Shea sent up a small prayer in the hope she hadn't just sent him to his death.
A rough jerk on Shea's arm pulled her from her horse. She barely landed on her feet before her arm was jerked again, and she was sprawled belly down with a boot in her back. A roar came from Eamon, and then there was a thump followed by two others.
Shea couldn't see much but the dirt beneath her cheek, but she had a feeling it was her friends who had made those thumps as they were treated to the same view as her.
Inwardly, she sighed. When was she going to learn that good deeds only ever landed her in trouble? If someone had asked her if saving Fallon had been worth it, she would have told them no. Both times.
"Get them up," Caden ordered.
Shea was hauled to her feet, her arms in a tight hold that applied enough pressure to be uncomfortable. If she moved just a little, it would bend the elbow into an unnatural angle and probably result in a break.
Eamon and the other two were yanked to their feet in a similar fashion and brought face to face with Caden. Shea remembered him from the mission with the revenants. She got the impression, then, that he was part of Fallon's personal guards.
Up close, Shea could see the serious lines bracketing his eyes and the razor sharp intelligence. His dark brown hair was partially bound to tame the tight curls in his shoulder length hair. The hair below the top pony tail was shaved, but this time several swirls decorated his skin, creating an intricate pattern of ink.
He looked carefully between the four of them, his thoughts hidden.
Shea could feel her temper begin to fray, helped along by the lingering effects of the hallucinogenic she'd been exposed to. She took a deep breath and released it and then another. This wasn't the time to lose it.
That could come later, when she was by herself.
"What am I to do with you four?" Caden asked them.
It was clear he didn't expect an answer, but Shea wanted to give him one. Preferably with a few choice words about what he could go do to himself.
Looking above their heads at the men holding them, he ordered, "Separate them until I or Darius can question them. They aren't to be harmed, just contained. For now."
As the others were dragged in opposite directions, Shea struggled to gain her feet. To do what, she didn't exactly know. She just knew that being separated was bad. Her captors weren't expecting the fight, and she managed to jerk one arm free and had twisted to knee her other captor in the stomach.
"Shane, Shane! Stop! Stop fighting," Eamon yelled.
The man holding her had a grip like iron and refused to release her. Gritting her teeth, she twisted her hand so she was clasping his hand then ducked under his arm and jerked it back so she was standing behind him with his arm bent at an odd angle.
Or that was how it was supposed to go.
Instead he turned with her and kicked one of her knees, hitting it just right so it crumpled beneath her.
"Don't hurt him," Eamon yelled at the men converging on Shane. "He's the one who saved Hawkvale. Shane, stop fighting. Please!"
Shea was on her knees trying to regain her feet when she was bowled over by a force that carried her back to the ground. Her cheek smarted as she once again found herself face down in the dirt with a man pressing an elbow sharply into her back. Her first captor had her elbow locked so the slightest pressure would break it.
A pair of boots came into view and then Caden's cool voice reached her, "This was your last chance. If you so much as lift a pinky, we will kill you."
The hands holding her down remained unyielding while Shea stayed tensed and ready to move.
"I want to hear you," Caden said.
Oh, so that's why she was still being pressed into the ground. Well, he could wait until his balls rotted off, because she wasn't going to say shit about surrender. They might have been able to physically subdue her, but that didn't mean they had won.
As soon as they gave an opportunity, she was gone. This time she wouldn't allow sentiment to hold her back.
"Shane, please." Eamon sounded more rattled than Shea had ever heard him, even worse than that time he'd ripped her apart after the run in with the revenants. She didn't like that tone in his normally authoritative voice. The man should never sound like his world was about to cave in on account of her. It didn't sit well with her.
The elbow in her back dug deeper while the hand holding her arm tightened.
"Shane." This time there was a crack in Eamon's voice that shouldn't have been there.
Her elbow creaked as it was slowly twisted.
"Fine. I won't fight."
Immediately, the elbow pressing into her back lightened and the hand holding her arm loosened. She was still held immobile, but it didn't hurt anymore. It was just uncomfortable and humiliating.
Shea was jerked to her knees and forced to look up into Caden's unsmiling face.
"That was your only free pass," Caden warned. "Next time we won't bother subduing you, we'll just cut off your head."
Shea bit her tongue against the words that wanted to spew out, reminding herself that she needed to watch for her chance. Without waiting for an answer, Caden jerked his chin at the men holding her. They lifted her and force marched her away from the tent and her companions.
They didn't have far to go as they pushed her before them into another tent one row down from the one Fallon had been taken to. They walked her to a heavy looking metal chair and sat her down before forcing her arms to its armrests. Cool metal slid against her skin as they fastened two handcuffs to her wrists, securing them to the chair before repeating the action with her feet.
Once they had her secured, one of the men left the tent while the other stepped back and folded his arms across his broad chest. She twisted her wrist surreptitiously, testing her restraints without being too obvious. Her guard's watchful eyes noted the movement and narrowed slightly.
She glared back at him. She jerked hard against her restraints, giving up on hiding her actions. They were secure. She wouldn't be breaking the chair arm to get away, and the limited range of movement made it impossible to attempt picking the locks.
As long as she was handcuffed to the chair, she wasn't going anywhere. Evidently, they'd learned a few things from last time.
Giving up on escape, for the moment, Shea relaxed into the seat and looked around.
The Trateri had made an art form of turning their tent's into luxurious homes. They were typically better decorated than most Lowlander or Highlander homes, containing beautiful, hand carved furniture made from old oak and rugs dyed the richest shades of blue, green and yellow that Shea had ever seen. As a people, they appreciated surroundings that were comfortable as well as beautiful to make up for the times when they had to live rough.
This wasn't one of those tents. Empty of all furniture except the chair Shea was handcuffed to, there were no rugs, no tables, no sitting pillows or brightly colored fabrics. The walls were just the unadorned white base canvas over a weed covered patch of ground. Only two hanging braziers kept the space inside well-lit with an orange glow.
Something told Shea this was where they brought prisoners when they needed to extract information. It wasn't even as nice as the area Darius had stuck her in that first day.
The second man ducked in, allowing a brief glimpse of a campfire before the tent flap dropped. He was in his late twenties and slimmer than his companion with a leaner, rangier frame. His face was thin and his eyes spaced the slightest bit too far apart, but their pretty hazel color made up for that. If Shea had never met Fallon, she would say this man's eyes were the prettiest she'd ever seen.
They were a dark brown that was almost black and his skin was darker than most of his companions. His was broad and chiseled out of stone and his body big and filled with muscles. His hands were the size of boulders. One hit from them would crush her.
Shea really hoped they wouldn't be hitting her before the night was through.
The second man approached, carrying a bag of water. He also held one of the meat pastries the soldiers packed when heading outside the camp. They were filling and traveled well.
Her stomach growled, loudly, and her mouth was suddenly dry and filled with sand. Until the smell of food taunted her, she hadn't realized just how hungry and thirsty she was. Hours had passed since she'd last eaten.
She eyed the food warily, her mouth filling with saliva. Just what was he going to do with that stuff? Maybe he and the other guy had missed dinner too.
He held the pastry to her lips. She moved her head back.
"Eat," he ordered.
Her eyebrows lowered as she looked from him to the next guy. What was this? How did they go from threatening to kill her to wanting to feed her? It could be some trick, but why? She doubted it was worth the effort of poisoning her. They were much more likely to torture a prisoner to death.