Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [298]
I didn’t at first realize that he meant me, until he grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me to him, making me stumble slightly on the rough ground. I fell toward him, and he twisted my arm roughly behind my back.
“You may be indifferent to your own welfare, but ye might perhaps have some concern for the lady’s honor, since you were at such pains to rescue her.” Turning me toward himself, he twined his fingers in my hair, forced my head back and kissed me with a deliberate brutality that made me squirm involuntarily in protest.
Freeing my hair, he pulled me hard against him, facing the boy on the other side of the fire. The boy’s eyes were enormous, aghast with reflections of flame in the wide dark pupils.
“Let her go!” he demanded hoarsely. “What are you proposing to do with her?”
Jamie’s hands reached to the neck of my gown. With a sudden jerk, he tore the fabric of gown and shift, baring most of my bosom. Reacting instinctively, I kicked him in the shin. The boy made an inarticulate sound and jerked forward, but was stopped short once more by Ross and Kincaid.
“Since you ask,” said Jamie’s voice pleasantly behind me, “I am proposing to ravish this lady before your eyes. I shall then give her to my men, to do what they will with. Perhaps ye would like to have a turn before I kill you? A man should no die a virgin, do ye think?”
I was struggling in good earnest now, my arm held in an iron grip behind my back, my protests muffled by Jamie’s large, warm palm clapped over my mouth. I sank my teeth hard into the heel of his hand, tasting blood. He took his hand sharply away with a smothered exclamation, but returned it almost immediately, forcing a wadded piece of cloth past my teeth. I made strangled sounds around the gag as Jamie’s hands darted to my shoulders, forcing the torn pieces of my gown farther apart. With a rending of linen and fustian, he bared me to the waist, pinning my arms at my sides. I saw Ross glance at me and quickly away, fixing his gaze with dogged intent on the prisoner, a slow flush staining his cheekbones. Kincaid, himself no more than nineteen, stared in shock, his mouth open as a flytrap.
“Stop it!” The boy’s voice was trembling, but with outrage now rather than fear. “You—you unspeakable poltroon! How dare you dishonor a lady, you Scottish jackal!” He stood for a moment, chest heaving with emotion, then made up his mind. He raised his jaw and thrust out his chin.
“Very well. I do not see that in honor I have any choice. Release the lady and I will tell you what you want to know.”
One of Jamie’s hands left my shoulder momentarily. I didn’t see his gesture, but Ross released the boy’s injured arm and went quickly to fetch my cloak, which had fallen unheeded to the ground during the excitement of the boy’s capture. Jamie pulled both my hands behind me, and, yanking off my belt, used it to bind them securely behind my back. Taking the cloak from Ross, he swirled it around my shoulders and fastened it carefully. Stepping back, he bowed ironically to me, then turned to face his captive.
“You have my word that the lady will be safe from my advances,” he said. The note in his voice could have been due to the strain of anger and frustrated lust; I recognized it as the agonized restraint of an overwhelming impulse to laugh, and could cheerfully have killed him.
Face like stone, the boy gave the required information, speaking in brief syllables.
His name was William Grey, second son of Viscount Melton. He accompanied a troop of two hundred men, traveling to Dunbar, intending to join there with General Cope’s army. His fellows were presently encamped some three miles to the west. He, William, out walking through the forest, had seen the light of our fire, and come to investigate. No, he had no companion with him. Yes, the troop carried heavy armament, sixteen carriage-mounted “galloper” cannon, and two sixteen-inch mortars. Most of the troop were armed with muskets, and there was one company of thirty horse.
The boy was beginning to wilt under the combined strain