Page 56 of The Major's Mistake
Julian beganto see understand why the band he was following showed little fear of being followed. As the trail twisted up into the forbidding moors, their tracks had all but disappeared into the steep slopes of flinty scree and weathered rock. McTavish and his band had not, however, reckoned with the marquess’s years of experience in the hardscrabble terrain of the Peninsula. His keen eye had little difficulty in picking out the subtle signs that marked their passage.
He had to stop for a moment, both to catch his breath and to allow the searing pain in his leg to ease just a bit. The unstable footing and rocky outcroppings had forced him to abandon his horse some way back, so that his progress had slowed considerably, though not through lack of effort. Sweat soaked his once-crisp linen shirt and several times he had nearly lost his footing and taken a nasty spill. Eyes narrowed, he surveyed the way ahead, noting with grim satisfaction that he was nearing the top of the crag.
Just ahead, a narrow ledge was the only way around a slide of large boulders. Julian took several cautious steps, straining to hear any sound from the other side. His boots inched slowly over the uneven stone until he could manage a glimpse of what lay beyond. There was no sign of Miranda and her captors, only a ghost of a path that threaded back through a stand of scraggly pines and up into a series of narrow ravines.
Before the trees, however, lay a short traverse over flat ground, completely exposed on all sides. It was risky, but there was no other choice. He would simply have to move quickly, he thought grimly as another twinge shot through his knee.
As he picked his way ahead, a shard of stone suddenly broke loose from the ledge. Julian fought to regain his balance, but his bad leg twisted, then buckled under his weight. He pitched forward, then felt himself tumbling over the edge.
The drop was precipitous, with nothing to break his fall but the litter of rocks over one hundred feet below. Pain lanced through his leg as it smashed into the side of the cliff, and he grabbed desperately for any sort of hold in the weathered rock. His fingers managed to lodge in a narrow crevasse, though the force of his momentum nearly wrenched his shoulder from its socket.
Stifling a groan, he began to pull himself back to the top of the ledge. Finally, his hands raw and bleeding from the effort, he was able to twist up to safety.
Although muzzy with pain, Julian remained alert to the danger of being seen. With barely a pause, he forced himself to crawl forward to what little shelter the windswept pines afforded. Once there, his weary limbs gave way and he rolled onto his back, gasping for breath. His heart felt as if it might burst through his chest and as the rush of adrenaline receded his muscles felt as limp as wet felt.
It took several long minutes before he could begin to assess the extent of his injuries. The scrapes and bruises were hardly cause for concern, but the blow to his already weakened leg had cause some damage. By craning his neck, he could make out a small stain of crimson slowly seeping through his breeches just above the boot, and an attempt at flexing the knee nearly brought on a wave of nausea.
His jaw tightened like a vise as he stared up at the scudding clouds. Was he to lay there in ignonymous defeat, in need of rescue as well? Such a thought was made even more bitter to swallow by the fact that he couldn’t repress the uneasy feeling that somehow it was not the first time he was failing Miranda in a time of need. His hands slowly felt at the pockets of his coat. Thank God the pistols were still there.
Damnation.He would go on if he had to crawl on his hands and knees.
As Julian took in another lungful of air, he noticed a thin white plume of smoke wafting up against the darker grey of the sky. Surely it must mean Miranda and her captors were close by. Spurred on by the encouraging sign, he found the strength to haul himself to his feet and push onward.
“Get up!”ordered McTavish.
When Miranda hesitated for just a fraction, he grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. “When I give an order, you will jump to obey it!”
She said nothing but the rise of her chin and the flare of defiance in her eyes spoke loud enough.
His hand slapped across her cheek again, this time hard enough to raise an ugly red welt.
A low murmur ran through the group of men seated around the fire. McTavish spun around, his grip still locked on Miranda’s arm. “Any of you looking for the same?
The sound died away.
“You see—no hero is going to jump up to yer rescue,” he sneered. “So I suggest you find your manners and begin to act sweet with me.” His hand began to snake its way up her arm. “Just like you do with His Lordship.”
Miranda tried to pull away.
“Oh, no you don’t. Perhaps he likes a show of spirit in his doxies, but me, I prefer my females obedient—very obedient.”
The laugh that followed sent a frisson of real fear through her. It became more than a mere shiver as he released her and removed the belt from his rough breeches. He slapped the thick leather against his meaty palm. “Now come here and show me how you kiss the bloody swells.”
She looked for any way of retreat but Scofield and Gibbs had already moved in closer on either side, their leering expressions leaving no doubt that they expected some entertainment.
Scofield licked his lips. “How about a taste for us as well, McTavish?”
The leader spit on the ground. “Perhaps when I’m finished—but that won’t be for a while.” He took a step closer to Miranda and snapped the belt in the air. “I said, come here!” But unlike earlier, he make no effort to grab her. It was clear he was enjoying himself. Though she had her outward emotions under rigid control, he must have sensed some sign of her mounting terror and was taking pleasure in prolonging it. “Think on it, my pretty one. If I have to come get you, you’ll soon feel the strap on that milky skin of yours. I only want what you’re giving all too freely to your fancy man.”
His two henchmen snickered and murmured rude encouragements.
“Yes,” continued McTavish. “Just a few sweet kisses.” One hand dropped down to fiddle suggestively with the fastening of his breeches. “Then you will toss up your skirts and let me have a ride.”
A sound of disgust caught in Miranda‘s throat.
His face turned dark with anger. “I think it’s time for you to start learning how to act proper with a man. Maybe His Lordship will even thank me for breaking you to the saddle.”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” said Julian quietly as he stepped from behind the largest fall of rocks. His two pistols were leveled at McTavish’s chest.
