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“Well met, my lady,” said a man with an eye patch and a filthy, tangled beard. “What’s a beauty like yourself doing in the woods all alone?”
Blanchette straightened up on her mount and held her chin high with feigned confidence. “You are mistaken. I am not alone. My brothers took their horses to the streams. They shall return shortly.”
The first brigand glanced at the rider closest to him—a gruff-looking man dressed in rags and battle scars. Deep pockmarks covered his face. They tightened as he flashed a nasty grin full of rotten teeth. “Is that so? I think you are lying. I think you are all alone… far from home, an’ wearing too many clothes.”
Blanchette pulled back on the courser’s reins, directing him away from the encroaching men and back into the woods. He tossed his head and stomped at the muddy ground. Blanchette pulled hard on the reins, signaling him right. Instead, he surged forward and broke into a trot.
Then the chase was on. Pounding hooves rolled through the gathering darkness.
It was thunder.
It was mayhem.
It was death coming for her in a black chariot.
Blanchette’s breath and heartbeat caught. She grabbed the horse’s loose and flowing mane and entwined her fingers in it. With a cry built from desperation, she kicked her heels into his muscular flanks. She flew through the tangle of branches, leaves, and brambles.
Clinging on for dear life, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck.
Everything happened in a blur. The horse reeled onto his hind legs and released a frantic whinny; the ground came up to hit her hard. Blanchette felt like the air had been knocked from her lungs. She rolled out of striking distance from the horse’s pounding hooves. An inch closer and her skull would have been mush.
She lay for a moment, the breath smacked out of her lungs, her eyes fringed with black specks. She exhaled, flipped onto her palms and knees, and began to rise?—
—only to be kicked in the stomach. Hard and many more times. She cried out and clutched her belly, then spat blood.
Two of the men dismounted. The first brigand released a huge, ugly laugh that filled the darkness. The other men surrounded her, blocking any paths for escape. Night had fallen, and the man himself resembled just another shadow. Dark, dangerous, and dirty.
I am going to die here… oh God…
“Aw, don’t be such a poor sport, sweetling. Come closer and give Geoffrey a kiss.” The beast who called himself Geoffrey kicked his mount and yanked hard on the reins. The animal spooked and threw his hooves into the air, rearing and almost hitting Blanchette in the face.
Then all seven men were on the ground.
Two of them latched onto her arms and pulled her upright. Her stomach and head burning, they forced her to stand before the first rider. He sneered at her. The movement seemed to deepen those pockmarks and highlight the cruelty in his gray eyes. The three other brigands circled her like vultures zoning in on a kill.
Or a pack of wolves.
“Want to try again?” He brought his fingers to her cheeks and idly traced the scar. “My, you are a troublemaker, ain’t you?”
Blanchette returned his sneer and saw red behind her eyes. She shot her right leg forward and straight into his groin. Hard. Then three more times. He keeled over at the impact and spouted curses between his gritted teeth. “You’ll die for that! After I rape you bloody, I’ll kill you.”
The other men laughed.
They dragged her backward, trading japes with every step. She screamed and flailed in their grasp, fighting to break free.
I didn’t survive the siege, only to die in the woods.
Her legs and ankles dragged along the muddy forest floor until they brought her against the back of a tree. One man freed her arm. The other went behind the tree, twisted her arms back and around the trunk, and held her there with an iron grip.
Geoffrey hiked up her skirts, his dirty nails tracking painfully through her undergarments. She squirmed and kicked and fought in vain. Cruel, mocking laughter rang in her ears.
“No! Don’t! Please, please leave me alone! Get your hands off me! Oh God, please…”
He struck her hard across the face. The force of the blow sent her head back and into the tree trunk. Black fringed the edges of her vision as the taste of blood filled her mouth again.
“You’re in no place to be making demands. And God isn’t listening to your whining.”
They bunched her skirts up high, causing them to tangle around her waist. She heard laughter swirling around her… cruel, mocking laughter… the sound of her skirt tearing…
