“You will be seeing him soon.”
Turning away from the chuckling men, she settled back into her niche amongst the sacks. She had guessed that Charles Pickney was behind it all. Nevertheless, having it confirmed by his men badly sank what little spirit she had left.
Increasing her dismay was the lack of any knowledge of what had happened to Bek. She had wanted some assurance that the boy was at least alive or that Lady Elizabeth had found some scrap of maternal feelings and tended to his injuries before running away. Instead she was left with only her last sight of the boy, a vision suited only to give her torment.
Since there was no way to get an answer to ease her worry, she turned her thoughts to her own precarious position. Taking a closer look at the sky dimmed her brief hope of a swift rescue. The day was nearly at an end. Rescue would clearly not come until she was in Pickney’s hold. For now, her safety was in her own hands.
That she would be in Pickney’s grasp meant Thayer’s life was in danger, she realized with a thrill of alarm. She would be used as the bait to bring her husband to his own murder. It was a thought too horrible to contemplate, but she knew she could not ignore it. For Thayer’s sake, it was important that she fully face the danger. If there was any chance of thwarting Pickney’s scheme, however small, she had to be alert for it, ready to grasp it quickly.
Closing her eyes, she decided she could well be in an untenable position. A sense of defeat swept over her, and for a moment she gave into it. She was tired, her head hurt, her body felt bruised all over, and she was in increasingly desperate need to relieve herself. Defeat seemed a thoroughly proper thing to be feeling.
The wagon slowing to a stop pulled her from her self-pity. It was as she shifted around to see where they were that she became fully aware of a new discomfort. Looking down at her bound wrists, she saw that they had become swollen. She did not bother to look at her ankles, knowing they would be the same.
She gave a startled cry when one of the men—the shorter, bulkier of the pair—picked her up to lift her out of the wagon. When he set her on her feet, she began to collapse. With her bound-together arms, she managed to use the back of the wagon to stop herself from falling to the ground. She glared at the two men who, oblivious to her plight, began to set up a campsite.
“I need some assistance,” she said, using a haughty, imperious tone to ease the sting of having to ask them for help.
“My, my, Henry, heed her ladyship,” said the man who had lifted her from the wagon. “Help yourself, m’lady.”
“If I did not need help, I would not even lower myself to speak to you. Your bonds have caused some swelling, and it hinders me. If I attempt to move without aid I shall fall, which could hurt the child I carry.”
Henry shrugged. “So crawl. Me and John have work to do.”
“And Pickney will probably be pleased,” said John, “if you did lose that babe.”
“He may be, but my husband, the Red Devil, would be sent into a murderous rage.”
“Let him rage. He will be dead ere he can do anything. John and me need not fear him.”
“Nay? Who is to say he will die?”
“Well, Pickney plans—” began John.
“Plans do not always go as a man wants them to.” She almost smiled when she saw the worry that crept into their expressions. “A smart man would weigh his moves carefully.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Henry.
“I mean he would think what he could do to please both sides—or, at least, placate them.”
“No one can do that.” John snorted with nervous scorn.
“Nay? Pickney wishes me brought to him alive. The Red Devil wants me alive and still carrying his child. I cannot see that both would really be so hard to accomplish. It just means a little more care. Recall that the Red Devil is well known to win his battles. What battles has Charles Pickney won?”
“Go help her, John.”
“Why listen to her?” grumbled John even as he hurried over to aid Gytha.
“Because she shows some wit for a mere woman.”
As she was nearly carried to a spot near the fire, Gytha bit back a sharp response to that slur. She forced her thoughts to something far more important as she sat down. They had to bind her differently. The swelling the bonds caused was not only painful but, she was very sure, could prove bad for her health. Since they clearly feared Thayer, she intended to use that to as full an extent as possible.
“You believe what she says?” John asked his comrade as he squatted by the fire.
“Aye. Pickney has got some fine plans, but we were forgetting what he is up against. The Red Devil has faced better men than Pickney and lived. He has also stayed alive until now, though Pickney has been trying to kill him for years.”
“Well, if you thought all this, why have we set ourselves on Pickney’s side?” snapped John.
“The coin is good, fool. That other heir proved no problem despite his fine name and reputation as a warrior.”
