His actions didn’t make any sense, but she wasn’t going to sit quietly and wait to find out. She had to escape. Her hands were still tied to the chair. First order of business was to slip out of her bindings. How to do it was the problem.
She was good at solving problems.
As her eyes adjusted to the unrelenting dark, she began to make out shadows. Large squares that resembled crates were piled against one of the walls, but otherwise the room was bare of furniture save her chair and a small table underneath the window. The crates likely contained food supplies. She caught the slightly pungent scent of onions and the rank scent of raw meat. No wonder her stomach had been growling. Even stale bread would taste heavenly just now.
She also caught the scent of gunpowder, and realized some of those crates must contain weapons. Was she locked in an armory? She didn’t think so, for the door appeared to be made of wood, not iron, and this store room was small. She didn’t have much experience with gunpowder, but knew enough to understand the damage it would cause if it went off. She needed to get out of here. Fast.
As her eyes continued to adjust to her dark surroundings, she noticed something odd about the shuttered window. It was situated just beneath the ceiling, unusually high for any ordinary window. This store room was a cellar. That would explain the crates and the numbing cold. Likely the cellar in someone’s house. Would the window have iron bars on it? There was no way to tell while it remained shuttered.
One problem at a time. She had to slip out of her bindings first. After that she’d worry about any iron bars. She’d find a way out, no matter the obstacles.
She wiggled her chair, trying to break its spindled back. If she broke it apart, her wrists might slip out of their bindings. She tried. It was too sturdy. She’d have to slam it against something hard to crack it apart. Her captors would hear and come running in. That won’t work.
Were they stupid enough to leave tools lying about? She scanned the room again. Unfortunately, no. She looked for a sharp piece of metal or rock jutting out from the walls. Nothing.
Rubbing her bindings against the side of one of those wood crates might work, she decided. She managed to quietly move herself to the crates and began to run the taut ropes at her wrists up and down, then side to side, in a sawing motion. The scratch of the ropes against the crates sounded deafening to her ears, but logically she knew it wasn’t. No one on the other side of the closed door would hear what she was doing unless they had the sensitive ears of a bat.
After what felt like an eternity, she managed to free one of her hands. It took another few moments to untie the other. Her arms were numb and she had nasty scrapes along both wrists. She tested her legs. Stiff and wobbling, but she was able to walk. She hurried to the table, climbed on it to reach the window, and quickly drew the shutters aside.
As she did so, a flash of lightning caught her by surprise and left stars blindly twinkling in her eyes long after its glow had faded. She didn’t care. She’d made it this far without any light.
The rain started again, a heavy, pelting rain that worked in her favor to muffle any noise she was making. More luck, there were no bars on the window. She tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried several times, pushing up, down, in and out. The blasted thing was sealed.
She’d have to break it.
She scooted off the table, found the chair, and quickly set up a simple fulcrum and lever system. Using her weight as leverage, she cracked the back of the chair and removed one of the sturdy spindles. Another burst of lightning. One, two, three, four. Then came the roll of thunder. She’d use the spindle to smash the glass pane. All she had to do was wait for the lightning’s flare and strike at the thunder’s roar.
Luck was on her side. The storm gained in intensity as it rolled over them, a fast-moving torrent that she feared could end within minutes. She didn’t have any time to spare.
She timed the first strike perfectly.
And the next.
The glass cracked on the third strike. She cleared away as much of the jagged edges as she could, especially clearing the fragments stuck to the lower sash. The drenching rain and howling wind quickly washed most of the glass away from the opening. She heaved herself through the window, not caring that her gown was ripped, or that splinters dug into her hands, or that glass cut into her knees. She was cold and soaking wet. Her knees were scraped and bleeding. She was lost, had no idea in which direction to run.
She was free!
She breathed in the fresh outdoors, and then she ran for her life.
CHAPTER 16
THE VIOLENT WIND and rain slowed Ewan and his companions. The dirt roads were now flowing rivers of mud. Their horses were spooked by the distant rolls of thunder and sharp bolts of lightning, and Ewan wanted to shout his frustration each time they had to stop to calm the temperamental beasts. All were cold and soaking wet, and progress was achingly slow. It was as though the forces of nature were conspiring against them, but Ewan refused to give up hope. Each step, no matter how slow, drew them closer to Lily.