Beneath Cruel Fathoms (The Bitter Sea Trilogy Book 1) by Deen Anela & Deen Anela

Author:Deen, Anela & Deen, Anela [Deen, Anela]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Fine Fables Press
Published: 2019-05-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Isaura almost dropped the clay bowls in her hands at Jurek’s ferocious shout.

“Stand back from her ladyship!”

A whistle erupted from the sitting room. Leonel. Oh piglets! She’d forgotten to tell her brother someone else was here. Jurek was already strung tighter than a weaver’s loom because of Lady Katrin’s condition. If he came upon a stranger—

Shoving the bowls onto the cluttered bench, she whirled around to dash into the corridor.

She’d taken one step when the kitchen door crashed open. She screamed, losing precious time to react when four armed men strode into the house. They carried short swords, already drawn, flintlocks at their hips, and expressions that conveyed no intention for words. The kitchen was small and the men moved too quick to avoid. One of them locked a hand around her arm. Her free hand swept over the bench beside her. Landed on the pestle. She gripped it in her fist and brought down like a hammer on the man’s temple. He crumpled without a sound.

Everything stopped for a moment. Stunned silence fell as the other men stared down at their comrade. So did Isaura. Gods, she hadn’t killed him, had she?

Then one of the men let out a truly horrific stream of curses and pulled his flintlock. He aimed it at Isaura. She hurled a bowl at him, knowing it would be too late. A roar sounded from the hallway and the man glanced away. Jurek charged into the room and another of the intruders shifted to meet him. The bowl landed. The pistol went off.

The sleeve of her dress split open. Hot pain scorched her upper arm. She gasped, but found no blood, her skin and the fabric singed. She didn’t have time inspect it. All three assailants focused on Jurek. He wielded only a dagger, but he moved with such speed and ferocity, he gave them no quarter to attack. Not even to draw their pistols.

“Stand down, Captain,” one of them growled. He pointed at his chest, drawing her eye to the insignia over his leathers. “We’re with the enforcers. Lord Aron sent us to collect you.”

Lord Aron. Isaura’s heart raced. Jurek had barely arrived with Lady Katrin. How had they known to find them here? And why did they speak as though Jurek had committed a crime?

These and any other questions didn’t appear to matter to her brother.

“I don’t care if the All-Father sent you,” Jurek snarled. “You attack my family’s house. My sister. I’ll carve your heart from your chest.”

The trio lunged at him at once. Jurek ducked the swipe of one short sword, met another with the dagger blade, and grabbed the arm that wielded the third with his free hand. Skilled as he was, her brother wouldn’t last against so many in such limited space. Isaura didn’t care if they were enforcers acting on a nobleman’s orders. She wouldn’t stand by while they killed them.

Isaura snatched up the paring knife. She might have worn her bracers last night, but it had been a long time since she last wielded a knife.

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