The Captain's Lady by Lorhainne Eckhart Page B

unyielding cement floor. Stumbling, she struggled to pull her feet under her and keep up with their hurried pace. The echo of their footsteps in the hall pounded in her ears, overshadowing any other noises. Noises that might be used as clues. Where were they? A bigger question: where were they taking her?
    A door opened with a sharp squeal. They squeezed through one at a time. When the door closed, they were pitched into almost total darkness. She felt herself being hauled down some very hard steps. A moment's stop, then another door, this one heavy, squeaked loudly on hinges that needed oiling.
    She could see peripherally out the side of the blindfold. This room was as dank and dark as the previous. It didn't smell like sandalwood though; the bitter stench of urine and sweat assaulted her senses.
    There were at least two other people here. They were talking in the same dialect with the same abrupt, fierce tone. It was a tone with which she'd grown very familiar over the past several days.
    Strong hands on her shoulders forced her down on her knees. From behind came the raspy clatter of a leg iron and a sudden pressure on her ankles. She shrieked, then begged for their mercy. But the pleas were ignored, as she'd known they would be.
    Someone stepped behind Abby and knelt down. She prepared to die, to feel fingers clench her hair, jerk her head back and a knife slice across her throat. Instinctively she tilted her head back, almost welcoming the sharp bite and gush of warm, sticky blood on her shirt. Fingers groped for her wrists and she felt the ropes binding her arms drop away.
    Amidst the clank of chains, she tumbled onto her side, slamming her elbow on the hard floor. Pain shot up into her shoulder. She lay there listening, but heard only the harsh voices and the steady hum of some type of ventilation fan. They hadn't killed her. Yet.
    Shuffling footsteps said they were all leaving. Leaving her in this hideous repulsive place. Abby cried out for mercy again, “Please let me go! Please, someone help me."
    The slam of a heavy metal door and the click in the lock told her they were indeed going to leave her there. Abby pulled up her knees and lowered her forehead onto them. And let herself cry. For the life she'd left behind. The life she might've had. For—
    What was that? A rustle of fabric? No, probably a rat. The country was infested with the filthy creatures.
    Then a voice from somewhere close by. Soft. Female. With an accent Abby recognized as French. “Shut up, stop crying. There is nothing you can do. If they hear you crying they will come back and beat you.” The woman sounded young, so very young.
    So many questions spun through her mind. She didn't know which to ask first, but prayed this girl would give her the answers she needed so badly. “Who are you? Where are we?"
    "You need to be quiet. My name's Marie, we're the last here."
    "The last?"
    "There were others, but they were taken out yesterday."
    "By who? The same men who brought me here?"
    "Yes.” Marie's voice was almost a whisper but the fear was clear in her voice.
    Following her lead, Abby lowered her voice. “I'm Abby. What do they want with us?"
    The girl choked out her own sob as Abby waited. Many minutes passed before she answered. “One of the women said we are to be sold as slaves. Auctioned off."
    Abby felt as if someone had just hit her with a sledgehammer. Nothing she had ever experienced could have prepared her for that moment. “This has to be a mistake. No.” She shook her head even though the other woman couldn't see the movement. “It's a sick joke. You must be wrong; we must be hostages or something. Held for ransom.” Moments passed. Marie said nothing, just lowered herself to the floor beside Abby. The reality crept slowly into Abby's bones. “No, no, no,” was all she could say.
    Footsteps sounded outside the door.
    "Shh,” called Marie. “They are returning."
    Two familiar voices, and a third. This