Naked in the Winter Wind

by Dani Haviland

  I tiptoed toward the outbuilding, trying to be as quiet as Ian or Little Bear would be. Several horses and a couple of mules were in front of the barn-like structure, voices and light seeping from the partially opened doors. I kept my eyes to the ground, literally watching where I put every step, negotiating the uneven path, rutted by wagon wheels or heavy sleds that had slogged through the once snowy mud. The frozen crisscrossed ground created a veritable icy, earthen obstacle course. With the ruckus going on in the barn, I didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing me, but I did have to worry about spraining an ankle.

  I approached from the blind side of the building; sidling close to the newly-split wood walls so as not to be seen through the foot-wide gap between the doors, but not so close that I’d get splinters. A lantern was hanging from a nail on the center support pole, its amber glow strong enough that I could see the objects of the men’s attention. Two huge burlap bags were lying on the straw-strewn earthen floor—muffled curses coming from one of them—and three grungy men were prodding them with their shoddy boots.

  Oh, God—déjà’ vu all over again.

  I didn’t know who or what were in the bags, but it didn’t matter. I was pissed!

  I strutted in boldly and demanded, “What the hell is going on here?”

  “Who’s she?” a slack-jawed, snaggle-toothed teenager asked, “and who let her in?”

  I pushed by him, ignoring his comment, and planted myself solidly in front of the burlap sacks. I whipped out my Leatherman and pulled out the knife blade. “Hold still,” I said loudly to the writhing person in the first sack. I sliced through the top of the bag, just under the knotted rope that secured it, and then pulled the coarse and dirty fabric away from the shoulders of a small, well-built, and finely clothed—but now disheveled—gentleman.

  The man’s diaphanous blond hair was flying all over from static electricity, his blue eyes brilliant with hostility. I didn’t know who he was, but I’d be ticked, too, under the circumstances. The grimy brown rag crammed in his mouth, tied in the back with a haphazard knot, muffled his curse words, but not their emotional color. I pulled the bag down further, past his shoulders, and saw that—just as I had thought—his whole upper body was bound.

  `“Git her away from him; she’s gonna to let him loose,” a greasy-looking man squeaked in fear as he cowered against the brass and leather horse accoutrements hanging on the wall.

  I whipped around and growled, “Watch it!” at the two skinny, rag-clothed men approaching.

  They froze; everyone could see how angry I was, even in this dim light. “Don’t even think about it!” I snarled, and waved the knife in front of me threateningly. All three backed away, stunned by the knife, my voice, or by the fact that it was a woman holding them at bay.

  I turned my attention back to my half-exposed hostage. He, too, had stopped with my command. I dug my fingers into his gag, and wrestled it down over his chin. “Are you hurt?” I asked, looking into his angry and very blue, long-lashed eyes. I didn’t take my gaze from his. If he was a creep, I’d be able to see it in his reaction to me, his champion.

  “I’m well enough, I think. Thank you, madam. Now, if you would be so kind as to…”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish. As soon as he said, “Thank you” with sincerity, I flipped the Leatherman around and revealed the wire cutters.

  My fancy wrist action and the flash of metal caught everyone’s attention. Clip, clip; two quick snips, and Blondie was untied, albeit still in the bag.

  The prisoner wavered, but kept his eyes fixed on me—he was stunned by my appearance or actions, or both. He looked almost comical, like an awe-struck character in an old slapstick comedy: his blond hair splayed out around his head like a lion’s mane, his eyes stern, but mouth hanging open in confusion. His light brown eyebrows crowded together and seemed to ask, ‘What did you do with that knife to turn it into scissors?’

  Time stood still as everyone gawked at me; only the sputtering of the candle flame as bits of straw chaff drifted into it disturbed the silence of the winter night. The hostage realized his stare, closed his mouth, and cleared his throat. The bag next to him was suddenly alive, wiggling, and writhing. He tipped his head, wordlessly asking me, “Would you help him, too?”

  “Can I trust you to stay here until I find out what’s going on?” I asked.

  “You have my word, madam,” he replied formally and courteously, his head dipping into a bow, the rest of his body limited by his situation.

  “How about the other bag—is it okay to let him out, too?”

  “I’ll vouch for him also.” Blondie squared his shoulders and picked off the cut ropes clinging to him with disdain, dropping them to the ground like lint from a jacket, and then began extricating himself as gracefully as possible from the rough sack. I noticed he was wearing a Colonial-period uniform, slightly dirty, but otherwise respectable.

  I grabbed the ropes on the second gunnysack, and tried to remember the order of colors on Revolutionary War uniforms. I remembered that the young American army had used colors opposite of the British uniforms, but I couldn’t recall if we were red on blue or blue on red. The man had a British accent, but that didn’t mean anything. I shook my head to clear it and resumed my immediate task.

  “Hold still or you might get cut,” I warned the occupant of the bulging bag. “I’m trying to get you out of there.”

  It was harder to open this sack because the man was so big—not fat, but power-forward basketball-player huge. He must have been shoehorned in. I was surprised he fit at all. His struggles to escape had also tightened the knots.

  “Freeze,” I said. He stopped squirming immediately. I patted along the front of the bag, searching for a spot that wasn’t taut with body parts. I flipped the Leatherman around and used the long blade to slice through the coarse fabric, pulling the cloth away bit by bit, sawing through it in segments. Even at that, it took less than half a minute to free him.

  He was younger than the other man was—maybe in his early twenties, probably younger. His long golden-brown wavy hair had come out of its queue, the dark ribbon dangling unceremoniously on the shoulder of his dusty uniform. The jacket was the same design as Blondie’s, but with less braid trim. “Hold still again,” I told him, and cut through his gag.

  I touched the young man’s shoulder to steady myself as I walked around him. He was muscular, not wiry strong like Ian. I gulped, pushing the memory of my errant husband back into the pit of my gut. Now wasn’t the time to deal with Ian and my abandonment issues.

  I pulled the remnants of the sack from the young man’s back, cut the coarse ropes binding his hands, and noticed a big blue lump on the side of his head. “Thank you,” he said as he sat up straight, twisting the kinks out of his back, neck, and shoulders before arising.

  I had only glanced at the others in the room when I came in, but now that the hostages were free, I paid closer attention to the young ruffians. They were terrified. They had edged away from me as far as possible, practically becoming the caulking in the split-timber walls. It didn’t look like they wanted to leave, but I doubted they were going to challenge me or try to re-subdue their prisoners. Now that their hostages were unbound, they might have reason to fear them, but I didn’t. I had asked for and received the word of a gentleman.

  “Sirs, can you tell me why you were detained in such an uncouth manner?” I asked the disheveled duo, my words formal, but my mouth lopsided with a smile of sarcasm.

  “I am Lord Julian Hart, of His Majesty’s Royal Army, and this is my stepson, Lieutenant Wallace Urquhart, Viscount Cavendish. I assure you, I have no idea why we have been abducted in this rude and senseless manner.”

  I take two steps back and bump into the support pole, nearly knocking down the lantern. I feel as if I’m going to pass out. I suddenly recognize these two, or at least realize who they are, just as I had Sarah. I have never met any of these people, but I know all about them. There’s no time to reflect on this now
, though; I have to maintain control of the situation in front of me first.

  To cover my awkwardness, I said, “Oops,” as if I had just lost my balance. I sucked in a calming breath and coolly asked, “Now, what’s your side of the story, boys?”

  Snaggle Tooth spoke up, “Ma’am, sirs, we canna tell ye yet why we did it. We dinna mean to harm the men, it’s jest that the big ‘un here, he was kinda hard to handle. We had to knock him upside the heid so he’d cooperate into the bag. Sorry, sir, fer the knot thair. It’s jest that, weel, we was tryin’ to save ye.”

  “Save us?” Lord Julian blared. “Who in God’s name would think that rendering us unconscious and dragging us to God only knows where would save us?”

  “Sorry, sir, I canna tell ye. But it really was fer yer own good.” The look on Snaggle Tooth’s face was sincere. The others mumbled and nodded in agreement, but no one would say more.

  “Okay then, Lord Julian and Lord Wallace, would you accompany me into the house? Since we still haven’t figured out what’s going on, I guess you’ll be spending at least tonight here.” I turned to the ragtag trio and addressed them, “Men, if you’d like to make your camp here, I’m sure the lady of the house wouldn’t mind.”

  “But ma’am, I…er… don’t ye think ye ought to have one of us with ye for protection?” Snaggle Tooth asked.

  “Lord Wallace, your stepfather gave his word to stay here with me until this was all resolved. Will you do the same? Oh, and neither of you will hurt me or tie me up, right?” All I had to secure these men with was old-fashioned integrity, but from what I remembered from history, it was stronger than the ropes that had bound them.

  “Yes, ma’am; we are at your service,” he replied, ending his acknowledgment with a courteous bow.

  “Okay, then let’s get out of here.”

  The three of us left the greasy kidnappers where they were and headed toward the house. We were mute, unsure of a safe topic of conversation, the oppressive silence clinging to us like wood-smoke to clothes.

  The sound of another possible intrusion—at least one more horse and rider coming in—hurried our footsteps. It was nighttime, we were already skittish, and few people traveled in the dark.

  Lord Julian quickly ushered us into the house. He was taking charge now, and I was glad to cede the responsibility. My adrenaline had subsided and, although I no longer had a headache, I was exhausted and wanted to lie down.

  I stumbled in the darkness to the chaise lounge. The fire had burned down to an ashy orange glow and there weren’t any candles lit. I quickly thought of using my flashlight, but shook my head wordlessly. I didn’t even know if Ian had left my backpack here. If he had, I certainly wasn’t going to pull out a 21st century bag covered in zippers and Velcro or use an electric light in front of 18th century soldiers!

  Julian was watching the action outside from the small kitchen window. I didn’t need to see what was going on; I could tell by the noises that the rider or riders were coming directly to the house, not stopping at the barn to take care of their horses as friends or family would. These must be strangers.

  Strangers. That reminded me, where were Sarah and the women who were helping her when I arrived? Everyone seemed to have disappeared.

  Footfalls on the steps sent me bolting to join the men against the wall beside the door, hiding from first view of whoever was coming in from outside.

  The door opened wide and in walked Sarah. “Halloo, are you awake?” she called toward the chaise, her voice low so as not to wake me if I were asleep.

  I stepped out from behind her and announced, “I’m right here,” startling her so much that she faltered. I allowed her a moment to gather her wits, then said, “It’s dark in here, and I don’t know where the candles are.”

  “Oh, I’ll take care of that. How about you; how are you feeling? Are you okay?” she asked, the back of her hand to my forehead, checking for fever.

  “Yes and no. The headache is gone, but I’m lightheaded. Is there anything quick to eat? I have low blood sugar and I feel like I’m going to faint.”

  “I’ve got some bread, and there’s cheese here in the cupboard. Oh, and the candles are… Jesus! Where did you come from?”

  Julian moved away from his shadowy spot near the door. “Hello, Mrs. Pomeroy. As to where I came from, I recently emerged from a filthy gunnysack, which I was introduced to—very much against my will—for transport to your barn from…let’s just say from an undisclosed military location. Evidently some ill-informed renegades decided that abduction and bondage were the appropriate methods of making sure my stepson and I were transported to your barn. You do remember Wallace, don’t you?”

  At his introduction, Wallace stepped forward. “Good evening to you, Mrs. Pomeroy. I hope you are well.”

  I grabbed the cloth given to me earlier, poured water over it and slapped it on my forehead, then plopped back down onto the chaise.

  These people are storybook characters who have come to life and suddenly manifested themselves—body, scent, sound, and personality—right in front of me. This is a lot—maybe too much—for me to deal with!

  I put down the cloth, grabbed the pitcher, and drank directly from the rim. I didn’t know where the cup I had used earlier was, and at this point, I really didn’t care about good manners. I did wish I had more of that crème liqueur, though.

  Sarah lit a taper, tossed the punk into the fire, and asked Julian, “Are you saying you were kidnapped?”

  “It appears so, although I haven’t heard any mention of a ransom. We would still be in those sacks were it not for this brave young lady,” Julian said and nodded to me, obviously waiting for an introduction.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I responded, rising to my elbows. “I’m Sarah’s sister who she didn’t know she had. I kind of dropped in by surprise this afternoon, and well…just call me Evie.”

  The sounds of more activity came from outside—voices calling, feet shuffling, animals whinnying—interrupting our conversation. Julian rushed to the window and I followed, Sarah close behind.

  Apparently the young kidnappers had packed up and were leaving, the shreds of their gunnysacks rolled into two chaotic bundles, lashed to the back of a short-legged donkey.

  “I hope they’re not bringing back any more captives,” I said dryly as I looked over Julian’s shoulder. “It’s getting kind of crowded around here.”

  I got a snort, a chuckle, and an eye roll out of my impromptu audience. I looked at Wallace and noticed he was starting to waver. “Sir, I think you need the couch more than I do. Sit here and I’ll get you a drink of water.”

  I led the young man by the elbow to the chaise, found the cup, and poured water for him. I rewet the cloth and handed it to him. “Leave this on the bump. The coolness should make the swelling go down and maybe ease the pain a bit, too. It does hurt, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it does smart a bit. Thank you for your help.” Wallace eased back into the chaise, his long legs dangling over the end, arms resting at his sides, elbows tucked in close so they didn’t dangle, too.

  I readjusted the rag, which had slipped off as he settled in. I placed it across his cheeks and brow, covering his eyes, making sure I left him room to breathe. “Try to relax. It’s okay to fall asleep, but I’m going to wake you every half hour or so, just to make sure you don’t have a concussion. We don’t want you to slip into a coma now, do we?”

  He nodded in reply, but didn’t speak, instead relaxing into a slow, steady breathing rhythm, preparing himself for sleep.

  I looked up at the hollow silence—something felt wrong. Sarah and Julian were both staring at me.

  “Are you a healer, too?” Julian asked. “You seem to have the touch, although your bedside manner is much gentler than your kind sister’s.” Julian turned and looked at Sarah with the last part of his remark, giving her a sly smirk of sarcasm.

  “It’s just that she’s not used to dealing with you ornery men. She’ll learn,” she replied
with an even bigger grin.

  “Well, Wallace doesn’t seem ornery to me. I think it’s just a bruise though.” My voice and attitude quickly changed to one gently imploring. “Sarah, do you know anything about this situation, why anyone would kidnap these two and drop them practically at your doorstep?” I wanted to be the one to start the inquiry so I could set a friendly tone.

  Sarah nodded towards the broom and she, Julian, and I retreated to that corner for our discussion. She answered in a hoarse, frustrated whisper, “I know nothing about this. I didn’t even know you were in the area, Julian. And why would I want to kidnap you?”

  “Sarah, I didn’t think you were responsible for abducting Wallace or myself, but we are on opposite sides of this confounded revolution. Maybe there is something political behind this. I didn’t recognize the men who took us, but I wager by their accents, they’re colonials.”

  “Julian, I’m sorry for what happened to you. Please, allow me to offer you and your son hospitality, at least. I’m hoping Jody will be back soon. He went on a short errand. He didn’t tell me exactly where he was going, but said it was to fetch Ian. Just after he left, Ian showed up here and asked me to take care of his new wife, Evie. Then he went to find Jody. I’m sure they’ll locate each other and return shortly. After all,” Sarah laughed nervously, trying to make a joke to put us all at ease, “Ian will have to come back for Evie, and I’m sure Jody will want to meet his new niece.”

  “Oh, so you are both a niece and a sister-in-law to Jody? He’ll be glad to have more kin here. I know he misses his daughter and her family. Quite the thrifty Scot: two relatives in one,” he said, giving me a sincere smile of appreciation, the dimples in his cheeks and tone of his voice letting me know that he was jesting, not being rude.

  I blushed in embarrassment and tried to hide my glow, even though it was probably too dark to be seen. I babbled on about family, remarking on Jody and Sarah’s daughter. “I never met Mona, her husband, or their children. I’m sure they were wonderful people.”