Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

Giacomo’s thin face was drawn and sharp, his eyes a strange golden color, like those of a fox. He ran his tongue over his blackened front teeth. “Wait your turn, Andrea. She’s mine now.”

Giacomo was angry that they had beaten the fight out of her, for he had wanted to feel her heaving and struggling against him.

She moaned softly, helplessly, when he thrust himself into her, and he could feel her quivering with pain.

“Fight me, damn you.” He slapped her breasts and belly with the flat of his hand.

But there was no fight left in her, only a vast emptiness shrouded in pain. Dimly, she remembered the man’s words, their leader’s words. “Pazza fragitara nigli inferno. May he rot in hell.” She was to die now, as was Joseph. Somehow, the knowledge did not quite touch her. She raised vague eyes to Andrea, and saw him pulling down his breeches. She cried out, deep in her throat, and fell into merciful blackness.

Andrea sat cross-legged on the filthy floor, eyeing his three comrades. “Well, what will you, lads? Kill them now or wait for the wench to come around again?”

“What a bloody waste to carve the wench,” Giacomo said, rubbing his hand over the stubble of beard on his chin. “The Corsican though—” He pulled his knife lovingly from his belt.

Andrea nodded. “Gut the Corsican, Giulio.”

Giulio rose to his feet and drew his st

iletto free of its leather sheath. He was caressing its razor edge with the tip of his thumb when a shot shattered the silence of the room, and Giulio screamed, clutching his belly.

The earl hurled into the room, the force of his body tearing the cabin door from its rusted hinges.

“Out, men!” Andrea shouted, and kicked over the lighted lamp, plunging the cabin into darkness. The earl heard a booted foot shatter the back door of the hut. At the same instant, he fired his other pistol, and one of the men grunted in pain. He whirled about and rushed out of the hut, to see three men hurling themselves onto their horses.

He turned and dashed back into the hut, his pistols still clenched tightly in his hands. His jaw was grinding spasmodically in fear. He had had only a brief glimpse of Cassie, sprawled naked upon her back, unmoving.

He fell to his knees, his hands groping for the overturned lamp. Frantically, he pulled it upright and lit it with flint and steel from the tinderbox that lay next to it.

The earl strode across the creaking floor and dropped to his knees beside her. “Oh, Cassie, no,” he whispered.

Her face was turned away from him. Her eyes were open, but she did not respond, locked so deeply into her own horror that she was scarce aware of his presence.

She felt a large hand, a man’s hand, lightly stroke her cheek and shoulder. Her horror turned itself outward. “No, please—no,” she whimpered, and tried to draw away.

“Cassandra, don’t be afraid, there is nothing more to fear.”

His fingers lightly stroked her face, smoothed back her tangled hair. Slowly, she turned her head to face him.

She saw her own pain mirrored in his eyes. “I did not think you would find us.” It hurt so to speak. She ran her tongue over her swollen lips. “Joseph, please, you must help Joseph.”

The earl saw movement from the corner of his eye and whipped about. Scargill stood in the open doorway, a pistol in his hand.

“My lord.” He lowered the pistol slowly to his side as he took in the sight of Cassie, of Joseph lying slumped on his belly, and a second man lying in a pool of blood. “Paolo and Marco are outside,” he said feverishly. “We couldn’t keep up with yer stallion.”

“I know, Scargill,” the earl said firmly, seeing shock beginning to cloud Scargill’s ruddy features. “Pay no attention to that scum. See to Joseph, quickly.”

Scargill raised his head a few moments later, his eyes filled with impotent anger. “He’s bad, my lord.”

The earl closed his eyes to blot out his fury. His voice rang out in the silence of the small room, harshly cold. “Send Paolo back to fetch a surgeon to the villa. You and Sordello’s father”—he could not seem to remember his head gardener’s name—“take Joseph back. I will see to Cassandra. As to him”—he jerked his head toward the dead man—“we will fetch him later.”

When the earl turned back to Cassie, her eyes were closed.

“Cassie!” he shouted at her. Her thick eyelashes fluttered open, and she looked at him, vaguely questioning.

“I must take you home now.”

Gently, he slipped his hand beneath her back. She moaned at his touch. His hand froze when he saw a dark bruise over her ribs, beneath her breast. He carefully eased his hand away. Although there was a dank chill inside the cabin, he felt beads of perspiration form on his forehead.

“Cara, I am sorry, but I must hurt you.” He thought of the relentless miles back down the dark, winding road to the villa, and his hands shook.