The others just looked angry, but not like they were going to go crazy and challenge the men with swords, voicing objections when Darius' men forced them away from their mounts. Paul glared at her as if this was somehow her fault. Though how she would have orchestrated it, or why, escaped her.
When her eyes strayed back to him, Witt shot her a questioning look and indicated their horses. She figured he was asking if they should make an attempt to overpower the warriors, most of whom had yet to dismount and still watched the surrounding buildings with suspicion. Every warrior had one hand on a weapon.
Shea shook her head.
Seeing her response, Dane finally got ahold of himself and pushed Witt's arm away. Witt let him do this, though he gave Dane a final warning look before stepping back and folding his arms across his chest.
"You're an odd one," the man behind her said as he clicked his tongue at his horse. Suddenly they were moving toward the gate, their bodies swaying to the horse's rhythm.
Shea figured a reply wasn't really necessary and kept facing forward while she logged potential escape routes. The men holding them didn't have many weaknesses that she could see.
The silent treatment didn't deter the man as he added thoughtfully, "Usually when I have to grab someone, especially a woman, they plead or beg or struggle. It's all very annoying. You act like it's no big deal. Either you're scary pragmatic and exactly how Fallon described you, or you lack an ounce of courage."
Shea wiggled her jaw and clenched her fists into the horse's mane to keep her composure. Since he couldn't see her, she allowed some of the anger she felt to leak past her shields.
It wasn't like she wanted to sit here like a coward. Her inner strategist simply recognized the futility of struggling. Why waste energy and risk an injury that might prevent a future escape?
From the looks on a few of her men's faces, she knew they agreed with the man behind her.
Fools.
Counting herself, her team numbered seven. She estimated that twenty Trateri warriors had ridden into the square. From the way Darius talked, she suspected he had more men waiting right outside the town, ready to rain the Hawkvale's wrath down on the townspeople if needed.
Better to present a weak front and lower the enemy's guard before attempting an escape. It would make them less wary and increase her chance of success.
The sounds of a scuffle reached her. Shea peered over her captor's shoulder.
Paul dodged under a horse and around another as Witt and Dane shouted for him to stop. He didn't make it two steps before a man on a pale cream horse rode up and kicked him in the head. Paul stumbled. Before he could recover, he was surrounded by warriors. Shea caught a glimpse of a rage-filled face. Then he was gone.
"Don't worry. They won't kill him," her companion informed her. "New recruits often have that reaction. They'll beat him as a warning not to do it again, but mostly they try not to break bones since that would make him useless for several weeks."
Shea flinched at the thud of flesh against flesh and the pain filled cry that followed.
"Still no reaction?" the man looked at her profile as the horse carried them out the front gate. "You're one cold bitch."
"What's your name?" Shea was gratified when her voice came out almost normal despite the tight feeling in her throat.
"She speaks," the man answered sarcastically. She twisted to glare up at him, her eyes showing just a hint of fire. He cocked his head when she faced forward again. "There she is. I was beginning to wonder if I had a mouse riding with me when everyone swore you were a lioness."
"You're very chatty."
He chuckled, his chest vibrating against her back. The way she sat on the horse in front of him didn't allow for a lot of space between them, but he was being relatively good about keeping himself to himself.
She appreciated that. Though she would have appreciated her own horse more.
They fell in with the string of horses heading out of town, taking their place in the middle. Darius and his friend with the scar were several horse lengths ahead, engaged in conversation. Witt and the others brought up the rear and were monitored by a team of rotating guards who followed along behind them. Wagons filled with wheat rolled out after them.
"You're not the first person who's told me that. My name's Damon."
Shea didn't care. She just wanted him to stop speaking so she could think. He, of course, didn't.
"Did you really climb a cliff to escape Fallon?"
"Yes."
"Hm."
Blessed silence reigned while Shea watched the countryside drift by. It was pretty land. Not breathtaking like the Highlands were, where the view gripped your soul in an iron fist as you were brought face to face with the wild, untamed fierceness that came from being on the edge of the known world. This land was too settled for that kind of beauty.
This close to Goodwin of Ria, the land was civilized and over-populated compared to the Highlands. Everything in its spot and hardly a leaf out of place. Nice, but not the wild beauty that Shea's soul craved.
Goodwin of Ria got most of its water from the mountains that lurked in the distance. They weren't the mountains of the Highlands. Their peaks weren't so high that they stabbed the sky's belly, but they were big enough and high enough to serve as a reminder that the relatively flat land of Goodwin of Ria was not the norm.
"Why did you put me in front rather than behind you?" Shea voiced a thought that had been bothering her.
She felt his chest move as he shrugged. "Less likely that you'll try to run away if you're in front. Not that you'd get far, but this way you won't be tempted. That means I won't have to punish you for the attempt, and Fallon won't be upset that his new toy has a few scratches."
Shea smoothed her fingers through the horse's mane. It might be more difficult to escape then she had thought.
Having nothing else to say, she lapsed back into silence, keeping an eye out for anything that might be useful.
She craned her head around Damon for a look at her men. They seemed to be doing fine, though a little angry at the forced march.
Paul was the exception. Shea couldn't help the wince of sympathy when she got a good look at his face. One eyelid had swelled closed and blood coated his chin and shirt. The skin on the right side of his face had already turned purple and blue. Not a good sign. It would be worse tomorrow.
He walked gingerly, as if his ribs were bruised. Burke and Owen shadowed him, keeping close watch in case they had to steady him.
Damon was right. His beating hadn't left any broken bones, just a lot of bruises and some painful memories.
Witt and Dane walked near each other and every so often they would converse quietly, until one of the warriors guarding them would bark a sharp word, at which point they'd separate again.
Witt looked up just then, meeting Shea's eyes briefly. The look on his face was blank, as if he was looking at a stranger, before he looked away.
She turned around.
A large group of men rested in the shade of the trees off the side of the road about two miles out of town. The group was double the size of the one that had ridden into the village. When Darius jerked his head at the waiting men and kept riding, Shea figured this was the other part of his company. The men moved quickly, mounting and joining the procession.
Damon lifted a hand in greeting as they passed.
Two men rode up to join Darius and his companion, while the rest fell into the back, swelling their ranks considerably.
"Who's this?" a man asked, riding up beside them. "Did you finally find a girl you wanted to keep? She's pretty."
Shea swayed back from the hand reaching to touch her hair. Damon swatted him away before he could touch her.
"Hands off. She's not for you," Damon said. "This one's the Warlord's property. She's the cliff climber he let slip through his fingers."
The other man's jaw dropped. Still in his early twenties, his face lacked the weight of experience or suffering that a lot of the older warriors carried like a badge of honor. His eyes were a faded blue, and his lips were full. Those lips would have made the girls in Birdon Leaf swoon.
He looked Shea over curiously. "Not what I pictured."
Damon snorted. "Yeah. You and me both. Hard to picture a twig like her doing all the things they say she's done. So far she's been kind of quiet. Guess we'll see."
"You sure it's her?"
"Darius swears it is."
The man nodded. "He would know."
Shea wondered if she could spin their assumptions to her advantage. Maybe she could play up the weak female angle and buy herself a bit of wiggle room.
Soon, the two moved on to talking about hunting and the best method for stalking prey. Shea listened at first, fascinated with the debate, but it wasn't long before she tuned them out entirely, preferring to review her knowledge of the area.