Rowenna held up a palm, careful to halt his speech without manifesting dismissiveness, “We have Maddoc with us. He is a powerful Intuitive.”
Bracus gave a slight smile, appreciating her clever mind... but, “I recognize this,” Bracus conceded, inclining his head. “Yet,” and this is where he trod delicately, “methinks he be a tad distracted by Evie.”
They regarded the pair, Evie speaking animatedly with Clara while Maddoc walked silently behind and to the outside of Rowenna's borrowed steed from Bracus' clan. Bracus sighed. His courtship with Maddoc's mother progressed despite its lack of auspicious beginnings. Bracus drew her against his body protectively. “Shh, now. You must understand that he is but very young, he cannot be counted on to act as alert. We, as the elder of the Band, must look to our own safeguarding.” He looked ahead of their position, gauging the distance to the Great Forest, then gazed at the sun's position in the sky.
Rowenna looked up at him from the crook of his arm, relaxed, her main weapon unreachable, buried against his side, a familiarity never conceded prior to their acquaintance. “What say you?”
He looked around himself. The group would need to bed down beside the river which ran swift and strong inside the deepest womb of the forest. “Perhaps we have one hour hence until night falls.” He stopped, turning to the Band. The group stilled, putting their hands on the hilts of their dirks, their attention on the direction they had been assigned. Their readiness lightened his heart, his bearing.
“Brothers,” his eyes touched on each one.
After their approach, he outlined the doings of the next few hours. It was later that Philip and Matthew approached him privately.
Matthew stared at Bracus for a moment, his eyes like a weight upon him. Bracus sighed. “I can hide nothing from you.”
Philip shrugged. “You wear your worries like your weapons, my brother.”
How well they knew him. Bracus swung his gaze to Matthew and he nodded at him. “I too, know the subtleties of duress. Tell us what troubles you, Bracus.”
He did.
They listened, their expressions darkening as he spoke.
When Bracus had finished they stood quietly for a time, saying nothing.
Philip tapped the top of his long sword. “Let them come, if they will!” he said with a growl and a smile.
“We cannot allow any lapse in protection until the sphere is within sight. And that,” he looked at them for a moment, “may afford much less protection that we would like.”
“How much time has passed?” Philip shrugged.
“Enough,” Bracus said.
“It has been how long past?” Matthew said.
“Ten days,” Clara said in a voice both low and clear. They turned to her. “Please,” she looked at each face, lingering on Matthew's the longest, “do include me in your conversations.” Her eyes narrowed in her beautiful face, the sun edging into twilight, washing the group in molted colors of tangerine, crimson and gold. “I do not fancy surprises, especially those which impact my people.”
Bracus clarified, “I did not wish to worry you, Queen Clara.”
“Lamentably, I am already so. I have been since the moment the skin around your eyes never softened.”
Her eyes flashed a brilliant turquoise as the sunlight fell away from the day. “Take me into your confidence.”
They looked at her and then Bracus told her his thoughts. All of them. When he had finished she asked, “Do you think it possible?”
He nodded. “I do. It may arrest the damage or no. But it is worth trying.” He took her hands in his and earnestly met her eyes, searching her gaze. “We cannot protect you all. Methinks there will be a revolt, as I mentioned to my brethren,” and at his words both Matthew and Philip unconsciously touched their weapons, “if that were to happen, your sphere would essentially be no more. Naked and unprotected.”
Clara snatched her hands away. She would never leave her people, her eyes filled with tears of anger. She stalked away from Bracus and his logic. There had to be another way.
Clara would not abandon her sphere, her people.
Could not.
Matthew went to go after her but Philip grabbed his arm, shaking his head no. Matthew tore his arm away. “You are not my master.”
Philip met him toe to toe. “Neither is she!”
Matthew slapped his chest with both hands, Philip moving back a foot as his brows dropped above eyes which now darkened with anger. Philip charged Matthew, crashing into him, both men going to ground.
Clara whirled around, the noise behind her one she had heard before. She saw Philip on top of Matthew and raced back to the three. Bracus was already wading in to separate the two when Calia sprinted to their side.
Without hesitating she gave a tight-fisted blow to the back of Philip's neck. He grunted, rolling off Matthew with a shaky push and as he did, he grabbed for who had attacked him, seeing too late that it was the new select. His hand pulled the blow but he hit her in the ribs, her tunic coming unlaced with the force, the leather ties caught up in his fist.
She yelped, taken back by the force of it. Great whooping breaths came uselessly as he had taken the wind from her lungs. Calia had never felt such a blow. Not even from the abuse she had suffered at the hand of the fragment. It paled in comparison to the fist that had met her side.
The Band came together. None with a graver face than Philip. He rose from his knees, shaking his head to clear it from what she had done to him, at the same time bringing her to her feet.
Calia swayed and her tunic fell to her feet.
Daniel rushed Philip, anger and determination in perfect combination. As he went in for a strike on the larger man he stopped short at what he saw on Calia's body.
Small puncture scars and others of random size peppered her torso, none fresh.
Philip and the others of the Band looked at her near naked form, only the undergarment covering her breasts assured a degree of modesty.
Calia's face flamed, the men of the Band stood as though stunned. With shaky hands she threw the tunic back on, replacing it expertly and tightly, the scars hidden.
It was Evelyn who asked, “Who has... who has hurt you, Calia?”
Calia looked at all the curious stares, steeped in compassion and could not bear their pity, their gaze.
“If I had wanted all to know I would not be wearing clothing!” she yelled, her eyes blazing like twins suns out of a face gone pink with shame and anger.
Charles, who had been quiet during his time after his reunion with Clara, would never forget the brutality those scars represented. Charles paused, thinking of whom had laid those angry wounds against Calia, the female warrior of the Band.
And how unprotected their sphere would be if those permeable walls melted away. Leaving their people exposed and vulnerable to the likes of whom would abuse females so cruelly.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
the clan of Ohio
Sarah was gracious in the face of circumstances she was not pleased with. She had begged to return to her home sphere, mayhap encounter Clara, her rescue assured. After all, that fierce warrior of the Band would seek her until there was no breath left in his body.
Even now they had found her, Sarah was sure. If it had not been for that boss of a clansman, Philip, she would be with them, in all probability reunited with Clara.
James watched the woman of the sphere, Sarah, if memory served. He approached her, knowing full-well her grievance against Philip, and his warning. James remembered it clearly, as it had been given but one day past.
“Take care for Sarah. I do not wish harm to befall her. Nor do I want your undue attention upon her. Do you ken my wishes?” Philip had asked.
“Oh yes,” James had replied to him. I will protect the fair-haired maiden with my life.
Yes, decidedly yes.
As he advanced on her he saw the tense way she held her body, the tightness around her eyes. James clenched his hands in response even as he approached
her, aching to soothe the female who was like a skittish colt.
Sarah folded her arms underneath her chest and stared into the mesmerizing flames of the fire. The warmth stealing inside her bones, heating her from within as she thought of home. Her sphere. Where would Sarah and the other people ever be safe? Here- Outside? Sarah grieved for her uncertain future, and those of the people who shared her life.
A lone tear escaped her eye and she swiped it away in anger; homesickness gripped her and she fought it away with the last of her will. A small noise made her turn, her thoughts of Clara, Clarence... Charles, her familiar life inside the sphere pressing on her like a leaden weight. Sarah looked up into the eyes of one of the Band... John, James. She was not entirely sure. She had been introduced to those whom remained seconds after her abandonment to be safe here amongst the clan. She wiped her sadness off her face with an effort and forced a mask of politeness in its place.
Sarah saw how handsome he was, as all the Band were, her eyes staring at the gills which marked his throat, then flitting away nervously. She clenched her hands tighter in her lap. Wanting company but not this company. The Band made her nervous. Especially Philip.
James saw her anxiety and wished to expel it.
“Hello,” he said, his natural humor held in check. James realized he was nervous as well.
It was not an uncommon emotion around a female. Especially one as lovely as the one that stood before him. James thought he had never beheld hair so exact a shade as the grass which lined the meadows outside of the forest, gone blonde with winter's presence.
“Hello,” Sarah replied, giving a small smile in return.
James indicated the fire and asked, “Do you wish to sit closer to the flames?”
Sarah covered her mouth and giggled. He smiled in return. “What say you?”
“The way you posed the question...”
James grinned wider. It was as if he asked her to be dangerous. With him. Yet she laughed.
“Yes, I will not allow your skin to blister,” he replied, teasing her ever so slightly.
Sarah grinned wider, her melancholy over being excluded from the trip chased away in the presence of James of the Band.
He held his muscular arm away from his body and she looped hers through it.
A perfect fit.
They wandered toward the fire. Sarah's momentary press of discouragement forgotten before the distraction of the male company who presented himself at the most opportune of moments.
James smiled. He had planned the timing with a degree of finesse he was well known for.
Philip should have known better than to charge him with her protection.
He was quite good at his duties.
Sarah smiled up at him as they sat together on a great log that ran the perimeter of a fire that was quite hot.
Quite hot indeed.
*
Jonathan watched the pair by the fire and thought about Evie and what she was doing at this moment. He worried not, for she be with the Band. His Band. But.... he kicked a stone that lay exposed by the stable that he kept, he wished to see this sphere that Queen Clara called home. He deliberated, perhaps he could trade duties at a point in the future with one of the others, they could muck out the stables for a time while he visited the sphere. If he were honest with himself, he would concede the visit to the sphere-dwellers was but a façade to cover what he really wished for: Evie.
Jonathan had loved her since they were children. He had never worried about their potential mating, as the Band were too old to be competitors.
No longer. That Maddoc of the Band from the sea was at hand. Mesmerized, he was sure, by that drop or two of the blood of the Band that she held inside her.
Jonathan scowled. He was a perfect age for Evie.
He could not compete with Maddoc's strength or obvious skills that came with being born of the Band. But... he was thought to be quite clever and fair of face. He was tall and well-muscled from years of hard labor, his stewardship over the steeds renowned. Jonathan was sought for his skills as a horseman, trainer, rider and his ability to cause temperance in a beast where none had been before.
Decision made, as was his way, he strode to where his friends were gathered, one in particular.
Jonathan would ask in secret. Then he would be about sneaking off with his steed, the finest in their clan; then move toward the sphere, where with any fortune, he would intercept the group. Surely they had found the queen by this time? He thought on Matthew, Bracus and Philip as part of that group.
Yes, they would have found her... or died from the effort.
*
Calia fought tears, biting the inside of her lip to keep them from falling. How dare they? She was beyond humiliated! If she had been male they would have made light of it. Had Clara not told her that Matthew had suffered thus yet they did not make him explain the specifics of the atrocities he had suffered. She gave them the look they deserved, her eyes lingering on the one that had cuffed her side, it burned still and she turned on her heel and strode ahead of the mounts, their supplies, the Band.
All.
Evelyn swung her face in bewilderment to where Bracus stood. What had been wrong in asking? They were horrid wounds. And for a female to wear them? Bracus met her look and answered as soon as Calia was out of earshot, “She has had much time in her own company. We believe that she may have issues of...”
“Trust,” Daniel said, eyeing Philip with disdain. He glared back at Daniel. “I did not know it was she!” he railed against them. “I would never strike a female!” Philip's brows shot down over his brown eyes, his hair the color of deep chestnut. He swung a piece out of his eyes. Frustrated, he gripped his hair and tied it at his nape. Philip looked at the now-silent group. “I will be about discussing some things with that female. But,” he looked at his brethren, “she must stop abusing the males from behind. She is good enough...” he looked at his Bandmates, “we mistake her for a male. If she does not discontinue this practice, we may not pull our strike. A bruised rib would then be broken.” His eyes became grave and he went on, “You ken that possibility?” Everyone did, nodding. “Calia must learn that not all males will abuse her. Nary a one of the Band.”
Clara watched Philip struggle with the length of his speech and corrected all who stood with them. “Her name is not Cal-ee-ah.”
All eyes turned to her. Edwin broke the silence, “Aye, she was named for the flowers which grow beside the marsh where we collect our greens for meals.”
Daniel's brows shot up. “Like the flower? The Calla lily?”
Clara nodded.
The group laughed and Clara smiled. It was Philip that noted the irony of her name, “That spitfire has been named after a flower of delicate beauty. That she would live up to her namesake...” he sighed and Evelyn charged him, “That she would have been allowed!” she cried, affronted.
She met each of the male's eyes, Clarence and Charles conspicuously silent. “Calia has been abused by those around her. There was no time to be soft...”
“To be female,” Rowenna agreed, stepping into the conversation. “In my Band, females are revered.”
Maddoc grunted, thinking of Jocelyn and Ella. Not all. His mother inclined her head in his direction. “Sometimes when they deserve it not.” Then she shook her head in puzzlement. “She may be too...”
“Do not say it, Mother,” Clara said and they looked at each other.
Daniel and Philip stepped forward at the same moment as Clara's eyes sought and found Matthew. “I was broken, but not beaten.” Matthew's eyes shifted from Clara's to Rowenna. “With care and understanding, she will be whole again. She has lived through much.” He paused. “I ken that very well,” Matthew said, coming to Clara and taking her small hand in his.
She and she alone had broken through his shattered past. Clara's love glued the pieces together as surely as the sun rose each morn.
Clara looked up at Matthew and the blatant regard, his feelings brimming in
his eyes made heat climb to the surface of her skin in a rushing bloom of fire, their clasped hands a conduit, their perfect complement solidifying before the group.
Edwin glowered, breaking the moment. “I will see to her if you do not.” His eyes pierced Philip.
“Nay, I must make amends. I have never struck a female. It matters not that it was accidental.” Philip said, his eyes already on the direction of where Calia had gone.
“Good,” Edwin said shortly, then looked at Rowenna. “She will return to her proper clan. Of that, there is no question. None.” He gave a final look at where Matthew and Clara stood, his mouth forming a grim line and he turned, walking toward where the supplies were assembled, gathering his rucksack he turned to the group. “Let us make haste. If we travel hard, we will arrive at the sphere before nightfall.”
Clara could see his subtle anger at the closeness that had progressed between she and Matthew. Worse, Clara could feel a tangible pressure from Rowenna that she court Edwin as well. She bit her lip softly. Clara liked Edwin, adored his humor and manner. But he had not captured her heart. Her body responded to his touch, true. But her heart knit within her breastbone, coming alive with a fire that was deeper, richer and more varied in the hands of Matthew. She would tell Rowenna her thoughts... soon. They must address the salt and what to do with her sphere, and the others, first. The clarification of her courtship would have to wait until those matters were settled and her sphere was safe.
Matthew locked his gaze with Edwin and scowled. He could bring all that he was to Matthew. He was ready. He gave him the gaze that told him such, watching as Edwin scowled and strode away. Matthew swung that look to Daniel, his other adversary for Clara's hand but his gaze sought the other select. Matthew wondered... had there been a change of heart toward Clara? Did his brother now wish for the other select? It was almost too much to hope for. But... if he did feel for Calia, she would be challenging to love. Her background offered much to overcome. He did not think Edwin would give her up, he seemed quite determined that she return to her rightful clan. That smelled of trouble to Matthew.
savage 04 - the savage vengeance Page 14