Page 44 of The Taking of House Westwood

She scrambled off her bed.

There was a piercing sound of groaning metal, then the whole building seemed to shake, dust falling from the ceiling. Owen cursed.

“Is this part of the plan?”

“It’ll be all right, Sophie.” The haunted look in his eyes told her the truth of it though. She swallowed hard, willing herself not to panic.

He donned his hood again, his face cast once more into shadow. A scream sounded outside, close, and she put her hands to her ears.

Owen grabbed her by the wrist, threw the bolt and yanked open the door. The hallway was deserted, but she could hear sobs from a couple of the rooms nearby.

“We should at least unlock them.”

He shook his head. “There’s no time.”

They dashed through the dark hallway and out into the torch lit courtyard. She froze in terror at the sight she beheld there.

There were guards lying everywhere, most of them horribly injured or already dead. She saw movement above and looked up. Yelling in horror, a man plummeted down from the battlements, his body striking the dirt with a sickening crunch. Two guards nearby, both armed with swords, fought desperately, metal clashing with metal, with two very tall men clad in long dark coats swinging huge shimmering blades. She’d never seen anyone like them before, and she took a step toward the group, her feet seemingly moving on their own.

“Come on,” Owen said, his voice harsh in her ear. She felt her arm yanked hard, and she stumbled after him. They ran across the courtyard toward a wagon covered with a all, dark shroud, the horses harnessed to it neighing and bucking against their bonds. Another tall man in black robes strode toward them, and for a moment, Sophie balked, pulling at Owen’s grip.

“It’s okay. It’s Hugh.” Owen hauled on her arm, keeping her moving. “He’s with my father’s guild. He’s helping us.”

The man dropped his hood, and smiled at Sophie, the deep friendly lines around his blue eyes softening his gruff, bearded countenance. “Glad to see you, lass.”

Owen looked around. “Where’s my father?”

Hugh’s expression sobered. “He and Galan went looking for you.”

Owen shook his head, anger in his eyes. “What is he doing? That wasn’t what we talked about.”

“Neither was all this,” Hugh said, waving a hand. He pointed behind him. “We have a bigger problem now, lad.”

The portcullis was down. They were trapped.

“We need to get that gate back up, or we’re done for,” Hugh said, helping Owen lift Sophie up into the wagon. The night brightened suddenly, and all three of them ducked. A great explosion blasted into the sky from the direction of the stables, followed by a billowing ball of flame and smoke rising into the air.

“Dear Lord,” Hugh muttered. “We’ve got to get her out of here.”

Owen clapped Hugh on the shoulder. “Stay here with Sophie. I’ll try to find the windlass and get that gate up.”

“Here, take this.” Hugh pressed a sword into Owen’s hands. The farmhand leaned over the edge of the wagon and pressed an urgent kiss to Sophie’s lips. “Keep your head down. Hugh will protect you.”

“Wait! Owen!” she called out, but he was already gone, darting into the darkness, the clang of weapons and screams of the dead and dying all around. She ducked her head as something flew by close overhead, the air currents rippling the dark fabric that covered the wagon.

“Get down lassie, he’ll be back,” Hugh said, his hand pushing down on her shoulder. She dropped down to the floor of the wagon, trying to ignore the sounds of horror all around her. She felt the wagon shift, and Hugh’s face peeked in at her from the driver’s seat. He flashed a quick reassuring smile, then was gone again.

The wagon began to roll, slowly at first, then lurching up to speed. Another series of booms echoed through the courtyard, interspersed with harsh male voices cursing and shouting. Sophie heard a woman’s scream and she peeked out of the shroud.

Stumbling across the yard, her ankles linked in a short hobble chain, was the woman Sophie had seen in the field pulling the plow. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back, the leather girth squeezing her waist in its brutal embrace. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

“Here! Tani! Get in!” Sophie leaned out, waving her arms out of the side of the shroud. Tani turned her head toward Sophie’s voice, the woman’s expression turning confused when she recognized her.

Then Sophie saw him. It was the plowboy, Escott.

He was shuffling after Tani. His right arm hung limp, the whole right side of his body covered in soot and blood. He had been burned, badly.

Sophie nearly called to him too, but it was too late. Someone rushed up on the boy from behind, tackling him to the ground. In the low light it was difficult to see who it was, but it definitely was not a guard, the attacker much too tall, the clothing dark, perhaps black.

---