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It was the only choice she had.
Chapter Eight
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Sounds drifted toward Lainie, taunted the ragged edges of her consciousness. She lifted her head and blinked tiredly.
The world was still inky black. They were in a seemingly endless tunnel, full of twists and turns and switchbacks. Sheer stone walls curled around them, forced them to ride single file. For hours, no sounds or light had infiltrated the darkness; nothing except the steady clip-clop of hooves on slick rock.
Now, suddenly, she heard something.
She pried a hand free of the saddle horn and rubbed her aching eyes. She swallowed thickly, unable to form enough saliva to wet her parched throat.
"Whoa, boy." Killian's gravelly voice floated back to her. It was the first time he'd spoken in ages. In his words, she heard the same bone-deep exhaustion she felt.
Lainie drew back on her reins. She started to speak, but gave up when she heard the feeble, scratchy sound of her voice.
From somewhere came the rumble of throaty laughter, the whispery buzz of raised voices. Killian turned sharply to the left and went a few feet, then turned to the right.
Her booted feet grazed the sheer stone walls. Sand 96
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rained down at the touch, pattered softly on the slick rock floor. Outside, the sounds became louder.
They kept moving, silently plodding forward. After a long while?Lainie had long since discarded any hope of measuring time?she noticed an eerie gray light at the end of the tunnel. Killian turned in to it and disappeared.
Lainie's heartbeat sped up. Anxiety rejuvenated her. Afraid to be left alone, she kicked her horse to a trot and followed him.
Lainie burst from the tunnel's darkness and found herself in the midst of a laughing, talking crowd.
At her appearance, every voice died. Dozens of dirty male faces peered up at her, their countenances distorted and frightening in the bluish moonlight.
There was a slight pause before one of the men chuckled. It was a throaty, slurred sound that burst through the silence like gunfire. "You brung us a woman."
"I get her first," another man yelled. "Henry was first last time."
For an instant, Lainie couldn't breathe. Killian's threat flooded back to her. It doesn't mean I won't let someone else hurt you.... If you lag behind, I'll strip every piece of clothing from your body and let you ride into the hideout stark naked. . . .
She fought for strength, or at least the appearance of it. Killian?even Killian?wouldn't do this to her, wouldn't throw her to this crowd.
Would he?
God help her, she wasn't sure.
The men moved forward, pressing in on her. She heard their breathing, the throaty, coughing sounds of their laughter, the whispered words of encouragement to one another.
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Damp fingers curled around her ankle. She tried to kick out, but her captor laughed and pulled hard.
She flew sideways, landed in a dozen outstretched arms. Hands pawed at her, tangled in her hair, touched her face, her lips. The earthy odor of unwashed bodies and sour breath slammed into her nostrils, gagged her.
Panic pulsed through her blood, making her feel sick and queasy. She opened her mouth to yell for Killian, to curse him or beg for help?she didn't even know what?but nothing came out except a shrill, hysterical scream.
The crowd's laughter grew louder.
A sob caught in her throat. She tried to tell herself it was just a dream, nothing to worry about, but she couldn't calm herself with the familiar words. Fear sucked her in, made her fight like a wildcat. Gasping for air, she twisted and tried to wrench free.
