Chapter 12 #2
“Richard?” she breathed, the sound barely traveling beyond her. Swallowing her fear, she called his name a little louder, her blood cold as no answer came.
Untold visions of Richard lying bloodied and injured flashed through her mind, a wave of nausea pulsing as she scanned the area.
Straining to hear any sign of life, she froze.
Grunts. Pounding. But where?
Pinpointing them, she moved softly toward the sounds, the once strange noises reckoning into those of a confrontation.
Nearing the hillside, Mary’s throat tightened; Richard locked in the throes of none other than Ian, one man laying still at their feet, while another stood off to the side, laughing as he watched.
Knife gripped, Mary sought to crouch low no matter how her aching muscles fought her directive.
If only she could disarm the man who watched first, then she might help?
Yes, she encouraged herself, ignoring the danger and her inadequacies. That will do it.
She could do it.
The man’s attention wholly fixed on the struggle happening before him, Mary crept nearer and nearer.
Eight feet. Seven. Six. With every step her breath slowed, his laughter disguising the sound of her presence until a disobliging stone on another twisted and crunched beneath her foot, his head whirling toward her in an instant.
“You,” he breathed as he lunged after her, his weight throwing her painfully to the ground under him.
Whatever cry her body wished to give stolen by the force of the fall, her lungs sought any breath they might. He would not kill her, she told herself, her eyes flitting from the man to Richard, But Ian would not hesitate to end Richard.
Weight shifting as she sought to push the man off her, Mary’s vision flickered as he shoved her back down, her head bouncing against the hard surface.
The fight between the Colonel and Ian growing louder, Mary blinked rapidly as she sought to refocus her attention to the man atop her.
She would not be able to force him off. Feeling the weight of the knife in her hand, Mary considered her options, every instinct screaming against what she might have to do.
The pressure of his knee digging into her stomach building to a painful, nauseating pitch, she clutched the knife tighter, no longer certain her life might be spared as she considered his cold, hard eyes in the rising sun.
He had no compassion. No compunction to spare her because she was a woman, or because he had been told to.
And given he had stood laughing as Richard and Ian had fought for life itself, he had no conscience.
Still, she considered, the blade in her hand flashing in the first beams of dawn, could she use it?
Lifting her hand toward the man’s arm rather than his chest, she hoped injuring him would prove enough, yet, as his hand caught her wrist long before the blade could ever impact his skin, her worst fears were realized, his grip twisting her wrist until the blade faced her.
Pushing uselessly against the ground as the blade came toward her, Mary’s eyes widened, a silent prayer it would be quick passing through her mind.
The weight of the man disappearing in the flash of a moment, Mary sat upright, her gaze fixed to where the Colonel and he fought; her blade tossed aside in the struggle.
Turning this way and that, she worked to discover where Ian might be, the sight of him unmoving on the ground as unsettling as it was reassuring. She could help Richard.
Grass, a few small stones, loose dirt, these littered the earth while providing little in the way of weaponry, except…
The glint of steel nestled in the grasses caught her focus.
Retrieving it as quick as she might, Mary faced the two men, the tightness of her grip easing at the sight which met her.
Making her way toward them as the Colonel continued to pin the man against the hillside, a relieved smile made its way to her lips; if these three were the only ones which knew where they had gone, perhaps they would be safe at last. Yet, as the man’s hand drifted downward, thoughts of safety were snatched away, her feet scurrying the final few feet as she sought to defend her Richard.
“Do. Not. Move.” she warned the man, her blade at his throat causing him to blanch, his hand dropping a knife into the ground below.
“See, Miss, no knife…” he said as he raised his arms, “now be a good one and put yours away.”
“Once he ties you,” she answered as Richard unraveled the man’s cravat and proceeded to bind his hands behind him. “There,” she said at last, the man firmly bound, “now I can.”
Returning the knife to its sheath, Mary looked up, a broad grin forming on the Colonel’s face as she met his gaze.
“Might I tell you how amazing you are?” he questioned.
Lips rising in reply, she nodded. “Very well, you may. Though I might say the same about you.” Allowing her eyes to flit over his form, her smile faded, “Are you wounded? I heard a shot before I arrived… and with those men and everything, are you hurt?”
Shaking his head, he answered, “We fought over a loaded gun, though thankfully neither of us lost due to its discharge; it whizzed past my ear and likely him.”
Brow furrowing, she set her hands on her hips, “But are you wounded, sir? Not shot, that is clear, but are you hurt?”
Stepping closer to see for herself, she circled him, her eyes and hand drawn to a large slit in his coat and shirt. Fingering the material, she stilled at the sight of blood, her eyes narrowed as she moved to meet his. “What is that?”
“What is what?” he asked, his brows raising comically. “Alright, do not glower so, it is the result of Ian’s knife meeting my arm, but as it merely slid across the surface there is little need for concern.”
Eyes lifted heavenward, she muttered her displeasure before lowering her head and scanning the area in search of some plant to aid his healing.
Jane is the one who has the most knowledge with remedies; she would know what to look for.
She… her thoughts silenced as she noted several plants bearing familiar toothed leaves growing by a rock. That might help.
Harvesting the root, Mary frowned at her find.
Jane had used it many times for cuts and burns, but rarely alone and usually prepared.
Yet, there was nothing for it. All they had was a bit of water back at their camp, this, and whatever clean looking cloth they might find. What if she made his arm worse?
And what if she did nothing? her worried mind asked in return, her decision made as she turned in the direction of Richard. She had to act.
“Do you expect me to just sit here?” their prisoner asked as she walked past him, her steps stilling beside him.
Setting her hand on the handle of her knife, she asked, “I think you should.”
His jaw snapping closed, he chose instead to stare at his feet, her idle threat taken as genuine.
Eyes alight, she made her way toward Richard, his fingers deftly tying a knot as he finished binding one of the men.
“Richard,” she began, “you will never guess what… ahhh,” she screamed as she was ripped to the ground, the face of Ian above her, a knife at her throat, and a trickle of blood drawn before she could even reach for her blade.
The man’s eyes frightening in their fury, Mary’s courage wavered, a strange pulsing in her ears causing his voice to sound distant, “I’d stay still if I was yous missy; the pair of yous have crossed me for the last time!”
“Let her go,” the hard voice of the Colonel resounded, his words sounding from somewhere amid the roar of her ears.
“Let the other two go, then we’ll talk… I’ve your lady friend, see, and if your look is anything to go by, you’re too fond of her to risk disregarding me. Isn’t that right, soldier boy.”
Her ears at last calming, Mary’s eyes widened at the dangerous tone which sounded nearby, “If you harm her, you will learn exactly what this soldier is capable of.”
“And if you don’t do as I say, you’ll learn just what I is capable of.”
Taking an unsteady breath, Mary focused her attention on the knife at her throat as her trembling hand reached for her own, a deadly gamble formed in her mind.
Once again gripping the handle, she dredged up whatever courage was within her, the blade on her throat drifting a breath away her signal to act.
Whipping her blade against Ian’s throat, her eyes narrowed as his danced between surprise then fear and anger. All she could do was pray his anger did not win out.
Her gaze steely as she sought an appearance of intimidation, Mary’s thoughts raced within, her fear fought but not yet won.
The silence deafening as their battle of wills pressed on, she could count every beat of her heart, her grip on the handle tightening as Ian let out a deep, “Gah!” his arm lifting back as he handed the weapon to Richard.
“It ain’t worth it… but remember, this ain’t over yet.
The rest will follow the trail we left before long, and yous won’t have the luck had with us. ”
Ripping Ian away from her, Richard drew the man near, “Well then, if they are so close, you and your friends can wait here for them.”
Snatching the cravat from Ian’s throat, little time passed before he had Ian bound to a nearby tree; the other two receiving similar treatment before each of them were gagged.
“There,” he remarked as he turned away from them, “at least their cries cannot quicken the pace of the others.”
Forcing herself to stand, Mary trembled, the whole incident flashing through her mind wildly, the fear she had managed to overcome in the face of near death threatening to overwhelm.
They might have been killed. Richard. Her. Even these wicked men. The shot fired a moment prior, a knife slipping… she might have lost Richard. Or her life. She might have…
“Mary,” Richard’s gentle tone broke through her thoughts. “Shh, Mary,” he said again as he drew her into his arms. “It is alright now.”
Face wet, she pressed herself into his chest, a noisy gulp following as she sought to breathe. “You. We.” she said uselessly.
“I know,” he answered. “We could have, but we did not. You are alright, and in every way possible I will see you safe. In every way,” he reassured, though as he drew her closer, Mary wondered if it had been as much to reassure himself as her.
Several minutes passed, his arms never leaving hers, until at last, her tears abated and breath easy, he slowly let her go. Mary’s head lifting toward his, she laid a hand upon his beard, the lines of worry across his face piercing her.
“It will be alright,” she smiled up at him, the lines he bore lessening ever so slightly. “Now, we ought to retrieve our things and see to your arm; we have a long day ahead.”