Really, my dear, you've been very naughty. Very, very naughty. You must be punished most severely."
" 'Tis a monster you are, not a man! I warn you, lay so much as a finger on me and I will see you in hell!"
"What an ungrateful chit you are! I could have turned you over to the authorities along with d'Arcy, you know. Instead, I'm prepared to keep you, though you've betrayed me with that Irish gallows' bait. Why, if you behave yourself, I might even let you watch his hanging."
''They' 11 never hang him!"
"Indeed they will. He will kick and scream and twist while the rope cuts off his air-and then he. will die."
"In that case, pray tell me what is stopping me from slitting your throat one fine night?"
Sir Edward smiled at her. She had turned on him like a small wildcat when Connor, under guard by four large horse pistols, had been taken from the assembly rooms. He had required the help of his coachman and a footman to drag her, thrashing and screaming, to his carriage, where he had ordered her bound with her own torn cloak. Three footman had done the dirty work, and the coachman had carried her, trussed like a Christmas goose, inside when they had reached the house on Lisle Street. Sir Edward had followed her up to her chamber and told Fromer to keep watch below. After his surprise at finding Caitlyn with Connor earlier, he was taking no further chances.
"You are forgetting the brothers, are you not? At a word from me, they could easily swing beside d'Arcy, you know. As could you."
Caitlyn glared up at him from her prone position on the bed. Bound at wrists and ankles, with more strips of cloth securing her arms and legs for good measure, she was effectively helpless. Sir Edward was gloating over her, his eyes alight. Connor's arrest and her impotent fury and despair delighted him. He loved others' misery and pain.
"So you think to keep me by holding Liam and Rory and Cormac over my head, do you?"
"And your own life, my dear. It is no small thing."
Caitlyn seethed with rage and hatred. He smiled at her and slowly removed his gold satin coat while she watched, knowing what would come next. But fear for Connor obliterated all concern for herself. Sir Edward could terrify her no longer. His shirt was blindingly white in the candlelight as he crossed to her wardrobe and took out the riding crop that was kept there. Though the worst had come to pass and Connor was taken, he thought to use her as though nothing had changed.
"What will you do if Connor escapes?" Her voice taunted him as he came to stand beside the bed, his tall form casting a dark shadow over the torn skirt of her once- magnificent emerald ballgown.
That made him pause for a moment. Nervously he flexed the whip.
"He will not. No one has ever escaped from Newgate."
"Connor is quite extraordinary."
"Do you know, I am tired of hearing you talk of your lover. You are a sinful wench. Sinful. You have been fornicating with him, I know it."
"Indeed I have," Caitlyn said with vindictive pleasure. He stared at her for a moment, not having expected her to admit to any such thing. His eyes took on a hot, hungry gleam. In the past that glitter would have reduced her to trembling jelly. Now she was strong again, fueled by a hatred more virulent than anything she had ever known.
"You are shameless," Sir Edward muttered and, reaching down, ripped at her clothes until she was naked. Still bound, she barely managed to roll onto her face before he brought the whip whistling down across her shoulders. At first, she did not scream, did not cry out. Eventually, though, as he continued to beat her unmercifully, she could not hold back. He did not confine himself to her buttocks and legs this time, but beat her about the head and shoulders and back as well. With her hands bound, she could not protect herself at all, though she kept her eyes shut and her face averted. One lash caught her full on the cheek, splitting it open. She could feel the welling of blood even as she screamed…
At last his strength was spent. He mounted the bed, used her as he always did, then left the room. As soon as he had closed the door, Minna entered. She made no move to ease Caitlyn's pain or aid her in any way, but merely sat in the chair in the corner of the room and took up her tatting. Caitlyn turned her head despite the excruciating pain and looked at the other woman. There was no pity for her in those cold black eyes.
Caitlyn bit her lower lip until she tasted her own blood in her mouth. Naked, bound, grievously hurt and humiliated, stabbed clear to the heart with hideous fear for Connor, she nevertheless felt stronger than she had since the night she was shot. Her hatred welled inside her like a living, breathing entity. Soon now, soon, she would have her revenge…
As Caitlyn suspected, Fromer and Minna were far more efficient jailers than servants. Over the next two days she was kept tied to the bed, except for certain necessary times which were tended to by Minna with Fromer within call. The erstwhile servants took grim pleasure in keeping her informed of the hoopla that surrounded the taking of the Irish brigand whose downfall, they told her gleefully, was the talk of Londontown. The trial itself would be held in Dublin, as that location was more convenient for witnesses. The outcome was in little doubt. Bets were being taken on how speedily the hanging would follow the verdict. Fromer had put ten quid on the following day.
On the third day after Connor's arrest, Sir Edward came again to visit her. It was late at night, as his visits usually were. Minna had untied her so that she could attend to nature's call before sleeping. Sir Edward entered the room without knocking. Caitlyn straightened with a grim smile as he immediately dismissed the other woman, who had even been sleeping in her chamber; Sir Edward had given orders that she was not to be left alone at any time. Apparently he feared she might somehow manage to escape him. But escape without vengeance had never been her plan.
He looked her over, his eyes lingering on her body in the diaphanous nightrail.
"I marked your lovely face. It is healing well, I see. I have often remarked to myself how quickly your skin heals. I hope your heart is as resilient, because I heard today that your Irish lover will swing within the month."
Caitlyn said nothing, though the news hit her like a blow. But she would not let him see. Hatred burned from her eyes. He saw it, and frowned at her for a moment before chuckling.
"Why, I believe you really loved that Irish rogue. Put him from your mind, my dear. He is as good as dead already."
"I would not count him out so fast, were I you."
Sir Edward chuckled again, removing his coat and laying it carefully over the chair near the bed.
"And are you reconciled to your fate, or must I continue to have Minna and Fromer guard you like dogs with a bone? Though d'Arcy will die, you may still save his brothers and yourself, you know. If you but will be sensible."
"I am very sensible."
He looked at her, his eyebrows lifting. She returned his look steadily. "Whether you believe it or not, I am not quite a fool. I value my own life, and even the lives of Connor's brothers. I will do naught to endanger them."
"Why, I do believe you are sensible!" he marveled delightedly. Then his expression changed. "But still, you must be punished. You have made me angry, made me mark your face when it was never my intention to do so, embarrassed me in front of my friends when you had to be carried screaming like a fishwife from the Pantheon.
You will admit that you deserve yet another punishment for that,my dear. Disrobe, if you please."
Caitlyn's hands clenched at her sides. He was already turning away from her, walking to the wardrobe where the whip was kept. Quick as a cat, she took a step to the side and knelt beside the chair in the comer. Beneath it was the basket in which Minna kept her tatting. In the basket was a pair of embroidery scissors. His back was still to her as she found them, clasped them tightly in her cold hand, straightened.
"What, why are you not undressed?" He flexed the whip in his hands as he turned around to face her.
"My arms are too sore from the beating you gave me last. I cannot lift them," she replied with deceptive meekness, keeping her hand with the scissors hidden in the folds of her nightrail. "If you would but call Minna to assist me, I would undress with all speed. Pray do not be angry. I cannot help it."
He scowled at her. "I will help you myself," he said abruptly. Laying the whip down on the bed, he walked toward her. Even as he reached for her, Caitlyn struck with lightning speed. She jumped for him, aiming for his neck, burying the scissors deep in the soft flesh where his neck joined his shoulder. He let out a cry, jerked back. His eyes went wide as they gaped at her. The scissors were embedded in his neck, the twin silver circles of the handle gleaming in the candlelight. Blood welled up around them, stained his white shirt. His shoulder and chest were scarlet within seconds. He opened his mouth, tried to speak. Nothing came out except a hoarse croak. He lifted a hand to the scissors, fumbled at them, staring at her all the while. Horror rose like bile in Caitlyn's throat. She clapped her hands to her mouth to hold back the scream that hovered there. Then, when she thought he would stand there forever, he swayed and sank to his knees. For just a moment he knelt, reached for the scissors again, then pitched facedown on the floor.
For just an instant longer she stared down at him. Then she remembered Minna and Fromer and crossed the room to put her ear to the door. She heard nothing in the hall outside. Apparently Sir Edward's cry had not sounded out of the ordinary to Minna or Fromer, if indeed they had heard it at all. They were well used to screams and moans emerging from this chamber. But it behooved her to make all speed if she were to make good her escape.
Quickly she dressed in the warmest gown she possessed, and caught up her hooded woolen cloak. Then for just a moment she stood looking down at Sir Edward's prone form. Blood had puddled under his neck, staining the rug. His face was gray. The fingers of one outflung hand twitched. Was he not dead, then, or was that merely a muscular contraction? Should she stab him again, to be sure? But if he was not dead he was surely very near it, and Caitlyn found to her surprise that she had no stomach for removing the scissors from his neck to strike another, probably unnecessary blow. The taste of vengeance was not at all sweet, as she had supposed, not since it meant having had to lose Connor in order to gain freedom.
"I hope your soul screams in Purgatory for eternity," she said to the man at her feet, then spat on him before climbing out the window into the freezing night.