Page 97 of My Warrior
Aggie chewed at her lip. “Then whose babe is it?”
Cambria took a deep lungful of air. She’d have to be prepared for anything now. “I think you know the answer to that.”
A panoply of emotions coursed across Aggie’s face—confusion, fury, hurt, disbelief—before she said his name. “Owen.”
Cambria held her breath. Perhaps Aggie would let her go now. There was no point in keeping her. Owen was dead. Holden was removed from the game. As far as Aggie was concerned, Cambria was no longer a pawn.
The corners of Aggie’s mouth turned down, and her eyes grew ugly. “Poor Owen. He never could resist a twitchin’ skirt,” she muttered. “And I’ll wager ye strutted yer backside by him every chance ye had. If it weren’t for ye, he’d never have strayed. If it weren’t for ye, he might still be alive. And I’d be packin’ to move into Blackhaugh. Ye bitch.”
Aggie’s gaze fell on Cambria’s knife, embedded in the table, and sly smile distorted her features.
Cambria squirmed in her bonds.
Aggie seesawed the blade out of the oak and turned it over in her fingers. The burnished dagger hovered inches from Cambria’s face.
“It’s all yer fault,” Aggie whispered, leaning close, her eyes glassy.
Cambria winced as a drop of Aggie’s sweat dripped onto her cheek. God, no, she thought. She couldn’t die like this. Not bound and helpless. Not by her own knife.
“It’ll be a pleasure to slay ye, ye and yer spawn,” Aggie hissed. She raised the dagger high, coupling her hands on the haft.
Cambria had no time. No leverage. No momentum. The blade dropped. She ducked her head and rolled onto her back, toward the attack. The movement surprised Aggie enough to ruin her aim. The tip of the blade only grazed Cambria’s shoulder. But now Cambria’s arms were pinned beneath her, and her stomach was fully exposed.
Leering down, Aggie recovered her balance and raised the weapon again. The blade gleamed as it split the air. This time there was nowhere to go. Screaming as she strained the muscles of her stomach, Cambria shot her legs upward like a loosed catapult. She caught Aggie alongside the head, knocking her sideways. Cambria groaned. Her stomach felt on fire. But she’d gained a few precious seconds. While Aggie recovered her wits, Cambria got her legs under her enough to kneel.
Then Aggie slashed out in wild fury. Cambria bent forward to shield her vulnerable belly. The knife gashed her forehead. Once. Twice. Grazed her cheek. Aggie’s mad spittle sprayed her face.
Cambria couldn’t last much longer. Not with her hands bound behind her. Not without a weapon of any kind. She waited for Aggie to draw back for another strike. She gritted her teeth. Then she swung forward with her head as hard as she could, cracking it against Aggie’s. Pain flashed through her temples and down her neck. Her ears buzzed. Her vision fractured into a million fragments. But the knife whistled past her, harmless.
When her sigh returned, Aggie lay limp on the floor, the dagger deposited like an offering between them. Cambria had to work fast. Ignoring the complaints of her stomach, the sting of her shoulder, and the blood that threatened to seep into her eyes, she inched backward on her knees toward the knife.
The haft was slippery with blood and sweat. It kept sliding out of Cambria’s fingers as she awkwardly sawed at the ropes binding her wrists behind her. She dropped it. Cursing under her breath, she groped blindly for it. She pierced her finger on the point. Then her left hand closed about it. Carefully she tried to transfer the dagger to her right hand. But it dropped again. Frantic now, she scrabbled her fingertips along the splinter floor, shoving a sliver under one of her nails.
A small moan sounded behind her. Aggie was rousing. Cambria had to get the knife. A sob of panic built in her throat. Her fingers grazed metal, drove it away, caught it again. She had the dagger in her hand.
Then Aggie collided with her, pushing her forward, hard. The cornerstone of the hearth rose up to pound against her forehead. The floor slammed into her, shoving her firm womb against her soft organs with the force of a huge iron ball shot from a thunder tube. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. But she still clenched the dagger tightly in her bound fists, holding on to it for dear life.
A strange squeal came from behind her. Aggie. Stretched out gracelessly atop Cambria’s back, her bony frame trembling. Her fingers clawed at Cambria’s shoulders, digging in a hopeless struggle. Her voice sounded parchment-thin as she gasped against Cambria’s ear.
“Nay…nay.”
Cambria shuddered. A thin stream of pink saliva hung from Aggie’s lips and then dropped to the floor. She closed her eyes against the sight. It was too late. Cambria’s dagger had found anchor. She loosened her fingers around the weapon. Aggie rolled weakly from her, sobbing once in bewilderment when she saw the blade buried deep in her breast and the spreading scarlet staining her kirtle.
Then, with pathetic determination, scraping and clawing her way, Aggie crawled forward, as if she could escape death’s reach. It was a painful eternity before the last raping breath of life wheezed out from between her lips. When Cambria found the nerve to look, Aggie lay collapsed at her feet.
Holden plunged forward, fording streams, whipping away branches, searching for the signs of theH, backtracking when they became too sparse. At last the marks led him to an overgrown hovel, a squalid, deserted place made nearly invisible with heavy vines.
Slowly he crept forward. Strange sounds came from the cottage, pathetic sounds that turned his brave soul to custard, sounds like an animal in heat—groaning, tortured noises. His heart pulsed in his throat as he slipped his sword from its sheath and neared the open door.
In the dim light, it was difficult to see inside. There was a shifting lump near the stone hearth that looked like a moving pile of laundry. It was from there that the noises came. Cautiously, he inched through the doorway. He could hear panting, like the rough breathing of a wounded creature.
It was Cambria’s familiar moan that pulled at his very soul, that human sound that rent his heart and made him drop his sword and his guard to go to her. Fear slammed into his chest. There was blood everywhere. Her whimpers were piteous, gut-wrenching.Dear God, he prayed,let her be unhurt. Let her live.
“Cambria,” he called hoarsely, kneeling beside her.
The moaning ceased.
“Cambria!” he cried, reaching his hands out, yet afraid to make contact.
