Chapter 28 #2
“Shall I let you say goodbye to her properly?” Augustus asked, ignoring Evander’s straining against his chains.
“You should, you know. Say goodbye. Because come morning, she will be on a ship with the rest of my latest cargo, and you will never see her again.” His eyes slid to Elara with a smile that did not reach them.
“I have already had several very generous offers made for women of your particular description, Your Grace. Raven hair. Blue eyes.” He tilted his head as if appraising her. “You will fetch a remarkable price.”
Constantine opened his mouth, ready to assail Augustus with threats, then he realized that perhaps that would give him the opportunity he needed. He snapped his mouth shut, his free hand going for the hilt of his knife as Augustus removed his from Elara’s throat, and gave her a shove.
Constantine did not wait, did not breathe as he took the moment and crashed the hilt of his knife into the back of Augustus’s head, the second Elara was out of his arms. Augustus fell to the ground with a grunt, but only to his knees.
Above, shouting erupted, followed by pounding footsteps.
“You are too late, brother,” Augustus said, his evil smile returning to his face as he looked up at Constantine from his hands and knees. “My men have returned, and they will not allow you to leave my ship alive.”
His heart pounding, Constantine delivered another blow to his brother’s head; this time, knocking him out cold.
“The keys,” Elara stammered, holding Evander tightly to her. “Get the keys, quick!”
Constantine dropped to his knee beside his unconscious brother, his hands trembling as he searched for the keys to Evander’s shackles.
After what seemed to take far too long, he found them and made quick work of the locks.
The shackles fell away, and Evander immediately pushed himself forward from the wall, refusing the hand Constantine offered him.
He made it to his feet through sheer will alone, but the moment his full weight came down on his left leg, the leg buckled, and he caught himself against the wall with a sharp, bitten-off curse.
He stood there for a moment, breathing through it, his hand pressed flat against the wall and his jaw set with the particular expression of a man who was furious at his own body for its limitations.
“Lean on me,” Constantine said quietly.
Evander looked at him for a moment, then gave a single, tight nod and took his arm. It was clearly not an easy concession for him to make.
Constantine put his knife in Elara’s hand and his derringer in the other.
“Stay behind me,” he commanded as Elara stared down wide-eyed at the weapons. “But if we fall, aim for their head, and run. Elara, do you understand? Do not try to help us. Run.”
Constantine’s heart split in two as Elara looked up at him with wide, terror-filled eyes, her complexion now more pallid than the driver’s had been. Then her brows furrowed as her determination took over, and she gave him a stiff, single nod.
He spared another moment, leaning in to brush a kiss against her lips.
“I love you,” he whispered.
They moved, and Constantine did his best to lead them away from the heavy, numerous footsteps echoing through the ship.
No matter where he turned, though, they seemed to come from everywhere, reducing their chances of escape.
As they stepped into the next patch of lamp light, Constantine caught sight of a door hanging open, and without hesitation, ran into the room.
What he saw made him freeze, and as he heard Elara’s horror-filled gasp, he knew she had been shocked into stillness as well.
It was a holding cell. Very much like Evander’s, only bigger.
Dozens of iron loops had been hammered into a wall, each holding a pair of shackles.
Like Evander’s cell, it too had a horrid stench.
“This is where he kept them,” Constantine whispered, slowly peering around the awful room in horror.
Even though it was empty, Constantine’s mind conjured what it had looked like only an hour ago.
Women, shackled, dirty, and no doubt scared out of their wits.
Had they known that they had been sold into slavery?
Or had they not known what was to await them on London’s shore?
Constantine could not decide which would be more horrific.
“Do not move!” A deep voice bellowed behind Constantine.
His exhausted body trembled when he heard the click of several guns nearby, and without looking, Constantine knew they had run out of time.
“Do not hurt her,” Constantine pleaded, obeying the man’s order. “Please, you do whatever you wish to me, but let this woman and man go.”
“Stop. Stop!” a familiar voice bellowed. “That is His Grace, the Duke of Ashworth, and the man that sent for you!”
Constantine did not realize he had been holding his breath until he let out a groan of laughter and turned around. There, facing him and Elara, were not Augustus’s men, but Constantine’s carriage driver and a group of constables.