Wesley put his hands up. “I mean you no harm. What happened here?” he asked.
One of the men gathered his courage and stood. “We were robbed, sir. Six fellows dressed remarkably like you robbed us and took off with one of the passengers.”
Wesley swallowed. He took note of each passenger,
“A young woman disguised as a widow,” the man said as if guessing his thoughts. Wesley's knees locked and he almost stumbled, but he held his reaction in check.
“Which direction did they go?” he asked.
The occupants pointed toward the horse trail that went through the trees. Wesley picked up the pistol from the ground. It was still primed and loaded. He turned to find Ned closing the groom’s eyes and folding his arms over his chest.
“He is dead,” Ned said.
Some of the passengers went to rouse the coachman and sit him up.
Wesley divested the coachman of his pistol. “I'm going after her,” he said. “Ned, stay with them, get them to the next village, and I'll meet you there.”
“There were six of them,” an older gentleman said. “There is not six of you.”
Wesley clenched his teeth as he tucked the pistols in his waist. They'd taken the woman he loved. Six men were not enough to stop him from going after them and rescuing her. Wesley bolted onto his horse and charged into the woods. He wasn't a soldier or a man accustomed to violence, but he boxed, he could shoot, and he considered himself braver than most. He slowed his horse, scanning the path ahead, the turns blocked by brush and trees.
They probably didn't think anyone would dare follow them. No, they couldn't know that Wesley and Ned had come upon them so soon after the robbery. He had an advantage, but not if they surprised him first or heard him coming. The trail was uneven with low-hanging branches. They couldn't move swiftly.
Wesley dismounted and walked his horse. He came over a short rise and ducked to the side, pulling his steed as close to the tree line as possible.
There'd been a horseman, he'd seen the rump of a horse just beyond the turn. He tethered his horse and waded through the brush until he got closer. Farther up the path was a clearing and a tumbledown structure with six horses tethered outside. Wesley moved closer and he could hear laughter coming from inside, along with muffled shrieks. A side door burst open, and a man came out and began to relieve himself on the wall.
Wesley crouched low in the bushes. Another man came out and joined the first.
“Not a good loot but not terrible either,” one man said.
They were dressed in the same brown coat and trousers similar to what Wesley was wearing, as the travelers had mentioned.
“I don't know what it is about killing a man that makes me hungry,” the other man said.
The first man laughed and clapped him on the back.
“I can't wait to get a taste of that woman once Gerard is done.”
“Then you better hurry,” the second man said while shaking his willie and buttoning his breeches. Both men went back inside.
Breathing hard, Wesley drew the pistols from his waistband. He wasn't sure how he was going to catch six men unaware or what was inside there, but the devil himself couldn't stop him. He charged the door, kicking it open, and fired at the two blokes who had just entered. They both went down while the others ducked for cover.
Quickly scanning the dim interior, he could see a blacksmith's forge filled with the scattered remains of their pillaging. Wesley didn't see Willa, but he did see a hulk of a man come out of hiding, stepping out as if his great bulk was armor itself. He picked up an object and began to swing it.
Wesley squinted in the darkness.
Is that a bloody mace flail?
“Stay back or I'll shoot you,” Wesley said.
The giant swung the mace and grinned menacingly. Wesley aimed for the bloke’s chest, but when he pulled the trigger the gun misfired. He tossed it aside. He only had one shot left. He had to make it count. To his left was a table with scattered pieces of armor. He picked up a helmet and slid it over his head, then he picked up the broadsword.
“Shall we?” He'd never wielded a broadsword before, but he hoped his fencing skills would compensate.
* * *
The tendons in Willa's arms screamed as she hung, her hands bound by rope and slung over a hook in the wall. Her toes just barely reached the dirt and hay covered floor. She hated to think how many women had been there before her. In one corner of the room was a bed and a pail on the opposite wall that smelled like a chamber pot. Her stomach turned over, bile rising in her throat. She managed to remain somewhat calm as her captors brought her to their lair and hitched her to the wall like strung up meat. They began drinking heavily. Her captor, Gerard, as he was called by the others, had gone to get some food and promised to make himself presentable for the romantic evening.
