Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  Alexander’s father—her enemy.

  Henrys sat staring into the smoldering fire. The draft that came through the great hall each time someone opened the large doors to the keep, lifted the bottom of his long robe, exposing his old wrinkled ankles to the cold air.

  Although to all outsiders he may have looked like he was just gazing into fire, perhaps relaxing after a long day, this was not the case.

  His mind was like a clock, always ticking.

  His thoughts were dark and filled with contempt.

  He thought he’d raised his son to be like himself, heartless, uncaring, the seeker of land and fortune. But along came one conniving whore, to ruin all of his hard work.

  When he’d arrived, she had stared at him coolly, and offered him a place at the table to eat. The nerve of her. He had refused and instead had his meal sent to his room. He did however allow his men to eat with her. Let them wet their tongues a little over the chit. He would rather dine alone. He should have killed her when he had the chance, but watching her run, knowing she’d spend the rest of her life looking behind her had been a thrill.

  To think she hadn’t even offered him a smile when she knew she was to marry his son. Had simply walked away. She would surely ruin everything. He had built up the Drake name to astounding size since he had taken over from his father, and he had literally taken over. Henrys, always playing a little hand with the devil, had murdered his own father so he could finally take what was his. There were rumors this had happened, but of course no one could confirm whether or not he really did.

  He hadn’t liked the way his father ruled, knew he could do better, and so took over.

  He ruled by fear. He instilled this fear in his men by randomly killing them. Of course someone had told the king of the rash behavior of the earl, but that man had swiftly “fallen ill” and all other men around Henrys were too afraid to go against him, stating that it was all a bunch of poppycock.

  He continued his brutal behavior. His punishments among his tenants and villagers were met out with even harsher cruelty. Even the simplest of crimes were punishable either by death or brutal torture which soon led to death. He had made sure all he was surrounded by were clouded with sense of doom.

  His first wife, Judith, a woman he chose based not on beauty but on land, coin and title, had produced one son to him, dying in childbirth.

  Henrys raised Alexander to fear him. The boy was regularly whipped, half the time for no reason. His trainings were intense. Henrys wanted Alexander to be a fearsome fighter, so that when he became old and decrepit, Alexander would be there to protect him from his many enemies, and to wage war for him.

  So far his plan had worked out wonderfully. He had been able to capture many lands and titles through the use of force. Of course, he occasionally had to lend his son to the king for service, and as a result Alexander procured some holdings in his own name, but the earl always felt he had control of those lands as well. After all, his son was his protégé, and had been raised to do exactly as Henrys wanted.

  His three subsequent wives fared just as well as the first, leaving him a widower. Through it all he continued with his passion for terrorizing the women servants as well as the women of the village. His son was of course privy to this, and often times was made to watch, while his father gave him an in depth lesson on what was happening.

  So now the old man sat their pondering this new dilemma. He had sent his man Wilson, his spy, to the village months before. He had reported on all of the action. All that this silly little chit had done to ruin his perfect village and his son. She was changing everything, making his son act like a love sick little puppy. Chasing her around, no doubt she lifted her skirts for him every chance she got. The bitch, Maude, had only further proved that his son needed his help, for not only was the chit just changing his son, she was the blasted Scottish wench who’d spurned him.

  Worst of all, Wilson had reported that Alexander had taken a liking to her absurd ideas that the people should have pride this and pride that.

  Bah! What does she know?

  Pride within his people wasn’t what helped him to build his empire.

  Pride given to his people wasn’t what made him almost as powerful as the king, and most probably just as rich.

  He couldn’t help but get a chill, not only from the cold draft, but from a thought more sinister. Perhaps to teach his lustful son a lesson, he would have him execute the girl himself. That ought to teach him never to let his heart or his lower parts get in the way of business again.

  A cruel smile rose at the corners of his peeling and cracked lips. Yes. That will be the perfect solution.

  A racking cough gripped his body, and he wiped at the blood that trickled from his mouth. He didn’t have much time. He would soon be taken to hell by the grim reaper himself. Maybe only a week or two left.

  Again he shivered. Deep within him, he knew that he was going to hell, and that he would be made to endure an eternity of torture for all that he’d done. But to him it was worth it. To have built up his name and left a legacy for his son, and for any future Drakes, was all worth it.

  A fleeting thought of bedding the little wench crossed his mind. He would enjoy one last cruel and forceful romp. Yes, that is what he would do and then Alexander would be made to kill the whore Chloe.

  An evil little laugh started to rumble in the back of his throat, but was quickly cut off by more racking coughs.

  “Wilson,” he shouted between coughs, calling for his man.

  “Yes, my lord?” Wilson asked, the dull fire playing shadows along his scarred and mutilated face, a price he had paid for disappointing his master. He had never done anything but as his master wished again.

  “What is it they call you here, you boar?” the earl wheezed out.

  “Grommel, Your Grace,” Wilson answered, his now lifeless eyes looking down to the floor.

  “Ah, Grommel. Such a hideous name. How fitting. Fetch me the girl.”

  Chloe started awake. She didn’t know why she had woken up, couldn’t recall a nightmare that she may have had. She lay there motionless, keeping her breathing shallow and listening for any sounds that may have been out of the ordinary and caused her to awaken.

  She lay for several minutes and heard nothing. Chalking it up to nerves at the arrival of the earl and still no word from Alexander, she started to drift back to sleep.

  But there it was, the same thing she now recognized as the cause of her rude awakening the first time. A subtle scraping sound, like wood on metal. What was it? The eerily creaking noise came again followed by shuffling. Her eyes widened and a bead sweat formed on her upper lip. She could see moving figures, shadows. People were in her room! They had locked the door behind them, and anyone who attempted to save her from these ruffians would be locked out. They were coming for her. The earl was going to finish the job he’d started months ago.

  She watched in frozen fear as they reached out for her, then were on her. She didn’t know what or who or how many, but hands covered her, yanking her in all directions. She tried to scream but no sound came out. Was it because of fear? Had fear temporarily paralyzed her vocal cords? No, it wasn’t fear, it was a gag. A nasty piece of cloth had been shoved into her mouth and now was making her choke and want to vomit.

  She flailed her arms and kicked her legs, trying as hard as she could to connect with something, anything. She wanted to harm these people who hurt her. She hoped to leave a mark that may raise questions. But her attempts to damage her attackers were quickly subdued. The strong hands and arms of the many immobilized her. She writhed her body, her hips, whatever she could, trying not to let them control her. But her attempts were futile.

  She tried to count how many there were, but it was dark, and then they tied a piece of cloth tightly around her head, blocking all of her vision. She guessed maybe three or four. She was glad for the blindfold. The tears that began to escape her eyes were quickly soaked by the ragged cloth, and those who’d caus
ed them couldn’t see her pain. Her wrists were being tied behind her back, the rope that they used bit into her skin and she winced at the pain. Her ankles were quickly tied in a similar fashion.

  Through it all they said not one word. Not even a whisper. It was disturbing to Chloe that they didn’t speak. The only reason she could come up with for their silence was she would recognize their voices, and then should she ever be free again, she could point her assailants out.

  Good God, would she ever be free? Why hadn’t she said something to Anne or Edward when she had the chance? Northumberland would kill her for sure. What was she going to do? Panic gripped her, squeezing the breath from her lungs and pummeling her heart until it palpitated violently. Sweat seeped from every pore in her body. Her breathing rapid now, tears flowed, and she became more and more nauseous.

  This was the fourth time she had been attacked since leaving South Hearth. And Alexander was not there to save her. This had been methodically planned. They had come for her in her most vulnerable state and time. They had come when her dragon was not about and when she slept.

  She bucked her body one more time, only to feel a slight pain in her temple before all went black.

  Lady Anne knocked softly on the bedchamber door. Chloe had slept nearly two hours past when she normally did, and Anne became concerned.

  When her knocks went unanswered, she began to worry more.

  “Lady Chloe? Please answer. It is me, Lady Anne.” She knocked harder until her knuckles turned bright red and threatened to open up should she bang one more time. She tried shoving against the door, but it wouldn’t budge, something blocked it. Terrified now, she began to scream for Chloe to open the door.

  “Chloe!” All pretenses of formality were lost in her panic.

  “May I help you, my lady?”

  The knight looked at Anne as if she had lost her mind.

  “Please, I can not open the door and Lady Chloe will not answer me, I am afraid that she may be in trouble,” Anne gushed, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

  “Guards!” the knight shouted, and began himself to push and knock at the door. He too became alarmed from the look on his face when there was no movement or reaction from within. “You are sure that she is not anywhere else about the grounds, my lady?”

  “No, she is not,” Anne said emphatically.

  The running of footsteps up the stairs could be heard like a resounding, clank, clank, clank. Edward happened to be among the group and the look of concern on his face caused all to step aside.

  “Wife, what is the problem?” he asked gruffly, his manner demanding answers.

  “Lady Chloe will not answer the door and there is something blocking it, we can not get it open.” Anne’s voice was now high pitched—she was nearing hysteria.

  “Step aside,” Edward ordered. All moved out of his way as he lifted a strong leg and kicked at the door.

  The wood splintered under the weight of his heavy boot, and he kicked at it again, this time making a large hole. He quickly reached his hand through the door and lifted the beam that locked it into place. With the obstruction now out of his way he quickly shoved the remnants of the door aside.

  The room was empty. A loud gasp came from all who stared into the vacant chamber. The sheets and blanket that had once covered Lady Chloe’s bed now lay strewn about the room. The small table that held her water basin lay smashed on the floor, the basin shattered with it. The tapestry that had once adorned her wall lay on the floor and a secret door was revealed.

  The evidence of a struggle was overwhelming. Lady Anne dared to spy her husband and the look of anguish and pure anger was overwhelming on his face. He stood hands fisted at his sides as he scanned the area for the briefest of moments before charging the opening in the wall. The knights followed their leader.

  “Alan, advise the men!” Edward shouted before he and his knights disappeared through the dark doorway.

  Alan nodded and turned out of the room, the sounds of his running footsteps down the hall toward the stairs pounded in Anne’s ears. She stood alone in the empty room, and her knees buckled. She collapsed to the ground in a heap, the tears pouring out.

  It had been ten days since Alexander last saw Chloe, and he was becoming anxious. He’d told her he would be home by now. He hated knowing she would be disappointed over the next few days until he arrived. He missed the sound of her laughter and the bright smiles that filled her face from the curve of her lips to the lilt of her eyes. He smiled thinking about it, a warm feeling spreading throughout his body. He and his men would begin packing up today and leave at dawn.

  A rapid knock nearly caused him to cut his skin as he carefully shaved his face.

  “What is it?” he asked sharply, annoyed for the interruption in his shaving and his thoughts of Chloe.

  “My lord, you have a messenger,” the young squire said breathlessly as he burst through the room.

  The warm feelings that had been spreading through Alexander’s stomach turned cold and hard. He felt like he had a lump sitting in his belly, and now it was burning.

  “Send him,” he barked, no longer concerned about shaving, not concerned at his tone. All he could think of was the overwhelming sense of doom clouding his mind. Chloe.

  The messenger entered and bowed before him, looking nervous as hell.

  “Speak,” Alexander ordered, staring at the man as he rose from his bowed position.

  “My lord, I have been sent by your Captain of the Guard, Sir Edward, at Hardwyck. Lady Chloe has gone missing.”

  “Missing? Explain yourself.” His voice was even and cool, hiding the internal rage and pain that were at war with one another.

  The young squire shook in his boots and looked as if he would lose his last meal should he be forced to say another word.

  “My lord, Sir Edward informed me to find you at once, and tell you that Lady Chloe has been taken sometime in the night. She has been abducted. You are requested immediately, my lord.”

  The sound that emanated through Alexander was inhuman. To the squire, it greatly resembled the yell of a dragon. He would retell the story to generation after generation, swearing that fire spewed from the lord’s mouth as he yelled in anguish.

  In a daze, Chloe opened her eyes to blackness. The hell she’d gone through only hours before came rushing back to her. Every muscle in her body ached, muscles she didn’t even know she possessed.

  Her eyes stung from crying. Her mouth was dry and her head felt as if it would split in half. She lay on a hard surface, rocking back and forth. She guessed that she must be lying in the back of a wagon of some sort. Were these men the same knights who’d attacked her and Nicola with Northumberland’s blessing?

  You must remain calm. Your wits must be about you. These madmen will eat you alive if you don’t get a hold of yourself.

  The strong voice of her conscience helped to calm her. She knew she could be strong and get through this. She’d made a vow to take care of herself and now that vow was being tested. Luck was on her side the last two times an attempt on her had been made. And that lucky charm was Alexander. The first time…she couldn’t even contemplate without a great sense of loss enveloping her. Now she had to take matters into her own hands.

  She continued to feign sleep. She didn’t want the men to know she was awake, for fear she wouldn’t learn what she needed to and in case they decided to knock her out again.

  She kept her breathing even, her eyes closed, and listened.

  There was the distinct sound of horse’s feet as they hit the ground fast and hard. They were going at a relatively fast pace, which would explain why her body was now rocking violently back and forth.

  Were they being chased?

  She listened more carefully, but the sound of the hoof beats and wheels of the wagon drowned out any other noise. The men didn’t speak, only the sounds of the racing wagon could be heard.

  “There,” a man shouted.

  There where? Had they found the p
lace they were going to keep her?

  “Aye, that’s the spot he told us about.”

  Who told them? What spot? Was the earl meeting them there? Her heart raced knowing she may leave the place in the back of the wagon and be put somewhere else. Her death imminent. She had to remain calm and still. She checked herself, making sure her breathing was shallow and even, and simply concentrated on that while she waited for what would happen next.

  They came to a stop and she could hear the men discussing something, but their tones were too low for her to make out what they said.

  She kept a keen ear as they walked around to what must have been the rear of the wagon, and then light filtered through the rag. They must have had a covered wagon. One lecherous hand grabbed at her ankle and yanked her toward the edge of the wagon’s bottom. She couldn’t help the yelp that escaped her lips from the pain his action caused.

  “She’s awake,” one of the men hissed. As he began to speak she went limp, and when she was lifted allowed her head to hang backward at an odd angle, so they would think she had fainted.

  “Not anymore. I ought to yank on ‘er when she needs to be silent every time,” the man who had shouted “there” said with sneer evident in his tone.

  She was beginning to recognize the voices now. This was good. Her mind was becoming clearer.

  “Carry ‘er in there. Throw ‘er on the bed, but keep yerself away from ‘er,” the man who had said “not anymore” ordered. She would call him their leader, he seemed to be anyway. Now she could count how many of them there were.

  No one else spoke for what seemed like hours, but was more likely only minutes. They came into the dwelling, and she was tossed onto some sort of cot. She tried to ignore the feeling of little legs scampering when she landed. As she listened to the sounds of them unloading, she realized that perhaps now would be a good time for her to rest. They were busy setting up to stay here for some time from the sounds of it. She wanted to be able to listen and listen well when they sat down, perhaps to eat or drink more likely.