The Knight's Scarred Maiden. Nicole Locke
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a price you paid, how could she not be yours?’ Rudd’s snake expression turned to her. ‘Can you imagine any man would pay a price to be between your legs? But these men paid plenty. They seem to like their women damaged. Your ugliness is lining my pockets.’
‘Never had a burned one before,’ Onion-breath said with glee. ‘Last one was crippled and remember the blind one?’
The man on her left closed his eyes like he savored that memory, and she yanked her arm to hide her revulsion.
‘Our agreement was I had her first.’ Rudd tossed the parchment behind him, his hands immediately at his belt.
‘I get the ugly half,’ Ale man breathed.
‘No, I get the ugly half,’ the other argued.
In her struggle, Helissent yanked the men several feet before they dug their heels into the mud. Terror, like ice shards, struck underneath her skin. It was going to happen. She couldn’t stop it.
Rudd laughed. ‘I don’t want any half except what’s down below. Just shove her face in the mud. I don’t want to see it for a moment before I get the skirts up and over her face.’
The men chortled, their manacled hands loosening. ‘No!’ She pulled her arms free and ran. Her heart pumped; she tasted the iron of blood in her mouth. As she feared, her right leg immediately dragged behind her. Pounding of feet on the cold dirt behind her, pain in her arms as the men grabbed and shoved her to the ground. The wet mud momentarily masking the taste of blood in her mouth.
More pain as a knee jammed into the small of her back. She threw her body to the left, kicked out, made some connection. Another hand on her ankle, yanking it to the side. Too far out, her legs were now widespread.
She screamed and tried to kick again. Grunts and harsh breath from the two men pinning her to the ground. She fought harder, a foot pounded into her ribs, a fist on to her cheek.
None of her struggles drowned out Rudd’s laughter as he strolled up to them. His hands were at his waist, loosening his belt knot.
Waves of sickness crashed over her. Her lip was split open, but she wouldn’t give in. Gathering what was left of her breath, she screamed again before a muddy hand slammed against her mouth.
An unearthly growl resounded as a man leapt out of the darkness. His cape swirled like a vortex of black; the arc of his sword glinted like shards in the moonlight before he went out of her line of sight.
‘Let her go,’ he snarled.
His cold voice raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Terror gripped her harder. Let her go, let her go for what? The two men tightened their grips and laid heavily on top, suffocating what was left of her air. Through her watering eyes, she saw Rudd securing his belt. A supplicant expression now masked his face. She knew that curve of his lips when he wanted to appease a customer.
‘Here now, this is none of your concern,’ Rudd said. ‘It’s late and there’s nothing to see. We only want a bit of privacy.’
‘You harm a woman. You’ll get no privacy except in death.’
The words were menacingly calm. He had a sword. Why weren’t they getting off her? She yanked her mouth to get some air and a sharp prick bit into her side.
She was going to die. The men held her down with a knife. She prayed it would be a quick death.
‘She’s willing,’ Rudd said, pointing towards her. ‘See how she lays still?’
There was a harsh staccato of heavy breath from the men holding her down and one started nervously smacking his lips. She could feel they wanted to run, but the knife against her side held firm and they didn’t move.
‘I’ll say this only once more. Call. Off. Your. Men.’
‘See here...’
A whoosh of breath and a sharp thump of one captor’s body like someone kicked him down. Then utter stillness as the knife released against her side. Onion Breath let go of her arm, scrambled before he slumped heavily on to her with a sharp cry.
Her eyesight dimming, she watched Rudd’s smug face draw white with fear as he ran towards the trees and disappeared.
A yank of one body above her released her legs, another released the rest of her. She tried to push herself away, but her arms wouldn’t work. Her legs jerking, she clawed the mud to flee from the man she hadn’t seen, but who she was certain just killed two men.
A hand upon her back. ‘Careful.’
She lashed out. Too slow to strike him. Too vulnerable on her back to run away. She froze, expecting a knife in her stomach.
Instead, the man crouched near her, his elbows resting on his legs, his hands hanging between them. Empty hands, his scabbard bare and no sword at his feet.
‘You’re safe now. They’re gone.’ The voice was no longer cold, but laden with an awkwardness in the cadence as if he was unused to giving comfort.
The full moon’s light revealed his tall and angular shape coiled with predatory strength even in his relaxed stance. Shadows and a hood covered his face, but she recognized the distinct masculine chin, and full bottom lip.
‘It’s you,’ she gasped.
Holding her breath, she tried to sit up. Agony in her ribs.
‘Stay still,’ he said, a sharper tone to his words like he cut them against a blade, or wanted to cut another with it. ‘Is anything broken?’
Pounding beginning in her head, her cheek throbbed, and she tasted blood on her lips. She kept her eyes closed and eased down in the mud again. Her thundering heart hurt her chest almost more than where they’d kicked her. But she could move her arms and legs, and the stabbing pain in her chest lessened when she didn’t breathe deeply. ‘I don’t think so. I can’t stop shaking.’
‘I need to take you somewhere.’ He glanced beyond her and cursed.
It was then she heard the hurried footsteps and the sudden stopping of them. ‘Taking care of strays again?’ said a dry, but friendly voice. It wasn’t a voice she recognized, but she didn’t dare move her head yet. The giant, perhaps?
‘They’re not dead; I hit them with rocks. But if they wake, and I’m like this, I’ll use my sword.’
‘Well, for your sake then I’ll drag them into the forest—’
‘There’s another in the trees.’
‘How unfortunate for him.’
‘Make sure they’re divested of wealth and weapons.’
The man gave an exaggerated huff. ‘I’m a mercenary, remember? Is she hurt?’
They talked over her like she was dead. Parts of her were throbbing already, but she was alive and had suffered much worse. ‘I’m fine.’
‘She’s hurt,’ her shadow man said. ‘Her cheek...perhaps her ribs.’
‘Left cheek?’
‘Does it matter?’ her shadow man asked.
Helissent did risk moving her head as she heard the other man heave up the lax weight of one of her attackers. ‘I wanted to be sure I left them in the same condition they left her. Except I think I’ll take their...shoes...too.’
For one blazing moment, she wished he’d leave them worse off. But one look at her rescuers faces, and she knew they would be. Despite their easy banter, their faces were dark, their eyes speaking of a violence she had never committed, but had almost been victim to. Whatever happened to the men, they would be worse off than her.
‘Is there