Page 53 of A Fearless Rebel

Just then, another set of footsteps sounded, but Keithen could not force his eyelids to open.

“Keithen’s horse has returned,” someone said.

Chapter Sixteen

For two long days, she’d been in the dark crate that rocked side to side on the back of a wagon.

Ava had given up on crying or attempting to scream past the dirty rag that had been stuffed in her mouth. The cramped space stunk from her own urine and lack of ventilation, and she pressed her face against the side, attempting to get fresh air and to see through the tiny cracks between jagged boards.

Sea air permeated the crate and she knew that, soon, she’d be loaded aboard a ship and taken far away.

When a man neared the wagon, she kicked the crate. He looked in her direction for only an instant, shrugged and then kept walking.

Frustrated that every effort had failed, she fell back against the other side of the crate and tried to think of what to do.

If only she’d stayed at the small village she’d come upon after being left behind. The small village of Kildonan was not far from Ross lands, so she’d decided it was best to continue south. The following night, a pair of men accosted her while she’d slept.

She’d expected to be attacked by them after being tied up, but when they’d lifted her skirts and seen blood, they pronounced her to be unclean. If not for the circumstances, she would have laughed at the thought that men who considered raping a woman would then call the woman dirty.

“Mayhap we can keep her healthy long enough to sell her,” the man with appalling teeth had muttered.

They’d bound and gagged her and thrown her over a horse, and finally put her into a wooden crate. She’d struggled and not made it easy for them to stuff her into the tight space, but they’d overcome her easily.

Once again, her stomach cramped, and she hoped not to have to relieve herself. Silently, she prayed to be let out of the crate.

Moments later, the cramping became worse and she doubled over, moaning. Wave after wave of pain tightened her midsection unlike anything she’d felt before. It was too dark to see, but the smell was unmistakable.

Blood.

She wasn’t sure how long it continued until, finally, she fell into a fitful sleep.

Light followed by fresh air made Ava wake.

A man’s face came into focus.

“She’s gotten worse. No one will give us any coin for her. She won’t finish the trip. She’ll be dead in a day or two.”

Two other faces peered down at her. The men who’d taken her. One of them wrinkled his nose. “Why is she all bloody?”

“Leave her. She’ll die soon,” the first man assured them. They replaced the top on the crate.

Moments later, the crate was lifted and lowered to the ground. Then not so gently, it was shoved against something.

The putrid smell of rotting fish made Ava nauseous and she heaved, praying not to get sick since the rag was still shoved into her mouth.

Lifting to her knees, she pushed at the top of the crate with her head, and it gave way. The men had been so convinced of her imminent death that they’d not bothered to nail it shut.

“Ye’re a bloody mess.” A craggy face appeared over her. It was hard to tell if it was a man or a woman who stood next to the crate. “Here.” The person held out a dirty hand. “Come on, I’ll help ye out.”

Ava did her best to stand, but her legs wobbled. She fell against the side of the crate and it tipped over. She grimaced when her shoulder hit the ground but was so happy to be out of the crate, it didn’t matter if it hurt.

“Ah, ye’re tied up,” the person said, yanking the cloth from her mouth. “Let’s see here.”

She now guessed the person was a woman because she wore long, dirty, gray skirts. “I normally do not help strangers, but ye are left behind, so I am thinking no one’s coming for ye.”

“Water?” Ava croaked.

“None to be had,” the woman said, cackling and untying her hands. “Got a bit of ale.” She held up a bottle with a cracked top. “Only a sip.”