Page 45 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
Rebecca turned from the stove, where she had just addedcoal to the firebox. “Yes.” She had the sudden urge to grab a dish towel and wipe away the rain that dripped down Abel’s face. The impulse stunned her, but instead she remained frozen near the stove.
“Good. I’m going to go see if he needs anything.” Abel strode through the kitchen on a mission to assist the lightkeeper. When he disappeared around the corner, Rebecca collapsed onto a chair.
Would that God had not stolen her memories in such a way! There were feelings, glimpses of the familiar, of repetition, as though she had experienced pieces of these moments at one time. And yet her memories were blurred, her mind shielded by a fog—no, a blustering storm—that whipped the recollections into wild waves that forced them deeper into the cold depths of her subconscious.
Right there. A breath away. It was as if she were drowning, but if she could just reach up, her fingers breaking the surface of the water, she could grab ahold of something firm with which she could pull herself back to safety.
The door blew open with such force, Rebecca screamed. Sheets of rain splattered the entryway, and a gust of freezing wind blew her hair across her face like a whip. She tried to collect her wits against the sudden shock of nature’s intrusion. Rebecca hurried toward the door to latch it shut again. A tenuous smile touched her lips as she did so. Annabel had probably shoved the door open in her spiritous vengeance. Was it perhaps a desperate attempt to return to the man who had loved her—Edgar? The stories ricocheted in her mind as Rebecca held her forearm over her face to shield herself from the wind and the rain. She reached for the door that banged against the wall with each gale of wind.
A beefy hand appeared amid the darkness just outside the entry and yanked her into the storm. Rebecca’s scream was drowned by the roaring of the waves off the lake as they lifted and fell in the distance.
A sharp pain shot through Rebecca’s arm as she was hauled into the steely grip of a stranger whose face she could not see. Another man appeared then, and a rag was shoved into her mouth, pushing her tongue back against her throat and inducing a violent gag. Rebecca doubled over but was jerked upward. Her feet lifted from the ground as the man who had forced her from the lighthouse hoisted her over his shoulder. Rebecca squirmed and twisted, kicking and screaming deep in her throat.
The second man’s hand cracked against her face, and he shouted a command that was washed away by the violence of the lake’s fury.
Rain soaked through her dress, chilling her to the bone. Her breath was stolen as her body slammed against her captor’s shoulder. She could see nothing but rain as it battered her face. She heard nothing but the grunts of her assailants as they ran into the night.
19
REBECCA LAY SPRAWLEDon a wood floor covered in debris and dirt. As her eyes began to focus, so did the run-down shack around her come into focus. Its condition didn’t appear to be much better than the way she felt. Wind whistled through the cracks in the shack’s frame even as Rebecca’s head pounded with sharp waves of pain. The rag was no longer in her mouth, thank God, but her tongue was dry, and the corners of her lips were cut and raw from the force of it being thrust into her mouth.
Rain pelted the sides of the shack, and water dripped from a hole in the roof, landing in a puddle next to her. The splash of a drop finally startled her into full awareness. She blinked rapidly against the darkness that was cut through with the faint light of a lantern sitting on the floor across the small, barren room.
Her feet were bound at her ankles, her wrists bound behind her back. Rebecca attempted to wiggle and push against the floor with her feet so she could manage a sitting position.
Heavy footsteps told her she was not alone, and sure enough a pinching grasp around her arm was confirmation of that as she was pulled up from the floor and half thrown against the wall.
She squinted up into the face of her captor, and a second shadow appeared behind him. Both men were unfamiliar. The one closest to her was built like a bear, with a beard that covered so much of his face she could see only his nose, his eyes, and a small portion of his cheeks. His hair was wet, as were his clothes.
Bending, he examined her face for an intimidating second before speaking. “You’re a lot of trouble.”
The accusation only confirmed in her mind that these two men had to be the assailants who had sent her fleeing into the woods before she landed on Annabel’s grave.
“What do you want?” she whimpered, hearing the plea in her own voice and cursing the weakness she heard in it.
“What do we want?” The bear turned to his partner with a growling laugh. “As if she doesn’t know!”
The partner was also strong, but leaner, with a face that Rebecca could see was closer to her own age, handsome in a way, but no less wicked. There was a gleam in his eyes, and she knew he had been the one to slap her across the face. This man was perhaps more dangerous than the bear.
He squatted in front of her while the bear stayed upright, his thick arms crossed over her chest as if to dare Rebecca to try anything.
As if she could.
The rope cut into her wrists and ankles. Her face burned from the abuse. She couldn’t even begin to assess the baby—thebaby.
A fresh wave of terror ripped through Rebecca. She was not staying alive for herself, there was her child. A child she had no association with, no motherly bond. A life forming inside of her she wished away for a split second, so she didn’t have to be concerned for its welfare. What risks she took with her own life didn’t just affect her now, they affected the babe. But this was also a life, a new life for whom she was responsible.
The man who had slapped her reached out to touch her cheek.
Rebecca winced and shrank back, but his callused fingers still grazed her skin where he had assaulted her.
“Sorry about that.” His words meant nothing, and even in the dim light, Rebecca could see the sickening enjoyment in his eyes.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Who are we, Bear?” He looked over his shoulder and called the man by the very word Rebecca had been imagining him to be.
Bear’s laugh was mocking. “She doesn’t know, Mercer.”
