Page 34 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
Chapter Nine
Elle breathed hardfrom her nose, trying not to gag. A dirty rag had been stuffed into her mouth. Her wrists were bound painfully behind her back, but at least her ankles were free. She sat astride a frightfully large warhorse, at Bjork’s back.
Because of her hands being tied behind her back, another rope had been tied around her waist and the nasty Viking’s, connecting the two of them, entirely too close. He rode hard and her thighs burned from the exertion of trying to hold on to the horse. Her face felt battered from how many times she’d hit it against his back. She had no way to brace herself against the speed and roughness of their ride.
All the while, she kept thinking of Beiste. Of how he would react when he found her missing. Would he be angry? Relieved? Sad? Delighted?
Her heart lurched to think that he might not even care. That he might whisper,good riddance, and never think of her again.
She feared that anything that had grown between them might have only meant something to her. Been in her head.
Och, to think that she’d railed at him, that she’d had the audacity to stare him down and think him a failure when she was the one tied to the back of a horse, her brother nowhere in sight. She’d given herself up to Bjork for no reason. And she’d pay for that foolishness the rest of her days, which she’d determined wouldn’t be many.
This man, who’d killed her family, harmed her people, was now going to take her life. Even if he let her live, she’d be a prisoner. Aye, he wanted to take her to wife, he’d made that perfectly clear when he’d lifted her onto the horse, tying her so tightly to him that her breasts were crushed along the sides of his spine. But, to be his wife, that was a death sentence in itself (as it was, his current wife would be killed so that Elle could replace her, if the woman hadn’t been smart enough to run away already).
Nay, Elle would not live. Either by his hand or her own, she was not long for this earth.
And then she’d give her blood oath to the fairies. Just as they wanted. Perhaps, as they’d planned all along. Perhaps, they’d known her fate and that it wouldn’t matter.
Her eternal life would begin soon. She was determined that it would. She could not live this way. Not with a demonic tormenter.
“I… I need to stop,” she mumbled around the cloth, but her words came out sounding like, “Eh… neee tttttt sawwww.”
No matter, she breathed in deep through her nose and shouted the inaudible words over and over, until Bjork did, finally, call his mount to a halt. But the glower he turned to give her was unmerciful, vicious. He untied her and pushed her off the back of the horse. Elle landed on her arse, a jarring pain shooting up her spine. The men laughed and she crawled to her knees, then her feet, despite the pain, fearing that she’d mess herself if she didn’t find relief soon.
“Go,” Bjork said. “Right there.”
“Naaayy,” she shouted around the gag. She would not debase herself that way. Besides, then he would see she still had a weapon, the dagger strapped to her thigh. She might be completely hopeless and planning her own death, but there was still a tiny chance of hope given that steel pressed to her leg.
Bjork nodded to one of his men, not even bothering to take his own future wife to privacy. What was she expecting? He’d likely share her with all his men on their wedding night—if not before. Why would he bother to wait for such a thing? She’d try to find a way to do away with herself before then. Even though she’d promised the old Laird MacDougall she’d never take her own life. She was certain, in this circumstance, he would agree.
Lucky for her, the man who escorted her into the trees to relieve herself, cut through the rope at her wrists. He turned his back, grunting for her to get it done. She was surprised at his decency, but hurried to do her business before he decided to emulate his master’s crudeness.
Her escort muffled a curse just as she finished, grabbed her by the arm and tied her to a tree. “Stay here.”
“What? Where are ye going?” she cried out, wriggling against the ropes.
He jabbed a finger toward her face, his eyes soulless black pools. “Shut your mouth if ye want to live.”
Elle clamped her mouth shut, not at all disillusioned that he wouldn’t take her life.
The Viking ran back toward the men. Then she could hear it, the sounds of riders approaching.
And she was tied to a tree…
Saints preserve her! She would not be taken by another hoard of whoresons!
Elle wrenched at the ties. He’d not done them as tightly as he could have in his hurry to return to the fray. She wriggled, rubbed, yanked, until they were loosened enough for her to squeeze one hand through. Then she untied her still bound wrist and tossed the rope to the ground. She hiked up her skirt, grabbed her dagger, and prepared to run. To defend herself.
But, what if it was Beiste that had come?
Indecision warred within her. She decided to creep back toward the horses to get a look before she escaped and then her better judgment grasped hold of her. She’d not made it five feet before self-preservation had her turning around. Beiste could handle himself if he met up with Bjork. No need for her interference. She’d only get herself killed, besides.
With that thought in the forefront of her mind, Elle ran in the opposite direction.
Straight into Beiste’s arms.
“Beiste!” she shouted, dropping her knife and wrapping her arms around his neck. “How did ye find me?”
