The Witch and The Thief

14

Cursing her crippled magic, Maera spun on her heel, wobbled when her sore ankle nearly gave out on her, then righted herself and searched for a weapon. A broken chair shoved in a corner provided her with a decent wooden spike.

She went back to the window, hoping she would find Lachlan victorious and returning for her, but instead saw a bloodied Darragh with a dirk in hand marching toward the cottage with a look of vicious intent on his face.

Her heart clenched in terror, fearing it could mean only one thing. Lachlan was dead. She stumbled from the window and screamed when Darragh kicked in the door.

"There be a mighty reward for ye," His lips curled in a predatory smile, "so be a good lass, now, and come with me, nice and quiet."

"Nay," Maera growled with a firm shake of her head.

She retreated as far as she could until her back pressed against the wall, biting back a whimper of distress when Darragh's long stride swallowed the precious space she'd tried to put between them.

He shoved his dirty right forearm against the base of her throat, pinning her to the wall with the edge of the dirk under her chin, making it feel as though wickedly sharp steel made up the entire length of his arm. Leaning down till their noses almost touched, he whispered, "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear-"

"Unhand me." Maera pressed the sharp, jagged tip of her wooden spike hard against his groin. "Or I'll geld you where you stand."

It was a good threat, she thought, spoken with enough force both in tone and pointy object jabbed in sensitive nether region, to suggest she meant to follow through should he fail to do as she demanded.

Darragh slowly pulled away from her, raising his hands and dirk in a show of submission seconds before he lashed out with his booted foot and kicked the weapon from her grip, breaking her hand in the process.

His fist connected with Maera's jaw in the next breath, snapping her head against the wall with such force stars exploded in front of her eyes in a blinding display of magnificent color and excruciating pain.

She struggled to remain upright and conscious in the spinning room, telling herself she needed to continue to fight. Darragh whirled her around and shoved her hard against the wall, then wrenched both wrists behind her back, lashing them tightly together with a leather thong.

In the next breath, Darragh threw her over his shoulder and marched from the cottage. His meaty shoulder slammed into her stomach as his stride lengthened into a jarring trot until they were well within the shade of the tree-line from which he'd previously emerged.

Maera groaned in misery when he finally stopped several moments later and tossed her on the back of a horse.

"She's to arrive undamaged, Darragh, curse yer hide," Finley whined with his hands perched on his narrow hips. "T'were explicitly expressed."

"And so, she will... for the most part," Dara grumbled as he forced her astride the mount. "I had no choice after she threatened to castrate me."

Finley grunted but seemed mollified by the excuse.

Maera teetered and would have fallen off the horse had Finley not pulled her roughly upright. Her stomach lurched, and bile burned the back of her throat.

"Looks like ye'll be keeping me warm after all," Finley's lips curled in a lewd grin, showcasing his yellowed and crooked teeth.

Leaning towards him, Maera vomited. She couldn't have picked a better moment had she planned it, and would have smiled if she'd been able.