Unbidden (Evolution
Series #1) by Jill Hughey
He came upon them quickly, the man holding Rochelle not even realizing he’d been discovered. David squinted through the darkness in disbelief. It was Sewell, the pimply neighbor, with one arm around Rochelle’s neck and the other looped under one of her thighs, holding it up high as he tried to force her onto a wild-eyed pony that sidestepped away from Rochelle as vigorously as she did from it. Sewell yanked on her. “Get on the horse, Rochelle. Get on it!”
“Let go of me, you
troll!” she screeched, struggling against him as best she could on one foot.
David assessed the boy
instantly, not seeing any weapons. “Do as she says if you want to live,” David
ordered quietly, barely contained anger coursing through him. The scene before
him stilled. Rochelle was panting, her eyes searching for him in the dark as
she balanced awkwardly on one foot.
“Who is there?” Sewell
asked nonsensically.
“I am Death if you do
not get your filthy hands off of her.”
“Who is it?” Sewell asked again, this time shaking
Rochelle to encourage her to answer.
“Stop that!” she
ordered, then added, “It is David, you idiot.”
“David? The Bavarian?” He let go of Rochelle’s leg in his
incredulity and finally located David’s dark outline. “But...but you are not
supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
“I think I am exactly
where I ought to be tonight. You, on the other hand….”
“Fardulf!” Sewell called
over his shoulder, his voice cracking,
“Get up here! I need your
help!”
A moaning reply came
from the darkness some distance away. “I have got her blade stuck in my thigh
up to the hilt. I think I am dying!”
“Rochelle, are there
only the two?” David asked.
She blinked at him.
“Yes, just –“
Sewell jerked at her
neck while taking hold of her arm in a painful, wrenching hold “Be quiet!” he ordered.
Rochelle cried out again
and David had had enough. He moved like a shadow to get behind Sewell. He
grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head. The coward actually whimpered.
“Do not stick me,” he pleaded.
David spoke. “Rochelle,
he is about to let you go. You will move away from him, to my side. You will
not run. Do you understand?” His
voice carried authority in a world gone completely mad.
“Yes,” she croaked.
“Sewell,” David continued,
“you have two choices. Let her go now, or I will shove this blade through your
ribs so you can drown in your own blood. Quick, boy!”
David felt Sewell’s grip
begin to slacken. Rochelle wrenched away and whirled, slapping Sewell so hard
his head jerked to one side, almost loosening David’s hold on him. She was only
vaguely aware of Sewell calling her a bitch and David growling another threat
at him. She unconsciously shook her hand at the sting of her palm. Free of her
attacker, free from having to worry about getting
free, her mind began to wander, unable to assimilate everything that had
happened.
“Rochelle!” David said
sharply as her gaze meandered toward the view of the house over the wall, the
twinkling of lamps visible in upstairs windows. She wanted to go there. She
should rightfully be safe inside her house. But David — aggravating Bavarian! —
spoke again, pulling back the blanket of numbness her mind kept wrapping around
her. “Come to me.” He had let go
of Sewell, keeping his spata pressed at the boy’s ribs. He held his free arm
out to her. She walked woodenly to him, keeping a wary eye on the whimpering
Sewell. As David wrapped his arm around her waist, she curled into his side.
“Not yet,” he ordered. “Be strong a few more minutes and walk with me.” She did not want to walk. She wanted
him to hold her. His arm urged her forward. She saw the spata in his other hand
shining weakly in the night as he prodded Sewell ahead of them.
The strange threesome
moved almost silently through the dark until David whispered urgently, “I smell
blood. Are you hurt? Are you cut?”
She reacted slowly.
“No,” she said with a hollow voice. “No, I do not think so.” Her neck was sore and her leg felt
scratchy. Neither were sensations on which she could wholly concentrate.
They were almost to the
gate, unaccountably closed, with a torch burning in front. Who would have
closed it?
“Theo, will you open
that gate?” David roared, startling Rochelle so much that she nearly spun away
from him.
“Working on it,” Theo
called back. “The whole damned brace has been meddled with!”
“Theophilus?” Sewell
whined. “ Oh, God in heaven, he cannot see me here!” He broke away to run back toward his horse. David cursed
under his breath as he stepped away from Rochelle. He pulled his semi-spata out
of its sheath to quickly throw it, catching Sewell in the back of the thigh.
The young man dropped with a shriek, then laid writhing and crying out in the
grass, his hands clutched around his leg.
A volley of inquiries
erupted from behind the gate. “We are fine,” David shouted back. “Just keep
working on that bar!”
Rochelle swayed on her
feet. David clamped his arm around her waist, guiding her to the hinged side of
the gate. “Sit down here,” he said, trying to help her down.
“No, I want to go inside,”
she said, a hint of desperation in her voice.
“Rochelle, is that you?”
Marian’s voice cried.
“Mother?” Rochelle
answered, pounding against the gate. “Let me in!”
“Sit down and be quiet!”
David insisted. She turned, hurt and confused by his sharp words. Didn’t he
know she needed his kindness? To
make matters worse, she heard Theo rebuke Marian when she began to sob words in
the native language she only lapsed into in times of deep distress.
“Sit here, with your
back in this corner,” David repeated. Rochelle let him lower her, then clung to
his clothing like a child. He glanced nervously behind him as he pried her
hands away. He swept his cloak off to wrap her in it. She buried her face in
the folds, breathing in the smell and the warmth.
BUY LINKS
Amazon – http://viewbook.at/unbidden
Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/105365
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