by Alexa Aston
“I’ll kill her,” the one who held her fast offered. “But I want a bit o’ fun with her first.”
“Wait,” a voice to her left commanded. “Bring her here.”
The man restraining her lifted her off the ground and walked in that direction. Alys kicked her feet out and connected with a man’s chest, knocking him into the campfire. The attacker yelped and rolled out of the blaze. She kicked again, but a second man dodged her feet.
Her captor stopped in front of the man she assumed to be the leader of this band of thieves. He was of average height and had a slender frame. A long scar ran from the outer corner of his left eye across his cheek and to his mouth. He gave her a mirthless smile.
“I can’t breathe,” she got out as she was lowered her to her feet.
“This one’s full of spite,” the man said over her shoulder as the band of his arms continued to crush her.
“But she’s obviously of the nobility,” the leader said. “That means she’s worth something.” He motioned. “Look around, my lady.”
Alys did. Carnage surrounded them. Every man from Brentwood lay dead. She quickly counted six thieves, including the man who still held her and the one before her. She would bide her time and then make her escape.
“I won’t run,” she wheezed.
The man in authority said, “Release her.”
“But Carac—”
“Do it!” he demanded.
Alys dropped to the dirt. She fell onto her knees and pressed her hands to the ground for support. She drank in the air, grateful that she was alive. Her heart still raced, but she rose to confront the one called Carac. She locked her knees, hoping that would still her trembling legs. Alys glared at the leader as he leisurely studied her.
“Ah, you are very much a lady,” he finally said. “From your fine clothing to your haughty attitude.”
Aly raised her chin defiantly.
“You seem familiar,” he said.
“I don’t know you. I don’t care to know you,” she told him, her voice dripping with contempt.
“No. You wouldn’t.” His piercing gaze swept over her. “It will come to me. What is your name?”
She dug her nails into her palms and remained silent.
“Your name, my lady?”
Still, she did not respond.
Carac slapped her. Hard. Alys stumbled. The dark night lit up with shooting white stars. She rested her hands on her knees. Blinked. Swallowed. Took a deep breath.
Then she raised her head and threw back her shoulders—and glared at Carac.
He raised a hand to strike her again, but Alys didn’t flinch.
Carac slowly lowered his hand. Admiration appeared in his eyes. “You’re no coward. I’ll give you that.” He thought a moment. “We’ll bring her to Fendrel.”
Dread coursed through Alys when she heard that name. She recognized it as one of the titled men who had fallen on hard times. His lands hadn’t been producing, and workers abandoned him for other properties. With too few men to work the land and not enough crops, Sir Fendrel hadn’t been able to pay the king’s tax and had lost his estate to the crown. Alys heard Fendrel had gathered a band of men who stole for him, a motley group who attacked travelers at will. Since they were so close to Kinwick, Alys wondered if this group of thieves had been the ones who had assaulted Kit.
Carac looked to the man behind her. “Bind her wrists and ankles. She may be a pretty little thing, but I think she would run at the first opportunity. When you finish, set her against that tree.”
Rough hands grabbed her and yanked her back. Arms snaked around her waist. Alys slammed her heel into the man’s knee. She used the same foot to stomp on the robber’s foot. He released her, but two other men moved toward her menacingly. How she wished she had thought to pull her baselard from her attacker’s throat. She had no other weapon on her.
It took three men to restrain her. They tied rope around her wrists, binding them so tight that she lost feeling in her hands almost immediately. One thief wrapped more rope around her ankles several times. She pushed her legs outward as he did so, hoping it wouldn’t be tied as tightly as her wrists. The largest of the three tossed her over his shoulder. He steadied her with a hand flat on her buttocks. He reached the tree and gave her a hard pinch before he placed her on the ground, her back leaned against the tree’s trunk.
Alys watched as the thieves methodically went through everything at the camp. They removed every item from the guards’ saddlebags. They gathered all the weapons from the soldiers and piled them in a heap, then they stripped the armor, clothing, and boots from the dead Brentwood soldiers and organized it. She thought they would sell what they could at market and wondered how large a cut Sir Fendrel would receive from their plunder.
Two of the men dragged the naked bodies away from the camp while another pulled out the remaining bread and a small round of cheese. He tore a hunk of bread off and stuffed it into his mouth.
Carac wandered the camp, supervising what the men did. He asked, “Is this all of the food that you found?”
“Aye.”
The leader glanced at her and said, “They were probably close to their destination.”
Alys hoped her face gave nothing away.
Carac crossed over his men, who now stretched out on the pallets that surrounded the fire. He squatted next to her, an evil smile playing on his thin lips.
“I know of you. You are Alys de Montfort.” He lifted her braid and began toying with it. “I saw your mother years ago, and you are definitely her daughter. Merryn de Montfort was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. The resemblance between the two of you is striking.” He dropped the braid. “But you are even more desirable.”
Alys spat in his face.
He laughed softly. “You are spirited. Fearless. You have the heart of a man, Lady Alys.” He wiped the spittle away with a finger and then took the same finger and caressed her cheek.
Alys stared off in the distance, ignoring him.
Carac stood. “No one is to lay a hand on her,” he called out. “Fendrel will want to ransom her. Lady Alys will be worth a few sacks of gold.”
She caught disappointment in the eyes of the man who had latched on to her. She dropped her eyes to her lap.
Carac knelt again in front of her. “Sir Fendrel may want you for himself. He’s never been able to resist a beautiful woman. Especially one with fire in her hair.”
He grabbed her chin and forced her head up. Alys met his black eyes and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.
“But he’s desperate for gold coin. Once he ransoms you, I’ll persuade him to let me be the one that returns you to Lord Geoffrey.” Carac gave her a hard, swift kiss. “After I’ve had my fill of you.”
Alys swore in that moment that she would kill him.
*
Alys got no sleep. She spent the remainder of the night listening to the snores of the ruffians as she plotted her escape. She knew she needed her feet free in order to run. She was an excellent rider. If she could make it to a horse, she could ride even with her hands tied.
But would she have a chance? There were so many of them.
She leaned her head back against the tree trunk and closed her eyes. They were gritty from lack of sleep. She opened them because the smell of the blood that covered her seemed stronger when she couldn’t see it. Alys looked down and saw the dried blood had turned her yellow surcoat into a muddy brown.
The men began stirring. One man disappeared. He returned a short time later driving a cart. The vehicle must have been left down the road before the attack occurred. The men made many trips in order to load the items to sell into the cart. Two of them left with the wares.
Her chances for escape improved with fewer thieves to stop her.
Carac brought her a small bit of bread and gave her a few sips from a wineskin.
“I need to attend to personal matters,” she told him, keeping her voice neutral. Defiance had gotten her nowhere, but she re
fused to meekly beg.
“You also need to wash the blood from you and put on new clothing. Fendrel doesn’t have a strong belly when it comes to seeing or smelling blood.”
He retrieved her change of clothing that sat in the dirt. Carac had instructed his men to leave it behind when they took the rest of the soldiers’ clothing and armor to the cart. She had planned to change into the fresh outfit this morning before they rode the final leagues to Kinwick.
Alys longed to strip the blood-soaked material off, but not with Carac watching her. Not after what he had said to her last night.
He bent and sliced through the ropes around her ankles and pulled her to her feet.
“Come,” he ordered. “There’s a stream nearby.”
She took a wobbly step before her knee gave out. He caught her elbow. Alys stood there feeling as if her feet weren’t attached to her legs. Carac thrust her clothes at her and scooped her up into his arms. She didn’t fight him. Her feet were now free. They would soon be alone. It might be her best chance to flee.
But not before she killed him.
She looked around as he strode from the camp, wondering what she could use. Her dagger had been removed from the neck of the man she’d killed and tossed into the pile of gathered weapons. Mayhap she could use something in the forest. A fallen branch. A heavy rock. She would take pleasure ramming a thick stick into this man’s eye or slamming a rock against his skull.
As he carried her deeper into the woods, her feet began to sting as if bees attacked. The stinging turned into needles that jammed into her feet. Alys bit her tongue till she tasted blood. She would not cry out. She refused to let him see any sign of weakness in her.
Yet she couldn’t stop the tears that came along with the pain.
She heard running water. The stream must be close. Carac set her on her feet but kept strong fingers secured around her upper arm.
“Walk now. It will help bring feeling back into your limbs.”
Alys clutched the fresh clothes to her and took steps as small as a babe learning to walk might. They approached the stream and he halted their progression. He took the clothing she clutched and dropped it to the ground. With a sawing motion, he cut through the rope around her wrists.
If she thought her feet were bad off, her hands burned ten times worse as the feeling returned to them. Alys rubbed her wrists and hands repeatedly. She tried bending her fingers as the blood rushed back into her hands.
“I’ll slit your throat if you run,” he warned. “Fendrel need never know we came upon you. The animals in the woods would make quick work of you.”
As she stomped her feet and shook out her numb hands, Alys knew he meant it. Her mother and father would never know what had happened to her. Kit would never know why she had disappeared. She knew she couldn’t risk escape right now.
“Let me.”
Carac took her hands and began working her fingers and twisting her wrists. She loathed his touch but tolerated it in order to have the feeling return.
“Can you walk on your own?”
Alys nodded.
“Go to the stream. Rinse off as much of the blood from your face and neck as you can.”
She shuffled to the brook and eased down to the ground. She cupped water and splashed it on her face and then rubbed her fingers up and down along her face and neck. She continued for several minutes. Then Carac yanked her braid back, exposing her neck. He looked her over and gave a satisfied grunt.
“Stand,” he ordered.
Alys did as he said. He clenched her sideless surcoat and lifted it from her then did the same with her kirtle. Only her smock and thin chemise remained. She glanced down and saw that the blood had penetrated to this third layer. Alys sensed his black eyes roaming her body.
“Hand me the fresh clothing,” she said. Those were the first words she’d spoken since they’d left the camp.
Carac gathered the items and returned. But he didn’t give them to her. A curt nod told her he wanted her to remove her smock. She did so, lifting it and the chemise over her head at the same time. She tossed them aside and stood before him in only her hose and boots. He didn’t have the decency to avert his eyes and boldly skimmed her body. Alys stood, humiliation turning her pale skin bright red. The only man who had seen her this way was Kit. She remembered his loving touch and wanted to scream.
“Remove the rest.”
She bent and took off what little remained. Anger caused her to close the gap between them. She grabbed her clothing and walked a few steps away from him. Then she armed herself with the only weapon she had and dressed quickly. Once every piece was in place, she turned around, relieved to have her bare skin covered. Her shoes and hose still rested on the ground. She hurriedly put them on since they didn’t have any traces of blood on them.
His eyes gleamed at her. “You are perfect in every way, Lady Alys.”
Alys felt more in control of her emotions now that she wore clothing again. “May I?” She pointed to a clump of trees.
“Of course. Don’t take long, or I may have to come look for you.”
She went behind the trees and hiked up her skirts in order to relieve herself. Her body shook uncontrollably. Alys took deep breaths and willed herself to be still before she rejoined her captor.
Carac led her back to the camp, his fingers digging into her arm, bruising the tender flesh. One man brought new ropes for Carac to bind her.
“Must you?” she asked. “I have nowhere to go even if I did run.”
“Your hands then.” He wrapped the rope around them, not as tightly as it was before. That brought her some relief.
And hope.
He bent and lifted her skirts. Before she could protest, he ripped a strip from her chemise and brought the linen to her face. Alys realized he intended to blindfold her.
Carac pulled the material across her eyes. He leaned so close that she could feel his hot breath against her cheek. His stubble touched her face and she shuddered. He reached and tied the cloth behind her head, knotting it several times.
She could hear the sound of men mounting the horses that had belonged to the dead. Carac guided her several steps and then stopped. He released her elbow. Alys sensed that he climbed atop a horse. Then his hands locked around her waist as he lifted her up to join him. Alys found herself in front of him. He jerked her against his thin chest and brought his arms around her waist.
“Enjoy our ride together, my lady,” he murmured into her ear.
As they rode, Alys thought of new ways to kill him.
Chapter 19
Alys couldn’t tell how long they rode. She guessed it might have been for a couple of hours, but having no sight left her disoriented. The blindfold sat firm against her eyes and prevented her from seeing anything. She sensed the horses slowing and figured their destination loomed in sight. It couldn’t be soon enough. Having Carac’s body pressed against hers for an extended time had left her filled with disgust. Twice, he’d nuzzled his roughened beard against her neck. Alys refused to move a muscle, and finally he had stopped. Carac now halted the horse they rode. She felt him dismount, then he took her from the horse.
She hoped he would remove the blindfold, but he didn’t. The outlaw hadn’t wanted her to view the path they rode—and he was smart enough not to let her see the outside of the building where she would be held hostage. It would prove far harder to find the structure if she didn’t know what it looked like. Alys reminded herself not to underestimate Carac in any way.
“Care for the horses,” he said before walking her for a few minutes. Their progress was slow since she couldn’t see where she was going and hesitated with each step.
He halted, and Alys heard a door creak open. He roughly pushed her inside.
At once, she knew the place was small and dark. The bright sunshine they’d ridden in quickly faded. Foul smells assaulted her nose. This was a place where men urinated in corners and threw the meat of their supper bones to the ground—where they re
mained. She heard the groan as the door shut behind her.
“Stay,” he ordered.
Carac’s footsteps didn’t echo as he moved away from her. Alys twisted her toes and found a dirt floor beneath her. Then she caught the sound of snoring.
“Wake up, my lord,” Carac ordered. When the snoring continued, he shouted, “I said awaken!”
“What?” a deep voice slurred. “Oh, ’tis you. You’ve been gone long enough, Carac. I hope you brought back more than your last foray. Even the food supply is low.”
“You’ll be most pleased, Sir Fendrel. I have returned with something that will put many gold coins in your hand. Behold, your treasure.”
Alys heard a low chuckle. “My, she’s a beauty. Bring her to me.”
Strong fingers latched on to her arm and moved her in the direction of the voice. Knuckles bumped against the back of her skull as Carac untied and then lowered the blindfold.
Alys blinked and then focused on the rotund man before her. Food stains littered the front of his cotehardie. His beard and hair were both gray and unkempt. She licked her lips nervously.
“Where did you find her, Carac? She’s exquisite—and much better than the whores you usually fetch me.”
His uncouth words made her blood boil. “I am no whore. I am Lady Alys de Montfort, daughter of Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn de Montfort. I demand you return me to my parents at once.”
The nobleman’s brows shot up. “Ah, a true lady.” He leisurely studied her. “Well, my dear. I have met Lord Geoffrey twice before and once saw your incredibly beautiful mother. Every man present coveted her. You favor Lady Merryn quite a bit, with your eyes of deep blue and gorgeous, chestnut hair.”
“Then you know that my father will hunt you and this band of cutthroats down and slaughter you before you could beg for mercy,” she said. “Unless you return me at once—unharmed. He will be mad with rage, but I can convince him to leave you in peace.”
Alys gestured to the blindfold Carac toyed with. “I do not know where I was brought. I have no idea where this place is or what it looks like. Return me now to Kinwick, and I promise—”