Angel in Black (43 page)

“This is between you and me, Langsford. Do you always hide behind your hired help?”

Lawrence’s jaw twitched as he watched the town wake up around him, the curious starting to gather. Damn! He had hoped to ride in, catch everyone asleep, and take Katrina without alerting the whole town. How the hell had she known he was coming?

A sleepy-eyed Father Murray shoved his way through the crowd, scowling with disapproval at the sight before him. “What is going on here?” he shouted. When he recognized Lawrence and Randolph Langsford his face showed his surprise and he sputtered, “Sir, I demand an explanation for this intrusion.”

Lawrence moved forward in an attempt to maintain control of the situation. “There is no need for concern, Father. It is a simple matter — we have come to take my son’s wife home.”

Father Murray’s knees threatened to buckle beneath him and he struggled to comprehend the man’s statement. “But, I …” He swallowed hard and started again. “Katrina is dead — you will not find her here. Y-you know this.”

Randolph stepped forward and replied, calm and matter-of-fact, “Katrina is alive and inside the cottage, Father. The reasons she is not dead are still unclear, but she is, indeed, inside.”

Taking advantage of the crowd gathered about them, Randolph played the hurt husband to his audience. “It seems my wife was not happy with the marriage the King himself arranged, so she sought a way out of it. I have learned her kidnapping and so-called death was her own evil duplicity. Her depravity put us all through much sorrow and grief, just so she would be free to satisfy her whorish desires. All know of her sinful affair with Lord Roberts, blatantly flaunted before the King and all his court and, most distastefully, before me. It is not enough she cuckolded me, but now she has returned from God knows where, with a bastard son, bearing no shame or remorse for her actions. Father, it is my right, as her husband, to deal with her as I see fit, and there is no one here who has the right to stop me!”

Father Murray turned livid with rage, his round face red as a beet as he stuttered unintelligibly. The people watching argued angrily, their contempt for the two men and their accusations obvious.

“I have the right to stop you, you bastard.” John stepped out of the crowd, a pistol in each hand, leveled at the two men. Katrina’s mouth went dry as she watched John face all of Langsford’s men. And, to her horror, Tom and Charlie moved forward to back him up.

Someone broke the windows at the back of the cottage and drew her attention for a split second. Her world abruptly fell apart. John fired when he heard the noise inside, one ball barely grazing Randolph’s arm, the other missing Lawrence as he dove for cover. Katrina fired, killing one man whose pistol was aimed at John, but another got off a shot and John crumpled to the ground, grabbing his side. Other shots were fired to ward off the crowd, sending people scurrying for cover. Tom and Charlie’s actions were quickly halted by several pistols aimed at them.

“No,” Katrina cried in disbelief. Jenny’s scream diverted her attention from John who lay unmoving. She whirled about to find three men in the room and Jake lying face down on the floor, moaning, bleeding from a blow to his head. Jenny sat on her knees beside him, wailing as she hugged him to her full bosom. Katrina threw the empty pistol at the intruders, her fury overwhelming her. She pulled her knife and ran out the door, insane with hatred.

“You gutless bastard! You never had the nerve to face me alone. It seems to be your style, having others do your dirty work.”

Lawrence and Randolph slowly inched toward her, their eyes on the knife she brandished. Father Murray mumbled in shock as he watched Katrina, her eyes filled with hatred and fury, waiting like a wild animal, surrounded by violence and death. Those villagers who had not fled crossed themselves, fearing the sight before them was a ghost.

Randolph walked in front of her, drawing her glassy blue eyes to him, but careful to stay out of reach of the blade she wielded with menace. Crazed beyond control, Katrina hissed her contempt.

“You are just like Lawrence — evil and cowardly.”

“Drop the knife, Katrina,” ordered Lawrence, drawing her attention back to him. “Drop it or I will kill him.”

Going numb, she stared, horrified, as Lawrence stood over John, his foot cruelly laid on his bleeding wound. She watched as he applied his weight, making John scream out in agony, the noise ripping through her like a jagged bolt of lightning. Lawrence lifted his pistol and aimed it directly at John’s head.

“Drop it, or he is dead.”

Katrina blinked, unable to think. Only one thing made its way through the confusion and horror of her mind — John would die if she did not go with them. She made her choice, the knife dropped to the ground with a dull thud.

Father Murray finally got his tongue and called to Langsford. “You have no right to take Katrina. She will remain with me until this is settled — without further violence and bloodshed.”

Turning toward his voice, Katrina muttered, her words unfeelingly and dazed, “No, Father, you must not interfere. I will not be responsible for anyone else being harmed. Go, and take care of John and Jake. I beg you, do as I say.”

Seeing him hesitate, she pleaded with him. “Please, Father, you must see to John … now.”

Reluctant, he did as she asked, not knowing what else to do. They had no means of stopping Randolph from taking his wife. Carefully, they lifted John and took him to his cottage, and to Katrina’s immense relief, Jake wobbled along with Jenny’s help.

Slowly Langsford’s men surrounded her.

“I knew your compassion for these people would get you to come willingly. But remember, fight us and I will change my mind and burn this whole damn village and the people in it to the ground.”

Katrina said nothing and allowed Randolph to tie her hands in front of her. He pulled the rope so tight it cut into her skin.

“Now, that isn’t tight, is it?” Randolph asked sarcastically, giving the ropes a cruel jerk. His laughter stopped and changed to anger when the pain he inflicted elicited no response from his captive. It infuriated him to see her shoulders pulled back and her chin tilted arrogantly as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“You will change your tune when I am done with you. You
will
show fear, I guarantee it, dearest wife.”

Katrina only smiled in response to his threat, aggravating him further. He struck her full across the jaw, knocking her to the ground.

Pain shot through Katrina as her head snapped back from the brutal blow. She tumbled to the ground, the rocks bruising and scraping her tender flesh. Fighting off the threatening blackness, she dragged herself to her knees and squatted on all fours, trying to regain her balance. When her world stopped crashing about, she managed to get to her feet, her lip split and bleeding.

“Get her on a horse,” bellowed Lawrence to Randolph, pleased at the sight of her bloodied and bruised. But it quickly turned to displeasure when he met her icy, hard gaze. Kicking his horse, Lawrence headed for Camray, the vision of her hate-filled eyes imprinted on his mind, and it made him uncomfortable.

Mounting his own horse, Randolph hauled Katrina into the saddle in front of him and followed. He took immense delight in telling her exactly what he planned. His hands prodded and pinched her freely, but Katrina put it from her mind. She allowed none of his sick words to penetrate her wall of numbness, allowed no fear or desperation to seize control. Pure concentration put her into a world Lawrence and Randolph could not enter, could not touch with their evil.

The distant, vacant look in Katrina’s eyes chilled Randolph, making him determined to elicit a response from her. Yet, Katrina remained meek and uncaring; she did not struggle, giving him leeway to continue his assault of her. As they rode on, Randolph took his time touching his wife, feeling each and every curve he had been denied on their wedding night. He shoved his hardened member against her, vulgar words whispered into her ear as his hand slid up her inner thigh in search of her softness to violate crudely.

Katrina made her move, surprising her captor. She brought her elbow back with tremendous force into his ribs, knocking the breath from him. His yell caused his already nervous horse to rear, and in his attempt to stay in the saddle, let go of Katrina’s waist. In a flash, she leaped from the horse, landing nimbly on her feet, despite her hands being tied. Confusion erupted at their sudden and abrupt halt, the other horses stamped about tensely, one bumping into her as she fought her way out of the fray. Quickly, she dashed into the cover of the woods and ran as fast as she could. Stones and brush cut her feet and legs, tearing exposed flesh, but Katrina continued on, ignoring the pain.

In the distance, she heard Lawrence shouting and riders came after her. The mounts and men quickly covered the short distance she had managed to gain. One man tried to catch Katrina, but just as he leaned down to capture her, she stopped and turned, ducking out of reach.

Close behind, Randolph pursued his wife, who turned and ran in yet another direction. But his horse finally overtook her and Randolph slid from his saddle and tackled her, throwing her roughly to the hard ground, his own heavy weight slamming on top of her.

Katrina’s flimsy nightgown shredded as twigs and rocks scraped her exposed arms and legs. Randolph rolled off her and stood, pulled her up by a handful of hair, her head yanked back dangerously.

“I should kill you now,” yelled Randolph, breathing heavily from exertion and anger. “But it would be a shame not to enjoy your charms before I send you to the afterlife, wife. It is my right as your husband!”

His free hand shot up to caress her scraped chin, but Katrina bit it and held on. She could taste the blood as it filled her mouth. He yelled in pain and struggled to free his hand from her fierce grip, but, like someone possessed, she refused to release him. Randolph pulled back farther, forcing her head to so painful an angle, she was forced to let go.

Calm and still smiling, ignoring the blood running from her mouth, Katrina spat, “I do not consider you my husband, and no power on earth can make you so.”

“Randolph,” drawled Lawrence watching them, impatience clearly reflected in his voice. “Do you think you two lovebirds could stop your quarreling long enough to reach Camray?”

Randolph reddened but said nothing. He dragged Katrina to his horse and to make certain she did not try to escape again, he tied her to the saddle horn. The ropes burned and cut into her wrists until she could feel the trickle of warm blood running down her fingers.

As the group of men and one woman entered the long drive to Camray, Katrina experienced a twinge of sadness, thinking it a strange homecoming indeed. When she glanced to the east, she witnessed a beautiful sunrise, colors, awe-inspiring and tranquil, spreading across the dark sky. Her thoughts turned to Blake, his face clear in her mind. Suddenly, she was certain Blake thought of her.

Randolph dismounted, untied Katrina and jerked her off the horse. She fell to her knees and a smile twitched Randolph’s thin lips when he looked down at her, anticipation lighting his eyes for what was to come.

“It is time you learn where you belong, bitch — on your knees or beneath a man.”

“I suppose,” began Katrina, a smirk on her face, “since there are no men here, I will just have to stay on my knees.”

Randolph’s face shaded to a dark red at her blatant audacity, the muscles in his neck distended and his teeth clenched. A low growl escaped from deep within and he brought his hand up to strike, but she continued to stare, bold and unflinching. He hit her hard across the face then backhanded her in turn.

“Does all this please you, Catherine?” asked Lawrence when he entered the sitting room. Catherine Ramsey stood at the large double windows and continued to watch the scene outside, a satisfied smile on her face and a glimmer of joy in her eyes.

“Yes,” she giggled. “It pleases me to see Katrina Easton groveling on her knees.”

“On her knees … yes. Groveling? No, not Katrina.”

A dismayed frown puckered Catherine’s face, her lower lip pouting like a child. “What do you mean, not Katrina? Just look at her.”

She was tired and cranky from the long ride and Catherine’s anger surfaced easily. “Look at her! Her face is swollen and bleeding and she is covered with bruises and scratches. She looks positively horrid. No one could stand up under so brutal a beating, not even that witch.”

Lawrence lifted an eyebrow in amusement, knowing the jealousy and hatred Catherine bore Katrina. “I must admit, I have never known a woman with so much courage. It is a shame she must die.”

Catherine rushed over to stand in front of him, her face fearful. “You are not going to back out, are you?”

“No, never,” yelled Lawrence, the force of his answer causing Catherine to jump and instinctively back away. “I have more reasons to want her dead than you, my dear. Her existence is a continuous threat to my own. No one — I repeat,
no one
, will take Camray from me.”

“Are you certain no one will question her death?’ Catherine asked, uncertain about her part in this whole affair.

Lawrence sighed and, for a second time, or maybe a third, explained to ease her fears. “Of course not, my dear. She is legally wed to Randolph, and it is his right to bring her home, by force if need be. Katrina made it clear to everyone — including the King — she was not a willing participant in their marriage. Add to that the gossip you spread about her illicit affairs, not to mention her torrid and public relationship with Blake Roberts, and it’s easy to prove she has humiliated my son to the point of disgrace. It is only natural he would be angry, and we can bear witness to her prodding and taunting him unwisely. It is not surprising he should beat her, after all no man would tolerate her whoring ways. And, when he attempts to finally, and rightfully consummate his marriage, she is killed. A truly terrible, unfortunate accident — but a man can only take so much from an insolent wife.”

Catherine smiled sweetly again, almost purring with contentment. “You are so right, Lawrence, darling. Who would possibly question such a wronged husband?”