Page 53 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
ANNABEL’S LIGHTHOUSE
SPRING, 1874
SHE WAS SHIVERING UNCONTROLLABLYas morning dawned and light enveloped the shack. Mercer had long since removed himself from his seat atop her, but Rebecca still writhed from the violation of his weight, even though he’d done nothing to take advantage of her otherwise.
Bear snored in the corner of the cabin, and somehow Mercer did as well. Both men were oblivious to the chill of the room, the dampness of their clothes, and the fact that Rebecca’s wrists dripped blood on the floor as she worked to loosen her bindings.
She had been able to wriggle enough space between the ropesaround her wrists that she could finally pull her hands free of them. Still, the action was painful, her skin raw. Rebecca bit down on her lip to distract her from the pain of her hands as she tugged her right hand free. When it came loose, she shook off the rope with her left hand and then paused.
Both men still slept, so sure they were that she was subdued by their domination. And in a way, she was. She was terrified by every sniff and grunt they made in their sleep. Now, as she pulled her arms around to her front, she caught her breath as her muscles cramped from being held back for hours. Rebecca’s breaths came in little gasps as she forced herself to relax and let her muscles cease screaming at their new position. She buried her wrists in the damp fabric of her dress, taking small comfort from the coolness found there against the abrasions on her skin.
The bindings around her ankles were looser, and after Rebecca watched Mercer and Bear for long seconds to be sure they still slept, she leaned forward and worked at the ropes until her feet were free.
Desperate to scramble to her feet and run toward freedom, Rebecca forced herself to remain still. If she moved too quickly, she risked startling them awake. Assuming she was lucky enough to get out of the shack, Rebecca had no idea which direction to run to for safety, and she believed she could not outrun either man.
Rebecca shuddered to think what Mercer would do were he to catch her. The hatred in his eyes was the kind that pleased a man to feel wicked, and no pleading or begging would sway him toward mercy. Mercer’s intoxication with hating her would drive him to abuse her more thoroughly, more violently.
For the babe, she could not risk it.
No. To escape, she would need to move quietly in a methodical fashion so as not to awaken the men. And then, once out of the shack, she would need to quickly decide which direction to run.
Listen for the waves.
Keep the sun to your east.
Look for the mountains.
Rebecca silently recited her three points of reference in hopes they would make sense once she was free.
She eased onto her feet, every nerve in her body on fire from being bound. Glancing down, Rebecca made sure her toes were securely engaged with her slippers so that she wouldn’t stumble. She stealthily tiptoed toward the door of the shack.
Bear snorted, and she froze, staring at him as he leaned against the wall, his chin tucked into his chest and his hairy face just shy of appearing fully beast with no sign of man. Assured he was still asleep, Rebecca focused on Mercer. His eyes were narrow slits, and he was watching her with a thin smile of pure enjoyment.
“Going somewhere?” His voice sliced through the stillness.
Rebecca lunged for the door.
Mercer leaped to his feet, but Rebecca managed to evade his first grab at her, slamming her hand against his face and connecting with his nose harder than she had even intended. Mercer growled as blood spurt from his nose.
Rebecca ran. She forgot about the east, about looking for the Porcupines’ ridgeline. Instead, she sprinted toward the sound of the lake. The waves. She plunged through the woods, her feet trampling ferns and sticks, hopping over a downed tree, a branch catching her dress. It ripped at her waist, but Rebecca continued to flee, hearing the shouts of Mercer and Bear behind her.
A glimpse of the water through the trees beckoned her. She surged ahead, breaking free from the forest. Her feet connected with the sand of the shore, crunching over driftwood and stones. Boulders and a cliff outcropping were to her right, so Rebecca veered to the left, seeing only shoreline, more driftwood and rocks. She heard the endless cadence of wave after wave coming ashore.
The water. If she ran into the lake, she could let it take her away, for drowning would be preferable to Mercer and Bear.
Delirious, Rebecca cried out as she twisted to see Mercer breaking free from the woods mere yards behind her. She had no time. The sand sucked at her feet like shackles holding her back. The only sand that would be firm enough to run on was the wet sand.
Rebecca raced toward the water, her slippers peeling off as she ran, and now the tender skin of her feet met the freezing cold of the lake.
Mercer was gaining fast, but Rebecca pushed forward, splashing at the edge of the lake as she sprinted along the shoreline. An outcropping rose up ahead, and without thinking it through, Rebecca veered toward it, seconds later stumbling to a slippery halt on the black basalt.
This was it. She’d been here before.
The outcropping.
You are a chilling reminder...
“Ha!” Mercer’s laugh filled the air. He stood on the shore, and Rebecca realized she had allowed herself to be cornered by him. The lake was at her back, her body balanced precariously on the slick rock.
