Clara was sure that it was not proper for her to touch a man she did not know, but a stumble from Briar Rose made her mind up for her. She latched onto Bracus, and rested her head against his broad back.
Bracus tried not to physically show the Princess how much he enjoyed the contact. But he couldn't help shifting on the horse to put him infinitesimally closer to her embrace.
Clara sighed. She knew she should not feel remotely safe, yet he had not harmed her. She was Outside, and there was nothing she could do for Charles. She frowned slightly. She wished with all her heart she knew what was happening to him right now. However, she needed to persevere. Soon, she may have a life Outside. Perhaps a plan to regain her father's kingdom could be fashioned in a way that he would be proud of.
Clara yawned against Bracus's back just as the sun made its way over the top of the southern mountains. The tangerine glow painted the path with golden light. The rhythm of the horse beneath lulled her, and she felt sleep pulling her under.
Bracus felt Clara's breathing change and knew that she had fallen asleep. He slowed Briar Rose to a halt and her body began to slide away from his. He gently repositioned her in front of him where she fit in the cradle of his arm perfectly. As his right arm held her, he grasped the reins in his left, gently kicking Briar Rose's side and she continued to walk.
Joseph came abreast of him on his steed, a great chocolate beast. “She sleeps. That is good.” He gazed down at her, curled against Bracus's chest.
Bracus looked down upon her, knowing she probably would not have wanted to be held so intimately. But in sleep he could hold her as he wished.
After another hour of riding, Clara’s weight began to numb his arm. At last, the Band reached the clan's gate.
Bracus came alert immediately. People ran around in a panic. He tightened his grip on Clara.
Something was wrong.
He felt the weapons against his horse's flank and was comforted by their presence. His throat slits opened wide to gather oxygen in preparation for the unknown.
Philip galloped up to Bracus's side from his position as rear guard. “What is the trouble here?”
“I do not know, but we had best find out.”
Philip nodded, twirling his finger in a circle above his head. Stephen and Matthew began on opposite ends of the clan's large barrier fence to begin a perimeter reconnaissance. If something were amiss, they would find it. Their horses’ thundering departure was not heard above the noise of the people's panic.
****
The lead guard at the gate, Oliver, ran to Bracus. “Captain Goodman…” he said, not even bothering with a nod. “The girl from the well...”
“Evelyn?” Bracus nearly yelled, and Clara stirred. He kept his hold firm. He would not have her away from him and out of his sight. But he needed to have both hands at the ready.
“Yes, sir.” He wrung his hands. “It appears that she has been taken by the fragment.”
Oh dear Lord, she is but a child, Bracus thought. Dread pooled like rotten meat in his entrails.
Oliver looked at Clara with open curiosity.
“How?” Bracus barked.
Clara opened her eyes and saw that she was in the circle of Bracus's arms. She sat up, feeling ridiculous and groggy. She saw people running. She rubbed her eyes and pushed her hair away from her face. The tie that bound it was long gone.
Bracus kept his arm around Clara, pulling her against his chest as he felt her stiffen. “There is a problem, and I need my hands free, but I need you protected.” He spoke quietly against her ear. “If I let you down, would you stay by my side?”
Clara nodded. She was not interested in another problem, and she felt ill prepared. Her mind was fuzzy. She was tired and hungry and wished to get out of her royal garb, an absurd thing to wear while riding a horse.
Bracus held her arms as she slid down the horse's side. She looked up at him. The bruising of her face was better today, but it made his guts clench to see it. He would never become accustomed to the sight.
Oliver came around the side of the horse to approach Clara, but Bracus said, “No, attend the gate. I will assign someone from the Band to the Princess.”
“Captain... I need...” Joseph began.
Anna, good Lord, the females. If the young girl was taken, who else?
“Yes, go to her now.”
Joseph galloped headlong to the gate. People scurried out of his way.
Philip was the only one left. “Stay with Clara,” Bracus ordered tersely. He must see what had happened to Evelyn... how it happened.
He and Philip looked at each other for a swollen moment then Philip nodded. They needed each other now more than ever.
Bracus kicked Briar Rose's sides, and she galloped to the gate.
To the answers.
****
Bracus all but threw his reins at Jonathan, who caught them deftly, his face grave.
“Captain.”
He was the first person on the inside, he had seen and should know more than Oliver, who had been in no position to leave the gate.
“What has happened to Evelyn? What of the other females?” Bracus barked.
“All are here, sir. It is only Evelyn.” Jonathan shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“How could this happen?” Bracus said, somewhat more gently.
“She went to pick the berries.”
“By herself?”
He shook his head. “Nay, her father accompanied her.”
Bracus closed his eyes for a moment. Opening them, he grasped Jonathan's shoulder, giving it a small shake. “Speak.” He dropped his hand.
Jonathan looked down, a tremor in his voice. “I told her not to go this day. I told her it was safer to pick a day the Band was all here.” Bracus nodded encouragement, and he continued. “But she insisted. You know how she is, stubborn.”
He knew.
“She argued that her father would be with her.” Jonathan’s eyes betrayed his frustration. “And I told her it was not enough. That the fragment was about, that they could be overwhelmed. She would not listen. She never listens. I could have protected her!” he shouted, his fists clenched, the knuckles bleeding to white.
Bracus shook his head. “Did her father protect her?”
“He tried.”
“What of him?”
“Massacred.”
Bracus groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. A male dead, and a precious female gone. Were the fragment so desperate that they would take a female who was not yet ready? He shuddered. They must reclaim her.
He looked down at the angry boy. “You could have done nothing. Do not assume the guilt for this. Her own father died at the hands of the fragment. We will retrieve her.”
He nodded. “When?”
Bracus's thoughts shifted... Clara.
“Today, as soon as we can restore our energy and pack our supplies.”
Clara and Philip approached, he a head and a half taller than she, his huge hands holding his mount's reins, the beast's sides glistening from the travel.
Philip cocked an eyebrow.
“The girl who works the well, Evelyn, has been taken,” Bracus said.
“The wee one?” Phillip asked, using his palm to indicate a height very close to Clara's.
Bracus nodded.
Philip growled out his displeasure, and Clara backed away from him. He sobered, turning to her. “She is but a child...only ten and two years.”
It sounded horrible. She looked at them in confusion. Taken by whom?
Bracus read her unspoken question in her expression. “It is the fragment. They take unprotected females.”
“Who are the fragment, and why do they take your women?” Clara asked.
Philip and Bracus looked at each other.
“What?” Clara put her hands on her hips. She did not wish to be ignorant of danger. Her days of being unprepared were over.
“They belong to no one. They are separate,” Bracus began.
“The clans,” Philip responded. “All the clans.”
Those answers raise more questions than they answer, Clara thought.
Bracus sighed, He did not have sufficient time to answer. And he did not know if enlightening Clara about the shortage of females at this juncture would help him with her. In fact, seeing the burning intelligence in her eyes... he thought not.
“We must retrieve the girl immediately.” Phillip looked at Bracus. “I will assign Joseph, Stephen, and Matthew here. The others will accompany us.”
Bracus nodded. “Good choice.”
“Joseph will not be worth anything if his mind is upon Anna's welfare.”
“That was my opinion,” Bracus agreed.
Bracus was most comfortable with Matthew and Stephen, his first and second in command. They would guard Clara and be sufficient protection for the clan while the girl was rescued. No one took their people and lived. His gaze wandered to Clara’s battered face, and his heart pounded painfully. Duty tore at him. His feelings for her beat upon him like the wings of a great bird, soft yet insistent.
He looked at her a moment more. “Philip, stay with her. I need to discuss matters with Matthew and Stephen.” He stalked off.
Clara looked at Philip. “What have I done?” She knew that her escape attempt had made him dislike her, but he had still tended to her closely. She determined he was a man of duty and did not subscribe to feelings of mercy.
“It is not you, Princess. It is the circumstance. He must protect the females. He is the Captain of this clan.”
“It is his duty then? He must face this fragment? She was loathe to utter it but plunged forward. “What if he is unable to overcome them?”
Philip looked down at her disdainfully, and she struggled not to move away. These men were so physically intimidating. She stood her ground with an effort. “He will not fail. We are the Band. We do not fail. We succeed.”
Indeed. A small smile formed on her mouth, and Philip looked down at her, first at her lips then at her expression. She was beautiful, he decided. Even underneath the healing injuries, her unkempt hair and strange clothing, he saw a female worth having. But something told him in his gut, that his brother wanted her, and that he would not stand in the way.
“Come.” He took her by the elbow. “Let me introduce you to Lillian and Anna.”
As they walked away together, Clara's thoughts were on Bracus and his intent to leave her with the clan, a group of strangers who lived Outside. But, she did not really know him either. But he had stopped Frederic’s assault upon her. It was he she owed a debt of gratitude to. She was ashamed by her attempt at escape. Clara’s her heart and mind were conflicted. This was not what she and Charles had conspired together, the fruition of which was not entirely of their making.
They approached a small building among several similar ones made of stone with thatched roofs and thick wood doors that had circular windows at face level in odd, convex configurations. Clara immediately loved it. The irregular stones they trod on led to one of the unusual doors flanked by wild roses, their buds dripping of delicious fragrance and shell pink blooms.
A woman lives here.
Clara was reminded of the great hothouses inside the sphere. They contained a vast amount of roses. But without the constant presence of the steam to nurture them, they would be unable to survive.
Clara paused, caressing a delicate bloom, and a thorn pricked her finger. She gasped, putting her finger to her mouth.
Philip frowned. “Let me see, Princess.” He held out his hand.
“It is nothing, really.” She moved away. He caught her hand, turning it over in his huge one.
Philip felt a strange tingling when he touched the Princess's hand. It rushed up his arm in a hot surge, and he let go as if burned.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“I do not know.” He rubbed his hand as if something remained there he wished to remove.
The door opened, and Lillian looked out.
“You should not open your door first, without looking,” Philip said disapprovingly.
Lillian nodded. “Calm yourself, warrior. I know that the Band has returned, and Jack is within.” She gestured behind her as Jack appeared.
Clara looked warily at another member of the Band and noticed how they all looked so much alike, all huge males with the strange gills. The other males looked like the men of her sphere. The woman looked ordinary compared to him. Deep brown hair grazed the swell of her collarbone. She had sapphire eyes and honey-colored skin. It was her ready smile that caused a great, aching sadness in Clara. Lillian reminded her of Sarah. She controlled her expression. Her sadness was not something she wished to reveal to anyone.
She looked back at Philip. The odd expression still rode his face. She remembered the tingling when he’d touched her and wondered at its significance. She put her hand to her chest and looked at Lillian and Jack.
Lillian contained her shock at seeing the Princess’ condition. Who had done this to her face? She knew exactly what Jack must be thinking behind her. The poor waif. She took in the disheveled hair, the ruined dress, her delicate face in various stages of healing. To Lillian, it was obvious that she had suffered more than one beating. She would ask Bracus later. He would know more. For now, she was too polite to inquire.
Her eyes met Philip’s, and he shook his head, rubbing his arm in an odd fashion. Lillian made a decision. She would take care of the Princess while the Band reconvened. She knew they would go after Evelyn. She closed her eyes briefly. She loathed the fragment. They were the only thing that kept the clan from true contentment.
She looked at Clara. “Please, let me help you get settled. You need new clothing, rest and perhaps a hot bath at the springs?”
Jack looked at the sun's position. “One hour more...”
He looked at Philip, who nodded in agreement.
Lillian sighed. “Be off then.” She smiled to soften her remark, and the men laughed. Jack swooped down to land a soft kiss upon her lips, and Lillian pressed her body against his, mingling perfectly for the stolen moment.
Clara looked away, embarrassed. Relationships were very different Outside. She thought she might like it. They had an openness of expression that was sorely lacking in her sphere.
Jack left Lillian, looking back one last time. Philip watched Clara. She looked nervously away, not knowing what to think of it all.
“Come, Princess,” Lillian said.
Clara found her voice. “Please, call me Clara. That is what my friends call me.” When the Queen is not in attendance, she added silently.
“Alright, Clara.” Lillian walked away with the expectation that Clara would follow.
They wound their way through the small cottage. At its back was a small kitchen overlooking a ravine. Clara listened and thought she heard running water.
“What is that sound?”
Lilian raised her eyebrows and stood still listening. She smiled. “It is a wee creek.” She turned and stood before an odd-looking sink with a spigot. Clara looked on in fascination. All the plumbing of the sphere clanked and hissed with the steam-driven machinery, but Lilian turned a strange handle shaped like a T and out flowed a rush of water, frosting the spigot.
“How curious.” Clara reached out to touch the stream of water. Thirst immediately boiled to the surface. Her throat felt parched.
Lillian smiled, fetching a glass off a low hung shelf made of roughened wood, the glass's misshapen thickness sparkling from the dim light that permeated the windowpane.
Clara gulped the water greedily and looked about her, taking in the small house. She spied a looking glass and slowly approached.
Clara immediately regretted it. She looked atrocious. Her dress, once a beautiful turquoise, was a sodden, dirty green, and her hair lay unbound and filthy. She looked away, a high flush coloring her cheeks. She noticed with some relief that her face did not look as terrible as it had. That was
something at least.
Lillian saw Clara's discomfort and put on a kettle to heat some water. When it became hot enough, she would stop up the sink and use soap to get the worst of the travel grime cleaned off. Tonight, they would travel to the hot springs, and Clara could soak for an hour and finally tell Lillian all she knew. Although, Lillian had the feeling that Clara was not a woman to divulge things readily.
“How many years are you?” Lillian asked.
“I just celebrated my Day of Birth. Ten and seven years.”
Seventeen years! Good Lord, she was young. Lillian wondered why her eyes held such age.
She set the kettle upon the stovetop. Heating water might take some time, and the President would arrive shortly. It would have to be a tepid cleaning.
Lillian turned. “Let us go to my chamber, and I will fetch you something else to wear.”
Clara nodded, weariness sucking at her. She was so tired her eyes burned, but she must stay awake long enough to clean herself.
She followed Lillian into her bedchamber and thought it lovely. Low ceilings hugged the room: muted cream-colored plaster with heavy, deep mahogany timbers bisecting it. A lone window stood at its center. Dim light softly illuminated a four-poster bed shrouded in a canopy of gauzy ivory material.
Lillian brought out several long skirts and blouses in soft colors.
“You are a tiny thing.” She studiously held up several different garments. “This should fit you. It fit me when I was ten and three years!” She laughed.
Clara asked tentatively, thinking of Olive. “Would you assist me in the removal of my...” She pointed to her back.
“Certainly,” Lillian said.
She unhooked twenty hooks and asked, “What is this strange garment you wear under your dress?”
Clara saw Lillian out of the corner of her eye. “My undergarment... with the stays?”
Lillian nodded in wonderment at the uncomfortable-looking contraption, grateful she had never had to wear such a thing.
“It is my corset.” Clara lifted one shoulder. “All women wear them.”
Lillian did not comment further but helped Clara slip out of the offending thing.
Clara covered her breasts, feeling exposed even in front of a woman.
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