The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(110)

In the torchlight she got her first look at him, and she almost wished for darkness. He wasn’t exceptionally tall like the man who’d caught her in the alley, but what he lacked in height he made up for in breadth and bulk. He was wide as an oak, thick and strong. Beneath the edge of his helm, all she could see was a squashed-in, crooked nose that looked like it had healed in the same position in which it had been punched, a thick, dark beard that covered the bottom half of his face and a good portion of his neck as well, and piercing dark eyes that were staring at her with rage.

“Bitch!” He caught her wrist in his hand and squeezed so tightly, she thought he meant to snap the bone. He let go of it long enough to slam his fist into her jaw.

Her head snapped back, and she cried out in pain and the shock of being struck. He hit her again, this time backhanding her against the cheek. Blood poured down her face as tears sprang to her eyes. But still she fought back. She lashed out wildly—instinctively—but he caught her blows with ease. He hit her again and again, beating her into submission. Her jaw … her cheek … the side of her ribs. Her head swam; the pain was overwhelming. It took everything she had just to stay on her feet.

“That’s enough,” one of the other soldiers said, distaste evident in his voice. Apparently not all the soldiers were brutes who enjoyed beating women. “Let’s see if she has something first.”

The brutish soldier spun her around again, holding both her wrists in one vise-like hand, while the other pawed roughly at her body with obviously relish.

“The purse,” the priest said impatiently. “Give me the purse.”

She cried out and made one last frantic effort to protect the missive, but he snapped the leather girdle from her waist and tossed it to the priest.

Through tear- and blood-streaked vision, she watched as the priest removed the parchment from the leather pouch. A gleam of victory appeared in his gaze as one of the men held a torch above his head, and he read it.

He folded the damning evidence back up and slid it into his vestments. “I see I was right about you and the lady. I should think with this, Lord de Beaumont should be able to pinpoint the source of his leak. Although that won’t be half as much fun as it would be for Randolph here to retrieve the information from you. It’s a particular talent of his.”

Numb with the pain of his beating, her bruised and battered body still managed to chill. Torture! Oh God, give me strength. Though she’d known the danger from the outset—and had known something like this could happen—she had hoped never to face it.

The priest must have read the fear in her eyes because he smiled. “I do hate to deprive him of his fun.” He looked at Randolph. “See what you can find out. If she doesn’t tell you what you ask, kill her.”

Janet’s heart leapt to her throat. “Wait. You can’t do this. You are a man of God.”

“And you are a traitor. The man you call king is a murderer and excommunicated by the pope. God has no mercy for rebels.”

Janet turned to the soldier who’d spoken for her before. “Please.”

But he turned coldly away, ignoring her pitiful plea. Chivalry had ended with the discovery of the missive.

A moment later, the priest, his oafish minion, and the other soldiers were riding away, leaving her with her torturer and executioner.

“Do not take too long,” the priest said over his shoulder right before they disappeared from view.

The brutish soldier started to drag her back into the trees. Janet’s heart was slamming against her ribs—her probably broken ribs—and every instinct urged to use what remaining strength she had to fight back. But she had to be patient and wait for the perfect opportunity. She would have only one chance to take him by surprise. So she forced the fight from her muscles, becoming as floppy as a poppet of rags.

When they reached a small clearing, he tossed her unceremoniously on the ground. She looked up at him looming over her and tried to push back the panic crawling up her throat.

Her stomach turned.

He reached up under his habergeon of mail and started to work the ties of his braies. “Don’t move, you stupid bitch. I’ve never f**ked someone into telling me what I want to hear, but then again I’ve never questioned someone as pretty as you. Or as pretty as you used to be. Your face doesn’t look too good right now.” He laughed.

Janet tried to shut out his words. Tried not to hear what he was saying as she concentrated on the hand reaching slowly for her boot.

Just a few more inches …

She gasped when stepped over her. He would have crushed her legs with his foot if she hadn’t reacted by separating them. But unknowingly by spreading her legs, he helped her. Her hand found its target.

She grasped the hilt of her dagger in her hand as he knelt down on the ground before her.

All she could see in the moonlight was the cold gleam of his smile. “Aren’t you going to fight me? It’s much more fun that way.”

Her heart was in her throat. She held her breath, waiting for the perfect moment.

He lifted his habergeon. Her eyes went to the protruding mass of flesh, and she shuddered with revulsion.

He saw her reaction. “Aye, it’s impressive isn’t it.” He dropped his gaze and wrapped his hand around himself, giving it a hard stroke.

That was when she struck.

She slid the blade from the scabbard and plunged it into his leg.