Beneath the Forsaken City by C. E. Laureano Page A

dance, so Aine found herself a seat on a rock out of the way of camp preparations. Unfortunately that brought her closer to their prisoner than she wished to be.
    “Girl,” Lord Gabhran called to her.
    She stiffened, but she ignored him.
    “You might as well tell me. Why does Lord Riagain want you so badly?”
    Aine turned her head away and fixed her eyes on the crackling fire, determined not to answer him.
    “Are you a witch? Is that why my lord wants you? You know, your aunt takes a dim view of witchcraft. You might have been better off at Brightwater.” Gabhran paused, and his tone was softer when he next spoke. “I’m sorry, you know. It was bad of me not to stop him sooner.”
    Aine jumped to her feet and spun to face him. “Sooner? Don’t fool yourself, Lord Gabhran. You are no more noble than the horse you ride. You would have let him have his way with me, and then perhaps you would have been convinced to have a turn.”
    Gabhran’s gaze raked her from head to toe, and a smile parted his lips. “You may be right on that. You are a beautiful woman, Aine Nic Tamhais. Especially when you’re angry.”
    “No.” Her voice shook with the effort of holding herself in check. Sigurd stood by, his eyes flicking between them, but he didn’t look inclined to intervene. “I’m not angry. I’m furious.”
    Her eyes homed in on the dagger at Sigurd’s waist. Before either of the men could react, she yanked the mercenary’s blade from the sheath and fell upon the prisoner. She jerked his head back by a handful of hair and pressed the point of the dagger to the soft spot beneath his jaw.
    Gabhran stiffened, not daring to move a muscle, his eyes wide with shock.
    “How does it feel, Lord Gabhran, being completely at another’s mercy?” She put more pressure on the blade, and a spot of blood appeared at the point. “Knowing that any moment, I could kill you or maim you and there’s nothing you can do about it? That’s what fear tastes like.”
    “Aine.” Taran’s hand touched Aine’s shoulder.
    “Someone stop her!” Gabhran appealed first to Taran, then to Sigurd. “The woman is mad!”
    Sigurd crossed his arms across his chest and stared at Gabhran, his expression never changing.
    “Stop me? Like you stopped your man back there?”
    “Aine, that’s enough.”
    Taran’s quiet voice broke through her anger. She withdrew the blade from Gabhran’s throat and turned away, her heart pounding so hard it crushed the air from her chest. Fury still surged through her veins. For a moment, she’d considered killing him, and Taran wouldn’t have stopped her. She blew out her breath and found that her whole body was shaking.
    Taran cleared his throat behind her. “My lady?”
    Aine didn’t turn. When she spoke, her voice was clogged with unshed tears. “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be. It’s rather less than he deserves. Lord Gabhran incites bloodlust in every woman he comes across, I’d think.” His tone was joking, but Aine heard the steel beneath it. He had just as much reason   —more, really   —to want the man dead as Aine did.
    “You are allowed to be angry,” he continued. “But the man who threatened you is dead, and Lord Gabhran will wish he was once he reaches your aunt’s dungeons.”
    “I wanted to kill him,” Aine whispered. “I could have. I never thought I was capable of such a thing. What is it about this place that makes one have such savage thoughts?”
    “Aron is a hard place, my lady. You were just too young and sheltered to see it before. The strong and the savage prey on the weak and the helpless. It’s not right, but that’s the way it is.”
    Aine faced Taran, and for the first time, she glimpsed the pain behind his hard veneer. He was no longer the hired sword but rather a father still mourning the loss of a child. Was that what he had meant when he’d said Comdiu had abandoned him? Was that why he was helping her? As penance, or perhaps as a chance to save someone