Everlasting (34 page)

 
Though the oaf glowered at her as if considering the pleasure he’d derive from throttling her, her threat apparently caused him to ponder the precariousness of his situation, for he finally retreated to a safe distance.

 
“You’d better leave us before you do something you’ll likely regret,” she advised. “My servant and I are extremely exhausted after being rudely awakened, not to mention what we suffered being jounced about in a rickety old cart. We’d appreciate some privacy.” Raising a slender hand, she shooed him toward the door. “Now be gone with you before I start screaming.”

 
For a moment the hulking man could only gape at her incredulously, and then he stomped through the door in a decidedly vexed manner and joined his companions in the next room.

 
Although Abrielle knew that she and her servant lacked the strength and stamina to defeat their captors’ evil purposes and win the day against such overwhelming odds, she refused to yield the battle without a show of resistance. Upon dragging a ragged quilt from one of the narrow cots, she stuffed it tightly against the bottom of the door as a temporary barrier should the men be tempted to invade their quarters.

 
“What do ye think they’ll be doing ta us, mistress?” Nedda asked in obvious concern.

 
Abrielle heaved a quavering sigh. “Thurstan de Marlé is far more interested in obtaining the wealth and treasures the squire possessed. He might try to accomplish that through forcing me into marriage.” She shuddered to think what would happen if she refused to comply. “Therefore I suggest that we try to escape before his arrival. I have no doubt he’s desperate enough to use whatever form of coercion is needed to get what he wants.”

 
“But how can we defeat these clobber-headed rogues? They’re brutes, m’lady. We wouldn’t have any kind of chance of survivin’ their blows if they start beatin’ on us. And if they intend ta guard us day and night, we’ll never be able ta escape.”

 
Abrielle had to agree with her servant on all counts, yet she was wont to be more hopeful of the outcome. “’Twill only be a matter of time ere my mother realizes that I’m gone and will urge my stepfather to set out in search of me. If he finds the trail we left, then he will certainly hasten to our rescue along with those he’ll rally to accompany him. If no one notices the scraps of clothing we threw out to mark our trail, then we’ll likely be left to our own defenses.”

 
“But we’ve no weapons or cudgels with which ta attack these oafs or ta use in defense of ourselves, m’lady. And even if we had some club ta use ta knock their noggins askew, we’re only two women. How would we be able ta get the upper hand whilst battlin’ the likes of such men?”

 
“’Tis obvious we must improvise as well as we can with what is available to us, Nedda,” Abrielle stated. “The poker iron would certainly serve as a weapon for one of us. As for the other…”

 
Abrielle glanced around the cramped room, searching for anything that would give them some sort of advantage over their captors. She directed Nedda toward the fireplace, then settled her eyes on the narrow beds, and for a thoughtful moment she considered their crude, wooden frames. Then she turned over the nearest one, spilling the filthy bedding to the dirt floor. Wedged fairly close together within the wooden frame were slats, one of which came out after a great deal of determination and tugging.

 
Clasping the makeshift truncheon in hand, Abrielle considered the piece with some measure of pride. “This should give those dim-witted buffoons their just due.” Glancing aside at her companion, she grinned. “Perhaps considerably more than they’ll be expecting from a pair of properly mannered women.”

 
Nedda, now standing near the fireplace, chortled in sudden glee as she contemplated the poker iron’s potential. “Now and then throughout m’ lifetime, I’ve been tempted ta crack a few manly noggins. This will be the best chance I’ll ever have.”

 
Abrielle laughed. “Aye, to be sure, Nedda. No villains seem more deserving of a severe chastening than the ones who abducted us…with the possible exception of the culprit who hired them.”

 
“So what be ye plannin’, m’lady?”

 
“First, we may be better off waiting for my stepfather to arrive rather than trying to initiate our own escape. These brutes are capable of killing us with nothing more than a backward swat of a hand.”

 
“If these three are soon joined by more of the same, we’ll have less of a chance ta escape this hovel alive. ’Twould seem ta me that it would be far better were we ta do somethin’ now rather than merely foldin’ our hands and waitin’ for yer pa.”

 
“Then we should commence with our attempt to escape while
there are only three close at hand. Better that than the two of us trying to hold off a small army of villains.”

 
“How should we go about takin’ these brigands by surprise, m’lady?”

 
“Let me tell you my plan,” Abrielle said softly.

 
Sometime later, the door creaked as Abrielle pulled it slowly inward, the sound claiming the attention of those who were ravenously appeasing their hunger at the rough-hewn table. In the hearth behind them, a warm fire now blazed, and on the floor beside it lay several pieces of firewood that had recently been brought in from outside. Obviously intent upon their own comforts, the men had not seen fit to lend any degree of consideration to the comfort of their captives. Even so, as they glanced toward her, they began to nudge one another as if only now realizing how young and uncommonly beautiful the lady was.

 
“What be yer wants, m’liedy?” Fordon asked.

 
Abrielle cleared her throat nervously. “I’m very thirsty, and I would like some water to drink. Shall I come out there to fetch it, or am I to remain a prisoner in this room?”

 
Dunstan rose from the stool at the far end of the table, where he had been gorging himself. After dipping a tin cup into a nearby bucket of water and loudly slurping from it, he ambled toward her with his black-toothed grin. Abrielle realized how easily the task of looking frightened could be accomplished, for she was nearly shaking in her skin. With eyes wide and fearful, she appeared to stumble backward haphazardly. Knowing that she and her servant could be bludgeoned to death if their captives were riled, she had no need to pretend that she was wary of the approaching man. Indeed, for a frightening moment, her legs seemed to lose their stability as she retreated farther into the room.

 
Upon reaching the portal, the brutish oaf shouldered the rough-hewn door aside, causing it to bump Nedda, who was standing close behind it. The movement of the plank as it rebounded on its leather
hinges seemed so natural that the brigand never even looked back as he reached behind him to push the barrier closed.

 
In the adjoining room, the men exchanged humorous quips about their companion’s intentions that dissolved into loud guffaws. As they did, Nedda lifted the poker high above her head and brought it down with brutal force upon the burly man’s pate, rendering him totally unconscious even before his legs began to buckle beneath him. Between the combined efforts of both women, they managed to lower his huge, slithering form to the dirt floor, where he lay completely oblivious to the world and those within it. Between the two of them, they managed to drag the unconscious man behind the bed at the far end of the room. Together they lifted the cot and placed it over his sprawled form, taking care to adjust the filthy quilts in such a manner as to hide the oaf from those who might be inclined to follow him.

 
Abrielle took a deep breath, feeling as frightened as she had been on her wedding night while awaiting Desmond’s entrance into his chambers. Nevertheless, she braced a heavy bed slat against the wall, where it would be easily accessible should she be required to act in Nedda’s defense or perhaps her own.

 
Launching into her performance, Abrielle cried out with as much emotion as she could muster. “Oh, please! Please, don’t hurt me!” She ripped her sleeve and then feigned a frightened scream as she ran to the door. Snatching it open, she thrust out a hand as if in desperate appeal and began pleading with the pair who were still ravenously filling their gullets at the table. “Oh, please! Please! You must help me! My family will pay handsomely for my safe return.”

 
The driver of the cart chortled as he pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll help ye, m’liedy.”

 
Swaggering arrogantly across the room, he began rolling up his sleeves as if readying himself for a fight with his companion. Shouldering aside the door, he strolled into the room. Once again Nedda gave the rough wooden barrier a gentle push, sending it swinging
closed behind him. In the next instant, the maidservant lifted the heavy poker high above her head and brought it down with mean intent upon yet another manly noggin. The driver’s eyes rolled back into his head as his knees gave way beneath him. In total oblivion, he sprawled facedown.

 
Nedda hit the wall with the poker iron and then sailed a small chair across the room as Abrielle watched in amazement. After creating scuffling sounds with her slippered feet, the imaginative maid collapsed upon the bed with a frail cry. Just as quickly she rose again with a loud snort and began to thump the thin mattress repeatedly with the weighty iron.

 
“Pritchard? Dunstan?” Fordon called out from the adjoining room as he pushed himself hurriedly to his feet, in his haste overturning the heavy bench upon which he had been sitting. “What’s happenin’ in there? Ye’d best not be scufflin’ over m’liedy.”

 
“Oh, no, please! Stop your fighting!” Abrielle cried, doing her best to feign hysteria. She decided a scream would be of timely benefit and promptly released one that made Nedda clasp her hands over her ears and roll her eyes heavenward as if praying for some divine reprieve. Abrielle snatched open the door and, from there, pleaded as if in fretful anguish, “Stop them! Please! You must do something! They’re killing each other!”

 
Her ploy proved convincing enough to bring the rotund Fordon scurrying toward her. Breathing heavily, he waddled across the threshold and then, once inside, paused in sudden confusion as he glanced around for his companions. In the next instant, Nedda delivered the lummox his just due, much as she had done his two cohorts. As he fell, he turned toward her in disbelief, his eyes glazing over, his huge body too close. He fell forward much like a gigantic tree after a sizable wedge had been chopped away from its massive trunk, landing on Nedda. Abrielle screamed as her maid fell beneath the man and lay still.

 
“Nedda!”

 
But the dear woman didn’t stir. From the chest down, she was beneath Fordon’s unmoving bulk. Abrielle fell to her knees and tried to push the body away, but she could not move it.

 
“Nedda, Nedda, wake up!” She would never forgive herself if her plan to rescue them had caused the woman’s injury.

 
To her horror, she heard the outer door slam open in the next chamber. Had Thurstan finally arrived?

 
“Abrielle!” called a blessedly familiar voice.

 
She stumbled from the inner room shakily and espied Raven striding into the hovel with sword clasped in hand; her relief made her weak in both her knees and her senses. Advancing in reverse upon his heels, Cedric Seabern wielded a double-edged ax with proficient ease as he glanced from side to side, wary of any foe who might have been lurking nearby. Considering the various weapons tucked within their belts, it was obvious the pair had come prepared to do battle with a small army of miscreants.

 
“Oh, thank God!” she cried. “Nedda has been hurt. Please come help me.”

 
Raven followed her while his father remained on guard at the door. Abrielle fell to her knees and pushed while Raven pulled Fordon off of Nedda. The maidservant groaned, and her eyelids fluttered.

 
“Water, please!” Abrielle said over her shoulder.

 
A moment later Raven pressed a tin cup into her hand, and she placed it at Nedda’s lips. Some dribbled down her chin, but then she began to swallow heartily.