by Fiona Faris
Tòmas stared at Georgiana for a long moment. "If you think that no-good bastard of yours is going tae come riding to yer rescue," he said softly, "he already tried that once."
Georgiana didn't think it was possible to feel colder, but she was wrong. Her heart began to pound, each beat jerking her body as Tòmas gripped her.
Ethan.
"It's just amazing how much blood the human body has in it. Even more amazing how fast it can spill out with just one musket ball in th’ head." Tòmas leaned very close. "He isna coming, lassie. So, I'd suggest ye tell me what I want to ken, and we can end this now."
Georgiana stared at the floor, dumbstruck by Tòmas's declaration. "The devil take you…" she finally gasped.
Tòmas sighed and stood abruptly, wiping his hands on his legs. "I'll bring ye some coffee, Lachie," he said, turning and walking past the other man, who was already twitching with anticipation.
"And ye need me before ah’m back, ye ken where tae look."
Tòmas and Sweeney walked into the light and vanished, Georgiana heard a door slam and then she was blasted with a torrent of icy water.
"Anyone to hame?" Lachie called cheerfully, looking around until he spotted Georgiana in the gloom. "There ye are!" he exclaimed as if surprised by Georgiana's presence. "It's time tae come oot and play."
Walking over the damp, rough boards, Lachie stopped next to Georgiana's huddled body, then reached out with a dirty, booted foot and shoved Georgiana over with it.
Georgiana lay helpless, eyes half-open, staring at Lachie, her body shivering from the cold.
"How goes it, sweet thing?" Lachie asked brightly, with a wicked smile. "Have a nice night?"
Georgiana's eyes slid closed, and she swallowed with an effort. "Why don't...don't you just... kill me..." she finally forced out, words hoarse and shuddering.
Lachie shook his head and knelt, dropping the coil of rope from his shoulder onto the floor. "Noo, we arena going tae have any fun if ye're going tae be like that," He remonstrated, as if correcting a confused child.
With a disturbingly gentle touch, he brought Georgiana's shaking wrists together and began to wind the rope around them. "Ye ken..." Lachie said conversationally, as he made an effort not to wrap the rough hemp over the existing raw skin-but almost two days of hanging by the wrists didn't leave a lot of unmarked areas. "All ye have tae dae is tell us where the money is. Once we have that, ye may go back hame.” He spoke softly, "How hard is that? Make all this go away." He paused to trace a long finger across the tender flesh on the inside of Georgiana's forearm, down to where the rope was twisted.
Georgiana tried to flinch away, her eyes snapping open. "Don'...touch me..." she gasped.
Georgiana had never been so cold. A deep, frozen to the bone, cold. She couldn't stop the tremors of her muscles, her shaking words losing their sound of contempt as she tried to spit them out through gritted teeth. Her throat was raw from screaming; her body now a finely tuned mass of aches and sharp acidic pains. Every movement brought agony in its wake.
Baby? Are you still there? Are you alright?
Her mind still recoiled from the threat Lachie represented, even if her body couldn't. She didn't understand why it still mattered what they did to her, she couldn't give them what they wanted… and Ethan...
The belief that they couldn't possibly hurt her more than they had vanished as she thought of Ethan dead at the hands of these bastards, a pain tearing through her worse than any that had been inflicted on her. Unless Tòmas had been lying …that she could go back-
But no.
That did not sound realistic.
Why didn't they just kill her and be done with it...?
"Or," Lachie continued thoughtfully, ignoring Georgiana's weak attempts at resistance. He jerked the rope tight. "Ye can tell me, and I'll help ye. I can be yer friend, ye ken. Get you something hot to drink...a dry gown. Maybe even a blanket. We were supposed to be married once." He drew his hand gently down the side of Georgiana's face as she tried to turn away. "It doesna have tae be this way." Lachie crooned. He reached over and turned Georgiana's head back to face him. "Let me make this better for ye."
Disgust and anger warred for dominance in Georgiana's soul. It would be so easy to die here, give up and let herself be taken...
"I mean, " Lachie continued, tugging on the knot, "I ken ye're probably upset over what Tòmas did to yer lover-"
Her fury was so intense she became dizzy as it blasted through her like the cresting of a huge wave.
"But what's done is done, right?"
Ethan was dead.
Lachie finished and sat back on his haunches with a smile that could have been misinterpreted as sympathetic. "Nothing ye can dae aboot it the noo anyway."
Like hell there isn't, Georgiana thought.
There was no way this scoundrel was walking away from this unscathed.
She might well die here too, didn't give a tinker’s damn now anyway, but not before these bastards were lying in a bloody pile for what they'd done.
The saliva that Georgiana managed to collect and spit into Lachie's face was flecked with blood.
"Well, I guess that's a nae, then," Lachie said, sighing with obvious disappointment, as he lifted a hand and slowly wiped the mess from his face. "Weel I tried, did I no?"
"You're going to be first," Georgiana promised in a croaking hiss.
Lachie reacted to this bizarre announcement with a look of surprise and a short huff of laughter.
"First for what?" he laughed, surveying Georgiana's battered, roped body, lying on the damp, bloody floor, shivering, two days without food or water.
Helpless.
Then he saw Georgiana's eyes.
And his smile slipped just a little.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
She smelled ham.
The scent pulled her eyelids open slightly, and she lifted her head to try and discern the origin.
She had learned in the course of this interminable time, that the human body could only deal with one major sensation at a time. It was impossible to be overwhelmed with a multitude of bodily needs for different things. One always took precedence, and when it was overcome the brain moved down the list in order of priority to the next issue requiring resolution. It was not possible to feel freeze-to-death cold and starvation at the same time.
As her limbs trembled and ached with cold, she thought nothing else could be worse. Until the smell of food hit her. She had never gone without food and water before. Dragging her dry tongue over cracked, bloody lips, she watched through half-open eyes as Tomas, Lachie, and Sweeney shared ale and loaves stuffed with ham, tomato, and cheese. She had to fight to force back the needy moan that hung in the back of her throat.
She didn't want to be cold or hungry or in pain or feel anything except the need to vent destruction on Ethan's murderers, but her body was determined to betray her and crave those things that should no longer matter.
It was all she could do not to strain against her bonds as her stomach twisted emptily, her dehydrated body's attempt to produce saliva painful. She'd be damned if her enemies would get the satisfaction of watching her suffer.
As a change of pace, she had been tied to a splintered old post in an old crofter’s home. For all she knew, she was in Ethan’s former cottage. The splintered post appeared to be propping up the bottom of the shallow, sagging balcony over Georgiana's head.
The jagged bits of protruding wood dug painfully into the flesh of her back, making it impossible to even slide down the post and sit on the ground to give her aching legs a break. Even now the muscles in her legs were shaking; it was only a matter of time before they would finally refuse to hold her up any longer and her back would be ripped by the pillar.
They hadn't questioned her or even tried to hurt her anymore. They'd just tied her up and left her there, unable to brace herself in any way that was even remotely comfortable. She had watched the sun move across the sky; the room’s shadows shifting as the day
came and went.
Untold hours later, startled by the creak of the door opening, she had roused herself to watch in bleary-eyed disgust as her captors had settled themselves comfortably at a rickety table close by and proceeded to have a picnic in front of her.
She closed her eyes again and shuffled awkwardly to re-brace her feet on the rough floor, head jerking back, grimacing as she felt her skin pierced by one of the large splinters. It hurt but wasn't worth the effort to complain.
"Ye ken," Tòmas speculated through a mouthful of food, "As much as I've enjoyed this," he paused to take a long pull from his ale cup, "I think I'm about at the end of my patience. Ye must be losin' yer touch, Sweeney." He added with a quick glance to the mousey little man, who frowned.
"What d’ye expect?" Sweeney snapped. "I dinna have any equipment, nothing to really work with."
Lachie's pale blue eyes darted uncomfortably between Tòmas and Sweeney, looking like a child caught in a parents' argument even though he was the boss.
Tòmas held up his hand. "I'm pullin' yer leg, Sweeney, for God's sake. Learn to take a joke. I ken ye've done the best ye could. I just think we need to try a new line of attack here. This obviously isna workin' and we dinna have forever." He rubbed a calloused hand over his stubbled face and got slowly to his feet, grabbing his cup of ale from the table.
The boards beneath Georgiana's bare feet shifted as Tòmas crossed the old floor. Georgiana lifted her head slightly as Tòmas approached, watching him through matted eyelashes. She tried to raise herself more on the post, stand taller, but her body didn't even attempt to cooperate.
Tòmas cocked her head to see Georgiana's eyes. The grey was washed out to eerie silver and floating in bloodshot pools of white. However, even though Georgiana's head shook as she tried to hold it up, the look in those eyes as they fastened on Tòmas 's was unsettling. It reminded Tòmas of a trapped wolf waiting defiantly for death, daring its captors to venture close enough to try and actually kill it.
Tòmas straightened with a grunt and splashed Georgiana's face with ale.
Georgiana jerked, blinking the burn of it out of her eyes and cursed her bastard tongue as it instinctively slipped between her lips to draw the beads of moisture running down them into her mouth.
"You just dinna ken when tae quit do ye, lassie?" Tòmas sneered. "Ye think that if ye hang here long enough, refuse tae talk, we're gonna just get bored and go away?" Tòmas squinted an eye and came closer, the old boards creaking loudly as they moved in protest of the additional weight, waving the ale in Georgiana's face. "It isna going tae happen," Tòmas stated flatly. "I am getting bored, but we aren’ leaving without something, even if just the pleasure of gigging ye like a frog and tossing yer carcass next to yer lover in that mud puddle." Tòmas leaned in, nose almost touching Georgiana's. "Is that what ye really want?"
Tòmas closed in, and Georgiana automatically pushed herself against the post in a fruitless attempt to get away from the effluvia emanating from him. To Georgiana's surprise, the floorboards sank under her feet as Tòmas shifted his weight, actually dropping a good inch or two.
And as she pushed back against the post… it moved.
* * *
The horse’s every jolt as it cantered over the rutted dirt road sent flames of pain flashing across Ethan’s head, making his face twist into a grimace. His fingers locked around the reins as he maneuvered the big horse down the rippling road as fast as he dared.
Georgiana would be upset about how he was pushing the animal to go faster, ever faster. His men could hardly keep up. Only Fergus kept pace with him. Pressing his hand against the thick bandage that circled his forehead, he ground his teeth together, looking ahead for some sign of where his love could be. The late afternoon sun glared harshly on the spindly branches of the dead winter trees, stretching grey fingers to the sky. Daltern was asleep.
Fergus glanced at Ethan's taut features. "Sorry, it's so rough," he said, "It all seems very rundown."
Ethan shook the hair out of his eyes and wiped the sweat from his lip. "Doesna matter," he spat. "D’ye think we have much further tae go?"
"I dinna think so. Those villagers were sure they brought her here. What are ye going tae dae when ye get there?" Fergus asked as the horse skidded slightly on the dusty turn. "D’ye have a plan?"
"Get Georgiana," Ethan snarled, shooting Fergus a cold look. "Whatever the hell it takes. That's the plan." He turned forward again. "Ye can get oot wherever ye're happy; ye dinna have to be a part of this."
"Ah’m with ye, Ethan. Ye ken tha’. But these are bad men who dinna give a tinker’s damn for ye or for the madam. We have tae-"
Fergus shut up as he noted the frozen expression on Ethan’s face as he stared over the next rise. He felt Ethan stiffen next to him. A few crumbling buildings peppered the hillside as they rode, one of which had three horses tethered outside. It was surrounded by other cottages, clearly abandoned. The landscape was desolate and empty.
Ethan squinted.
Not quite desolate.
A man walked out of his former cottage to pee against the wall.
Fergus floundered forward as Ethan pulled the reins and urged the horse to a halt behind a ragged clump of low growing bushes. Dust billowed around them in a brown cloud.
They were still a reasonable distance away. Close enough for a quick run, but far enough away that the sound of the horses snuffling irritably would be unnoticed. It was Fergus's first real inkling that his friend had more than a casual idea about what he was doing.
Ethan twisted in the saddle and alighted the horse, though the movement cost him. He swore as he gripped the saddle, waiting for the dizziness to pass before letting the harness go and digging in the saddlebag for his pistol and musket as well as his claymore.
Fergus jumped down from his own horse and joined him. "Just how do ye plan on getting her awa’ from them?" he demanded, "They shallna just let us tak’ her..." His voice trailed off as Ethan strapped a knife to his thigh, checking his bag of musket balls and flint, to check they were still dry.
Ethan handled the familiar grips of his favorite weapons and began loading them with the casual ease of a seasoned professional while Fergus stood open-mouthed. He stared at the multitude of pistols, knives, swords- was that a crossbow? -He did not remember seeing so many weapons at the fortress, nor had he thought Ethan in any condition to pack them. His mouth closed with an audible clack as he began to seriously wonder what the hell he had gotten himself into.
* * *
Georgiana's heart flipped as she felt the post-shift, but Tòmas suddenly jerked out a knife and slashed Georgiana's arm's free, turning her so suddenly she found her face pressed into the post, numb legs tangled before she could blink.
"I need some help!" Tòmas shouted at his companions.
Chairs hit the floor as Sweeney and Lachie hastened to his side.
"Hold her!" Tòmas said, rapidly rewinding the ropes around Georgiana's torn wrists so that she was once more securely bound to the post, but with her back facing out.
Georgiana choked as one turn of the rope went around her throat before being pulled tight to the post.
"What are ye gang tae dae?" Lachie asked as Tòmas finished, leaving Georgiana's upper body tied to the slightly leaning post by the neck, her hands lashed around the timber.
Georgiana's legs didn't want to hold her, but the alternative of sagging loosely would choke her to death, so she braced herself as best she could, wondering almost casually, what was happening?
She managed to lock eyes with Lachie as she fought to draw in a breath. Lachie hastily averted his eyes from that awful gaze, moving around behind Georgiana, even as her eyes rolled back, neck twisting, to follow his movement.
Sweeney stepped back with his arms crossed, waiting. Tòmas was getting bored and frustrated because the woman tied to the post wouldn't play the game his way. Whatever rules they had started with were now off.
Lachie did not have the money he owed Tòmas. If
the shylock wanted his money, he would have to get it out of Georgiana…she was proving more stubborn than they could have imagined.
When Lachie had come to him with his proposal, Tòmas had jumped at it, quite sure that this would be all in a day’s work. Now it had taken much longer than anticipated, and they did not know if there was a rescue mission afoot or not. Lachie had assured him that the blow he’d delivered to his brother’s head was fatal – but having no way to stay and make sure, he just had to take the man’s word for it. Since he did not trust Lachie, taking his word for anything was difficult.
Sweeney's hands ached with possibilities presented by the shapely back he was facing, but he'd been allowed his fun, and it was Tòmas's turn now. Lachie, always the sadistic watcher would be left with the remnants to dispose of as he saw fit.