Fire Witch (4 page)

"What a waste," he said, picking at his trousers. He caught her eye and winked. With horror, she realized he had an erection.

"Just a taste for now," Chelan said.

Feran's hand went to his crotch and he rubbed it shamelessly. "And what of your brother's men? We could use a taste."

"You are
my
men."

"For now," Feran corrected and he looked Aislin over with a lecherous eye. "Your brother would let us share her."

"I'm not my brother." Chelan sent an exploratory toe into her belly, rolling her over. She refused to look up into that chiseled face. She wouldn't look at either of them, the bastards.

Feran wouldn't let it go. "Conn wouldn't keep her to himself," he said, insistent. "After all that blood and sweat. A man needs--"

"A man needs to do what his leader says."

Feran grunted, but he didn't argue.

Chelan scuffed the sole of his boot over a nearby rock, leaving a smear of blood and detritus. He regarded Feran with disgust. In turn, Feran sneered at him, and Aislin suspected there was more beneath his hatred then merely being refused something he wanted.

"Again," Feran said. "You're not my leader."

Chelan planted his boots shoulder-width apart, indicating he couldn't be moved. "You'll wait until I'm done with her."

"By the looks of things, she'll be done with you long before you are her."

Chelan shrugged. "Maybe so," he said. "But at least I'll have had my fill." He crouched down in front of her, his hands across his knees. She glared into that green gaze until he broke into a patronizing grin, then she leaned over to spit on his boot. He set the toe against her chin, pinning her cheek to the earth, forcing her to go slack in surrender. She might give him compliance for the moment, but she wouldn't forget. She'd work on her power till it flowed from her and turned them all to cinder. She glared up at him. He ran a calloused hand through the bush of his curls.

Evidently, Feran grew tired of waiting for whatever exchange Chelan expected and he pushed off the stone and took a step toward her, the fingers that had been rubbing over his crotch now untying the laces. "Move out of the way, young pup," he said.

Chelan eased to his feet and pulled his sword from over his shoulder. With almost casual demeanor, he pointed it at the older man as he advanced a few feet, closing the distance between them.

"I said you will wait until I'm done with her."

Feran lifted his hands in surrender. "At least you're quick. She'll grow bored of you soon enough," he said. Then he laughed, a horrible hawkish sound that was so dichotomous to the man's physique that at first she didn't think the sound came from him. She couldn't keep that disgustingly lustful gaze for one more second; she wouldn't. She forced her eyes back to the ground in front of her, this time scanning desperately for another stone or a stick or even a handful of poisonous mushrooms that she could cram into any orifice she found.

Chelan's boots strode into view again and then his hand was reaching down for her, yanking on her elbow and pulling her to her feet.

"Come," he said to her. There was very little tolerance in his voice, but it wasn't unkind either.

She could barely stand, but she willed her knees to lock into place until she found herself being pulled along relentlessly toward where they abandoned the horses.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

He made a sound like he expected her to stay quiet.

"My mother will send someone for me," she said.

"I don't fear mothers," he said, pulling at her when she stumbled against a mossy stone and nearly fell.

"You would fear mine," she said. "Unless you were foolish. Are you foolish?"

He looked back at her with the briefest of interest and then trundled on ahead, pulling her with him without bothering to give her another look.

He lifted her on to the back of his horse like he would a sack of grain. When he climbed up behind her, he laid one hand on her back almost possessively as he held the reins with the other. She watched as the walls of her village grew ever smaller in the distance.

They met up with the other men along the tree-line and while Aislin thought they would disappear into the woods, instead they traveled along its edges, always avoiding moving within. They seemed to be in a fair amount of haste, galloping a good part of the way and watering the horses and themselves only when it seemed necessary.

A good number of times as they traversed the plains she felt his erection rubbing against her ribs. She might have been saved the pain and humiliation of rape in the forest, but she was no fool. The time was coming. She had no idea why he spared her earlier, but he didn't seem the sort to put off what he wanted for long. Best she use the travel to plot and plan how she would manage to escape that atrocity when the time came. She imagined herself stealing one of their swords in the dark of night and sticking it into each of the men's bellies while they slept. For the hundredth time in her seasons she resented the fact that her mother hadn't marked her. What a fool Indiris had been to think that she alone could protect the village. To think so confidently that she could keep her daughter from harm's way that she refused to mark her with the symbols that would have given her the magic she needed to protect herself. She just prayed to the goddess that Indiris had already noticed her daughter missing and had sent someone to the rescue. She had to believe it.

Finally, with so much blood rushing to her head, she couldn't lie still any longer and squirmed against him, trying to either push herself from the beast or have him grow so frustrated at her movements that he pulled her astride the mount like a human being.

What he did was slap her on the ass like he would a child. "Keep still," he said.

"I'm going to pass out," she complained.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he said.

"I might die," she said.

"At least you'll be spared your worst fear," he answered, but he scooped beneath her belly and tucked her against his chest, letting her legs fall on either side of the beast's back. She couldn't help but lean into him.

They only entered the woods come evening, and he pushed her off the horse so that she landed on unsteady feet.

He tossed her a tinder bundle that he pulled from the side of his saddle.

"We're hungry," he said. "Get the fire started."

She had to work to stay on her feet, but she did so with dogged determination, taking in each dirty face that met hers as though she would need to remember them in order to kill them later. Six men faced her, but one face stood out to her. Those green eyes and bush of black curls wouldn't meet her gaze as she clutched the tinder bundle. She thought he would be the second to die.

She threw it down on the moss. "Make your own fire."

Feran stepped forward to tangle his fingers in her hair and yank. Her teeth clicked sharply together and she cringed beneath his grip.

"If all you want of her is a fire wench," he said. "I can make better use of her."

She felt Chelan's hands against the back of her head as he gripped Feran's wrist.

"Not now, Feran," Chelan said. "We have to decide what were going to do next. That's more important than a roll in the grass."

The spindly youth who had held the horses just outside the village walls stepped forward. "I'll start the fire," he said, sending a quick glance to Aislin and dropping it just as quickly as she met it. "Maybe she can help me find firewood."

Feran let go her hair and Chelan nodded at her. She had no idea how far they'd come, but she knew that this small reprieve might give her an opportunity to scope out her surroundings, maybe even slip away under the guise of collecting the fuel they needed. She edged sideways, keeping her eye on Chelan's green one, waiting for him to refuse her the task. Instead, he strode toward her, jerking his chin towards the deeper woods.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll be right behind you."

She thought she could hear the rest of the men chuckling and her face burned with shame. She stepped up her pace, searching frantically for a big enough stick that she could swing it at him if he came at her. She peered up into the canopy, trying to assess how close to dusk it was and how long it would be before the shadows would cloak everything from view. She'd run, that's what. Should make him chase her until she could lose herself in the darkness. Her heart was already quickened as she tried to supply her muscles with the necessary fuel. She could hear him behind her, treading casually, as though he thought she believed herself safe, as though he believed he had fooled her.

She looked back at him over her shoulder, and froze midstep as she realized he was bending and collecting wood. He peered up, catching her eye over his armful of dead tree limbs.

"You need boots," he said.

She looked down at her feet and shrugged. "I prefer to go barefoot."

"Fine if you don't have to worry about poisonous snakes," he said.

"There are no poisonous snakes hereabouts."

A black brow cocked quizzically. "Really?" he said. "I thought they were everywhere." Then he nodded at a fall of oak branches large enough that they could feed a fire for hours. "Grab that," he said.

When they made it back to the small clearing, smoke was already rising from a meager fire set by the spindly youth. She saw him flash an encouraging smile her way, but she couldn't find it within her to return it. The other men swarmed about Feran, mumbling in a language she didn't understand but she could tell they were asking when they were going to get their turn with the captive. When Feran shook his head to indicate he thought they weren't any of them going to get an opportunity at all, two of the men cursed out loud and spat on the ground. They sent hateful looks toward Chelan and clutched the hilts of daggers they wore strapped to sheaths around the tops of their leather-clad thighs. She didn't have to understand the language to comprehend what their bodies were saying. They thought they were entitled to her and some sort of code prevented them from doing so.

For the first moment since her capture, she felt relief. No matter how long it lasted, no matter whether there was another moment of relief to come, she would be grateful for this one opportunity when she felt at least somewhat safe. She settled on a log some distance away from the fire, but not without the carefully guarded glances that got sent her away from the brood of men. She crossed her arms as she sat there, stretching her legs out in front of her to manage some sort of comfort.

The rest of the group settled around closely to the fire, all seemingly eager for a few morsels of the quickly prepared fare. A couple of them chewed on the ends of fern roots that they had pulled and peeled down to the nutty core. One dug into a leather bag of dried apple slices and passed it around magnanimously to his comrades.

The spindly youth was evidently the cook as well. She could smell dried venison and onions being boiled together; despite herself, her stomach grumbled loudly. Chelan looked askance at her and then took a wooden bowl from his satchel hanging from his horse and filled it with broth. Clumps of wild herbs hung over the edge.

He strode toward her and held out the bowl. It dripped on the top of her bare shin and dribbled down to the forest floor.

She shook her head. She'd be damned by the goddess if she broke bread with this motley crew of bandits.

He pushed it into her hands, making it slosh over her wrists. "Eat," he said.

"No," she said.

He sent a hurried glance over his shoulder, obviously checking to see if his men were watching as she rebuked him. Then he pushed next to her on the log, nearly sending her over it backwards.

"You need to keep your strength up," he said.

"Why," she retorted. "So I can act the docile filly to all of your raging stallions?"

His face went tight. "I promised you that wouldn't happen." He took the bowl from her and rested it on the ground between them just out of her reach.

She eyed the food hungrily but steeled herself against the hunger pains.

"Then why not just let me go?"

He crossed his arms, stretching his legs out in front of him in a pantomime of her posture.

"Because I can't."

"You're obviously the leader," she said. "In my village, the leader can do what she wants."

"You're missing the point," he said. "If I let you go, how long do you think it would be before one of these men hunted you down? I don't imagine any of them would consider leaving you alive when they were done."

She hadn't thought of that. No doubt the first one to sneak off after her would be Feran. She shivered, imagining him coming upon her in the dark while she slept. Even so, she wouldn't let this particular ruffian think she was too afraid to escape.

"He'd have to find me first." She hadn't meant to use an individual pronoun, but it came out just the same, revealing her biggest concern.

She felt his thumb move across her cheek as he wiped away a stray lock of hair. "He'd find you," he said, jerking his chin toward where Feran was pouring broth down his throat and gulping like a crow at the larger bits of meat that inhibited his ingestion.