Chapter Thirty-Three #5
Remington screamed and fought, trying to kick and punch, battling for her very life. It proved to be difficult, however, for her molester held her quite easily and provided her with no opportunity to land a good blow. Her balled fists were meeting with air.
Another man came up beside her, grabbing her by the hair and the man who fisted her hair so savagely leaned closed to her, telling her in no uncertain terms what he planned to do with her.
Horrified and sickened, Remington began to bellow at the top of her lungs, far less screaming and far more blatant anger.
The men who held her merely laughed. The one who carried her tightened his grip as the other one ran his dirty hands up her bodice, fondling her tender breasts. Remington lashed out, aiming for his groin, but being rewarded with a sharp crack to her skull.
Stars danced before her eyes and night was beginning to fall, but she fought it. She had to. She refused to die at the hands of rapists.
She stopped yelling for Hubert, knowing in her heart he must have met with the cold blade of his opponent. Her heart ached for the brave man, and for herself as well. Why, God, did you save me from Guy, only to meet my end out here in the wilderness? Gaston will never find me now.
The man with his hand on her breast suddenly grunted. His eyes bugged, and blood dribbled from his mouth. Remington’s eyes widened as he fell away from her, dripping blood on her ecru-colored dress. She glanced up to see Hubert descending, his sword arcing a blinding streak.
She cried out as his sword came down inches from her shoulder and she felt the hands that held her open.
She did not hesitate; she was free and she leapt clear of the fight, tripping over the man who had so recently touched her breasts.
As she struggled over his body in her hysteria, one glance at the corpse showed a rugged dirk protruding from his back.
She fled, although she knew not where she was going. Only that she had to run, to escape the ambush. She was positive there were more bandits rushing forward to capture her, to rape and ravish her. She had to reach safety, wherever it may be.
Panic clouded her mind as she ran, skirts hiked up to her knees. Just as she reached the perimeters of the trees, a shout came from behind her. Someone was calling her name.
“Remington!”
She was panicked, as a hunted animal. There was no earthly way she was going to stop; surely it was a trick. Heart pounding, she ran even faster for the shelter of the trees.
“Remingtooooonnnn!”
A shadow of sensibility filtered into her hysteric mind. The roar sounded sincere, somehow… almost gentle, if that were possible. And the tone was thoroughly pleading. Although she did not want to, she stumbled to an unsteady halt and turned to the source of the shout.
Hubert was walking toward her, covered with gore. She couldn’t see his face through the lowered visor until he lifted it with shaking fingers. His gray eyes were wide with excitement and fear.
“All is well, honey,” he said gently. “They are all dead.”
She couldn’t reply for the moment, still panic-stricken. He closed in on her, sheathing his sword wearily.
“Let me see your head,” he said, his voice a husky whisper.
She had not realized that her head was aching terribly. Suddenly, the pain hit her full bore and she whimpered, her panic fading. Her whole body began to shake.
“Oh, my God,” her face crumpled, racking sobs spilling forth.
He grabbed her head with his great mailed gloves, inspecting the split scalp directly above her right ear.
“All is well, my lady,” he whispered again. “You are safe. I killed them all.”
She heard him, still terrified out of her mind.
Satisfied the wound to her head wasn’t severe, Hubert tried to lead her away but she couldn’t seem to walk.
In fact, they both seemed to be shaking a great deal, almost too hard to function.
But Hubert was desperate to remove her from the area, away from the memories of horror.
Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her back to his horse.
Remington continued to cry even as he mounted behind her and spurred the charger onto the road. Behind them, four dead men littered the quiet countryside, bright red blood staining the sweet green grass.
Even after Remington’s sobs died and she fell into an exhausted sleep, Hubert remained deeply shaken.
His good deed had almost turned deadly for both of them, and he would have never forgiven himself if tragedy had befallen the lady.
He could still hear her shouts and her tears, and the memory cut him to the bone.
How fortunate he had not been overwhelmingly outnumbered.
It made him ill to think of what might have happened if there had been but a few more outlaws, all intent on killing him and stealing his ward.
Although bandits were quite common to the roads of England, he was still unnerved by the incident.
The urge to reach Ripley was greater than before. Spurring his steed into a canter, his grip on Remington tightened.