Morgan Unbound (Unbound 4)

Morgan Unbound (Unbound 4)
Rebecca York
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Rebecca York

This night was no different from all the others for Morgan Madrin. As always, she lay awake in her narrow bed, staring into the darkness, until finally exhaustion conquered her. She had a few blessed hours of sleep, but sometime before dawn, a familiar nightmare grabbed her by the throat.

Once again, a large stone building loomed over her before she was hustled through a back door and up stone steps to a windowless room -- where the horrors began.

First, they stripped her naked. Then they tied her down to a table, and she was helpless to stop their probing hands and crude comments. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to shut out the four men gathered around her. They were all well-dressed, all confident that they could do anything with her body they wanted. She was their slave, with no way to escape from their power.

A hand squeezed her breast. “Her titties could be bigger.”

Another hand traced the line of a hip. “And what about this? The patrons want a girl with more meat on her bones.”

“Nothing we can do about her figure, but consider the good points. Her skin is creamy and unmarred by pox. Her features are comely. Her dark hair is quite attractive. There is no dirt under her fingernails. She’s obviously upper class. Once we clean her up, I think we can get a nice purse for her at the auction.”

A hand reached into her cunny, examining her. “She’s a virgin. The virgins always fetch a good price.”

“Are you sure nobody can trace her here?”

“What would they do about it if they could? She has no protector. Prince Gawain killed her father. Why should he give a fig about her? He’d probably thank us for taking a problem off his hands.”

Someone laughed.

Another voice chimed in. “A damn shame her sister escaped. That would be twice the coin.”

The blackguards closed in around her, doing things to her person that no decent girl could endure and live a normal life.

But this night was different.

Instead of continuing with the usual torments, the nightmare twisted on itself. One moment she was at the mercy of the tormenters who held her captive. In the next, the door of the chamber slammed open, and a man strode into their midst. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a black tunic and britches. A hood covered his face, hiding his features, except for angry dark eyes that glared through round holes in the covering.

He had a sword in one hand, a knife in the other, and the advantage of surprise. He moved with lightning speed. Before any of the knaves could react, he lunged at her nearest tormenter, using his knife to raise a line of blood across the man’s throat. Her abuser looked down in astonishment before toppling to the ground. Momentarily, the rest of the assemblage froze in shock, then reached for their own weapons.

As one, they turned to the interloper, coming at him with daggers and swords. He repelled the blows, fighting with both his weapons -- each hand dealing with a different opponent. He dodged away from a slash toward his side and then thrust with his sword. The battle was fierce, but one by one he sent the hell-spawn slumping to the floor before he rushed to her side. After cutting the cords that bound her wrists and ankles, he retrieved a cloak from somewhere and wrapped it around her body.

Lifting her in his arms, he carried her from the torture room into a hallway that had filled with smoke. She remembered that from before. The thickened atmosphere had choked her. Now it hid her and her rescuer as he shouldered his way through a throng of people running to escape the fire.

When she began to cough, her savior gathered her closer, shielding her face. “We’ll be free of this place soon.”

He jostled his way through the crowd, breaking free into clean night air, but he didn’t stop there. Suddenly they were away from the town of Whit, somewhere in a vast darkness that seemed to exist outside the normal world. In the profound silence that reigned around them, he cradled her in his arms as though she were something precious though she knew she was damaged goods.

She had told herself she could never endure a man’s touch again. But this man was different. He held her tenderly, stroking his hand over her hair and down her back, his touch gentle and comforting. Deep inside, a buried longing made her want to cling to him, but she simply could not make her arms lift to embrace him. That was too much. Still, when he set her down, she didn’t push him away.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured.

“How could I be safe? They’re still out there, ready to snatch me up again.”

“I won’t let them.”