One does not simply harm a horse, with no care to its health. In fact, one does not simply harm any animal, with or without concern. If the animal had not been harmed, there would be no reason for above. And the only thing swirling in her head was the condition of her poor mare, and the fright she must be feeling.
Blay hoped she made it back home safely. The men who captured her were stupid, plain and simple. Utterly stupid. What kind of rogues would allow a horse with no rider to roam free? The horse would eventually roam back to where it called home, and then it would make everyone aware that something had happened to Blay.
And if anything happened to Blay, her father went insane. Not only that, but her mother had a temper that even Blay had never witnessed, and though the two of them were at odds, Saeran still loved her, and would go through hell to get her back.
She wouldn’t let their worry be in vain. No, as she lay there on the hard, cold ground, her fingers twisted together and the rope digging into her skin, she was plotting her escape; and it would be as grand as a fey story, though much more gruesome.
As she had stated before: one does not simply harm an animal, and that is exactly what these imbeciles had done.
She would avenge her poor beast, and in the most drastic of measures. The fury she felt inside her only grew greater with each passing moment, along with the sounds of their jovial laughter.
They thought they had done some great deed today. They thought they had captured a delicate little female who had not a single bone in her body. Well, they were wrong—and they were going to find out just how wrong, as soon as they stopped with their drunken antics and passed out.
She didn’t think the time could come soon enough.
“I need a soft body to keep me warm,” a man grunted.
“Oh, aye. Several of them, in fact.” There were several grunts of approval. Her back stiffened. She might be a virgin, but she knew enough from her first marriage that when a man wanted a “warm body,” they normally meant…
“There’s one right over there. A good fuck would do her well, do no’ ye’ think?”
She was going to enjoy their screams of pain when she got out of this. She was going to relish the screams, their tears, their pleas for mercy. She was going to drink their tears and laugh while they died.
Oh, aye. Pain will be theirs, while escape and retribution will be hers.
Someone grunted. “Ouch, what was that for?”
“We only want the riches of The Lion, not for him to kill us for taking his daughter’s innocence, ye’ idiot.”
“How do we ken she’s innocent?” Someone snorted. “The girl was married several years ago. Someone as pretty as her willna stay a virgin for long.”
Her blood ran cold, washing away the fire. How did these men know of her marriage? Her parents had kept news of it low. The bans had been posted and there had been a ceremony for it, but it had been small. Only immediate family had known of it, for the precise reason that Hagen was old. She would still have the status of a married woman, but he had been presumed to be “unable to perform the act.” Their marriage had never been consummated, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t done other things to make up for that…
She felt bile rise in her throat.
“Aye, but we also heard that the man died several weeks after the marriage. The coot was too old to perform. Tis the only reason The Lion would let his daughter marry someone like him.”
The way the words “like him” came out of one of the men’s mouths told her they knew what he was like behind closed doors, something her own father had never been aware of.
“The matter is of no importance. The lass will sleep there, alone, and she will be in perfect condition by the time her father takes note of her disappearance. We’ll return her as we acquired her, as planned, and then…then we will turn his people against him. Shaw lands will be ours, and soon.”
The rumbles from the men gave her pause. ‘Shaw lands will be ours?’ What in hell did that mean? Nay, surely they didn’t plan on— Her eyes widened. Aye, they did. They meant to kill her father and take over as laird.
“If we plan on taking them over, it should no’ matter if we take her innocence or not,” one of the men muttered. There was rustling, grunts, and bones popping, and then she heard them move in the darkness, coming closer to her.
They were finally retiring to bed, after revealing that they were going to destroy her family and land.
Oh, yes. They were going to pay.
Thankfully, she could still see the flickering fire as it cast shadows around their make-shift campsite. As well as that, she could smell the spirits the men had drank. It would make her night much easier if they left it near the fire so she didn’t have to rummage for it, but it was fine if they didn’t. She was going to move swiftly with her plans. That would only be a small bump in the road.
It would take them a while to sleep, so she began the long process of working her hands free of the ropes. The men must have been convinced she was a simpering woman, because they hadn’t bothered to tie the ropes very well. Foolish of them, really. The daughter of The Lion had more fire than any of the men combined—literally.
A small smile graced her lips—until she smelled the rancid breath washing over her face. She locked eyes—or where she assumed the eyes were—and stopped moving her hands. The painted black face was staring down at her with a sneer on his face.
“Donna try anything while we sleep, wench. There’s men watching yer every move and they are no’ afraid to hurt a woman.” Then, with that little warning, he pulled back. She breathed a sigh of relief. There was only so much rank breath she could take for that long.
She waited even longer to start freeing her hands, rolling onto her other side when she was sure it wouldn’t cause a commotion. Even paced, drunk breathing was coming from all around her, with not even the people “watching her” making a sound. More likely than not, they’d fallen asleep as well.
Dumb men, she thought. Of course they would fall asleep. They’ve already mucked everything else up for themselves, why wouldn’t they add this to their list of incompetencies?
She worked her hands free, pausing to make sure that everyone was as asleep as they appeared to be, and then let them slip through the ropes. Next came taking out the cloth, then freeing her feet. She spit at the ground as quietly as she could. God knows where that thing had been!
As she looked around, she realized that they were all, in fact, truly asleep. Not a single man was awake and watching her. This was not simply a “let’s see how far the lass can get” type of thing—the men who were designated to stay awake were obviously the ones slumped against the trees. The others were wrapped in their plaids, all in a pile a couple feet away from her. At least that would make this easier on her, she thought, nodding to herself.
Aye, very easy.
She dusted off her trews and shirt, giving herself a good pat-down to dispel as much of the muck as she could, and then quietly tip-toed over to the fire. She smiled with delight when she saw that aye, the men had left their spirits by the fire. She began gathering up the bottles—then paused when a grumpy sigh came from one of the trees.
Those men had fallen asleep more aware of their surroundings than the others, so obviously they would be the first to awaken. She crossed her arms over her chest, gazing at them, foot tapping on the ground.
“Well,” she said to herself regretfully. “I fear I have no other choice but to do it the old way.” Blay picked up the closest thing to her that wouldn’t break upon impact, and then hefted it air. It was heavy but easy to hold—just right.
Blay, once again, quietly snuck her way over to the closest man, raising the whacking stick above her head and aiming. She brought it closer to her head, imaging the way it would hit him and where, pulled back, and—stopped.
She couldn’t do that to a sleeping man…while she was sober. Often times, her father took to the spirits when he had to make a decision he wasn’t sure about. Aye, her mother was there to dissuade him while he was drunk, and ended up making the decision for him before he could recover from his night, but that was besides the point. Her mother was not here, her life and clan was at stake, and her horse needed to be avenged. There was no way around that.
So, like her father, she was going to do what she felt was best for the situation—she picked up a skin of ale and chugged it like she wasn’t about to light fire to thirty men. The second the ale was emptied from the skin, she threw the thing on the ground, slamming her arm over her mouth to muffle the sound of coughing.
Good Lord, she thought through her coughing fit. These men liked it to burn. It was no surprise that they were passed out where they’d landed. A couple moments later, after the ale had settled good and down, she was woozily picking up the whacking stick and making her way over to the sleeping men.
“Oh, aye,” she mumbled, raising it above her head. “This will knock you out better than that damn ale.” She gasped, then put a hand to her mouth. “Mother would be ashamed of such language.”
Her muffled words ended on a squeak when the whacking stick fell from her grasp—hitting the target over the head. It rolled to the ground and she watched it, frowning. Why had the whacking stick taken the job out of her own hands? She snickered at her own joke—then quickly checked to make sure the man was out cold—which he was, she noticed proudly.
“Hmph.” She bent down to pick it up. The second she put effort into lifting it, though, it started to feel even heavier, like someone had added weight to it while she wasn’t looking.
Blay wouldn’t be surprised if there was a little imp of a man, running around and putting more whack-substance on a whack-stick. It would make sense, she thought, giving up on trying to fully lift it and instead dragging it over the ground. Whack-sticks didn’t just “grow” from one second to the next.
When she came upon the second man ages later, she saw…two of him.
Two heads, really. She squinted, rearing back. “Well, this isn’t right at all. Which head do I hit? Eh…oh well. I’ll hit something.” She gathered up what strength she could through the confusion and the sudden movement of the earth under her feet, then swung blindly. She heard the thunk and felt the whack-stick collide with something. When she leaned in to inspect, the two heads gradually became one, and there was a quaint little bump, right on the side of his head. Mayhap she had knocked the two heads together, into one.
Aye, that sounded reasonable. Feeling accomplished, with no more men to bonk on the head, she left her whack-stick on the ground and began the journey of walking in a straight line to the fire, where several skins of ale still rested.
On her way there, though, she realized something distressing.
The horses. The poor, innocent horses could not be subject to what she was about to do. Aye, lovely ponies do not need to witness this. She stumbled her way over to the low hanging branch that held the horses’ reins and clumsily untied them.
“Be free, my beauties. Let your wings take flight and—you’re not birds. You don’t have wings.” She patted them on the bums when she realized her mistake, sending them on their way.
Now that the horses were safe, it was time to get back to her revenge.
The earth, however, had other ideas. “How dare ye’ move!” she hissed, stabbing a finger at the ground. She bent to gather the ale, scowling at the ground when it continued to wobble in front of her. “Do ye’ no’ understand that I have a master plan that will teach these…these ruffians—aye, ruffians is a good name for them, is it no’?—a lesson? They harmed my horse!” The ground kept vigil in it’s movement. “I’ll no’ be taking censure from ye’, earth. I plan to do this, whether ye’ll help me or no’.”
Then, with an extra kick in her step, she grabbed the first skin of ale and began making a circle around the men. She made it nice and thick. When she was down to her last three skins, she had a decision to make.
These men had kidnapped her. Had hurt her horse. Were planning to kill her father and take over Shaw territory. Not only that, but she couldn’t imagine what they would do to her mother when they got their hands on her. The thought made her sick to her stomach and the fury rise anew. What would her father do? Would he let them off easy, or show them that the Shaw’s were not to be messed with?
She knew before she finished questioning herself what the answer was.
These bastards would wake up when the good Lord wanted them to—if they were experiencing purgatory first hand, then that wasn’t her fault.
She carefully stepped over the line of ale and began pouring it on the ruffians’ plaids. She didn’t make it as thick as the lines on the ground because, honestly—she wasn’t as brutal as her father. She might have the bloodlust, but she was still a lover at heart. They would wake up a little singed if they didn’t put out the fire in time. After that, it wasn’t her fault.
Her work complete, she drank the last of the ale and threw the single skin to the ground, grinning with triumph. All she had to do was get her whack-stick all hot and fiery, then put it on the line of ale, and then…it was over. She would have her revenge.
Moments later, she was doing exactly that. It took a bit for the flame to light, but when it did, she couldn’t stop the laughter that was bursting from her throat. This would definitely teach the ruffians not to mess with the Shaws.
The fire crackled and burned, the scent tinging her nose almost instantly. Still, there was no movement from inside the circle—that is, until the circle of fire was leaping. She jumped a little, cursing when the ground decided to misplace itself. She fell on her bottom, but the sight she’d seen was enough to make the giggles unstoppable. The flames had leapt to the other men as well, who were beginning to stir from their drunken stupor.
“Mayhap next time, you bastards will think twice!” she half shouted, half squealed. The struggle to her feet was as epic as her little gift to them. As epic, and as terrible. “The earth must be angry with me,” she thought, blinking. “It does no’ want me to get up.”
She started to laugh as she beat the earth, using a nearby tree as support.
Then she hiccupped.
It was such a strong hiccup that she fell onto her bum…right as a bellow sounded through the trees. The source of the enraged cry? In the middle of the fire. And upon looking up…she found that the man on fire was staring right at her, with the look of murder in his eyes.
She screamed.