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‘What? What is foretold?’
‘You will find out. All of you. The children will pay for the sins of their fathers. It has been seen and it has been said.’
Nell told herself that the thin trickle of ice down her spine was a draught from the door, not the effect of the lilting voice speaking its prophesy.
‘I will leave you here. Just for a little, Helena, while I make sure the coast is clear. And then you will come with me and learn how to please me.’ The dark man’s voice dropped into a caress like velvet on her skin, and he came up onto his knees beside her, one long brown finger tracing the line of her cheek as his lips just brushed her own. ‘Wait for me, Helena,’ he said as she recoiled. ‘Wait and think of your lover’s suffering when he imagines what will pass between us.’
Nell strained her ears as the door closed behind him, listening. Even in the deep snow around the hut he made no sound. She counted in her head—one minute, two, three—then stood up, her arms awkwardly behind her, and knelt down on the pallet with its thin covering of blankets. Somehow she had to get her hands in front of her.
For what seemed like an hour, but was probably only fifteen minutes, Nell rolled and twisted and swore, hampered by her heavy coat and thick skirts. Finally, at the cost of wrenched shoulders and sore wrists, she managed to get her arms under her bottom and thread her legs through.
She sat on the pallet panting for a moment, then used her fingertips to pull out the knife she had concealed in the side of her half-boot. It had seemed wildly melodramatic when she had selected the sharp little fruit knife and slid it into its hiding place; now she was grateful for the impulse. It was far more useful than any pistol would have been; with it wedged between her feet she sawed through the bonds easily.
It was not until she looked more carefully at the loops still tied around her wrists that she realized it was more of the silken rope, spun this time into a thin cord. Nell started to tug at the knots, then realized she was wasting time. She had to get back to the house, tell Marc what Salterton had said, and hope he and Lord Narborough and Hal could make some sense of it.
All I have to do is elude him, she thought ruefully as she opened the door and peered out. Salterton’s tracks led back behind the hut—he had gone into the woods. Nell took a moment to get her bearings, then set off along the edge of the trees, hugging the hedge line. It was at least a mile back to the house, more likely a mile and a half by this route.
Nell ran and walked alternately, stumbling as she kept turning to check around her for pursuit. How long would he take on his errand before he returned for her? Where was Marc?
Then out of the corner of her eye, in the distance, she saw movement. Nell stopped, squinting against the dazzle of sun on the snow, and realized it was the top of a carriage—and with this snow, the only route a carriage could take was the turnpike road. If she cut across the meadows, across the frozen river and up the other side, then there was a good chance she would find another carriage, a cottage, a farm. Refuge.
But it meant leaving cover and going into the open. Nell hesitated, then turned her back on the woods and ran, the snow kicking up behind her, her throat raw with the cold air. For a moment she thought she had done it, then a dark figure burst from the woods by the hut, threw off its hampering greatcoat and began to run diagonally across the meadow to intercept her.
He had farther to run but he was stronger, his legs longer, and she was battling her clinging skirts. Nell wrenched off her bonnet and struggled with buttons as she ran, gasping with relief as she left hat and coat behind her. But the advantage was not enough; as she reached the river and launched herself across its treacherous slippery surface, she could hear Salterton behind her.
Sheer terror took her across the ice as though on skates but her very speed betrayed her. At the far bank Nell tripped, tried to stop, felt herself falling and was jerked upright.
‘You spurn my hospitality, Helena?’ The dark man pulled her round to face him. He hardly seemed to have exerted himself at all, his breathing calm compared to her panting breaths.
‘Oh! I am going to be sick!’ She doubled up as though retching and he freed her arm. Frantic, Nell’s groping fingers found the knife in her boot again and she straightened with it held out in front of her. ‘Let me go or I swear I will use this,’ she gasped, meaning it.
Salterton moved so fast his hand seemed to blur. Nell screamed in fear and fury and slashed at him, but he caught her wrist with one hand and wrenched the knife from her with the other.
‘Hellcat,’ he snarled, all his control gone, and she stood there transfixed, the blood from his slashed hand dripping onto the frozen river as the knife pressed against her throat.
Chapter Twenty
‘You said you did not kill women,’ Nell said, the blade moving against her windpipe as she spoke. With her mind she tried to reach out to Marc. I’m sorry, so sorry, I love you…
‘I do not.’ Slowly Salterton lowered the blade. ‘Not even wildcats like you.’ The knife vanished, the grip on her arms changed as he pulled her back towards the centre of the river. Under their feet the ice gave an ominous creak. It was deep water here, Nell remembered, the outflow from the dammed millpond.
‘Back across to the woods, and this time, if you try anything, I’ll knock you out and carry—’
The shot was explosive in the cold air. Salterton spun round, Nell held before him like a shield, to face the horsemen galloping towards them. It was all three of the Carlow men, she realized, both Marc and Hal riding with rifles in their hands.
Nell blinked back tears and smiled through trembling lips. He has come for me. The horses skidded to a halt on the bank in the flurry of snow, and the three riders held them back, their faces set.
‘He’s armed,’ she called. ‘He has a knife.’ And it was in Salterton’s hand again, the hand that was not clasping her in front of him in a cruel parody of the way Marc had held her when they skated together. The blade lay against her breast.
‘Nell, are you all right?’ Marc’s voice was calm, but under it she could hear the killing rage.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’
‘Let her go,’ Lord Narborough said, his face set in lines of fury. ‘What sort of coward hides behind a woman?’
‘One who has some sense,’ the dark man retorted, apparently amused by the older man’s anger. ‘And besides, I haven’t finished with her yet. She is a woman of spirit this one. I shall enjoy having her in my bed.’
There was a snarl, and Hal flung out an arm and seized the barrel of Marc’s rifle. The brothers exchanged a long look, then Hal released his grip and Marcus lowered the gun.
