Page 20 of Tempted
Across the room Butcher Bothwick stood before a steaming caldron, his instruments of torture displayed upon the wall behind him. He held her brother David in a grip of iron. “Guilty! Hang him!” ordered the Black Ram.
“No! Please!” begged Tina, crawling to his feet, which were booted and spurred with spiked ram’s horns.
“Arise! Disrobe!” ordered the Black Ram.
“Never!” cried Tina defiantly, her golden eyes blazing her fury.
The Black Ram raised his thunderous brows to Bothwick, who plunged David’s arm into the vat of boiling oil. The boy screamed in agony.
“Obey me, and the torture will stop!”
Slowly Valentina arose and let the plaid fall to the floor. She stood before him naked, trembling with loathing and fear. She knew she must not let him see either the loathing or the fear Pride straightened her back and lifted her flaming head high. Her breasts thrust forward impudently, her rouching nipples drawing his eyes, which were devouring her with animal lust. He held out a commanding hand: “Come!”
She hid her seething emotions behind a cold mask as she drew close to the cruel monster. His callused fingers brushed the flaming triangle of curls upon her mons, and he leered, “Firebrand.”
She shuddered as he lifted her upon his knee and placed a large ruby in her navel. “The jewel is cursed,” he told her cruelly. “Any other who touches you will die.” The palm of one hand opened, and she gasped aloud as it cupped her bare breast; his other hand moved down her thigh, and he whispered hoarsely, “Open for me.”
Her mind refused to believe he meant her to open her legs, then suddenly he was holding a golden chalice filled with bloodred wine. “Open for me,” he repeated coaxingly. She was relieved that he meant her to open her lips, but as she drank from the goblet, she realized with horror that the wine was poisoned.
Valentina sat bolt upright in bed and cried out. As she sat shivering, it was a long time before she realized she had been having a nightmare and that in reality she had never sat naked upon the Black Ram’s knees while he fondled her and took pleasure in feeding her poison.
She slipped from bed and lit a candle to dispel the darklings; then on her knees she gave a quick thanksgiving for their deliverance. When she recalled Old Meg’s tarot cards and her tortoise, she got back into bed and hugged her knees. Safe and secure in her own bed, she began to laugh. She savored the victory she and David had won over Ram Douglas, and warmth crept back into her limbs as she exulted over the impotence he would experience when he discovered his pigeons had flown the coop.
Tina’s first stop in the early morning was David’s bedchamber, where she discovered that Duncan had slept there to keep an eye on Davie. They were relieved that he was looking considerably healthier and that most of the pain had left his arm.
“Duncan,” she said in a coaxing tone, “I don’t believe it would be politic to tell Donal about what I did yesterday. In fact,” she said, giving David a speaking look, “why even tell him that Davie was caught, since everything worked out so beautifully? He’ll rant and rave and read us a sermon cataloguing all our shortcomings, and before you know it Beth will be in tears, the maids will be embroidering the tale, and that Kirsty will have a face like a pikestaff and will make a point of letting Father know you went raiding as soon as his back was turned.”
David pressed, “She has a point, ye know. The raid was a success. Why spoil it fer Donal?”
Duncan eyed his uncontrollable young siblings. “If ye stop in bed all day,” he told Davie, “and ye dinna leave Doon tae go gallivantin’ God only knows where,” he told Tina, “I’ll think on it.”
“Duncan, we promise to do whatever you say. We won’t give you the slightest trouble,” she vowed.
“Trouble is yer middle name, Valentina Kennedy, as half Scotland already knows and the other half will discover before yer twenty!” Duncan said.
“Wheesht, man, when ye flatter her like that, there’s no living wi’ her, Duncan!” said Davie.
With a light heart, Tina flew downstairs to the kitchens. She sat herself on Mr. Burque’s worktable, a favorite perch whenever she wanted to beguile the attractive Frenchman. “Mr. Burque, I need your assistance. I’ve invited Patrick Hamilton to dinner tonight, and I need you to serve something superb. And please, my dearest Mr. Burque, make it something that doesn’t wear horns.”
He chuckled. “Chérie, a Scot doesn’t feel he’s been fed unless he’s served mutton.”
“Patrick is the Earl of Arran’s son. He’s not quite as coarse as last week’s visitors.”
“Then I suggest smoked salmon followed by grouse. I’ll make the skin brown and crackling, just the way you like it.”
“I don’t know—men always eat game with their fingers,” she said doubtfully.
“Then I’ll provide rose-water fingerbowls and napkins,” he suggested.
“Mr. Burque, I said he wasn’t coarse, I didn’t say he was refined!”
“Donal will be back today. Just to be on the safe side, chérie, I think I’d better do a rack of lamb. It’s in your best interests to have him in a mellow mood, n’est-ce pas!”
Tina was not worried that Mr. Burque was privy to Kennedy business. He knew enough to keep his mouth shut about her secrets. “Last time Patrick Hamilton was here, he went mad over your pâté en gelée. Could I impose upon you to make it again, Mr. Burque?”
He cast her a provocative glance. “Beware! It will make him very frisky!”
“Oooh la-la, promise?” Tina giggled.
