“I suppose this isn’t the best time to ask him what he’s wearing under his skirt,” Gweneth murmured.
Ellard barked out a laugh, the sound attracting attention.
“Where is the girl?”
“I’m here,” Gweneth said, lifting her hand in a friendly wave.
Ellard slid his hand behind his back and pinched Gweneth’s butt.She jumped, shot him an apologetic look, and buttoned her lips.
“I know him,” one of the other bearded men declared, his green-and-black-plaid shirt straining over his barrel chest.“That be Ellard, aye.”He approached and nodded.“Aye, he be the king’s bodyguard.The Virosian king.I heard he lost his arm.”
The chieftain halted in front of them, his fingers rubbing the hilt of a massive broadsword even as his gaze lingered on Gweneth.“Use the weapon.I want that woman contained and incarcerated with the other Incorporeal.”
“Aye, laird,” one said and pulled a silver box from the waistband of his kilt.He strode to the door they’d entered through and fiddled with something on the box.He slowly circled, aiming the thing around the hold.When nothing happened, he frowned and exited the cargo area.
“So you be the king’s bodyguard.Have a score to settle with the Virosian people.”He continued to stroke the hilt of his weapon then grinned to display teeth unexpectedly white given his grubby appearance.“I be wondering how much they pay to get you back.Aye, hurtin’ their pockets be satisfyin’”
His gaze roamed Ellard before settling on Gweneth.Ellard bristled.His feline bristled, and he sensed an answering distaste from Gweneth.The man studied her as if she were a tasty morsel of food for consumption.
“Who be you, pretty bird?”
A scream sounded—feminine and rife with panic.
“Ah, we have the woman.”His voice radiated satisfaction of a job well done.“Take them to the lockup.All of them.I be feelin’ hungry.We break our fast while we decide our next move.”
Some of the tension faded from Ellard’s muscles.They had a chance of escape, and maybe now that they were outside the force field, the dragons would manage to track them.
The chieftain wandered from the hold toward the screams.As one, he and Gweneth bounded for the door but came face-to-face with two of the Scothage reivers.With weapons in hand, they smirked at Ellard, their features full of bring-it-on smugness.
Ellard pulled up, and Gweneth slid to a halt, holding her hands in front of her.
“Frisk ’em for weapons, aye,” the smaller of the two said, his wiry frame and braggart attitude bringing to mind one of Keira’s pouter-chicks—the birds she kept for eggs and meat.
Ellard held his hands out in the same manner as Gweneth as the beefy man neared.Ellard drew in a breath and wrinkled his nose.The Scothage needed to work on his personal hygiene.None of the Virosian felines would ever let themselves drop into that state of stinky, no matter how poor their circumstances.
The male frisked him with brisk and knowledgeable efficiency.He took his time, his search more thorough with Gweneth.When he grabbed her breast, Ellard snarled but Gweneth acted quicker and smacked the reiver over the head.
“I have no weapons, you numbskull moron, and certainly none there.Stop trying to cop a feel.”
Ellard tensed, ready to spring if the stinky Scothage decided to belt Gweneth back.
Instead, Stinky chuckled, unabashed by her chastening.“She be right.No weapons.Soft, sweet-scented breasts.”He grabbed his crotch and did an offensive hip rock.“I be voting to keep her.”
“Darrack won’t agree if we be getting good currency in exchange for her safety,” Pouter-chick said.“Though she be a tasty wench.”
“I am not—”
Ellard elbowed her in the ribs, and she glowered, rubbing the spot.“Ow, that hurt.”
“Don’t you be beatin’ on her,” Pouter-chick warned.“We get top currency for her if she whole.Make someone a good rootin’ wench.”
“Ah…did you…” Gweneth trailed off, eyes wide and at a loss for once.
Despite the circumstances, Ellard bit back a grin.Gweneth’s splutters were very cute.
“To the cells with ye,” Stinky ordered.His long, single plait fell over his shoulder with the force of his gesture.“Ye be walkin’ in front.No skullduggery, aye, or there be consequences.”
“Consequences,” Pouter-chick taunted, his black beard bristling in silent laughter, the series of small braids holding his hair back jiggling.“That be fightin’ words.”
