Scars Of Defiance

Copyright
2013 Lorena Angell

Amazon
Edition

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This
book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or
places, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The names, characters,
places and incidents are productions of the author’s imagination and used
fictitiously.

3rd
Edition 03/09/2013

Edited
by:

Thomas
Hall, Ph.D.

For
more titles by Lorena Angell

http://lorenaangell.blogspot.com

Chapter 1

Through her long dark lashes, Sierra watched the two men —
one who had repeatedly beaten her nearly to death, and the other who had consistently
nursed her back to life — as they discussed her current frail condition.

“I don’t care if she has to be wheeled in on a gurney,”
Reginald Rawlings declared angrily to Dr. John Roth. “She will marry my son in
four days. Why isn’t she responding to the medications?”

“She seems to have lost the will to live, sir,” Roth
replied. “Perhaps the wedding should be delayed.”

“She only needs to live long enough to become Victor’s wife
— although I would prefer that she produce an heir. But her royal name alone
will give me the support I need.” Rawlings glanced at his watch and adjusted
his too-tight silk tie. “I have to make an appearance at the engagement
celebration and try to explain her absence,” he said through gritted teeth,
glaring at Sierra as he turned and walked toward the door. “Keep me informed of
her progress.”

The door to the palace infirmary slammed shut behind him,
and Sierra let out the air she had been holding in her lungs. Dr. Roth hurried
over to her side and threw the blankets off her.

“Now, Princess Sierra. Quickly, there isn’t much time.” He
rushed into the nearby supply closet.

“Dr. Roth, please don’t call me princess.” Sierra swung her
slim bruised legs over the edge of the bed and pulled off her hospital gown.
Dr. Roth came out of the closet with a pile of clothing and helped her dress —
three layers of shirts, two pairs of pants, two pairs of wool socks, and rugged
brown hiking boots. Then he guided her arms into a green military jacket and
tucked her long, dark-blonde hair up into a soldier’s hat. He added a fake
mustache to her top lip for the finishing touch.

“I don’t know why Rawlings was so late with his visit
tonight,” he said. “The plane is supposed to leave in ten minutes, and they
damn well better wait for you.”

“Thank you for everything, Dr. Roth,” Sierra said, placing
her hand on his arm and looking into his eyes. “Without you, I’d be dead.”

“Well, you’re not out of the palace just yet, so you might
want to save your thanks until after you’ve crossed the border. Do you remember
everything I told you?” She nodded. “The cab driver will have another coat and
hat for you in the vehicle. Be safe, Sierra, and good luck.”

She slipped out of the infirmary and walked quickly down the
empty corridor to the door Dr. Roth had pointed out to her as an unmarked exit
that led to an outside service door. Once outside the building, she hurried
across the parking lot to the rear service entrance gate. Miraculously, she
didn’t run into any employees or guards along the way. As Dr. Roth promised, a
yellow cab was waiting for her just beyond the gate to take her to the airport.
She opened the back passenger door and climbed inside.

“Good evening, Ms. Montgomery,” the driver said with an
unrecognizable accent. “Buckle up, please. The roads are pretty nasty, and
we’re in a hurry.” His ball cap was on backwards, covering his military-style
haircut.

She had no doubt the roads would be wickedly slick tonight.
The raging snowstorm had started earlier in the day and had cast a dark cloud
over her hopes for escape. Sierra looked to her left and found her coat and
wool hat on the seat. She took off the military hat and mustache and stuffed
her hair up into the wool cap. Then she pulled the ear-flaps down and tied the
strings securely under her chin. She removed the military jacket and wiggled
into the thick down coat.

The cab driver said nothing else to her, and for most of the
hectic ride she stared out the window. The dim glow of the streetlights did
little to illuminate the roads. A massive weather system had moved in, and the
snowflakes fell so fast and thick that they blanketed the incandescent lights.
As the cab turned up a narrow street, the wintry white world plunged into
darkness, lit only by the faint beams from the snow-covered headlights.

Sierra wondered where the road led, what she would find at
its end. Sitting quietly in the back seat and asking nothing of her unknown
driver was so out of character for her that she almost laughed at the thought.
She knew he must be from the underground, a volunteer from the insurgents, and
yet she wasn’t at all worried, at least not like she had been a couple of
months ago when they tried to assassinate her.

They rounded a corner and she began to recognize airplane
hangars. They had reached the airport, entering through a back door of sorts.
The vehicle pulled up near a waiting cargo plane that was preparing for
take-off.

“Here you are, Ms. Montgomery. Good luck.” The driver winked
at her in the rear-view mirror.

She said nothing, only slipped quietly from the cab and
walked quickly through the snow to her escape. She approached the idling plane
sitting on the tarmac with uncertainty and dread shooting through her body and
settling in the pit of her stomach like an anvil. The airplane looked as if it
had been towed in from the airplane graveyard and given a bogus stamp of
approval. Several mismatching panels had been bolted on, and thick rust covered
the seams and screws.

It couldn’t be too dangerous could it? The pilot and
co-pilot must have been satisfied enough with its condition to agree to fly the
bucket of bolts. Several other people boarded the plane after inspecting it
too, so maybe Sierra was being too cautious or pessimistic. But the safety of
the plane wasn’t the only thing bothering her. This awful blizzard had her
worried, along with visibility problems and the build-up of ice on the wings.
Even if the airplane could get off the ground, would it be able to maintain
altitude?

Sierra was torn. This dilapidated plane symbolized her
potential freedom from the dominating presence of the Rawlings family in her
life, but it also epitomized where she felt her life was headed right now —
death. Maybe the two were the same.

She took her place in line as the fierce wind blew snow in
her face. She had taken time prior to her escape to inflate a bunch of plastic
baggies and stuff them into the lining of her coat to fill out her petite frame
and add to her disguise. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to recognize
her. She definitely looked like a different person now, certainly not royalty.
The baggies were also acting as an insulation barrier against the bitter cold
wind, an unexpected plus.

A woman, probably in her late fifties, helped strap a
parachute on Sierra’s back. She spoke loudly because of the roaring engines,
but not quite loud enough for Sierra to hear everything she said. She knew she
was missing valuable instructions.

One of the last defectors to board the plane, Sierra sat on
the bench stretching down the pilot’s side of the fuselage. She leaned forward
and glanced down the bench at the other twenty or so passengers, all daring to
make a clandestine escape from Rendier. No one looked at her. All eyes were on
the floor. Several fellow defectors breathed rapidly with clouds of frozen
breath lingering in front of them. Were they as worried about the plane as she
was? Were they also running from Reginald Rawlings? Were they all fleeing from
a life of oppression and despair in their home country?

She sat back and stared straight ahead at the boxes and
crates that filled the other half of the plane. Straps, cords, and netting
stretched this way and that, holding the cargo in place. She really hoped the
crew had done a good job of securing the cargo because if the load shifted, her
legs might be smashed, and if she survived this escape attempt, she’d need them
to run with.

There was nothing left of her life in Rendier. Her father,
Donald Montgomery, had been her last living relative. The entire Montgomery
royal family except for Sierra and her parents had been wiped out twenty-five
years ago by Reginald’s father, Alexandar Rawlings, a ruthless and amoral
dictator who destroyed everything in his path to establish the Rawlings
dynasty. When the Montgomery family was overthrown and Alexandar came to power,
Sierra’s mother and father went into hiding and stayed out of sight until
Sierra turned seven. That’s when Alexandar Rawlings died and was succeeded by
his son Reginald, who made promises to right the wrongs of his father and
return Rendier to its former state of freedom and prosperity. Reginald spent
months trying to persuade Donald Montgomery and his family to come out of
hiding, to return to public life, assuring them that he would see to their
safety, and at last they agreed.

Reginald immediately invited Donald to join his board of
advisors as a show of good faith. Then shortly after that, Sierra’s mother
died. Sierra didn’t remember much about her, only that she seemed sad. Every
time she asked her father about her mother, he sank into depression, so she
decided to try to forget the past and move forward.

The door to the airplane slammed shut, causing Sierra’s head
to bounce against the wall. Her back hurt as she sat on the hard bench inside
the rumbling old plane. Even though her thick down coat cushioned her back
against the metal wall, her back ached and stung from the last set of lashings
she had received from Reginald just days ago. After failing time and again to
escape from her impending marriage to Reginald’s son, Victor, she had finally
given up. She had refused to eat for several days in an attempt to end it all,
but that hadn’t worked either. Reginald thought a good lashing would pull her
out of her rebellious state.

Little did he know, Sierra would learn the very next day
about this secret flight across the border. She became determined to be on that
plane, but now that she was sitting onboard, her heart raced like thundering
hooves at a race-track.

The engines revved louder, and the plane began to shake.
They started to roll forward. A man stood in the doorway of the cockpit and
yelled instructions in a high-pitched voice.

“Your chute opens with the cord on your left shoulder. When
you jump, count to five, and then pull your chute. If it fails, pull the backup
chute with the cord under your arm. Remember to roll when you hit the ice to
prevent it from breaking. If you go through the ice, release your pack using
these clasps and swim like hell.”

Sierra closed her eyes and tried not to think about what was
to come as the plane accelerated down the runway. The stiff wind pushed against
the plane, resisting its attempt to go airborne as if the wind itself was
operating under the control of Reginald Rawlings, like everything else in
Rendier. The nose of the plane angled upward, and the tires left the ground.
The dip and sway made Sierra sick to her stomach.

She forced her mind to focus on memories instead of her
impending death. She recalled the unforgettable moment when her father dropped
the bombshell that Reginald’s son had chosen her to be his bride. It came as
such a shock to hear that Victor was even interested in her. She knew his
friend Riley Stone had a crush on her and continually pestered her to go out
with him. She refused, naturally. But Victor?

At age twelve, Sierra was enrolled in a school for privileged
kids. Up until that point she had traveled the country with her father on
business and was home-schooled by tutors and nannies. But when she turned
twelve, her father decided she needed formal schooling and regular interaction
with other kids her own age. That’s when she met Riley.

He seemed nice enough and friendly toward her at first. But
by the time he was fifteen, he had become Victor’s best friend, and his
attitude changed completely. Riley and Victor ruled the school because no one
dared stand up against Reginald Rawlings’s son.