“All right,” he said, leaving his chair. “Go. You are free.”
Was he serious? Just like that? He was letting her go? She hurried for the door, pulled it open, and ran outside. There were a handful of old men roaming about. Some women were balled up in their doorways, wailing. Everything looked so real.
She heard raucous sounds coming from down the road. The town hall. She ran the other way—straight into someone’s arms.
Oh, no! The really mean one. Fin!
“Well, well. Are you escaping?” he purred above her ear.
“No! He let me go!” she argued.
He took her by the hair and dragged her back. “If you are trying to deceive me—”
What if the leader lied and said he didn’t set her free? She fought back, trying to dig her heels in, but it was no use. Okay, this just left the possibility of it being a prank, or a movie set. He was hurting her, pulling hair from her head.
“Get your hands off me!” She’d never been treated this way before. She was having a hard time believing it.
He gave her hair another hard yank. Her anger and reflexes took over and she kicked him in the calf. He raised his hand high over his head and was about to bring it down on her. She closed her eyes, too afraid to move. She’d never been hit by a man! She wanted to scream but something stopped Fin’s hand. Camelee had to open her eyes to see what it was.
“Fin, let her go.”
It was the simplest of warnings, but there were a thousand threats behind it.
Fin lowered his hand and released her with a slight shove.
Camelee was shaken to her marrow. Whatever century they were in, she’d been about to get hit by that piece of trash.
She was saved by another one.
She was spitting mad! She was Camelee Pendrey! She—
“You should come back with me,” he urged in a hypnotically low voice.
Right. He knew what was behind the door when he’d told her she was free. She felt sick. She looked around at the multiple tents and thatched-roof huts, the snowy paths toward a horizon withnothingin the distance. She bent over and clutched her belly. No help was coming.
If she was in ten seventeen, no help was coming.
If she was in ten seventeen, she’d gone mad, and no help was coming.
She felt him near as she hunched over and threw up her breakfast of coffee. She still had the hand towel he’d given her. She wished it had been a knife so she could end it all right now. She almost sobbed when he laid his hand on her back to comfort her.
He removed it when someone passed by. She straightened and wiped her face then handed him back his towel.
He motioned for her to follow him. She was his prisoner without using any restraints. She’d like another chance at that knife, so she could bury it into him. But she breathed and patted her hair. She wasn’t a complete fool. This one seemed to like her. He wasn’t as barbaric as the others. She needed to stay close to him while she was here. Yes, she still had hope of being rescued from this place, whether by a doctor or by the police once she was reported missing.
She followed him back to the hut and almost ran inside after him when three of his men came traipsing out of the larger town hall. They were laughing and pulling three weeping women behind them.
Camelee stopped at the door and then stepped back out. Were those men going to rape those women? No! She headed toward them.
“Camelee.”
She heard the leader call her name and was tempted to forget what was going on and return to him. How was he already familiar? Was it a part of a victim’s psyche? You latch on to the one who shows you kindness?
Well, she’d be aware of it. Right now, though, she wasn’t about to let three women be raped. “Hey! You there!”
The men stopped laughing and squinted to have a look at her.
“Let them go!”
