Unwilling (Book One of the Compelled Trilogy 1)

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Unwilling (Book One of the Compelled Trilogy 1) Page 18

by Kristen Pike


  The boot came down again catching her side in the same spot, Rowan cried out as she unsuccessfully tried to roll away from it. The large hand that had grabbed her earlier hauled her up by her hair, sending a fist smashing into the side of her jaw. She could see the silhouette of his hand withdraw and tried pushing away from him, her feet barley touching the ground as he held her up, but she could do nothing to deflect the next blow.

  He hit her nose and she immediately felt warm blood stream down her lips, red droplets of blood falling silently onto the porch. Her eyes watered and black spots popped in her vision as he dropped her to the floor. Rowan grabbed at air, trying to pull herself away, only to have a traumatizing kick land on the side of her face. She was thrown sideways into the side of the house and she curled in on herself as another kick landed on her stomach, and then another, on her head.

  “Stop.” Rowan choked out, gagging on the blood that flowed into her mouth. She tried spitting out the metallic tasting liquid only to choke again as her attacker bent down and punched her once more in the side of her head, causing her ears to ring loudly. After that, she was only aware of the fact that he picked her up and flung her over one of his large shoulders, before finally allowing the darkness to overcome her.

  EIGHTTEEN

  Jace wandered the streets all night, his feet aching and his calves burning at the relentless hours of searching for Rowan. Just as the sun rose, he hauled himself back to the inn, groggy and angry. He made his way to the dining area to find Pickard and question him. Or hopefully find Rowan, returned and unhurt. Jace spotted Pickard and Jonquil sitting morosely at a table, their plates of food untouched. Jace didn’t even need to ask to know that Rowan had not returned.

  He sat with them, not talking for some time, thinking horrible things. Rowan has been bucked from her horse and I will find her with her neck broken and blue, twisted at an impossible angle. Or when I arrive at the house, I will find her strung up from the rafters, her lifeless body limp and swaying, Elias laughing at my grievous expression. Jace’s face twisted in anguish. He shook his head, trying to shake the horrific images from his thoughts.

  When Chev finally joined them, an hour later, and Mills, an hour after that, Jace felt utterly miserable, right down to his core. We have five men, to Elias’s rumored army, Jace thought as he looked dismally at the sad excuse for Rowan’s rescue party. If Elias would not release Rowan to them willingly, they would all be slaughtered.

  No one talked as they picked their way through the town, which seemed oddly deserted. Birds called to each other overhead and clouds covered the sun, making the day gloomy and dark. As they walked, Jace looked around for signs of Rowan, and finding none, namely the lack of her broken body lying in the street, he sighed with relief.

  A while later Pickard pointed to a house at the end of a street and Jace thought it looked exactly like the kind of house Elias would takeover. It was grand, towering over all the other houses. Its top windows looked like eyes, looking down and mocking anything below it, which was everything.

  Jace knew something was wrong. He could feel it in the air, it was stale and carried the stench of things amiss. He was the first to the porch, his heart seizing as sorrow poured into it, upon seeing dried blood, splattered all over the old wood. The door was open and Jace pushed his way into the house, desperately hoping Rowan would be inside.

  “Rowan?” Jace yelled panicked, running through the house, his heart breaking with each empty room. No sign of her was present in the house. In all the scenarios that had ran through his head, never had it occurred to him that she wouldn’t be there at all. “Rowan?” Jace screamed again, hoping she would just pop out from behind a wall. He would hug her and tell her to never play such tricks on him again. But as he concluded his search and made his way back to the porch, he was dismayed to find that not a hint of Rowan, save for the unnerving blood on the porch, was anywhere to be found.

  The men looked at Jace expectantly but he only shook his head, not meeting their eyes, trying to hold himself together in front of them though he felt himself shattering apart. He felt like an egg with a crack, trying to contain its yolk but it was slipping out slowly, so slowly and eventually it would splinter, and there would be nothing left inside.

  Jace eyed the blood. It stained the porch and he followed the trail it made down the steps, until he lost it among the grass surrounding the house. Chev was already standing at the edge of the forest that bordered the back of the house, eyeing the ground with a hard look in his eyes.

  The group made their way gloomily back to the inn.

  The whole way Pickard mumbled to himself, “it was just a little boy, he said Elias wanted to see her, just to talk. Just Elias…” The guilt was obvious in his voice, dripping thickly with blame at himself.

  Jace’s thoughts raced, planning. I’ll strike out by myself, I’ll move faster that way. As soon as I have gathered food and bargained for a horse. It would take him a couple hours at least to scrounge everything he would need. Jace observed the cloudy sky and knew that if it rained, which it looked like it would, he would be slowed down, but knew that it would also slow down Rowan and whoever had taken her.

  Jace detached himself from the other men, leaving them behind to their whispers and headed to his and Rowans room. He looked at the bed, thinking of those brief passionate moments with her as he gathered his meager belongings; rolling them up in his blankets to make a pack, taking a last sad look around the scanty space before slamming the door to the room shut behind him.

  Jace made promises to the inn keep to return and pay her if she would only let him have some dried foods, or cured meats. They argued for close to an hour, Jace growing more and more impatient by the second.

  “Well how do I know you’ll come back? I’m already out a horse, thanks to your lady friend.” Bertha the inn keep said for the hundredth time. Jace sighed heavily.

  “It was not her fault,” he persisted, “she was taken and I’m going after her, please, I promise to return. I will pay you for the food, but I MUST go!” He practically yelled, his panic slithering out in his voice. The inn keep eyed him, her eyes slitted. Her gray hair swung into her eyes as she turned, leaving Jace to stand wide eyed at her as she left the room, disappearing behind a door he hadn’t noticed till now.

  “Here, I’m trusting you now sir and I don’t take kindly to people betraying that trust. One way or the other, you will pay me.” She threatened, coming back into view and handing him a large parcel, rolled tightly in some cloth and held together with some twine.

  “Thank you.” Jace said nodding, “Thank you.” He repeated, before dashing off, mounting the horse he had bargained for earlier from a young family just two houses down. He spurred the horse on, guiding her back to the scene of Rowans abduction. He was halfway there when he heard hoof beats behind him, pounding on the dirt road as their rider’s attempted to catch up to him.

  Jace pulled on the reins, drawing the horse up short and she snorted in displeasure but did not move.

  “JACE!” Pickard bellowed behind him, followed by Mills and Chev.

  “You can’t stop me, don’t even try.” Jace told them, his voice hard as they drew their horses to a stop beside him.

  “Were not here to stop you, you fool.” Pickard said crossly, giving Jace a contemptuous look.

  “Where’s Jonquil?” Jace questioned the missing man’s absence.

  “He ran, looking mighty afraid of something.” Mills told him, shaking his head with a disgusted look.

  Jace eyed them a minute, debating if arguing against them coming was worth it, but he had already lost enough time fighting with the inn keep. “Just try and keep up.” He said finally and turned his horse around again, urging her forward. Jace just hoped he had not lost too much time.

  ҉ ҉ ҉

  “We can keep going!” Jace shouted to Chev, his back twinging in objection at the thought of continuing, he brushed it off, determined to keep following Rowan. “No.” Chev said simply
, not even bothering to turn and look at Jace.

  “But-“

  “No.” Chev repeated, his voice firm. Jace debated arguing with him but knew it would get him nowhere. One did not argue with Chev twice in one night.

  Jace slid from the back of his horse, slumping to the forest floor. His thighs were chapped and he had shooting pain in his back from riding for hours in the saddle. Pickard and Mills made similar sounds of soreness as they dismounted, but Chev swung gracefully from his mount as though he had been born to ride a horse and had done so all his life.

  Jace rubbed his lower back as he stood, grabbing bundles from the back of his beautiful mare. Her coat was all black, with a small white spot on her nose. Jace tied her reins to a low hanging branch with a soft pat on the side of her face.

  He pet her smooth coat, then bent and retrieved a carrot from one of his bags. He stroked her mane as she nibbled the carrot from his hand. Rowan would have loved her, Jace thought and felt a pang of pain in his chest that came from thinking about Rowan. The family Jace had gotten the horse from said her name was Kariya. Kariya pushed her wet nose into his palm when she had finished her carrot and snorted, sending snot into his hand. “Gah!” Jace huffed, stepping back and wiping the snot off with a leaf.

  He wrinkled his nose at Kariya as he walked away. Someone had already gotten a fire started and he lowered himself to the ground, his back muscles screaming in protest as he did so. A heavy black kettle sat over the embers, an ominous liquid swirling around inside it. Jace felt numb as he looked at the fire, the heat from it doing little to warm his chilled bones.

  They had been traveling for hours, pushing hard until the sun had disappeared in a haze of red and orange, leaving only the light of the pale moon, which was barely enough to see by. Jace had had an intense argument with Chev to keep going, to push further after Rowan. Chev thought that it would be foolish, that Jace would likely get himself, and the rest of them, killed; thrown from the back of their horses on the uneven ground that made up the forest floor, but Jace had insisted and Chev had relented.

  They had continued for another couple of hours, but in the complete darkness, the terrain was getting rough and hard to navigate. Even in broad daylight, it was difficult to maneuver the horses around the trees and various shrubs that sprouted up. Everything grew thickly together and at times they would have to file into a line, like ants, twisting their horses every which way to avoid walking into a tree, or being snagged in a bush.

  Jace had followed the blood trail from the house into the trees, but it didn’t take long for him to stop seeing it. He was horrible at tracking and he was thankful that Chev had come with, for he was an excellent tracker. Chev would point at a broken twig, or notice a slight indent in the dirt. “They have gone this way,” he would say and maneuver his horse down a path only he could see.

  Jace was skeptical, it could be any number of things that had made those indents, or broken that twig and when he told Chev so, he only got a glowering look that made Jace want to shrivel in on himself. Jace did not bring it up again and allowed Chev to take the lead.

  Jace rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers until small red spots danced in his vision. He listened to the sounds of the forest animals coming out for the night; an owl hooted, squirrels chirped to each other as they scampered up and down trees. The sounds seemed distant to Jace, as if he was drowning underwater and the rest of the world, the world Rowan was in, was far away and out of reach.

  He lay on his back, wishing he could see the sky but the canopy of branches and leaves high above him was too thick. Even the roof of the forest was hard to see with only the firelight to see by.

  When the meager stew was served, Jace only looked at it, steam rising from his bowl into his eyes. He couldn’t say what was in the soup, but the thought of eating anything while Rowan was out there in the night, alone and probably afraid, made his stomach roil with sickness.

  “You must eat,” Chev instructed as he came to sit beside Jace. “One kin not go rescuing one’s lady if they are too weak from hunger.”

  Jace wanted to argue but he knew that Chev was right. He took a sip of the broth, the warm liquid sliding down his throat tasteless. “Where are you from, Chev?” Jace asked, shocking himself that he had asked the question aloud.

  “Far from here.” Chev said in his strange accent and he sounded, to Jace, sad. Jace wondered if Chev missed his home and wondered if he had ever had a family, but he immediately dismissed the idea. He couldn’t picture Chev with a wife, or a child, it seemed wrong to him, somehow, when he tried to imagine it in his head. Chev was a warrior, strong and defiant, he didn’t answer to anyone.

  “Do you ever want to go back?” Jace asked after a moment. “Back to wherever it is that you’re from?”

  “No.” Chev said tightly and Jace knew that the conversation was over. They ate their stew in silence, listening to Pickard as he bragged to Mills, who looked thoroughly uninterested, about the time he had caught a thief trying to steal from him.

  “I ran for miles nonstop and finally tackled the thief to the ground. I received lots of applause from onlookers, and the patrolling Kings Guard said that I showed more gusto then any man he had ever trained.” Pickard said proudly. Beside him, Chev rolled his eyes.

  As Pickard rambled into another tale, Jace excused himself, walking off into the trees, careful to stay within eyesight of the fire. He breathed deeply, the scent of trees and pinecones instantly drawing up a picture of Rowan. How she would smile at him, her eyes lighting up when she saw him, how their hands would brush, ever so slightly, when they walked together…

  Jace closed his eyes wishing, with painful desperation, that Rowan were with him now. His heart squeezed agonizingly and he blinked, trying to clear the suffocating pain that was overcoming him.

  He liked the smell of the forest (and of Rowan, Jace thought). In villages and towns, the air felt heavy, harder to breath but amongst the trees, the air was fresh and made his lungs prick slightly with the perfume of pine needles and animals.

  He liked the sound of the forest too. The way everything seemed to go together like a harmony. The way the animals chirped, the music the leaves in the trees made as wind danced among them. He liked the sounds of streams in the distance and the way twigs and dried leaves crunched under his feet as he walked.

  He felt more peaceful in the forest, as if the trees were a shield to all the bad and corrupt things in the world. He promised to himself that if, when, when I find Rowan, he would build her a cabin in the woods and they would live together there, away from everything and everyone, she was all he would ever need in this world.

  “Where are you?” Jace asked the night. Crickets chirped in response. “I’ll find you, wherever you are.” Jace whispered into the wind, hoping the wind carried his message to her. “Your so brave Rowan, just be so a little while longer.”

  Jace sighed. The horses whined in the distance, settling in for the night. He returned to camp bidding the men a good night’s sleep, before retrieving his blankets from his horse and laying them down. They were not very thick and most had patches in them from years and years of use, but they were soft and comfortable. He curled in on himself, wishing Rowan were there to keep him warm. He laid his head on his arm and closed his eyes though it was hours still before he fell into a fitful sleep.

  NINETEEN

  The world bounced. It jiggled and shook, tossing Rowan every which way, making her stomach heave. Her head pounded and every muscle in her body shrieked in agony.

  They had been travelling for days, or it felt like days, it could have been minutes, it could have been years. Rowan was unconscious for most of it. She could only open one eye and even then, it was but a small slit. The other eye was swollen shut from being hit. Her face felt tender, no doubt puffy and discolored with bruises. Her wrists and ankles were cracked, raw and bloody where ropes cut into her skin, immobilizing her and stopping her chances to escape.
r />   It seemed to Rowan they never stopped, they were always moving. She was draped over the back of a horse, held firmly to it by ropes. Her head bounced against the horse’s side with every step it took. Rowan’s body was limp, not fighting against the bonds that held her. She barely had the energy to breathe much less struggle to get free.

  Bounce. Bounce, went her head, pinging off the horse. She was thirsty, her throat dry and she tried to swallow but did not have enough saliva in her mouth. She coughed, a dry hacking sound that left her throat searing in pain. Her stomach ached and rolled, demanding food and Rowan could not recall the last time she had eaten. Days perhaps? Maybe weeks? Who knows how long I’ve been strapped to this forsaken horse.

  The last thing Rowan could remember with any clarity was the porch; the wood creaking as her body slammed into it, the pain in her sides, in her head, in her very soul. She cringed, remembering, remembering that night, remembering many others in the house she had grown up in, swirling into one hateful memory until she couldn’t tell her mother from her captor. The horse halted suddenly, causing Rowan to lurch sideways, the ropes digging in further. Fresh blood welled beneath the coarse bonds to stain the rope a deeper shade of crimson than they already were.

  The rider of the horse vaulted off, kicking Rowans side as they did so. Rowan cried out, but the sound was barely audible, pathetic. The rider said nothing as they grabbed rolls of blankets and food off the horse. Rowan heard cursing as they dropped a bundle under her face, the voice was deep, gruff, frightening.

  The man that stooped to retrieve the bundle had black hair, coarse and long. She could not see his face, only the back of his head and even that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, retrieving the dropped bundle and retreating from her view.

 

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