her.
There were five men wearing the brightly colored garb and plumed hats that marked them as His Majesty’s cavaliers, but under their elegant trappings they reeked of unwashed clothes and alcohol. He bared his teeth and bit back a feral growl. They were ignoring Caroline for now, tapping at walls with the butts of their swords and digging at the floorboards. He considered darting in, grabbing her and making a run for it, but he didn’t even know if she could walk. He wished he could give her some signal to let her know she wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t risk alerting her captors.
The guilt, the terror, the boiling rage at seeing Caroline so abused, gave way to an icy calm. His breathing slowed, his heart steadied and his attention focused to a razor’s edge as he assessed his opponents. A bullet-headed man next to Caroline without his sword. A handsome black-haired man dressed finer than the rest, commanding the center of the room. A rat-faced fellow and a blond man with a split lip knocking on walls, and a bookish-looking fellow with a wickedly curved dagger poking at floorboards in the corner. He observed each in turn before slipping past the doorway and continuing down the hall.
The longsword was mounted on the wall in his father’s study. He’d eyed it many a time, fascinated by its lethal beauty and the chilling inscription etched into the blade.
Lex Talionis, the law of revenge.
The blue steel blade snicked and hissed as he slid it from its mounting. Gripping the wolf’s-head pommel with both hands he laid the weapon cross-shoulder and went back for his sister. He ar rived just in time to see the bullet-headed man grab Caroline by her arm and wrench her to her feet. His fingers itched and he brought his weapon forward, silent, shifting his grip so he held it like a spear for stabbing. Not yet, though. He waited for them to turn away.
“Come, little mistress.” The man gave Caroline a shake.
“Tell us where it is, or what you’ve heard, and we’ll leave you in peace to play with your dollies.”
“Speak for yourself, Harris,” the blond man said. “She’s too old for dolls, that one, and we’ve other things she can play with.”
Bullet Head shook her again, then fisted his hand in what remained of her dress and lifted her off the ground, so her feet had to scrabble for purchase. “Is that right, pretty mistress? You want to play games?” he cooed.
Caroline was sobbing and pleading, fighting for air as the collar of her dress cut off her breath, trying to tell them she didn’t know. She didn’t understand what they wanted.
“Get on with it, gentlemen,” the black-haired one snapped, apparently more sober than the rest. “There’s militia in the area. We haven’t all day. It’s clear she knows nothing.
Finish her, Johnny, and let’s be gone.”
“Well, that’s a bloody waste of an evening,” Johnny Harris protested. “I’ve got a use for her if the rest of you don’t.
Move on if you please, lads. I shan’t be long.”
“Pah,” Golden Hair spat. “Let’s all have a go, then. ’Tis only sporting.” He joined the one named Johnny and yanked at her skirt.
Caroline began a desperate struggle, clawing and kicking.
“Enough, you damn fools,” the man with the curved blade shouted. “If I have to, I’ll cut her throat myself.” He rose and started in her direction and there was no more time left.
The force that held him frozen loosened its grip. It was as if time had stopped, trapping him outside it, only allowing him to observe, then started again, so that everything came at him in a rush. He raised his sword high over his head and it was then that Caroline saw him. Their eyes locked for an instant, hers horrified, imploring, trying to give him some message, but it was lost in the commotion as he charged. He barreled forward with all his strength, screaming his fury, his target the man approaching her with the knife.
Slow and sodden and unprepared, his target
There were five men wearing the brightly colored garb and plumed hats that marked them as His Majesty’s cavaliers, but under their elegant trappings they reeked of unwashed clothes and alcohol. He bared his teeth and bit back a feral growl. They were ignoring Caroline for now, tapping at walls with the butts of their swords and digging at the floorboards. He considered darting in, grabbing her and making a run for it, but he didn’t even know if she could walk. He wished he could give her some signal to let her know she wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t risk alerting her captors.
The guilt, the terror, the boiling rage at seeing Caroline so abused, gave way to an icy calm. His breathing slowed, his heart steadied and his attention focused to a razor’s edge as he assessed his opponents. A bullet-headed man next to Caroline without his sword. A handsome black-haired man dressed finer than the rest, commanding the center of the room. A rat-faced fellow and a blond man with a split lip knocking on walls, and a bookish-looking fellow with a wickedly curved dagger poking at floorboards in the corner. He observed each in turn before slipping past the doorway and continuing down the hall.
The longsword was mounted on the wall in his father’s study. He’d eyed it many a time, fascinated by its lethal beauty and the chilling inscription etched into the blade.
Lex Talionis, the law of revenge.
The blue steel blade snicked and hissed as he slid it from its mounting. Gripping the wolf’s-head pommel with both hands he laid the weapon cross-shoulder and went back for his sister. He ar rived just in time to see the bullet-headed man grab Caroline by her arm and wrench her to her feet. His fingers itched and he brought his weapon forward, silent, shifting his grip so he held it like a spear for stabbing. Not yet, though. He waited for them to turn away.
“Come, little mistress.” The man gave Caroline a shake.
“Tell us where it is, or what you’ve heard, and we’ll leave you in peace to play with your dollies.”
“Speak for yourself, Harris,” the blond man said. “She’s too old for dolls, that one, and we’ve other things she can play with.”
Bullet Head shook her again, then fisted his hand in what remained of her dress and lifted her off the ground, so her feet had to scrabble for purchase. “Is that right, pretty mistress? You want to play games?” he cooed.
Caroline was sobbing and pleading, fighting for air as the collar of her dress cut off her breath, trying to tell them she didn’t know. She didn’t understand what they wanted.
“Get on with it, gentlemen,” the black-haired one snapped, apparently more sober than the rest. “There’s militia in the area. We haven’t all day. It’s clear she knows nothing.
Finish her, Johnny, and let’s be gone.”
“Well, that’s a bloody waste of an evening,” Johnny Harris protested. “I’ve got a use for her if the rest of you don’t.
Move on if you please, lads. I shan’t be long.”
“Pah,” Golden Hair spat. “Let’s all have a go, then. ’Tis only sporting.” He joined the one named Johnny and yanked at her skirt.
Caroline began a desperate struggle, clawing and kicking.
“Enough, you damn fools,” the man with the curved blade shouted. “If I have to, I’ll cut her throat myself.” He rose and started in her direction and there was no more time left.
The force that held him frozen loosened its grip. It was as if time had stopped, trapping him outside it, only allowing him to observe, then started again, so that everything came at him in a rush. He raised his sword high over his head and it was then that Caroline saw him. Their eyes locked for an instant, hers horrified, imploring, trying to give him some message, but it was lost in the commotion as he charged. He barreled forward with all his strength, screaming his fury, his target the man approaching her with the knife.
Slow and sodden and unprepared, his target
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