'ere ye are. Be good, and there'll be no cause to get rough wi' ye."

Her second warning not to cause trouble. So what would happen if she did? Stupid question, when she was bound up hand and foot and couldn't make a sound louder than a squeak.

Chapter Thirty-eight

They brought her into the building tossed over Tom's shoulder. They had waited first, however, until Wil, as the other, shorter man was called, had said that all was clear. Roslynn's hopes picked up immediately.

They were taking her somewhere where someone might stop and question them for treating her in this horrid manner. One good scream, if she got the chance, was all she might need to be rescued.

From her upside-down position, she saw little of the building before they entered it and she was being hurried up some stairs. But across the street were dwellings faced with brownstone, looking as if they belonged in a normal residential area, and one of fair quality. A boarding house, then? Likely, if no one was about at this time of the morning.

So this was where Geordie had moved, to a finer part of town? No wonder Anthony had so much trouble finding him when all he had to go by was that waterfront hovel where she had been taken last time. But little good it had done, his finding Geordie. And she had walked right into the trap, thinking herself safe at last. Hell's teeth, but she despised Geordie for his Scot's stubbornness in refusing to give up.

There was a brief stop while a door was pounded on. Then a few more steps and Roslynn was dumped into a chair. She groaned as she sat back on her bound arms, terribly sore now after the slow, long ride getting here. But she spared only a moment for the dis-comfort before glancing furiously about the room for a sight of Geordie.

When she saw him standing next to the bed, a folded shirt in hand, his valise open on the bed in the process of being packed, she simply stared, wondering who he was. But the carrot thatch of hair…

Roslynn grimaced, unable to help herself. If not for the hair, she wouldn't have recognized him. He looked horrible. He looked as if he belonged in bed, not packing to leave. Good God, what Anthony had done to him! His whole face was discolored and puffed to twice its size, it seemed, one eye black and completely closed, the other bluish-purple and just able to open a mere slit. His nose was swollen and off center. His lips were caked with bloody crusts. There were other ugly scabs on his cheeks and above his eyes where the skin had cracked on bone.

He wasn't looking at her, at least not now. He was staring at the two miscreants responsible for her presence, who were staring at him as if they'd never seen him before. Hadn't they known he'd taken a beating? Hell's teeth, had a mistake been made?

It had been. Geordie threw down his shirt in a rage, then groaned, grabbing his rib cage, the sharp movement ripping him apart with pain. Wilbert and Thomas Stow just stood there, not knowing what to think.

Geordie told them what to think, in a voice choked with rage, the words slurred because of puffed lips.

"Ye idiots! Didna the lad I sent tae find ye give ye my note?"

"This?" Tom took out a scrap of paper from his pocket. "We can't read, m'lord," he stated with a shrug, letting the note drop to the floor.

Geordie made an ugly sound in his throat. " 'Tis what I get fer hiring English dolts!" He pointed a stiff finger at Roslynn. "I dinna want her now. She married the bloody Englishmon!"

Wilbert and Thomas apparently thought that was funny. They started laughing, and Roslynn watched what wasn't black-and-blue on Geordie's face turn bright red. If what she had gone through to get here wasn't so infuriating, she might have found the situation as it was amusing too.

Geordie didn't. "Get oout, the both of ye!"

The pair stopped laughing. "When ye pay us, m'lord."

Wilbert might have given him the title of respect, but there was no respect in his tone. In fact, the short, thickly bearded fellow looked absolutely menacing as he stared at Geordie. So did the bigger chap beside him. And Geordie had gone quiet, his rage replaced by something else. Roslynn's eyes widened.

He was afraid! Didn't he have the money to pay them?

Geordie in fact had only enough money to get back to Scotland. He had counted on Roslynn's money to pay his hirelings off. All that money, gone to the Englishman. It wasn't fair. And now these two would probably kill him. And in his condition, he couldn't even defend himself.

Working her gag while no one was watching, Roslynn finally managed to spit it out. "Untie me, and I'll

give you your money—in exchange for my dirk."

"Dinna touch her!" Geordie commanded.

Roslynn turned on him furiously. "Shut up, Geordie! Do you ken what my husband will do to you when he finds out about this? You'd look bonny right now by comparison if he gets his hands on you again."

Wilbert and Thomas didn't miss the significance of that "again," but they were done listening to Geordie anyway. They might have killed a few men in their time, but they had never harmed a woman before.

They hadn't liked this job to begin with, and wouldn't have taken it if the Scot hadn't offered what was a bleeding fortune to them.

Wilbert stepped forward and cut Roslynn's bonds with her own dirk. Flipping the blade over in his hand, he handed it to her, but was quick to step back out of her way.

Roslynn was amazed it had been so easy, since she hadn't been at all sure the two ruffians would obey her. But they had, and she felt infinitely better already. And she had obviously guessed right, or Geordie would have gotten them their money before she was cut loose. Instead, he had sat down on the bed, holding his ribs, warily watching all three.

"How much?" she demanded as she stood up.

"Thirty pounds, m'lady."

She spared a contemptuous glance for her cousin, "You're cheap, Geordie. It seems you could have offered a bit more to two such dependable fellows."

"I might have, if they'd have gotten ye afore that bastard married ye!" he spat out.

She clucked her tongue, feeling rather good about having miraculously gotten the upper hand in the confrontation she had so dreaded. Reaching into the reticule that was still tied to her wrist, she took out a handful of money.

"This will do, I believe, gentlemen." She handed the notes to Wilbert.

Both brothers' eyes gleamed at what amounted to nearly fifty pounds. Wilbert glanced at her reticule.

Roslynn intercepted his look, stiffening.

"Don't even think about it," she warned. "And if you don't want to end up looking like him"—she nodded toward Geordie—"you'll never let me see you again."

They both grinned at the little woman threateningthem. But they had been paid enough. If the Scot hadn't been mashed to a pulp, they would have gotten in a few licks themselves for all his insults. As it was, they were satisfied and, with grinning nods, left.

They stopped grinning, however, at the top of the stairs. Coming up them was the same gent whose house they had been watching for the past ten days, the same gent who was undoubtedly now the lady's husband. He didn't look menacing, didn't even spare them a glance as he slowly mounted the stairs, and yet neither brother could get out of his mind the Scot's condition that this man was responsible for.

Wilbert pulled his knife, just to feel safe, though he palmed it close to his thigh. That would have been the

end of it if the nabob wasn't deceptive in his nonchalance. He had in fact noticed the knife and stopped.

They both heard him sigh before he spoke.

"Bloody hell. Come along, then, and let's get this over with.''

Wilbert glanced once at Thomas before they both charged as one. Their attack didn't turn out as they had expected, however. The nobleman stepped out of the way at the last second, putting his back to the wall, and with one foot extended, Thomas went tumbling down the rest of the stairs. And before Wilbert knew what was happening, he had lost his knife. Seeing it in the noble's hand, he tore down the stairs himself, collected a groaning Thomas up from the floor, and dragged them both out of the building.

Upstairs in the room, Roslynn was pacing furiously before an embittered Geordie. "There are no' enough dirty, loathsome, vile names for what you are, Geor-die Cameron. It's shamed I am, you carry that name.

You've never brought anything good to it, have you now?''

"And ye have, have ye?"

"Shut up, mon! Because of you I'm married now. Because of you Ihadto get married, when that was no'

what I was wanting, at least no' this way!"

"And ye've lost it all, havena ye. ye stupid fool!" he shot back at her. "And I'm glad, do ye hear? If I canna have the Cameron wealth, at least I'm knowing he's tricked ye oout of it as well!"

Roslynn stopped short, glaring at him. "What are you blathering about?"

"He told me he burned yer marriage contract," Geordie replied in what passed for a laugh. "The wily bastard's got it all now, and ye wouldna even be getting it back if he died, 'cause he's leaving it all tae his own kin. Nice husband ye've shackled yerself wi', cousin."

She almost laughed, but if Anthony had gone to the trouble to tell Geordie that lie, she wouldn't take it back. It was brilliant, really, in making Geordie think his chance was forever lost.

"I'd still rather have him than you,cousin. "

He tried getting up at that slur. He moaned loudly, falling back on the bed. Roslynn goaded him further, not in the least sympathetic.

"You should have left when you had the chance, Geordie. There willna be much left of you if my husband finds out you're still here. He's no' a man to trifle wi', as you've found out. But you deserve it for trying to kill him."

"I was only trying tae scare him into forsaking ye. I didna know then ye'd married the mon. But he only hit me a few times fer shooting at him. The rest was all fer ye. And I'll have ye know, I couldna even get up off the floor where he'd left me until this morning." This was said in what sounded very much like a whine. "But ye can see fer yerself that I was leaving, sae ye've nae tales tae take tae that bloody Spartan."

Spartan? Yes, she supposed Anthony could at times be likened to that austere race known for its strict discipline and military prowess, but only in the lightest sense. His self-control might be absolutely maddening when he chose to use it, but when he didn't, he was as hot-tempered as any Scot. And look at what he had done to Geordie, without getting even a scratch in the process. Poor Geordie looked like

he had been trampled by a horse, not merely beaten by a man's fists.

"I wasn't going to tell Anthony, not if you really are leaving," she conceded.

"Ye're all heart, lass."

It was impossible to mistake the bitter sarcasm, and her outrage shot to the fore again. "If you're expecting me to feel sorry for you, Geordie, I mun disappoint you. I just canna do it, no' after all you've done. You tried to hurt me!"

"I loved ye!"

The words were like a rope around her throat, choking off her breath. Was it possible? He had said that often enough over the years, but she had never believed him. Why did it have a ring of truth to it this time? Or had he deluded himself into thinking it was so?

Quietly, actually afraid of the answer, she demanded, "If that's true, Geordie, then tell me about my mother. Did you put a hole in her boat?''

His head came off the bed, followed more slowly by the rest of his body. "Why did ye no' ask me when it mattered, Ros, when it happened? Why did the auld mon never ask? Nae, I never tampered wi' her boat. I was down by the loch finding worms tae put in cook's stew. That was as close as I ever came tae those boats."

"But your face when you were told? We all saw you were horrified."

"Aye, because I'd wished her dead, fer boxing my ears that morning. I didna mean it, but I thought my wish had been granted.I feltI was tae blame."

Roslynn felt sick to her stomach. All these years, they'd blamed him for something he didn't do. And he knew what they thought but never spoke up to defend himself, just harbored his resentment unto himself.

It didn't make him a nicer person in her eyes, but it made him innocent of any real crime.

"I'm sorry, Geordie, I really am."

"But ye still wouldna have married me, would ye, knowing the truth?"

"No. And you shouldn't have tried to force me."

"A mon will do anything when he's desperate."

For love or money? She didn't ask. But she wondered if her grandfather's will might have been different if he had known the truth. Somehow, she didn't think so. He had always despised Geordie's weakness, an unforgivable trait for a man of Duncan's strength of character. She wasn't that uncharitable. And she had to salve her conscience for blaming Geordie for her mother's death, which she now realized must have been no more than a freak accident.

She would leave him the money in her reticule that had been intended to pay her bills. Ten thousand pounds wasn't much compared with what she had, but it would be a start for Geordie. And maybe he could do something with it to make his own way, instead of always looking for the easy road that cost him nothing and made him weaker.

Roslynn turned around to remove the money without his seeing. She would leave it where he wouldn't find it until she had gone.

"I'll help you pack, Geordie."

"Dinna do me any favors."

She ignored the bitterness and moved to the bureau, where several articles of clothing still remained in an open drawer. She gathered them up and slipped the money between the clothes before dropping the pile in his valise. It was a mistake to have gotten that close. His hand snaked out, wrapping around her wrist.