Page 7 of To Trap a Soul

“You’re the lucky one!” her mother exclaimed as she gripped the skirts of her dress and lifted them while turning to them with outrage. “I turned down your proposal three times.”

“Ah, but you still said yes.” Unable to keep his hands off her, like always, he stepped deeper within the house and put his arms around Allira’s waist. “And I’m thankful for it every day. You were a gem back then, and you still are to this very day.”

Lindi held back her gagging sounds as he started on a tangent of compliments while kissing all over her face, ensuring her mother went into a fit of giggles.

A smile lifted into her features. She really did love that about her parents. They’d been together since the year before she’d been born, and they still loved each other just as deeply as they did when they were young.

Her mother had been a girl from the town, whereas her father had been a farming boy who’d instantly grown smitten with this beautiful woman he saw. Of course, his playful, flirtatious charm easily won her over, even after he’d embarrassed himself by blurting out “Will you marry me?” as his very first greeting to her.

Lindi was pretty confident that the reality of her future love life wouldn’t be so sickly sweet, but she’d like even just half of what they had. And, like them, she desired a daughter who looked like a blend of both her and whoever she married.

She eyed her father’s dark-brown, ringlet curls, his sharp chin, and his tall frame, knowing she’d inherited all those same features from him. Lindi had her mother’s nose, lips, high brows and cheekbones, as well as her deep-brown eyes – although there were flickers of her father’s amber in her irises.

Her brown skin was lighter than her mother’s but deeper than her father’s bronze, and she towered over her mother’s five feet and three inches by four inches, whereas her father stood barely over Lindi.

She had no idea where she got her breasts from, as her mother wasn’t busty, but she had her same hourglass figure. She also had her father’s broad shoulders.

They both fought over who they believed she looked more like, and neither could settle that argument.

She was perfectly made up of their love and affection.

And she had both their playful temperaments to go with it.

Her smile deepened as she transferred all the vegetables she’d cut up for their stew and swiped her blade across her cutting board. Each one plopped into the boiling pot of pre-prepared seasoned water, the steam smelling of spices and herbs that had already been added.

Ever since Lindi could remember, her home had been filled with adoration, laughter, banter, and acceptance. The smell of delicious food and wonderful incense wafted out the windows as they all sang, danced, and playfully chased each other. Giggles and laughter could be heard all across their farm as they pranked and lightly bullied each other, gossiped about their small village, and worked hard to make sure their farm was in perfect operation.

The only thing that ever ruined their days was the weather that made it difficult to sow their seeds or harvest their crops in time, which impacted their yields.

But even then, the rain thankfully and graciously soaked the land while they frolicked in it.

April 24th, 1683

A loud bang, like an open door slamming against the wall during a terrible thunderstorm, shocked the entire house.

With a sharp gasp, Lindi sat up, her eyes flying open. Darkness greeted her, the night late and the moon hidden behind the wooden slats covering her windows. The silence that should have shrouded the heaviness of night was replaced with scuffling and loud, thumping boots.

Rather than Lindi thinking of the sudden bang as nothing but an accident and peacefully going back to sleep, her heart stuttered and then squeezed.

Someone is in the house.

She twisted, reached onto her bedside table, and fumbled for her tinder box so she could light her candle. She bit back her squeal at another bang, this time deeper within her family home, just as she struck her flint against her fire steel. A gust of wind coming from underneath the crack of her door made the spark against the tinder roll away.

She immediately gave up at the masculine yell bursting downthe hallway and hopped out of bed to open the wooden blinds.

Squinting her eyes against the oppressive shadows, Lindi used what little residual light managed to glow from the moon beyond her window. At the bitter-cold nip of autumn’s air through her thin white nightgown, the frills around her neck offering no warmth, she hurried to retrieve her winter jacket and donned it with haste. Her toes knocked against her slippers, and just as she sightlessly put them on, her simple bedroom was illuminated by orange light coming through the cracks around her door.

The light should have been welcoming, but it was too bright to be a lit candle or lantern.

A scream pierced the momentary quiet – her mother’s – just as Lindi’s door was thrown open. This time, Lindi screamed when a man she’d never seen before shoved his way into her room, bearing a crude torch, the rag on it reeking of flammable resin. It made his shaven, lightly tanned features gleam with determination. The metal buckles strapping his leather armour to his torso, and the hilt of his short sword sheathed at his waist, glinted in that orange light.

His bushy, pale-blonde brows narrowed on her the moment he saw her.

She took in no other details of him when he dived forward to capture her with his large right hand. Instead, another scream locked in her throat as she spun around, hiked up her floor-length nightgown, and crawled across her frameless bed. Her sheets twisted around her left ankle when she stood on solid ground, but her stumbling managed to save her from the strange, aggressive man when he dived for her a second time.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted, ducking under his meaty arms to get behind him and closer to the door. “Take what you want!”

It’s not like they had anything truly of value! Sure, her father may have a few coins, but they were simple farmers. The nicest things they owned were perhaps one evening outfit each, andsome worthless but sentimental trinkets. The only things of value they owned were their food and their farming tools, which this man didn’t need to pillage the inside of their home to steal.

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