Knight Moves: Merriweather Sisters Time Travel (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 2) (7 page)

BOOK: Knight Moves: Merriweather Sisters Time Travel (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 2)
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The beautiful ring. Given its size, she knew it belonged to a man. Melinda didn’t care for jewelry on men, though she could imagine this ring on a strong hand, its owner rugged and tall. She ran a finger over her thumb, felt the small cut, and knew she hadn’t imagined the ring. Melinda looked around, thinking the ring would stand out in the snow, but didn’t see it. It was too cold to spend the day looking. She’d freeze to death.

As she walked, she swore the landscape looked different. More wild and untamed. Melinda didn’t know how long she walked, but certainly long enough that she should have found the road. Seen another car. At least moving kept her warm. Maybe she should change direction? While she stood still trying to decide which way to go, she heard thunder again. But different. Not a storm.

Men on horseback rode straight for her. And it looked like they were in a hurry. She squinted, because something looked out of place, but she couldn’t quite put a finger on it. As they came closer, she could see what bothered her. The men were dressed in some kind of leggings, long shirts, and long cloaks. And were those swords? She blinked three times. Yep, swords.

Her heart beat in double time as the big question flashed in neon lights. Had she done it? Really gone back in time? The rest of her thoughts were cut short as one of the men unsheathed his sword and swung at her head.

Common sense, or fear, or whatever you wanted to call it, kicked in at the last moment, and Melinda dropped to all fours. When she could breathe again, she stood to give them a piece of her mind. Five men surrounded her.
 

A kind of shaky feeling in her stomach telling her something was wrong wiggled around her gut and made her bones feel like they’d turned to jelly. She wobbled but didn’t fall. The men looked like the kind of guys any rational woman would cross the street to avoid. Not only did they look mean, they looked dangerous.

The man who’d swung at her dismounted from his horse, came to stand in front of her, and started yelling. She listened but couldn’t make out what he was saying. It kinda sounded like French, but she didn’t speak French, so she wasn’t really sure. She’d been to Paris once, but this sounded different. Maybe another region in France? Crap on toast, had she gone back in time only to end up in France instead of England?

As she was trying to figure out where she was and when she was, the man grabbed hold of her.

“Take your hands off me now or lose them.” She glared back at the man. Mean men were like mean dogs: never show fear.

By this time the other men had dismounted and surrounded her. She had a bad feeling. But she would brazen it out. She turned and looked each one of them in the eye, giving them her meanest look.

“My boyfriend will be along shortly. You better not touch me.”

It seemed the wrong thing to say. The men grabbed at her hair and took hold of her arms. Blackness rose deep within. She felt hot all over. There was no one around. No one to save her if these men decided to hurt her. Or do something much worse. She kicked the man closest to her as hard as she could. Using the palm of her hand, she pushed another one hard enough to make him fall over backward. She felt hair tearing from her scalp as she turned and ran.

Up ahead she could see trees. If she could make it into the woods, maybe she could hide. Melinda ran for all she was worth. She heard cursing behind her, knew if they got on their horses they’d capture her in a minute. The sounds of men yelling to each other filled the air. It sounded like they were getting back on their horses. Behind her, she heard heavy breathing. Risking a quick look over her shoulder, Melinda let out a yelp. The man was so close he could almost grab her. Fear gave her speed. Thank the stars she’d worn practical low-heeled boots instead of heels. She ran as fast as she could, panting and sweating. She hadn’t even run this fast at last year’s Lilly Pulitzer sample sale.

The trees were so close. Yes. She was going to make it. And as that tiny flicker of hope blossomed inside, the heavy breather tackled her from behind. She went down, the breath knocked out of her. Melinda struggled to pull air into her lungs and knew how fish must feel when they’re caught and thrown on the dock.

He straddled her, leaned close to her face, leering. She gagged from the smell of his breath. He was missing several teeth, and the rest of them looked awfully yellow. Didn’t they brush their teeth here? Oh, my. He smelled like he slept in garbage. She gagged. Yuck.

“Get off me.” Melinda thrashed, bucking to dislodge him, but the man seemed glued to her. Smelly Breath pulled a piece of dirty cloth from somewhere on his person and tied it around her mouth. She dry-heaved against the cloth, trying not to throw up. The scrap of fabric smelled awful. And the taste—she didn’t want to think about where it had been or what she was tasting. Double yuck.

The rest of the men caught up to them. And the one she’d kicked in the family jewels returned the favor, kicking her in the side and sending her to her knees. Hard enough she saw spots in front of her eyes. She swallowed down the nausea and bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood.
You can’t pass out. If you do, they’ll rape you
.

The man she’d pushed held the other one back. He rubbed his clavicle and spat. The glob of icky yellow stuff landed next to her knee and a fresh wave of nausea rolled over her.

“I get first go.”

Another of the men peered dubiously at her. “Are you sure ’tis a woman? She’s unnaturally tall. Mayhap ’tis a pretty boy.”

Smelly Breath grabbed her.

“She’s a woman.” He leered to his friends as he untied the gag and kissed her.

Gross. He slobbered all over her face as she pushed him away. He laughed. Melinda spat at him even as a voice in the back of her head told her it was completely unladylike and she should be ashamed. It was the perfectly proper voice of Aunt Pittypat, who was a hippie with flawless manners. She’d dance naked under a full moon and serve snacks afterward on china that was two hundred years old.

Some of the men lost interest. Now only two men surrounded her. The leader and the one she’d kicked. The rest seemed to be taking care of the horses and other camping-type stuff. She hated to camp.

Melinda tried to scream, but with the gag back in place, all she managed to do was make herself feel like she was going to barf any second. Somehow she managed to stand and wipe her face off on her shoulder. It was hard to breathe through her nose. It felt hot and swollen. There was dried blood crusted in the corner of her mouth. She could taste it over the foul gag.
 

“A saucy wench. Move aside and give me a taste.” The man she’d kicked pulled her down on the ground, removed the gag, and proceeded to inhale her face.

Stupid. Hadn’t he learned from his friend? Melinda bit his cheek. He howled in pain and slapped her across the face. Little unicorns and birds flew around in circles. Ice coated her insides. She managed to roll out from under him. Before she could stand and run, something cold pressed against her stinging cheek.

“Run and I will cut your pretty face from ear to ear.”

She froze on her hands and knees as if she were moving into a yoga pose. Very slowly she eased back on her heels, the knife never leaving her face. The tip of the blade pressing into her cheek. Melinda used to complain men saw her face first and never cared about her mind. She’d grumped to her friends how some days she wished she weren’t pretty.
 

Sorry, universe. I swear I didn’t mean it. I like my face. Please don’t let them hurt me.

Sweetness might work. It couldn’t hurt. “What are y’all doing out here? If you’d remove the sword, I would feel a whole lot better.”

The man cocked his head, spoke to the leader in that odd French, then sneered at her.

“You are alone, demoiselle. You come with us.” He moved the blade while the other one tied her hands in front of her, then tied her feet.

Thank goodness he didn’t notice she’d kicked the gag away. Great, just freaking great. Melinda filled her stomach with breath and pushed it out as far as she could, hoping it might give a tiny bit of slack as the man tied her to the tree.

The leader sneered at her. “Pleasure us well and we may let you live.”

She gulped. Not gonna happen. Melinda opened her mouth and let out her best horror-movie scream.

“Scream for me again, wench. Allow me the joy of cutting out your pretty green eye and sucking out the juices.”

Ick. How disgusting. She shut her mouth with a snap.
This is what you get for making plans. Betcha didn’t plan on being kidnapped and ravaged by a group of horrible men.
The voice in her head sounded so smug and self-righteous. This wouldn’t do. She had to get away and find out where and when she was.

While her captors ate lunch, she tested the ropes. There was a bit of slack around her, and she leaned back and forth, trying to stretch the rope. When one of the men looked her way, she pretended to be fascinated with the trees around her. He went back to eating and she worked on the knots around her wrists. There was no way she would be the dessert.

Chapter Eight

“Halt.” James swore he heard a woman scream. The feminine sound of distress carried across the wood. He’d seen enough of the horror women faced during battle. He would allow no harm to come to those on his land.

James urged the horse onward and into the wood to render aid. A young boy—no, ’twas a girl—ran through the woods, a look of fear upon her face. Five men chased her. Bandits from lands to the south, trying to steal from him again. This winter was not as severe as the past few; the terrible famine was now over and food was more plentiful. However, some men, once turned thief, found the taste as filling as a cup of ale and would not turn back.

The witless female stopped and stood in the grass, gaping at him, mouth open, about to find her head separated from her shoulders.

He urged the horse to a gallop, metal screeching against metal as he unsheathed his sword, met the bandit’s blade, and saved the wench. The clang of swords rent the air as his men dispatched the ruffians. ’Twas over before James began to sweat. He leaned negligently against a tree, longing for one good fight.

Where was the feebleminded lass? He heard the sound of a wounded animal coming from the trees. James tied the horse to a tree. He moved through the woods and found her on the ground, curled up into a small ball. As if she could disappear if she made herself small enough. She sat in the snow, head in her hands, muttering strange words.

He knelt down beside her, grunting at the ache in his leg. James raised a hand to pat her shoulder, then stopped. He did not know how to soothe her tender feelings, so he clapped her on the shoulder.

“How do you fare?”

He cast a baleful eye over her while she babbled. Something gleamed like burnished metal in the weak afternoon sun. James reached down and picked up a lock of hair. She’d almost lost her pretty head.

The hair was glorious. Shades of copper, the red of a sunset, and the dark wine color of dried blood, which, oddly enough, he found quite beautiful. The coil wrapped around his finger, and when he pulled it out, the curl sprang back, curling around his finger as if it did not want to let go. Without thinking, he tucked the lock into a pouch at his waist.

James leaned close, gentling his voice. “My lady, are you injured?”

She spread her fingers, peeking through them, but did not answer. He spoke to her again, the pain in his legs threatening to topple him over as he crouched beside her. James prayed he would be able to stand without falling over and making a fool of himself.

She removed her hands from her face. Brilliant green eyes stared up at him.
 

“I can’t really understand you. Are you speaking French?”

She was speaking a form of English, though her speech sounded odd, the accent strange yet soothing. Soft. Caressing him like a lover.

“I inquired if you were injured, lady.”

She held up her hands and he could see the ropes binding them. With one swipe of his blade, the rope fell to the ground. He took her hands in his, anger filling him upon noting the angry red marks encircling her slim wrists. She had beautiful skin. Unmarked and unblemished, as fine as ivory. Realizing he was stroking circles on her wrist, he dropped her hands as if they were on fire.

“I don’t think…” She touched a hand to her cheek. “He nicked me, but it’s only a scratch. My nose hurts like crazy.”

James touched a finger to her cheek where the blade had left its mark. It was only a scratch, and she would heal. The nose was swollen but looked straight. He’d suffered many a broken nose, enough to know she was fine. There was dried blood above her lip. He wiped at it with his thumb, touching her lip. The skin was soft as a rose petal.

“’Tis fortunate you did not lose your head, lady.”

“I am rather attached to it.” She smiled at him. He felt strange inside, as if he’d been inside all winter locked in the dark and just stepped out into the light, blinking and marveling at the colors around him.

As he was wondering how he was going to manage to stand, his captain appeared by his side, sensing his distress. Renly helped them both up while making it look as if he wasn’t holding James up.

BOOK: Knight Moves: Merriweather Sisters Time Travel (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 2)
3.91Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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