Page 42 of Red Hawk's Woman

Where was he?

It was her first thought. Hadn’t Red Hawk agreed to be here tonight?

Her second concern was that she felt…odd, as though she had been drugged. Perhaps it was the wine she had shared with her colleagues before retiring. Certainly, she was unused to strong drink.

Effie glanced around the tiny room to get her bearings. After retiring to her room, she had positioned herself next to the window, intending to work while she awaited Red Hawk’s arrival. Beside her, on a small table, was a candle, the room’s only lighting.

Effie stretched up her arms and ran a hand over her forehead. It must be late, she decided—much too late to be awake and sitting in a chair. Why had she ever agreed to this secret rendezvous with a man she barely knew?

Intending to rise and dress for bed, Effie leaned over and blew out the candle. Immediately, two things happened. Her legs felt strange, as though she couldn’t move them, and on the far side of the room came the unmistakable sound of material scraping across the wooden floor. Looking up, Effie witnessed a dark shadow glide toward her.

“Mr. Hawk?” she called out.

There was no answer. She frowned. Shouldn’t he have said something?

Adrenaline pumped through her body. He would have answered, were it he who had slithered just now into the shadows.

She tried again. “Who is it?”

Silence.

She attempted to come to her feet. She couldn’t. She felt like she had been tied.

Tied?

Then she heard it, the quiet motion of a shadow as it drew closer to where she sat.

With her heart beating so swiftly she could hear it in her ears, she called out again, “Who are you?” though her voice was no more than a whisper.

Silence was her response.

It couldn’t be Red Hawk, for he would make himself known. She was certain it was so.

With this knowledge came a barrage of thoughts, each more frightening than the last. If not Red Hawk, then who was it? Her assailant of a few nights past? Was she to be assaulted yet again?

Instinctively, Effie knew she must get to her feet, but she couldn’t. Twisting slightly, silently, she found her answer quickly. She had indeed been tied. Not only were her feet bound, but the lower part of her body was lashed to the chair.

Terror washed through her, and involuntarily she screamed. Straightaway, a hand covered her mouth, replaced momentarily by a hanky, while her hands were jerked in front of her and tied.

A knife was shoved against her ribs. Effie shut her eyes, certain this was truly the end.

A gravelly, low-pitched voice said, “Where are they?” Effie endeavored to speak, but it was difficult to do when she was gagged. Again that odd voice said, “I will remove this hanky, but you are not to cry out. Just tell me where they are.”

This person took the hanky away, and although Effie had not intended it, instinct took over. She screamed, and she screamed and she kept on screaming, her voice high-pitched and deafening. Acting on impulse to avoid being butchered, she forced the chair sideways, away from her aggressor, bracing herself for the fall.

She heard the knife drop.

Effie screamed again, and this time added, “Help!”

Running footsteps sounded in the corridor outside her door.

“We will meet again,” said that horrible voice before her assailant turned and ran toward the window. Moonbeams caught and held his slender image, even as he disappeared into the night.

Someone pushed the door open.

As an assortment of flickering candles met Effie’s vision, she called out, “Over here. I’m on the floor, tied to this chair.”

Carl Bell rushed toward her.