Harri Unbound, page 1
Harri Unbound (Unbound 3)
Rebecca York
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Copyright ©2022 Rebecca York
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Editor: Angela Knight
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Table of Contents
Harri Unbound (Unbound 3)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Rebecca York
Harri Unbound (Unbound 3)
Rebecca York
When the ruthless magician Madrin dies, opportunists seek revenge for his cruelty. They kidnap his daughters, meaning to sell them into sexual slavery at a brutal club for sadistic, wealthy men. Lady Harri Madrin manages to escape before the doors close behind them and vows to rescue her sister, Morgan.
Gareth Lamb, the handsome son of a local merchant, finds Harri and hides her from her furious pursuers. When she begs him to help rescue her sister, he agrees. They decide to pretend she is his concubine so they can gain entry to the club to search for Morgan.
The master-slave charade forces them into sizzling erotic encounters. Soon, they fall in love, but Gareth knows he could never aspire to marriage with the high-born Lady Harri.
Though Harri’s magical abilities give them an edge, they’re badly outnumbered by the slavers. Even if they manage to rescue Morgan, will Gareth’s disapproving father disown him if they declare their love and attempt to marry?
Chapter One
Harri Madrin woke in her narrow bed in the dark hours of the night. For a moment she thought she might be dreaming -- until she realized there was some sort of disturbance in the convent, something she had never heard in this place of tranquility.
With moonlight streaming through the narrow window, she slipped across the stone floor of the small chamber to where her sister still slumbered. “Morgan, wake up. Something bad is happening.”
Her younger sister’s eyes blinked open as the sound of rough male voices came closer. Men in the convent? Never, unless there was some task that the vestals could not accomplish on their own. And never at night.
Sister Matilda rushed into the room. “Hurry, you must hide! They are after you.” She had always been kind to them, and now her wrinkled face was full of fear.
“Who? Why?”
“For revenge. Your father is dead.”
Harri felt nothing for her sire besides a flood of relief. In all her eighteen years, she had feared her father, the magician, Madrin. Now he would no longer rail at her for being born the wrong sex -- and for not inheriting any of his powers. Or so he thought. He was incorrect about the latter, but she had kept that knowledge from him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her talent. It was the same for her sister, Morgan.
“You must hide before they find you.” Sister Matilda urged.
“But where?”
“Come with me,” she pleaded.
“We must dress,” Morgan protested.
“No time.” The elderly vestal ushered them out of their room. The stone floor was cold on their bare feet as they followed the sister to a small chapel. She led them up the aisle to the front of the room, then removed two candlesticks and opened the top of the altar where they saw a deep cavity under the horizontal surface.
“In with you.”
The girls climbed into the box, curling on their sides and scrunching down to fit into the space.
“I will come back for you when it’s safe,” Sister Matilda promised before lowering the lid. The sound of metal hitting wood told Harri she had replaced the candlesticks.
Harri moved in the cramped space, trying to get comfortable. She froze when a rough male voice demanded, “What have you done with them?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying, you old bitch.”
“You dare such sacrilege?”
“You are no better than Madrin, sheltering his demon’s spawn.”
The words were followed by the sound of a hand slapping against flesh. Sister Matilda cried out in pain.
“Where are they?”
There was no answer, but Harri heard something hitting the floor. She crammed her fist against her mouth as she struggled not to scream.
Outside in the chapel, a whirlwind of destruction erupted -- heavy pews being tossed about, glass breaking. And then silence.
Harri trembled in their hiding place, and she could feel her sister’s similar vibrations.
Footsteps approached the altar, and she struggled to keep her teeth from chattering. A sweeping noise sent the candlesticks clattering to the stones. The top creaked up, and Harri cringed away.
“And what have we here?” A beam of moonlight came through a side window, and she saw a smirking face staring down at them. It belonged to a roughly dressed man with a thick red beard and dirty hair. A farmer or a workman.
Harri struggled to find her voice. “Why are you after us? We have done nothing.”
“Perhaps not, but your father made our lives a misery for years.”
“He made our lives a misery, too.”
The man laughed. “Do you expect me to believe that? You lived in that big castle with guards and servants to do your bidding and had everything you wanted.”
“We lived in this convent more than we lived there.”
“So you say. But it doesn’t matter. He bled the fiefdom of Glencarn dry for years. Now he’s dead and we can’t reach him. You are still alive -- and you will fetch a handful of gold coin.”
He reached in and pulled her from the hiding place. Another similarly dressed man pulled Morgan out. His head and face were clean shaven so that he resembled one of the bowling balls players used on the green outside the convent. The two girls stood barefoot and shivering on the cold floor.
The men inspected their captives.
“They are pretty,” Red Beard observed. “With delicate features and nicely shaped duckies.” For emphasis, he prodded one of Harri’s breasts before running his dirty fingers through her long blond hair. Morgan was similarly examined.
“In their nighties,” Red Beard added. “We can fuck them right here in the chapel.”
“Sacrilege,” Baldy muttered. “And they will fetch a better price if they are virgins.”
Red Beard reconsidered. “True.”
“The cart is waiting.”
The men hustled them toward the back of the chapel where Sister Matilda lay groaning on the floor. She wasn’t dead, thank the gods.
“Let me attend her,” Harri pleaded.
“Someone else will do it later,” Red Beard growled as he herded her out of the chapel and through the halls. None of the sisters were in sight, and Harri knew they were too fearful to put up a protest.
They reached the convent gates, where a man with a waited. He had a bushy brown beard, and when Harri saw he was smoking a pipe, her heart leaped. Could she use her power and set the pipe on fire? They could use the distraction to escape… But he stopped and banged out the tobacco when they arrived.
With the pipe in his pocket, he reached into the cart and pulled out four lengths of rope. The men tied the girls’ hands and feet before hoisting them into the straw-filled cart and setting off. Red Beard joined the driver. Baldy mounted a horse that was tied to the cart.
“Where are you taking us?” Harri choked out.
“Quiet, if you don’t want a gag in your pretty little mouth.” He gave the reins a snap, and the horse started off.
* * *
The cart jounced along through countryside Harri did not recognize. She guessed they were not going back to Glencarn.
Harri moved her face close to Morgan’s ear. “What do you think they will do with us?”
“Nothing good,” Morgan whispered.
“I told you to keep quiet,” Red Beard spat out.
Harri pressed her lips together and rested her head on Morgan’s shoulder. Silently she prayed that there w
Dawn found them still in open country. But soon they began seeing houses in the fields, then buildings along the road. The dirt track gave way to cobblestone streets.
Harri raised her head, looking around. This was no small town like the one in Glencarn, her father’s fiefdom. This was a city, bigger than anything she had ever imagined.
They turned off the cobbled street into a packed dirt alley. A large stone building lay beyond. The driver climbed down and stretched his legs, then walked over to a stone wall, turned his back to the cart, and pissed. Harri had never seen such behavior and goggled.
Returning to the cart, he said to his friend, “We should untie their legs so they can walk.”
The men unknotted the ropes from around their ankles but left their hands tied.
“Go in and tell the slave master we’ve brought the merchandise.”
Slave master? Gods, no. Harri cringed.
Brown Beard kept his eye on them as he leaned against a nearby tree and took out his pipe.
Harri glanced at Morgan. “Be ready,” she whispered. Her sister knew what she was about and tensed.
Harri focused on Brown Beard, praying that he would light the pipe. When he tipped tobacco into it from a leather pouch, her heart leaped. Then she waited for endless ages for him to strike flint against iron.
Help me, Aeron, she whispered in her mind to the fire god. I have never needed you more. Help me now.
Finally, her captor lit the pipe, and she focused on the spark. It landed in the tobacco in the bowl of the pipe and began to smolder. The man drew on the pipe, increasing the little fire.
Harri helped him, summoning the powerful god who had first come to her when she was a toddler. Now he did her bidding.
Suddenly the tobacco flared up, a huge tongue of flame reaching out to the man’s beard and catching it on fire. He screamed, dropped the pipe, and began batting out the flames with his hands.
Harri leaped out of the cart and darted down the alley, Morgan right behind her. But then, so was Baldy. He reached out and grabbed the first girl he could reach.
Morgan screamed. Harri wanted to turn and help, but she knew that would be a mistake. If she stopped, they’d both be caught. She could only keep running and pray she could get away. Free, she could rescue her sister.
Behind them, Brown Beard roared as his beard flamed.
Harri came to an open gate and ducked into a large courtyard with a privy at one side and laundry hanging on lines at the other side. Hearing feet pounding up the alley, she knew she had to hide. There was a hedge along the back wall of the house. She dived behind it and lay trembling in the dirt.
In the next moment, a sharp voice called out, “Hey, you. What are you doing on this property?”
Harri was about to answer when she realized the questioner was not talking to her.
“We was chasin’ an escaped slave, Guv'nah,” a voice answered. “Do you mind if we have a look ’round?”
“I certainly do. Be off with you.”
“But --”
“Get off this property!”
Harri heard the shuffling of feet and then silence. Still trembling, she lay where she was.
“You can come out now,” the voice said, the sharp tone gone.
* * *
Herbert, the chief of staff at Castle Glencarn, hesitated outside Prince Gawain’s door. He knew the prince was trying to sort out the tangled affairs of the fiefdom he had acquired less than a fortnight ago. The previous ruler, the magician Madrin, had been a cruel and self-absorbed man. He had set aside vast sums of money for his own use, leaving the common people in poverty. Gawain was trying to remedy that situation.
Now Herbert was coming to the prince with another problem. He swallowed hard before knocking on the door.
“Come,” Gawain called out, an edge of annoyance in his voice.
Herbert stepped inside and crossed to the desk where his new liege was sorting through a vast pile of reports. The prince gave him a long look. “I see you are coming to me with yet another headache.”
“Yes, my lord.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I have just received an urgent message from the Convent of Holy Mother Enid.”
It seemed to take Gawain a moment to recollect why he should be concerned about a nunnery. “Oh yes,” he finally said. “That is where Madrin’s daughters are living.” He shook his head. “I have put off dealing with them. Are they giving the sisters some trouble?”
“No, my lord. A fast rider has come with word that they have been abducted.”
Gawain stared at him, thunderstruck. “I thought they were one complication I could set aside for the nonce.”
Herbert waited for instructions. When they came, he scurried off to do his liege’s bidding.
* * *
Harri was afraid to move, but just as afraid her inadvertent rescuer would pull her from the bushes. Seeing no other option, she scrambled up awkwardly and found herself facing a man. He looked to be in his early twenties, with dark hair and dark eyes. His lips were nicely shaped, and his face was clean shaven.
He was studying her with the same interest she had in him. “You don’t look like a slave,” he observed dryly.
She raised her chin. “I am not.”
He came closer, and she struggled not to flinch as he observed her tied hands. “Let me help you with those ropes.”
She had little experience of men. But this one had run off her captors. She wished she knew more about him. His fingers were warm and deft as they worked at the knots, and his touch made her pulse quicken. When her hands were free, he threw the rope behind a bush and stepped back.
Harri rubbed her wrists, which were chafed from the bonds.
“Who are you, and how did you come to be bound up like that?”
Could she trust him? It was impossible to know for sure. She would have to feel her way. Finally, she said, “My sister and I were kidnapped from the convent where we were living.”
He tipped his head to the side, eyeing her modest nightgown. “Are you a holy sister?”
“No. Our father sent us there to be educated.” She paused for a moment before adding, “We spend part of our time at home.” She didn’t say it was a very small part.
He looked like he wanted to ask her another question. Instead, he said, “You cannot stay here.”
* * *
Harri fought to hold back tears, but she felt them welling in her eyes. “Please, sir, don’t turn me over to those men.”
He gave her a reassuring look. “I have no intention of doing such.”
Harri couldn’t stop herself from trembling. When he saw her quavering, he closed the distance between them again and reached out, pulling her into his arms and stroking her back. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “I did not mean I would turn you over to them. I meant we have to leave. This is my father’s house, and those men may come back looking for you. You must be gone before they return.”
She was still struggling to conquer her emotions. “Aye. Thank you. But where would I go?”
“For the nonce, I will take you home. My house is not quite so grand as this, but it will do.”
As he held her, she leaned her head against his shoulder, comforted by his strength. But things were happening too fast for her to deal with them. First, she and Morgan had been abducted. Now, this man was going to take her home -- an exceedingly improper arrangement. “I… I don’t even know you.”
“I am Gareth Lamb.”
“But who are you?” she pressed. His clothing told her he was wellborn, perhaps not of the nobility, but well-placed.
“My father, Sydney Lamb, has a company that buys and sell goods. I have joined him in the enterprise.
A factor. At least that was respectable.
“And who are you?” he asked.
She could lie to him, but it had never been one of her better skills. Unsure of his reaction, she dragged in a breath and let it out before saying. “Harri Madrin.”
He stiffened. “As in Madrin the mage?”
“Aye.”
“He is a man to be feared. Who would dare kidnap you?”
“He was a man to fear. He is dead now. Men who hated him took us.”
