Devil's Embrace by Catherine Coulter
Joseph reined in his horse at a sharp bend in the rutted, now slippery road, and looked skyward. Already the afternoon was shadowed and gray, and the air had turned a muddy color.
His horse snorted and reared back in surprise, and Joseph’s hands tightened on the reins. He looked down the winding road that crisscrossed in and out of the hills below them. Four horsemen, heavily cloaked, were riding purposefully up the road, several hundred yards below them. He felt growing alarm, for he recognized neither the horses nor the men. Suddenly, one of the men drew up, raised himself in the saddle, and scanned the hills above him. To Joseph’s horror, the man pointed at him and yelled something to the others. He could hear the pounding hooves as the galloping horses strained forward toward them.
Cassie pulled her mare to a halt beside him. “What is it, Joseph?”
He turned in his saddle to face her and said in a low, hard voice, “Listen carefully, madonna, and do exactly as I tell you. There are four men coming and I know that they mean us no good.” As he spoke, he pulled a pistol from his belt and carefully laid back the hammer.
“Dear God, whatever are you talking about?”
He waved away her question. “Do you know the direction of the villa if you leave the road?”
“I believe so, but—”
“I will halt the men here. You, madonna, will leave the road. You must go carefully, for the incline, though slight, is fast becoming a sea of mud. Ride through the trees yon for at least a mile before you return to the road. Then I want you to ride like the devil himself back to the villa. I will try to catch up with you.”
“Surely you are mistaken. Joseph, I cannot leave you.”
Joseph uttered a loud oath and for the first time since she had met him, she saw the fierce, set lines of the Barbary pirate on his face.
His fear communicated itself to her, and she shivered.
“Go, quickly.” He drew back his hand and slapped her mare’s rump hard with the butt of his pistol.
Cassie looked back at him. He was covering his pistol with his cloak to shield it from the rain, and studying the terrain around him with narrowed, calculating eyes. Cassie guided her mare off the road and down the incline. Brambles tore at her riding skirt and cloak, but she was scarce aware of them. The suddenness of what was happening made her fear somehow unreal, as if she had been thrust into a bizarre nightmare.
The trees were thick, but her Arabian-bred mare nimbly sought out the narrow passages between them, side-stepping dangerously thorned underbrush. Her mare pushed forward until they came upon a narrow, nearly overgrown footpath, Cassie click-clicked her into a canter, and at the same instant, her mare’s ears flattened at the sound of a pistol shot, followed quickly by another. Their retorts merged into a single staccato echo off the hills.
“Joseph,” Cassie croaked, and slewed her head back in the direction she had come.
She heard the loud crashing of horses through the thick underbrush and felt her mouth go dry. She whipped her mare forward, urging her into a gallop. Low-hanging tree branches tore at her riding hat, and her mare snorted angrily as thorny bushes ripped at her legs. The horses’ hooves pounded behind her, through the thick forest, drawing closer. Suddenly, her mare burst through the trees.
She cried out in disbelief. On the road below her, a man sat waiting on his horse, his face shrouded by a black mask. They had guessed what she would do. She eyed the distance between them, bowed her head close to her mare’s neck, dug her heels into her tender sides, and whipped her into a mad gallop down the slope.
Giacomo watched the girl tearing toward him in some surprise. But he was experienced in his work. He grinned in anticipation, for she was bringing sport to what he had thought would be a dull post. He knew she would try to startle his horse out of her path, and he grasped his horse’s reins more firmly. He whipped his horse into a gallop before she reached the road, and when Cassie’s mare veered away at the last instant, he reached out and raked her off her horse’s back. She clawed wildly against his arms, and he could not stop her mare, who was galloping erratically away from him down the hill road. He felt her nails rake at his neck, and with a bellow of fury, struck her jaw with his fist.
Brilliant flashes of white exploded in her head, and she slumped limply against him.
“Good work, Giacomo,” Andrea said, as his mount gained the road. “You haven’t killed her, have you?”
“No, but she’s a feisty wench.” He wrapped his hand roughly about a mass of golden hair that spilled loosely down her back. “She’s a beauty, this one.”
Andrea laughed heartily. “There’ll be time enough for that once we get her to Vannone’s hut.” He whipped his horse about, and waved to Giacomo. They left her soaked, bedraggled riding hat lying trampled at the side of the road.
Cassie smelled wet, sweat-soaked wool. She gagged and tried to wrench herself away from the stench, but a strong hand pressed hard against her back.
“Make yourself easy, my girl,” she heard a man say. “It won’t be long now.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but a sharp pain in her jaw held her silent. She discovered she was flung like a sack of grain face down over a saddle, her face pressed against the man’s thigh. She tried once again to jerk herself free, and the man pulled viciously at her hair, until she cried out.
“Hold still,” came a snarling command. She felt the man’s hand move downward from the small of her back, until he probed roughly at her buttocks through her thick cloak. She froze, every thought suspended, and swallowed convulsively, fear and bile rising in her throat. Dear God, where was Joseph? She remembered the two shots that had echoed off the hills, and closed her eyes tight against her mounting terror.
She fought against growing nausea and spasmodic pain that gnawed at her belly from the jolting horse’s gallop. It had stopped raining and the gray afternoon shadows had lengthened before she heard the shout of a man and felt the horse beneath her come to a halt.
“Bring her in, I’ll light the lamps.” It was a man’s loud voice.
Her fear made her wily, and she forced her stiff muscles to go limp when she was pulled from the saddle. She thought the man believed her to have fainted for he held her loosely with but one arm about her waist. Without warning, she twisted wildly in his grasp and smashed his face with her fist. He howled, and she was suddenly free, stumbling away from him, running blindly into the growing darkness.
She felt a tremendous weight strike her back, and she went hurtling to the ground, breathless. A man’s heavy body covered her, grinding her into the earth. She heard a deep, throaty laugh close to her ear. “Giacomo is right, you are a feisty wench. More’s the pleasure for us, my fine lady.”
Cassie was jerked to her feet, her arms twisted behind her. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out, to deny them the pleasure of hearing her pain. They dragged her up rotted wooden steps through the open door of a small cabin and shoved her inside. She staggered forward and sprawled to her knees.
“Madonna.” Joseph’s anguished voice restored her to reason, and she jerked her head toward him.
He stood in the far corner of the room, his arms held by two men. There was a wide red stain spreading down his shirt.
“My God, Joseph, you are hurt.” She struggled to her feet, but the huge burly man flung her back to the floor.
“Leave her alone, you stinking pigs!” Cassie heard pain beneath the fury in Joseph’s shout. She had to help him—somehow.
She looked up at the huge man, whose hooded face made him all the more terrifying, for he seemed faceless. “Do you not realize who I am?” she said in a cold voice. “In case you do not, I am betrothed to Anthony Welles, the master of the Villa Parese. If it is money you want, you shall have it, but only if we are returned unharmed. I demand that you release us at once.”
Andrea appeared thoughtful for a moment. He stroked his jaw and turned to the other men. “Well, my lads, what do you think of the lady’s offer?”
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“That will teach you to fight me.”
“Leave go, Giacomo. You don’t want her unconscious, do you?”
“You’ll not lay a hand on her, you filthy swine.”
“Just see if we don’t, my brave Corsican.”
Cassie looked up through a haze of pain to see the huge man pulling off his cloak. Almost gently, he spread it on the rotting floor.
“Can we, Andrea?” she heard Giacomo say eagerly.
Andrea shrugged. “There was naught said. I was told to keep her here, the Corsican too, I guess, until he comes. If you’ve no taste for such a lovely morsel, then I’ll take your turn as well.”
A wild shout broke from Giacomo’s mouth. “No, you’ll not have her all to yourself.” His voice was suddenly crafty. “We’ll have the Corsican watch. He’s probably lusted after her himself.”
The two men holding the struggling Joseph broke into furious argument.
Cassie’s heart froze within her. They were going to rape her. God, they were fighting over the order. She tried to get control of herself, to think of something, anything that would save her. A pistol. Perhaps she could get one of the men’s pistols. Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet, but the pain in her chest was so great that she gasped aloud.
“Ah,” Andrea said, “the little lady wants us to begin. Look at how she comes to us.”
Frenzied, excited laughter met his words. He was on her in the next instant, tearing off her cloak, and ripping at her riding habit.
“No, damn you, no!” Cassie yelled. The pain in her chest faded from her consciousness and she fought him, clawing at his eyes through the black mask, kicking wildly at his legs.
“Hold the wildcat, Giacomo,” Andrea shouted.
Andrea tore off her clothing, delighting, she thought wildly, in shredding every layer. She twisted frantically, even as Giacomo wrenched her arms behind her back.
Andrea stepped back, his dark eyes glistening, his large tongue running excitedly over his lips.
She stood naked, her body quivering with cold and fear, her hair hanging loosely down her back and over her breasts.
He reached out his hand and cupped her breast. A piercing scream broke from Cassie’s mouth, and without thought, she leaned her head down and sank her teeth into the back of his hand.
He struck her, full in the face, and she fell back against Giacomo. Giacomo’s hands moved urgently over her, down her belly, around her thighs. She could hear his breathing in her ear, heavy and rasping in his lust. Cassie jerked an arm free of him and thrust her elbow into his stomach.
She heard his bellow of rage and hoped that his blow would leave her senseless.
But it was Andrea who struck her. He drove his fist into her belly, and she fell to her knees, clutching her arms about herself. She was hurled upon the cloak, her arms yanked above her head and held there by Giacomo’s knees. She felt his hands pulling her hair from her face and shoulders. His fingers closed over her breasts, tender from her pregnancy, hurting her badly.
“She does not like your gentle attention, Giacomo,” Andrea said, laughing. “Let us see if she prefers this.”
Cassie’s eyes opened wide, despite herself. Andrea had dropped his breeches and bared himself. He was built like a bull, a brute, a raging animal.
She kicked wildly at his hairy belly as he grabbed at her legs. He grunted and thrust himself between her thighs.
Dimly, as if from a great distance, Cassie heard Joseph screaming curses.
“Lay the Corsican out, Giulio. I need both of you to hold her down.”
“Bastardo!” Cassie screamed, and craned her neck forward to see Joseph slumping onto the floor. She was sobbing, screaming her own curses at them, English oaths that they did not understand.
Suddenly there were hands all over her body, rough fingers digging into her, pulling her legs apart. For an instant, the room was silent, save for the rasping breath of the men who held her. Then her body exploded into agony. Andrea drove into her, tearing her, his hands jerking her hips upward to engorge himself with her.
For the first time in her life, Cassie prayed for death, for blessed unconsciousness that would free her of this horror. But the pain continued, plummeting her mind into senselessness. She was scarce aware when the second man took his turn, for he could not tear her body more than had Andrea. Until Giulio. “Damn,” she heard him curse, “the wench grows too slippery.”
She was pulled onto her stomach. And she screamed, screamed until her voice was a hoarse groan in her throat.
“You rutting bastards.”
It was a new voice, a man’s voice, laden with fury.
She was rolled onto her back and the vicious probing hands left her.
“You did not say that we could not enjoy her,” Andrea said, his voice sulky.
“Get out, all of you. What if someone comes, you fools, the lot of you mucking around with your breeches down. For God’s sake, get out of here and keep watch.”
For a moment, Cassie’s mind detached itself from her torn body, and her eyes focused on the man. Like the others, he wore a black mask. But there was something different about him, other than the richness of his clothing, something that she couldn’t quite grasp.
“Joseph,” she whispered between swollen lips. It did not occur to her to beg mercy for herself. She knew with the hopelessness of certainty that there would be none.
“Pazza fragitara nigli inferno,” he said, his voice low and strangely slurred.
Caesare stared down at her and felt a spasm of revulsion at what his bravi had done to her. He had thought to take her himself, but now he wanted only to leave this place and forget her eyes staring up at him, wide with helpless terror, forget the sight of her naked body, bruised and bleeding. He turned abruptly on his heel and strode to the door. “Andrea!” he shouted. “Do as you like with them. Just be certain, if you value your life, that they are never found.”
“No,” she whispered after him, trying to pull herself up, but he was gone.
Andrea appeared in the open doorway. “No more need of these, lads,” he said, and pulled off his mask.
Cassie stared up at his coarse-bearded face, his mouth slashed wide in a grin. “Let her see your handsome face, Giacomo,” he said, again unfastening the buttons of his breeches.
Giacomo’s thin face was drawn and sharp, his eyes a strange golden color, like those of a fox. He ran his tongue over his blackened front teeth. “Wait your turn, Andrea. She’s mine now.”
Giacomo was angry that they had beaten the fight out of her, for he had wanted to feel her heaving and struggling against him.
She moaned softly, helplessly, when he thrust himself into her, and he could feel her quivering with pain.
“Fight me, damn you.” He slapped her breasts and belly with the flat of his hand.
But there was no fight left in her, only a vast emptiness shrouded in pain. Dimly, she remembered the man’s words, their leader’s words. “Pazza fragitara nigli inferno. May he rot in hell.” She was to die now, as was Joseph. Somehow, the knowledge did not quite touch her. She raised vague eyes to Andrea, and saw him pulling down his breeches. She cried out, deep in her throat, and fell into merciful blackness.
Andrea sat cross-legged on the filthy floor, eyeing his three comrades. “Well, what will you, lads? Kill them now or wait for the wench to come around again?”
“What a bloody waste to carve the wench,” Giacomo said, rubbing his hand over the stubble of beard on his chin. “The Corsican though—” He pulled his knife lovingly from his belt.
Andrea nodded. “Gut the Corsican, Giulio.”
Giulio rose to his feet and drew his st
The earl hurled into the room, the force of his body tearing the cabin door from its rusted hinges.
“Out, men!” Andrea shouted, and kicked over the lighted lamp, plunging the cabin into darkness. The earl heard a booted foot shatter the back door of the hut. At the same instant, he fired his other pistol, and one of the men grunted in pain. He whirled about and rushed out of the hut, to see three men hurling themselves onto their horses.
He turned and dashed back into the hut, his pistols still clenched tightly in his hands. His jaw was grinding spasmodically in fear. He had had only a brief glimpse of Cassie, sprawled naked upon her back, unmoving.
He fell to his knees, his hands groping for the overturned lamp. Frantically, he pulled it upright and lit it with flint and steel from the tinderbox that lay next to it.
The earl strode across the creaking floor and dropped to his knees beside her. “Oh, Cassie, no,” he whispered.
Her face was turned away from him. Her eyes were open, but she did not respond, locked so deeply into her own horror that she was scarce aware of his presence.
She felt a large hand, a man’s hand, lightly stroke her cheek and shoulder. Her horror turned itself outward. “No, please—no,” she whimpered, and tried to draw away.
“Cassandra, don’t be afraid, there is nothing more to fear.”
His fingers lightly stroked her face, smoothed back her tangled hair. Slowly, she turned her head to face him.
She saw her own pain mirrored in his eyes. “I did not think you would find us.” It hurt so to speak. She ran her tongue over her swollen lips. “Joseph, please, you must help Joseph.”
The earl saw movement from the corner of his eye and whipped about. Scargill stood in the open doorway, a pistol in his hand.
“My lord.” He lowered the pistol slowly to his side as he took in the sight of Cassie, of Joseph lying slumped on his belly, and a second man lying in a pool of blood. “Paolo and Marco are outside,” he said feverishly. “We couldn’t keep up with yer stallion.”