Chapter Twenty Seven
Catarina struggled to swallow against the gag stretching her lips wide.
Rope bit into her wrists. She jerked her hands, but the harder she struggled, the tighter her bindings became.
She fought back tears that lodged like a boulder in her throat, but the fever had sapped her strength.
Still, despite how her body ached and fear set her heart to race, she refused to surrender her dignity to Rupert.
Breathless, she scanned her surroundings.
She was in his tent, the sides of which were staked to the ground.
The open flap in the front was the only way in or out, not that she considered escaping.
Even if she could get past Rupert, she could barely stand, not to mention having to run from dogs and knights on horseback.
The surrounding furnishings were sparse, just a pallet upon which she sat and a small table with one chair on the opposite side of the tent where Rupert sat, staring at her.
She scowled, glaring back at him. He stood then and stalked toward her, only to retreat when he came within a few feet from where she sat.
She grew still, realizing, in that moment, how changed he was.
His once rugged face appeared gaunt. The bones of his narrowed shoulders jutted against the fabric of his tunic at harsh angles.
His back curved, and red blotches covered his skin.
He returned to his seat at the table, still eying her while he grabbed a large jug and threw back three goblets worth.
Her parched mouth betrayed her. She swallowed hard, coveting whatever was in his cup.
He downed a fourth, slamming the empty goblet on the table.
Wiping his sleeve across his mouth, he stood, his eyes narrowing on her.
She fought for calm while he walked deliberately toward her.
Her eyes traveled up his baggy hose and ill-fitting tunic to his red-rimmed eyes.
She shuddered when he slowly squatted down in front of her.
Stale beer scented his breath. She cringed, straining away as he reached out his iron hand.
“Wipe that disgust from your face,” he spat, his foul mouth a breath from her own. “This is all your doing, none but yours.” He grabbed her neck with his good hand and held her still while cool metal raked down her face and neck.
She glared at him, but then she froze. His wide eyes did not waver from hers, even when he accused her of his crime.
She slowly shook her head in disbelief. He actually believed that she had somehow driven him to kill Henry, that the blame was, indeed, hers.
Once more his iron hand grazed her cheek.
She remained still. Then he reached out with his good hand and untied the gag.
Her jaw ached. He stroked his iron thumb across her lips.
She stiffened but did not jerk away. Her eyes narrowed on him.
Rupert always favored his iron hand when he had violated her in the past as if it somehow separated the man from the deed.
The cold metal was to blame—he had not even touched her.
Fury coursed through her. He really was nothing more than a coward.
She straightened her back. It was time Rupert accepted responsibility for his actions.
“You killed Henry,” she said simply.
His eyes widened for a moment, but then he reached out and grabbed her chin with his good hand. “Remember the poker? It was you,” he sneered.
She kept her face impassive. “You killed Henry.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t,” he snapped.
Her heart raced. She looked away and took a deep breath. Finding her calm, she said it again. “You killed Henry.”
His face flustered with rage “I didn’t,” he growled.
“You killed Henry,” she said again. “Henry died by your hand alone.”
“Shut up,” he cried.
“You killed your brother. You killed Henry,” she said, more forcefully, tears stinging her eyes.
He shoved her back with his iron hand.
“You killed Henry!”
“It was an accident,” he snarled. With his good hand, he tore her tunic asunder, exposing her thin kirtle. His eyes settled with greed on her breasts.
“You killed Henry,” she cried.
He growled and ripped open her kirtle. His mouth covered hers, his tongue forcing her lips apart. She struggled against him, but her wrists were still bound. She bit his tongue. “You killed Henry. You killed Henry,” she screamed again and again.
His hands came around her throat. “Stop saying that!”
She couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded in her skull.
“What are you doing?” a man’s voice cried out the instant before a hand clamped down on Rupert’s shoulder, yanking him off of her. An angry cry tore from Rupert’s lips.
She gasped for air. “Stephen,” she croaked when she saw him and reached out her arms. Tears of hope blurred her vision when he rushed to her side, but Rupert seized him from behind.
“No,” she cried when Rupert’s arm came around Stephen’s neck, but then movement near the opening of the tent caught her eye.
Her heart quickened when she saw Quinn race inside.
Fury twisted his features as he dove at Rupert, driving his shoulder into Rupert’s side.
All three men landed on the ground. Gasping for air, Stephen scurried over to Rupert and thrust the tip of his dirk beneath his brother’s chin.
“Take her out of here,” Stephen said to Quinn. “I’ll deal with him.”
Quinn crossed to Catarina’s side and seized her face between his hands, kissing her hard on the lips before he scooped her into his arms and raced outside.
“Are ye hurt?” Quinn said. His eyes scanned over her, searching for injury. Then he set her on her feet and ripped off his tunic and quickly pulled it over her head, covering her torn garments.
“I am still weak,” she said. “But he did not hurt me, not really.”
Quinn pulled her close. “I will never let ye from my sight again, not ever,” he vowed. Looking over Catarina’s head, he saw Stephen step from the tent. Quinn started toward him, but then Stephen looked at him with dazed eyes. Quinn froze. “What happened?”
Stephen shook his head slowly. “He stabbed me,” he said in disbelief, pulling his hand away from his side. Blood seeped down his surcote.
“Stephen,” Catarina cried.
Quinn lunged forward, catching Stephen before he hit the ground. “Get him out of here,” Quinn said as he passed Stephen’s limp body over to one of the Ravensworth guards.
“He is going nowhere!”
Quinn looked back. Rupert stood just outside the tent.
“No one is going anywhere, least of all you, Quinn MacVie,” Rupert snarled. “Seize him,” he ordered.
Quinn planted his feet wide, ready to fight as he scanned the grounds. Not one of the six knights moved.
Rupert glared at his men. “I am Lord Ravensworth. You will obey me. Seize him!”
“You are lord of nothing,” Catarina cried. Quinn pulled her behind him.
“You are cowards, all of you,” Rupert raged. Then he stepped forward, his eyes darting around the camp. “Where is Jasper? Jasper!”
Jasper heard his master call. With his dogs trailing behind, he climbed down from the stone wall where he had been watching events unfold. A long stem of wheat stuck out between his lips while he slowly walked through the guards and into the open. Masking his emotions, he bowed his head to Rupert.
“I want you to finish him,” Rupert snarled, pointing to Quinn.
Quinn looked at the dog handler who bowed again to Rupert and began untying his dogs’ leashes.
The largest of the hounds snarled and snapped her jaws, her jowls pulled back to reveal sharp teeth.
Quinn’s eyes widened when he realized Rupert’s intent.
He thrust Catarina away from him and into the arms of a nearby knight.
Then he widened his stance and braced himself for the onslaught of vicious dogs.
“Finish him!” Rupert cried again.
Jasper squatted down beside Molly and scratched her behind the ear. “Ye heard him, Molly.” Jasper smiled and locked eyes with Rupert. “Finish it,” he hissed.
Rupert screamed and dropped to his knees, shielding his head as the pack of hungry dogs flew at him with bared, gnashing teeth.