Page 100 of The Defiant One
The two men looked up. A servant stood in the door — Andrew could not yet remember his name — his face bleak with worry. He was wringing his hands and chewing his lower lip.
"What is it, man?" asked Andrew, rising to his feet and instantly crossing the room.
"It is my lady — she went riding some thirty minutes ago, and Sheik just returned to the stables without her. Oh, my lord! I fear that something dreadful must have happened to her!"
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"I can't believe you're dong this," Celsie spat over her shoulder, as Gerald hustled her at pistol-point through the darkening woods bordering Rosebriar's most southern pastures.
She felt as though she were walking a path through her worst nightmare; with Gerald partially inebriated and very desperate, she dared not predict what he might do. She had never seen him like this, and her only thought was of escape, her only fear for Andrew. She must find a way to warn him! She must find a way to disarm Gerald and turn the pistol on him!
But although Gerald had been drinking, his wits were honed by the blistering need for revenge. With a rough slap on the rump, he had sent poor Sheik flying back to Rosebriar, and now here they were, all alone in the gloomy woods, the rain beginning to pelt her nose, and the thunder growing louder, deeper, with its approach.
"Gerald, I beg you to reconsider what you're doing," Celsie said again, when he didn't answer her the first time. She looked at him from over her shoulder, her palms damp with sweat, her heartbeat quickening with every step they took through the darkening woods. "My husband has done nothing to deserve this cold-blooded plotting to end his life, and I swear I'll die before I let you harm him!"
"Don't tempt me, Celsie. You're all that stands between destitution and fortune and trust me, I intend to have that fortune. Now, move."
He shoved her forward. Her toe hit a root hidden amongst the carpet of moss and she fell heavily, scraping her chin on a stone and getting a faceful of wet, decaying leaves. Her heart pounding, her nerves taut with growing panic, she picked herself up and, on shaky limbs, forced herself to continue on, feeling the savage nudge of the pistol against the small of her back, propelling her ever forward.
"Gerald, listen to me," she pleaded, trying to make him see reason. "You haven't thought this through. You can't just go around killing people . . . especially a duke's brother! Don't you realize that if you shoot Andrew, you'll be hanged for murder?"
"Not if I flee the country, and I can assure you, Celsie, that after what your husband has done to me, there's no way in hell I can remain in England. Maybe not even in Europe. Oh, no. It's off to America and its unlimited opportunities for me. Now, hurry up, damn you, we're about to get soaked."
"Then just tell me how much money you need and I'll give it to you! This is not an unsurmountable problem!"
"Will all the money in the world buy back my honor? My standing in Society? Will it undo all the damage your half-witted husband has done to my reputation? Oh, no, Celsie. Your handsome young inventor is going to come looking for you. And I am going to kill him when he does."
"But, Gerald, think of the aphrodisiac!" she cried, grasping at every thought that came to her. "If you kill him, you'll never have it! Only Andrew knows what's in it! Only Andrew is capable of re-creating it! If you kill him, the aphrodisiac dies with him!"
"Your pleas are falling on deaf ears, Celsie. Besides, even if I were to spare your clever husband, I can assure you that Eva, if she has been tricked as I have been, will not."
Eva. Oh, God.
"Now, move."
She moved. The trees were thinning out into a clearing that overlooked the rapidly darkening valley, and above them, the sky was the color of slate — and growing blacker. It was starting to rain in earnest now. Celsie could hear it falling all around her, pattering down on grass and earth, rising in volume as though heralding the oncoming storm. And there, just ahead, stood the deserted ruins of what had once been a sixteenth-century manor house, long since lost to fire and abandonment. Its roof was all but gone, its west wall had fallen into a misshapen hill of loose stone and brick through which grasses, brambles and burdock were thrusting, and great empty holes in the walls marked where windows had once looked out onto the surrounding countryside.
Celsie had often played here as a child, but now, the place was downright eerie.
"You'll be safe enough here," Gerald said, motioning her forward with the gun and pulling a length of hemp from his pocket. "Get under what remains of the roof."
She eyed the rope and stood her ground. "No."
He looked away, clenched his teeth, and then hit her hard enough to send her sprawling to the ground. Her head ringing from the blow, Celsie surged to her feet. She made a mad grab for the pistol, but Gerald was too fast — and too strong for her. Twisting her arm behind her back, he instantly overpowered her and bound her wrists with the length of hemp. Then, hauling her to a young maple springing from the rubble, he tied her to it, gagged her with his stock, and finally stood back, meeting her angry, frightened eyes with a look that was at once sullen and wounded.
"I didn't want to do this," he said defensively. "But you leave me no choice."
He turned and walked away even as Celsie sank to the ground, her fingers groping in the rubble behind her for a sharp stone. A moment later, she saw him leading his horse, previously hidden, from around the other side of the ruins.
And then he galloped away, back in the direction from which they had come.
Toward the woods and pastures beyond.
Toward the house.
Toward her husband.
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