EmbroideredFantasies

by N. J. Walters

  “Roxanne?”

  She realized she hadn’t said anything to Stacy. “Umm, thanks for letting me know.”

  “I’m really sorry, Roxanne.” She could hear the other woman’s frustration. “I pushed for a longer sentence, but there were no previous charges or convictions.”

  “I understand. It’s okay, Stacy. Really. You did everything you could and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

  “You don’t live in Nevada anymore. You’re in California. He doesn’t know where you are.”

  But he would find out. Roxanne knew that. She’d seen the promise in his eyes when he was led away from the courtroom that last time. She knew that look and knew what it meant. Michael wouldn’t be happy until she was dead. Maybe a year in prison had made him rethink things. After all, if she died, he’d be the prime suspect and he’d get a lot more than a year in prison.

  “Listen, I have to run. I have to be in a meeting in five minutes. You take care and call the cops if you see him. You still have a restraining order against him.”

  For all the good that would do. Roxanne knew firsthand just how useless a piece of paper was. She’d had the restraining order against him when he found her and beat her that final time, landing her in hospital for more than a week. The irony of the situation was that she was still his wife at the time and his health insurance had paid for her hospital stay.

  “Thanks, Stacy.”

  She hung up the phone and stared out her tiny window. Rain slashed against the glass. A tear rolled down her cheek and dropped onto the tapestry. She’d been so happy only moments ago. Now her life was a nightmare once again. What would Michael do? Would he come after her? Or would he decide she wasn’t worth the effort?

  Only he knew, but she had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  “Why?” she cried, burying her face in her hands.

  She’d asked that question many times over the past three and a half years. She’d had a normal life once. Had parents who loved her and a fiancé she adored. They’d all been in the car together when they’d been hit head-on by a drunk driver. The other three had died and she’d walked away with a broken arm and a shattered life.

  It was less than a year later she’d met Michael Talbot. Charming in a rough sort of way, he was the exact opposite of her slender-built, soft-spoken fiancé, Dan. Michael was six-foot-three, all of it muscle. With his dirty blond hair, blue eyes, tattoos and bad-boy charm, he’d swept her off her feet. He was a mechanic who liked fast cars and motorcycles. He’d breathed life back into her. When he’d asked her to marry him, she’d said yes.

  He’d hit her for the first time while they were on their honeymoon. All because she’d spoken to their waiter. Michael had accused her of flirting. She’d been dazed and hurt. Michael had apologized with roses and she’d forgiven him. Life had settled down for a few months after that, but then he’d hit her again, the frequency growing as one year turned into two.

  Isolated and alone, it had taken Roxanne a long time to realize it wasn’t her fault that he hit her. It was Michael’s. Furthermore, she didn’t have to put up with it any longer. He’d stripped her of her self-confidence, her sense of self-worth until she was little more than a shade of her former self. The laughing, smiling girl who’d been engaged one moment and left alone the next had turned into a quiet, frightened woman.

  She’d looked in the mirror one morning and knew she had two choices. She could leave Michael or she could let him kill her, because that’s what would happen if she stayed long enough. She’d tossed a few belongings into a battered duffle bag and left. But he’d come after her, finding her in the cheap motel where she’d taken refuge. Thankfully, the people in the room next to her had called the cops about the noise. Otherwise, she’d have died that night.

  A soft sound, much like a sigh, startled her. She jerked her head up and whirled around. She was alone. “Now you’re hearing things,” she muttered, swiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands.

  She looked down at the tapestry. All her early pleasure in the item gone. She traced her finger over one of the warriors and then the other. “Too bad I didn’t have someone like you to protect me.” But that was nothing more than a fantasy. These warriors were nothing more than the figments of someone’s imagination, nothing more than embroidered threads.

  Roxanne didn’t hate men. She knew not all men were like her ex. Her father had been a good man. So had her fiancé who’d died at such a young age. But she no longer found it easy to trust men. Who knew what kind of monster hid behind a charming smile? In the year since her divorce she hadn’t dated. She’d been asked several times, mostly by guys she’d met while working at Joe’s. But she wasn’t ready to date again. Might never be.

  There was nothing she could do but continue to live her life on her own terms. If he wanted to find her, he would. No matter where she ran. She would be cautious, but she wouldn’t allow Michael to control her life. Not any more.

  Picking up the tapestry, she draped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs to dry. Then she reached for the purple vase. It was time to clean her other treasures and get them put away before she had to get ready for work. She was filling in a half-shift today for one of the other girls. She didn’t mind and it was extra money. It would also help take her mind off her problems.

  Roxanne glanced at the clock and groaned. She had barely enough time to grab a shower and get changed before she had to catch the bus back downtown to work. Setting the vase aside, she hurried into the bathroom.

  The sun peeked out from behind a cloud, the light streaming through the window and catching the colors of the tapestry. It seemed to glow for a split second. By the time Roxanne came back out of the bathroom with her hair wet and a towel wrapped around her, the strange light was gone.

  She didn’t give the tapestry a second thought. She quickly tugged on her pink polyester uniform, grabbed her purse and hurried out the door.

  Chapter Two

  The razor-sharp edge of the blade slashed downward, slicing straight toward his head. At the last possible second, Radnor Craddock brought up his sword and blocked the deadly blow. The two blades skated against each other, the metallic shriek firing his blood. He would not be defeated.

  Muscles bunched in his shoulders and forearms. His biceps bulged. Dust kicked up from the dry ground beneath his boots. The sound of heavy breathing and low grunts filled his ears as he slowly pushed his opponent back. They were equally matched in all ways but one—sheer willpower. Radnor was the more determined of the two. He would never give up. Never stop fighting.

  Giving a battle cry, he thrust forward, throwing all his weight behind the move. His opponent stumbled, almost losing his footing. Radnor attacked. Mercilessly, he pounded the other man, driving him back, looking for an opening, some weakness in his defense.

  But his opponent wasn’t defeated. Not by a long shot. He renewed his effort, swinging his heavy sword with the ease of long practice. The two men fought as the sun rose higher in the sky.

  Sweat rolled down Radnor’s forehead and stung his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, but didn’t dare try to swipe it away. To do so would give his opponent the opening he was waiting for, watching for. He could see the gleam in the other man’s eyes and knew it matched his own. They’d both been born to fight.

  “Enough.” His opponent suddenly stepped back and lowered his blade. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  Radnor slowly let his blade fall back to his side. “That’s your problem, Sednar, you’re always worried about your stomach.” He sheathed his sword and reached his arm outward. His older brother grasped it readily. They clasped, hands around biceps, shoulders bumping before they released their grip.

  Sednar’s face was flushed from exertion but he smiled and patted his flat stomach. “What can I say? I don’t want to pine away to nothing.”

  Radnor snorted. At six-foot-four, of solid muscle, there was little chance of that happening to his brother. Sednar
threw his arm around Radnor’s shoulders and the two of them left the training field and headed for the keep.

  Craddock Keep wasn’t as large as many castles in the area, but it was strong and well fortified. The tower was built out of thick gray stones and it rose like a beacon in the sky. It was his home and he loved it. And unlike six years ago when his older brothers were still alive, it was in good repair.

  Radnor rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if memories of those bleak times would ever truly fade. If there had ever been a more brutal man born than his eldest brother Leon, Radnor had never met him. Vicious and cruel, Leon had ruled with an iron fist, warring with surrounding families and stealing whatever he wanted.

  Once there had been six Craddock brothers. Now the only ones left were he and Sednar. Bren and Lednar had been killed in a raid, trying to steal a woman. Leon and then Hamid had been slain on the field of combat, after displaying a true lack of honor. All four of them had met their end at the hands of the Bakra brothers. Once considered the mortal enemies of the Craddocks, they were now related to the Bakra family by his sister’s marriage. The world was indeed a strange place.

  Radnor couldn’t say he was sorry that his older brothers were dead. His early years had been hell. As the youngest boy, he’d borne the brunt of much of their brutal ways. He’d learned not to trust anyone or anything. An act of kindness was usually a trap that led to disappointment at best, to a brutal beating at worst.

  He still found it strange that he and Sednar had formed such a deep bond of friendship and brotherhood over the past six years. With their older brothers out of the picture, it had fallen to them to bring the castle and the land surrounding it back from the brink of poverty and destruction. In doing so, they’d learned they were more alike than they’d realized.

  “What ails you, brother?” Sednar’s arm dropped away and he paused at the bottom of the stone staircase that led to the entrance of the keep.

  “Memories,” he replied, knowing his brother would understand.

  Dark shadows crossed Sednar’s face and he nodded. “Some days are worse than others.”

  That was true. Days went by when Radnor gave no thought to his dead brothers. It was ironic that the two youngest boys were now the lords of the keep.

  “Come. Get cleaned up and have something to eat. You’ll feel better.”

  Radnor snorted. “You think food is the answer to every ill.”

  The corners of Sednar’s mouth tipped upward into a half grin. “Maybe not the answer, but it certainly doesn’t hurt.” After many lean years, they both appreciated a full belly.

  The two of them walked up the stairs side by side. The massive door opened just as they reached it and Johhan, their steward, greeted them. “Good morning, my lords.” He gave them both a short bow before turning his attention to Sednar. “I need a moment of your time if you can spare it. There is a minor structural change the builder would like to make to the training area behind the new stable.”

  “Give me time to get cleaned up and I’ll be right down.” Sednar turned to Radnor. “You want in on this?”

  That was another change in how things were now. Leon would never have asked for any of their opinions. In fact, he’d beat any of them if they dared question his decisions, his authority, taking it as an affront to his leadership.

  As the eldest brother, it was Sednar’s right to do whatever he chose, but from the moment they began to rebuild their home and their lives, the two of them had functioned as a team.

  He gave his brother a nod. “I won’t be long.” His long legs ate up the stairs as he climbed to his room. Now that there were only two of them, they each had their own room, complete with private bath. It was a luxury he appreciated, especially on days like today.

  Radnor entered his personal domain and unbuckled his sword, setting it carefully on the trunk at the end of his bed. His muscles flexed as he rubbed his left biceps. He’d pushed himself too hard today, trying to beat back the demons of the past.

  Sighing, he pushed the dark thoughts away. The past was what it was. No amount of thinking or wishing could change it. The here and now was good. That was what mattered.

  A servant had left water, which was still warm, in the bathing chamber. Radnor poured some into a basin and dunked his head forward, rinsing off the worst of the sweat and grime before grabbing a washcloth and running it over his arms and chest. He immediately felt better.

  He grabbed a drying cloth and was rubbing it over his torso when he suddenly paused. The back of his neck tingled and he spun around, dropping the towel and reaching for the knife in his boot, while cursing the fact that he’d left his sword in the other room. That wasn’t like him. He usually took his sword everywhere. Years under his brothers’ rule taught him never to be unarmed. They’d often attacked with no provocation, simply for the sport of trying to hurt him. He was getting careless and lazy.

  But he was alone. He cocked his head to one side and listened intently. There it was again. It sounded like a woman crying. His gut tightened. He hated the sound of a woman’s tears, had heard it often as a child. His mother’s life had been a hard one and so had his baby sister’s.

  It had eaten at him that he couldn’t do anything to help them. He’d learned as a child that any show of kindness on his part made things worse for them. Radnor had learned to ignore the women in his life and deflect his brothers’ attention onto himself. It was painful at times, but he counted it well worth it if it saved either of them a beating.

  His brothers had been an abomination. In Javara, women were scarce and, as such, were treated as the treasures they were. Because there were more males than females, it had long ago been decreed that two brothers would share a woman, but only one of them could marry her and claim her children. The other brother would get one night a week in her bed and would be there to take care of her if her husband died. No more than three brothers to a woman. That meant that the Craddock brothers might have had three brides between them all, two at the very least. They’d had none. No family would give their precious daughters into the brutal hands of their family. Radnor didn’t blame them.

  They’d treated their sister with blatant disregard. Radnor was glad that Genita had found happiness in the arms of the two younger Bakra brothers. They were good to her, treating her with the honor and respect she deserved.

  He prowled to the bedroom, knife in hand, and looked around. He was alone. The sound came again, a low sob that tugged at his heart. “Where are you?” he called. He turned in a circle, unable to locate where the sound was coming from. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Even as he said the words, he knew she might not believe them. There were many, even those who lived and worked at the keep, who still didn’t quite trust him or his brother, even after six long years.

  Sometimes Radnor thought they were right not to. The violence of his childhood had left deep emotional scars inside him. Thankfully, Sednar didn’t seem to be quite as damaged by their upbringing. His brother had always been more affable, avoiding the worst of their older brothers’ scorn and anger, deflecting it with humor. As a result, Sednar was a good leader, firm but fair in all his dealings.

  Radnor hadn’t been quite as lucky. He’d borne the brunt of his older brothers’ brutality. Been beaten down time after time. But he always got up again, unable to keep his tongue when he felt strongly about something. He’d always feared he was more like them than he wanted to admit. He could sense the smoldering cauldron of rage bubbling deep in his soul.

  He trusted Sednar more than he’d ever trusted another soul, but there was still a part of him that was waiting for his brother to turn on him, to betray him. It left him feeling tainted, unworthy of the trust his brother gave him.

  There was a soft sigh and a light breeze caressed his cheek. Then the air in the room stilled and he knew he was alone. The short hairs on the back of his neck rose. “There’s nothing there,” he told himself. He grabbed up his sword and strapped it on. He pulled a brown
leather vest from out of the trunk at the end of the bed and tugged it on. His leather pants and boots were dusty, but acceptable. His brother and the steward were waiting.

  Roxanne was exhausted by the time she arrived home later that evening. It had only been a partial shift, but the diner had been extremely busy. The rain had cleared off and the nice weather had brought people out to eat.

  Coupled with her early excursion to the flea market and her shocking news about Michael, it was no wonder she was dog-tired. Her limbs quivered with fatigue as she stripped off her uniform and dumped it into the hamper. She had to do laundry tomorrow. She’d planned on doing it this evening before she’d agreed to the extra shift at work.

  Tomorrow, she promised herself, as she padded to the bathroom. She looked longingly at the tub, but knew she would probably fall asleep within minutes if she tried to take a bath. She was that tired. Instead, she opted for a quick shower. Five minutes later, she was clean and dressed in a pair of yellow cotton pants sprinkled with orange and green flowers and a matching tank top.

  Yawning, she turned off the bathroom light. She double-checked the five locks on her front door, making certain each one was secured. She was uneasy even though she knew it was too soon for Michael to have found her. Still, she took the phone and set it on the coffee table next to the davenport.

  She made quick work of opening up her bed and spreading out the bedclothes. It was only then she remembered her earlier finds of the day. Her feet made no sound on the tiled floor as she walked to the kitchen chair. The tapestry looked incredible now that the accumulated layers of grime and dirt were gone. She picked it up, pleased to find it was dry.

  Forcing herself to be brave, she turned off the kitchen light, leaving on the lamp next to her bed. She couldn’t afford to leave all her lights burning, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to turn them all out. Not yet.