Held For Ransom

by Rose, Renee

  The men had all dismounted and gathered around. They had always been a rag-tag team, their clothing grubby and worn, their faces scarred, their beards and hair unkempt. Yet they had more heart than the noblest of soldiers. They were rough around the edges, but their loyalty was fierce, as was their ability in battle. Together they had won wars with impossible odds.

  “If you are involved in a battle, we fight on your side,” William said.

  He took in his men’s faces: hard, determined, stubborn. They would not walk away now, no matter what he said. He brought his fist over his heart and bowed his head. “You honor me.”

  “You are worthy of our honor,” Sir William said.

  “If there is battle, I will not be able to lead,” he warned. “I must manage the princess away from the meeting site and take her away if they do not bring the ransom.”

  “Could one of us take her?” one of the men suggested.

  He felt her stiffen at the idea, and liked to think it was because she preferred him, as foolish as the thought was. He had to consider whether his determination to be the only one who handled her was solely based on concern that no one else be exposed to the Goddess’s curse.

  “No, I will not subject anyone else to the danger. Elric goes alone to the meeting location. The rest of you will lie in wait. If he gives his whistle, ride to battle. Sir William will lead, follow his command. If you are captured, you do not know me–I am just a man who paid for your sword. Understood?”

  The men agreed.

  “Traitors,” the princess spat, scanning them as if she wanted to remember each of their faces.

  The men shifted with unrest, some making the sign against the evil eye.

  “Peace, princess,” he said, turning and taking her by the shoulders. He bent his face close to hers so he his troops could not hear. “Do not speak again or you will wear a gag and hood the entire time, instead of just for the journey.”

  His threat was real, but he kept his face kind, regretting the way she forced him to treat her. In a few hours they would part, and he already experienced a curious sense of loss at the thought of leaving her on such terrible terms. She narrowed her eyes and pain stabbed his wound. It took all his effort not to draw back in surprise. She had cursed him again–how would this one fester?

  “We are almost rid of each other, highness. I beg your patience.”

  She did not answer. He led her to a horse and lifted her into the saddle, mounting behind her. He did not gag her, but he did place the hood over her head, making it harder for her to track their location.

  He took them on a circuitous route to confuse her before they arrived at the area he had selected for the meeting. It was a large clearing off a road from Stonecroft Castle, but there were forests on three sides of the clearing, offering plenty of places for his men to hide. He took his prisoner up to the top of a bluff overlooking the site, removing the hood but leaving her wrists tied behind her back. He ought to gag her, but he felt reluctant. He could always cover her mouth with his hand when the time came, if she did not scream before he got to her.

  “Listen, highness. I will leave the hood and gag off on one condition: You give me your word not to call attention to yourself or us. You will not move, or make any sound, or otherwise signal your brother when he comes. In turn, I give you my word I will release you when they set my prisoners free.”

  She studied him, her green eyes glinting like jade in the sunlight. “And if your prisoners are not set free?”

  His face hardened, his chest constricting. Kendra. Even if they returned the prisoners, would she be among them? “Elric has my instructions to offer one more chance and arrange a second attempt at making the prisoner swap.”

  “And if Broderick cannot comply?”

  A sinking foreboding turned him cold. “Why are you so certain he will not?”

  She shook her head, her eyes losing focus as if listening to something far away. “He will not today,” she said.

  The sense of vengeance he had felt since he the day the settlement had been attacked returned in full force. He pressed his lips together. “Then he will pay.”

  Catching sight of movement on the horizon, he pressed his hand over her mouth and pulled her behind a boulder. “Do not make a sound. If you signal in any way, I will make you very sorry.”

  The king had brought no more than twenty men, per his instructions, but he saw no sign of additional people who might be the prisoners. His heart thudded against his chest as anger flooded his veins. He watched Elric step into the clearing, a lone boy to greet an army.

  You are sending a mere boy as your messenger?

  He prayed he had not erred in his judgment, prayed for the Goddess to protect Elric, the Saxon boy he had known since birth, who had been raised in the same village as his sister. The boy who had worshipped him so much he had learned to speak his other language so he could join his army as a page.

  The king dismounted, followed by two knights. Elric dropped to his knee and bowed his head, his chivalry in perfect form.

  The wind carried their voices, but not clear enough for Crow to make out the words, only the timbre..

  King Broderick must have sensed the presence of all the hidden warriors, though, because he raised his voice to a bellow, holding up a coin purse and looking all around. “I have brought you the gold. The prisoners will be returned when my sister is safe by my side.”

  Crow uttered a soft curse.

  Elric followed his instructions. He saw the boy shaking his head and refusing to take the gold. So intent was his focus on trying to follow the conversation, he failed to notice how still the princess had gone. In the next moment, Broderick’s head snapped up to exactly where they crouched, as if she had shouted his name.

  “What have you done?” Crow hissed.

  King Broderick pointed in their direction, running for his mount.

  Yanking Ariana to her feet, he threw her back atop his stallion, bounding into the saddle behind her and taking off at a breakneck speed.

  “Why did you do that?” he roared, trying to navigate the terrain, the clash of swords echoing from the clearing below. “Men will die needlessly today because of you!”

  His men bought him enough time to get away, but at what cost? He felt sick at losing any of them over his folly. He made a trail down and saw the King had passed his men, and rode the edge of the bluff, where they had been. His back was to them. He fitted an arrow to his bow and took aim. He had a clear shot, right in the back of the neck, above his leather armor, below his helmet. He hesitated.

  “No!” Ariana screamed, realizing his mark.

  ****

  Crow lowered the tip of the arrow as Broderick whipped his horse around at the sound of her voice. The whiz of the arrow shot past her ear and she screamed again, only to see it strike Broderick’s horse, straight through the eye. Twisted in the saddle, she watched the horse rear, and her brother managed to stay on his mount, but when its front hooves hit the ground again they gave way, toppling horse and rider to the ground. To her relief, Broderick leapt to his feet.

  She turned back to face the direction of their wild ride.

  “Did he rise?” Crow asked.

  So he had meant to hit the horse, not her brother. It mattered for some reason.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice a sob.

  He kept their thundering pace for a quarter of an hour, until it seemed certain no one had followed or would follow. He slowed to a canter and put the hood back on her head.

  She did not protest. She knew his anguish equaled her own, and his words kept echoing in her head. Men will die needlessly today because of you.

  Had she caused the battle by communicating her whereabouts to her brother? She supposed from Crow’s point of view, she had. If things had gone according to his plan, he would have quietly taken her back with a second meeting arranged. But she had been so close to going home, she could not leave without trying to get free. Yes, she had initiated the battle. If she had
gone quietly, all the men would have walked away without fighting. She felt sick.

  They came to a stop and he pulled the hood from her head and dismounted, tugging her off behind him. “Do not move,” he commanded as he tied the horse to a tree. Even with the mask, she saw his dark expression, his lips pressed into a thin line. She obeyed, too shocked to test him.

  If you signal in any way, I will make you very sorry.

  Would he carry out his threat? He seemed the sort of man to deliver on every threat or promise. But she already felt sorry. She did not care to have the blood of soldiers on either side on her hands, and yet it seemed she did.

  He pulled her into the cottage. She balked at returning to her prison and he tugged her forward. “I have no joy in returning here with you, either,” he growled, reading her mind. “And yet here we are. And I have a score to settle with you before we can go on.”

  A coil of fear tightened in her belly, and her legs turned wobbly. She stumbled as he tugged her forward, sitting on a chair by the table and flopping her unceremoniously over his lap. Relief that his punishment was to be nothing more than a thrashing was short-lived when he threw up her skirts and began spanking her with his hand so hard she wondered if it was made of wood. He beat a rapid tempo on her upturned buttocks. She squirmed over his lap, trying in vain to dodge the blows. Crow slapped first one side, then the other, then the middle. At times he concentrated on the backs of her thighs, making her howl with the sting.

  On and on he continued, and she bucked and wriggled, but with her wrists still bound behind her back, she remained in a completely vulnerable position. Nothing she could do lessened the intensity of his spanks or of the heat roasting her bottom. A perverse part of her welcomed the punishment, craving anything to assuage her guilt or ease Crow’s anger with her.

  She started crying, still wriggling on his lap. “Forgive me!” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Crow.”

  He ignored her apology, continuing his assault on her bare cheeks, his powerful hand lifting and parting them, flattening and sending force through to her center core.

  She wept for every indignity she had suffered since her abduction, the fear and discomfort. She wept for the blood that had been shed or mayhap was still being shed in her name. She wept for Crow–for his disappointment and loss, and most of all, she wept for losing his esteem. Because in the twisted world in which she was his captive and he was her keeper, she had come to depend on his attentiveness and even affection. Like the last time he had spanked her, she needed his forgiveness.

  Collapsing over his legs in a limp heap, she sobbed like she had not cried since she was a child. She did not know what made Crow finally stop, nor did she notice her punishment had ended until she realized he untied her wrists, rubbing out the marks and massaging her lower arms. She lay perfectly still in her ridiculous position, embarrassed her sore bottom remained on full display, but not wanting his gentle touch to end.

  He released her arms and she reached one hand to rub her swollen cheeks, but he swatted her hand away, rubbing them himself. As if his hand was connected to the muscles deep inside her core, a spasm of pleasure rocked through her. Her thighs opened of their own accord and she clapped them shut again in shame.

  He lifted her off his knees and pulled her to sit upon his lap.

  “I am sorry,” she sniffed. “I just wanted to go home.”

  He stroked the wisps of hair that had come free from her braid out of her face and thumbed away her tears.

  She drank in the tenderness, thirsty for absolution.

  Holding her face between both his hands, he said, “I promise you will go home. You have my most solemn vow. But I did not forfeit my life by capturing you to win a bag of gold. You are the only leverage I have to get my people back. Can you understand that?”

  Fresh tears tracked down her cheeks. She nodded. “I understand.”

  He shook his head sorrowfully. “You did not deserve to be taken captive, I know. I do not dare hope you will forgive me for it. But I want you to believe you will go home.”

  She nodded, the tears still streaming. “I believe you.” She leaned her wet face against his chest and his arms wrapped around her, rocking slightly.

  “Peace, sweet princess,” he whispered.

  Chapter Four

  “Were you aiming for Broderick or his horse?” Ariana’s muffled voice asked from his tunic. He did not know when he had started thinking of her as “Ariana” and not “the princess,” but he had, though he would not address her so familiarly.

  He hesitated. Did he tell her the truth? That he had considered the shot? But what warrior does not consider every shot available to him when in battle? He had already hesitated before she screamed, but once he heard her terror, he knew it would be impossible to kill his king.

  “I sighted your brother, but I could not shoot him,” he answered honestly.

  “So you changed your aim?”

  “Aye, to the horse. So he could not follow us.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He stroked her head, wishing they might stay entwined forever. She drifted into a light sleep after a while and he continued to cradle her, needing to feel her close, wishing again he could make love to her, to show her how much he cared.

  Elric arrived at nightfall, slipping soundlessly in the door and eyeing them curiously. Ariana scrambled off his lap, as if embarrassed to be discovered in his arms. He caught her elbow and swung her back, bending to pick up the linen bonds from the floor. She huffed, but held her wrists out in front of her so he could tie her.

  “What word?”

  “Five dead on our side. Ten on theirs.”

  Ariana gasped.

  “Who?”

  “Denby and Alwin,” Elric said, his voice cracking.

  He had guessed as much when they had not returned. Like Elric, they were from the Saxon settlement. Unlike Elric, they were not trained in the Roman fashion of battle, though they had brawn and some skill with swordplay. Still, they had not fought in his army, did not know the rigors of mounted battle.

  “Acton, Feran, and Perry.”

  “Come here,” he said, realizing Elric had been man enough for one day.

  The boy stepped forward and he pulled him into a rough embrace, stroking the back of his head, like a child. Elric resisted at first, but he held him close. “You were so brave today, Elric. I am proud of you. You served me and the troops better than any could have done.”

  He sensed Elric’s breath stop, held taut, then release with a sharp snuffle. The boy did not want to cry.

  “You have been brave enough for one day, my boy. Now is the time we grieve for our losses.”

  With that permission, Elric sobbed into his shoulder, just as Ariana had a few hours earlier. It lasted only a few moments before he pulled away, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

  “Did Sir William take care of the dead?”

  “No, sir. He ordered our retreat and we left the bodies. When I sneaked back, I saw they were on the funeral pyre with the rest of them–sent off all together.”

  He nodded, grateful Broderick had cared for his dead as well, rather than leaving them mutilated in scorn.

  “Sir William sent the message they will be at the next arranged meeting to support you again.”

  He closed his eyes, gratitude tinged with sorrow washing over him.

  “Who─” Ariana began, her voice at a whisper. “Who of the other troops died?”

  “Not the king,” the boy answered, looking her full in the face and forgetting his place.

  “—your highness,” Crow prompted.

  The boy blushed and genuflected. “Not the king, your highness. Nor the two knights who protect him.”

  She seemed to relax at that.

  “I did not really notice the rest, I am sorry.”

  “It is all right. Thank you, Elric.”

  The young page looked up, surprised at her use of his name. When he dipped on his knee again, he looked
proud.

  Crow sighed and stood. “I guess I am responsible for our supper, and I am afraid it will be porridge again, unless you brought us something.”

  Elric looked regretful. “No, sir. I did not think of it, I─”

  He waved his hand. “Of course you did not. No matter. Tomorrow I would be grateful if you found some meat.”

  “Of course, sir. I will hunt tomorrow for you,” he said, drawing his chest up with the responsibility.

  He looked him square in the eye. “You are a good lad. You will make a fine knight someday, son.”

  The boy looked away, embarrassed but pleased. He left after supper, and Crow and Ariana returned to her prison room, though he knew she loathed being in it again. She stopped in the middle of the room, staring at the rug that hid the trap door to the cellar, as if her second sight had just alerted her to its presence. Her eyes darted to see whether he had observed her.

  “It’s a cellar, no more,” he said.

  She nodded, but he saw her mind turning, as if she wished to investigate for herself if she might escape through it.

  He allowed her out of the back chamber and back into the main cottage the following day, as he was as sick as she was of the prison room, and now had the double duty of keeping watch and guarding her. In the evening, he heard the sound of footfalls and pulled Ariana into the back chamber, shutting the door as he drew his sword in wait.

  ****

  She leaned against the closed door, listening.

  “By Woden, you live!” she heard Crow exclaim, joy evident in his voice.

  With her wrists bound in front of her, she opened the door a crack to peer out.

  Crow rushed at a tall young woman entering with Elric, squeezing her so hard he picked her off her feet. She was fair like a Saxon, but when she spoke, she used their tongue.

  “Aye, I am alive.”

  Crow turned her chin, examining the bruises marring her pretty face. “What happened? Where did they take you?”