Tahn (2 page)

She had no way of knowing what his intentions were. How did he even expect to get out of here without rousing someone?

She turned and stood as straight as she could, though her heart was pounding and the fear was like a sodden weight in her stomach. She would have to do what he said. He left her no choice.

Without a word, he took hold of her wrists and tied them tightly. Then he pulled a scarf from his pocket and gagged her. He had a long length of rope at his waist, and he knotted it carefully at the windowsill. When he had secured it well, he gave the end a toss through the open window. Then he grabbed her bound arms and looped them over his head.

“Don’t scream,” he told her. “Not till we get to the ground.”

And they were suddenly out the window. Netta was dizzy with the terror of it. He scarcely held her at all. She simply dangled there on the neck of her kidnapper as he stole her away. Tears came unbidden and flowed in silent streams down her cheeks. When they were finally on the ground, he set her down in the dirt and picked up a stone. He looked up at the other windows of the great house. “Which is your father’s room?” he asked.

She sat and stared at him. How could he expect her to answer that? She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t help this brazen villain. He might hurt her father. He might do anything.

“Point, Lady!” he insisted.

She shook her head boldly, defiantly, though inside her heart was quaking.

He hurled the stone anyway, at the one window that held a soft glow of candlelight. His aim was true and strong, and the stone went crashing into the room of Netta’s Uncle Winn.

She tried to scream, and to her surprise, he reached and pulled the gag away from her mouth. “Yes,” he told her. “Loud, now!” He grabbed her by the waist, threw her over his shoulder, and began to run. And she screamed, fearing for the reason he would let her. But maybe they would hear. Maybe they could do something before he got very far.

He was going to the back wall, farthest from the guarded gate. And she soon saw that he had prepared it for their exit. A long plank leaned against it like a ramp, and he was up like a cat without even slowing down. At the top, he held her with one hand and used the other to pull the board up until it leaned down the other side. He took the slope at a run and then kicked the plank to the ground at the bottom. She screamed again, hoping the guard from the gate would come, or her strong cousins, and stop this man before he could disappear with her into the night. But why, why would he let her scream and take that chance? Why would he tell her to?

He suddenly stopped and replaced her gag. She tried to fight him. She tried to struggle as he lifted her again. He was not a very big man, but there was little she could do in the strength of his grasp.

When they reached the woods, a horse was waiting for them. “This is Smoke,” the kidnapper suddenly said. He lifted her to the horse’s back and jumped up behind her. “Try to be calm,” he told her. “I swear I will not hurt you.”

But she did not believe him. It was like a horrible dream, to be planted in the saddle with the strange young man’s strong arms ensnaring her. His clothes, his long hair, and his eyes were all black beneath the moonlight. She shuddered to think of another black-garbed intruder, on the roof of the springhouse, his sword dripping with the blood of her husband. She’d loved Karll so and had known him in marriage for less than a week when the fiendish killer took him away.

She glanced down at the kidnapper’s hands holding tight at the reins in front of her, and she began to tremble. He was so much like that killer. Small and fierce and quiet. It had been three years ago, but she had barely recovered. And now the horror was back again. She could not control the sobs that broke over her.

“We will meet with company soon,” he told her steadily. “I am sorry for it, but I have no choice. I will be rid of him quickly. He is a rough man, but I will not let him harm you.”

He sat in silence a while longer as they rode through the depth of shadowy woods. And then he seemed to sigh. “Your father’s home will be attacked this night, Lady,” he said. “That is why I let your screams call them from sleep, once we were outside where they could not stop us. If they are already alert to a trouble, they are not so likely to be slaughtered in their beds. May they be elsewhere, searching for you with their weapons in hand.”

The trees gave way to meadow. Netta’s captor gave the horse a quick nudge, and the animal broke into a trot. When they slowed again for the return of dense black forest, he continued his talk. “The dark angels will burn your home. But Samis sent me to capture you separately, before the rest are assailed. He has plans of his own for you. The man we meet will have his orders where you are to be taken, but I have no intention of following them. I will hide you.”

Netta listened with apprehension. Was it true, what he said? Her home attacked? She greatly hoped not. But he dared claim to be helping? By carrying her off like this?

“I mean you no harm, Lady,” he went on. “You might think we should have stayed to fight for your family, but they would have had me away before the true enemy came. I know you cannot trust my word. And I alone would be too little help against the numbers tonight. I used the order to capture you as a chance to spare your life.”

She sat silent in front of him. She feared there could be some truth to his words. She knew her father had an enemy in the Baron Trent, a rival for the throne left vacant for seven years as factions of their kingdom warred amongst themselves. The peaceful Trilett family were not crown-seekers, and certainly not mighty of arms, but they were highly favored of the common people, which was enough to incite the jealousy of greedier men.

But though she knew those dangers, she could not possibly trust this man. He was so much like Karll’s murderer. Like the devil himself, who was also the father of lies.

She wondered that he seemed to be taking no precautions to avoid leaving a trail. Even when they reached a stream, he followed alongside it a great ways instead of going in.

“The cottage is just ahead,” he soon told her. “His name is Darin, and he’s an oaf. Try to do what he says, and it will be easier. I won’t leave you alone with him.” He turned the horse with a barely perceivable flick of his hand. “He will expect that I left your family sleeping. But if they are able to follow us here, I’ll not fight them. My object was to get you away from there.”

Tahn didn’t speak again as they rode the rest of the way. It was just too hard, with this shaking young woman encircled in his arms. For a moment he almost wished he had sunk the dagger into his own flesh as he’d intended such a short time ago. But her life depended on him now. And the little ones depended on him too. Riding here from Samis’s Valhal, he’d decided he could not leave them to face the torment he’d known. He could not die until he had them all safely hidden. The lady and the street urchins. Together. It was the only way he knew. Perhaps they could help each other. Perhaps they could even come to care about each other.

He thought of Lucas, bearing the master’s summons, who had stepped into his room barely in time to stop him from thrusting the cold dagger into his own heart. But it was the summons that did the stopping. Because the new orders were against the Triletts, and only this compulsion to spare the lady could have given him the will to live on. Still, he wished he could have brought Lucas with him, because he had cared, finding Tahn so close to suicide. But Lucas was a dark angel the same as he was. He would have his own orders to contend with tonight, much as he would hate them.

A stab of pain bore through his heart with the memory of Lucas praying when they were little boys shut up in a dark room by night. Perhaps Netta Trilett was also praying right now. To the God of justice. And good.

But he must stop this foolishness, letting his thoughts wander so freely. He must concentrate on the task ahead. He drove Smoke on through the woods, carefully considering Valhal, Samis’s stronghold, and how he could possibly breach it to bring the children outside. A miracle it would take, he knew that. And he could expect no favor from heaven.

Soon Netta saw the dim glow of a window ahead. Her dark-clothed captor dismounted soundlessly and stroked his horse’s head for a moment as he looked at the cottage in front of them. He seemed to be whispering something to the animal he’d called Smoke. And then he pulled a long sword down from among the horse’s bags and strapped it to his side.

Netta trembled. He was too familiar. Too like that killer from the springhouse roof.

He looked up at her soundlessly, and she could not help but think of Karll’s brave struggle. Could this be the same man? Had he been the one to leave her lover bleeding to death in her helpless arms?

He’d come back like a nightmare to steal her from her home. Was there truth in anything he said? What could he possibly want from her? What mission of the devil was he about this night?

He said nothing, only turned his eyes away from her gaze and pulled her down from the horse’s back. In his arms he carried her to the cottage door.

It was little more than a shack. The man inside whirled around at the sound of the door creaking.

“Already, eh?” the strange man taunted. “Well, you can get the job done, I guess. But you should be glad for that old door hinge, little man. You sneak up on the wrong person sometime and you’ll have a knife in the throat.” He smiled suddenly. “She’s a pretty one, eh?” He stepped up and took Netta roughly from her captor’s arms.

She squirmed, wanting away from this coarse man. He was huge, considerably more than a head taller than the stealthy one who had kidnapped her. And there was something abhorrent about the way he grasped her.

“What are the orders?” her kidnapper was asking.

“On the table,” the man called Darin answered him. He plopped Netta down on a straw tick in the corner. “You haven’t had time to touch her, have ya?” he asked with a smirk.

The kidnapper looked up at them, papers in his hand. Netta thought he looked so terribly young just then, certainly no older than herself. But it was hardness more than youth that she remembered in his features before. Was it the same man?

“She’ll be needing a drink,” he said suddenly.

“That can wait,” the bigger man snorted. Netta was still bound but managed to scoot into the corner. Darin grabbed her by the leg and pulled her back. She kicked at him desperately, knowing his intentions.

“Business comes first,” the kidnapper persisted.

Darin gave a disgusted groan. “There’s a skin of good liquor on the back of the chair,” he grunted as he groped a hand toward Netta’s bosom.

“No liquor for her. Go get water.”

Darin turned to face the smaller man. “You get it,” he said. “I’m busy.”

“No,” her kidnapper insisted. “You will get it while I read the orders. Business comes first. We will have plenty of time for pleasure later.”

Darin stared at him angrily then stomped out of the cottage with an empty skin in hand.

Netta sat up with relief at her temporary reprieve. Her captor had said he would help her, and he had. But it gave her small comfort—she didn’t know what to expect from either of them next. He looked over at her briefly but turned his eyes back to the paper in his hand.

He had the same long and wavy dark hair. It was tied back the very same way it had been the night Karll was killed. He was even dressed the same, with the same sword. It was the man, she was sure, though she had not had such a generous look at him before. He was only about her height, with scant whiskers and a fearsome frown. His dark eyes were haunting in their depth. And she could not help but think of Karll lying before her, losing his lifeblood on the marbled tiles.