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Elizabeth exhaled on a sob. Stiffly, she raised herself into a sitting position, her head bowed. She had no words for either of them, but what did it matter? She was the tasty morsel and they were, as they’d always been, the arbiters of her fate. Her bones felt brittle and her sin was heavy upon her.
Revenge. What a fool she’d been.
When she tried to stand her legs nearly crumpled beneath her. She gripped the bedpost, twisting her head to lance Charles with her hatred but he avoided her eye.
“I need a drink, Reynolds.” He reached for his discarded belt and scabbard then rose, striding towards the door and clapping his commander on the shoulder. “Revenge is thirsty work.”
5
He did not know how he’d found the glib response that would, he hoped, cement his treachery in Reynolds’ mind. God knew it was too dangerous to play the man of honour for Elizabeth’s peace of mind.
He could not look at her as he left the room, forcing a swagger into his step and saying to the waiting soldiers with a jerk of his head, “Take the lady back to her husband. She’s paid her dues.”
He felt sick to his stomach. Reynolds had seen something. Suspected something. His cruelty knew no bounds. He was testing Charles. Pushing him for confirmation that the scene he’d witnessed on the bed might be something other than cold domination on Charles’ part.
Elizabeth’s desire, under such dreadful circumstances, had jolted him, like her unexpected slap. He’d expected neither. She’d offered him only chaste kisses and the promise of her heart during their secret trysts in the beech wood but just now his Puritan maid had writhed beneath him, wet and wanting.
He felt a cad as he tried to block his ears to her devastated sob, but to reassure her with the truth would have threatened everything. What else could he do? With Reynolds, his commander, at his side, nothing.
Reynolds sent a flushed, lascivious glance after Elizabeth as she was escorted up the passage. Charles only hoped his commander would not interpret with suspicion his own refusal to enjoy a similar final moment of gloating. He could not risk it. His feelings would be too raw. The whole charade would have been for nothing and Reynolds would pounce, determined never to allow the two lovers close to one another again.
The two lovers. A strange term under the circumstances, but apt. From the moment Charles had felt her lips yield beneath his and she’d opened her legs willingly, they’d become true lovers. His task now was to tread the fine line between the necessities of allaying Reynolds’ suspicions and pacifying Elizabeth. He must play the callous cad long enough to get Elizabeth to safety where he could join her when the danger was past.
For, by God, even with religion, a despot husband, a war in which they were on opposing sides and the more immediate threat posed by Reynolds, Charles was going to risk everything so they could have a future together.
* * *
Elizabeth was weeping uncontrollably when the soldiers returned her to Silas in the cramped tower room that was serving as their quarters until…what?
Until Elizabeth had satisfied her captors through compounded humiliations?
What a cruel, bitter reflection, but that was the reality. The two men—she could not think of Charles in any terms other than the enemy, a man just like Reynolds—had used her for sport. Not only had they abused her body with Charles playing the great lover while Reynolds had watched, but they had mauled
her heart, allowing hope to flower only so they could trample it.
Suspicion rather than sympathy greeted her arrival, but that was not surprising. “Why are you weeping, wife? Have you dishonoured me?” Silas, who’d been on his knees, praying by the window, leapt up. “Speak to me.” He shook her roughly. “What has happened?”
Elizabeth pulled away, her thoughts in turmoil. To admit the truth to Silas would sign her domestic death warrant. At least her devastation was real. Silas was too canny, perhaps, for her to have camouflaged any joy she might have brought from her encounter just now.
“Captain Reynolds and Trethveyan were both there, telling me what would be our fate if I did not submit to them tonight.” She did not try to control her bodily reactions to Silas. Her words came out in a hiss, “They are cruel tyrants who want to see you brought down, husband, using me as their instrument.”
Silas began to pace. At the small window he stopped and gazed out, hands behind his back.
“The Cavalier came back for revenge, eh, not with pretty words of love?” He gave a derisive snort. “I’d have done the same. I’d not have allowed you to spurn me without seeing you pay the price. You made the right choice, Elizabeth, when you married me.”
Elizabeth gasped and, though she tried to suppress it, her sobbing was for a moment hysterical. Oh, to be betrayed like this. She’d known Charles two weeks and had thought him a man of honour, to whom she’d gladly have been bound forever in matrimony. How naïve she’d been. Two weeks was not enough time to get the measure of a man. Her father had been right, though not for all the reasons he’d declared made Charles ineligible. No Puritan in his family would wed a King’s Man, yet wasn’t that what the sister of Elizabeth’s mother had done?
Surprisingly, Silas spoke of her now. “Your Aunt Anne entrusted Dorcas with an inappropriate gift for you during her visit last year when you were so ill. A dress. I think tonight would be the perfect time to wear it.”
Elizabeth stopped crying and, at her obviously quizzical expression, he went on, “I thought, initially, to burn the gown. Instead I hid it.” A look almost of embarrassment crossed his face. “I believed the scarlet silk was too fine a quality and some use could be found for it. Now I see that God has his reasons for everything.” He raked his possessive gaze over her. Silas would die rather than lose her or be dishonoured by her defection or possession by another man. No, she amended, he would rather see her dead.
His eyes gleamed. “You will wear the gown and parade your beauty to lure these men into believing you are what, deep in my heart, wife, I know you to be—a sinning, wicked creature, consumed with lust for pleasure and beauty. Why else,” he snarled, “would you choose to wed a Cavalier?”
Elizabeth met his look, stony faced. He’d neither forgotten nor forgiven her intransigence when she’d longed for Charles above him. Now Charles had returned and had his revenge. The first part of his revenge, at any rate. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed afresh. Were all men cold creatures without feeling, determined to crush the spirits of the womenfolk subservient to them? Silas’ plan was incredible and, while she’d have embraced it an hour ago, it now filled her with terror. Charles had set the stage and humiliated her in front of Reynolds, dishonoured her husband and made a mockery of every tender feeling she’d ever had for him. Now Silas wanted her to entertain the captain? For what purpose? This time she was to be her husband’s pawn.
“What must I do?” Ignoring his last barb, she raised her shoulders and forced aside her anguish. Silas would not tolerate a weeping woman for long.
“Do what you women do best. Deceive them. Seduce them into believing you’re willing to trade your body for freedom. That you’ll entertain both men to ensure that you’re released without harm. You’re a woman, they’ll believe you’d lower yourself to anything to save your pretty skin.”
