Nedda readily tore a strip from the hem of her own nightgown and folded it over several times. In spite of being badly bruised from the beating she had received at the hands of Dunstan, she pressed it firmly against her mistress’s lip in an effort to stem the bleeding. Tossing a glare toward the oafs, the servant curled her lips in rampant disdain as she gave the men a scathing perusal. “Ye vile brutes! Ye both aught ta be hanged!”
Fordon chortled. “Instead, we’re bein’ paid ta take ye both for a little ride.”
Abrielle and Nedda looked at each other warily, evoking another laugh from Fordon, who was obviously enjoying their subjugation.
Softly murmuring her appreciation for Nedda’s care without averting the glare she bestowed upon the hairy oafs, Abrielle correctly sized them up as slovenly bullies. “Had I a broom, I’d be dusting your fat backsides good and proper,” she muttered in a low, contemptuous tone. “You both smell as putrid as you act. ’Tis certain once you take your leave, these chambers will have to be aired out for at least a fortnight.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Nedda agreed, admiring the younger woman’s spirit. Glowering at the men, she curled her upper lip in a sneer. “Though I’m thinkin’ ’twill be at least six months afore their stench is gone.”
“What do you want from us?” Abrielle demanded abruptly.
“Ye’ll find out soon enough,” Fordon replied with a black-toothed smirk.
The candles cast ominously huge shadows of the pair on the walls and ceiling. If possible, Dunstan’s appearance was more unsightly than his shorter companion. An ugly scar slanted across his pudgy face, puckering one eyelid nearly closed before sweeping downward to draw his upper lip into a perpetual sneer. Unlike Fordon, he was so tall and muscular that she had cause to feel like a tiny bird perched on a twig before a monstrous man.
Fordon leaned down to smirk at Abrielle. “Now ye’d best be mindin’ yer manners, m’liedy, or else I’ll be clobberin’ ye real hard. And who’s ta say one as grand as yerself will be survivin’ such a beatin’?” Chuckling malevolently, he shrugged his fat, sloping shoulders. “I’m thinkin’ maybe not.”
Lowering eyelids disdainfully over a stony stare, Abrielle warned, “If you kill me, you can be assured the villain who sent you will never get his hands on what he’s seeking, ’Tis a simple fact, not a frivolous threat.”
Fordon smirked again. “What be he seekin’, m’liedy?”
“If you have no idea, then I shan’t be enlightening you. I only suggest that you consider the consequences to yourself and your companion should you kill us. You’ll likely be risking your own death by enraging those who sent you.”
Abrielle was convinced that Thurstan was behind this intrusion into her life, no doubt to force her to renounce all claims to Desmond’s wealth, or perhaps even to marry her still. As for her smelly captors, they seemed rather lame-witted, too much so for her to believe them capable of planning this abduction. She trusted them no further than she could outdistance a wild boar, but she trusted Thurstan even less.
Chortling at her chary look, the cloddish fellow retreated several steps and then abruptly whipped a long dagger from the sheath he wore at his side, snatching startled gasps from both women.
He sniggered. “Scared ye, didn’t I!”
Abrielle had little trouble mistaking the pleasure Fordon was deriving by tormenting them, making her wish she had the ability to bring him up short with a double-fisted poke in the nose. At times such as these, she could understand why her father had sought restitution from his enemies, even at the cost of his life.
Having endured the brigand’s mischievous humor, Abrielle was wont to bestow a deliberately bland gaze upon him. “May we be permitted to know what you intend to do with us?”
Badly decayed teeth came into view again as the burly man grinned back at her. “We’re gonna take ye ta a place far from here, where ye’ll have time ta think about what ye care for most, yer life or the riches ye wheedled from the squire.”
“I wheedled nothing from the squire,” she retorted sharply. Although at first she had thought the filthy brigands to be ignorant of what Thurstan was after, Fordon had obviously been playing her along, possibly hoping to learn how much wealth was at stake. “I never wanted to marry Desmond de Marlé, and for that reason, you can be assured I took no part in drafting the marriage agreement or any discussion involving his wealth.”
“That don’t matter none now, seein’ as how he’s dead, and ye gots the bloomin’ treasure he was a-hoardin’. Problem for ye is, there be those what’s considerin’ all of it theirs! Right down ta the last bloody coin.”
“By your reference to the last bloody coin, I must assume you intend to kill me in order to get it,” she accused acidly. “Well, you can tell Thurstan and the other culprits with whom he’s in league ’twill be impossible for them to get their hands on what they’re wanting if I am slain.”
“Ye jes’ don’t understands what I’m tellin’ ye, do ye?” the oaf chided, shaking his head as if lamenting that fact.
Leaning forward again, he pushed his huge face close in front of hers as he displayed his black, rotting teeth in a leering sneer. “If ’n ye don’t do what he wants, he’s gonna let me start carvin’ ye up inta tiny pieces. Then, if ye still refuse, he’s gonna let me have the pleasure of killin’ yer mother slow and painful like right in front of yer eyes. That’s what I do best.”
With that ominous boast, the ogre straightened and, holding up the oversize blade, thoughtfully examined it in an all-too-obvious effort to intimidate her. Although Abrielle had trouble subduing the cold dread that had settled around her heart at his threat to harm her mother, she refused to allow them the pleasure of seeing her fear. Surely Thurstan was merely trying to make her so frightened that she would willingly agree to marry him.
Casting a glance toward his companion, Fordon jerked his head to indicate Abrielle. “Tie this one up good and proper. The maid can tote their belongin’s ta the cart. If needs be, we’ll cut off her fingers and send ’em back as a warnin’ ta this one’s folks.” Having evoked a startled gasp from the servant, he leered down at her and then promptly threw her upon the bed. “Her kin’ll likely be eager ta stop us afore we hack the rest of the hag inta tiny pieces.”
Dunstan laughed. “That’ll scare ’em, all right.”
“I’m goin’ down now ta see if ’n m’liedy’s carriage is awaitin’ her,” Fordon announced with a chortle.
In Fordon’s absence, Abrielle found herself facing the towering boor. At his approach, she kicked at him and struggled frantically.
“If ’n ye wants ta go on breathin’, m’liedy, ye’ll be needin’ ta behave yerself,” he snarled, thrusting a pillow over her face and holding it down until she was forced to give up her struggles. “That’s more like a liedy should be behavin’ herself. Now do what I says or I’ll be layin’ me fist so hard inta yer face, ye’ll be seein’ only the backs o’ yer eyelids for some time ta come.”
Abrielle found herself shoved facedown upon the bed and her wrists clasped in an oversize hand. She sought to thwart the man’s efforts, but he braced a heavy knee in the middle of her back and held her down as he bound her wrists and ankles. At last he caught her arm and hauled her to her feet. Tied as tightly as she was, she had little choice but to stand submissively as he wrapped a quilt about her and pushed a dirty rag in her mouth. Leather cords were then wound several times around the quilt, securing it over her torso.
Trussed up much in the manner of a plucked goose for a roasting, Abrielle was tossed back upon the bed, where she was forced to wait in apprehension. However, it wasn’t long before she realized her bonds weren’t nearly as tight as the man had likely meant them to be, giving her some reason to hope.
Dunstan leaned toward Nedda as he displayed black rotting teeth in a sinister grin. A lock of his long, frizzy hair fell forward over his shoulder, swinging past the servant’s nose, causing her to wrinkle it in rampant distaste before turning aside. “We�
��ll soon be takin’ ye and yer mistress for a long ride, and should the two o’ ye misbehave even a mite…well, I’m here ta make sure ye both regrets it.” For added emphasis, he held the sharp blade up close in front of Nedda’s face until her eyes were fastened on the instrument. Then he twisted it, lending emphasis to the movement with an impromptu sound through the gaps between his teeth. Nedda understood only too well that she’d be killed if she caused him any trouble. Reluctant to allow the brutish man further satisfaction in his quest to frighten her, she nodded once, no more, and gave him a level stare for good measure.
Nedda was instructed to pack a small satchel of warm clothing, slippers, and necessities for her mistress and another for herself. In spite of the heavy muck clinging to the worn soles of his boots, he stretched himself out upon the counterpane. Taking no notice of its fine needlework, he crossed his ankles as he watched her pack. Casually, he plied the point of his blade beneath his nails. Abrielle was sure his only intent was to keep their eyes fastened on the shiny blade, as if to lend emphasis to the threat the weapon might pose to them.
Upon Fordon’s return, Abrielle was swept from the bed and flung over the brawny shoulder of the taller brigand. Nedda followed closely behind, forced to carry the satchels.
Abrielle was carried ever deeper into the nether regions of the keep. Torches had recently been lit to provide illumination along the stone passageways, evidencing the fact that their abduction had been planned well in advance, perhaps according to Thurstan’s instructions.
The iron door at the rear entrance of the keep had been made to withstand any siege an enemy brought against it. Lord Weldon had insisted upon its strength and durability during the planning and building of the stone structure. However, that premise would succeed only when such forces came from outside, not from within the keep itself.
Abrielle was rudely dumped onto a pile of quilts across the corridor from the rear portal. Though she peered intently to see some hint of the moon or the stars beyond the opening, there were none to be seen. Yet, prior to slipping into bed, she had sat for a time within the cushioned cubicle near her bedchamber windows, gazing through the protective iron grille at the wealth of stars visible in the night sky.
A few moments passed before it dawned on her that a black shroud was hanging over the doorway, no doubt in an attempt to prevent anyone outside from espying the light. The presence of a lantern would have likely seemed strange in that area of the keep, which seemed to lend viable support to the idea that her kidnapping had been planned well in advance. Had Thurstan been preparing for this event, even as he ate her food and competed in her tournament?
The candles in the lanterns were snuffed prior to the covering being lifted from the doorway. Immediately moonlight filtered into the lower depths of the keep, lending a silver gleam to the bearded faces of her captors. Upon being swept over Dunstan’s shoulder once again, Abrielle was carried through the portal and then dumped into a cart that awaited them, causing her to wince in pain in spite of the quilt that had been tied around her. Her displeasure was not the only one evidenced during that moment, for the shaggy, short-legged steed that had been harnessed to the cart had evidently been dozing until startled awake by the sudden jolt of her weight. He leapt forward, testing the length of his tether.
Feeling decidedly bruised, Abrielle glared after the huge oaf, who gave her no further heed as he strode back through the opening. Next, Nedda emerged and was instructed to toss their satchels of clothing into the cart before climbing in. Then she was bound and gagged in much the same manner as her mistress.
Dunstan and Fordon returned briefly to the interior to retrieve the tallow lanterns and, upon emerging from the keep, tucked them into the end of the cart, whereupon they mounted a pair of shaggy steeds. A third man emerged from the postern door with a pair of pillows and quilts that he tossed into the cart before closing the door. He proved solicitous enough to tuck the pillows beneath the women’s heads before covering them with a quilt. Upon freeing the horse, he climbed into the driver’s seat and slapped the reins, setting the cart into motion. As his two companions set off down the narrow lane meandering away from the keep, he followed.
Abrielle grimly wondered if she would ever see her family again. She tried to find comfort in picturing their faces and reminding herself how worried they would be when they discovered her gone and how they would spare nothing to find her and bring her home safely. But as time passed and the uncomfortable journey wound on and on, their beloved images faded to make room for another, this one with deep blue eyes, high, sharp cheekbones, and a haunting smile. He would not be smiling when he heard the news of her abduction. Imagining how he would react made her shiver and gave her courage. Whatever else he was, at this blackest of moments, Raven was a strong, unwavering gleam of hope for her to cling to in the darkness.
CHAPTER 15
Gathering clouds drifted over the moon and the stars, leaving Abrielle much perplexed by the direction in which they were journeying. What vexed her even more was the potential brevity of their lives should they fail to find a way to escape. Considering the several layers in which she was now bound, it was difficult to imagine they would be able to escape their captors before they reached their destination.
She wondered if by now her mother realized she was gone and was raising up a hue and cry. She could imagine the hectic scene as Vachel prepared to lead a party in search of her. Then, unbidden, her thoughts turned to Raven; something told her he would eschew waiting around to be part of any organized search, for he was far too stubborn and independent. In the hours past she’d envisioned him riding to her rescue, black hair flying behind him as he leaned forward in the saddle, pushing his stallion to the limit. A welcome sight he was, even in her dreams, and even if another rescue by him would make her further obligated to the man. At that moment, with her muscles cramping and throat parched, she didn’t care who found them, as long as she and Nedda were safe.
Though it required an equal measure of unrelenting persistence and stubborn tenacity, Abrielle and Nedda finally managed to slip their wrists out of their cords, making them both grateful for the carelessness of the huge oaf who had tied them. Abrielle wiggled around to face her servant and pressed a single finger across her own cloth-bound lips, warning her companion to remain silent.
A nod sufficed as assurance that Nedda understood. Abrielle then slid her arms within her enveloping quilt and, upon grasping her nightgown, drew it up until she could reach the hem, whereupon she began tearing off narrow strips from the bottom. The blanket sufficed to muffle the rending of the cloth, but when the driver peered over his shoulder and canted his head in some bemusement, as if trying to determine what he was hearing, Nedda began to feign low snores underneath the edge of the quilt. Issuing a contemptuous snort, the man faced forward again.
Moments later, the first, lace-trimmed scrap fluttered over the side of the cart. Another plainer piece, supplied by Nedda, was tossed out a short time later. Hopefully their rescuers would realize the tattered pieces were being left as a guide to their destination.
Several more scraps were flung out fairly close together as they swept past adjoining lanes leading to distant cottages, awash in silvery moonlight. When the way proved fairly straight again, lengthy intervals passed before other remnants fluttered out, except when the driver turned the cart onto another road and the path needed to be marked fairly quickly. Night turned into day, and open fields and pasture were left behind for forest growing close to the road.
By the time the cart was drawn to a halt in front of a ramshackle cottage at midday, both women’s nightgowns had been shortened well above their ankles, yet their robes would be long enough to hide their newly tattered condition. Abrielle and Nedda quickly bound each other’s wrists. The men seemed oblivious to the trail that had been left, for the women were laid over the shoulders of their original captors and carried forthwith into the decrepit structure.
Sometime in the past, the cottage’s tin
y windows had been boarded up by wooden slats, most of which now hung askew, allowing wedges of light from the midday sun to penetrate the narrow cracks. The last vestiges of stiff animal hides hung from nails driven into the upper corners. It seemed doubtful they would suffice to keep out the cold breezes that were even now whipping around the cottage.
Carried into the adjoining room, Abrielle and Nedda were dumped in turn upon two narrow, rough-hewn beds upon which rank-smelling, straw-filled pallets lay partially askew on the stiff, aged webbing that years ago had been woven in and out between the bed frames. After being supplied with their bundles of clothing, the women were released from their restraints and told to remain in the room until later. Otherwise, if any unusual movement were detected, leading their captors to suspect that they were trying to escape, they would be tied to their beds.
“What if we have ta go ta the privy?” Nedda was either bold or desperate enough to ask. As Dunstan faced her with a snarl on his lips, the servant clasped the quilt about her shoulders as if it were some impenetrable armor capable of withstanding his fiercest blow, unswerving before his menacing glare. The eyes of the two combatants dueled for a lengthy moment until Nedda found the audacity to raise her chin to an imperious level as she persisted with her inquiry. “I asked ye what we should—”