She heard one of the men speak, his voice deep and quiet. He said, “We will go through this small door I was told about.”
The other man said, “Told, Merrik? You were told naught until you gave the weasel that silver armlet.”
“It matters not. The door should be close now. I understand the boy isn’t being kept in the slave quarters but in a small chamber in the house—”
They were on her. She couldn’t simply stand there, pretending they didn’t exist, pretending they wouldn’t see her. No, she would surprise them, she would attack, and then she would run, for surely she was smaller and faster and . . . She leapt upon the nearest man, striking his face with her fists.
“What in the name of all the gods—! ’Tis a boy and he’s trying to kill me!” Oleg was big and strong, a warrior, and within seconds, he grabbed her arms, whirling her around, shouting in her face. “Hold still, you damned little sod! Stop fighting me!”
The other man whispered, “Keep him quiet, Oleg, and yourself! The last thing we need are Thrasco’s guards on us.”
In the instant the man spoke, she broke one arm free and struck her fist into the man’s belly. He only grunted, then grabbed at her again. It was a silent struggle then, for Laren didn’t want the guards any more than these men. But she had no chance. Her arms were finally pinned to her sides. She looked up to see the man’s hand raised and fisted. He would strike her. She looked at that fist and knew that when it hit her, it would be over. His other hand still held her upper arm.
What did it matter now? She jerked down her head and bit down on his hand as hard as she could. He grunted in pain, but she knew he wanted to scream, for she tasted his blood in her mouth. She didn’t let go.
The other man was on her then, and his hands were about her throat and he was squeezing, saying low in her ear, “Release his hand or I will strangle you.”
She let the man’s hand go. He swore quietly, stepping back from her. The other man kept his hands around her throat and slowly turned her to face him.
He said, staring down at her, “Look who we have here, Oleg. We are blessed or cursed, depending on the pain in your hand. Ah, I’m not mistaken, for there is a bit of light coming over my left shoulder. Aye, Oleg, it is the boy we were coming to fetch. He came to welcome us. Well, boy, how did you get out of the compound?”
Laren didn’t move. She felt the other man’s blood trickling from the side of her mouth. She just stared up at the man. He was the one she’d seen at the slave market.
3
SHE HEARD THE other man cursing in a furious whisper as he hugged his bloody hand against his chest. She stared up at the man who still held her by her throat, saying not a word, just staring. Then suddenly, she drove her fist into his belly and jerked up her knee to his groin.
That knee came up fast, too fast, and Merrik knew, even as the bony knee struck him, that he wouldn’t lik
e what was going to happen. And he didn’t.
He sucked in his breath when the inevitable nausea struck, and clutched his belly as the pain washed through him.
Oleg cursed, then grabbed the damned boy by his neck before he could run, squeezing even harder than Merrik had because his hand hurt and was bleeding, and the damned little savage had kicked Merrik in his groin and sent him to his knees.
She saw blackness, and she cursed herself for not immediately running, but she’d stayed there, frozen, watching the man she’d struck, the man she’d recognized from the slave market, wondering what he was doing here. In her hesitation, she missed her chance to escape. The blackness filled her mind then until she saw nothing at all.
* * *
Merrik stood very still, breathing deeply, until he could finally stand straight once again. Oleg was looking down at the boy in an unconscious heap at his feet.
“I should have killed the little sod,” Oleg said. “He bit down to the bone.”
“Well, he kicked me down to the bone,” Merrik said.
Suddenly, with no warning, there was a fearsome growl and a man, a man both tall and slender, a man not a warrior, jumped on Merrik’s back.
Merrik, still dazed from the blow to his groin, didn’t react as quickly as he normally would have. Oleg jerked his knife from its sheath at his waist and raised it to strike at their assailant. In that instant, Oleg’s leg was jerked from under him. He teetered, astounded, for he saw the boy staring up at him, and knew that the waif had done it to him yet again, and he just couldn’t believe it. He was off balance when he felt the boy’s fist in his gut, and fell against the timbered wall and over into a bush.
No one said anything. There were no curses, no grunts, no yells. The fight was a silent one for no one wanted Thrasco or his men to come bursting from the house.
Merrik managed to jerk the man’s arms free of his throat. He lunged forward, pulling the man over his shoulder. He flung him to the ground at his feet, knocking the breath out of him. He drew his own knife and was on his knees in a moment, the knife tip at the man’s throat.
“No, don’t hurt him!”
The boy was scrambling to the fallen man who was trying to sit up, shaking his head.
The boy grabbed his arm and shook it. “By all the gods! Cleve, what do you here? You didn’t come after me, did you? Is Thrasco close? Cleve, answer me!”