Julianne Parker

Julianne heard the sound of heavy steps on the stairs outside the door. In the time it took her to leap away from the door, keys jingled against each other and one scraped around in the lock. Her heart pounded as she realized that the latest debris from the falling ceiling would be in a heap by the wall. She grabbed the bucket she’d been standing beside, pulled it next to the rubble, and sat. She spread her dress around to cover the evidence. Her heart pounded, not so much from exertion as from fear.

She tried to look around, but she couldn’t see much. Marta had the knife and had been cutting the wood. Hopefully, she’d hidden it.

The light flooding through the doorway was blinding. Julianne blinked to adjust. The acrid smell of smoke burst in with the man. There was a fire, and it was close.

Dougal stood in the open doorway and shoved a woman to the floor near Julianne’s feet. The woman’s dress caught on the door latch, and her body fell across the threshold. Dougal tried to slam the door, but it bounced off the woman’s leg with a sickening crack. The woman screeched.

He growled, swearing fluently of heaven and earth. At first, he tried to kick the woman out of the way, but her dress was good and caught. Then he bent to shove the woman into the room.

This was Julianne’s opportunity. There was no guarantee that they would complete the opening in the roof to break free before they were taken from here. Or if there was a fire, to escape that. But the door was open now, and they could be freed.

Julianne hadn’t realized what she’d decided before her body sprang toward the hunched-over giant She landing on his back and flung her arms around his neck and shoulders. Her momentum and extra weight pushed him into the door, blocking it open. Several women ran past Julianne, up the stairs.

“Help me!” the tied-up woman cried in a still-weak voice from the elixir Dougal used on them. Her face was etched with agony as she lay in the dirt. She tried to roll, but her skirt was still snagged.

Dougal bucked solidly against the doorjamb, knocking the breath out of Julianne as she hung on. The back of her head struck the wooden frame, and stars swam before her vision. She knew if they were to have any chance, she had to make him faint.

She was able to get one toe back on the overturned bucket, giving her enough leverage to wrap her arms tighter around Dougal’s neck. One beefy arm snapped out and hauled Marta to his side as she tried to get past. Clara dove for his knees and wrapped her arms around them.

The big man stumbled but kicked out of Clara’s embrace. He whirled and flailed against the attack of the three remaining women. Julianne twisted one leg around his to keep from being thrown off. Marta whipped the knife toward him when he focused on Clara, sticking him in the thigh, then pulled the knife away again.

Dougal swore and tried to move, but Clara’s arms cinched up his legs and held tight.

Julianne labored against her own fatigue to keep her arms tight.

She looked at the new woman moaning on the ground and knew that was her just half a day ago. It had been all of them. This man had no human feeling. She looked at Marta to see if she still had the knife. Even as Dougal reached for it, Marta flung her arm to the side, moving it out of his reach.

He continued to rage, and Clara hung on, limiting him from taking a step. He pulled and tugged at Marta. He wanted the knife. If he got it, Julianne knew, they’d all die in a horrible way.

She had renewed desire. She shifted her weight and pulled her forearm tighter across the big man’s neck. She held her wrist with her other hand. Her shoulders burned as she worked to tighten her already sore muscles.

If he would just pass out, they could all escape. Her arms were already weakened from the work on the hole in the ceiling. They strained and shook and felt like they would crumble to dust. Dougal’s meaty fist grasped Marta’s, trying to control the knife. He pulled her closer to him.

I can’t give up. The only thing Julianne could think of was to pray again—what was required to save herself and these women was beyond her strength alone. “My arms are Your arms, Lord.” She felt herself relax, weaken, and begin to lose grip. “No!”

At the same time, a bold tension overcame her and increased her strength. Marta held fast to the knife, trying to pull away from Dougal as he pulled her toward him. A second later, the man wobbled and fell like Goliath, face-down in the dirt.