Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [27]
“’Tis a new tale just for you, Taby,” Merrik said to the child, who was lying in his arms, his cheek against Merrik’s chest. “Thank you, Deglin. You will tell us more soon?”
“Aye, Merrik. The boy needs to sleep now. I did not wish to waste my words on these sods when Taby is so sleepy he can’t appreciate my greatness.”
Laren slipped back into the tent, her heart pounding with excitement at the story she’d just heard, and with words and ideas of her own that jostled and tumbled about, words that wanted to spew out of her mouth. She hugged them to her as she eased down between two thick wolf hides to sleep. What a wondrous tale, but it was important that it continue with . . .
“Taby will sleep with us,” Merrik said, easing the child down beside her. He said nothing more, merely arranged himself to his own comfort and was soon asleep.
When she screamed, he had his sword in his right hand and his knife in his left hand within seconds.
6
HE WAS LEANING over her, so close to her that she could feel his breath hot on her face and smell the stale wine he’d drunk.
She wasn’t afraid at first, no, just confused, for it was the dead of night, and she’d been sleeping soundly and who would want to come into her chamber in the dead of night to see her? His face was very close now, she could hear his breathing, and she forced her eyes to open to stare up at him, and in the dim light. She saw him clearly, and what she saw sent bile into her throat. For an instant she was frozen with fear. She wanted to scream, but there was naught but desert dryness in her throat. His hands were on her then, rough hands, and it jolted her. She reared up, trying to jerk away from him, to run, but his hands were hard around her arms now, holding her down, his fingers digging so deeply into her flesh she felt the pain to her bones. He was grinning at her, and she realized this wasn’t a dream or someone’s jest and that this man was here to hurt her.
Taby!
He’d been lying beside her, his child’s restless nature having sent him into her chamber, and she’d held him close and soothed him and sung to him of the valiant deeds of his uncle and his father until he’d fallen asleep again.
“Aye,” the man said, “I’ve got her.”
Fighting him now would gain her nothing. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she forced herself to go limp. To her unspeakable relief, the man’s hands eased and he grunted, “I think the little girl fainted from fright.”
Another man said, “She saw your ugly face. It’s good she fainted. I was told she’s wild as a wolf. I have the child. He’s no larger than a loaf of flatbread. Tie her arms and legs, then bring her. There are too many guards about for my liking, more than promised. Not close, but still, I want to finish this quickly.”
She waited another moment, forcing herself to be utterly slack, just for a brief instant. She counted slowly, each second, feeling the terror cramp her muscles, feeling her throat close, wanting to suck in air, but she didn’t dare, not yet. Finally the other man had moved off with Taby. She grabbed the bronze candle holder beside her bed, lifted it, and smashed it against the man’s head. He yowled, hurtling away from her. She was on her feet then, and she was kicking him in his belly and his legs, striking him again and again, sending him to his knees. She saw blood gush from a blow against the side of his head. Then the other man whirled about, stared in astonishment at the scene, and came running back and she knew she had no chance against the two of them. He dropped Taby on the bed, then turned to her, his hands out toward her. She leapt back away from both of them, hurled back her head and screamed as loud as she could, screamed and screamed . . .
But they were both on her now, their hands digging into her flesh, making her screams real cries of pain, and it wouldn’t stop for they were violent with anger and still she screamed and screamed. The man struck her hard in the jaw, but still she