“A fine opinion you have of me,” she ground out. “You want me to entertain both of them? Wearing a harlot’s gown?” She couldn’t believe her ears. Silas would rather die than make a moral concession. A tremor ran through Elizabeth. If he knew what she’d already done he’d slice her ears off.
“Don’t be a fool!” he snapped. “You know I don’t mean that you’ll go ahead with it.” He strode towards her and slipped his hand beneath the bodice of her dress, feeling for the vial, which he then held up to the light. “There’s enough to kill two men.”
He dropped it, gripping her hard as he brought his face close to hers. His cold grey eyes and his large, twitching, hair-filled nostrils filled her vision. “Our freedom rests on your shoulders as does the honour of this family—you, me and our children. You know what to do, Elizabeth. Only these two men stand between death and freedom. Kill them, snatch the key to this room here, which Reynolds has on a chain at his waist, and I will see to the rest.” He shook her. “The time has come for you, Elizabeth, to now have your revenge.”
6
“Oh, mistress, is this what you really look like?”
Dorcas, who’d been allowed to help Lady Drummond prepare to entertain the two commanders, looked as if she’d never seen such beauty. She’d certainly never seen such a gown, of this Elizabeth was almost certain, and never upon her mistress.
Her response was sharp to hide her shame. “It is not my choice to wear such an unbefitting gown, yet Silas wants me to appear like one of them.” She turned to gain a better view of her ensemble, frowning at the unfamiliar creature before her, all voluptuous swells above and gentle curves below. Her shame was compounded by the surge of excitement she felt to be wearing such an exquisite, sinful creation.
“They will think you are very beautiful, mistress. They’ll surely not hurt you.” Dorcas’ lip trembled as she secured Elizabeth’s hair in her idea of a lady’s coiffure, using the fire iron to fashion a few tendrils around her mistress’ face.
Elizabeth realised she was not the only one who lived in fear. She put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “What has been happening?”
Dorcas sniffed. “All the plate and valuables have been loaded into chests, as you’d expect and…one of the soldiers tried to have his way with Silence, the scullery maid—”
Elizabeth sucked in a sharp breath and muttered, “Foul brutes. Do they think they can act with impunity?”
“Captain Trethveyan came upon them, drew his sword and said the man could part company with his ‘you know’ if he ever caught him doing such a thing again.”
Elizabeth went rigid. “It is easy to pretend to be a powerful man in such a case.”
“Oh no, he meant it, and he ordered the man whipped so’s he were made a public spectacle of.” In a rare gesture, Dorcas touched Elizabeth’s cheek. “Captain Trethveyan is a gentleman. Have no fear for tonight, mistress.”
Have no fear for tonight? The table was being set as if for a banquet for three and who knew what whispers were circulating in all corners of the castle. If Elizabeth survived the encounter with the men who were out to crush her, she could never look a single servant in the eye without them questioning her right to be one of them—a good Puritan who lived by the rules laid down by the Lord.
Yet it was Silas who had decreed that she go forth and deport herself like a common harlot.
At last she was ready, her gown, full skirts with frills of fine lace and a crushingly tight bodice pushing up her breasts, presenting her to her own household as not one of them. As the enemy. No better than the detested ladies of court with their wanton ways and their lowly morals.
However, as she made her progress past knots of servants and soldiers, through the corridors of the castle, all bowed or curtsied to her, murmuring their admiration or support. By the time she reached the great entertaining hall she truly felt she’d been born to rub shoulders with the royal courtiers she’d despised minutes before, and that she could negotiate the encounter to come with aplomb and emerge triumphant.
They were waiting for her, talking to each other in low voices, which stilled as she appeared in the
doorway. In each pair of eyes she recognised the flare of lust. Reynolds, already flushed with wine, swayed on his feet as he held out a chair for her with exaggerated gallantry. Charles lounged beside him, more restrained. She raked him with a disdainful look and sank gracefully into the proffered chair.
“Gentlemen,” she murmured, “I am honoured to dine with two of His Majesty’s most loyal…” she drew out the pause, “and most handsome courtiers. I hope the kitchens have provided something fitting.” She shrugged and gave a regretful little smile. “But what can one do when there’s a war on?”
She could barely bring herself to look at Charles. She hated him with every fibre of her being and, as she felt the vial pressed against her flesh, concealed beneath her tight bodice, she burned with the desire to crush him as he’d crushed her. To empty the granules into his wine, which would have him instantly foaming at the mouth in a prelude to his ghastly death. For she was just as capable of revenge as he.
“Your servants have been most obliging, Lady Drummond.” Captain Reynolds smirked and inclined his head.
“I’m so glad.” She smiled at him and imagined him too, writhing at her feet in agony as the corrosive poison worked death upon him. She raised her goblet. “A toast to my freedom.” She took a sip. “And the freedom of my husband—for isn’t that what this is all about?”
The two men looked uncomfortable for a brief second before Captain Reynolds said, “I am glad to see you in such fine spirits after this afternoon’s disappointment, Lady Drummond. You are a woman of astonishing fortitude. Your castle has been overrun, you and your husband are prisoners and now you have been let down by your former lover.”
“It is not the first time.”
Reynolds looked intrigued. He twirled his little moustache and leaned across the table. “Do tell all, Lady Drummond.”
Elizabeth took a careful sip of her wine and forced an even tone as she gazed stonily across at them. “My rejection of Captain Trethveyan came after ten lashings, which had me too injured—so my father believed—to leave my chamber.”
Charles’ light blue eyes bored into her with an intensity that reminded her so poignantly of their earlier trysts. They’d given her the courage to stand up to her father for the first time—she’d sworn she’d rather die than submit and be forced to marry Silas.
But now he was gazing at her with something more intense than fondness. He knew what he was guilty of and she’d happily tell Reynolds.