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“Fine then,” Alfred says. “I will get in the queue with the rest of the Baxter clan. And you can be sure once Jack Ralston and Eric Halket find out, they will also be rallying their clans. Gage Llyon will also want fucking in, and you know how his clan loves a good fight. With the Blighten in retreat, good battles will be hard to come by.”
“Could you at least let Lor recover before you rouse him with talk of war,” Lara says, shoving the next piece of meat in my mouth with vigor. “My mate is already sharpening his ax. Not that I blame him.”
“I wouldn’t count on Halket,” I say before Lara can stuff more food in my mouth. “We snatched Freya. You know Eric Halket is a pussy-whipped bastard. They don’t believe in the old ways, and his mate will be pissed.”
Lara rolls her eyes and shoves more dripping meat in my mouth.
Snatching lasses is a Baxter thing, and we have a reputation as such. Not that we take unwilling lasses, more that we sometimes help nature along. We spoke to Alfred before we made our move, agreeing on the woodcutter cottage as the best option. It is always kept well stocked and more commonly referred to as the rutting cottage as a place for the few omegas of the clan to go with their mates when it is time for their heat. The king assured me he could handle a pompous lordling turning up and making demands, on the slight chance Marshal came. Given my king is a seven foot tall hulking brute whom I have witnessed tear the limbs from a raider who tried to take one of his sister’s whelps, I believe Marshal would have pissed himself.
Only, the snow did not come as we anticipated, and the woodcutter’s cottage turned out to be a poor choice after all.
“His mate will be leading the fucking charge herself if she finds out a mated lass has been taken. Gwen will gut the skinny prick,” Alfred says with an approving nod.
“She will,” Lara agrees, smiling and reminding me she was an accomplished warrior maiden before the whelps came along… I’m certain she could be handy with an ax even now while round enough to pop. “I expect a full account of the details.”
“Fuck! Is it still snowing? We need to make haste.” I try to rise, only to be pushed firmly back against the bed.
“Peace, warrior,” Lara says. “Do you think a little snow will hold us back?”
“Aye, we will dig our way fucking through if need be,” Alfred agrees. Stepping forward, he places his hand on my shoulder. “We shall get them back, both of them. Make no mistake.”
ChapterFifteen
Aston
Isleep fitfully, roused early the following day as guards shout orders to one another and stomp around outside the room where I’m locked.
The door opens soon after, and two burly betas enter, swords leveled on me like I’m not chained to the fucking wall. One is carrying a bowl of slop. He puts it on the floor and kicks it toward me with his boot.
Were I free of these chains, I would have disabled them and gutted them with their blades.
Well, I’d give it a go.
Only the bastards are not stupid, and my chains are secure.
I don’t say anything. I don’t even move; just let the rage filling me show in my eyes.
“Where is she? If that bastard has touched her, I will kill him first, then every other fucker in this house.”
I shouldn’t ask nor toss threats about, but I’m desperate for a scrap of news on Freya. I feel sick thinking about her being with him all night and of what he might have done to her.
“Fuck you, barbarian scum,” one guard says, nudging the other one, and they back out and slam the door shut.
I pick up the metal bowl filled with gray slops and eye it with a grimace.
They call me a barbarian like it’s a fucking insult when Marshal, their small pricked lordly bastard, is filth I’d scrape off the heel of my boot.
Only he is a bastard who has all the power here, and I have none, so I scoop up the dubious goo with my fingers and shovel it into my mouth.
Only after I’ve eaten it do I wonder if they drugged it.
Instinct tells me to shove my fingers down my throat and puke it back up. But my stomach rumbles, already digesting it with enthusiasm, knowing my body needs the nourishment to recover.
I fling the bowl away and sit back against the wall.
Nothing happens other than my stomach grumbles noisily. I don’t think it was poisoned. If it was, they did not put enough in. As concerns about being poisoned abate, worries for my mate rise.
I look at the chains above me, which I have already tested for weakness, and found none. But with naught else to do, I rise, hoping the weak light spilling through the cracks in the wooden door might offer some hope.
