She looked up at him and sucked at the linen gag.
“I know it’s tight,” he said, as if reading her mind. “But I need you to be very quiet.”
He bent forward, wrapped his muscular arm around her backside, and hoisted her up over his shoulder. The sudden movement stole the breath from her lungs, and she said a silent prayer that someone would see them on their way out and foil the escape, or that she would find an opportunity to alert a guard.
With his axe in one hand, the Butcher opened the door and moved noiselessly into the corridor, where Amelia found herself looking down at a dead soldier on the floor outside her chamber.
Stunned into silence, she stared numbly at the poor soul on the floor before she was carried down the stairs and through another dark corridor, past two more dead soldiers on the floor, and final y to a door at the rear of the barracks.
She had not even been aware of its existence. How had this rebel known of it? Who had told him how to find Richard’s bedchamber, and how had he learned that Richard was supposed to be here in the first place? It was only a last-minutecallto arms that had resulted in his unexpected departure and the insistence that Amelia take his room to ensure her safety. A lot of good that had done.
Outside the barracks, a thick mist enveloped them. The Butcher carried her, kicking and struggling, up the grassy rampart toward the outerwall. When he set her down, she noticed a four-pronged hook embedded in the earth at her feet, with a rope tied to it. The next thing she knew, she was sliding down thewallon the Butcher’s back, while grunting a number of unladylike protests.
Her feet touched ground, and she turned to look up at a prime piece of horseflesh, his shiny coat as black as night.
He nickered softly and tossed his head. The breath from his nostrils shot out in white puffs of steam against the dark sky, and only then did Amelia realize that her captor was untying the binds at her wrists. He shoved his axe into a saddle scabbard and swung himself up onto the horse’s back.
“Give me your hand,” the Butcher said, holding out his own.
She shook her head angrily and bit down on the gag, which pressed sickeningly on the back of her tongue.
“Give me your hand, woman, or I’llcome down there and thrash you senseless.” He took hold of her arm and tossed her up onto the horse behind him, then kicked in his heels.
The horsegallopedforward, and Amelia had no choice but to wrap her arms around her captor’s firm, muscular torso and hang on for dear life, or go tumbling over the side into the cold, dark depths of the river.
* * *
As it turned out, the Butcher’s torso was very muscular indeed, solid as a rock, and Amelia was both troubled and preoccupied by his inconceivable strength. Nevertheless, she managed to stay somewhat focused and monitor their journey. She took note ofallthe landmarks along the way—thesmallgrove of oak saplings, the stone bridge they’d crossed a mile back, and the long field with five haystacks, spaced evenly apart.
They must have traveled through the predawn darkness and drizzle for afullhalf hour before he spoke, and when he did she found it difficult to focus on anything other than the deep timbre of his voice and the way his long hair brushed up against her cheek when he turned his head to the side.
“You’ve been quiet, lass. Are you alive back there?”
Al she could do was grunt with exasperation through the tight gag that was pressing down on her tongue.
“Aye, I know.” He nodded, as if he had understood every word. “I was thinking about removing it, but somethingtellsme you’ve been working up a mountain of complaints, so if it’sallthe same to you, I’llwaittillwe’re somewhere more remote before I release that mouth of yours, so no onewillhear your screeching.”
“I won’t screech,” she tried to say, but it came out as a muffled grumble.
“What was that? You think I’m very wise? Aye, I think so, too.”
She was tempted to punch him in the arm or pummel his back with both fists but decided against it, for he was a ruthlesskillerwith an axe.
They rode through a grove of conifers and emerged onto another open field. Amelia glanced through the mist and spotted a tiny light in the distance. A lantern in a crofter’s window perhaps? Or a company of English soldiers?
The possibility of escape screamed in her mind, and before she had a chance to strategize she was tugging at the foul-tasting gag. The fabric stretched just enough to slide down over her chin, and with a plan that went no further than swinging her leg over the back of the horse and dropping to the ground while they werestillmoving, she soon found herself dashing across the drizzly field toward the light.
“Help! Please!”
She was aware, of course, that the Butcher would pursue her but clung to the unlikely hope that he might topple off his horse and crack hisskullopen on a rock.
The sound of his feet hitting the ground reached her ears, her heart exploded with panic, and seconds later he overtook her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and threw her down.
The next instant, he was straddling her. She was pinned on her back with her arms up over her head.
“Let me go!”
She kicked and screamed and refused to yield. She kneed him in the stomach, struggled wildly for her freedom, and spit in his face.
