Taking Essa by the good arm, he led her forward. She stumbled but righted herself quickly as the terrain became rockier toward the beginning of the ridge that met the cliffs just above the hidden cave entrance. From here, they would make their way through a narrow opening in the ridge, and then down a rocky path along the cliff face. They could have made the way easier to traverse by hammering iron loops along the way and threading chains through them for hand holds, but that would only make it easier for any potential raiders. Also, he was of the mind that if you didn’t have the bollocks to walk down the path to Dwyn Twll, you didn’t belong in Dwyn Twll.
At the very beginning of the descending path, Saban pulled the sack over Essa’s head up just enough for her to see her feet. She needed to walk on her own because carrying her would make the way much too treacherous for both of them.
“We are going down that,” she asked, her voice strained.
“Aye. Are you scared?” he goaded, a teasing smile she couldn’t see curling his lips.
She stiffened immediately, just like he knew she would. His prickly Spanish captive didn’t like being called a coward.
Hmmmm, I will have to use that later.
“No. I am not scared, only…frustrated at my lack of mobility. It will be difficult to walk down such a narrow path with my ankles still bound together this closely.”
Damn. She was correct. Sighing, he braced himself for any potential attack, crouched down, and removed the binding from around her ankles.
She groaned. His heart sped up at the sound. What would it be like to hear that same delicious noise as he entered her slowly?
The need to find out was like an urge, but he had to battle it back. It was neither the time and definitely not the place for a seduction. But there would be a time and place later.
“Come now,” he commanded, drawing her behind him as he began his descent. “Watch your step.”
She followed, her movements jerky, her breathing ragged. She was frightened, but that was expected from someone who was lifting her head to angle the sack over it so she could peer down the sheer rock face just two feet to her right.
He could hear her murmuring in Spanish, no doubt simultaneously cursing him and praying to God to save her. He wanted to chuckle; she should be praying to him.
Downward they continued, her steps cautious, his confident. He’d been traversing this pathway for as long as he could remember. It was etched into his memory. It took them longer than he’d hoped to reach the ledge where the entrance was but, once there, he readjusted the sack over her head to, once again, make her blind.
His heart roaring in his ears, like the crashing of the waves along the rocks beneath them, Saban drawled, “Welcome to Dwyn Twll, Esperanza.”
Chapter Nine
Essa wanted to scream but horror choked off her breath.
Dwyn Twll? She’d heard of it before. More like, she’d overheard some of the crew speaking about it. They spoke of it in harsh whispers, telling tales of a place so deep and dark, it was the closest point on earth to hell. It was a place of debauchery, torture, where the Ganwyd o’r Mor brought their female captives to murder them—but not until after they’d each had their turns with her. She’d heard about the drunkenness, the brawls, and how one whole side of the large cavern was piled high with all the plunder they’d stolen from the innocents they raided.
She swallowed down the bile that burned along her throat.
He had brought her to Dwyn Twll…what were his plans now? Rape? Torture? When he’d first told her he would torture her for information, she’d prepared herself for the worst. But then…he’d been almost kind to her. Now, after her refusal to give him any more information, it seemed as though he were determined to finish what he’d started. Gone was the man of sensual smiles and thought-stealing kisses. He meant to take from her what she’d refused to give in the cottage.
But why bring her to Dwyn Twll for that? He could have raped and tortured her in the cottage.
Perhaps he wants an audience to heighten the humiliation.
That thought made every muscle in her body seize up. She didn’t want to take another step, couldn’t take another step.
“You have brought me to such a place?” she asked, her voice laden with horrified incredulity. “Why would you do that?” Suddenly, desperation took hold of her tongue. “We can go back to the cottage, I will do whatever you want, I will tell you whatever you want, just do not take me in there!” She was shaking now, her pride just as badly shaken.
There was stunned silence, punctuated by the thundering of her heart.
Saban cursed under his breath then took hold of her elbow, his grip hard and painful.
“You called me a monster…so I will show you how much of a monster I truly am.”
She couldn’t see him, couldn’t feel the heat of his breath on her face, but she didn’t need either of those things to know the threat in his words. She could feel his striking green eyes burning a hole through the sack over her face, and she could sense the ragged tension falling from him in waves.
He tugged hard and she slammed into him, her feet tripping over whatever was littering the ledge. Before she could cry out and humiliate herself further by begging, Saban picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Her belly slammed into his shoulder just before her face slammed into his back. Her breath left her body on a surprised grunt and her nose tingled from where it hit the hard slab of muscle she couldn’t see. Her right arm tangled in the sling, she couldn’t push herself up and away to draw deep breaths, and the breaths she exhaled got stuck inside the sack that had somehow tightened around her head. It was like breathing soup.
Hermano would be so ashamed of me, his only sister. And not only because she had gotten herself into this situation, but also because she had nearly begged Saban—begged! Like a weak and terrified mouse. She wasn’t a mouse, she was a Fernandez—one of the greatest and most fearsome of families. Si, she had blubbered about wanting to go back to the cottage, but that’s because she’d allowed the terror too much reign. Now, though, she would face whatever was to come with her back straight, her gaze set, and her pride intact.
Saban Rees would never break her. So, she held her breath, trying to keep her thoughts clear, as Saban continued forward, his gait even. The bastard couldn’t even stumble like a normal person would! Finally, the sounds of the surf crashing into the rocks died down, then there was a sort of trickling noise, like water dripping from a ceiling and into a puddle. A chill passed over her skin as the light of the sun diminished. They were inside now.
Underground.
A passage, in the cliffside…that led down into the place of her nightmares. She pinched her eyes shut and let out the breath she’d been holding. The heat and lack of air inside the sack was slowly stealing her wits.
Focus! You must be ready for what is coming!
Though the man was carrying a human burden, he barely made a noise as he moved, the crunch of his leather boots echoing off the walls as they continued. Then, the echoing stopped…and the cacophony of voices began.
There were people—many people—and laughter and singing and…children?
Unable to draw more air into her body, her head was swimming. She must’ve misheard—her addled mind conjuring things. The only possible reason there would be laughing and children in Dwyn Twll was because they were laughing at the children as they were being tortured—they were monsters. Monsters only ever hurt children.
Her body vibrating with rage and disgust, Essa struggled against Saban’s hold. Then, suddenly, she was falling. A screech cut off in her throat when she landed, ass first, in something soft. Thin, somewhat coarse stalks caught between her fingers.
Hay. She was laying in hay. Hay in a sea cave? Why…
Her thoughts came to halt when the sack around her head was pulled free. Light flooded her eyes and she squeezed them shut against the burning. After a moment, she blinked, blinked again, and then dared herself to open her eyes.
But what horrors would she see?
Peeling her lids open, she was greeted by four sets of curious eyes. Child’s eyes. Four children.
She gasped, trying to sit up. But without her hands to prop her up, she could only roll to one side and stare up at the four children who’d gathered around to gawk at her warily. They murmured to one another from behind their hands.
They were speaking in, what she assumed, was Welsh—a truly lyrical and yet striking language. For a moment, she wondered what Saban would sound like speaking his natural language. When speaking in English, his accent did strange things to her belly. She couldn’t imagine what hearing him speak in Welsh would sound like.
Essa hadn’t expected for her answer to come so quickly. Someone called out a name she recognized and she turned her head, catching sight of Saban where he was standing, leaning casually against a building. A building! She didn’t have time to ponder that before she saw a large, bare-chested man barreling toward her. His face was a storm cloud of anger, and every movement was an explosion of aggression. Every sense in her body screamed “Run! Escape!” But she couldn’t move, she could only stare as the man came closer.
Then, Saban was there, holding the man back as he barked to him, his words in Welsh and authoritative. The angry man replied, his voice low, without ever taking his eyes off of her. She could feel his hatred pouring from him, overwhelming her in a thick cloud.
She grit her teeth and met his gaze. He could hate her all he wanted, his hatred was returned a hundredfold. All of the Ganwyd o’r Mor deserved her hatred.
“Brendan!” Saban growled, startling Essa. “She is here as my guest.”
At that, Brendan’s head snapped toward Saban, his eyes wide.
“What?” Brendan asked, obviously stunned by what his leader had just said. But no one was as stunned as Essa.
His guest? Ha! I am his prisoner and he has brought me here to…her internal thoughts slowed to a crawl as she finally allowed herself to look around.
The men continued talking to one another in low and growly tones, but she didn’t pay attention to them. She couldn’t, she was aghast at what she was seeing.
She was inside a massive sea cave. The ceiling was hundreds of feet high. The floor of the cave was wide open, allowing for what looked like a small settlement to be built. There were seven cottages, a moderately-sized building, an animal pen—which was probably why she was laying in hay—complete with several goats and sheep, a moderately-sized storage house where men and women were visiting and obtaining items. And then…on the very edge of the settlement was a dock. The dock was like three long, wooden fingers, stretching out over an underground lagoon.
Her breath caught.
It was incredible.
“Surprised?” Saban appeared beside her, crouching down to her eye level. She didn’t look to see if the belligerent Brendan was still there. “Not what you expected, is it?” he asked, his wolfish grin reminding her what an arrogant ass he was.
Huffing, she remarked, “I have yet to see the whole of it. Perhaps you keep your torture victims inside one of those dwellings.” Who was she fooling? While she’d never been in a dungeon or prison before, she would assume that the air of oppression and agony would hang heavy over them. In here, there was none of that. There were at least two dozen people, some of them moving from one building to another, some standing and talking and laughing with one another, and some had stopped to stare in their direction. The number of children who had gathered had grown to seven, but why were they staring with such uncertainty? No doubt it was a common enough thing to see a prisoner in their midst.
“You are the first prisoner they have ever seen,” Saban remarked, stunning Essa further.
“That cannot be. I cannot be the only prisoner you have taken,” she blurted, her eyes wide and searching his expression for signs of deception. Some of the children giggled, their tinkling laughter a striking reminder of how wrong she had been.
How is this possible?
“You are serious…” She shook her head, disbelief surging through her, dampening the fear that had been her companion since Saban put the sack over her head.
Saban’s grin was her answer. Suddenly irritated by his arrogance, she narrowed her gaze and scowled at him.
“Was this necessary?” She raised her good hand to push her hair from her face.
“Aye,” Saban replied, chuckling. “You would not have believed me otherwise.”
She sniffed, thrusting her chin in the air.
“You know the truth of it, Esperanza.” Her name on his tongue was a form of wickedness no priest could ever warn her against. “You are loyal to your brother—which I can understand—and your brother has filled your head with many falsehoods regarding the Ganwyd o’r Mor. You would not have taken my word as truth, and so I had to show you.”
She swallowed. His words were like a kick to the chest. She was loyal to her brother, she loved him, and he had told her many terrible things about the Welsh smugglers. She knew them as truth—why would she believe otherwise. But now…
No! Your brother would not have lied to you about his enemy. What does he gain?
Your fear—the answer came swiftly.
“Tell me, Essa…what did your brother tell you about our smuggler’s den? Orgies? Torture devices?” She tensed as he began listing off all of the things her brother had claimed. “Oh…and my favorite…the wall piled high with goods we stole from coastal villages we pillaged.”
Her stomach twisted into a knot as something suspiciously like doubt filled her belly.
“Could you…” She sucked in a breath and then exhaled slowly. “Could you show me more?” Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his. He was staring at her, his expression a mixture of mirth, desire, and wariness. His green eyes flashed from bright to dark, as though his thoughts were flickering candles.
“Aye,” he answered on a sigh. “But do not tread where I do not lead you. There are those here who would kill you if you set a finger on anything without permission.” His gaze flicked to someone in the far corner. She didn’t need to look to know it was Brendan.
She went to roll to her other side to prop herself up on her elbow, away from his intense gaze, but his hand on her belly stayed her. She stopped breathing.
“I will show you our home…”
Essa could hear a warning in his tone, and she knew what else was coming.
“But you must give me what I need.”
She stiffened. “Information or my body?” she asked blatantly.
He had the audacity to look affronted before another wicked smile broke out over his face.
“I will settle for information…” Essa wanted to cry with relief, until he purred the next words. “For now.”
“Comandante, I have news,” Carlos Melgar, the captain of his second, smaller ship, La Luna y Mar, gushed, his breathing labored from his run to Ernesto’s study in the farthest reaches of the massive castillo. Carlos, used to decadent foods and rich wines, was a fat man with a pale face and weak chin. Ernesto hated the sight of the man, but he didn’t have the luxury of finding another captain in such a short time. He needed to find Esperanza. The longer she was gone, the greater the chance of his failure—and he refused to fail. He’d been planning this for fifteen years, he would be damned if the bitch’s sudden desire for adventure cost him all that he had been working toward for two decades.
“What news?” he asked, his voice snapping with impatience.
Carlos’ shoulders slumped and the whole of his rotund middle shook with his trembling. Dios, the man was a worm. Ernesto bit back a growl, forcing himself to stare at the idiota. “Speak!”
“Santiago.” Carlos’ voice came out in a pained whisper.
Ernesto tensed, his heart shuddering at the uttering of that name.
“Spit it out! What of Santiago?” Ernesto barked, his blood pumping wildly through his veins. It was not a good time to hear that name—it was never a good time to h
ear that name, but to hear it now…it could mean disaster.
“The men on the docks have heard that he sails for the Irish Sea,” Carlos mumbled, his fat lips trembling.
Dios mío! No! No! No! The Irish Sea was much too close to Port Eynon Bay and the remains of his crew. He still did not know what happened to La Corona, the ship they’d used in the obviously ill-planned raid. No doubt, the crew left on board would retreat, heading back to San Sebastian to regroup, restock, and wait for their next orders.
That was if they even survived. He’d known that raiding a Welsh ship was risky, but they had been teasing him, leaving their smuggled goods on their sloop, anchored in the harbor. His spies had said that the sloop was manned with only a few sentries, so it should have been easy enough to take the sloop, sail it into open waters, and remove its wealth of cargo.
But nothing had gone to plan, and now his most precious possession was missing.
The urge to grab Carlos by the neck and squeeze the life from him was nigh on impossible to withstand, but he did. Despite his hatred for the cerdo, he needed him…especially since he apparently required a distraction.
“Marion has taken El Matador del Mar to Port Eynon Bay to see what has become of La Corona. As you know, my sister was impetuous; she joined the crew and sailed with them to Wales.”
Carlos nodded, his eyes wide. “Yes, I have heard.”
Ernesto offered Carlos a smile, one that held no warmth. “Good. I need your help, Carlos,” he drawled, walking to the man and placing a companionable arm around the man’s wide shoulders. “Take La Luna y Mar and sail to Cobh. Anchor a mile off shore and fly the Demonios flag.”
Ernesto could feel the tremor moving through Carlos. That man was frightened.
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