His throat closed off and he dropped his gaze back to the tiles, suddenly aware that every eye in the room was studying him.
“Bring him here.” The baron’s English accent was crisp—each sound annunciated precisely.
Two hands clamped under his armpits and dragged him past the long trestle tables. He was dumped in a heap at the foot of the dais.
More from curiosity than courage, Harrison raised his gaze. The baron’s ringed fingers were greasy. He rubbed them together then licked each one. With a swift jerk, he plunged his dagger into his trencher filled with succulent red meat. It smelled divine.
Harrison’s insides began to shake as the baron’s dark glare bore into his skull. Very slowly, he reached for his goblet and took a large mouthful. Red juice lined his lips and dribbled out the edge of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“I do not like to be disturbed when I’m eating.” He cleared his throat. “Especially by rodents who think they can take what does not belong to them.”
Harrison had to look away. He could feel sweat beading on his brow, but could not move to wipe it.
“Where’s the prisoner?”
Harrison kept his eyes on the floor and focused solely on the art of breathing.
“Why do you want him?”
Harrison closed his eyes.
“Where do you come from?”
Just keep breathing.
“Who are you and WHY ARE YOU HERE?” The baron slammed the table so hard the goblet fell over. Harrison flinched at the crash and watched the red liquid drip onto the tiles.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It was the only sound in the room.
Harrison’s heart beat like a jackhammer. He shook his head and bit his lips together. He couldn’t tell the truth or he’d be accused of witchcraft. He could lie and say he was a member of the prisoner’s family, just trying to see justice done. But that would have him thrown in a cell. Barons were not crossed.
Whatever he said—true or false—would see him dead.
“So you say nothing.” The baron’s fingers drummed on the table then clicked.
A shock of pain radiated across Harrison’s face as a solid fist landed beneath his right eye. His head lolled to the side. He fought off the scatter of white stars in front of him.
“I need to know why you are here.” The baron spoke in clear, slow syllables.
Harrison cried out as the guard behind him ground his heel into his wounded calf.
“Are you a spy? French, maybe?”
Harrison felt like crying when the guard eventually let up. He whimpered and shook his head.
“And what of the gold dust? Some sort of witch craft?”
Harrison felt his chest constrict. He swallowed and forced his eyes to remain on the tiles.
The baron slammed his fists on the table and stood up. His chair toppled backwards as he pulled his dagger from the trencher and rushed around to Harrison’s side. Grabbing Harrison’s face in a pincer grip, he forced eye contact.
“If you are not going to say anything, I may as well cut out your tongue! You seem to have no need of it.”
Harrison’s eyes grew wide and his head shook in desperation.
“Then speak!” The baron let go of his face, disgusted.
“I… I cannot, your Grace.” He thought of every period piece film he’d ever seen and went for the best British accent he could. It sounded pathetic so he mumbled the next line. “I am sworn to secrecy.”
The baron’s eyebrows rose. “Even if it costs you your life?”
Harrison blinked. “Yes.”
The baron shot up straight as an arrow. Spinning the dagger point on his finger, he paced around Harrison’s quaking form. Bending low, he grabbed a handful of Harrison’s hair and yanked it back until tears formed. His breath was hot and foamy in Harrison’s ear. “There is much pain to suffer before death, oh brave one. I will get the truth one way or another.”
Harrison felt vomit searing his esophagus.
“String him up in the dungeon.” The baron flicked his hand at the guards. “I’ll deal with this after I have finished my food.”
With a flick of his robe, the baron returned to his seat and Harrison was dragged from the hall, past ogling eyes. He could handle the looks of curiosity and disdain. It was the pity that had him praying for a swift death.
*****
They appeared simultaneously on the hay. Gemma crouched against the stall wall and peeked around the corner. Four guards were standing post at the entrance.
She indicated to her brother and father that they were not alone. With hand signals and a little lip-reading the trio organized their plan of attack and dispatched the guards without a sound, dragging them to the back stall.
“The guards weren’t standing post before. We must have arrived after Gemma left.” Dom pulled off the guard’s clothing and hurriedly put it on.
“We’ll have to search.” Gemma braided her hair and flung it over her shoulder. Crouching down, she tried on two pairs of the guard’s shoes, but none fit. She wriggled her toes with a frown.
“Damn it. I don’t like this. He may already be dead,” Alistair said.
“Dad, you said we had an hour. You promised.”
“I didn’t promise anything.” He looked away and cursed. “Dom, you circle right from the stables, I’ll go left and we’ll meet at the southern tower. If we haven’t seen him by then we’re leaving.”
“What about me?” Gemma adjusted the belt at her waist and slid the sword into its sheath.
Scanning his surroundings, Alistair smiled as he picked up a discarded bow. The quiver had four arrows left inside. “You can be over watch.” He handed them to her. “We need your fire cover.”
He slapped her on the shoulder and walked toward the door. Gemma ground her teeth as she walked behind them. Nestling down where her father indicated, she prepared her bow and nodded.
Dom and Alistair ran in opposite directions. Gemma kept an eye on the walls above them. Soon they were out of sight and she was left at the stables stressing over where Harrison might be and worried about what her father might do if he did find him.
Her muscles jerked and she began to bob on her toes. Doubt festered hot and pungent in her brain. It was enough to convince her that if she didn’t find Harrison herself, he would never make it home.
*****
Harrison was dragged to the dungeons. Images of what awaited him flashed through his brain. He had seen pictures of medieval torture and his stomach roiled to think which punishment they would choose. Would he be strong enough to withstand it?
Panic seized his body, making him thrash against the guards as they shoved the tower door open and pulled him into the dank stairwell. A forceful whack with the hilt of a sword turned his limbs to jelly. He tried to shake off the pain and in a last-ditch effort for peace, let his thoughts turn to Gemma.
He ached for her, knowing her parents would probably refuse to go back, knowing she would not have the strength to fight for him. The depressing thought was heavy in his brain, followed by the sharp pinching pain of guilt. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“She would,” he mumbled.
The guard slapped him on the back of the head. “Quiet, you!”
“She’d fight. She’d find a way.” His eyes popped open.
I’ve got to get to the stables!
Harrison’s muscles went taut. The guards tightened their grip, but not fast enough to slow Harrison’s thrashing. He punched his way free, but didn’t get far. One guard lunged after him and they toppled down the stairs together, taking out the second guard. Harrison struggled for breath as the man landed on him and shot an iron fist into his face. He barely had time to moan before he glimpsed the dagger.
Lifting his arms, he blocked the first blow and held the knife at bay, but his fight was futile. The guard was built like a bear. He forced his brain to shut-the-hell-up and pushed against the dagger. His arms were about to collapse
when the man lurched back. His eyes bulged wide then his body slumped, an arrow piercing his throat.
Harrison pushed the man off with a grunt…and Gemma ran down the stairs toward him.
He struggled to his feet with a goofy grin.
“Take my hand!” She pulled him toward the door, but quickly diverted at the sound of clanging armor. “Come on!”
They raced up the narrow stairwell, finally smashing their way out into the dimming light. They circled the top of the tower, the breathtaking view of the countryside lost on them. Gemma ran to the edge and looked over the side.
“The curtain wall’s not too much of a drop.”
Harrison leaned over beside her and gaped. “Are you insane?”
He glanced behind him. The sound of clanging armor was approaching with speed. The first guard burst through the door and Gemma downed him with a quick arrow. The second came hot on his heels. He was soon lying in heap on top of his partner.
Gemma looked over the edge then back to the door.
“They’ll just keep coming. We have to climb down.”
Hot, shaky breaths jumped out of him as he took in the plummeting drop. “What are we supposed to hold on to?”
“There are enough grips there.” Gemma jumped onto the ledge and lowered herself down. Harrison watched her toes balance on the edge of a stone no more than a half-inch wide.
She glanced up, her expression stern. “Hurry up.”
Harrison swallowed convulsively and followed her. Very carefully, he lowered his body over the edge. His feet found a narrow grip in the side of the stone and he shuffled alongside his girlfriend, mimicking her every move.
His fingers began to cramp. He tried not to look down, but couldn’t help one glimpse to the ground. He pictured them plummeting to the stones below and quickly turned back to face the wall.
They inched along until there was another safe place to descend. Gemma carefully shimmied her body down and nearly slipped. The muscles in her arm shot tight as she righted her mistake. Harrison felt a wave of panic fire through his system and stopped for a second to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and pulled in enough air to regulate his heart, then shot Gemma a “don’t you dare do that to me again” look. She managed a quick grin of apology before continuing their descent.
He wasn’t quite sure what Gemma’s plan was. Once they reached the curtain wall they could run around the edge, but then what? Was she just using up time before being whisked home? He shuffled quickly to catch up and tried to make sure his hand was brushing hers as often as possible.
He took another step down, following Gemma’s descent, and felt his insides split in half as she let out a feeble cry.
Her body jerked.
Two arrows protruded from her back.
“Gemma!”
She went limp. He let go of the wall and reached for her falling figure, managing to catch her hand. Another arrow shot past his head and he ducked while still trying to stay attached to the wall.
“Hold on!”
Gemma’s eyes swirled as she looked up at his face.
“It’s okay. I’m not letting you go.” He fought against the slipperiness of their skin. He could feel the inevitable as his body screamed to let go.
He gazed back into her eyes and saw the message.
“No, Gemma, don’t you dare,” he whispered, tightening his grip on her weak hand. “Stay with me.”
Glancing back up at his protesting fingers, he begged them to stay attached to the wall. It was pure agony watching them slip from their hold. The air rushed past him as he plummeted for the ground. He closed his eyes and gripped Gemma’s hand, yelling against the feeling of her slipping from his grasp.
*****
St. Augustine, Florida - 2011 AD
The stark, white light of the hallway was blinding as Harrison opened his eyes and re-calculated his brain.
Patting his chest, he sat up and looked down at his hands. They were shooting with pins and needles. Turning them over, he studied his shaking palms and suddenly realized–
I’m not dead!
The sensation of falling still rippled through his system.
Gemma!
He turned to see her pale body crumpled beside him. Ignoring the pain radiating through his muscles, he pulled her into his arms.
“Gemma.” He shook her. Her lack of response made his brain want to melt, but he quelled the urge in order to check her pulse.
It was weak and thready, but it was there. Grabbing her clothing from the floor, he bunched up her shirt to try and stanch the bleeding coming from the two open wounds in her chest and stomach. The arrows were no doubt sitting on a castle wall somewhere in 14th Century England.
An instant hatred for her lifestyle speared through him. How could her father put them in that kind of danger, for the sake of some man they didn’t even know? Harrison wondered if the stableman and his family had made it, but one look at Gemma’s ashen face had him throwing the thought aside with force. He didn’t care if the guy had made it. He just needed Gemma to.
“Hang on, baby. Please, just hang on.”
Laying her gently on the floor, he covered her with his sweater and scrambled for his jeans. While shoving a leg through each hole, he dug in his pocket for his cell phone. Sliding it open, he was about to dial 9-1-1 when the phone in Gemma’s pants began tinkling.
He nearly tore the pocket apart as he raced for her small piece of hardware. He touched the screen and held it to his ear.
“Is Gemma okay?” Alistair said.
“No,” Harrison’s voice quivered. “She’s hurt…bad.”
“What part of the mall are you in?”
“A corridor leading out to the southern entrance. I’m dialing an ambulance.”
“No, don’t! We can’t afford that kind of publicity.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about publicity! She needs to get to hospital or she’s going to die!” The word tasted like ash in his mouth.
The response was stunned silence.
“Hello?”
“She’ll get to a hospital,” Alistair's voice was clipped and efficient. “It’ll just be a more subtle approach. I think I know where you are. Carry on down that corridor, we’ll be waiting for you outside the exit.”
“But—”
“Just do it!”
He ignored the expletives screaming through his head and lifted Gemma into his arms.
Her head lolled against his shoulder as he rushed to the exit.
Turning around, he pushed the bar with his back and found Dom’s car screeching to a halt in front of him.
The passenger door flew open. Alistair ran around the vehicle and helped him get Gemma inside. His face paled at the sight of her, but his expression remained as tough as old boot leather. Pulling out his phone, he pushed Harrison into the front seat and jumped in beside Gemma, cradling her head on his lap. Dominic accelerated out of the parking lot and swerved into the street, ignoring the irate blasting of car horns as he took off toward the hospital.
“Penelope, Gemma’s hurt. It looks bad. Meet us at the hospital.”
Dropping the phone beside him, he didn’t take his eyes off Gemma.
“Drive like hell, Dominic, or she’s not going to make it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida - 2011 AD
Harrison had never been tortured before.
He’d seen it in movies, watched the victims agonize in various ways.
Not once did he think he’d suffer the same plight, unless, of course, he counted the surreal experience from earlier that day. Thankfully he had avoided the 14th Century torture chamber. Now he sat in a 21st Century one and he was positive it was just as excruciating.
Waiting to find out if Gemma would live or die.
It was pure torture.
The minutes ticked by in slow motion as he limped a trench into the linoleum. Dom sat in a chair, his elbows on his knees and his eyes locked o
n the checkerboard floor. Ruby sat beside him, her legs curled beneath her. Her eyes were wide and unmoving. Her delicate fingers played with her bottom lip as she stared at nothing and waited in the deafening silence.
It was a calm contrast to their arrival at the hospital. Dom had been yelling for a gurney, while Alistair pushed Harrison firmly away from his daughter. Penelope rushed to her side demanding details. They’d trundled Gemma through ER and that was the last Harrison had seen of her.
Thirty minutes later Alistair’s clipped steps echoed down the corridor. Harrison watched him approaching, hoping for good news. Instead he faced a tornado of pent-up fury. Alistair’s face was hard as he grabbed Harrison’s collar and slammed him against the wall.
“If she doesn’t make it through this, I’m going to kill you.”
Harrison believed every word. Too shocked to utter a sound, he blinked stupidly at the man while waiting to be lowered to the floor. What seemed like a month later, the steaming man dropped him. Harrison crumpled to the floor. Leaning against the wall, he pulled his knees up and rested his arms across them, creating a square pillow for his forehead. He remained that way until his mother and Bryan rushed in.
She was flapping about demanding medical attention for her boy. After some stern words from Bryan, Harrison reluctantly limped to a bed where someone stitched up his leg and sterilized his swelling face. Dom accompanied them after a flick of Alistair’s head. He ran through the story a couple of times, making sure the Grangers knew all the ugly details of the “mugging.” Harrison sat in stony silence, staring at the rainbow poster on the wall.
“Harrison, you should sit. It’s not good for your leg.”
“I’m fine, Mom.” He ran his hand through his hair and gripped the back of his neck. His leg was numb, as was his brain. He studied the fluorescent lights on the ceiling then jumped at the sound of slow steps in the corridor.
Penelope walked into the room. She didn’t say anything or look his way, but the expression on her face set Harrison free. Stumbling back against the wall, he felt his lungs take in their first full breath. His eyes stung with relief.
Ruby let out a loud sob, covering her face with her hands and crumpling to the floor like a rag doll. Blinking at his own tears, Dom scooped her up and placed her gently back onto her seat. She clung to his shirt, drenching the fabric.
Alistair wrapped his wife in a firm hug and they remained that way until some quiet persuasion from a nurse had them heading home for some rest.
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