The Magnificent Rogue
“Where the devil are you going?”
“I wonder if I can hear …” She threw open the window and the wild music drifted up to her from the glen below. “Yes, I can. Do you?”
“The bagpipes?” He nodded. “Have you suddenly developed a liking for them?”
She nodded dreamily as her gaze traveled over the men, women, and children still moving about in the torchlit glen. “They’re part of Craighdhu.” She looked at him over her shoulder.
And Robert was all of Craighdhu. He was the silences and the mysteries, the passions that excited her and the cozy fires that warmed her. She felt a surge of love for him so strong it almost took her breath away. “Can’t you see that this is how it should be?”
He didn’t answer and she turned to face him, a touch of defiance in her stance. “I tell you, I was right to do this.”
He smiled slowly and held out his hand. “Then come and do it again.”
He would not admit this passion he had for her was not a mistake. Well, she mustn’t ask for too much. She had only begun and already won a great deal tonight.
She smiled happily as she started toward him.
BOOKS BY IRIS JOHANSEN
ON THE RUN
COUNTDOWN
BLIND ALLEY
FIRESTORM
FATAL TIDE
DEAD AIM
NO ONE TO TRUST
BODY OF LIES
FINAL TARGET
THE SEARCH
THE KILLING GAME
THE FACE OF DECEPTION
AND THEN YOU DIE
LONG AFTER MIDNIGHT
THE UGLY DUCKLING
LION’S BRIDE
DARK RIDER
MIDNIGHT WARRIOR
THE BELOVED SCOUNDREL
THE MAGNIFICENT ROGUE
THE TIGER PRINCE
LAST BRIDGE HOME
THE GOLDEN BARBARIAN
REAP THE WIND
STORM WINDS
THE WIND DANCER
THE MAGNIFICENT ROGUE
A Bantam Book / September 1993
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1993 by Iris Johansen.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-307-79438-3
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, New York, New York.
v3.1
This book is dedicated to the Atlanta Braves,
who, through triumph and defeat, always
remain the most valiant of magnificent rogues.
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
About the Author
Excerpt from KILLER DREAMS
January 29, 1587
Sheffield, England
Mermaid!
Kate bolted upright in bed, chest rising and falling as she tried to still the panic tearing through her.
Had she screamed out the word? Dear God, let it not have happened. Yet her throat felt so raw, she knew she had betrayed herself.
She scrambled back against the headboard, wiping the tears from her cheeks as her gaze fixed fearfully on the door.
If she had screamed, they would soon come. She would hear the footsteps, and then the door would open.…
No sound yet. Perhaps she had not cried out, and if she had, maybe she had not awakened them. Perhaps God would be merciful, and she would be allowed to—
Footsteps.
Her eyes shut as terror closed around her. She braced herself, trying to smother the fear. She would not let them see her weakness, she thought fiercely. They would deny it, but she knew they liked to see her afraid. It was a weapon in the battle they waged against her. She was not usually so lacking in strength, but after the dream she always felt so frightened and lost that—
“Ah, my child. The dream again?”
Her lids flicked open, and she saw Sebastian Landfield standing in the doorway, illuminated by the single candle in the pewter holder he carried. His nightshirt and frayed gray robe clung to his thin body, making it appear frail. His rumpled white hair formed a shining halo about his lined face, and his gray eyes glittered with moisture as he looked at her. “I prayed it would not come. How it hurts me to see you suffer.”
“I’m not suffering.” She couldn’t resist the small defiance, though she knew she would pay for it.
He came forward to stand beside her bed and put the candle on the nightstand. “How can you say that when you woke us from deep sleep with your torment?” He reached out and gently touched a lock of hair on her forehead. “And, look, your thrashing about has loosened your hair from your nightcap.”
Blast it, she should have remembered to put on the cap. She carefully avoided darting a guilty glance at the despised night bonnet she had tossed impatiently on the bedside table before she went to sleep.
Sebastian’s glance shifted to the cap. “It appears suspiciously tidy for having undergone such punishment, doesn’t it?” He looked back at her. “But I know you would not have disobeyed me and left your hair unconfined. You have been so good of late.”
She quickly changed the subject. “I’m sorry I disturbed you, sir. I would not have—”
“It is no disturbance to be called to my duty,” he interrupted. “It is God’s will. His fingers traced the path of tears down her cheek. “Though Martha was not overpleased to have her rest broken.”
She wished he would not caress her cheek with those long, cold fingers. It seemed he was touching her more of late. She turned her head to avoid it. “I will give her my apologies. Where is she?”
“She will be here soon.” He smiled sadly. “And I think you know where I had to send her.”
To the top drawer of the cabinet in the scullery downstairs.
Kate shivered as she visualized Sebastian’s stocky wife moving down the steps, a grim smile of pleasure on her face.
“Martha thinks you’re too old to be having these dreams,” Sebastian said softly. “She believes it’s only pretense, that you woke us out of spite.”
She looked at him in bewilderment. “Why would I be so stupid as to do such a thing?”
“Oh, I do not think you would. Martha is not always clever about people.” His hand moved down to caress her throat. “And sixteen is not such a great age. There is still time to chasten and form you. Now why do you suppose you had the dream tonight?”
She didn’t answer.
“Silence? Meekness is a virtue, but I don’t think this lack of words is caused by meekness. Tell me of the dream. Was it the same?”
He knew it was always the same. She had cursed herself a hundred times for telling him about the mermaid, but she had only been a child when the dream started. She had not realized how powerful a weapon it would prove to him.
“Tell me,” he repeated softly. “You know it is for the best. Confess your sin, my child.”
She cou
ld lie to him and tell him the dream was not about the mermaid. He might believe her.
Anger flared through her. She would not lie. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t fair. “You’re wrong. It wasn’t a sin.” Her voice trembled with rage. “It was only a dream. How could a dream be a sin?”
“Ah, here it comes,” he murmured. “Those golden eyes are blazing at me. All my efforts these long years, and you’ve learned so little. You pretend docility, but no matter how I try to tame your bold ways, there comes a time when you turn and rend me.”
“Because it’s not true! I did not sin.” Did he think she didn’t know the difference? Sin was what she felt when she wanted to pull his hair out and kick his chicken-thin legs. Sin was what she felt when rage blackened within her at one of Martha’s spiteful remarks.
“I’ve explained all this to you before,” he said patiently. “Your soul flies free when you slumber and wallows in corruption. Why do you not understand?” He leaned forward, his eyes glittering with the fanaticism of his conviction. “You know how sinful you are. How could you not be depraved? You’re the seed of a libertine planted in the womb of the greatest harlot born to man. The only way you may be saved from eternal damnation is through me. Now, confess. You dreamed of the mermaid?”
The resistance suddenly seeped out of her. It would do no good to deny it, she thought wearily. “Yes.”
He relaxed slightly. “Very good. Now we must determine what led to this sin.” His gaze narrowed on her face. “What did you do today?”
“I studied with Master Gywnth. I helped madam make candles.”
“Is that all?”
She bit her lower lip. “After I finished my chores, I went for a ride on Caird.”
“Ah. To the village?”
“No, the path through the forest.” Memories flowed back to her, soothing her: cool, verdant foliage, the smell of earth dampened from the recent rains, the smooth slide of Caird’s muscles beneath her, the velvet feel of his muzzle beneath her palm as she had patted him while leading him to the brook to drink.
“You would not tell me an untruth? You spoke to no one?”
“No one.” She met his gaze and burst out, “No one, I tell you. Even if I had gone to the village, you know they will not speak to me. Not since you—”
“Then it must have been the ride itself.” He frowned. “I never approved of letting you learn to ride. Such freedom is not good for one as weak in spirit as you. It encourages all sorts of—”
Fear ripped through her. He must not take Caird away from her. She could bear anything but that. “No! The lady said I could do it. You said the lady wants me to ride well.”
“Hush! You see what impertinence these indulgences breed?”
“She is being troublesome?” Martha stood in the doorway. “Did I not tell you she was getting worse?” She crossed the room and handed Sebastian the small whip she carried. “If you would let me use this on her at my own discretion; she would soon be properly schooled.”
He shook his head. “How many times must I tell you? It is my duty alone. You may go back to bed.”
She looked at him, surprised. “You do not wish me to stay and bear witness?”
“You may go,” he repeated.
Kate was as surprised as the woman. Her punishment was usually performed as a ritual ceremony with the woman digesting every facet of Kate’s pain with supreme satisfaction.
“I want to stay,” Martha protested. “Why make me leave?”
“It has come to my attention that you enjoy her suffering too much. We do not scourge her body for our pleasure, but to purify her soul.”
A flush mottled his wife’s cheeks. “I admit I have no liking for this strumpet’s-leavings but you have no call to shut me away.”
“It is my duty to protect as well as chasten her.”
The color deepened with anger. “You lie to yourself,” she hissed. “Do you think I don’t know? That I haven’t seen how you look at her now? I did not want to believe it, but you are—” She broke off as Sebastian’s gaze burned.
Kate knew that look that seemed to devour everything in its path, but she had never seen it turned on Martha before.
“What am I?” he prodded with soft menace.
Martha moistened her lips. “Nothing. Nothing. Satan twisted my tongue.” She hurried from the chamber.
Sebastian turned back to Kate. “It is time.”
She knew what was coming. Her hands nervously clenched the sheet. During the confrontation with his wife there was a chance he might have forgotten about Caird. She must make sure his attention remained on the offense and not what he thought caused it. “It was only a dream,” she whispered.
“The dream is a sin. Can you not see how it leads you to willfulness?” He stepped away from the bed. “Go position yourself.”
She stood up and moved toward the whipping stool across the room. It would be over soon. He was always careful not to leave scars, and he seldom gave her more than a taste of the whip for such a small infraction. If she feigned remorse … Sweet heaven, the thought of groveling stuck in her throat. Still she would not only show remorse but beg him on her knees to keep Caird and the little parcel of freedom permitted her.
“Bare your back.”
She quickly slipped her gown from her shoulders and let it fall to her waist as she knelt beside the stool. She could feel the cold floorboards through the thin cotton of her gown. She spread out her arms as he had taught her from childhood and waited for the first blow.
It did not come.
She glanced over her shoulder. He stood there with the whip in his hand, his gaze on her back. His cheeks were curiously flushed; his hand loosened and tightened on the whip in an odd rhythmic movement.
“How easily you shed your clothing. Are you completely lost to shame?” he asked hoarsely. “Is that how you behaved in your dream?”
She stared at him in bewilderment. He had never found fault with her in this way before. “I told you … the dreams are never like that.” Why did he not start? She wanted it over. Trying to keep the impatience from her tone, she said, “You told me to ready myself. I only obeyed.”
“With no modesty or decorum.” His gaze was fixed on the hollow of her spine where it joined the soft swelling of her buttocks. “I have noticed how you flaunt yourself of late. I feared it would come to this as childhood left you. The bad blood is too strong for you to fight. You must try to tempt every man who comes near you.”
“No!”
“Yes.” His lips tightened as if he were in pain. “I have seen how you look at men beneath your lashes and smile with that pouty whore’s mouth. I know that smile. I have watched her passing through this village, weaving her magic for nearly twenty years. Did you think I would not recognize the signs?”
“I’m not her. I’m not my mother.” Her voice shook with anger. “I’m me. I swear I have no wish to tempt any man. I only want to be left alone.”
“You lie. All strumpets lie,” he hissed. “Even in your sleep you dream of sin. Admit it.”
“I do not dream of—” Her hands clenched into fists. “Please do it and get it over with.”
“So that you can go back to sleep and lose yourself in lust?” He drew his arm back to strike. “For the good of your soul I must make sure you are not able to indulge yourself this night.”
Fire touched her back as the lash struck.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“And I think we will have to rid you of that stallion.”
“No!” She screamed at his words as she had not at the lash.
Another blow.
She desperately tried to think through the haze of pain.
The lady. If Sebastian feared anything in the world, it was the wrath of the lady. “The lady will not … like it. She will—”
“It is not always wise to tell the lady everything. The horse is old. He will fall ill and die.” The lash struck again. “We will merely neglect to get you another.”<
br />
Sickness moved through her. “You would kill him?”
“What is the life of a beast when it comes to saving a soul? I should have gotten rid of him when you fled three months ago.”
The lash struck again.
And again.
And then again.
She had never seen him in such a frenzy. She did not know how many times the lash fell before the blows finally ceased.
She was barely clinging to awareness when he picked her up and carried her to bed. He laid her down with great gentleness. “Now you will sleep well,” he murmured. “Though you should not have forced me to chastise you so severely.”
“Please … not Caird …”
“We will talk tomorrow about the horse.” He tucked the covers around her. “And then you will watch the act and know it is done only for your sake.”
The devil she would. Her nails dug into her palms beneath the covers. She loved Caird. He was the only thing in the world she cared about, and she would not let him be destroyed. She would master this weakness and fight again.
He picked up the candle and moved toward the door. “Good night, Kathryn.”
The door had scarcely closed behind him when she threw off the covers and staggered to her feet.
She could not let him kill Caird. Not Caird …
Greenwich Palace
“Black Robert …” the queen murmured. “You have him? You’re sure, Percy?”
“Quite sure, Your Majesty,” Percy Montgrave said. “I could hardly be more certain. I have two dead men and one wounded to testify to the fact. The earl of Craighdhu is awaiting your pleasure in the Tower.”
“Excellent.” Elizabeth’s beringed hand slapped down on the arm of her chair. “Though God knows it took you long enough. I told you I wanted him six months ago.” Her gaze went to the document on the desk across the room. “It’s very nearly too late.”
Percy’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement. The entire court knew how distraught Elizabeth was about the contents of that order, but as far as he could determine, that order had nothing to do with the earl. “He’s not an overly obliging gentleman. For a while I wasn’t sure if the Spaniards would get him before he returned to Scotland.”