Page 9 of The Darkland

“Ah, what have we here?” The knight gripped her with both hands, studying her beauty. “A fine, fine catch, I’d say.”

She struggled to be free, smelling the liquor on his breath. “I demand you release me immediately!”

“But why?” He shifted his grip, touching her face with a thick finger. “Christ, you’re a lovely one. Name your price.”

Grimacing with exertion, Mara shoved an elbow into his throat, managing to dislodge his hold. But no sooner had she bound to her feet than another knight grabbed her.

“Hold, lady,” he growled. “Not so fast. He asked you to name your price.”

Mara knew what they meant. She’s spent too much time exposed to the atmosphere taverns to interpret any other meaning. Her indignation was joined by a healthy measure of fear as she struggled to free herself from yet another accoster.

“No price,” she hissed. “Let me alone!”

The knight was strong. He and his three companions were enjoying her torment, drunk with too much food and alcohol.

“I shall give you five gold pieces, lass.” The first knight who had grabbed her, an older man, was searching for his purse in spite of the fact that she had shoved her elbow into his neck.

“I told you,” she grunted, succeeding in freeing one hand. “I am not for sale. Find your pleasure with another.”

“The whole world’s for sale, at the right price.” The knight who held her captive received a slap on the chin for his troubles. “Come on, love. We shall be gentle, we promise.”

With a grunt, Mara yanked herself free and stumbled over a chair, struggling to get away. The knights laughed, the older man rising to his feet in pursuit. Mara managed to get around the chair, planning to duck out through the kitchens when a powerful arm grasped her around the waist.

She could smell the ale on his breath, making her gag as his lips pressed against her ear. “Come along, sweetling. It’s been a long time since I have tasted flesh as sweet as yours.”

Mara’s feet were dangling off the ground, her slight weight nothing against his strength. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was to sense panic. And she had a load of it. Kicking and twisting, she refused to let him take her without a fight.

Wondering, as he struggled to get her up the stairs to his rented room, if the price of her spite against Kirk Connaught would be too high.

*

It was exceedinglylate. The rains had lessened again, the highs and lows of harsh winter weather, leaving the landscape wet and miserable. The only light was from the fire or the torches men carried as they wentabout their rounds, protecting the camp perimeter and the ladies it housed.

Kirk had been tending Corwin’s charger, the animal having pulled a tendon during the journey. Leaving the charger with a wrap on its leg and a worried master, he made his way through the wet foliage and into the hub of the smoky encampment.

He passed Niles, sound asleep in a make-shift tent. The sound of the man’s snoring was enough to wake the dead and Kirk kicked the knight’s exposed foot as he passed by. The man rolled to his side and the obnoxious sound quieted.

The ladies tent was set away from the others purely for privacy’s sake. Kirk was almost to his tent when he paused, thinking to check on the women before he turned in for the night. Wondering if the little she-devil had managed to fall asleep in spite of the fact that the drooping structure wasn’t her precious inn.

He paused outside of the tent, listening. It was completely silent. Carefully, he lifted the edge of the flap, peering inside; Lady Micheline was sleeping soundly, curled on Edmund’s furs. But the bed next to her was empty and Kirk threw back the covering, his stone-gray eyes blazing.

“Lady Micheline,” he hissed. “Micheline!”

Micheline jolted awake. “M-My lord?”

“Where is your sister?”

Micheline blinked, looking at the bedding beside her. Touching it, as if to make sure it was truly empty, she shook her head.

“I d-do not know, my lord,” she said truthfully. “Mayhap she is in the bramble… relieving herself, as it were.”

“She’s not in the bramble. I have sentries all over this camp and someone would have told me.”

Micheline struggled to clear the cobwebs of sleep from her mind, thinking. “She was perturbed that you refused to take us to an inn. Mayhap she…”

That was all Kirk needed to hear. He was half-way across the encampment, heading for the tethered chargers before Micheline realized what was happening. Plain blue eyes wide with fright, she hovered at the edge of the tent, watching as Kirk thundered from camp astride his great red beast. Dazed and apprehensive, she had little choice but to return to the huddle of Edmund’s furs.

But she did not sleep.