by Hazel Hunter
His expression went from open to slammed-shut in a blink.
“No, Mistress Aber, no’ at all. The laird has been having trouble sleeping, what with the new bairn in the house, and he rides at night to tire himself.”
Diana knew a well-rehearsed speech when she heard one.
“Okay, that certainly makes sense. So where do you two ride on these insomnia-buster trips?”
The bodyguard looked puzzled. “Anywhere the laird wishes to go, Mistress. Generally out by the tenant farms, but sometimes in the woods. There’s a small spring in the pines where my lord enjoys a bathe.”
“Sounds like fun,” she said, to which Eamus had no reaction at all. “Did the laird order you to lie to anyone who asks?”
“If he had, Mistress,” the bodyguard said, “I wouldnae tell you. But no, I dinnae lie. ’Tis where he rides, and I am ever with him, as is my duty.”
“Thank you, Eamus,” Raen said before Diana could get in another word. “We’ll no’ keep you any longer.”
The bodyguard nodded and headed out of the barn as if it were on fire.
“Why did you do that?” she asked as they watched Eamus pick up his pace to a flat run before he disappeared into the front gate.
Raen leaned against a post. “Do what now?”
“Man, he can really move for such a big guy.” Diana turned on him. “Ah, you got him out of here so I wouldn’t ask any more questions.” She squinted at his impassive expression. “Oh, hell. You know about this, don’t you?”
He held up his huge hands. “I was our laird’s bodyguard for centuries. I ken only what ’tis to guard a man and his secrets, and be obliged to keep them both safe. ’Tis no’ seemly to badger Eamus about what he cannae tell you.”
“I don’t badger,” she told him, assuming a lofty expression. “I do, however, report to my boss, and Cap is not going to be very happy with you. At all.”
“’Tis a banshee in a bannock,” Raen said and reached out to take her hand and pull her close. “I ken naught of what Gordon does on his night rides, only that ’tis a closely-guarded secret.”
“Well, you’re no good to me,” she said and slapped his chest. “I love that you’re all about respecting the laird, but sometimes, Big Man, it’s a real pain in my ass.”
He dropped his hands down to caress that part of her anatomy. “When we’re home, I’ll kiss and make it better.”
Chapter Nineteen
EVANDER FOUND RACHEL the perfect spot to watch him on the far side of the spear throw field. Though most of the townspeople took the shorter walk to gather on the near side, a few of the women who had been cooking followed them to the farther side, where the view was unobstructed. Evander escorted Rachel nearly halfway to the targets and to the shade of silver birches.
“’Twill keep the sun from your eyes, the thoughts of the crowd at a distance, and the men from casting their looks at you.” He pulled off his jacket and draped it around her. “Dinnae run off with all my coin.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Win the prize purse, and I’ll run off with you.” As she sat down she felt the rune bounce in her skirt pocket, and took it out to hand it to him. “Here, for luck.”
He bent down to kiss her before he tucked it in his pocket. “I dinnae need luck. I’ve you, love.”
A dozen men walked out onto the field with Evander, and chose spears from a tall wooden barrel. On the other end of the field, hay bales had been stacked in a row against the tree line. Over the front side of each bale a target made of painted cloth had been draped. Instead of the bullseyes Rachel expected, the villagers had painted crude figures of demonic-looking men with black eyes, white skin and pointed teeth. The targets looked exactly like the undead.
Rachel felt her skin crawl as she looked away from the targets and focused on Evander, who now held a long spear and stood at the throwing line.
The burly man marched up to the line and held up his hands until everyone quieted.
“One toss a man on the round,” he called out. “I’ll serve as judge for all three rounds. Head or chest are one point. Eyes or mouth are five. Ten points for the bastart’s bawbag.” He grinned as the crowd erupted with laughter. “If yer spears land outside, fall short or miss, ye’re out. Ready to throw now, lads.”
Evander and the other men hefted their spears, and eyed the targets.
“Away,” the judge shouted.
Rachel held her breath as she watched Evander hurl his spear. He moved with such grace and speed it made her heart clench. His powerful skill became immediately evident when his spear outdistanced all the others in a blink. A few spears fell just short of the targets, while several others landed in the side of the bale or flew past it. Evander’s spear hit his target with such force that it drove it into the tree behind it.
The burly man walked out to inspect the targets. Six men were judged out, while most of the others were awarded one or five points. Evander’s spear had skewered his figure in the groin, so he earned ten. Rachel cheered and clapped her hands as the burly man tied a white ribbon around Evander’s upper arm.
Boys ran out to the targets to retrieve the spears and bring them back, while two men had to be summoned to remove Evander’s spear. Rachel craned her neck to see if the tip was still intact.
“Here ye are, ye wicked hoor.” A skinny arm clamped around her waist from behind, and a dirty hand stuffed a wad of cloth in her mouth. “Yer other lovers await ye.”
Rachel screamed through the gag, and writhed as she tried to break free, but the man dragged her behind the birches and bound her hands and feet. As he did her eyes flared wide. He was Parnal, the drover she’d found lying to the shepherdess. He wrapped her in a heavy woolen blanket that covered her from head to toe, and then hoisted her onto his shoulder. His hateful, gleeful thoughts battered her like cudgels.
Can ye hear this, ye black-hearted cunt? I ken that you can. ’Twere my choice I’d take ye out in the woods and bind ye like a ewe for shearing. Then I’d beat ye proper before I’d fack ye in the arse. ’Tis how the evil one skewers ye, I reckon. I’d use ye as my pisspot, too.
As much as he wanted to violate her, Parnal wanted the coin promised to him more. He felt sure that the men he’d sold her to would do much worse to her.
Rachel tried to see where he was taking her, but hanging upside down with the edge of the blanket flapping over her face made it impossible. The sunlight grew thinner as he carried her into the woods, and followed a hard-packed dirt trail. As the last of the light faded he suddenly stopped and heaved her onto the ground.
The impact knocked the wind out of Rachel, and then Parnal yanked away the blanket and kicked her in the side as a group of men in heavy cloaks surrounded them.
“The facking witch herself, Marsters.” The drover drew back his boot to slam it into her again, and squealed with rage as one of the men dragged him back from Rachel. “You should ken that she cursed me. I’ve no’ a woman spread her thighs for me since she worked her foul magic on my poor soul.”
A pale hand thrust a heavy pouch of coins into Parnal’s hands.
“Say nothing of this to anyone,” a cold voice said.
“Ye think me a fool?” the drover said. He shoved the coins in his coat, and crouched down. “Remember Parnal,” he said to Rachel. “When they’re gnawing and sucking on ye, Mistress, remember ’twere I who put ye in their hands.”
He tried to spit in her face, but Rachel jerked her head aside before he could. One of the pale men seized him by the neck and shoved him away from her.
Rachel cringed as the pale men’s thoughts slithered into her mind. They hungered to feast on her by sinking their sharp fangs into her soft skin and swallowing her hot, rich blood. Some imagined raping her over and over as they drained her to death, while the others fantasized about enthralling her and keeping her as a personal slave. All of their insidious desires remained in check by an order that kept echoing over their fantasies: Bring the mortal female to the ship, but do not ha
rm her in any manner. Any who disobey will be lashed to the punishment post and left to greet the sun.
The only man who didn’t have any thoughts of violating her was the same one who had paid off the drover. In his mind Rachel saw the sea, endless and eternal, and heard him think: If the woman tells Quintus Seneca where he may find the highlander’s castle, then we shall end the McDonnels and the curse. We can finally go home.
That man stood over her as the rest of the pale men disappeared into the trees. They returned a short time later leading horses, one of which her guard mounted. Two of the others untied her and put her in front of her guard, who jerked the wad of cloth from her mouth. Rachel coughed and gagged.
“I am Optio Septus Lucanus,” the man said. “I’m in charge of this detail. We are far from the fair, so screaming will bring no one to your aid, Rachel Ingram. Neither can you escape us.” He pointed at the trees. “Try, and the boy dies a painful, ugly death, while you watch.”
How had he found out her name?
Rachel turned to look as another pale man rode up the trail to join them, and almost screamed as she saw the limp little body of Tris, the thimblerigger’s grandson, draped over his saddle.
“Do you understand me?” Lucanus demanded.
She swallowed bile and nodded, and the optio urged his horse into a fast trot, followed by the rest of the men. They rode out of the woods and down to the sea, where they headed west along the rocky shore. Rachel kept watching Tris, who thankfully didn’t wake during the bumpy ride, and kept her back stiff to avoid touching Lucanus.
The short journey ended as they passed through three towering, eroded cliffs and entered a hidden cove, where several small oar boats had been dragged up onto the rocks. They launched the boats, and then carried her and Tris out to deposit them into the one manned by Lucanus and two of his men. One pulled the boy onto his lap and held a blade to his little neck as the other rowed with the guard. Rachel didn’t see where they were taking them until the moon came out from behind the clouds and illuminated the silhouette of a huge black ship. That had to be their destination.
“I won’t try to escape, or cause any trouble,” Rachel said to Lucanus. “Please, take the boy back to his grandfather.”
“No talking,” he ordered and gave her a narrow glare before he regarded the unconscious child.
Rachel saw regret flicker over the optio’s stern features, and opened her mind to his. At first all she felt was his cold, unwavering determination, but then a brief memory of a laughing young boy in the arms of a slender, pretty woman flashed through his thoughts. When Lucanus had sailed with the Ninth Legion for Britannia, he had left a wife and son back in Rome. While they had died long ago, he still remembered what it was to be a husband, a father, and to have something to protect.
They finally reached the black ship, where rope ladders were lowered over the side. Lucanus gestured for the other two undead to go up, and hoisted Tris over his shoulder.
“Please,” Rachel whispered. “He’s just a little boy. Let him go.”
“I will ask my centurion if I may return him to his village.” He gave Rachel a fierce glare. “But say nothing more of him, or the prefect will torment the boy to compel you. I have seen him do terrible things to children, Rachel Ingram. Now climb up.”
She nodded quickly, and reached for the ladder. Her skirts made climbing up the slat rungs difficult, so she went slowly, and as soon as she was within reach of the crew they caught her arms and lifted her the rest of the way.
“Take them below,” Lucanus said, and handed Tris to Rachel.
Rachel held the boy tightly as three undead guards marched her across the rough planks to an open hatch. There they took her down several short stretches of narrow steps until she entered a large hold that stank of sweat, vomit and urine, and had been filled with people in chains. Some were bruised, others had torn clothing, but all of them looked terrified. One guard pushed her down onto a low bench, and shackled her by the ankle to the ginger-haired, freckled woman next to her.
No one made a sound until the undead sentries left and bolted the door to the hold from the outside. Once they were gone, however, whispers, angry mutters and sobs filled the air. Two girls who looked like sisters hugged each other as they wept openly. A group of tonsured men bowed their heads and murmured prayers in Latin.
Even without reading their minds the fear and despair the captives felt saturated Rachel, who tried to clear her head by checking Tris. He had a small bump on his forehead, and a much larger one at the base of his skull, but his breathing seemed normal. She tried to gently wake him, until the freckled woman next to her touched her arm.
“Leave yer bairn sleep now,” she said, and nodded at the door. “If he takes fright and cries too loud they’ll come and beat him senseless. If that should happen, we’ll gag him.”
“My thanks for the warning, Mistress,” Rachel said, taking care to use a Scottish accent. “He’s no’ my son. They took him from his grandfather at a village fair.”
“Och, the poor wee lad. My name is Glenna.” She brushed back a snarl of her light red hair and peered at Rachel’s face. “Ye’re no’ a highland lass. Are ye come up from the south, then?”
She shook her head. “The west. I’m Rachel.” She felt Tris shivering and held him closer to her, for the first time aware of how cold and damp the hold was. “Where are they taking us? Have they told you?”
“We go to our deaths, ye silly cow,” a male voice said behind her.
“Hold yer tongue, ye arse boil,” Glenna said. She scowled at him over her shoulder before she removed her shawl and tucked it around Tris. “There, that will warm him. We dinnae ken where we are to go. They clout us if we dare ask anything.”
The hours crawled by as Rachel waited and watched the door. Glenna told her how she had been abducted while returning home late from the docks where she worked with her fishmonger husband. He had left early to make a delivery.
“I said to my Donald, if I walk alone in the dark they’ll come for me, but did he listen? And now here I be.” Glenna rubbed her arms. “At least he’ll have to scale all his own fish now.”
She half-listened to the other woman, but Rachel couldn’t stop thinking about Evander, and what he would do when he found her missing from the fair. He had to know she wouldn’t wander off on her own, and he was a superb hunter. He would do everything he could to find her, but if the ship sailed, so would all her hope that he would. She knew one thing: she’d rather die than tell the undead Tribune anything about Evander, his clan or Dun Aran.
This can’t be the end of us, Rachel thought, her hands curling into tight fists. She had to do something to get off the ship and get back to her lover. Jumping off and swimming to shore wouldn’t work. She’d freeze in the icy water or get dragged under by her skirts. Hiding somewhere might buy her some time, if she could get out of her shackles.
She reached down to feel the cuff around her ankle, which had been carved out of wood and had a metal loop. She was able to wriggle the pin holding it to the chain joining her shackles to Glenna’s, and tightened her arm around Tris as she used her free hand to push down on the top of her boot in hopes of prying her foot out.
The freckled woman nudged her. “Dinnae even think it, lass,” she said in a low voice. “If they find ye’ve slipped from the chains, they’ll take ye next.”
“Take me where?” Rachel asked.
Everyone around them fell silent and still as wood scraped and the hold door swung open. Six undead guards entered, openly inspecting the faces of the cowering captives. The two young sisters were unchained and dragged from their benches, as were two other women and two of the monks. Then Lucanus strode in and came for Rachel.
As he unshackled her, she passed Tris to Glenna. “Look after him for me.”
The other woman had paled so much her freckles looked almost black, but she clutched the boy against her breasts and nodded quickly.
Lucanus took hold of Rachel’s arm as he
brought her above deck, but there separated her from the other captives and hauled her to the bow. As the women behind her screamed and begged for their lives Rachel swung around, only to be jerked back to face the optio.
“My men must feed, Rachel Ingram, and you are too much temptation for them,” he told her. “Stay here, and I will guard you until they finish.”
She caught a glimpse of one sister being pinned to the deck by three snarling undead, who were ripping at her bodice.
“They’re not just feeding, though, are they?” Rachel said. “Can’t you control them?” She froze as the optio grabbed her jaw in a painful hold. “Oh, is that what you have planned for me, Optio? Or will your tribune do the honors?”
“Quintus Seneca does not want you for your lovely face, and I do not care to greet the sun.” Lucanus let her go but leaned close to her, his eyes sheened with moonlight. “Tell the tribune what he wishes to know, and I will make you my thrall. You would be protected, Rachel Ingram. No other would use your body, or drink from your veins.”
Again, she felt no lust from him, only a terrible, lonely emptiness that he hoped she might fill.
“I’m flattered, Optio,” Rachel said as she probed his memories and misery. “But do you think Darius would be proud of his father for enslaving and raping a woman? Would Petronia?”
His expression filled with icy fury, and he rammed her back against the inner hull and held her there by the throat.
“You dare speak of my wife and child to me? You are nothing but…” He stopped, and his expression shifted from outrage to confusion. “How could you know their names?”
“I know a great deal about you,” Rachel said. “You were once a very decent man. A good husband, and a devoted father. You joined the legion so you could earn the money your family needed to buy land in the country.” His hand fell away from her neck, but she kept going. “You were going to build a house there for Petronia, and teach Darius how to train horses.”