"I must have frightened you," he said. "My apologies."
Serena was not about to let him elude her with his easy disregard. "I wasn't frightened. I was just concerned. About you."
"Well, don't be. As you can see, I am recovered."
"What happened? Why were you calling out for Elspeth?"
He chuckled. "Nineteen years you've been alone with your mother in these woods? My God, how you must have driven her mad with your endless questions. I almost feel sorry for the woman."
"How often do you relive the night of the raid on Greycliff, Rand?"
He glared at her, unmoving, then he ran a hand over his bearded jaw. "Often enough, if you must know."
"Every night?" she prompted. "More than that?"
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "From time to time. Occasionally I get...confused. I see the raid like it is happening all over again. I can taste the smoke, and hear my wife's cries. It is nothing," he said, with brusque dispassion, "merely an annoyance that I'm sure will pass one day."
Serena hoped it would, for it was clear that the man who robbed Rand of his home and family the night of the attack had also robbed him of his peace of mind.
"You've endured so much, Rand. I should think it only natural to grieve for your family."
He scoffed. "There will be time for grieving once I have my vengeance."
The way he said it--the unwavering rigidity of his statement--gave Serena pause. "You have not allowed yourself to mourn them?"
"For what good," he answered harshly. "It will not change what has occurred. It will not bring them back."
Serena closed her eyes, absorbing this revelation. He would not permit himself to mourn his wife and child until he had claimed his revenge. "No. It won't bring them back," she said, gently now, seeing him in a clearer, starker light. "But you are still here, and no one should keep so much hurt inside."
He did not respond. He would not so much as look at her now. Instead he reached for the bandage and began to anchor the tail of the linen to his arm.
Serena sat beside him in quiet observation. Just thinking on the details of the raid was enough to choke her heart with sorrow. She vividly recalled her own reaction to the pain she had drawn from Rand the day he learned of her Knowing and she of his suffering. She had wept most of the day in her chapel sanctuary, and then again in her bed that night, weeping uncontrollably, until her body felt drained, her heart numb with exhaustion.
She had mourned Rand's loss as her own. It seemed impossible to her that he could bear the same anguish in stoic silence.
How cruel his warrior's honor was, that it would hold him so rigidly. So far apart from feeling, from living.
Serena wanted to console him in some way, yet she knew he would not have that. If he would not grieve, he surely would not accept any measure of her sympathy. He was a hard man; by his own choosing now, a solitary man. He needed no one, or had convinced himself as much.
Yet her heart still broke for him, and for the family and home that he had lost. It seemed so strange, how just a few days ago he had been merely a lost soul stranded on her shore and now she knew his deepest pain. Now he had become something more to her...but what?
The Knowing had forged a bond between them--unwanted, surely, but unbreakable now that it was made. No matter how long Rand stayed before his vengeance drew him away from the forest, no matter how far it took him, Serena would carry part of him with her for the rest of her days. And if his quest should claim his life, she believed with all her heart that she would feel that as well, and she would mourn him.
"Let me do that for you," she said, scooting over to him when she could take no more of his fumbling with the bandage.
He glanced to her gloved hands and shook his head. "There is no need. I can manage. I know that touch gives you pain."
"I'll be fine," she insisted, reaching for the linen.
"I would rather you didn't."
Serena ignored his protests and began to unwrap his binding. "You've made it too loose. You see? It won't hold."
"It will hold well enough."
"You need two hands. Let me help you--"
"God's blood, Serena!" His voice harsh, he tore the bandage out of her hands. "I don't want your help. Do you understand?"
She flinched, as stunned as if she had been physically struck. Rand looked at her for a long moment, his mouth held tight, his hazel eyes snapping with barely restrained fury.
"I don't want your help," he growled. "I don't need your questions or your concern, either. Go. Leave me alone. That is all I want from you."
Serena swallowed a sudden lump of hurt that had lodged in her throat. Hot tears stung the backs of her eyes but she refused to let them fall.
"I'm sorry," she whispered past her thick tongue. "I'm sorry."
Before she could humiliate herself further, she spun around and fled into the cottage.
Chapter 12
The chill of the cascade pool gripped him in a bracing, well-needed jolt of clarity. Rand had stripped bare, discarding his clothes and bandages on the slab of rock at the pool's edge. The bindings had proven impossible to manage himself, as Serena had informed him before he so harshly drove her away. Rand had fought with the strips of rent linen for a while after she had left him at the cottage, then finally gave up in defeat.
But it was more than frustration with himself over his inability to tend his own injuries that sent him into the forest in a black mood. It was his maddening reaction to Serena that gave him the most concern. He was unaccustomed to losing control, in any situation. His ire when stoked was rarely, if ever, misplaced. It was entirely unlike him to be so gruff with a woman. For certain, Elspeth would have dissolved into a month of inconsolable hysterics if he had barked at her as he had Serena when she only wanted to help him.
Serena had kept her chin high, but he'd seen the shock in her eyes at his outburst, the hurt, and it bothered him to know that he had put it there. And so unfairly, besides.
The truth was, he did not think he could have withstood the temptation of Serena's hands on him--not in any way. He could not reconcile the desire he felt for her. She was too innocent, too sweet. Despite the inner strength he saw in her, Serena's heart was fragile, and untried. He did not want to be the one to break it. Already he was hurting her, he was certain.
Each time she tried to get close to him and he pushed her away, something in her bright gaze dimmed. But he could afford no entanglements, least of all with a sheltered maiden who tempted him with every winsome smile. When she was near him, he burned with unbidden need. She was sweet and honest and pure. She was unusual as well, but her peculiarities were becoming less strange than endearing; for each one he noted he wanted to learn more.
And her beauty...well, if ever he had glimpsed a woodland nymph conjured by magic to bewitch men with a single look, it was Serena of the grove. From her ebony hair and seafoam eyes, to the graceful perfection of her womanly form, Serena enchanted him.
For all his protestations of devotion to Elspeth, his heart--and indeed, his body--seemed intent to prove him false whenever Serena was near. He could not credit that it was mere lust, for he'd known enough earthly pleasure in this life that he need not slake himself on sheltered innocents. A woman like Serena, so vulnerable and untainted, was the very last woman he should find appealing. Yet he had never before been so affected.
Not even by the one woman he loved enough to take as his wife.
Rand plunged below the surface of the water once more, an icy penance for his lack of honor when it came to his vow to Elspeth, and his vexing desire for Serena.
He worked his limbs with ruthless fervor, ignoring the burn of his wounds as he swam to the far side of the crystalline pool. He needed his strength. He needed to put his mind on Silas de Mortaine and the confrontation that awaited him outside the haven of these woods. He needed to focus on the vengeance that burned in his very soul, demanding the death of his enemy and all who served him.
And yet, when he broke the surface to take a lungful of air, it was Serena that commanded his thoughts. He saw her there, between the trees, heading into the woods. Her dark hair swung in a glossy train down her back, her faded bliaut lifted above her feet as she traversed a tricky path into the woods.
At first he thought her an illusion, the woodland nymph playing tricks on his mind as ever, but she was real. She had not seen him beneath the surface of the cascade pool; she strode deeper into the thicket, a basket hung over her arm.
Rand came out of the pool without hailing her. He sat on the wet shelf of granite, telling himself he should merely let her go, that she was not his concern. But even as he thought it, he was putting on his clothes, hastily donning his boots, intent to give her the apology she was due.
* * *
Her mother had been correct about Randwulf of Greycliff on one point at least; Serena would be wise to put him out of her mind. After his harsh outburst earlier that day, it was clear to her that Rand held little regard for her. He was dangerous, like a wild animal who'd been viciously injured and now would lash out to bite any foolish hand that came too close.
The only peace Serena knew she would find was deep in the forest. With a basket slung over her arm, she made her way into the woods, heading for a clutch of wild berry bushes that grew midway between the falls and the ancient chapel.
She had not quite reached the place when a niggle of alarm tickled her spine. There was a slight, sudden commotion in the trees--birds taking wing--but then, another sound. A sharp snap, then a worrisome rustle of movement on the ground some short distance from where she stood. Leaves and twigs kicked up in a little storm of disruption. The mad flutter of beating wings slapping the earth seemed the only noise in a glade that had gone deathly silent.
Serena's heart lurched.
A dove was snared in one of the hunters' terrible traps. No doubt startled by her sudden appearance, the bird had been newly caught just as she approached. It flailed in a panic, pale gray wings beating furiously, stirring up dust and forest debris as the poor creature fought to free itself from the tight noose of the spring. Its struggle would only speed its demise. Each crazed leap and twist worsened its capture.
"Oh, no. No."
Serena tossed down her basket. She ran to the snare in desperation, hesitating not a moment even though Rand had warned her away from disturbing what was a nobleman's rightful property. She did not care whose law she broke, or whose wrath she might invite. She could not stand by and let the hapless bird die before her eyes.
Serena whispered soothing words as she neared the tripped snare. She crouched down, cooing softly, shushing reassurances, but the dove would not calm. Its obsidian eyes, like glossy beads of jet, reflected her worried expression as she reached out to catch the bird in her gloved hands. Perceiving her an added threat, the dove flapped vigorously, chest heaving, heart pounding visibly in its downy breast.
"Hush now, hush. Be still," Serena begged it, working carefully lest she damage its fragile wings.
The snare's twine noose was wound tightly about the dove's neck. In its struggle, one pink leg had been caught up in the line as well, trapped against its body and bent at a painful angle. Still the dove fought for its life, not trusting Serena to save it when death was already closing in, choking off precious air.
"Peace now," she whispered, trying to soothe it in any way she could. "It's all right. I'll not hurt you."
Her gloves were a hindrance. The bird was so slight, naught but struggling fluff in her hands, she could not subdue it. She tried to maneuver it into a firm hold and failed--once, again--each time worsening the dove's panic and causing it to further strangle itself in the snare. She had no choice but to try another tack. Holding the snare's twine to create a bit of slack, Serena let go of the bird and with her teeth stripped off one of her gloves. The other went next, in similar fashion.
Her grasp was more sure now, but each brush of the dove's body against her hands sent a jolt of alarm screaming through her. She felt it all--the panic, the desperation, the choking fear of not being able to breathe for the abrading lash that closed the bird's throat.
"Please," she gasped, working through the Knowing to catch the dove and attempt to loosen the noose from its fragile neck. "Please...you must stop fighting me."
Behind her, Serena heard someone approaching through the bracken, heavy footsteps, a purposeful stride. Panic held her too frantic to see if this was a new danger closing in. She struggled to free the dove from the line, but the knots were ruthless, too gnarled even for her small fingers to work loose.
"No," she cried, desperate as the bird's heart grew faint against her fingertips.
Death was twisting like a screw, the Knowing of it clutching at her with cold, dark resignation. She had to fight where the dove would soon be incapable. Her lungs were constricting, her mind blurring with exhaustion. She knew she would not perish here herself, even if the dove did, but her heart felt every pained beat of its pulse, and her soul wept, as ever, with the suffering of another living creature.
From around her shoulder, a strong arm appeared. "Hold it still, Serena. Steady."
The deep, commanding voice was utter calm amid the chaos, a welcome presence she felt rumble through her as Rand came around and crouched down next to her.
"Its foot is caught--there," he said, coaching her in a collected, measured way that seemed so out of place for him, yet so needed by her in that moment. "Just try to maintain a firm grip on the bird. Aye, like that, Serena."
She obeyed his direction, too exhausted to question his intent. But even had she full grasp of her wits, there would be no need to doubt him. She trusted Rand, she realized in those frantic instants. He was there, and she was glad for it. She knew that he would help her.
Almost as quickly as the thought passed through her mind, Rand had freed the dove from the choke hold of the snare. The twine, which had been taut and abrading, giving no mercy, now lay severed in two, sliced cleanly by Rand's sure skill with the dagger he yet held in his fisted hand. He set the blade down, and together Serena and he worked to disentangle the dove from the slack line.
Once loosed, the bird flopped out of arm's reach, stunned, but free. It huddled very still on its feet, breathing rapidly, then with a whistling beat of its wings, flew off, deep into the cover of the forest.
Serena slumped down to sit numbly on the ground. She watched the gray dove vanish, a heavy sort of daze clinging to her, the Knowing having not yet begun to subside. The bird was near death in its fright; her own heart battered around in her chest in like frenzy, echoing the panic that had been shared between the dove and her in those moments of desperate struggle.
Slowly, dully, she realized how close Rand was to her in that small square of space.
Hunkered down before her, he held his jaw clenched tight. He scowled, watching her in a queer, studying way. Her senses yet clamoring within her, Serena grew flustered, impatient, under the intensity of his look.
"Do not--" Her emotions were chaos, making speech difficult. She gulped in a breath of needed air and tried again. "Do not chide me for destroying some hunter's cruel trap..."
"I would not," he said, answering before she could summon strength enough to finish.
"...or condemn me for sparing a creature that belongs to no man--be he a king or commoner."
"Serena. I will not," he said again, then glanced to her bare hands, held like broken wings in her lap. "Are you hurt?"
She gave a small shake of her head.
"You're pale as frost," he remarked, and reached out to gather aside a lock of dark hair that had fallen into her face in the struggle.
Serena was too drained to back away from the contact. She glanced up, meeting his gaze, and he likely saw at once how truly affected she was. She could not sweep away the tear that escaped her eye, but he did. He looked down at the moisture glistening on his tanned fingertip, and his scowl went deeper with understanding.
"Jesu. You f
elt that dove's fear. Your touch--the Knowing--you felt the dove's pain, did you not?"
"I felt it dying," she said, her heart only now beginning to slow, her breath only now beginning to steady.
"The Knowing is that powerful for you? Your ability to touch another's thoughts and feelings--it does not end with humankind alone?"
"No."
"God's blood. What kind of curse do you suffer?"
Serena's senses were calming at last. She blinked slowly, taking a deep breath now that she could breathe, her chest unencumbered by distress and pain. "It is only a curse if I choose to treat it as one. It is all I've known, for all my life. It is just...the way of things for me."
Her gloves lay discarded in the dust and disturbed leaves. Rand retrieved them, and held them out to her. "You shouldn't have taken these off."
"I had to. I could not work the snare loose with them on."
She reached out to take the gloves, but his grasp suddenly went firmer, refusing to release them to her.
"The other day, when I came upon you fishing in the cove. You had taken off your gloves then as well."
"Had I?" she asked, well aware of the fact, yet taken aback that he had noticed.
"Aye, lady, you had. It was a deliberate thing you did, removing your gloves to take the fish in your bare hands as you set about to kill and clean them." He blew out a short breath, an incredulous sounding oath. "Why would you do that, if you can feel what others do--even a creature like that dove, like those fish?"
When she did not immediately answer, he bent toward her, not moving to touch her again, yet his look compelling her to meet his gaze. "Serena. Why?"
"Because I owed them that much," she replied, seeing no cause to evade him, even if he would think her crazed or a fool. "Every life is precious--"
"Even these simple creatures'," he said, finishing the very declaration she had made to him that day at the cove.
She could not feign her surprise that he had paid so close attention, nor could she deny that it warmed her in some inexplicable way to know that he had not merely disregarded her then, as she had assumed by his gruff dismissal of her.
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