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Branford asked. “We are in Silverhelm. No one should block the road from me!”
“I do not know, my king, but there are many soldiers…”
“Soldiers?” Branford whispered low as his eyes darted over to glance first at my eyes and then at my belly.
And that was when I knew we were in danger.
Chapter 4—Violently Captured
The look in Branford’s eyes hardened, and I knew in my heart it was only to hide his own terror. His hands clenched into fists for a moment before he placed one on the hilt of his sword and the other on the handle of the door.
“Do not leave this carriage.”
I could only nod, understanding immediately that there was to be no arguing with Branford on this matter. I could see him glancing at the bench underneath where we sat, and the thoughts that plagued his mind were evident to me. I yearned to reach out and offer him comfort, but there was no time. I would have even tried to stuff myself inside the bench if it would have lessened his worry, but there was no possible way for an adult to fit inside, let alone one who carried a child inside of her.
His gaze met mine once more, and he seemed to want to say something else but turned away from me instead. Branford exited the carriage, and I did not miss that he drew his sword as the door closed behind him, shielding my view. I shifted myself close to the door. I could still hear though the sounds were somewhat muffled.
“They have no markings,” one of the guards said.
“Mercenaries,” replied another voice. “Many of them.”
“Turn!” I heard Branford order. “We must head back!”
“It is too late, sire!”
“Draw your weapons!”
Within seconds, I heard the first clash of steel-on-steel. I covered my mouth with my hands though I was sure any scream I uttered would not have been heard over the noise right outside the carriage door. At first I moved to the far side of the carriage and away from the door, but then I moved closer as I tried to make sense out of the yelling and noise I could hear outside. It did not work—there were too many voices yelling, combined with the sound of panicked horses and swords. My teeth were practically puncturing my lip, and I did not know what I should do.
Unfortunately, my next steps were not of my own choosing.
The sounds diminished slightly, and muffled cries and moaning could be heard. More voices, and then the carriage door was wrenched open. I let out an instinctive cry as I quickly moved myself to the back of the carriage. A dark-haired man with a full beard eyed me before stepping up into the carriage and grabbing me roughly by the arm.
“She is here!” he cried out over his shoulder.
“Let me go!” I cried out as I tried to dig my fingernails into his arm though it seemed to have no effect on him. I felt my chest tighten in fear though I tried not to show it. “Release me immediately! Branford!”
The dark haired man’s low chuckle silenced me and sent chills up and down my arms as he hauled me to the carriage door and out into the sunlight.
“You will not find him much use to you now,” he said with a sneer.
The brightness of the sun made it difficult to see at first, but as my eyes became used to the light, I could see bodies lying around both the carriage and the ground further up the road. The body of our carriage driver in his dark jacket was near where the horses should have been, but they were no longer attached to their harnesses. Two men lying on their backs with eyes staring blankly to the sun were guards I recognized while others were unknown to me. Not far from the carriage, there was one large and burly man in heavy chainmail with a mace still grasped in his hand.
It was seeing the figure lying next to him that made me feel as if rough fingers were gripping my throat and squeezing the breath from me.
No…
When I looked at the figure on the ground, my chest tightened, and I could not draw breath to utter a sound. My body felt as though it wanted to simply drop to the ground and curl up, but my legs would not cooperate enough to let me fall. I could see part of the dark leather that covered his shoulders, the thick steel blade still grasped in his fingers, and the reddish-bronze hair drenched in sweat as it splayed out over his neck. He was face down in the dirt, and he did not move.
There was blood—I could not tell how much—but there was blood on his head.
I felt my mouth drop open as if to scream, but nothing came out. I stood paralyzed, staring at my husband on the ground and trying to comprehend what was happening. Perhaps he was only feigning, and the blood was not even his own.
I felt hands on my arms, which brought me from my haze.
“Branford!” I cried out, but there was no response.
The man who had pulled me from the carriage was still at my back, yelling at me to be quiet, and another man joined him to gather my arms behind my back and then drag me backwards—away from my husband.
