Page 24 of Wild Hearts

"You wouldn't dare," she gasped, taking a step backward because she knew full well he would dare anything. She had no weapons, save her tongue, so she lashed out accusingly, "Do you wish to cripple me as you did your wife?"

He looked at her for a- long time. "So, you have met the Lady Anne. Did you hate each other on sight?"

"Not really. She wasn't what I expected."

"She wasn't what I expected, either," he said -bitterly.

"She's going to sketch me."

"Be warned. Use extreme caution. She can be as venomous as a snake."

"She looks more like Eve than the serpent," said Tabby.

Paris did not wish Tabby to be exposed to Anne's evil: She contaminated everyone she touched. Yet he did not forbid the visits, knowing full well Tabby would soon discover how unsavory the woman was.

"May I leave now, milord?" she asked formally.

"Stop milording me. I thought you might like to know that Mrs. Graham, your hated enemy, is dead."

Her eyes widened. He had said the statement bluntly, barely. Did he mean he had killed her? She wet her lips, gone suddenly dry, and ventured, "Did she die of natural causes, milord?"

"No, it was murder," he said flatly.

She recoiled from him as her mind asked the inevitable question.

He changed the subject swiftly, abruptly, by reaching into his doublet and producing a gold coin. "For fairings tomorrow."

"I don't want your money," she flared.

He took her arm savagely and made her take the coin. "That's another bruise you can look at when you undress."

She lay for a long time with sleep a million miles away. Her mind twisted and turned and went around in circles, all centering upon him. Did he love her? Did he actually love her enough to have killed the hated Mrs. Graham for her? Did he love her so much he wanted to hold her and kiss her whenever he came close? Or was he an evil rogue who had done murder because Mrs. Graham might tell Maxwell Abrahams about him? Was he an evil lecher who couldn't keep his hands off any woman? Had he really crippled his wife? He had a wife. She suspected him of murder. Yet, as she catalogued his sins, her mouth ached for more of his kisses, and her nipples stood up in hard little buds until she wanted to scream. She touched her lips where his had been such a short time ago, and thrilled as she remembered the taste of him. She was appalled at herself. There was something within her that responded to him— nay— almost cried out to him. It was as if she had no control over her own body. Her mind told her he was dangerous, he was using her as a pawn in his amusing, deadly games. She could make no sense of anything. It was like a jigsaw puzzle where all the pieces were completely square-- each time she put them together, they formed a different picture!

She must have eventually slept, because she awoke with a start very early in the morn when she heard Paris arguing with Alexander in the chamber below. Young Alex cried passionately, "I hate hunting! I think it the filthiest, cruelest sport in the world. I can't bear to see animals die! But you will force me to go with you and Troy when you know I want to go to the fair with the girls."

Tabby dressed quickly. She would go down and add her voice to Alexander's. A boy should not be made to hunt and kill against his nature. He should not be forced to go on raids at night to their enemies' lands when he did not have the stomach for such things.

She was itching to give Rogue Cockburn a dressing-down, anyway. The clear light of dawn had brought her to the conclusion that he was a tyrant who would ruthlessly bend anyone to gain his own ends. She had had enough. She would give him a piece of her mind without fear of the consequences, for this was the last day of her captivity. She was about to go down when she heard Paris say, "Have I ever objected to your music or your poetry? Your writing or composing? No! But I won't send you off to some bloody monastery some where to live out your days in uselessness! There comes a time when you have to take a man's part, Alexander. You don't like going out on raids, but when the enemy comes here, you have to know how to protect your castle and women; or they will be burned and raped! You don't like to hunt, but 'tis a necessary evil when wolves or wild cats devastate your flocks and herds. When you have learned to handle your responsibilities as a man, then there will be time for the gentler pleasures of this world."

Tabby did not go down. She knew she could not refute the truth of his words.

"Troy and I will track the wild cat. You will go to the fair today. But I am giving you a man's responsibility. I charge you to look after the women and especially Tabby. If you let her slip away, you will have me to answer to."

After five minutes passed, in which she heard no voices, she ventured to the chamber below. She spotted a bottle of brandy and wrapped her shawl around it. She made her way up to the White Tower where Anne dwelt. Although Mrs. Sinclair's face was grim, she entered. Anne's eyes were hollow. Her fine features were drawn with stress.

"I won't be able to sit for my portrait today, because we are all going to the fair, but I brought you the brandy." She did not add that indeed she would never sit, for the portrait, because she would not return to the castle. Today was the day she was going to escape.

Anne looked gratefully at the bottle. "God, I can't stand it when everyone leaves the castle. The last time it happened, there was a man who came and tried to kill me. Old Angus saw him and came to help me, and that's when he fell to his death, chasing my assailant," she said hysterically.

"Didn't you tell your husband?" asked Tabby, horrified.

"My husband?" asked Anne incredulously. "Who do you think sent the man to me?"

"Hush now, hush, or ye will be in such a terrible state, ye will be ill again. Here, have some of your lovely chocolates, and I'll pour you some brandy as well." Mrs. Sinclair beckoned Tabby to the door. "Best leave now. I know how to handle her. I'll stay with her all day. There will be no 'man' to fear, I assure you."

Tabby was disturbed by the things Anne had spoken of. Surely Paris had been informed of the bizarre stories Anne was telling. One thing was certain, she was not going to become involved carrying tales between husband and wife. After today, none of it would matter to her, anyway. She must get away before the tangled web of intrigue snared her inextricably and held her forever. Perhaps Anne's suspicions were not unfounded. Rogue Cockburn was a man capable of anything, she decided. If she got away from him now, the romantic feelings of first love would wither and die in time. Close under his hand, they could only grow until they consumed her.

The chatter at the breakfast table was deafening as the excitement of the coming day threatened to get out of hand. The girls were to go in the carriage; Alexander and three young moss-troopers would ride with the coach to ensure their protection. Damascus had won the argument over who would wear green. She would be wearing a pale organdy gown, over which the green velvet jacket borrowed from her sister looked as if it had been designed for her.

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