Stealing The Baroness

Chapter One-3

She was so lost in reverie that when she turned back, the men were almost upon her.

She stared with curiosity and a little trepidation at the five who approached her. They were garbed in brightly colored clothes, dirty, unshaven. One had his hair in a long queue that reached his waist. The others were smaller than he, and seemed to hang behind him a bit, as if awaiting his orders. All were armed with rapier and dagger, and all smiled at her in an unpleasant way that made her more than uneasy. Thoughts of brigands raced through her mind, although she couldn’t imagine these rogues laying a hand upon her. They were far too dirty, although the leader was handsome in a brutish sort of way.

Rhiannon, direct as always, addressed the disreputable group. “Pardons,” she called, her voice strong and even, “but you trespass upon my father’s land. I would thank you to leave.”

The men reached her and she found herself surrounded, with her back to the cliff’s face. They grinned at each other. All, excepting the one with long hair, were missing one or several teeth. She shuddered. That was certainly not part of her secret longings.

“Didja hear that, Tomas?” a man, one whom Rhiannon wished had chosen to stand downwind of her, chortled. He had a thick Irish accent. “A noblegirl. Thou wast right.”

The tall man called Tomas stepped forward, then abruptly grabbed Rhiannon by the chin, scrutinizing her features. She tried to jerk away, suddenly terrified, and his grip tightened. Her hands came up to encircle his wrist, trying to pry him off, but her strength was too frail to move his arm. He smiled at her, amused and condescending.

“Aye,” he said in a voice unexpectedly quiet and controlled, almost frightening in its lack of emotion, “She’ll fetch a pretty price on the market. Captain will be pleased.”

Another man, with a running sore on his face, leered, “Do we get to have fun with her now?” He stepped forward expectantly, tongue wetting his thick lips. Rhiannon, trapped as she was, shuddered and averted her eyes, awaiting the worst.

Tomas waved him back and her knees buckled in relief. Only the rogue’s tight grip on her face kept her from slipping to the ground. She knew that she would wear the marks of his fingers for several days. Tomas met her eyes, seemingly enjoying her discomfiture and pain. “Not now. I wager this one is a virgin, aren’t ye, little noblegirl?”

Rhiannon’s fear turned to anger at this brutish treatment, and she kicked the fellow hard in the shin, then shoved him backwards, both hands to his chest. He fell to the sand, releasing her face, and she pushed past the startled men, holding up her skirts as she raced down the beach.

Her cloak flew off and she hesitated, then saw that the men followed her closely. With legs made strong from years of horseback riding and roaming the estates, she fought to distance herself from her attackers. She could hear them puffing behind her, then they seemed to fall away. She didn’t dare turn to check, but was encouraged to see the trail up the cliff face come into view.

If she could only make it there, she would be free of these scoundrels. She had almost reached the trail when she slipped on a loose stone and turned her ankle, feeling the muscles tear. She tumbled, scraping her legs. Amidst the sickening waves of pain that threatened to engulf her, she knew that she had yet to escape and began crawling up the path. A hard hand grabbed her wounded ankle, and she screamed.

She was rolled over and looked up at the glowering Tomas. His face was ugly, mottled with fury and exertion. Behind him stood the other four, winded, glaring at her. Rhiannon knew now that she was their prisoner, and that there would be no escape for her. She was trapped.