Halvard seemed to be fighting someone who had been trained well in the art of war and who knew how to wield a sword with ease and grace.
His opponent was quick to retaliate, his own sword coming down in an arc. Halvard parried the blow, pushing the man back before he jumped to the right, avoiding the next one. The man across from him was fast, unleashing attack after attack with fury, but Halvard was faster, dodging each blow and jumping right out of the blade’s reach.
Sweat coated his brow and dripped down his spine. He was distracted, too much so. Elsie’s screams still echoed in the dark as the men tried to drag her away, and the farther they managed to get her, the more they faded—and the more they faded, the more Halvard’s heart beat like a frenzied drum, his blood rushing to his head, his ears buzzing with it.
He couldn’t let them take her; he couldn’t let them take her away from him.
“Elsie!” he screamed into the night, but it was already too late.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Elsie’s world became motion and terror. Rough hands tore at her cloak, fingers digging into her arms as she was dragged across uneven ground toward the shore. Stones cut through the thin soles of her shoes; the smell of salt and rot filled her lungs with every desperate breath. She fought, twisting and kicking, but the men holding her were strong and practiced, their grips bruising and merciless.
Every step was taking her farther and farther from Halvard. Every breath was labored, the result of struggle, of fighting with everything she had, praying that Halvard would get to her on time.
Harcourt had brought so many of his men. The last Elsie had seen of Halvard had been when he was fighting one of them, their blades clashing, their roars echoing in the quiet of the sleeping town.
Though not many people must have slept through the ruckus, none had dared to come out; none had dared to help. Even asElsie was being dragged away, there had been no one there to stop it. And now, she was all alone, without Halvard’s presence to calm her.
But he’ll come. He’ll come for me.
He had never let her down, and that thought gave her the strength she needed to keep fighting. She twisted her body once more, trying to wrench herself free from her captors, trying to force their hand.
“No!” she gasped, turning violently in their hands. “Let go of me, you brutes!”
One of the men cursed and yanked her closer, dragging her against his chest. She smelled stale ale and sweat, felt the coarse scratch of wool against her cheek as he pinned her arms tighter, forcing them behind her back. Pain exploded up her shoulders, bright and blinding, relentless.
She fought anyway.
Elsie drove her elbow back blindly. It connected with a grunt, but the victory lasted only a second before a hand fisted into her hair, wrenching her head back so hard tears sprang instantly to her eyes. Her scalp burned, her neck screamed in protest.
“Hold her,” another voice snarled. “Don’t let her scream.”
A rough palm clapped over her mouth, cutting off her cry. The taste of salt and dirt filled her mouth as she bit down, her teeth scraping skin. The man hissed in pain and struck her hard across the ribs in retaliation. The blow sent fire through her side, forcing a sob from her chest despite the hand still pressed to her lips.
They dragged her forward then, no longer bothering to keep her upright.
Her feet barely touched the ground and one of her shoes slipped free entirely, left behind in the dark like a discarded thing.
Soon, they reached the pier. The planks under her feet were slick with spray. She slipped, the action ironically freeing her from the grip of her captors, her palms slamming down hard, splinters biting into her skin. Before she could scramble back, though, hands hauled her up again, the men’s fingers digging under her arms, lifting her bodily.
“Careful,” Harcourt’s calm voice said somewhere nearby, maddeningly composed. “I want her breathing.”
Elsie’s blood ran cold at the sound of that familiar voice. There had been no doubt in her mind it had all been Harcourt’s doing. Why else would anyone attack them? Why would anyone else try to haul her away like that, to take her away from Halvard, away from safety?
But hearing his voice now, so close to her, was enough to fill the pit in her stomach with dread. Her eyes searched for him inthe dark, in the dim light of the half moon, looking through the shadows of the reeds and the trees that lined the shore.
And then she saw him—a cloaked, menacing figure, like a shadow himself, like he was forged of night.
The men dragged her the last few steps, her body jolting with each uneven plank on the deck. Cold spray lashed her face, salt stinging her eyes and lips. She twisted her head desperately, straining for any sign of Halvard—any sound, any movement?—
And then she saw the boat.
It waited below, dark and narrow, rocking restlessly against its rope like something alive. The water under it black and endless.
Panic surged violently within her, overwhelming and absolute.
She screamed then, his name ripped from her chest with everything she had left. Her voice was raw, broken, and fierce as the sea wind carried it into the night.
