The blade caught the sunlight with sinister elegance as Colin raised it high. Peyton’s white neck was open and exposed, making a perfect target that beckoned to his twisted sense of revenge. He heard the call, as he was about to answer.
But he never had the chance to follow through. Suddenly, a balled fist caught him in the groin and the brief moment of shock that followed was pursued by pain such as he had never known. It felt as though his testicles had been driven into his throat. Sparks of agony sent him face first into the soft earth of the fen.
Peyton rolled away from him, nauseous and dizzy, and thoroughly sick. But she was awake, and alive, and she intended to remain so, no matter what it took. The last few uttered words of his speech had roused her, primed her for the battle that lay ahead. Fear was virtually unknown; the basic instinct for survival was all she could feel as her muddled senses attempted to orient themselves.
As she struggled to her knees, a rotted branch met with her hands. Shaking like a leaf, she clutched the branch and charged the fallen Colin with the full intent of beating him dead with it.
Colin took two severe blows to his head before he managed to raise his hand and dislodge the weapon. Undeterred, Peyton kicked him in the thigh and pounded him with her weak hands, but he nearly captured her and she scampered into the underbrush, shrieking and gasping like a madwoman.
Peyton had no idea where she was. The ground beneath her was lurching and swaying, and it was all she could do to maintain her footing. Around her, unfamiliar trees loomed and the very earth she stood upon seemed intent to suck her under. Her delicate green slippers were instantly wet and dirty.
But she kept moving, away from Colin and away from his insane ideals of family and vengeance. She stumbled over exposed roots, scraping her knees and drawing blood, but still she kept moving. She had to put as much distance as she could between Colin and her unborn child.
She clutched her stomach, wondering if the babe had suffered during her ordeal, wondering if she would do more damage with what was yet to come. Hot tears stung her eyes and the bile in her throat gagged her, but still, she kept running. It was run or die.
She burst through a thicket of brush, having no idea where she was going, only knowing that she had to find help. She tripped over something she did not notice, and ended up on her hands and knees. Beneath her hand, a sharp thick stick was partially lodged into the damp ground. With a grunt of effort, she yanked the weapon free and resumed her panicked run.
With a roar, Colin was suddenly in her path and she screamed, barely avoiding his vicious grasp. She whirled away from him, finding new strength in the fear that was flushing her veins, and tore a wild path through the growth as he staggered after her. His groin injury was hindering him greatly as he pursued.
Peyton could hear him following, cursing and snorting as he stumbled through the bramble. Her head was clearing a bit even if her stomach was still churning, and she was beginning to think more clearly. Dodging behind a thick tree, she doubled back through a cluster of thick underbrush and emerged on the other side.
Still clutching the sharp wood, she found a large branch that would do quite nicely in wreaking severe damage on Colin’s skull. Peyton crouched low to the ground, trying to quiet her breathing so she could hear her enemy. So she could hear Death as it approached. Colin was about, somewhere, and she was intent on harming him before he could do her mortal damage. He might have been larger and stronger, but she was more intelligent. She would win this battle. She had to.
“Peyton!” Colin shouted. “I know you can hear me! Show yourself and I shall be swift with my justice. If I have to hunt you down, I shall make you suffer. I swear it!”
Head clearing, stomach settling, Peyton remained still and silent. Colin stomped about, moving away from her as he went about his search.
She waited until he moved off before attempting to follow. Stealthily, she pursued the storming, cursing man, making certain to remain far behind him and out of sight. Coming through a particularly thick patch of brush, she tore her slipper on a prickly branch and nearly tripped.
Irritably, she ripped the shoes off her feet and tossed them aside. The ground beneath her feet was freezing, but she ignored the discomfort. It was minor to the overall situation.
The sun overhead provided limited light within the heavy canopy of trees. Colin was backtracking, returning to his steed, and Peyton stayed within the sheltering cover of the undergrowth as she followed his movements.
When it became apparent that Colin was intent on waiting her out, eager to take advantage of a movement or a mistake, she sat on her bottom in the brush and refused to budge. If he was going to wait, then so was she.
Wait for death to claim one of them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The sun traversedthe afternoon sky with painful slowness, reminding Peyton with every passing second of her discomfort and hunger and fear. But as long as she held Colin in her sights, she could ignore the obvious in lieu of self-preservation. Nothing mattered but keeping him at bay until she could move away from him, unheard. She began to pray fervently for nightfall, knowing that her only chance to escape him would be while he slept.
Colin was leaning leisurely against a tree, the evil-looking dagger clutched in his gloved palm. Absently, he hacked at the bark of the tree, pondering the bog before him. Peyton sat, still as stone, and watched every move.
“Peyton?” he suddenly called. “I know you are out there, listening to me. Watching me. How does it feel, knowing it will only be a matter of time before you die?”
He was met with the chirp of birds, the singing of the wind through the trees. Smiling as though he were laughing at a clever remark, he pushed himself off the tree and turned toward the overgrowth. Peyton swore he was looking right at her.
“Do you know that my father took your crazed aunt’s virginity?” he said carelessly, trying to provoke an angryresponse. “Several years ago, in fact. He found her eating leaves in the forest and took his pleasure with her. That is what your aunt does, isn’t it? Eat leaves and brew witches potions? There’s not one person in the barony that believes she is sane.”
The echo of his own voice greeted him. He maintained his thin smile and paced about, hacking at anything he came close to with the dagger he clutched.
“And your husband. Oh, excuse me. I meantTheLegend,” he sneered mockingly. “Strange that a coward should carry such a prestigious title. He is certainly not worthy of such a reputation. From what I have heard, he fled the Crusades in terror and returned home to breed horses and master needlepoint.”
In the bushes, Peyton was red with fury but she was wise enough to know that Colin was attempting to lure her from her safe haven and she struggled to keep her mouth closed.
But it was growing increasingly difficult. The ground was cold and her feet were frozen, her head ached terribly and her stomach was quivering. Her exhaustion, fed by her other symptoms, threatened to overwhelm her. She wondered darkly if she would be able to stay awake long enough to escape him.
“I even heard rumor once that he and Ali were lovers,” Colin leaned against the tree again, picking his teeth casually. “As Thia possessed strange tastes, so did her brother. His tastes run to dark meat. Tell me, Lady Summerlin, have you been forced to share your husband with his black bitch?”
