Waters attempted to remove his own, and his bracelet would not budge either.
“What do we do?” Waters asked, his voice rising a notch.
“We’ll get them off tomorrow,” Thatcher said. “The Raven will help.”
“We can’t tell the Raven. He’ll kill us for trying to steal from him.”
“I can make him understand,” Thatcher assured him. “Now go back to sleep.”
Fools.
The Raven would never understand. And he didn’t deal lightly with those who betrayed him.
Fielding wouldn’t have to wait much longer. He needed them to doze off for only a little while before they’d be too bleary-headed to fight him. He checked his waistband for the pistol and found it snugly in place. Ten minutes later Thatcher’s loud snores echoed through the dungeon.
Fielding waited a little longer before he crept down from his ledge and into their makeshift camp. Snagging Thatcher’s bag with the box hidden inside proved easy enough, as was snuffing out their lanterns, leaving only the remnants of their fire as light. But as Fielding turned to go, he saw her.
Her frail body hung limply from the manacles, and her brown hair was matted with dirt and a small patch of blood. Her nightdress was covered in Thatcher’s muddy handprints.
Blast it all.
There was no way Fielding could leave her here. He glanced over his shoulder. The two men were still sleeping, so he slowly moved to stand in front of the woman. He tightened the cinch on the bag to ensure it was secure over his shoulder before placing one hand firmly against her mouth. Her eyes flew open, but his hand muffled the sound she made.
He shook his head. “Be quiet,” he whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to get you out of here. Nod if you understand.”
Her wide eyes rounded, but she nodded nonetheless. “If I move my hand away from your mouth, do you promise not to scream?”
She nodded fervently.
He waited a few heartbeats, then he slowly took his hand away.
“Please hurry,” she urged.
Reaching up, he worked on the right brace, nudging the pin out of its confines. The rusted metal scraped and groaned as it moved, but it eventually gave way and he was able to remove her hand. Being hung from the wall as long as she’d been, her movements would be unsteady and sluggish. He couldn’t afford to be slowed by her. As she lowered her arm, she winced, confirming his suspicions.
The men stirred. Fielding and the woman froze, waiting to see if either man awoke, but the snoring continued.
He moved to remove the other pin, but unlike its counterpart, this one would not budge.
“He had trouble with that one,” she whispered.
Fielding nodded and continued trying to work the pin out, but it remained lodged firmly in place. If he’d had a sword he could have snapped the chain in half, but seeing as he wasn’t in the habit of carrying swords around with him, that wasn’t an option. There was something he could do, although it would most certainly wake Waters and Thatcher. He didn’t even know this woman, and already she was more trouble than he’d wager she was worth.
But damn it all, he couldn’t leave her.
With brusque motions, he began to run his hands along the skin of her arms, massaging the tender flesh there.
She gasped. “What are you doing?” she asked in a whispered hiss.
“Kneading your muscles.”
“Well, I insist you stop at once. It’s most improper! Furthermore, I can do it myself once you release me.”
“Once I release you,” he explained with forced patience, “we are going to have to move quickly. A cramped muscle could mean the difference between life and death.” He paused to meet her gaze. “Understand?”
Her eyes were wide in the darkness, her breath coming in nervous pants, but she nodded.
He returned to the task at hand, working on her arms first and then turning his attention to her legs, which were longer than he expected for a woman of her diminutive height and surprisingly sturdy. Supporting her feet, he bent first one knee and then the other, massaging the muscles of her calves and thighs as he did so. Her sinewy flesh convulsed beneath his touch.