Chapter 3
Before Bree could think about floating in the darkness of time, she landed with a thump and fell to her hands and knees.
She kept still, waiting for her molecules to stop buzzing around her body and brain.
She shivered. She would never get used to the feeling of travel and wondered if Dianne or Mark ever did.
Once her sight cleared and she focused on her surroundings, she sat back on her heels and flung her arms in the air. Dianne had distinctly told her she would arrive close to the king’s location. She assumed that would be in the castle, but here she was, in the middle of nowhere.
She looked from left to right. On one side was a road, a hole-filled dirt road, and on the other was a forest so jammed with trees she could not see in. She got up on shaky legs and peered up and down the road, but couldn’t see any signs of a castle, not one turret or tower.
She didn’t even know if she was in Great Briton, let alone Cornwall.
No. She had to be in the right country—that was where her father lived, and she knew the coordinates were set correctly.
But she should have arrived in King Pradwick’s castle, not in the middle of who knew where.
She regarded her surroundings again and spotted a small army of horsemen round a corner and disappear off in the distance.
She sucked in a noisy breath. Unless King Pradwick was here, and I’ve missed him. That’s what happened to Izzy. Her contact, the duke, had just left the commerce area of Fleet Street as she arrived.
“Just my luck. Now what am I supposed to do?”
She sat down on the grassy road edge, crossed her legs, and put the orb in one of her black cloak’s pockets.
With a long-drawn-out sigh, she rested her chin in her hands and stared at the ground.
Spying a pretty, yellow flower, she tried to pull it out of the ground, but it wouldn’t budge. “Fine, then I’ll cut you out.”
She felt around in her many pockets for her tool kit but couldn’t find it. She searched the area around her but then punched her knee. She’d left the kit on the bench.
Staring at the flower, she laughed. “You look better there than in my hair anyway.”
Sounds of wheels crushing the rocky dirt sounded behind her, and she turned. A wagon rolled across the ground followed by three men on horses. The skinny, gray-haired driver pulled up the horses beside Bree and waited for the men to circle her.
“Lookie here. The gods must be smiling down at us today.”
Bree breathed a sigh of relief. Even though the driver spoke English it wasn’t comforting. He leered at her.
Two of the men dismounted and one of them, a dirty red-haired brute, hauled Bree to her feet and said something in some archaic language.
Bree guessed it was Cornish Celtic because it had a different feel to the Scottish Gaelic her cousin, Abby’s husband, spoke.
If it was Cornish at least she was in the right country.
She frowned. What if it was Welsh or Irish, even?
Even though she didn’t know exactly what he said, she definitely got the idea by the way he leered at her.
Thoughts raced through Bree’s mind. She was alone on a deserted road surrounded by four dirty, gross men. Her heart sped up and her nerves shivered through her as she tried to squirm out of his grasp. “Let me go.”
“Get her in the cage,” the driver said.
The other brute on the ground, a small curly-haired man, hurried to the back of the wagon and pulled off the cover, revealing said cage.
Bree turned away, ready to run, but Big Red grabbed her arm.
Nearly pulling it out of its socket, he tugged her to the back of the wagon while the smaller man unlocked the cage door.
Bree twisted and squirmed, but his hold was too tight for her to escape his grip. She lifted her boot up and slammed her heel backwards into Big Red’s shin. He squealed but instead of loosening his grip, he squeezed her so hard, pain shot up her arm. She cried out.
The dark-haired man on his horse said something to Big Red.
Big Red answered, his tone sounding sullen to Bree.
The small man nodded and laughed.
The horse rider flicked his hand at Big Red, and said, “Kowel, saha.”
Red answered tightly, “Mynnav.”
Bree frowned at their conversation. Definitely Cornish. She knew mynnav meant yes and kowel was either the verb or noun in the horse rider’s sentence.
The mounted man sneered, exposing a missing front tooth. The tone of his voice when he spoke made no mistake: he was giving orders.
So Toothless was the boss then. Bree shivered. He looked meaner than the other two combined.
Big Red picked Bree up and slammed her onto the wire-bottomed floor of the cage. She grimaced. Kowel obviously meant cage.
The small man slammed the door, and the sound of a key locking her in told her she was captured for good.
Bree put her hands over her face and pretended to cry. She had to find out if any of the men had feelings and empathy. Small Man moved to the side of the cage and spoke softly. She sniffed a sob. Maybe he was trying to comfort her.
Keeping her head down and lowering her fingers so she could look up through her lashes, Bree started to smile at the small man, but she caught Big Red leering at her.
Her smile disappeared when the oaf said something that sounded offensive.
He slapped Small on the back, and laughing, they collected their horses and mounted. Toothless said something.
Small Man handed something to the driver.
“Nyns,” the driver answered Toothless, and he hooked the chain that held the key onto a hook in the wood near his knee. The wagon rolled forward.
Bree dropped her hands to her lap. Nyns meant no.
At least she had three words translated.
So far so good. She swallowed a snort as she focused on where the driver put the key.
If she had something long enough, she might be able to get the key off the hook and drag it close enough to the cage to pick it up.
She grunted and shook her head. Of all the stupid things she could have done when she travelled into the past, she had to hang around in broad daylight.
She should have left the side of the road and hid in the trees.
She should have known miscreants, slavers, and all-around bad guys would be everywhere.
Letting out a heartfelt sigh, she spotted a small child cowering under a tattered blanket in the back corner of the cage. Bree’s brows rose in surprise. By the braids in her long, fair hair, Bree guessed it was a little girl, maybe ten or eleven.
Bree smiled. “Hello.”
The child’s frightened brown eyes stared at her.
“It’s all right. I don’t think they’re going to hurt us.” Bree hoped she was right and scrambled closer. But the child scampered back against the wires of the cage.
“And I am absolutely not going to hurt you. See? I’m captured too.”
The child covered her head with the blanket and Bree groaned. The poor thing was traumatized.
Bree slid to the door and putting her hand through the grates, felt the lock.
It was big and bulky, and the keyhole was oversized.
If she had her tools, it would have taken mere seconds to open it.
Small Man was riding to the rear of the wagon, and he grinned, wagging his index finger, and shaking his head at Bree.
She clicked her tongue and scooted to the back of the cage. There was no way she could unlock the cage without the key or something to pick the lock with.
She glanced at the child, her large brown eyes peeking over the blanket and watching Bree’s every movement. Even if Bree could find something to pick the lock, she would have to hope the child stayed silent long enough for her to escape.
Or she could take her with her. No. It would be dangerous enough by herself without having another life to look after.
At least these men appeared to not want to hurt anyone, at least they hadn’t yet anyhow.
But Bree couldn’t be sure the next time she met with a band of brigands; they wouldn’t be a sadistic bunch.
There was only one way out of her predicament. Bree’s hands dove into one of her many secret pockets in her cloak in search of the orb. She felt bad about leaving the child, but when she returned with her tools, she would find the slavers and free the child.
That was strange. She was sure that was where she had put the orb.
Her hands checked pocket after pocket, her heart missing a beat every time she came up empty.
Where was it? By the time she’d searched every pocket in her cloak and dress, every fold in the material of both, she was shaking with fury at her own stupidity.
How could she have lost the most important thing in her entire life?
In a last-ditch effort, she got to her feet, bending her upper body over to fit in the cage. She shook her body and twirled her cloak and dress every way possible like a madwoman.
The little girl’s gasp had Bree twisting her head to see what could be wrong. The girl cowered further into the corner, her frightened eyes regarding Bree like she was indeed a madwoman.
Bree let the handfuls of material fall from her hands and smiled, but the girl still cringed away from her.
Sitting back down, Bree cooed, “It’s all right. I was just trying to find something very important to me but,” she shrugged, “it looks like I’ve gone and lost the darn thing.”
She put her hand out to touch the girl’s arm, but the girl pulled it away.
Bree sighed. “I know you’re scared, believe me, I am too.
The last thing I wanted was to be caught by Celtic slavers, okay?
I’m supposed to find my father and I have no idea where he is.
I don’t even know if the people I’m supposed to see are expecting me or if they’ll come looking for me.
” She tried to make her face as friendly as possible.
“What about you? Do you have people who would be trying to find you? How long have you been captured?”