She sat down on a fallen log amid the tall reeds and grasses to watch the birds as they circled and arced across the blue sky, then a dragonfly captured her attention. It was caught fast in a spider's web, and when she freed it with a gentle finger, she felt a moment's happiness. As the heaviness of her heart lifted, her emotions began to untangle themselves, and her thoughts became crystal clear. Her soul was talking to her, and she was finally listening. Raven knew in her heart that she could not marry Christopher Dacre.
As she rode back to Carlisle Castle the sun had begun its descent in the sky, and she was surprised that she had lost track of time for most of the afternoon. Raven was aware that her mother would be extremely upset with her, and that she also would be disappointing her father, but her resolve was firm and unwavering. She did not love Christopher Dacre; she wasn't even sure she particularly liked him. It would be wrong to marry him simply because he was heir to wealth and a title; when she weighed those things against happiness, they meant absolutely nothing.
Raven returned Lady Rosalind's palfrey and hurried up to her chamber. She had lost her stockings, the hems of her skirt and petticoat were wet and bedraggled, and her hair was disheveled from the wind. She would wash and change, then go directly to Christopher Dacre and tell him that she had changed her mind. A swift, clean break would be the kindest and the most decent way to handle this. She would tell him first—she owed him that much— then she would explain her decision to her parents.
Raven went along to the newly appointed apartment, hoping to find him there. She found the chambers empty, however, and made her way to Christopher's own rooms in the family wing of the castle, hoping to catch him before he went down to dinner. She knocked lightly and entered, but soon realized that he wasn't here either. Her glance fell upon some personal articles that he must have been gathering to transfer to the other apartment. One of the items was a knife that looked familiar. Raven stepped over to the desk and picked it up. She slid it from its black leather sheath and saw the pentagram etched on the blade. She knew instantly that the knife belonged to Heath Kennedy!
Chris Dacre made his way down to the prison cells in the ancient part of the fortress. He felt the blood in his veins surge with anticipation; he had been looking forward to this moment for the last twenty-four hours. He found the guard at his post at the end of the ancient cell block and ordered him to light the torch so that he could see his prisoner. Dacre peered through the bars to make sure Kennedy was still securely shackled, then he motioned for the guard to unlock the cell and withdraw to his post.
“Good evening.”
Heath Kennedy raised his chin, which had been resting on his chest, and looked into Dacre's glittering, gray-green eyes.
“Do you know what day this is?” Dacre asked softly. “It is the eve of my wedding to Mistress Raven Carleton.” He paused to let the full impact of his statement penetrate Kennedy's brain. “And tomorrow, after we have exchanged marriage vows and Raven is my wife, do you know the very first thing I am going to do?”
Heath waited impassively for the sadistic details that Dacre was about to impart.
Christopher laughed. “No, no, I am not going to fuck her immediately; I will have all night to do that. The very first thing I am going to do with my wife, Raven Dacre, is bring her down here to look at you. She saw me when you had me at your mercy; now she will see that I have you completely at my mercy. It will be her first lesson in learning that I am the master, that I hold the whip hand.” He raised his arm so that Kennedy could see the whip he held, then he lashed out once at his prisoner, leaving a gash across his cheek and down his neck.
“We will have our own private celebration. I shall kiss the bride for you, then perhaps I will undress her and initiate her right before your eyes. If you see me put my brand upon her, you will learn once and for all time that Raven is my property.”
You don't love Raven, you hate her! Heath Kennedy closed his eyes and mentally blocked Dacre's voice. He needed to focus and gather his inner strength and his power without distraction.
Chris Dacre suspected his prisoner had lost consciousness, and decided to withdraw. What pleasure was there in taunting an enemy who could no longer hear you?
In actual fact, all of Heath's senses were acute at the moment, especially his sixth sense. He had been successful in separating himself from the pain and the bone-deep ache in his legs for most of the day, and had even slept for short periods, perched on one leg like a crane. The silence of the empty dungeon helped him to concentrate, and he allowed his pain to wash back over him as a spur to accomplish the task that lay before him. Focusing on the god stone he wore around his neck, he pressed his body into the ancient stones, attuning it to the energy within. Then he made an invocation for the stones' power and strength to come inside him. He also absorbed the essence of time that lay within the ancient stones to give him calm and patience.
A picture of Raven came into his mind, and he focused on every detail, seeing her beautiful face, touching her silky black hair, hearing her lovely laughter, scenting her unique woman's fragrance, and tasting the honeyed sweetness of her mouth. His pain receded and was kept at bay by his vision. He tapped his iron chains against the stones. One to seek her, one to find her, one to bring her, one to bind her. He went deeper within, concentrating on his sixth sense. All he had to do was conjure her. Come to me, Raven!
The moment that Raven realized she held Heath Kennedy's knife in her hand, her thoughts were filled with him. She had no idea how the dagger had come to be in the possession of Christopher Dacre, but the desire to find her fiancé faded from her consciousness. She took the weapon back to her own chamber and lit the candles. Then once again she drew the knife from its sheath to look at the symbol on its blade. She traced the outline of the pentagram with her finger and was filled with a sense of its mystical power. As she gazed at it, the candlelight reflected on the polished metal in the very center of the five-pointed star, making it glow. She stared at it as if entranced. Come to me, Raven!
She did not actually hear the words, she sensed them. She sheathed the knife, then held it against her heart, and a great feeling of comfort stole over her. Holding something powerful that belonged to Heath seemed to connect them in a way that made her feel his presence. She opened the drawer of the dressing table, took out her hag stone, and laid it beside his dagger. Heath's presence became so strong, it almost felt as if he were in the room with her. A desire to communicate with him overwhelmed her. She wanted to tell him that she was not going to marry Chris Dacre.
Memories of their time together flooded her mind; his dark face, his laughter, and his male scent filled her senses to overflowing. She saw them together at the Gypsy camp, and knew that had been the happiest night of her life. Raven went to the wardrobe, pushed aside the wedding gown that she would never wear, and took out the Gypsy dress.
In minutes she stood before the dressing table mirror in the red dress, amazed at the transformation she saw. The female in the mirror was filled with vitality and a reckless passion for life. Then from the deep recesses of the glass she saw Heath Kennedy's face reflected. He was looking at her through iron bars, and instantly she had a revelation. Heath was here; he was imprisoned somewhere within Carlisle Castle. Come to me, Raven!
She snatched up his knife and her hag stone and hurried from the chamber. She had an intimate knowledge of this old fortress, yet her instinct told her that Heath would guide her. She went down to the main level of the castle, then descended another floor and took a long passageway that led into the ancient part of Carlisle. It was filled with gloomy darkness and eerie, intimidating shadows, yet Raven did not hesitate as she descended another set of stone steps that took her into the bowels of the ancient keep that had been built by the Conqueror's son in the eleventh century. With every step she took, Raven gained confidence that she was drawing closer and closer to Heath Kennedy.
“Who goes there?” The guard was hoping to be relieved, but when he saw that it w
as a female, he challenged her.
“Can you not guess?” Raven asked in a teasing voice, keeping the knife hidden at her side, in the folds of her skirt. “Tonight everyone in the castle is celebrating tomorrow's wedding … everyone except you,” she added, laughing. “The other guards sent me down to entertain you. Light the torch, so that we can both see what we are getting.”
The guard set his sword and scabbard on his stool and lit the torch in the wall bracket.
Raven tossed her hair and pirouetted before him. Her red skirts flared out, revealing her bare legs.
“I could use a little entertainment. Is it true what they say about Gypsy girls?” He leered.
“That we are hotter than fire?” She licked her lips and drew close. “That is something you will have to discover for yourself. Is it true what the guards say about you?” she teased.
“What's that?” he asked, joining the game.
She touched his thigh. “That you can stand at attention longer than any soldier in Carlisle!” She danced away as he tried to grab her. “Ah, no, you will have to show me. I want you to show me the prisoner you are guarding too. It excites me.”
When the guard looked reluctant, she taunted playfully, “Don't be a coward. Let's have a look at your prisoner, then I'll go and fetch us a wineskin and teach you some wicked tricks I can do.”
He could not resist the double promise of woman and wine, and led the way down the line of cells to where the prisoner was incarcerated. As she moved against him he became erect.
The guard lost his erection fast enough when he felt the knife between his ribs. “Make one sound and you are a dead man. Do you understand?” When he nodded, Raven ordered, “Unlock the cell.” Dark shadows cloaked the prisoner, but Raven could feel that she was in the presence of Heath Kennedy. She kept the knife pressed into the side of the guard as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. When she saw how Heath was chained to the wall, she gasped in horror. The blade point went through the guard's uniform, piercing his skin, as she ordered, “Unlock his shackles!”
The moment Heath was free of the arm rings, he let out a long, slow breath. “Thank you, Raven.” As he rubbed his wrists, he said, “We'll need a gag for our friend here.”
By the time she had ripped a strip from her petticoat, Heath had the guard locked in the shackles. He gagged him securely, then they withdrew from the cell and he turned the key in the lock. Raven went into his arms. “However did you come to be here?”
“They had Donal imprisoned; I took his place.”
She stared up at his bloody face in outrage. “You took your brother's place, when they have never even treated you as one of the family? Dear God, how could you do that?”
“Donal has a mother, and a wife and child. How could I not?”
His words touched her heart. His selflessness was astounding.
CHAPTER 25
Come, we must hurry,” she urged.
“I can't hurry yet, Raven. I have no feeling in my legs.”
“Then we'll go slow.” She was careful to not show him pity; he was far too proud to accept pity from a woman— or anyone else for that matter. When they got to the end of the cell block, they turned right, then stopped dead as they heard footsteps approach.
Heath realized it was time to change guards, and was fully prepared to use his knife.
Without a word, Raven slipped her hand into Heath's and urged him to go left. They crept along silently, turning first one way, then the other in the darkness. Heath pulled her to him and, cupping his hand to her ear, whispered, “This is the wrong way. I memorized every turn in every passageway.”
Raven put her lips to his ear. “I played here as a child. Trust me.”
Heath was torn. He should go back and silence the guard before he raised the alarm. Then he felt Raven squeeze his hand and he made a difficult decision. He would give control over to her and place his trust in her. He whispered, “You lead, I will follow.”
They moved along with stealth through what seemed like a never-ending labyrinth of stone walls, then finally Heath could tell that the floor began to slope upward. The feeling was returning to his legs, but it brought with it excruciating pain. They stopped to listen for the footsteps of anyone that might be following them, but the silent darkness stretched all about them like black velvet.
“Almost there. Stay close.” Raven climbed up onto a large stone slab, then jumped down into a shallow pit. It took Heath longer to accomplish the maneuver, but finally he was beside her. “Keep your head low,” she directed as she took his hand and ducked beneath a ledge of stone. Suddenly they were outside in what seemed to be a field.
“A secret passage!” Heath murmured with admiration.
“Not really. In the last century it was the castle privy, which emptied into this open field.”
Heath, suddenly overcome with amusement, leaned against the castle wall and began to laugh. Raven joined in, exhilarated by their escape. Then she sobered. “We still have to get through the city gate.”
“The Irish Gate that leads north won't be guarded close. Since early morning, Borderers who attended the Wardens' Court will have been leaving through it.” He stroked her hair and flashed his grin. “They'll pay no attention to a couple of Gypsies.”
“We'll go to Rockcliffe; it's only five miles away.”
Heath massaged a cramp from his thigh. “We'll need a horse.”
“Oh, dear.” Raven looked dismayed.
Heath grinned down at her. “That's no problem, my beauty, I'm an expert horse thief from way back!”
In less than an hour they had passed through the gate of the walled city of Carlisle and were mounted on a sturdy Border pony. They rode bareback without a saddle, with Raven mounted in front of Heath. There was no bit or bridle either, only a rope with which the animal had been tethered. “Thread your fingers into his mane and hang on,” Heath told her.
The pony, responding to Heath's light touch and persuasive voice, plunged forward with surefooted eagerness. Raven, cradled between Heath's muscled thighs and held secure by one whipcord arm, reveled in the wild ride. As the crescent moon rose, bathing them in her pale silver light, Raven knew there was nowhere else on earth that she would rather be tonight. She gave thanks to the moon goddess for their freedom. This was paradise!
An hour's ride brought them to Rockcliffe. The stablemen, awakened by the excited barking of Heron's dogs, stared openmouthed at the dark Borderer with the bloody face and Sir Lancelot Carleton's black-haired daughter garbed in a scarlet Gypsy dress. Raven tossed her head and lifted her chin in a defiant gesture, but offered no explanation. When a stableman came forward to take the pony, however, Heath thanked him with quiet civility.
When they entered Rockcliffe Manor, they were met by both the steward and the housekeeper, who also had been roused by the dogs. The servants assumed it was the family returning home, but when they saw only Raven accompanied by the dangerous-looking, unkempt man, they could hardly credit it.
“I want hot water for a bath—lots of it,” Raven directed.
“Will the family be returning tonight, mistress?” the steward inquired, raising an eyebrow at the way she was dressed.
“God, I hope not, Crawford!” Raven gave a whoop of laughter. “Hot water, if you please, and hurry!” She turned to Heath. “Go on upstairs. I have to get some things from the stillroom.”
Heath tried to keep the amusement from his face as he noted the housekeeper's look of outrage, but she clearly saw the twinkle in his eye. He turned and began to limp up the steps.
“Mistress Raven, that's a man,” the housekeeper said primly.
“Aye, Mrs. Hall, that's something he'll never be able to disguise. And not just a man, but a real man!” Raven winked at her. “If I were you, I'd go to bed and plug my ears.”
In the stillroom, Raven selected some powdered yarrow and a flacon of almond oil into which had been mixed marjoram, betony, and all-heal. She stopped by the kitchen to pick u
p honey and wine, then carried all upstairs to her spacious bedchamber, where Heath had lit the candles. She drew in her breath as the light illuminated what the lash had done to his face. “Who did this?”
“It doesn't matter, Raven.”
By refusing to name him, she knew immediately that it was the cowardly act of Christopher Dacre. His words came winging back to her from the night she tried to help him escape from Eskdale. I swear I will avenge myself against him, and against every Kennedy breathing. I will destroy them with fire and sword. Suddenly, in a revelation, Raven realized that the Dacres were behind the fire in which her hands had been burned and also were behind the raid in which Donal Kennedy had been taken prisoner. She cursed herself for being so willfully blind. She touched his cheek tenderly. “I think I must stitch it,” she said, half to herself.
“No, Raven, it will heal without stitches.”
She pushed him down onto the bed so that her eyes were on a level with his face. Then she removed his bloodied shirt to examine the lash on his corded neck. “It won't heal without a scar,” she protested.
“Of course it will … you have healing hands.” Heath drew them to his lips and kissed her fingers.
“My God, don't start kissing me yet. I have things I must do.”
“Such as?” His glance roamed with hunger from her lips to her eyes, then back to her mouth.
“I'm going to bathe you.”
“Forgive me, love, I forgot how unpalatable I must be.”
Raven groaned. “You're not unpalatable; you're absolutely edible.” She heard servants in the hall and went out to them. “I want you to carry the big bath from the bathing room into my bedchamber.” They did as she directed, then poured their buckets of hot water into it and went downstairs to get more.