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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1716959-Escape-Ch1
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by Tamara Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 18+ · Novel · Romance/Love · #1716959
Regency England romantic adventure.
    Isabelle squeezed her slender frame further behind the timber planks leaning against the southern wall of the alley.  She was cold and filthy, and lost in the labyrinth of twisting streets and alleys. She no more belonged here then the noble man now lying motionless at her feet. She knew why she was scurrying about like a rat hiding in alleyways. She was running from Wesley’s henchmen. But why was he in this God forsaken place? She held her breath willing herself not to shake as the men began to strip anything of value from the unconscious man. She closed her eyes and prayed they would leave without discovering her. She instinctively knew her fate would be far worse then what had befallen the gentleman if she were discovered.

  Dear lord, she had watched helplessly as a man was beaten to death not even attempting to intervene. She was a coward. Tears ran down Isabelle’s cheeks as she hazard a glance at the man on the ground. The man moaned and twisted his head fighting for consciousness. The cutthroats stopped stuffing their sacks and stared at the man.

    “The blokes still alive, Mick,” the beady-eyed runt of the group mumbled, as he finished stuffing the man’s boots into his knapsack. 

      “ Weel, we can’t be havin’ that lads…we were paid to finish off the nob,” the tall blond man said with a smile. He reached for a plank of wood and exposed a slender ankle.

    “Well, well, well…what have we here,” he chuckled as he yanked Isabelle out from her hiding place, cruel intentions plainly written on his face.

    The noble man was forgotten as the man ripped the front of her gown.  Acting instinctively, Isabelle struck out with ragged claws and released a piercing screaming before being savagely thrown against the brick wall by the angry blond man. His face now sporting angry red claw marks.

    “You like it rough do you?” he snarled into her ear as he slammed his hips against her.

    The noble man groaned loudly, distracting her attacker enough to allow Isabelle to bring her knee up to the area that was pressing intimately against her moments before.  The man doubled over with an audible “ouff” as Isabelle slid around him and began running down the twisting alley, the men in hot pursuit.

    She was not going to be able to out run them she thought as a sob stuck in her throat.  She slid around the corner of the alley into the winding narrow street and screamed for all she was worth, and prayed if anyone came to her rescue it not be the men who were searching for her.



  Nathaniel, Lord Huntley paused at the end of the street trying to discern where the woman’s scream had come from. He had come to the Dials with his brother Martin, and friend Wharton, in hopes of finding William, Lord Blackford. Thus far their search for Blackford had turned up nothing. His friend had been double-crossed, his connection had played him false. Nathaniel just prayed his friend wasn’t dead.

  The women screamed again a frantic terrorized sound. Although it was not uncommon to hear screams in this section of London all his instincts were firing, the hairs at the nape of his neck standing on edge. Nathaniel turned his mount west and began galloping down the narrow cobbled streets toward the sound of the commotion, his brother and friend following closely behind.



    Isabelle tripped over a missing cobblestone that had created a deep rut in the street, twisting her ankle and landing face first in the filth covered street. The men who had given chase surrounded her, one grabbing a handful of hair in an attempt to force her to her feet, another kicking her in the ribs when she did not rise fast enough. Isabelle was shoved from one man to another, hands grabbing and squeezing until she was dizzy with terror. Then they were gone scattering like sewer rats. At the end of the street three large men on horseback approached her at a full gallop. Isabelle fearing she had alerted the very men she was avoiding turned to run and fell as her twisted ankle refused to support her weight.

    The men reined in their horses just feet from her.

    Nathaniel dismounted and approached the women. “Are you all right?”

Isabelle was so relieved that the men who had rescued her were not any of Wesley’s men she almost fell at the man’s feet sobbing. Instead she gave a quick nod, as a relieved sob broke free.

  “Do you work this section of the Dials? Did a trick go sour?” the man asked as he squatted down beside her.

  Isabelle eyes widen as she realized he had mistaken her for a women of the night. The gratitude she had originally felt turned to self-preservation as she slid backwards away from the man fearing what reward he might request for rescuing her.

  “It’s all right I will not hurt you,” he murmured as he gently grasped her arms and pulled her to her feet, releasing her once she was steady.

  “We are searching for a friend, we will pay handsomely for any information. Have you seen him… a gentleman, blond hair, about six feet tall….”

  Isabelle gasped, she had indeed seen the man; he was the nobleman the men had attacked. He was probably dead by now.

  Nathaniel narrowed his eyes as she tried to back away. The women knew something and thought to run.

  “What do you know?” he asked as he grasped her arms in a punishing grip. The men on the mounted horses watched the exchange intensely, their previously bored expressions gone.

  “I know n-nothing,” she cried struggling to break free, panic making her voice shrill.

  “Don’t lie to me,” the man growled.  She knew something on that he would stake his life. Her lovely blue eyes gave her away. Guilt was written all over them. Who was the witch protecting.

  “Where is he?” he yelled giving her a firm shake.

  “Please,” she sobbed when he didn’t stop shaking her. Nathaniel released her as disgusted with himself as he was with her. He never lost his control, obviously two days without sleep was wearing on him.

  The woman sank to the cobblestone her left hand holding her torn gown over her bosom in a futile attempt at modesty.

  “He is in the alley a quarter mile from here,” she pointed back toward the direction she had run from. “That’s all I know. I’m sorry, I need to go,” she whispered as she attempted to rise and hobble away.

  Nathaniel felt his patience snap as he stopped her in her tracks. “You will go no where. You will lead us to our friend.  Pray for your sake the man is still alive.”



© Copyright 2010 Tamara (tazmjam at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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