She was so deep in her musing that she didn't notice the two men keeping their distance behind her.
David and Charles had kept to the side of the narrow, climbing streets in the village, pausing casually in doorways, taking little alleys between cottages that would bring them up onto the next street without its looking as if they were following her. Now, as they dogged her steps along the deserted lane, they both had their hands in their pockets, fingers twisting around the black silk loo masks, and they both wore the same expression-an eager, predatory glimmer in their eyes, their mouths twisted into the same grim quirk.
Tamsyn left the lane, slipped through a kissing gate beside a stone cattle grid, and turned along the edge of the field in the shade of the hedge. David and Charles silently drew out their masks and as silently tied them on.
Tamsyn heard the gentle buzz of a bumblebee in the honeysuckle, the frantic crackle as a startled pheasant took wing from the ripening corn. The sun was hot, the earth dry; a frog hopped out of the ditch beside the hedge. It was quiet, almost somnolent, and the hairs on the back of her neck lifted and her scalp crawled.
She stopped and very slowly turned around. Two masked men stepped toward her, malevolent intent wreathing around them. Tamsyn stood stone still. There was no one in the field but herself and the two men. A herd of cows raised their heads and stared with bovine curiosity through sleepy brown eyes, their jaws rhythmically working as they chewed the cud.
“Well, well,” Charles said, approaching her. “If it isn't St. Simon's doxy of the seashore.”
The men of the cliff top. Were they her cousins? She said nothing.
David chuckled. “Fancy St. Simon housing his harlot under the precious roofs of Tregarthan… with his sister, no less.” He reached out and touched her cheek. Charles stepped up beside him, and she was backed against the hedge. No chance to outrun them. Still she said nothing.
“So how about you tell us something about yourself?” David invited, pinching her cheek so the flesh whitened as the blood fled.
Tamsyn shook her head. “Perdon?” she whispered.
“Your name, whore.” He pinched her other cheek, bringing her face very dose to his. “Your name and where you come from.”
“No comprendo,” Tamsyn whispered, praying that her fear wasn't showing in her eyes. If these two smelled her fear, there would be no stopping them.
“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, whore!” David released her cheeks, took a swift, darting step, and moved behind her, grabbing her arms, pulling them hard behind her, pushing them up her back.
Tamsyn knew that she couldn't hope to defend herself physically. There were two of them and they were twice her size, for all their willowy stature. If she'd had a weapon, a knife, anything, maybe she would have had a chance. But she had nothing.
Except for the needle and thread she'd bought for Josefa.
Her mind raced as she continued to stand immobile. She had the absolute sense that if she was not to be badly hurt, she must offer no resistance unless she was certain it would work. There was something about them that sent ice down her spine. Worse than Cornichet, she thought distantly. At least Cornichet had a reason for what he did, a reason she understood.
Charles's eyes laughed at her, and yet they were as cold and deadly as a viper's. David released her arms and she breathed again but it was a false respite. Charles took her chin between finger and thumb in a hurtful grip, and his other hand grabbed a handful of her hair, jerking her head toward him. Then he brought his mouth to hers in a violent assault that made her want to vomit. His tongue pushed into her mouth and battered against her throat; her head swam as she gagged, fighting for breath. Her hand closed over the packet of needles.
Somehow she extricated them from her pocket, and in desperation, as she felt her senses swimming, she stabbed upward into the soft skin beneath her assailant's chin.
Charles bellowed and pulled his mouth from hers.
He hit her with his open palm. “Vicious little whore. By God, you'll pay for that.” Disbelieving, he touched his chin where a ruby bead blossomed; then he caught her wrist, bending it back until she cried out and the packet of needles fell to the ground. He put a hand on her breast, rubbing his palm against the nipple; then he pinched the soft mound, watching the tears spring into her eyes, squeezing until she could no longer keep back the cry of pain.
“Let's get her to sing first,” David said, seeing the intent in his brother's eye. “Let's get what we want out of her first; then you can have your revenge.”
“All right, whore!” Charles's fingers closed viciously over her nipple. “What's your name? Where did St. Simon find you?”
“Bastardo!” She spat in his eye. They forced her to her knees, yanking her hands so high up her back that she knew one more jerk would break her arm. Even through her tears she cursed them in Spanish, struggling to control the pain and the surging nausea as she knelt oh the hard ground, her head drooping to her chest.
And then the tableau was shattered by a roar, so wild with savage fury that even Tamsyn shuddered. Her arms were abruptly released, and the masked men were suddenly gone. Dully she raised her head and saw them, through the tears coursing down her cheeks, running as if pursued by hell's furies.
Gabriel charged past her, still bellowing his War cry, and then suddenly he stopped. With a vile oath he abandoned the pursuit and ran to the huddled figure now lying on the grass. He dropped to his knees beside her. “Och, little girl… I'll get them later.”
He lifted her up and held her, cradling her against his massive chest, rocking her as if she were a baby. Her face was white, her eyes violet stones, and for a few minutes she lay shivering in his arms. Then she pushed away from him with an inarticulate mumble. The taste of the man was in her mouth, and she retched into the ditch.
“Oh, I'll kill them inch by inch,” Gabriel swore softly, rubbing her back as she crouched on the ground. “I'll hunt them down like the curs they are, and when I have them, I'll flay them with an oyster shell.” It was no idle threat, as Tamsyn knew.
“They wanted to know who I was, Gabriel.” She found to her surprise that her voice was perfectly steady as she straightened. “Who I was and where I came from. I'm sure they were my cousins.” She stood up, thoughtfully massaging her bruised and aching wrists.
“Do you think your uncle set them up to it?”
She shook her head. “From what Cecile said, I doubt Cedric would be so indiscreet. He's a subtle man, and he wouldn't want such a filthy assault to be laid anywhere near his door. But I've obviously aroused his curiosity. “
Calmly now, she smoothed back her hair, flicked grass and dried mud from her skirt. “What brought you so fast, Gabriel?”
He shrugged. “Just a feeling. I was uneasy after I left you with that Miss Lucy, I don't know why. I thought I'd stroll to the village and escort you home.”
“Thank God you did.” She took his large hand in both hers. “We'll get even with them, Gabriel, but please wait. It'll spoil everything if you end up on the scaffold in Bodmin jail for murder.” She tried to smile, but her face ached from the slap and the violent pinching. “When we go after Cedric, we'll get them too.”
“Just you remember they're mine,” he said with low voiced savagery.
“They'll be yours,” the daughter of El Baron promised, well aware of what she was promising and feeling not a twinge of compassion for her cousins.
“And until then, little girl, you go nowhere alone.
Maybe your uncle didn't set those scum on you, but if he's on the scent, there's no knowing what he might decide to do.”
“No,” Tamsyn agreed flatly. “A man who could dispose of his sister so ingeniously could probably manage to arrange for a stranger's disappearance without too much difficulty.”