Jennifer Horseman

by GnomeWonderland

  It had not been a dream! She could not have dreamt that. She was not responsible. He had put her under a spell far more powerful than a potion.

  With effort, she managed the major buttons down her back. She swung and tied the frock. Her long rope of hair wet the back of her dress but she didn't care as she stepped from the partition. She didn't care about anything, except this: "I want to see your back."

  Garrett looked up from his work. "You what?"

  "I want to see your back." She waited his response, which came with a sudden chuckle. It didn't matter. At least not until he rose and started toward her.

  "Is there an explanation that goes with this request, love, or should I just let my imagination run wild?"

  She tilted her chin defiantly. "You can let your imagination do what it pleases. I know you know, Garrett, I know it!"

  "You know I know what?"

  This was asked with his hands on his hips as he stood in front of her. She cursed his height, more his unnatural strength. "If you were old and weak and smaller than me, I'd beat you!"

  "Would you now?" he laughed. "You set me trembling with an idea—"

  Fury reddened her face and she clenched her fists, "You know what you did to me!"

  With amused condescension, he managed to convey an unflattering impression of her lack of maturity, and she suddenly realized he was enjoying this. The idea was maddening.

  "Love, would you mind telling me the exact subject of your ... ah, scathing discourse?"

  "Just let me see your back."

  "A child's game, is that it, love? I'll show you mine if you show me yours? Something like that?"

  "How dare you laugh at me! You know—"

  "I'm sorry, love," he apologized, trying unsuccessfully to control his laughter. "I'm actually thrilled. Really. How about my back for your front? Will that do?"

  That did it! With all her strength, she raised her clenched fist and swung with all her might. Garrett, hardly inept when it came to dodging blows, ducked with time to spare. Her fist connected with space, the realization coming a second too late as she toppled to her hands and knees on the floor, enduring not just his laughter but Polly's alarmed screeches as the bird flew frantically around the room.

  Garrett doubled over with laughter. "Why, love, you are getting more physical. Dare I let my ardor rise to greet this new inclination—" He stopped, momentarily overcome with laughter and still doubled over.

  Juliet looked up to see the large pitcher of cold water on the table. She was quick. With a shocked gasp, Garrett felt the cold water over his head and back. Wisely Juliet stepped back as his loud, long howl filled the room, reverberating beyond. Just amazing, some detached part of her mind marveled, like a wounded lion's last anguished cry. "What's wrong, my lord? Did something, ah, dampen your ardor?"

  A brief thrill at her clever repartee overcame her fury until Garrett slowly straightened. Panic rose in her as he seemed to grow before her very eyes, bellowing like a great sail caught in the wind. A sail marked with a most malevolent leer. "Dampen, love? Nay," he shook his head, "A better word would be incite."

  Juliet was not slow witted. She backed up as he spoke, and then, heeding her keen judgment, she ran for her life, escaping the reach of his arm by a precious second. Unnaturally quick, Garrett darted around the table to catch her at the door, but Tonali, seeing she was in trouble and wasting no time, leaped in trouble's path. Juliet heard the great clamor of a chair knocked over, followed by Garrett's unrepeatable curse and even worse threat as she dashed through the door and raced up the steps to the quarterdeck.

  Fear vied with a surge of strange excitement, a thing she couldn't stop to understand, all of which erupted in a shrill nervous sound queerly similar to laughter. As she am to the ladder, Leif, Gayle, Kyle, and a handful of others were just going up. As quick as Garrett, Leif caught her at the waist in midair, saving her from the nasty fall. Her slippered feet were running again before Leif put her down on the deck. By the time they realized she was in trouble, she had disappeared before a trail of long wet braid.

  All gazes looked up to see Garrett at the ladder's head on the quarterdeck, scanning the decks below. "I will kill her. ... I swear, when I get my hands on that girl—" He couldn't see her. "Where is she? Where'd she go?"

  A sea of notably blank faces and shrugging shoulders greeted his demand for information, and he swore at them, turning his threats briefly from Juliet to them as he jumped down. Laughter followed him.

  Trying to catch her breath, Juliet darted behind the crew's freshwater barrel. She crouched down, holding her knees against her chest, breathless and flushed, not even knowing she held her breath as the loud sound of his ever-escalating threats came with the pounding of his boots on the hardwood decks. Desperate, she closed her eyes tightly and stuck out one small foot.

  An alarm went off in his mind before he saw it, many seconds before his foot actually connected, and using all his strength he leaped into the air. His men would talk of it for years, for Garrett landed hands down, springing with a handspring to land upright. Then, with hands on hips, he turned to confront her.

  Even as her mind said it was not possible, that she couldn't have seen right, she bolted. Garrett caught her in three easy strides. His arms came around her, catching her wrists as he lifted her off the ground, and pulled her backside against the hard strength of his body. The shock of it went through her like a lightning bolt and her scream mixed fear with nervousness and laughter, a maddening tease. "Oh let me go ... let me go! Please, Garrett, I was just teasing ... I didn't mean—" She fought for all she was worth, but it was no use, "Oh! you're hurting me ... let me go—"

  A lingering remnant of the magic struck him again; quite suddenly the moment was illuminated by a larger reality. It stunned him. He let the sudden force of his emotions spiral over Juliet until she, too, felt it. With sudden understanding, she collapsed all at once in his arms. The severity of each breath came as a hard slap to her face. She felt his deep, steady breaths against her back, the power of his entire being wrapped tightly around her, its force limitless, unfathomable, immovable.

  She turned slowly to face him, staring with the shock of it. His claim. He wasnt going to let her go. Ever. "No," she slowly shook her head, "no!"

  She turned to run away.

  Only to be caught by a dozen hands as Garrett's men used the opportunity to celebrate her victory at King Tallihasi's court. She hardly had a chance to gather her breath, yet alone her wits, as amidst a loud chorus of cheers they lifted her into the air and tossed her onto a sail held at four corners by Leif, Gayle, Samuel, and Kyle as the others cheered.

  She flew high into the air, bouncing down with a loud thwack as her wet hair slapped her back, only to be tossed back higher as the men laughed and cheered, taking up the chorus, "For She's A Jolly Good Fellow." Up she flew and down she came. Thwack went the thick rope across her slender back. Standing to the side, hands on hips, Garrett was smiling until he saw her pale, stricken face, the fear ... the fear, and thwack! A loud alarm sounded in his mind as her body convulsed, and be cried, "Stop!"

  "Stop!" Leif shouted, exactly as Garrett did, one second after a hot, searing pain seized the whole of him, the knowledge crashing into his consciousness too late. The men stopped simultaneously, stunned and silent as Garrett was taking Juliet in him arms. "Love, love ..."

  Yet it was too late; the scars cut deep. Juliet's slender form convulsed again as the hot sting of a whip sliced into her bare skin, jerking her head up to feel the hard pull of her braids tied to the bed post. "No ... no ... please, God, help me. . . ."

  Garrett still held her on his lap with his arms wrapped tightly around her trembling form over an hour later. She kept her face hidden in his chest as his fingers combed tenderly through the long, drying hair. She had not cried yet, and like times before, he dwelt upon the unpleasant thought of what that meant. She could no longer cry, not after the long years of Stoddard's sadistic play nor the terror of what followe
d—the unleashed fury of a madman: his force, his strength, his rape. She had not cried those long weeks she faced the certainty of not seeing the boy she thought she loved again, however necessary this was, for a barrier had been constructed around her heart, a thing to protect the sanctity within from utter despair and hopelessness.

  Garrett felt the last shiver go through her. Her fingers toyed with a button on his shirt. He did not think she was aware of it, while he simply could not stop combing his fingers through her hair. His desire was a force of wonder, strong and demanding yet tempered by the tenderness of her emotions. He thought of how he would make love to her now. Like the warm whisper of a breeze, he would exercise all the gentleness and tenderness he was capable of, cherishing and stretching each moment as if it were the last. How badly he wanted to. "How do you feel now, love?"

  She met the tenderness in his eyes, conveyed in his tone as well, and she looked away, at the button her fingers toyed with. "Strange ... I feel so strange. Like a wind-torn sail. ... All those times before when it was happening, when I couldn't bear the pain ... a second more, inside I would be crying, praying for ... for help, for someone to stop it. No one ever did; no one could. But now, as my hair hit my back and it felt like it was happening all over, inside I was crying again, praying for someone to make it stop . . . and I heard you, I heard you, Garrett, and then you were holding me. . . ."

  The emotions swelled and she turned her face against his chest as his arms tightened instinctively around her. A last shiver passed through her form as she knew what she had to do. She stopped his hand in her hair. Garrett opened his eyes to see hers, a study no artist could render.

  "So long . . . like my mother's hair, it is. She always loved how my hair was like hers. For her I would ignore the weight of my plaits on my back when I ran, or how much it hurt when Madame Gaston put a comb to it after a washing." She wove a thick strand around her finger and smoothed this over the rest as she remembered. "When my mother became so ill, I would find long strands of her hair on the pillow. It scared me, I don't know why, and I would take it and hide it before she woke, as if it was a terrible secret she shouldn't know. Then one night ... as she slept, I wove her hair into a braid with mine so that we'd always be together no matter what. I had this fear it would unwind in the night and I made it as tight as I could. At some point she did wake though, and when she discovered what I had done she started crying. I thought she was mad with me, but BO ... she held me in her arms and promised over and over again she'd never undo it. She lied though ... she bed," she whispered, "for in the morning the braid was unwound and she was cold and still and with me no more."

  Juliet rose from his warmth and moved into the dressing room, emerging with his brush. She parted the thick hair over her shoulders, studying the long stream that dropped nearly to her knees and she closed her eyes, remembering how her uncle used it to chain her to the bed, how Garrett once wrapped it around his hand, using k as one used a dog's leash, how it slapped across her back like the whip she remembered too well, how the braid of it unwound the day her mother died. A broken promise.

  Get the idea out of her head, Garrett said to himself. He was already shaking his head long before she said simply, "I need your scissors."

  All he knew was he loved that hair of hers: the way her plaits swung as she moved, the way the rich color caught the sun, the feel of the silken texture through his fingers, the cascade of silk over her slender figure and the pleasure of parting the shroud to unveil her beauty beneath. He loved wrapping it around his hand to bring her neck up for his lips, he loved the simple pleasure of watching her brush it out, the amusement of her irritation when Tonali and little Vespa played with it like a rope.

  Get the idea out of her head. He alternately considered and rejected a dozen means of stopping her. He could try to talk her out of it, but a quick glance at the determination in her eyes said nay. He could keep his scissors from her, but she'd only ask the men until some bastard gave her his knife. Of course, he could mesmerize her again, but like a drug, such spells rarely lasted longer than a handful of days—

  "Please."

  The sound of her voice brought his eyes up, and against his will he saw what it meant to her—a small but meaningful act of self determination. She was testing him, his willingness to give it to her. He would, he swore he would, with anything but her hair. "Juliet—"

  "Please."

  Juliet could not guess how long he remained seated, staring at her and she at him, staring with the knowledge it was far more important than a simple matter of vanity. Even she did not understand its importance until she felt the intensity of her relief when he finally rose, moving into the dressing room. Removing the scissors from his drawer, he set them on top of the chest of drawers before wordlessly turning away. She stepped inside with the brush, feeling a previously unknown excitement.

  Leif arrived, wanting to make sure she had passed through the storm. Seeing the door was unlatched, he knocked softly and pushed it open. Garrett stood at the table with his back to the dressing room, his long arms braced on clenched fists and his eyes closed with concentration—the concentration he used to conjure magic and to agitate the cat. Leif watched Tonali circle with emotion, hissing. He looked past Garrett to the source of his friend's trouble.

  He saw the scissors and understood. In an instant, he understood the whole picture. Garrett rarely used his strange magic. "Less reliable than the force of a man's hand or the pull of a trigger," Garrett often explained, laughing. "Though there are times when only a miracle can manifest my will and so . . ." And so he conjured it.

  Leif had witnessed the manifestation too many times to doubt it. He felt more than a little idiotic as he held his breath, half expecting a tornado to sweep those scissors from her hand. Such was not the way of these things ....

  Taking a deep breath, Juliet raised the scissors to her shoulders. She would go all the way. Gathering her hair, she felt its weight for the last time—

  Something tickled her ankles, as if her stockings had fallen. She shuffled her feet distractedly. The smooth pressure tightened noticeably and she gasped. A chill raced over her spine as she lifted her skirt.

  She saw a six-foot snake curled neatly around her feet.

  The scissors fell with an audible clink to the floor. "Garrett . . . help . . ."

  The weak cry broke his trance and he snapped: "Help you? Like hell-"

  'Oh God ... I will . . . faint," she realized as the price of saying the words came with a wave of dizziness that stole the breath from her lungs. Garrett swung around at the exact moment Tbnali leaped into the dressing room and pounced.

  "No!"

  Too late, Tonali sunk sharp teeth into the snake and shook his head triumphantly, pleased with the prize. Juliet watched the blood spurt over her feet. From somewhere far, far away she heard Leif yell, "Garrett, catch her! She's falling-"

  Garrett caught Juliet in his arms, scowling as Tonali jumped back, escaping the booted foot in his side. "Blast you, Tonali! Ah, you look so prideful when you should be ashamed. Aye, ashamed! Poor old Renegade, he was a better mouser than you'll ever be." He scoffed at Tonali as the cat carried his trophy from the room. He forgot everything though when Juliet's hair slid over his arm. He had to laugh now. "I suppose it's a fair price after all."

  Leif laughed, "Fate joins your will once again."

  "Speaking of which," Garrett said with a grin as he set Juliet to the bed and placed his fingertips to hers. Using her state of unconsciousness to advantage, he planted firmly in her the idea that never would she cut her hair.

  "Pull! Oh, harder!"

  "I can't."

  "Please," Juliet closed her eyes as Gayle tried to pull the ring from her finger. Warm pork fat covered both their hands. Mindful of hurting her, he pulled as hard as he dared.

  The door burst opened and a warm wind followed the raised voices of Garrett and Leif as they stepped inside. "You are not inviolate!" Leif chased after Garrett, waving his hands and
sounding uncharacteristically upset. "Give it up and rest your soul, it's too dangerous. My God, if I live to see you hang—"

  "We shall see, Leif. Less than two days now until we meet the fleet, and then, who knows? Let it go for now. Check out those bolsters, will you? The way she's rigged one more day of sail will be a goddamn week." Discouraged, Leif nodded and left as Garrett combed back his wind-tousled hair and went to his desk, looking for something as he took in the scene. "What the hell are you doing, Gayle? Aren't you suppose to be topside? That is, if your duty as the lady's maid is through? Hmmm? Can you spare the boy now, love?"

  Gayle stood promptly but otherwise ignored Garrett's sarcasm. "It's no use," he said to Juliet, and not for the first time, though now he meant it. "Any harder and I'll get the ring and your finger."

  Gayle left as Juliet held perfectly still, staring at her sore, reddened finger as she fought the effects of Gar-rett's proximity. Her heart escalated as she tried to swallow to push down her unnatural response to him. Always, since the first moment she raised her eyes to see him atop that stallion, staring back at her with unmasked animosity, he had affected her in a powerful, nay, brutal way. Physically and emotionally, she was at all times aware of him and his nearness. The long weeks of intimacy and his constant company had done nothing to ease it. True, Garrett's presence affected everyone powerfully, but ever since that night at the Moroccan palace and the day afterward, the force of his power over her had built and built, growing with each second of each hour of the five days since that night he had put her under a spell.

  She felt like a creature possessed. Possessed by that night and by his spell—of which she suspected the ring was a part. Was there really such a thing as a spell? Leif said aye, but it was called mesmerizing. He wouldn't say any more past that mesmerizing was an ancient art, practiced throughout parts of the Orient and India where Garrett had learned the skill. Yet how did he do it?