Beloved Enemy: A Journeys of the Heart Romance by Rebecca Ward

Author:Rebecca Ward [Ward, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: White Glove
Published: 2014-02-04T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

“WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT ME HERE?” SHE demanded. She could make him out now, an angular shadow near the window. She thought she heard him chuckle and there was the hiss of a lamp being lit.

“My kind fellow officer lent me this place so that we could have an excellent view of the hangings.” Now that there was light she saw that they stood in a large room furnished rather plainly with chairs and a large desk. A portrait of Oliver Cromwell hung above the desk. Various military equipment, a sword, a dagger with a brass hilt, boots and a soldier’s cloak had been placed upon a wing-backed chair by the window. “I’d like you to see how your fellow traitors meet their death,” he continued. “Death by hanging isn’t pleasant, Damaris. I’m hoping that the sight will convince you to help yourself by helping us.”

“You’ll have a long wait, Captain.”

He shrugged and drew a knife from his belt and came toward her, and for a moment she thought that he meant to threaten her with it. Instead, he cut the ropes that bound her wrists. She couldn’t bite back a cry as pressure eased and blood began to circulate freely and painfully.

“Poor hands.” Before she could prevent him, he’d picked up one hand and kissed the ugly weal along the inner wrist. The moist touch of his mouth was revolting, and she snatched her hand away from him and rubbed it on her skirt. “An ugly mark, isn’t it? A shame to put one around your lovely white neck.”

The green light in his eyes told her he was enjoying himself and she struggled to remain calm. She had to deal carefully with this man. “I don’t know how you think I could help you,” she told him warily. “Anything I did, I did to help my father. I know nothing that could be of use to you.”

“You’re St. Cyr’s only daughter, and I know that you and he were close. He must have told you all his military secrets.” The last word was hissed almost in her ear, and she shrank back from him.

“Secrets! What would I know of such things?” she parried desperately.

Eyes narrowed, he watched her. “You know a great deal, or I’m a bad judge of character. St. Cyr had time to tell you all that he knew would benefit Charles Stuart’s son. I want this information, and I’ll get it.” There was no laughter in his eyes now—they burned with fanatical fire. “If you don’t speak willingly, I will be forced to persuade you by other means.”

The gloating in his face was unbearable, and she turned away from it to look through the window. The scene there was unendurable, too. There was a dense circle around the gibbet, and she could see the prisoners kneeling or sitting in the dirt, all waiting for the hangings to come. “You’re Puritans. You say you are men of God—how can you be such hypocrites?” she burst out.

She had struck a nerve.

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