Page 16 of Halloween Knight (A Knights Through Time Romance #17)
When Lucy came to, she was slumped on a cold floor, her mouth dry and head throbbing. Blinking hard, she tried to make sense of what was happening as rough hands hauled her to her feet.
“Forgive us, lady, but you must come with us now. No harm will befall you if you remain silent.”
Lucy desperately tried to break their grip, but her limbs felt like lead. All she could do was stumble along as they pulled her through a door and out into the chilly night air.
A horse whinnied off in the distance. Lucy tried to scream, but they’d tied the gag too tight. She thrashed and writhed to no avail as they lifted her and slung her belly-down over a horse.
Before she could wiggle her way off, a man who smelled like he hadn’t bathed in at least a month settled himself on the horse, pinning her in place.
He held up the dagger from her boot. “I thank you for the fine dagger. ”
Before she could give him a piece of her mind, he actually slapped her on the rump like she was a blasted horse.
“Quickly now, ride!” One of the men ordered.
With a lurch, the horse sprang forward, the crushing grip from her captor keeping Lucy from slipping off and escaping. They were stealing her from the Priory. She wasn’t important enough to ransom, so why and where were they taking her?
Panic flooded her veins as the horse galloped into the night. No one even knew she was missing. Suddenly, her thoughts went to her children, and she renewed her struggles, though her weakened limbs still refused to obey.
As the horse ran on, her mind raced, desperately seeking some means of escape, but try as she might, she couldn’t break free.
At one point, the gag came loose and Lucy screamed, swearing up a storm, until the man stopped and retied the gag.
She could only hope that her absence would soon be noted and Thomas would find a trail to follow. But with each minute that passed, hope dimmed. She was utterly trapped and at the mercy of these men.
As Lucy drifted in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses of moonlight on fields and far-off villages, her last thoughts were of William and her children. Would she ever see them again?
’Twas quiet along the road, most of the travelers having stopped for the day, as Callan continued on, enjoying riding instead of walking as the afternoon deepened to evening. If he did not come upon an inn soon, he’d sleep rough, but he could do with a good meal for him and the horse.
In the last village he’d passed through, a blacksmith told Callan he was five days ride from Blackford.
As he was wondering what his half-brother would think when they met, a sense of foreboding crept over him, a gut feeling that he was being watched.
They came from the trees, Englishmen with murder in their eyes. There was nowhere to run. He dismounted and crouched, blades in both hands.
It was no use. Callan could not take all of them, there were too many. As he went down on one knee, he spotted the nobleman, the one whose horse and purse he’d stolen, the man who with the young wife, and he knew. They would hang him before this night was done.
The nobleman, dressed in rich velvet adorned with a jeweled brooch, strode forward, a mix of fury and recognition etched across his features.
Sir Roland Hedgethorn drew himself up, pointing at Callan.
“We hang horse thieves in England.”
Callan merely cocked a brow, his voice laced with bored amusement.
“I found this horse wandering near an inn.”
A muffled sound drew Callan’s attention to the horses, where a hooded man was tossed over the horse like a sack of grain. The sound came again as he narrowed his eyes, listening.
’Twas no man, ’twas a woman these English bastards had taken. He caught a glimpse of long brown hair and eyes the color of a thunderstorm.
“Ye kidnap helpless women, you English have no honor.”
The man’s face contorted with anger. “He’s seen too much. Take him with us.”
One of the mercenaries snarled, “the whoreson has seen the lady. Hang him and be done with it. ”
But Sir Roland shook his head, his face red, his breathing labored. “This road is heavily traveled. We do not want to risk any questions.”
Having thought about it for a moment, he decided.
“No, he comes with us.”
Then he curled his lip at Callan. “We’ll hang the damned Scot from the tree outside my solar. I will gaze upon his corpse as the crows take his eyes.”
“I quite like my eyes.” Callan was about to tell the Englishman what he could do with his tree when the blow came from behind. As he crumpled to the ground, Callan decided he shouldn’t have been surprised, for everyone knew the English had no honor.
The pounding in his head made his teeth ache as Callan squinted up at the sky. They rode through the gates of a fine manor house, continuing on to a stout stone building near the edge of the woods.
The mercenaries roughly tossed Callan into a dimly lit room, the door clanging shut behind him.
There was an open area at the front of the storage building with a table and stools along with a hearth, and there were two simple rooms, each with a barred door.
From the strong smell of wine, Callan thought Sir Roland must dabble in a wee bit of smuggling.
As the night deepened, a grizzled man with a scar along his jaw entered carrying bread and ale. He eyed Callan with a mix of pity and indifference.
“Here’s your last supper, you Scotch bastard. Tomorrow, you’ll hang,” the man smiled, showing a few missing teeth as he shoved the offering through the narrow window in the door .
Callan accepted the meager meal with a grin. “Ye wouldn’t happen to have a key to this bonny cell, would you?”
The man sneered. “You’d be dead before you reached the forest.”
Sometime during the night, Callan woke to see two of the men dump the woman into the room across from him, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a telltale bloom of a bruise around her eye and chin. When they left, he softly called out, “lass, are ye unharmed?”
There was no answer. He tried a few more times, but she did not answer.
As the first light of dawn filtered through a narrow window at the end of the corridor, all was quiet. A few hours later, Callan heard two of the men talking, the wind carrying their voices through the open window.
Sir Roland, along with two of his men, had been struck down by smallpox during the night. Perhaps the fates smiled upon Callan yet.