Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [10]
She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. She was trapped and any second now they would see her and that would be the end of her. And of Taby. She crouched down, trying desperately to press against the house, to become just one of the shadows that clung to the night.
She heard one of the men speak, his voice deep and quiet. He said, “We will go through this small door I was told about.”
The other man said, “Told, Merrik? You were told naught until you gave the weasel that silver armlet.”
“It matters not. The door should be close now. I understand the boy isn’t being kept in the slave quarters but in a small chamber in the house—”
They were on her. She couldn’t simply stand there, pretending they didn’t exist, pretending they wouldn’t see her. No, she would surprise them, she would attack, and then she would run, for surely she was smaller and faster and . . . She leapt upon the nearest man, striking his face with her fists.
“What in the name of all the gods—! ’Tis a boy and he’s trying to kill me!” Oleg was big and strong, a warrior, and within seconds, he grabbed her arms, whirling her around, shouting in her face. “Hold still, you damned little sod! Stop fighting me!”
The other man whispered, “Keep him quiet, Oleg, and yourself! The last thing we need are Thrasco’s guards on us.”
In the instant the man spoke, she broke one arm free and struck her fist into the man’s belly. He only grunted, then grabbed at her again. It was a silent struggle then, for Laren didn’t want the guards any more than these men. But she had no chance. Her arms were finally pinned to her sides. She looked up to see the man’s hand raised and fisted. He would strike her. She looked at that fist and knew that when it hit her, it would be over. His other hand still held her upper arm.
What did it matter now? She jerked down her head and bit down on his hand as hard as she could. He grunted in pain, but she knew he wanted to scream, for she tasted his blood in her mouth. She didn’t let go.
The other man was on her then, and his hands were about her throat and he was squeezing, saying low in her ear, “Release his hand or I will strangle you.”
She let the man’s hand go. He swore quietly, stepping back from her. The other man kept his hands around her throat and slowly turned her to face him.
He said, staring down at her, “Look who we have here, Oleg. We are blessed or cursed, depending on the pain in your hand. Ah, I’m not mistaken, for there is a bit of light coming over my left shoulder. Aye, Oleg, it is the boy we were coming to fetch. He came to welcome us. Well, boy, how did you get out of the compound?”
Laren didn’t move. She felt the other man’s blood trickling from the side of her mouth. She just stared up at the man. He was the one she’d seen at the slave market.
3
SHE HEARD THE other man cursing in a furious whisper as he hugged his bloody hand against his chest. She stared up at the man who still held her by her throat, saying not a word, just staring. Then suddenly, she drove her fist into his belly and jerked up her knee to his groin.
That knee came up fast, too fast, and Merrik knew, even as the bony knee struck him, that he wouldn’t like what was going to happen. And he didn’t.
He sucked in his breath when the inevitable nausea struck, and clutched his belly as the pain washed through him.
Oleg cursed, then grabbed the damned boy by his neck before he could run, squeezing even harder than Merrik had because his hand hurt and was bleeding, and the damned little savage had kicked Merrik in his groin and sent him to his knees.
She saw blackness, and she cursed herself for not immediately running, but she’d stayed there, frozen, watching the man she’d struck, the man she’d recognized from the slave market, wondering what he was doing here. In her hesitation, she missed her chance to escape. The blackness filled her mind then until