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Five minutes later, once we’ve all recovered enough to clean up our mess and straighten ourselves out, there’s a tap at the door.
“We’re about to descend,” Beast says, a smirk in his voice that’s undeniable. “But I’m guessing you three already came into land, am I right?”
We glance at each other, the laughter that follows a healing tonic that’s only bested by the knowledge that soon Soren and the Skull Brotherhood will be dead, and Cyn will be in our arms once more.
6
Cyn
“You still haven’t told me your name,” I say, gently swiping a damp cloth over the woman’s skin as I clean her wounds with salted water before adding the gel of an aloe vera plant. It has antibacterial and anti-inflammatory properties which should help to heal the wounds inflicted by Soren. She winces at the slight sting, her eyes haunted, shadowed by deep bruises and mottled skin.
“It’s Faith,” she whispers, a sad smile wobbling her lips.
“Faith? That’s a beautiful name, it suits you,” I reply, dabbing more gel onto a particularly nasty wound on her right hip that looks suspiciously like a cigar burn.
“I used to think so…”
Her voice trails off as she stares off into space, her attention caught in a memory that removes her from the room Soren moved us to on the far side of the complex, and into a place of disassociation. I don’t try to draw Faith back from her safe space, knowing all too well that she needs to find strength in the quiet, more peaceful moments whenever she can. Instead, my fingertips gently graze over her body as I take in the true extent of her injuries.
Bruises varying from a deep purple-black to a sallow yellow blossom across most of her skin. I ask myself, not for the first time, how she, let alone her unborn child, has survived such callous beatings.
At a guess I would’ve said she’s around four months pregnant given the slight curve of her stomach, but I’ve yet to establish just how far along she actually is. There are no signs of bleeding, so I have to assume the foetus is still alive, which is a blessing.
Since Soren called me to Faith’s side eight hours ago, we haven’t had much chance to talk. Her mind’s need to protect itself from all that she’s had to endure and sheer exhaustion preventing us from doing so. I’ve been using that time to make lotions and creams for Faith’s skin, and tonics to ease her pain and strengthen her from the inside out.
Truthfully, the list of ingredients and equipment I had given to Soren was extensive, and I didn’t expect him to obtain half of what I’d needed, let alone most of the items, especially not within a few hours of giving it to him. The sheer fact that he could deliver has to mean that we’re closer to civilization than I’d first thought, and wherever that town or city may be it has to be on a decent trade route, which gives me hope that the Deana-dhe will be able to find us.
Faith stirs as I apply arnica cream to the deep purple bruise covering almost the entirety of her right breast, Soren’s handprint leaving a distinct impression on her abused skin. Eventually it will fade with time, but the mark he’s left on her psyche, that will never fade. Even if we do escape, she will always be burdened with his abuse, will have to shoulder the weight of it and somehow try to heal, to live with the memories. I have admiration for anyone who’s suffered at the hands of another and survived. That takes true strength.
“I loved him once,” Faith mutters, her sad eyes focussing on me once more as she winces in pain.
“Soren?” I question, placing the arnica cream on the side table.
She shakes her head, her slim fingers grasping mine. “No, not him. The man who sold me into slavery.”
“Who was it?”
“His name was Phillipe. I met him in France during a gap year when I was travelling around the world. I thought he loved me. I thought I was his forever, but I was just his next business deal. I didn’t know he’d sold me until I woke up in the cargo hold of a ship that was headed for Morocco with half a dozen other women he’d fooled.”
“Is that where we are now, in Morocco?”
“Yes,” she nods her head, shifting her body, the pain making tears spring to her eyes. She blinks them away, forcing herself to continue. “Tangier Med is the nearest Port to our location. Soren pays the port authorities to turn a blind eye every time the Skull Brotherhood enters and exits the country, but we’re actually nearer Marrakech. Don’t you remember the train journey from the port to the city?”
“He knocked me out,” I say, tucking that piece of information away, hope blooming in my chest.
Where there is trade there is business and where there is business there are criminals. Most importantly, where there are criminals there are debts owed. Arden, Lorcan and Carrick’s reach extends far beyond Ireland and the United Kingdom, so there’s a good chance they’ll be able to locate us through one of their many contacts. They just have to know where to start looking.
“And the other women in the cargo hold with you…?” I ask.
Faith’s eyes shutter closed, like she’s trying to hide from the memory. “They’re all dead,” she whispers. “We survived the journey, spent almost a year together, but one by one they fell victim to the Skulls' evil. I’m the only one who’s lived this long.”
Tears spill from her lashes like tiny jewels glinting in the late afternoon sunlight, which passes through the sheer cream curtains. It warms our skin but despite the heat she shivers.
“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve gone through. For all of it,” I say, the words scraping against my throat as I take her hand in mine.
“That was three years ago. There were eight of us, and now there is only me,” she explains, staring straight ahead as another, more painful memory twists the expression on her face.
“You’ve been captive that long?” I whisper, unable to truly comprehend the strength she must have to survive such prolonged abuse and maltreatment.
