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and fell flat on his face.
    Sharp rocks cut into his chin and forehead.
    Before he had chance to draw breath, hands locked onto Konáll’s wrists and jerked him over and onto his back.
    Rough fingers manacled his ankles.
    Instinctively, he kicked and yanked on the restraining hands.
    A blade bit into his side.
    He froze. Squinted through the cold raindrops battering his eyes, and choked back a howl.
    Ambush.
    At least a dozen men encircled him.
    Four warriors held him down. Another squatted beside him slowly tracing a dagger across his midsection. Konáll sucked in a breath, hollowing his belly.
    “Who be you, warrior?” The streaming drops did little to cleanse the thick layer of grime coating the man’s countenance. He wore a patch over one eye, and Konáll knew with a sinking stomach ’twas the Pict, Bagan One-Eye.
    “My liege!” The bellow came from behind Konáll’s head. “We found her!”
    Konáll choked back a howl of sheer frustration. He had not considered obscuring the cave’s entrance.
    Bagan One-Eye lurched to his feet and pointed his knife at Konáll. “Bind him. He lives. For now. Bring him along.”
    The Pict and a couple of his men vanished between the rocks.
    Konáll scanned the five armed bandits left behind, but afore he could make a move to escape, they trussed him like a pig ready for slaughter. All the while, swords and knives slashed ominously close to his cock amidst much ribaldry and vulgar jests. All centered on making Konáll an eunuch.
    “Move.” A warrior prodded Konáll in the stomach.
    Two of the others hauled him to his feet.
    “Make haste lest you lose your balls with a slip of my knife.”
    The man inserted the long steel blade of his weapon between Konáll’s thighs. He worked his jaw and concentrated on climbing the cliff face and avoiding castration. By the time they crested the trail and entered the cavern, blood ran down his back and thighs from the myriad wounds delivered by the bawdy Picts.
    It took a few moments to grow accustomed to the cave’s shadows. Konáll stifled a bellow when he saw Nyssa staked out on the floor, much as he had been earlier. The bastards had ripped her tunic and sliced her leggings to reveal her breasts and a slash of pale curls at the juncture of her legs.
    Konáll snapped his teeth together and snaked a sidelong glance at the arrow rock near the back of the cave, behind which lay his other weapons, his spare sword, three daggers, and a crossbow.
    Not a man would see the morrow.
    “She be a fine woman, the Lady Nyssa.” Bagan squatted beside Nyssa. He traced the tip of his dagger around one firm, mounded breast and outlined the pale serpent birthmark she had inherited from Rán. “A maiden. ’Twill be my pleasure to breach her sweet puss.”
    Nyssa tossed her head away from Bagan’s malevolent scrutiny and met Konáll’s gaze.
    She blinked and for a second he saw a flare of hope in her stormy eyes before she shuttered them.
    “You take her now, brother?” The warrior who spoke was stout, bearded, and of short stature. “And we have a turn after. Then we burn her and gain our reward.”
    Cheers, shouted lewd suggestions, guffaws, and roars echoed off the hollow stone walls. The noise rose to a deep rumble. The men crowded around Bagan and Nyssa forming a tight circle.
    None paid Konáll any heed as he edged to the back of the crowd and shuffled to the arrow rock. The dense shadows hid his movements and all eyes were focused elsewhere. He dropped to his knees, then onto his side on the floor, felt for his knife, grasped the blade, ignored the deep gouge in his palm, and began sawing the ropes binding him.
    The ferocious snarl of Nyssa’s cat deafened all other sound.
    Konáll had managed to work a few of the ropes free. He scrambled to a sitting position, glanced around the rock, and grinned. Mús had Bagan One-Eye’s brother by the neck and whipped him back and forth.
    Shrieks, screeches of terror, and agonized screams rang out. Men