TFL Ch. 23

Recap:  Is this part of some conspiracy against the king?  Folding the letter, I—“Hello, Lovely.” The deep voice of a stranger cuts me off, as does the cool metal of a knife against my throat.

                I swallow against the metallic hardness pressing slightly into my neck.  The messy desk in view darkens from the brawny man’s shadow. My thoughts darken as well.  This is going to be my last day alive. Within me, I can feel my insides quivering.  Death’s cold touch is at my neck and Life will soon fade into the shadows.  Well done, Amelia. You have helped no one.

                “I said, Hello, Lovely.” The stranger whips me around to face him. That split second enables me to unsheathe Castra and bring its point to his neck. His eyebrow rises in amusement, arrogance exuding from him. “Ah, lovely and feisty. The perfect couple.” With that, he drops his steel knife and unsheathes his own sword. Our swords clash with resounding clangs, as I push him back. His obsidian eyes never leave my face, not once glancing at our swords.

 “Very skilled, impressive,” he says as he holds my sword at bay. With a sudden fury like to a threatened cobra, he strikes back, the force of the impact causing my bones to jar. Again and again, he thrusts, each ferocious hit loosening my grip on Castra. He strikes one last time and Castra falls to the floor with a thud.  Dropping to the floor, I roll and grab my scimitar.  I slash at the man’s legs, catching the side of his left leg just above his ankle.  He screams anathemas as I dash out of the room.  Frantically, I run down the hall toward the stairs, my heart pounding in my ears.

                Just as I round the corner, he grabs me around my waist. Wrenching Castra away from me, he throws it down the steps, its blade clattering. Throwing me over his wide shoulder, he walks me back into the room we were in and drops (quite harshly, I must add) me onto the dusty floor and shuts the heavy door.  He glares at me as he sits in the flimsy chair, but with an impressed glint in his eyes. “Now, since you wounded me, you had better know how to fix me up, little lady.”

                I nod. “I do.” Perhaps if I cooperate, he will release me. I doubt it, though, if he is the Wesson from Teddy’s description.  If he is, then I had better start working on an escape route.

He motions toward the closet door, jutting out his bearded chin in that direction, his sword kept carefully close to him. “There are medical supplies in there.”  Placing my hands on the floor, my hands grow covered in a layer of dust.  I glance about the room for a means of escape.  Only one window, barely large enough for me to jump through, stands directly behind my host.  Shards of glass protrude from the sides like the teeth of a wolf preparing to devour me.  “It’s the second floor, sweetheart, over the street. I’d like to see you try.”

“You think I didn’t know that.” I snap.

“Was not quite sure.  I simply don’t wish for you to be hurt, Miss Amelia.” He condescendingly smirks at me in triumph.

I gasp. How—“How do I know who you are? “My captor interrupts as he rises from his seat.  With one confident stride despite his injury, he towers directly over me.  “Very simple, I know all about you.” He leans in, placing his hand on the wall and very disturbingly moving too close to me.  The drab walls serve as the background of his smug face.  His intense obsidian eyes, the raven black hair, and the rugged smile—I realize that my captor can be no more than thirty years old. 

Refusing to allow the growing fear of him to show, I reply, “Well, isn’t someone obsessed?” Clenching my teeth, I stare him in the eye.  He smirks for a moment and lets his gaze travel down my face.  The pit in my stomach deepens as his eyes settle on my lips.  Drawing closer, he brings his hand down as if to put his hand behind my head.  Smack! He slaps me, sending me three feet away and wrenching my neck. 

“Brat, get the medicine and shut your mouth, before I beat you!” He shouts. Gathering my senses again, I walk toward the closet door. It must be made from oak, as that it weighs more than a bull. The door opens to reveal a cluttered mess of shelves, papers and clothes in every spot.  As I search through its contents for the medicine bag, I come across a pair of boots. “Throw me those.” He orders. Tossing them out, I continue my search. Finally, I come across a doctor’s bag, the thought of how this—this wretch came to own it causing my stomach to churn.

Reluctantly, I move toward my captor.  His strong, agile body tenses at my slowness.  “HURRY UP!” He yells, my head throbbing from the force the slap. I look down at his leg.  Rolling up his pant leg, I hurriedly dress the wound, hoping that the grime from my hands would infect the wound. As I rise from the floor, he grasps the front of my tunic.  “Now, I don’t think I can let you go, can I?”  I glare hard at him, my heart pounding. Oh, if only Eric were here!  I could hear his worried voice, telling me to be careful.  “A pretty girl, who can doctor and fight, now that will make quite an addition to my raiders wouldn’t it? You could be my—my girl.” we gruffly chuckled, his eyes trailing down my body.

“I’d kill myself first!” I spit in his face and race toward the oak door to the hallway. Grasping the brass handle, I am thrown into the door. “Wench!” He spins me around to face him.  With another expletive screeched into the air, he punches me in the face and the world instantaneously goes black.

THUD. THUD. THUD.  My head pounds in rhythm with the throbbing of my nose.  The bridge of my nose acutely aches.  Trying to move my hands, I find them chafed my thick bands of rope and the same constriction on my ankles.  My senses slowly return and the rattle of a cart and reek of whiskey greet me. A thick black tarp prevents my seeing anything, but the constant inclines and declines of the bone-jarring cart cause me to know we are no longer in the town. Why am I tied up? The details come rushing back, its memory as pleasant as the task of cleaning up horse manure.  Closing my eyes against the unnatural darkness, I am assailed my guilt and longing.  Why didn’t I listen to Eric or Jack?  In the darkness, my mind re-creates the image of Eric’s hazel eyes filled with concern, his figure pacing the floor. Oh, what have I done?!  My mind turns to another track, his soft whisper, “No apology needed.” The gentle kiss upon my forehead replays in my thoughts until I fall asleep, hoping to gain strength for what will come.

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Hello lovelies! 

I am excited about what I have planned for the rest of this book so hold on to your phones!!! (In other words, please don’t throw them at a wall when I wrench your feelingsJ ) As a quick note, to my kindred spirits who love Anne of Green Gables and would love to for more description of scenery, I have chosen that since my darling Lee is a deplorable tomboy, I cannot make her seem too sweet by having her pay too much attention to scenery.  BUUUUUT…. I am working on a story somewhat similar to this one (and linked to this one) which will be published when this one is completed… It is called A Rebel’s Heart and the main character will be very, very Anne-ish.

Okay, sorry about blabbing. I wanted to thank all of you for reading and also for answering my questions! And I needed to explain my thoughts. I absolutely love the constructive criticism that’s been given and will be randomly asking for more from each of you. J

Dedicated to Diamonbridge for her awesomeness in answering questions and giving honest and kind opinions. Check out her profile!

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