummate the nuptials right now.”

  And Lefanu leaned over the helpless girl, placed one hand at her breast, and used the other to begin pulling up what remained of her nightdress.

  Now, with everything she had left in her, Catherine fought. Never mind that the bonds made it torture to try and move her limbs... that the gag threatened to choke her as she attempted to call for help... she fought. She felt Lefanu's strong, wiry hands at her thighs, forcing her legs apart, and tried to kick at him. She received back a blow to the head that made the monster’s previous assault on her feel like the barest of love pats. Her head reeled as she felt all strength melt from her legs, all resistance wither. Sobbing into her gag, Catherine closed her eyes so that she might at least be spared the sight of the Frenchman preparing himself for the assault.

  “Lefanu, you swine. Get away from her!”

  By the time Catherine realized that she wasn’t imagining the voice, and had opened her eyes, the Frenchman was standing upright, and had managed to re-button his trousers. Standing framed in the doorway was the stolid frame of Major Cathcart.

  “Mind your own business, old man.” Lefanu's voice was level and deadly as he regarded the pistol held in the ancient, but rock-steady, hand.

  “By God, you unutterable...” Cathcart seemed not to have words enough to describe the man. “Well, the sheriff will do for you. I had my sister summon him and his men—thank heavens for her curiosity about your fancy coach. I will keep my eye on you until they arrive. Catherine!” he called out. “Can you—what in—?”

  Faster than Catherine's eye could follow, Lefanu had shaken his sleeve, and a tiny single-shot pistol appeared in his right hand. In what seemed but a single motion, he leveled his arm and fired.

  Catherine screamed into the gag as she saw the bullet's impact on Cathcart's chest, staggering the old soldier, blood gushing down his tunic. There was another explosive report as Cathcart got off one shot, which seemed to graze Lefanu's arm, before collapsing to the floor.

  “Merde!” Lefanu’s voice was an animal snarl.

  Catherine could hear confused voices, and feet pounding toward them. Servants? The sheriff? No matter, Lefanu wasn’t planning to wait to find out. The Frenchman threw aside his tiny pistol, then grabbed up the revolver he had shot Philip with. He reached out, and once more plunged his fingers deep into Catherine’s long hair, twisting his grip savagely.

  “Now, you English bitch—if you’ll not be my bride, you will at least be my passport out of here.” He raced for the door, the pain in her scalp forcing Catherine to scramble along in his wake, her bound arms making every step agony. She tried to raise a cry, but gagged whimpers were all she could manage.

  The black brougham was still waiting outside. Lefanu yanked open the door and threw his captive inside; Catherine sprawled to the floor, landing painfully on her shoulder.

  Lefanu shouted something in French, the driver spurred on the horses, and they were off like a shot. Lefanu turned around in the seat, glaring savagely at the woman who lay bound and gagged at his feet.

  “Now, Lady Catherine,” he sneered over the leveled revolver. “I want you to imagine every depredation that a man can visit upon a woman's body and soul...” his eyes burned into her as he leaned closer... “because you will taste them all before I have finished with you.” He traced the barrel of the gun along her cheek, the oily metal as cold and hard as his countenance. “When we reach Paris, I will have you kept a prisoner in the house of a Madame who is indebted to me. There, your insolent mouth will learn the taste of more than a gag. And that will be just the beginning.”

  Catherine pointlessly shook her head, her eyes filled with tears of despair. Lefanu had been about to resume his vile threats when he stopped, cocking his head at a sound…

  A sound that Catherine now heard. Hoofbeats… and did she dare imagine that they seemed to be the beats of an unusually large horse? Large, and black, and bearing on its back…

  “No—Charles Redmond? Fils de pute!” The Frenchman cursed, and moved to the window, aiming his revolver. “Very well, monsieur, you shall share your brother’s fate after all.”

  Catherine could hear the pounding hoofbeats nearing, and saw that the Frenchman was ignoring her for the moment. As Lefanu seemed to find his target, she used all her strength to swing her legs up and kick him hard in the back!

  Lefanu let out a grunt of pain... and Catherine saw the gun fly from his hand, out the window of the coach!

  “You miserable slut!” he bellowed. Catherine screamed into her gag as he once more seized her by the hair, dragging her to the window, and producing a knife from his belt.

  “I'll slit her throat!” he called out, loud enough to be heard over the two sets of thrumming hooves. “Back off and let us go!”

  Catherine tried to somehow deflect the knife as she had the pistol, but it was no use: her bonds, and Lefanu's grip in her hair, rendered her helpless. She tried to look through the window for Charles, to scream a warning through her gag. At first, she saw nothing but countryside flashing past them. Then came the sound of Orion's hoofbeats... were they getting farther away? Oh, God, he can't leave me!

  Lefanu noticed it too, and laughed as he craned his neck to get a better view. Catherine did the same... and it was she who first realized that Orion was trotting away with an empty saddle!

  It only took Lefanu an additional few seconds to recognize the fact... but in that instant, a pair of worn leather boots had flown in through the window of the brougham and crashed into Lefanu’s chest, as Charles swung himself down from the roof and into the cab.

  “Pig!” Lefanu snarled. He released his hold on Catherine’s hair as he used one hand to grapple with Charles, while the other tried to bring the knife to bear.

  The brougham rocked furiously, the driver still speeding them along, not realizing that they were no longer being chased. As Charles and Lefanu wrestled, neither seeming to get the upper hand, Lefanu's knife glittering wickedly; it caught the coachman’s attention so that, reflexively, he flailed wildly with his crop, trying to slash backwards through the window to aid Lefanu.

  Catherine saw her chance, and though it meant once more bringing all her weight to bear on her nearly paralyzed arms, she threw herself onto her back, legs in the air, and closed her legs together, catching the man's riding crop between the soles of her bare feet, its loop now taut about his wrist. She grunted into her gag, and pulled with all her strength.

  “Wha—ahhhhh!” She was rewarded with the man’s confused cry as he unbalanced and pitched off the driver’s seat to tumble to the side of the road. From there, it was but seconds before the confused horse changed direction wildly, and Catherine felt heaven and earth change places as the coach teetered on its wheels, then came crashing to the ground with a horrible grinding din.

  After a few breathless moments, Catherine forced herself to her feet, leaning up against the teetering wall of the coach.

  The opposite door of the brougham had been torn off in the crash, and Catherine’s blood froze at the tangle of arms and legs that lay, unmoving, on the ground. Heed
less of the pain from her bonds, of the gag that threatened to choke her, she took one terrified step forward... and saw a figure begin to stir. Her heart leapt as Charles Redmond, his face streaked with blood from a gash on his forehead, extricated himself from the unconscious heap that was Colonel Lefanu, and came towards her.

  "Charles!" Though the syllable was muffled nonsense issuing from her cruelly gagged mouth, she called his name again and again. She staggered towards him, and Charles reached his hands to pull down her gag, but she ignored them, and plunged forward, burying her face in his chest, letting huge racking sobs shake her bound form. Let him untie her later... for now, all she wanted was to hide in his arms, for the first time since she could remember, feeling truly safe.

  **********

  “And how fare our patients?”

  Catherine looked up from her steaming cup of broth to see Charles, his forehead decorated with a large sticking-plaster, standing in the doorway, coat in hand.

  "Mister Redmond!" Elizabeth Cathcart squealed, as she brought a bowl of the broth to her brother, propped up in the chair next to Catherine's, his chest heavily bandaged. "Oh, I'm sorry—Your Lordship!"

  Charles waved it away. "Still some papers to sign, yet, Miss Cathcart... and anyway, I hope I shall always be simple Charles to the two friends who rescued my darling Catherine."

  "Sorry I rather hashed it," Major Cathcart grumbled, but Charles cut him off.

  "Nonsense. You prevented that monster from taking advantage of a helpless young woman... I daresay you've never fought a more worthwhile battle."

  "Aye, well, I only wish I believed that we'd see the swine swing for it."

  "You mean our courts won't punish him?" Catherine was aghast. “Even after…?”

  "He has highly-placed friends in his government," Charles agreed, “so he won’t be hanged, though likely deported. On the other hand, most Frenchmen I've met tend toward the gallant where women are concerned, and would be appalled by the misuse he intended of you. My guess is that after word of his conduct gets around, he would be hard put to find friends, even in Paris."

  "Enough talk of that man for now!" Elizabeth Cathcart admonished.

  "Just as you say," smiled Charles. "But you’ve not answered my question— are the patients well?"

  Catherine remembered the wave of relief that had washed over her at the discovery that Major Cathcart’s wound had been less than fatal. She had refused, though, to allow him to be moved until he was healed, so the Cathcarts had been her guests for the past week; Elizabeth making herself more than useful as nursemaid.

  “The doctor says I’ve suffered no permanent damage,” she smiled. “Just a few days’ rest and I’ll be fine.” She snuggled herself down once more into the welcoming warmth of her dressing gown.

  “Glad to hear it!” Charles gave a broad wink to Major Cathcart. “Wouldn’t want to have to carry you down the aisle in a sling!”

  Catherine blushed, then frowned as she remembered the terrible price that her freedom to marry Charles had cost.

  “Poor Philip,” she sighed. “I don’t suppose there was anything I could have done, but it all seemed so…” Her voice trailed off and she looked up at Charles. “Lefanu will pay for it?”

  “He will: in disgrace and deportation, if nothing else. As badly as my brother behaved toward us both, he still deserved justice. And I will see that he gets it. And to begin that process,” Charles buttoned his coat, “it’s off to town for my deposition.” He bent down and placed a gentle kiss on Catherine’s cheek; she found herself counting the hours until their union might permit him to take far greater liberties. “When I return tomorrow, I expect to see that wedding guest list finished!” He kissed her once more, and paused to bid good-bye to the Cathcarts.

  “Can I bring you anything?” Elizabeth Cathcart was hovering over Catherine. "I see you’ve finished the books I brought— might I get you some more?"

  “Well…” Catherine paused, and then allowed a broad smile to spread across her face. “If your library has any thrilling mysteries, I should much enjoy escaping into one.”

  “Thrills?” Miss Cathcart laughed, but her puzzlement was genuine. “Are you certain you’ve not had enough of those?”

  “Just make sure you find one where the heroine is borne helplessly away into the night, in the arms of a dark stranger on a big black horse.” She smiled to see Charles actually blushing. "I promise THAT is a story I’ll never get tired of!”

  The End