Chapter 14
‘Lady Kildare?’
Lochranza tried to open her eyes but found it difficult. She deduced that her eyelids were the problem. Overnight, someone had covered them in a layer of lead, warm the night before and set hard this morning. Only it wasn’t morning. Candles were being lit. At least, she thought they were.
The third day. Or was it the fourth? It was difficult to tell.
She didn’t recognise the man’s voice and only vaguely felt his fingers caressing her throat, her jaw and the low neckline of the grey silk dress.
It seemed that a thick fog she’d last seen at sea had followed her here – to wherever ‘here’ happened to be.
It was in the room, too thick to see through.
Surroundings and people were indistinct.
Was that really her dour Scottish companion?
Heavy as they were, she forced her eyelids to hover fitfully over her eyes.
If she’d been able to see herself in a mirror, she would have noted the dilation of her irises. But she couldn’t look in a mirror. She had been dressed and had her hair styled by a stranger, not Moira making her look so fine.
Neither was she aware of Mrs Mackintosh being bundled out of the room, not until she heard that familiar squeak, a mixture of protest and fear. Not that the memory of it stayed with her. Everything was so hazy.
Someone demanded in French that Moira be given a draught of the same concoction her mistress had received.
What draught? In the food brought at lunchtime? The wine?
‘Enough, Eugenie. You have done well. She looks very fine.’ A male voice.
Lochranza’s eyes flickered long enough to see gemstones flashing from the rings on his fingers as he took hold of her chin.
He spoke in French. ‘Quite a beauty. Such a contrast that fiery hair and cool grey eyes. If I wasn’t bound by oath to sell her, I might very well keep her for myself. I like her skin too.’
She felt fingers tracing over her shoulders and down between her breasts.
Lochranza did not see the alarm flashing in Eugenie’s eyes. Neither did the Marquis.
Eugenie knew she had done a very good job on the woman, though Lochranza seemed unaware that she was no longer wearing her travelling dress but one of a dark shade of grey that highlighted her eyes and contrasted sharply with her free-flowing hair.
The neckline was low, her décolletage amply exposed, thrusting over the tight bodice of the empire-line dress like two doves trying to escape bondage.
The Marquis noticed her full breasts. He bent his head and planted a whispering kiss on each one.
He congratulated Eugenie. ‘She seems affable enough. I do want her to recover slightly once we’re there. You know what happened with the last woman you drugged for me. The low price was scandalous.’
‘I did as you said…’ She winced and fell silent as the Marquis grabbed her chin, holding it viciously in his iron-like grip.
‘I do hope you have. I really do have an aversion to splitting the skin of a woman. Even you.’
Lochranza was dragged to her feet, Eugenie holding her upright, the Marquis telling her to walk towards the door.
Though unsure as to direction, Lochranza obeyed. She desperately needed some air, away from this fog and this room.
With only the most minimal cry, she fell sideways straight on top of Moira’s knitting bag.
The Marquis sighed and fixed his slave with an accusing glare. ‘You’ve given her too much.’
‘I did not, master! It was just right.’
He prodded her shoulder. ‘You had better be telling the truth. Hope and pray that she achieves a good price, otherwise it’s the whip for you.’
A whip! The word itself was enough to jar something in Lochranza’s mind. Trying to talk was still an effort and so was attempting to put one leg in front of the other.
‘Get hold of her. Both of you.’
The man mountain, Pierre, had entered the room. He placed himself one side of Lochranza and Eugenie the other, the pair of them gripping her arms to hold her upright.
Outside, thought Lochranza. If I could just get outside…
Both the written and the pictorial note were in the pocket of her other dress. This one had no pockets, nowhere to secrete anything – except between her cleavage.
‘Where are we going?’ Her voice was hushed, like the sound a hairbrush makes on silky waist-length hair. ‘Is Moira coming? My companion? Is she coming?’
If anybody did answer, she didn’t hear them or did but whatever they said didn’t sound like words, more like the rumbling of rocks rolling down a mountainside.
Her knees felt weak, so she was oddly glad of the people to either side of her, holding her upright before tipping her into a comfortable corner of the carriage. Once settled, she promptly closed her heavy eyelids.
‘Asleep!’
But she wasn’t. Even inside the carriage, the night air was fresher than inside the house. Slowly the fog in her mind began to clear.