Slaves of Love (6 page)

Keeping pace with the carriage was a difficult task today. He wanted to feel speed, to allow the wind to sweep his brain clean of unwanted memories. If he’d been on Kulasta, the planet he’d called home for the past two years, he’d have climbed into his air car and sped up to two hundred kilometers per hour, letting the landscape fly past in a blur.

“I’ll ride as far as the hill, then wait for you.”

“Go.” Will waved him away. “As far as you need.”

Keern rode and rode, forgetting about time and distance. When he reached the valley, he stopped and dismounted, then sat on a rock and listened to the
garals
twittering and warbling in the trees. A cacophony of sound surrounded him.

But a distant noise drew his attention. Listening intently, he thought he heard shouts, then a scream. He bounded onto his horse and rode up the hill. At the top, his heart lunged to his throat as he saw the carriage halted, surrounded by armed men. Swords clacked against each other as men battled.

Keern rode at top speed, returning to protect his family. These men didn’t look like thieves. Why in the world were they attacking?

Two of Will’s soldiers were down, and he saw one of the enemy thrust his sword through the driver. Quickly, Keern took down two of the attackers as he fought his way to his family. His heart leaped as he saw the man who appeared to be the leader lunge a sword into Will’s chest.

“No!” Keern raced toward the man, sword raised.

The man jerked aside in time to dodge Keern’s blade, then turned his horse and fled. The others followed. Keern realized there were only three of them left, to their five still standing.

“Jordan, stay with Will and the women. Men, follow me,” Keern commanded, then galloped after the retreating figures. The soldiers followed his lead.

The fleeing men scattered.

“I’ll follow the leader; you men get the others,” Keern directed.

After a few miles, he caught up with the leader and swung his sword, wounding the man’s left arm and driving him off his horse. He ran, but Keern leaped from his horse, knocking the man to the ground.

“Who the hell are you, and why did you attack us?” Keern demanded.

“I am Henry Wakefield.” He pushed himself to his feet, throwing a look of disdain Keern’s way. “One of you Herrington devils defiled my daughter.”

Wakefield.
Shena’s father.

Keern gained no satisfaction from Wakefield’s death. It wouldn’t bring Will back. Nothing would bring Will back. Despair gripped him in an awful, frigid hold. His brother was dead.

And Shena had been the cause. He would never forgive her for what she’d done. And somehow, he would find a way to make her pay.

Keern slung Wakefield’s body over the back of his horse, tied it down, and raced back to his family. The women sat weeping in the back of the carriage, with Will’s body across Jenna’s lap. One of the soldiers had already returned, one of Wakefield’s men still draped over the back of his horse, and was helping their cousin Jacob lay the bodies out along the side of the road. A few minutes later, the others returned.

Keern desperately wanted to ride ahead, to take Wakefield’s body and dump it on the chief constable, then race to Wakefield’s house and drag Shena to prison. He wasn’t sure what the charges would be, but there must be some way to punish her for causing Will’s death.

But Keern wouldn’t leave his family now. Thoughts of Shena had sent him riding ahead a mere hour ago, taking him away when he was most needed.

If he hadn’t gone ahead, maybe Will would still be alive.

* * * * *

Keern slammed his fist on the official’s desk.

“Chief Constable Murray, Shena Wakefield is responsible for Will’s death.”

The man leaned forward in his chair, his steel-blue eyes clashing with Keern’s. “Mr. Herrington, if she didn’t wield the sword, then I don’t see how I can arrest her.”

Jacob clutched Keern’s arm. Keern eased back at the gentle pressure from his cousin’s hold. The constable knew Jacob. Maybe he could get somewhere.

“Wade, can you at least bring her in for questioning?”

The man’s flashing eyes lost their edge as they shifted to Jacob. Chief Constable Murray took a deep breath.

Keern lowered himself into one of the leather chairs facing the desk, then glanced out the large windows on the adjacent wall. The sun had disappeared behind the trees, and the clouds above them were lined in pink and purple.

“Jacob, look, I’ve got to ride out and tell the girl about her father. You and your cousin can ride with me, as long as you keep him in line.”

Keern fumed, but knew it wasn’t really directed at this man, but at Shena. The woman who had betrayed him and cost him his brother.

Keern, Jacob, and Chief Constable Murray arrived at the Wakefield house after nightfall. A guard let them in the front gate, and they rode on to the house.

In the light of Aos, the largest moon circling Tarun, the place appeared cold and sinister. The branches of the large
agoba
trees arched outward, casting looming shadows across the enormous house and the stone pathway leading to it.

They approached the huge, curved wooden doors, and Murray grabbed the brass knocker, rapping it against the door, sharp and loud.

A long time passed, and he rapped again.

Finally, the large door creaked open, revealing a burly man almost two meters in height, with a straggly brown beard and equally straggly, shoulder-length hair.

Keern itched to plow past the man and search the house room by room until he found the lying bitch, but that wouldn’t get him anywhere right now. He followed the chief constable and Jacob away from the Wakefield house.

Tomorrow, he would see Shena again. His heart stumbled a little at the thought, an image of her sweet, smiling face swirling through his head, which just cranked his anger up a notch.

Shena had been awakened by the loud knocking, not that she’d been sleeping very heavily, with Bahrd hanging around her door, watching her. She heard men’s voices outside, but couldn’t hear their words. At the thunderous sound of Bahrd’s boots on the wooden stairs, she clung to her covers, watching the door.

He appeared in the doorway, a gigantic, looming shape backlit by the moonlight from the large window over the stairs.

“Looks like yer an orphan, lass.” He stepped toward her and dragged the covers from her body. She lay on the bed, shivering in her light cotton nightgown. His gaze raked over her.

“I been wantin’ a piece o’ that for a longen now.” His hand rested on her thigh and slowly slid upward.

She scrambled up the bed, leaving his hand behind. He grabbed her ankles and dragged her back down, then flung his arms wide, opening her legs. The feral gleam in his eyes jabbed at the deepest fears squirming inside her.

“What do you mean, I’m an orphan?”

“What do ye think I mean, girl? Yer father is dead. Killed by one of them Herringtons. But not afore he killed the one he was after, I’d wager.”

Shock pummeled through her. Her father was dead.

Was Keern dead, too? Her heart constricted, and sharp pain lanced through her.

Bahrd’s grunt dragged her back to her current situation. With her father gone, she would be at the mercy of the soldiers. Legally, she now owned her father’s holdings, but she knew as soon as her father’s soldiers heard of his death, they’d strip the property bare and take off. She was sure they wouldn’t hesitate to take their pleasure from her before they left.

“You know, the slavers will pay a lot more for me as a virgin. My father always told me so.” She made her voice as persuasive as she could.

“Eh?” He paused and rubbed his chin. “The slavers?”

“You are going to sell me, right? I mean, if you don’t, one of the others will, but you’re here first. If you can sell me as a virgin ...”

“You’re just sayin’ this ’cause you don’t want to get fucked.”

“Of course.” A tinge of anger colored her voice, hard as she tried to conceal it. “But it’s also true. You and I will both do better if you leave me untouched and take me to the slavers.”

Never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought she’d be begging to be taken to the slavers, but right now, that threat was a lot more distant than the leering Bahrd and the prospect of her father’s men climbing on top of her one after another.

Bahrd grunted, staring at her, his gaze sliding up her legs and pinning on the crotch of her white panties, fully exposed. She held her breath, watching him.

“You know, with the money you get for me, you can enjoy a lot of women at the brothel.”

Finally, he grunted and grabbed her wrist, then dragged her through the house, out the back door to the closed wagon. He pushed aside the tarp covering the door and shoved her through, then bound her wrists and ankles. He wrapped a gag around her mouth.

He disappeared back into the house and reappeared about a half-hour later to fling a large cloth bag beside her. It made a loud clunk when it hit the wagon floor. Probably filled with all kinds of treasures and whatever money he’d found in her father’s office. She heard him attaching the horse to the wagon, and a few moments later, the wagon jerked forward.

Hours passed and she must have dozed off, but a sudden lurch of the wagon jolted her wide awake. Nightmares of men pawing at her, their large, rough hands touching every intimate part of her, left her in a sweat. The rope around her wrists and ankles cut into her skin. The gag was damp with saliva.

Outside, the throng of a city market sounded around them. Vendors calling out to attract buyers, carts rumbling past the main road, horses snorting. The smells of fruits, spices, and cooked meat assailed her.

They were close. She cringed, her whole body rigid with fear. Her shaky stomach quaked, almost to the point of vomiting.

The noise reached a crescendo, then slowly diminished as the cart continued and finally stopped. They would be at the back corner of the market, away from the buyers. Her father had pointed out the place to her many times. This was where the slavers made their deals for new stock. It was illegal on Turan to buy or sell slaves, but the authorities looked the other way as long as the dealings were discreet and the right people were paid off.

Moonlight glinted in her face as Bahrd slung back the tarp over the back of the wagon. His knife blade flashed, grazing her skin as he sliced through the ropes around her ankles. Blood oozed from the small nick he’d made on her foot, and it stung sharply, but she hardly noticed as he hauled her to her feet and out of the cart. Her legs ached from lying immobile on the wagon floor for so many hours, but she hobbled to keep up with him as he dragged her forward, his meaty hand tightly wrapped around her forearm.

The sky was black and studded with stars, but unnatural light shone all around them. They approached a large metallic wagon, rounded and shiny, the likes of which Shena had never seen before. By rights, it should not be allowed here, nor should their artificial lights, given that technology was banned from Tarun, but the slavers took a great many liberties with the law.

Several hooded figures stood outside the wagon, interacting with locals. All the slavers wore long, tan, hooded cloaks. Sometimes a flash of rust-colored leather clothing and dark brown boots and gloves could be seen as they moved. One of the slavers glanced toward them as they approached.

“I’m bringin’ this lass to ye for sale. She’s Wakefield’s daughter. A virgin. He’s talked to ye about price before.”

Below the hood, piercing eyes flashed, locking on her. Then the man nodded. “Follow me.”

He opened the door of the metal wagon and led them inside. Two men glanced up from their conversation. They wore the same garb as the other slavers, but their hoods were down, draped over their shoulders and backs. One had dark, shoulder-length hair and a moustache and beard, while the other had fine, short blond hair and was clean-shaven. The dark-haired one stood up and approached them. The man who’d led them inside spoke to the other two in a language Shena didn’t understand, and then Dark Hair grabbed her arm and tugged her forward.