trip over something along the way.
The arm of a dead man. Busby.
So her grandsire was alone with another captor.
Dyna said, “I’m going inside. You stand watch out here. We don’t know where the other man is yet.” Something told her she should allow Derric to go first because it would fit with her dream, but she couldn’t wait. This had to be where he was being held.
Derric nodded and drew his sword, making his way around the cottage carefully.
Creeping as stealthily as she could, she made her way toward the closest window, listening for any evidence of who might be inside. She waited just beside the window, out of sight, and although she didn’t hear anything, she was able to shift the wooden shutter slightly. It was enough.
Grandsire lay on his back on a pallet, and he looked dead.
Her hand came up to her mouth to cover her gasp. She didn’t see anyone else around, so she moved quietly to the door, opening it quietly and peering around for anyone, her dagger in hand, but the place looked empty. Abandoned. Alex Grant’s long legs hung over the end of the short, makeshift bed.
“Grandsire,” she cried, flying to his side and dropping to her knees, praying it wasn’t so. “Grandsire, wake up.” She prodded him, shook his hand, poked his shoulder, but he didn’t move.
Devastated, she recalled something Alasdair had told her. “Hold your hand in front of their nose or mouth to see if they still breathe. If they’re hurt or injured, it will be slow, but you’ll still feel it.” Poor Alasdair knew from experience, having lost both of his parents, one after the other.
She held her palm under grandsire’s nose, fingers pressed to his upper lip, and thought she felt a small breath. Her hand reached to his forehead. He was still warm, which was a good thing, but then she noticed something she hadn’t seen from the window.
His hands were tied together and he’d been beaten. His eye was black and crusted over with blood. He had bruises on a cheek, and a cut lip that had swollen up. She released his bindings, but he never reacted to her touch.
Dyna did the only thing she could think to do. She rested her head on his upper body and sobbed. “Grandsire,” she whispered. “Please come back to me. I’m not ready to lose you yet.”
He still didn’t move. She put her ear to his chest, hoping to hear a heartbeat, but it was difficult to listen over her sobs. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t stop her tears.
She didn’t hear him until he grabbed her from behind in a bear hug.
“I knew you’d come inside. He’s not dead yet, but he will be soon.”
She sliced the man’s arm with her dagger, dark blood spurting out from the wound, but he knocked it away and cursed her.
“Bitch!” He dragged her over to a chair and tried to tie her to it while she kicked and bit at him, doing everything she could to fight him off. “My, but you are a feisty one, are you not? Wait until I get you in my bed.”
She fought with all her strength and shouted first Derric’s name and then her grandsire’s. This is why the dream showed Derric as the one to save him. She would be useless tied up. “Derric, hurry! The bastard is in here!”
Her captor slapped her three times to silence her, then tossed her on the floor. He tried throwing himself on top of her, but she kneed him in his groin and shoved him off of her.
“Slap me, hit me, all you want,” she seethed, “but you’ll never stop me. I’ll kill you, but not before I thrust my dagger between your legs, you bastard.”
She grabbed the dagger up off the floor, but the man had clambered to his feet again, and he knocked it away from her. Then he yanked her head back by the plait so he could stare at her. “I was going to pay him back, but you don’t look anything like her. Your eyes are the wrong shade of blue, your hair is too light. I grabbed the wrong one. There is one who looks just like Maddie.”
“You’re a slimy piece of shite,” she ground out. “Why in hell would any woman want you? You smell and look like an overstuffed pig. You make me gag.”
That put him over the edge. He grabbed her hair and held a dagger to her