“I’m here. Don’t hurt him. I’m stuck in the bushes,” Willow called out.
Beck roared with laughter and pointed to two men. “Get her.”
Willow did her best to free herself before the two men reached her, but it was difficult. Every time she moved, a thorny leaf would prick at her, tearing at her clothes and skin.
The two men gave no heed to her situation. They reached in and yanked her out and she winced at the pain of her skin being torn. The two all but dragged her to Beck, giving her a shove when they neared him.
Willow stumbled but managed to remain on her feet. “What do you want of me?”
“You’ll find out,” Beck said and nodded to one of the men. “Tie her wrists.”
Willow glanced at William and saw a slight movement. “Please, let me see to the fallen warrior first, then I’ll go with you and give you no trouble.”
“I care not about him and as for you giving me trouble, a good beating will have you obeying.”
“If you beat me, how will I tend your wounded men?” she asked calmly, though she shivered inwardly.
“They can see to themselves like always,” Beck grumbled and turned away.
“And what of you?”
Beck turned and glared at her.
“That old wound on the back of your hand isn’t healing. If it’s not tended to properly it will turn putrid, fever will set in, and you’ll die.”
A small spark of fear ignited in his eyes. “You’ll tend me.” He nodded toward William. “You’ll not waste your time on him. He’ll not last the night.”
“Let me at least offer him some comfort and prayer,” she pleaded.
Beck looked about to deny her, then ordered, “Be quick about it,”
Willow hurried to William and when he tried to speak, she pressed her fingers to his lips. “Quiet and let him think I pray over you.” William remained silent and she quickly tore a piece of cloth off the hem of her shift beneath her tunic. She wrapped it around his head and kept her voice low and her head bent as if in prayer. “You’re not going to die, William, though he will leave you here thinking you will. It is nothing more than a gash. Remain still, as if near death, and once we leave and you regain your strength go to the Macardle keep for help. It’s the closest.” She placed her hand on the top of his head when he looked about to nod. “Do not move.”
“Enough,” Beck bellowed.
“My fate is in your hands,” she whispered and he blinked his eyes rapidly at her.
Willow stood and went to Beck. “You’re right. He will not last.”
She was going to inquire into the fate of the other warriors, but she saw for herself what that would be. Beck’s men were tying each of them to a tree and those that had suffered no wound were sliced on the arm or leg. They were being left for the forest animals to feast on.
It made her realize the severity of her situation even more. Beck was a man without morals and honor and that was dangerous, for there was no telling what he would do. She reminded herself that William was young and strong. He would be on his feet not long after their departure. He would free the others and they would get help, and she would be rescued. It was a reasonable and plausible thought. All she had to do was survive until then.
“We go. You can tend my hand at camp,” Beck said and shouted to his men to hurry and finish.
Willow was made to walk along with a few of the men while others rode. It was a quick pace Beck set for them, berating any who couldn’t keep up. Willow’s legs burned with pain by the time they reached camp hours later. She dropped to the ground, thinking she would never be able to stand again.
“Don’t get yourself comfortable, lass,” Beck said, walking over to her. “We’ll be leaving as soon as you’re done tending to my hand.”
Willow wanted to weep. She didn’t know how she would take another step today.
“Tend my hand well and I’ll let you ride the rest of the way,” Beck offered with a grin.
Willow would have jumped up and hugged the man if her aching legs would have allowed her to, though it wouldn’t have been the wisest thing to do.
“Let’s get this done, lass,” Beck demanded. “I want to get home tonight.”
While she didn’t want to budge, she needed water not only to tend his hand but to quench the dryness in her mouth that no doubt would grow worse with every slow, agonizing step she would take. The small stream they had camped by would serve her well. She just had to get to it.
Beck laughed, realizing her dilemma, yanked her up by the arm, and propelled her toward the stream, depositing her on the bank to sit.