Steffen stepped forward, fearlessly raised the bow, and prepared to fire. She was in awe at his chivalry, his fearlessness, but she knew it was a losing battle.
“Steffen!” she cried out.
He turned and looked at her, as she laid a hand on his wrist.
“Don’t,” she said. “We cannot win. I need you elsewhere. Leave this place. Run and get word to Thor, to the Legion. Tell them to find me, wherever I am. That is what I need.”
“My lady, I cannot leave you,” he protested, wide-eyed, the army getting closer, raising his voice to be heard.
“You must!” she insisted. “I demand that you do. If you care for me, you will. You are needed elsewhere. Without you, I cannot get a message to Thor. You’re my last hope. Go. GO!” she screamed, fierce.
Steffen turned and raced off across the fields, sprinting.
Gwen stood there, facing the oncoming army alone, only Krohn by her side, and she trembled inside, but refused to show it. She held her chest out, her chin up, and she stood there proudly, refusing to run. Krohn snarled at these men, not showing an ounce of fear, and she was determined to match his bravery. Whatever would come, would come. At least she would go down proudly.
In moments they reached her. First came the thumping of horses, swirling all around her; then came the scowls of hundreds of angry men, charging for her, holding thick ropes of twine, preparing to bind her. Krohn, undeterred, bravely pounced and tore off the hand of the first man who reached for Gwen.
But another soldier raised a club and brought it down on Krohn’s back, and Gwen heard an awful crack. It sounded as if Krohn’s ribs were broken-yet somehow, Krohn managed to spin around and bite off his attacker’s hand, too.
Krohn leapt for another soldier, sinking his fangs into his throat and clasping onto them while the soldier shrieked. Another soldier smashed him with a mace, yet still Krohn would not let go-until finally another soldier cast a net on him, binding him.
Simultaneously, the soldiers brought their horses to a stop before Gwen, and a group of them dismounted and strutted towards her. One of them stepped out in front, and as he came close, he lifted his visor. She recognized him, from the confrontation outside the Hall of Arms. It was the man to whom she had been sold, the man arranged by Gareth to be her husband.
“I told you I’d return,” he said, his face humorless. “You had your chance to come peacefully. Now, you shall learn the hard way of the might of the Nevaruns.”
Gwendolyn only dimly saw the gauntlet, behind her, coming down for her face, as she heard the awful crash of metal against her skull, felt the ringing in her ears, and felt herself sink down, unconscious, into the field of flowers.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Luanda snuck through the back streets of the McCloud city, sticking close to the walls, doing her best not to be detected. She had only traveled the city briefly and did her best to retrace her steps, to try to find her way back to where she knew they were keeping Bronson. She passed a horse, tied to a post, and for a moment she turned and glanced out at the horizon, at the sunset, at the open fields, and she wanted more than anything to take the dagger in her hand and cut that horse’s rope, mount it, and charge away from here-far, far away, back over the Highlands and to the safety of home.
But she knew that she could not; she had a job to do. However despicable his family was, she still loved Bronson, and she had to save him. She could not live with herself if she did not.
Luanda bit her lip and moved on. She worked her way through the mob, down winding, narrow back streets, through squares, past taverns, whorehouses, streets filled with mud and waste, dogs running everywhere. A rat scurried over her bare foot, and she kicked it off and stopped herself from crying out at the last second. She had to be strong. She only prayed her husband was still alive, and that she could find a way to get them out of here for good.
Before she’d been dragged off to the dungeon, Luanda had watched Bronson get tied up in the town square, made a public example by his father, a laughingstock; she assumed that’s where he still stood. She hurried down street after street, trying to remember the way, hoping she was going in the right direction as she followed the thickening crowd. She figured that crowds always flocked towards misery and torture and spectacle.
There came a distant cheer and she assumed she was nearing the city center. Soon it grew more distinct, raucous, and she knew she was getting close.
She walked quickly, trying to keep her head down, hoping no one would notice her. She passed an old woman’s stand, draped with various clothing, and as the woman turned away to tend to her dog, Luanda swooped in and snatched a long brown cloak.
She turned the corner and quickly put it on, covering her cold body, and covering her face. She looked every which way, and saw that no one had witnessed her take it, and already she felt better. She tucked the dagger she had stolen into her waist and moved on, slinking through the crowd, and feeling as if she were racing the clock. It was only a matter of time until they discovered she had escaped-and when they did, all of McCloud’s men would be on the lookout for her.
Luanda turned down yet another street, the shouts growing louder, and as she did, to her relief, she spotted it: the city square. A huge mob pressed in, swarming around its center; they all looked up and she followed their gaze and was horrified to see, up on a scaffold, her husband bound, his legs and arms each tied in four directions, on a huge cross. He was missing one of his hands, where his father had cut it off, now just a charred stump, and Bronson stood there, head hanging low, body limp. The crowd threw vegetables at him, and he could do nothing but suffer the indignity, as they all heckled him every which way.
Luanda flushed with rage at his treatment and she hurried forward, frantic to get closer, to see if he was alive. From this distance, she couldn’t tell.
As Luanda got closer, she noticed him momentarily lift his head, just a tiny bit, as if in her direction, as if maybe a part of him knew. Her heart soared with relief to know that he was still alive. There was hope. That was all she needed.
Luanda realized she would probably get caught trying to free him, and die in the process. But she didn’t care. She had to try. If she went down dying, so be it. After all, she was the firstborn child of King MacGil, of a long line of MacGil kings, and it was not in her nature to leave someone behind. Especially her husband, and especially after he had been injured trying to save her life.
Luanda took in her surroundings, desperate to formulate a plan. She didn’t know what she would do once she actually saw him, and now that she did, and knew he was alive, her mind raced.
She realized she needed to wait until all these people disappeared, and she needed to wait for the anonymity of night. She didn’t know if he would make it until then, but she had no choice. There was no way she could even attempt to get him out in front of this mob of people.
She wormed her way into the town square, walking alongside a stone wall, and searched all the nooks and crannies in the wall until she found one she liked, deep and low to the ground, embedded into one of the ancient stone walls. She tucked herself in it. It was several feet deep, and she sat down, slumping on the ground, and wrapped the cloak tight around her. She disappeared completely inside the small nook, and no one could see her. Her only company down here was the passing rats.
She sat there, and waited. Twilight was already coming, and soon, night would fall. Eventually, all of these disgusting McClouds would disperse back to their homes. Eventually, she would be alone here. And then she would make her move.
*
Luanda opened her eyes with a jolt and looked around, wondering where she was. She had fallen asleep, had wakened in the midst of fast, troubled dreams, and she chided herself, breathing hard. She had resolved to stay vigilant, to stay awake, but her wariness must have gotten the best of her. She looked out at the dark, at the absolute stillness of the town square, and wondered what time it was. At least the sun had not broken yet. And now the square, as she’d hoped, was completely empty.