Good Morning to you all!
Because I have a new book that’s just come out (April 6th), I thought I might post an excerpt of the new book. Now, I am going to be giving out a copy of the new book, SENECA SURRENDER, to some blogger today. So come on in and leave a comment. 🙂
In this excerpt, the heroine, Sarah, is abducted by enemy Indians, the Ottawa. I must warn you. that this excerpt contains images and narrative of torture.
“Evening came at a much faster pace than Sarah would have liked. At present, she and her two captors had stopped and set up camp. Sarah was sitting upright against a tree, tied to it with a rope around her waist; also there was one tied around her hands, which had been positioned in front of her. The rope around her hands chafed and cut into her skin, and she could see blood oozing from the sores. The rope around her waist, though restrictive, was merely uncomfortable. Looking down, she despaired at the state of her skirts and her bodice, which were both torn and frayed, and her pettiocats, which were both beyond repair. Plus, to her shame, these men hadn’t granted her the courtesy to allow her to relieve herself along the trail. Somewhere in their trek this day, nature had had its way.
She’d never felt so wretched, nor so dirty.
The two Indians were busying themselves with a fire, and it was a big one. They said nothing to her — not that she would have been able to understand them had they tried. But human decency would have thought they would have at least ventured to attempt it.
What were they planning for her? The question was one that was likely to drive her mad if she didn’t gain an answer to it, and soon. If her death were fated this night, knowing it seemed more preferable than being caught unaware.
Of course, she’d never been more frightened. Nor had she ever felt more alone. Death awaited. She knew it. It was there in the way those men looked at her, and in the way they treated her.
But how were they going to go about it? Was it to be painful?
There was every indication that it would be so. Even now, she watched them as they sharpened their knives and their tomahawks. They were even priming their weapons.
Where was White Thunder?
Many hours had passed since her capture. Hours that had been spent fleeing along an obvious trail, her feet flying over ground covered with moss, slime and dead leaves. At times she’d been dragged when she’d fallen and couldn’t keep up with the pace. During those times, it had always been a struggle to get back to her feet. Sometimes she’d managed it, sometimes they had simply dragged her.
Surely they had left tracks that White Thunder could follow…if he were still alive.
Presently, one of the Indians rose to his feet and stepped toward her. Watching him, realizing that his intention toward her was hardly social, she gathered her courage. Without warning, he flew at her and grabbed a handful of her hair. He pulled, practically plucking it out by its roots. Then he spit upon it. Then her.
Sarah looked away from him, but the warrior forced her face back toward him.
“Our brother…killed. English, too, kill…my father. You…pay. Will die in fire.”
Though the Indian held her face so she couldn’t glance away. Sarah refused to look at him, her gaze centered downward. Tears slipped over her cheeks.
“You cry now…cry more…later. Torture first…before fire. You feel…much pain.”
He untied her from the tree.
He put some effort into making her rise, but Sarah refused to obey. If she were to be tortured, then die by the fire, why make it easy for him by cooperating? If the only defiance she had left in her was to sit while he wanted her to stand, then that was exactly waht she would do.
He pulled her roughly to her feet, but she immediately sank to the ground. The warrior repeated the same procedure twice.
Had it not been so serious, Sarah thought the situation might have appeared humorous. It as, however, anything but amusing.
Eventually, because the warrior couldn’t force her to stand, he let her sit. He came down onto his haunches before her and stuck his face in hers, smiling. His image was a horrible thing to behold, for his face was painted black, and the stark contrast to the white of his teeth made him resemble a walking skeleton.
All at once, he sliced away the bodice of her gown, as well as the sleeves of her chemise, leaving a large, red cut across her chest and exposing her entire upper body to the cold night air. Involuntarily, her cry shot thorough the night.
He tried to tear away her skirt, also, but she wore so many petticoats, her outer one being buckskin, that it became impossible. Eventually he gave up and said, “No matter. Soon you…feel manhood.” And he ripped away his breecloth, exposing a man partially aroused.
Sarah was sickened by the sight of him, by his smell and by the idea of what he intended to do to her. Indeed, what food she had left in her stomach, she lost.
But there was no mercy to be found in this Ottawa warrior’s manner. He laughed and squatted in front of her again.
Sarah gasped as he took out his knife and once more brandished it in front of her. He brought it toward her, slowly, slowly, watching for her reaction like a wolf cornering a rabbit. He sliced off a portion of her hair, grinning at her all the while. “We do this…all over…body.”
Exposed, vulnerable, Sarah began to wonder if part of the torture were pure fright. If so, he was being very successful.
Again, he waved that knife in front of her as he once more cut off a portion of her hair. But this time instead of her stomach losing its dinner, she lost what was left in her small intestines at the other end of her.
It was degrading, and perhaps that’s what decided her. If this were her fate, then so be it. The least she could do was to stop cowering in fear. Since that was exactly what he wanted, then she’d be darned if she would give it to him.
Thus, when next he came close, she took action, doing the first thing she could think of to do. After all, what did it matter? They were going to kill her in the most feminine, and probably the most horrible way possible.
She spit in his face.
Immediately he slapped her. But though the hit stung, it felt good. it was all she had…defiance…and so long as she was sane, she would resist him to the end.
She hadn’t counted on what happened next, however. He picked her up by her hair, brought a knife to her scalp and began to cut.
She screamed. And he laughed, the wickedness of his smile the last thing she beheld before she fell forward into a dead faint.
Yes, this is a romance — and of course it is true romance, and it ends well. Torture, however, at this time period, was more common than I would like to think. Anyway, come on in and leave a comment. I’d love to talk to you. 🙂
SENECA SURRENDER is on sale at bookstores everywhere, in your hometown and also online. Pick up your copy today.