Cimmerian Sunrise

Chapter 20 - ***REVISED***

Breanne's body, cramped and furled within the scratchy burlap, swung through the air and slammed against a hard muscled back. The gag in her mouth swallowed the grunt escaping her at the impact.

When she screamed with all the force in her lungs, the sound barely escaped...muffled and faint. She began to kick frantically, twisting and writhing her hips and shoulders, jerking her bound arms – anything she could do to break free from the sack; then she felt the sharp prick of the knife's point, hung up as it was within the folds of her gown, stabbing into her swollen belly. Instantly, she stilled, her tear streaked face frozen in a combination of fear and hope.

She'd found the knife! Rather, it had found her...yet with every step that jostled her as the intruder descended the stairs, with every move, the knife's sharp tip became even more painful as it dug into her rotund abdomen. Delirious laughter bubbled up within her, only to give way to anguished sobs. She'd snatched the knife to protect herself...and now...now she might very well die from it...at any moment it could kill both her and her babe.

Her eyes squeezed shut as sobs consumed her, stifled only by the cotton cloth stuffed into her mouth and tied around the back of her head.

In that moment, the air changed, seeping through the sackcloth. Breanne's eyes opened, and she tried to get a sense of where she was. She could feel the wind cooling her tears and see tiny pieces of moonlight streaming through each individual hole of the sack. Her eyes darted around, endeavoring to peer outside – to glimpse her surroundings.

Whoever had her – it was but one person – and they moved fast.

She barely registered the gentle sound of a horse neighing – closed her eyes and said a quick prayer when she felt her body flying through the air again. This was it. if she landed on the knife she was dead.

Another grunt escaped her as her side slammed against the horse's smooth and sturdy flank. Heart pounding, her eyes popped open again– she felt the horse shift a bit as the rider silently mounted – felt smooth, cool, serrated silver at her feet.

Her shoulders fell in relief that the knife had dislodged from her gown to fall to the bottom of the sack – yet as the rider began galloping, it bounced within it, painfully scraping her ankles, her calves, and her feet.

As distance grew between the MacIntosh settlement and herself, fear crashed into her like a breaking wave upon a cliffside; there would be no one to save her -- no rescuer. For all her talk of not leaving this world easily...she was going to die easily...helplessly.

Her bound arms could not wrap themselves around her unborn babe. Her gagged mouth could not scream or wail even in its utter desolation. She was simply going to die. Trickling tears and the wretchedness through her very core were manifest to herself alone.

She had failed. As she had always failed.

She'd failed herself.

She'd failed her babe.

She'd failed Adam......... No.

Breanne's eyes opened again, swollen from tears, her cheeks stiff from the salt of them.

No.

She had promised herself she wouldn't fail Adam again. She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

She had snatched that knife for a reason, and though that reason was carrying her off into the distant unknown, she would not die without a fight. If he wished to do her in, she would not make the task an easy one.