She looked up at Gentry through the window of the booth now and screamed, “You bastard! Is he dead?”
“Hmm,” his voice rang out over a microphone, “he wasn’t when I sent him back in time, but he was bleeding pretty badly…as you see.”
A bright light blinded her, distracting her from screaming the obscenities on the tip of her tongue. A sparkle on the front of the cage caught her eye. She made out the form of an emerald-shaped clear stone with floral engraving hanging from the side of the cage as the light source narrowed and honed in.
Reaching toward the glittering gem, she uttered, “Mom’s necklace,” as the light shifted into a beam through the facets of the jewel and slammed into her chest. The light spread throughout her, ripping her apart. Nia’s shrill scream echoed in her own head.
Chapter Twelve
Every cell in Nia’s body shrieked in pain. Opening one eye, she expected to see her bedroom. Instead, she was faced with a hairy, mangy man staring at her. The stench of pungent excrement, extreme body odor, and the man’s rotting teeth caused her to vomit on the poor guy. Thankful that she wasn’t locked up, she rolled over and crawled away from him, cowering against the side of a rusty metal cage. A mangled, rotting hand snaked through the gaps, yanking her flat against the bars. Digging in her nails, she tore flesh from his arm and he let go, a piercing scream echoing off the walls, upsetting others in the dungeon.
Shuffling away from his grasp, her eyes began to adjust from the brilliant light, the entire, horrific, torch-lit scene coming into focus. The ledge around the perimeter of the wall was now packed with emaciated, ratty people either cuffed to a bar set in the stone floor or hanging from one on the walls. Flat tables and other devices she suspected to be of the torture variety filled the space that wasn’t taken by cages. Moans, cries and ungodly screams filled the air, mingling with the stench of their rotting bodies. Breathing through her hand, she walked around the perimeter of the room. She stared into each person’s face looking for Garrett, her heart breaking a little more with each blank, empty gaze. Every cage was equally scrutinized until she was sufficiently convinced he was not being kept within the depths of the hellhole.
Lunging toward the open staircase, she molded herself against the cold, stone wall, using the shadows as cover to maneuver the steps. It didn’t seem there were any guards present, but as she reached the exit, she knew there would be someone watching the door on the other side. Nia waited for the door to open, to catch them unaware as they entered, since she had no idea how many men were there. As she lingered, she noticed fresh blood streaks in front of her. Sticking her toe into the gummy fluid confirmed her suspicions. In her heart, she knew it was Garrett’s. Looking heavenward, she sent up a silent prayer for a trail to lead her to him. The torchlight sparkled off the diamonds of her watch and ring. She removed them, tucking them safely between her breasts.
The heavy wooden door creaked open on its massive hinges. Nia slid down a few steps to let the door bang against the wall. Ducking under the arm of the astonishingly huge man before her, she made her way into what had been the ballroom with the Neanderthal lumbering behind. A single torch cast shadows onto the tapestry-laden walls and meager furnishings: a long, rough dining table with benches on each side. Her feet crunched in the rushes and leftover food as she sprinted through the enormous expanse of the room. She spied a path spattered with blood leading toward the courtyard. When she reached the table, a hand grabbed her dress from behind, yanking her backward. Unable to reach her .22 pistol in her garter, she grabbed a heavy metal serving tray from the table instead as she fell into his grasp.
The smell of severe halitosis assaulted her as he heaved in her ear, “Ye be trekkin’ the wrong path, wench.”
Bending her head as far forward as she could, Nia threw an uppercut with the cumbersome tray, a resounding dong echoing through the room. The bulky man let go, staggering backward, hopping on one leg. Instead of falling to the ground like most normal humans would when hit that hard, he lowered his chin and growled at her.
Nia shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
The man slapped his hand on the hilt of his sword. Nia knew she was no match without one of her own. She propelled herself toward him, swinging the tray again, whacking him upside the head one more time. This time he spun in a small circle and slumped to the floor.
Tossing the tray back on the table, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Goodnight, Brutus.” She didn’t think Alex would have any problems with this guy being tagged with the name. He was the epitome of Brutus if ever there was one.
Drawing the hidden .22 from her garter belt, Nia followed the crimson trail through the castle courtyard, making every effort to stay in the shadows of the quiet night. The full moon was a definite blessing, keeping a glint on the specks of dark liquid she was following. She snuck past the guard at the exit by molding herself to the shadowed wall. Slinking through the portcullis, the different surroundings amazed her. There was an actual drawbridge over the moat, which, from the awful smells wafting from it, was filled with trash, feces and other deterrents to keep people from swimming across. Beyond the drawbridge where once a lush garden and neatly trimmed hedges surrounded a parking lot, now lay bare dirt, unkempt bushes, and dense trees.
A wolf bellowed from somewhere in the thick forest ahead of her. She swallowed the huge lump forming in her throat. The blood spatters stopped where wheel ruts and hoof prints started. Spinning in circles, milling over every other probable direction they may have gone, Nia hurried off along the dirt road following the only feasible option. Her finger rested against the trigger of her gun ready to take on the big bad wolf if it chose to pop out of the woods for dinner. Rocks jabbed and tore at her already tender, extremely cold feet as she jogged along the dirt path, her breath appearing before her in huffed clouds.
The howling crept closer to her, becoming a low growl from somewhere in the tree line. The moonlight only allowed her a view of shadows within the mass of branches. A loud rustling noise stopped her in her tracks. Nia pulled the gun in front of her, steadying it with her other hand as she backed away from the source of the commotion.
“Shoo!” After the word escaped her lips, she chastised herself aloud, “You aren’t dealing with a Chihuahua here, Nia.”
The crackle of branches grew louder. She backed farther toward the other side of the road with her gun at the ready. A thunderous snarl rolled from the trees. She steadied her aim as a black ball of fur and teeth pounced from the darkness. Her aim was true and with one shot the wolf fell to the ground with a yelp. Angst and remorse filled her heart as she watched the beast drag itself back into the woods, leaving a blood trail behind. Nia had to remind herself that the beast would have made her a buffet for the local wildlife if she hadn’t shot it.
She took off in a dead run as though she could flee from the image of the wounded animal. It boggled her mind to this day how hurting an animal still bothered her more than doing the same to a person. A church appeared in the distance, lights flickering in the stained glass windows. As she suspected, the tracks she followed ended there. Unfortunately, other trails began in many directions as well.
Feeling defeated and alone for the first time in the whole ordeal, shoulders slumped, tears welling in her eyes, she shoved the heavy doors open at the front of the church and dropped to her knees, sobbing. She had no idea what time she’d been sent back to or where she was in relation to the castle. The path she followed had snaked around through the woods, her only concern being the tracks and occasional blood droplets.
A hand clamped over her shoulder, sending adrenaline racing through her veins. She sprung to her feet, shoving the gun against a large, bald man’s rounded chin.
His hands flew up next to his scruffy face. “’Tis a sin to end all sins, taking the life of a parson, love.”
Dropping the gun to her side and her chin to her chest, she heaved a huge breath. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m lost.”
>
“Fear not, my child. ‘Tis the house of God and all are welcome.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, waving the other in front of him as he led her to the front pew. A huge wooden cross stood on a tiny platform at the end of the aisle and ornately carved pews lined each side of the sanctuary. Beautiful stained glass windows arched to the ceiling at the end of each row, the candlelight casting beautiful colored prisms off of them throughout the room.
Nia switched her gun to her left and accepted his now outstretched hand, “Thank you, sir.”
He patted her fingers gently. “Please, I fall short of the title. Parson Phineas Travis,” motioning her toward the wooden bench nearest the pulpit, he continued, “Rest now. You may continue your journey when the morn has broken.”
Nia slid onto the hard surface, resting her head against the arm without a word. She convinced herself that the confusing myriad of trails would be much easier to navigate in daylight. Shivering, she laid her gun in her lap and wrapped her arms across her chest. The last thing she remembered was the feel of course material being tucked around her.
****
Sunshine kissed her face, the call of a rooster in the distance rousing her mind from a deep sleep. Sitting bolt upright, her wig and the wool hooded cloak she’d been covered with fell to the dirt floor of the church. Gooseflesh puckered her skin. She rubbed her arms to ward off the cold air. Looking around for her gun, the parson’s voice startled her.
Nia snatched the cloak from the ground. In one fluid movement she swung it over her shoulders, flipped the oversized hood onto her head, and kicked the wig under the pew. The inquisitive look on the Parson’s face told her he’d already noticed.
“Wow, you’re hair is beautiful. Why would you cover up such beauty?” His eyes narrowed for a moment then a lecherous smile crossed his face.
What person from this era says wow?
Nia stared at him, knowing in an instant that he didn’t belong there anymore than she did. Too many things were off. Everything was much clearer since she’d slept. “Where’s Stephen?”
“I…I know not of whom you speak,” he stammered. His brow creased, though the haughty look in his eyes revealed his lie.
“How about if I ask for Agent Garrett Van Deren, you son of a bitch,” Nia lunged for him. He caught an arm and spun her away, throwing a fist to her chin. Stars filled her vision, pain shattering through her mouth and neck. That didn’t stop her from turning back toward him and throwing an elbow to the side of his head.
He staggered backward, pulling a gun on her—her gun. “Look familiar, sweetheart?”
“What happened to your fancy accent?” Nia placed her hands on her hips, standing tall, not even flinching with the gun pointed at her chest.
“I think I’d put my hands up, if I were you.” He walked toward her, twitching the gun upward to motion her hands in the air.
Nia took the window of opportunity while he was off guard. Slapping one hand on the inside of his wrist, the other on the outside of his fingers, she turned the gun toward him. A shot rang out that grazed his head, melting him into a sobbing, cussing puddle at her feet. He dropped the gun as he clutched what was left of his ear.
She grabbed the .22 from the floorboards in front of him and hissed into his good ear, “Don’t tell me what to do.” She fled toward the side exit closest to where the horse had been the night before, storming through the door into the bright sunlight.
A weak voice called out to her. “Brooks.”
Sliding to a stop, she traced the sound back to the tall, dead grass alongside the building. There laid Garrett, his lips blue and his normally tanned skin as pale as a ghost’s.
Dropping to her knees next to him, she pushed his jacket out of the way to assess the gaping wound in his side. It was still seeping, but twigs, straw and other objects littered over it had slowed the flow, probably saving his life. The way he’d been tossed away, she knew they hadn’t expected him to live.
Pushing his hair away from his face, she smiled and tried to make him believe it wasn’t that bad. “It’s just a scratch. You’ll probably milk this one forever, though.”
A weak smile barely curled the corners of his lips. “I’ve never been so glad…to see someone…”
Fighting back the tears welling in her eyes, she pressed a finger to his lips. “Shush, save your strength. You can grovel at my feet when you’re feeling better. We need to get you out of here. Can you stand and help me load you in the back of that wagon?”
He slowly nodded. She threaded an arm behind his neck, pushing him into a sitting position. Garrett bellowed in pain. She stopped, allowing him to catch his breath before helping him to his feet.
The parson-impersonator’s voice rang out from the church, “I’ll kill you! You little bitch.”
As Nia slid him into the back of the wagon and settled him into the straw, Garrett said, “Well, I see you’ve made a friend here already. Sounds like the awesome, stand-up guy who took me from the dungeon to dispose of my body.” His nearly inaudible, yet extremely sarcastic words gave her heart a glimmer of hope for his recovery.
After untying the black mare from the tree, Nia hoisted herself onto the open driver’s seat of the attached wagon, tugging the reins against the beautiful horse. Starting off at a trot, she snapped the leather hard when she saw the one-eared man run out of the church, urging the horse into a gallop. She would have forced the horse into a dead run if she thought Garrett could handle the jostling.
Nia’s mind worked double duty as she guided the horse along the trail she’d chosen, causing her to pay little attention to the cold air pinching her cheeks. Her eyes scanned the horizon looking for a farmhouse or manor while her thoughts were tasked with compiling a list of things she’d need to treat Garrett’s wounds. The shot had gone all the way through. The exit wound could be cauterized and closed after it was cleaned, but the entrance wound would need to be treated with something to kill bacteria or he’d develop an infection, which could kill him even if the loss of blood didn’t do the job. She thought back to her field training and medical school, wracking her brain.
What did they say to use?
As though the textbook page appeared before her, the recipe for a poultice popped into her head. Sugar crystals would draw the bacteria out, weakening the infection. Iodine would help kill what was left. The only problem was finding iodine in what appeared to be Medieval England.
Think, Nia!
Soda ash from kelp would work. She sent up another prayer in hopes of finding a place with occupants wealthy enough to have some on hand. With that in mind, she passed up several poor farm houses and kept the horse moving. An occasional glance over her shoulder, she checked for signs of life in the wagon behind her. Seeing Garrett with a firm grip on the sideboard, she carried on.
A large manor house with remnants of ivy consuming half of the stone structure loomed before them as the horse galloped along. She pulled back on the leather straps, bringing the wagon to a trot as they entered the lane leading to the house. A woman in a tattered sackcloth of a dress ran toward them from the front door. Nia’s heart sunk in her chest until the woman bowed her head as the horse came to a stop.
A servant!
Her meager voice announced as she continued to stare at her feet, “Ye be expected by my lord?”
Nia slid from the cart in front of the older woman, pointing to the wagon behind her. “He needs medical assistance immediately.”
The servant’s eyes narrowed in confusion. She walked to the tailgate, popping up on tippy toes to see over the edge. “Aw, he be run through!” she exclaimed as she slid the back gate up and tossed it to the ground.
Motioning Nia toward her, they slid Garrett’s groaning, cursing form from the straw and helped him into a small room right off the main entry of the house. Modestly furnished, benches and chairs were scattered about the room in seating areas with small, ornate tables mixed in. Tapestries adorned the walls and a large window opposite the firepl
ace was shuttered off to the chilled air. The roaring fire in the depths of the massive fireplace made her realize just how cold she’d gotten on the ride there. Her flesh seemed to melt with the warmth, her bare toes prickling back to life as she allowed Garrett to sprawl on the rug in front of the open flames. Unfortunately, the servant scurried off before Nia could tell her what she needed.
Garrett raised a hand, waggling a finger for her to come closer. Nia dropped to her knees and leaned toward him.
“Even though it’s gonna hurt like hell, you need to…”
Pressing a finger to his lips, she stated, “I studied anatomy in medical school. I’m pretty sure my almost cardiology degree will help me here. Plus, you know every agent goes through triage field training. You’re going to have to trust me.”
Garrett returned her statement with a blank look. He pulled his hand up to the side of his face, placed his thumb in his ear and dropped his pinky to his mouth, announcing, “Hello, Pot? This is Kettle and you are black.”
Raising a single brow, she crossed her arms over her chest and lied, “Maybe I won’t feel bad about hurting you now.” Nia pulled her watch and ring from between her breasts, sliding the ring on her finger to keep from losing it. The watch she placed on her lap as she went about loosening the prongs around a couple of the larger diamonds.
Garrett touched a hand to her arm. “What are you doing?”
“I have to pay for the things I need to fix you up.”
“Levinson’s gonna be pissed when you turn that in.” A weak smile touched his lips.
Nia almost blurted out that they might never get back. Fear pulsed through her body. She forced a smile to her face and instead joked, “He can take it out of my paychecks…for the next hundred years.”
Just as the two stones popped loose and she was tucking the watch back between the girls, the sound of a man clearing his throat startled her. She jumped to her feet. Spinning around, she found herself standing in front of a towering older gentleman in layered, colorful robes and long silver hair.
Secrets of the Sapphires Page 9