Chapter Seven 
Melinda wiped greenish-black mud off the object. A gold ring lay in her palm, a big, fat sapphire winking up at her. With the hem of her coat, she rubbed the band. It was engraved with flowers, the work delicate. There was a nick halfway through the band, as if something sharp had sliced into it.
Outside, the storm raged, the sea crashing against the rocks, sending salty spray into the broken wall. It seemed no matter where she sat, Melinda was destined to be soaking wet by the time she left.
Something about the ring captivated. She slipped it on, watching it spin around. Too big. She tried the ring on her thumb.
“Ouch.”
She pulled the ring off and looked at the drop of blood welling up on the inside of her thumb where the ring had cut her. She pulled out a tissue from the pocket of her coat and wrapped it around the jagged edge of the ring. Melinda couldn’t say why, only that she needed to keep the ring close. She slid it back on her thumb, feeling the blood soak through the tissue, warm against her skin. The scent of copper filled the air, mingling with the salt spray.
Lightning struck so close she saw flashes of the pattern when she blinked. Her hair stood straight out. Her whole body felt like static electricity, alive and sparking. Random thoughts skittered around her head. How she must look like Medusa, with the corkscrew curls standing out all over her head instead of snakes.
A terrible sound of tearing metal filled the air. It was similar to when she’d been waiting at an intersection and two big trucks collided. An entire side of one of the trucks completely shorn off. Talk about a horrible screeching sound. It made her teeth ache long after the accident was over. Flashes of light filled her vision and she heard what sounded like voices.
“Who’s there?”
She felt numb, as if she’d been outside in the snow for a very long time. The sounds and lights grew brighter, louder, and she shut her eyes, wishing they would go away. A sensation of being pulled under, like the undertow sweeping her beneath the waves, filled her. Melinda struggled, to no avail.
It was so quiet. Why couldn’t she hear the ocean beating against the rocks? Melinda opened her eyes and sat up, brushing snow out of her hair. Wait. There was snow on the ground?
She turned her head from side to side. She was no longer inside the ruined castle. In fact, she couldn’t even see the castle. She stood up, wobbled, then stretched her hands out wide to regain her balance. After a deep breath, she turned in a slow circle. Where was the road she’d driven in on? Not only that, where was the car? The castle? What on earth was going on?
A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and Melinda sat down before she fell over. A raven cawed, landing beside her in the snow, the black feathers stark against the white. He looked at her, cocking his head.
“Want to tell me where I am?”
Lovely. She must’ve hit her head when she fell to be having a conversation with a bird. The bird cocked his head again, cawed, and took to the air. Okay, maybe she wasn’t the best company. She shivered. Melinda looked around for her coat but didn’t see it. She remembered using the warm garment as a blanket when the storm hit. She’d wrapped it around her to keep warm. Great, no money either. It was in the pocket of her coat. Teeth chattering in the bitter cold, she stood and started walking. The fluffy snowflakes looked beautiful. They didn’t get much snow in Holden Beach. In the distance she thought she heard the ocean, but which direction was it coming from?
Maybe she’d rolled down the hill when she fell? Melinda turned and began walking in what she thought was the direction she’d driven. Grateful she’d worn warm clothes and tall boots, she pulled her hands into the sleeves of the oversized sweater and stopped. Melinda looked at her left hand. Where was the ring?
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.