“What a novel idea, my dear.” Sarcasm laced Lord Devon’s words, as he watched her lean on the sword she’d stolen from the armoury. She didn’t stand a chance, she knew it but she wasn’t going to let him have what he obviously wanted without a fight. It wouldn’t do. And maybe just maybe someone would arrive before it was too late.
Not a novel idea indeed. Lord Devon approached his own sword at the ready.
“I will enjoy this tremendously darling.”
“I am not your darling. Get that not so novel idea inside your thick skull Devon.”
He laughed. God, how could such an evil man laugh as if he were an angel? A cold sweat caused her to shiver. This man was dangerous in so many ways. How was it the Lord above gave him such a handsome face to hide his darkness behind? How could she have been so foolish? She hadn’t seen through the screen either. She should have listened to Raven: her best friend’s face flashed in front of her eyes. Would she ever see his laughing gaze again? It wasn’t the time to get lost in fantasy.
She raised the sword: God it was heavy. But she wielded it as well as its weight allowed. Not well enough to defeat the devil opposing her. He was too tall, too strong, too fast. She parried his first attack but not the second. She was too slow to stop him. She almost dropped the weapon when he cut her right upper arm. She thrust but her moves were sluggish. The sword was too heavy, she was too weak after two days without decent food. Still she’d handled a sword since she was 4. She stopped his next move and nicked his forearm. He didn’t say a word but his gaze darkened with fury. She didn’t dare hoping he’d let his anger rule him and indeed he didn’t. But his attacks came faster and it took every ounce of strength to hold onto the long sword. She didn’t even see what he did but in a moment the sword flew off her hands and he pinned her between his arms. That was a novel and unwelcome feeling. She’d never been disarmed so fast. She didn’t like it at all.
“I’m going to take my time Emma.”
The threat in his tone chilled her: he would truly enjoy it and he might find novel ways to hurt her. It didn’t matter: she was ruined anyway. Two days. Who would believe he hadn’t made her his wife in every possible way? Maybe her brother would arrive before she died. And even if he didn’t he might find evidence to condemn her executioner. She would hope, although it could lead to nothing but disappointment.
Lord Devon dragged her from the courtyard, four men surrounding them. She wasn’t going anywhere. She stumbled after him through dark corridors and down the cells where he would… do what exactly? She couldn’t let her imagination run away with her. She needed to keep a cool head. Stay calm. It was simple until he opened one cell. What she saw almost made her whimper. Chains and knives. Torture instruments. Would these men truly allow their Lord to hurt a woman? When two left the room and the others took place at each corner while Devon pushed her to the table, she knew no help would come from them.
Emma had thought breaking her arm was the most painful thing she’d ever experienced but it was nothing compared to what Lord Devon did. Had she been weaker she would have fainted from the pain he inflicted upon her. It might have been better. As it were she screamed herself raw. The one time she tittered on the verge of unconsciousness Devon pulled back. Time lost its meaning, there was only pain. His knife on her arm drawing some burning lines, the tourniquet on her ankle… the nails in her hand. Darkness all around. The only sound the blood thundering in her veins. Still she hung onto that one candle: Harrison and Raven would come for her. Dead or alive. How stupid of her not to have told Kent she loved him! He’d been a pain, but he was trying to protect her. She’d give everything to speak with him again. In the darkness she whispered ‘Raven’… but only laughter answered. She couldn’t stand the pain anymore. She could let go. She let the darkness gather her. Before it did she heard someone scream her name. Raven? Or did she?
In response to Linda G Hill’s Saturday stream of consciousness novel