Bertrice Small - Love Wild and Fair

Watching from his hidden vantage, Bothwell thanked God she hadn't been raped. Susan, poor lass, had taken the brunt of the brutality. The earl vowed he would do his best to care for her. If they got out of this alive, Susan would never again lack for anything.

Slipping back into the forest, he signaled silently to Conall and Asher to follow him. They reached a small clearing, and Bothwell said quietly, "I think we're well advised to wait until they sleep. We'll each take one of them, but the captain is mine." The two nodded. The earl asked Asher, "Do ye think ye can kill a man, lad?"

Asher Kira nodded. "Yes, my lord, I can. After what I saw them doing to Susan, I can kill one of the men who did it."

The earl smiled grimly, and the three men settled down to wait.

The moonless night grew darker, and gradually the noise from the soldiers died until only snoring broke the stillness. Carefully now they crept up again to the perimeter of the camp. The fire burned low. The three men were all there. The man who should have been on guard slept as noisily as his companions. Bothwell shook his head in wonder. These Turks-alleged to be the world's finest military-were poor soldiers. Instead of sleeping in close formation about the fire, they were scattered-easy prey for man or animal.

The earl nodded to Conall and Asher. Shadowlike the three men stepped from the darkness into the faint glow of the firelight. Methodically they went about their task. A hard hand was clasped quickly about a mouth to stifle the cry while the throat was cut from ear to ear. The two soldiers died swiftly. Captain Omar was left.

A bloodcurdling Scots war cry ripped through the night. The Turkish captain scrambled to his feet, terrified. A quick glance about him told him his companions were dead. Slowly, he turned to face his adversaries. There were three of them-a beardless youth not worth bothering with, and two hardened veterans. Omar was no coward, but he did not like the odds.

"I am Captain Omar of the sultan's Dlyrian regulars," he said. "Who are you?"

The tallest of the men stepped forward. "My name matters not, spawn of pig's offal! You will not live long enough to repeat it!"

The insult was enormous, yet the captain was puzzled. "Do I know you, my lord? What is your quarrel with me?" He shifted his weight slightly.

"Do not move, captain," said the tall man. "My young friend has a pistol pointed directly at you. It is primed and ready. If his finger should slip…" He paused and smiled. "Have you ever seen a man die of a bullet wound, captain? A large hole blown clean through his middle? The guts oozing out onto the ground like a string of sausages? Move one step, and you will experience that most exquisite agony."

The giant Turk swallowed hard and glanced over at the boy he had regarded so lightly. Asher Kira glared coldly back. His slender hand was wrapped lightly about a large, evil-looking weapon. He seemed quite familiar with it, even comfortable. Captain Omar stood very still.

Bothwell turned to Conall. "Susan?"

"Alive, my lord," came the choked reply. The weatherworn face, wet with tears, implored him.

"Christ, mon, what sort of human does this to a young girl?" And he tenderly cradled the battered body of his niece in his arms.

"Cat!" The earl's voice called.

She came slowly from behind the captain, still naked. Removing his heavy cloak, Bothwell wrapped her in it "Asher will take you and Susan to the boat as soon as he and Conall have launched it"

"And you?"

"The captain and I have unfinished business."

"I will stay till it is finished," she stated.

A slow smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "You were never one to run from danger, were you, my love? Very well then. It would be easier if you had some clothes on, madame. Are there any extra among us?"

Nodding, she said, "I will not be long, Francis," and climbed back up to the cave. Taking Susan's extra undergarments, pants from Asher, and a shirt from Conall, she was able to put together a decent wardrobe. Her own sash and boots were salvageable.

While she dressed, the others pressed Captain Omar's strength into service. They dragged the boat from its biding place and anchored it in the river, just off the beach. Asher Kira waited in it with the injured Susan. Having regained consciousness, she alternated between relief and tears. Conall built up the fire to light the area while the two combatants stripped off shirts and boots.

"Understand me, Turk," said Bothwell. "If I do not kill you, which I intend doing, my captain will do it. But because I believe every condemned man has the right to know why he dies I will tell you now that the lady you intended selling into bondage is my wife. The girl your men brutalized is my captain's niece."

Captain Omar let the words slide over him, looking his challenger over. Bothwell was almost as tall as he, but weighed a good deal less. Omar felt confidence swelling through him. He would quickly crush the infidel dog. As for his bandy-legged companion, he presented no threat at all. But it would be wise to dispose of him quickly. Whirling, he turned on the surprised Conall and felled him with a great blow to the head. The Scotsman slid silently to the sand as Cat screamed his name.

Now Captain Omar turned to Bothwell. The two men circled each other, each assessing the other's strength. Their knives flashed in the firelight. Suddenly terrified, Cat knelt by the unconscious Conall, watching and praying.

There was a sudden glint of steel and a reddening wound. Then there was another, and another. The two men fought on, past taunts now, an occasional grunt punctuating the silence. Neither seemed to weary, and the firelight dappled their sweat-soaked bodies. Suddenly the Turk flung aside his knife and leaped at Both-well, enveloping him in a great bear hug. Bothwell was caught as surely as a rabbit in a snare. He could not struggle, and his knife dropped from his hand. The giant seemed to be squeezing the very life from him.

"Cat!" He managed to gasp. "To the boat, lass! Run!"

He felt a rib crack and struggled harder against both his massive enemy and fast-rising unconsciousness. He knew that if the blackness claimed him he was a dead man. The ignominy of the situation struck at his native pride.

That he, Francis Stewart-Hepburn, should die at the hands of a mindless Turk!.Through the roaring in his ears he thought he heard his wife's voice, and it gave him courage. If he died, she was doomed to a living hell.

Scrambling across the sand, Cat picked up first the Turk's knife and then Bothwell's. Legs shaking, she plunged both knives repeatedly into the mountain of flesh that was the Turk, but she could not seem to find a vital spot. Her blows were no more effective than a gnat's bite. But, like the insect, she became a great irritant. Dropping his half-conscious victim, Omar turned on her.

"Woman!" he shouted, and she jumped backwards. He reached for the knives and, disarming her, slapped her several light blows. Terrified for Bothwell, and feeling more helpless than she had ever felt, Cat dropped to her knees. The Turk turned back to the earl. Suddenly a roar tore the stillness. Spinning about, Captain Omar clutched at his middle, a look of pure surprise on his face. He removed his hands slowly to look, then clamped them quickly back over the hole in his belly as a length of pink gut rolled out. But he was not able to contain the blood that poured forth.

Sickened, Cat scrambled away from him, but he kept coming towards her, his lips moving, mouthing words she could not hear. The pink intestines were uncontainable now, spilling between his clutching fingers, blood spurting over her. Beyond him stood Asher Kira, the smoking pistol in his hands. Nearby both Bothwell and Conall lay unmoving on the damp sand.

Horrified, she slowly scanned the scene of carnage in which she had played a leading role. Suddenly Captain Omar crumbled dead at her feet. Terror filling her eyes, she screamed, "Oh, God! No more! No more! No more!"

IN the cool green hills overlooking Rome there nestled a beautiful villa, commanding a view of the sea many miles beyond. A park surrounded the house, but the gates leading to it were always closed unless someone was entering or leaving. It was called simply Villa Mia, and had been built a hundred years before for a mistress of the Borgia pope, Alexander VI. The park was filled with greenery, deer, birds, and little lakes.

The house was now owned by the foreigner Lord Stuarti. The local people knew little else about him. The new lord had a large force of men-at-arms, but only their captain was ever seen entering the house. The servants were all women, imported from Rome. Tradesmen were stopped at the back door. No one from the surrounding area had ever been inside the villa.

There was a rumor that Lord Stuarti had a wife, but she was never seen, and it was known that he occasionally visited the widowed innkeeper, Giovanna Russo.

When the other women of the village attempted to elicit information from Giovanna, she would say nothing other than "He is a good man with much pain. Do not ask again for I will tell you nothing." This was strange, for Giovanna was a warm-hearted woman who was known to enjoy a good gossip. Eventually, however, the villagers accepted the mysterious Lord Stuarti and no longer paid any particular attention to the Villa Mia.

Francis Stewart-Hepburn had never intended to return to Naples. The Villa del Pesce d'Oro would have held too many frightening ghosts. So, the new villa had already been purchased, and was waiting when he and Cat returned. Bothwell thanked God he had a home to bring her to, and that it was isolated.