by Renee Wildes
“Flee,” he called. “Flee to safety. Fight another day.”
Jalad’s roar of outrage followed them as Hani`ena bore her burden away. Straight northward. Toward the mountains. Toward freedom. Toward safety.
Chapter Seven
Hani`ena slowed to a walk, then halted, nostrils flared red, sides heaving from two days and nights of an unbroken gallop at Goddess-speed. “Rest. Now.”
“Good idea.” Loren was exhausted. His arms tightened around Dara. She had not awakened once during the long flight northward. He saw a thicket aside the path. “Through there. We can rest unseen.”
Hani`ena eyed the long thorns. “You cannot be serious.”
He bowed his head, closed his eyes and extended his hands toward the thicket, palms forward, fingers interlaced. “Spirit of earth, mother, hear my plea. Hide us from unfriendly eyes. By the Lady I request.”
The hedge rustled, razor-edged branches curled back to reveal an opening. Hani`ena dropped her head and stepped through into a small clearing. The brush entwined back into place, more impenetrable than afore.
He raised face and hands skyward. “My thanks, mother.” He looked down at Dara’s still pale face. He needed to find out what her injuries were. Tossing his right leg over Hani`ena’s withers, he shifted Dara and took a deep breath.
“Spirit of air and wind, sister, I invoke a feather drop. Make me float to the earth feather light, feather slow, so I injure not my companion.”
Wind chime laughter flowed around him. “Granted.”
He floated from Hani`ena’s back. “My thanks, sister.”
The white mare began circling to cool herself down.
He laid Dara on the mossy ground. His cloak would shield her from the dampness. She was not chilled, was warm, in fact, but he needed to get a fire going. He needed the light and warmth for himself when darkness fell.
Hani`ena stopped aside him, and he loosened her girth two notches. She tossed her head and returned to circling.
He gathered dry kindling and deadwood. “Spirit of air and wind, sister, hide this smoke.” The fire crackled, but the smoke disappeared at the edge of the clearing.
Dara’s eyes flew open. “Nay—”
Loren crouched aside her. “Ssh, be still,” he soothed. “You are safe. There is naught to fear here.”
“Fire—”
“Different fire. Much smaller. See?” He indicated the small campfire.
She relaxed, then her eyes widened. “Loren? It’s you? I was dreaming.” She tried to raise a hand to his blistered cheek, but froze. “Your face—”
“Naught that shall not trance-heal.” He brushed tangled hair from her sooty, sweat-streaked forehead.
“Hani`ena?”
The mare stepped close and nuzzled Dara’s filthy cheek.
“Thank…you.”
Surprise flashed in Hani`ena’s eyes. “Tell her she is most welcome.”
“She says you are welcome.”
“Take care of her. She must be…tired.”
Loren pulled off the saddle and blanket, took a currycomb and brush from his saddle bag and began raking the drying dust and sweat from Hani`ena’s coat. When he finished, he unfolded the saddle blanket and threw it over her.
Dara stirred. “She must be thirsty…”
“You go. Seek north. I shalt watch.”
“You are right. We need water. Hani`ena shall stand watch while I go. There is no better friend to have at your side.” Hani`ena’s love seeped into his heart. He laid a hand on her muzzle, then grabbed the waterskin.
Dara closed her eyes as he left.
He returned with a full waterskin. He held it out to Hani`ena, who eyed it with amusement. “For you two. I shalt get my own.” The mare left on the path he had taken. Loren got his cup from the pack and hauled the water over to Dara. Filling the cup, he lifted Dara’s head, ignoring the filth and stench that was not her fault.
She opened her eyes. “You’re back.”
“Ssh. Drink.” He held the cup to her lips, encouraging her to swallow until the cup was empty. Only then did he refill and drain it himself. “Dara? How bad is it?”
“Sprained back and shoulder. Two broken ribs, right side.” She smiled wanly. “Always stood pain well. Little breaths. Not so bad.”
“Can you heal yourself?”
She shook her head. “Iron-bound. Poison. Don’t know how to…reverse the spell.”
He cursed at being unable to heal her outright. “We shall bind the ribs then, to keep them still. There are no willow or hazel trees close. I looked. Is there anything else I can get you for the pain?”
She panted and struggled to speak betwixt shallow breaths. “Black moss. Long fringes. Grows around spotted mushrooms. Crush with equal hot water. Place under bindings. Deadly inside, but works outside. Can’t reuse bowl, though. Must destroy. Too dangerous. Lingers.”
“Black moss. Got it.” He went in search and in the shadow of the hedge he saw some. His skin crawled at its perilous touch. He eased it from its loamy bed and brought it back. “I found a hollowed-out piece of bark I can use as a bowl and burn afterward.” He mixed the remedy with a stick, then applied it to her injuries, binding them with a length of cloth.
She went rigid, then relaxed. “Better. Thank you.”
Spirit of air and wind, sister, purify this smoke. Let no harm come to any creature from this. He threw the remains into the campfire. The fire hissed, smoke curling black-green and then faded back to bright orange. “What was that?”
“Last hope aid. Fanny told me. Safe for very few.”
“I would have liked to have met Fanny.” He smiled, easing down onto the ground next to her. “She sounds remarkable.”
“She was.” She took a ragged breath and closed her eyes. “Tired. Let me sleep.”
“Dara, first you must eat something. Sleep afterward until morning.” He dug out a couple of small trail cakes Artur had given him. They were packed with dried fruit, nuts and crushed grains, stuck together with honey. Breaking off a small piece, he placed it in her mouth. “Chew.”
She mouthed at it and wrinkled her nose. “Nasty stuff. You eat it.”
“I shall. Tough to get started, but it works fast.” He gave one to Hani`ena, who swallowed it whole, then snatched a second. He took a big bite of a third, chewed the too-sweet stickiness and willed his distaste not to show. Seeing Dara had swallowed, he shoved another chunk betwixt her lips.
She bit his fingers, scowling pure mutiny.
“Ow.” He glared at her. “What was that for?”
“Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”
He leaned down until his face was inches from hers. “Never afore have I had any complaints lodged against my bedside manner.” Even filthy and injured as she was, eyes shooting daggers at him, an odd feeling crept over him. Did he not know better, he would swear it was—
He dropped the food into her mouth and backed away. She either chewed or choked. “Just eat. Pick your battles when you have the strength to back up a challenge.”
She swallowed. “Still thirsty.”
“I know. Just one more piece and then you can have more water.” He broke off half of the bar that was left, gave it to Hani`ena and split the other half again. He popped one chunk in his mouth. The other he held out to Dara. “Last piece. I shall warn you once.” His gaze bored into hers. “Bite me again, and I shall bite back.”
Her eyes teared.
“Hey, none of that,” he protested, dismayed. “Do not turn all weepy-woman on me now, warrior.” He poured more water into his cup and held it to her lips. “Here, drink this. You shall feel better.” His voice was stern, but he held her gently. That just made her cry harder. “What is it?”
“You could have died, you and Hani`ena.”
Hani`ena snorted. “Not likely.”
Strangely elated she cared if he lived or died, he drew her closer. “Ssh, we are not that easily taken down. I got caught the last time because I did no
t have her with me. Right, wind-sister?”
“True.” Hani`ena nuzzled him. “You shalt never leave me behind again. Swear it.”
“I swear. I cannot seem to do without you.” He focused on Dara again. “We are all safe. We shall be home soon.”
“H-h-how d-d-did you know?”
“I knew you were hurt and held prisoner somewhere southwest of where I was. I felt when that talishrog kicked you. The branding was fire burning me from the inside out. The Lady appeared and asked if I would go for you…” His voice trailed off. The details were unclear.
“To you I am forever bound. Whenever, whatever your need, to you shall I come. To you do I answer, with sword, bow or blood. My life for yours. My soul to yours.” Again he sealed the pledge with a kiss. Her lips were surprisingly soft, as if unaffected by the fire and elements. They clung to his, moving tentatively in response. When an answering warmth rose within his own body, he broke the kiss quickly. His eyes gleamed down at her. “Remember?”
“A life for a life? So now we’re even? You’re free to go?” Her voice sounded breathless. Those remarkable gold eyes darkened with an unspoken yearning.
Loren caught himself leaning toward her again and frowned. The vows did not feel finished yet, as if there was more to do, farther down this road they tread. “’Til our last breath… Is that specific enough for you?” He made a quick decision. “You come with me.”
That quickly, her yearning turned to disbelief and annoyance. “What?” She sounded aghast. “You can’t just go corsair and steal me. I want to go home. I’ve a war to win.”
“We are going home. My home, where you can get proper healing. Not this black art improvisation.” He glared down at her bound injuries. “You were meant to come home with me. Can you not feel it?”
Dara shoved against him. “I was not meant to do anything, warrior. I choose to stay and fight that invading bastard.” Her eyes welled with tears at the raw brand on her arm.
Loren refused to let go. “We need assistance. Jalad is no longer human.”
“I can’t go looking like this.”
“You do resemble a muddy puppy.”
“I stink, and you know it. Lady, I’d kill for a bath.” Her eyes turned fierce and begging all at the same time. “We’ve got water and a fire.”
“You cannot manage one right now, even pain-blocked.”
“You can help me.”
Something like a snicker came from Hani`ena’s direction. “You could.”
Oh, Lord and Lady. Just the mere thought of…was enough to turn his blood hot and cold. Her. Naked. Skin glistening in the firelight, droplets of water running down her back to the sweet curve of her… He broke into a sweat at his unchivalrous thoughts. She was injured and under his protection. “Nay.”
She turned from begging to indignation in the blink of an eye. “I granted you a bath, and you were in far less need of it than I. The least you can do is return the favor.” There was naught seductive in her tone. He felt her self-disgust.
“You have soap and clean rags in my saddle bags.”
“Shut up, Hani`ena.” He glared at the mare, who blinked at him. “You do not fool me for an instant.” He turned to Dara. “It would be…” Torture. “Inappropriate.”
“I can’t be the first woman you’ve seen naked. I trust you. Just pretend I’m your sister.”
“Your much younger sister,” Hani`ena commented.
His hand knotted in Dara’s hair. His face went rigid and turmoil smoldered in his heart. “You are not my sister.” It felt like a shout, but his throat was so tight it was barely audible.
“I don’t think clean hair’s too much to ask. Do you want them to follow us by my stench alone?”
“She would smell better.”
“Please? It won’t take long.”
He caved. A quick bath. I can do this. “I shall get everything ready.” He got another skin of water from the spring and then dragged her on his cloak over to the fireside. He got soap, rags and his extra change of clothes out. He frowned at Dara, who tried to sit up. “Nay, wait a minute. I shall help.” Younger sister…younger sister…
Hani`ena cropped grass and didn’t comment.
When much of the filth did not come off with repeated applications of soap, he realized with horror and pity to what extent the bruises spread. He tried to be gentle, but Dara still hissed a time or two. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Her cheeks flamed as he scrubbed every available inch of bare golden skin with fern-scented soap, then rinsed her with clean water.
He kept his face impassive as he ran the rag over her full breasts. Her nipples tightened, beckoning. He forced his hand not to linger. Dara caught her breath. From the coolness of the water, or in reaction to his touch? “Turn over.” He cursed the hoarseness in his voice. He scrubbed her shoulders and back, then lower, below the binding, over the lush curve of her backside all the way down to her toes, until every inch of unbruised skin gleamed golden in the firelight.
His body clenched when she quivered at his touch. Uncertainty. Awareness. Hers, or his own wishful thinking? To distract himself, he stared, entranced, at that skin. He had expected burns in addition to bruises and abrasions, lots of burns. There were none, except from the iron bindings. The rest of her was unmarked by the flames she had stood in, but the ropes and wood had burned away. He himself was blistered and singed. There had been no time yet for trance-healing on this northward flight.
How could this be?
He rinsed the rag and ran it up betwixt her legs, dragging it through coppery curls. Heat greeted his touch, and he hardened to the point of pain.
Fear.
It was a dash of ice water. He froze and backed off. “Did he…hurt you?” Murderous rage flared at what Jalad might have done.
Dara shook her head. When she looked back at him, her eyes were wide with shock and a churning mixture of emotions. A maiden’s uncertainty warred with tentative yearning and instinctive arousal. “Nay. ’Tis just, I’ve ne’er…no man’s e’er…”
Blinding need to be her first, her only, slammed into him. “Never fear that I would hurt you.” He would die first. “Can you kneel? I can do your hair.” He helped her up and unbound her braid. Hot, dirty water cascaded over her hair. That once-glorious river of flame. He scrubbed with the soap. “This is going to be cold” was the only warning he gave her afore dumping icy clean spring water over her, carrying away the last traces of Jalad’s hospitality.
She yelped as she flung her hair back. “It feels so good to be clean again. Thank you.”
Loren helped her wring out long sections. Unbidden, an image of it wrapped around their naked, entwined bodies flashed in his mind’s eye. Silk and fire… He cursed and yanked his spare tunic over her head, grateful when it fell to her knees. “Sit by the fire. It will help dry your hair.” He shoved a wooden comb into her hand and turned away. “I go to wash the cloak so it can dry afore sleep time.” He gathered soap, rags and waterskin and fled to the spring afore she commented on the aroused state of his body that defied all his control. So much for chivalry.
***
Dara eased onto the ground aside the fire, adding a few more twigs to the flames. Her hair was a right mess of tangles, but the knots inside—from his kiss, from his touch—were worse. He was her rescuer, and a…friend, but she’d never felt such an awareness, a yearning for anyone afore. Her skin still tingled, everywhere he’d touched. Her breasts ached, and heat pooled betwixt her thighs. His touch was like a brand on her heart. She glanced at the brand on her arm—painful and permanent. She felt bereft with his disappearance. Why? Why did she yearn for him when he was gone, and feel so relieved when he returned? And she’d seen the look on his face; he hadn’t been affected at all. She sighed. She’d seen young women pine for this or that village oaf and had always afore been torn betwixt pity and derision. Always she’d been above such things.
Now that ’twas her own obsession with the unobtainable, it wasn’
t a bit humorous.
She watched Loren return. “Thank you again.”
He looked at her with an inscrutable expression. His body language screamed discomfort and a wish to be elsewhere, but she had no idea why.
“I would not leave you to the fires,” he said. “Too many have gone.”
The fires. “Jalad killed those hazel sprites on purpose, didn’t he?” she whispered. Their screams of helplessness and despair would give her nightmares. “I didn’t know they could die.”
He knelt aside her and spread his cloak on the ground. “A creature from the abyss would have an especial hatred of healers. Hazel trees are mortal. The sprites do not live forever, either. Like all living things, they can be killed.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She was surprised she had any left to shed. “Why couldn’t they escape?”
“They are bound to the seeds for the length of that life. They nurture the tree as it grows. They shape the healing force.”
“Why?” The word tore from Dara’s throat. “Why would She permit the desecration? The sprites? Tegan—”
“Who?”
“Midwife Lacey’s daughter, Tegan. Jalad murdered her parents and her fiancé and that demon inside him has taken her over. I looked at her, and she was just…gone. ‘The mother of my new army,’ he called her.”
He paled and stilled. “What meant he by that?”
“I don’t know. Something horrible.” Frustration gave way to outrage. “How could She let this happen? What good are the gods if they can’t protect their people from harm?”
Loren’s eyes flashed green fire, and his jaw tightened. “By what right do you challenge the Lady of Light?” he demanded. “We are not puppets on string. All have free will to choose, to shape and guide the Destiny Hand. Jalad chose darkness as a way to power, and he chose to invade Riverhead. Someone chose to betray their king. Xavier and Mag chose to help Moira escape. Xavier chose to go to Hengist. Hengist’s people chose to yield or fight.”