Coffee Break Read – Mir

She struggled into wakefulness, aware in every fibre of her being that something was very wrong. She was laying on what felt like a wooden bench with her hands crossed on her stomach. Some effort had been made to make her comfortable as there was a cushion under her head and a light blanket over her body. The sound of feet on a wooden floor cautioned her to lay doggo.
“She’s still asleep.”
“Leave her then. Orders was not to touch her. Ole Eagle Feather wants her for himself.”
The feet retreated and she heard the sound of a door being shut. Not being anyone’s fool she kept herself still and her breathing even, her patience was rewarded by the creak of leather as whoever else was in the room breathed quietly. In the end he moved over to her and she could feel the weight of his stare.
“Durn fool woman,” he muttered, “why’d you have to go and make an enemy of that evil bastard.”
Then he moved away and Mir heard him go out and shut the door behind him. This time there was also the unmistakable clunk of a locking bar.
Mir sat up cautiously to find herself alone in a wooden-walled room. Alone. Where was Cuchilo? Worry for him settled on her like a heavy cloak threatening her ability to breathe properly. She was afraid and she badly wanted to cry but she pushed those weaknesses roughly aside. Wherever Cuchilo was he was almost bound to be needing her help and a hysterical woman would be no help to nobody. No. Right now she needed to think. To her surprise she wasn’t tied up and, aside from taking away her boots, and the knives hidden in them, it seemed like very little attempt had been made to secure her.
It went without saying that the knife sheath at her belt was empty as was the one between her shoulder blades. On the bright side, though, whoever had searched her had been too polite to find the slender blades sewn into her stays. She crept over to the window to find it glassless but barred with stout black iron. Her spirit sunk. How the hell was she going to get out, and what had they done with Cuchilo?
Her head dropped and she felt the cold hand of despair at the back of her neck. For a second she was almost done, but then logic raised its head. There was indeed a cold breeze playing with the hair at the nape of her neck, but where was it coming from?

The Redhead, The Rogue & The Railroad by Jane Jago is now available on pre-order.

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