The Moon Witch

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “Will there be more?” she asked softly. “Will his...friends or family or comrades come to us to avenge his death?”

  “No. The Caradon almost always travel and hunt alone. They are loners. They do not work together well as the Anwyn do.”

  “Good.” Juliet gently pushed a section of tangled hair away from Ryn’s face.

  “You’re leaving,” he whispered as she wrapped linen tightly across a long scratch on his forearm.

  There was no reason to lie. “Yes. As soon as I’m sure you’ll be able to care for yourself, I’m heading back the way we came.”

  “You are meant to be here,” he said weakly. “Why do you fight that truth so hard?”

  She sighed in pure distress. “It is your truth, not mine. I can’t blithely accept your insistence that we are meant to be together, not when I don’t feel that connection myself.” She squirmed slightly. There were times when she did feel that connection; she just didn’t trust what she felt at the moment. “My sisters need me, and I won’t abandon them. By the time you’re physically able to follow, I’ll be far, far away from this mountain.”

  “You won’t leave. You can’t, Juliet.”

  At least he didn’t call her wife this time.

  “I can and I will,” she insisted. In frustration, she tied one bandage a bit too tight. “For goodness’ sake, Ryn, why me? Why can’t you just choose another woman?”

  “I did not choose,” he answered. “You did not choose. What is between us simply is. If you search your mind, you’ll know it’s true. You have dreamed of me all your life, Juliet, as I have dreamed of you.”

  Her heart jumped at the mention of her dream.

  “I have dreamed of you,” he said again. “You had no face in the dream, not that I could ever recall when morning came, but it was you. I knew it the moment I tasted your skin, and when you taste my skin, you will know, as I do, that this is not a choice we make but a destiny over which we have no control.”

  He should have no strength, but he found enough to take her hand in his and hold it tight. “I have tried to tell you, Juliet. I have even tried to show you, but you will not listen.” He swallowed hard. “Listen to this, wife.”

  He dropped the mental shield he maintained between them, letting it fall with a suddenness that took her breath away. The world faded, and there was nothing in the world but the beat of his heart and the beat of hers. Those two hearts thudded in time; they pounded together in a rhythm she could not explain. Their blood rushed as one, as if a loud, harmonious chorus began to sing, their fine voices so loud and crystalline the sound deafened her. She felt the wounds on Ryn’s skin as if they were on her own, fire on her untouched flesh and pain that cut to the bone.

  “You think your gift is weak and beyond your control,” he said weakly, “but that is not so. You fight the power, but on this mountain you will discover the depths of your gifts—if you stop fighting what you know to be true.”

  “You don’t know anything about me and my gifts,” she protested.

  “All your life you have been searching for me, but I was too far away and you did not understand and you have the blood of the witch to give you a strength that most women do not have. You touched others while your soul and your mind reached for me.”

  “Ryn, that’s not—”

  His voice grew sharper and more precise, as if he knew he would not be able to talk much longer. “You no longer need to reach for me because I am here. I am here, wife.” His mind touched hers, and she knew the depth of his determination, the fervor of his belief that she was the one. The only one. In his mind and his heart, she was already his. Mine.

  “I am not yours,” she argued.

  You are. He no longer had the strength to speak, but she heard his thoughts in her mind. She felt his considerable strength ebbing from his body. Soon he would be unconscious.

  Mine.

  The moment he passed out, the connection ended. She no longer felt even a twinge of discomfort, where only moments ago her skin had burned as if it had been sliced by the Caradon’s claws.

  “I will leave,” she told the unconscious man. “Perhaps not this morning, but as soon as I determine that you’re on the mend and will be all right without me, I will make my way down this mountain.”

  The dreams he spoke of...surely she had misunderstood. He did not mean that dream, the nightmare that had caused her to swear that no man would ever touch her. That dream always began pleasantly enough, very much like the moment when Ryn had pressed his mouth against her throat for a taste. But it never ended so agreeably. In the end there was always pain and blood and...she held her breath for a moment, unable to move or breathe or make a sound.

  Claws.

  Had the claws that ripped her apart in the dream been Ryn’s? Had the nightmares been warning her of this moment in time? She did not believe that he would knowingly harm her, but how well did she know this Anwyn male who claimed she was his wife? His vow that he’d follow her wherever she went might seem romantic to some women, but Juliet had shared too many of the man’s thoughts to suffer that delusion. He was determined to have her, and his insistence that they were meant to be together was adamant. He truly believed that she was the only woman for him, that she was meant in some soul-deep way to be his wife. There was no doubt that he did indeed believe she belonged to him, and that the root of her gift of sight was in her lifelong quest for him. Her man, her mate.

  He was stubborn, determined, and noble in his own primitive way. He did care for her, in the way a man might care for a family member or a close friend, and he certainly felt obligated to ensure that she remained safe. He wanted her, but he would never push or force himself upon her, even though his strength and size were formidable.

  She’d felt a host of potent emotions when she’d linked with Ryn, emotions that lurked beneath the pain and the determination.

  Love was not one of them.

  Chapter Seven

  Clouds moved in and snow dusted the trees before Juliet could begin her trek down the mountain. Just as well. Ryn wasn’t ready to be left alone, not just yet. His skin was warm to the touch, but then, he was always so warm she didn’t know if that spike in temperature was a sign that he was getting worse or not.

  The shallow cave offered them shelter from the snow, and when she’d gone into the woods to gather food, she’d stocked up on kindling and a few larger tree limbs that had fallen to the ground, most likely in a storm that had pushed through weeks or even months ago. Hauling these things from the forest to their camp took all morning, but at least the activity kept her from feeling the cold.

  She was not a hunter, so even if she had known where Ryn left his knife last night, she wouldn’t have been able to provide meat. The roots and nuts she’d gathered would have to do for now.

  When she sat beside Ryn to examine his wounds once again, she began to feel the chill that cut through her cloak and her frock and what was left of the nightgown she wore beneath them both. She absorbed some of Ryn’s warmth while watching the light snow fall.

  His wounds were deep but not life threatening, unless some unseen complications arose. She had a feeling he wouldn’t tolerate complications of any kind. He was too obstinate to give in to anything so common as skin lacerations or fever. She had even pressed her palms to his skin to reach for some vision of his future. As was usual where Ryn was concerned, she did not see details, which was frustrating to her. But the shield was not complete, and she knew without doubt that he had a life to live. He would not die here.

  Was it her imagination or were his wounds already healing? They didn’t seem quite as ugly or deep as they had this morning. The laceration on his thigh had definitely healed to some extent. Did the Anwyn people possess the ability to recover from injuries faster than man or wolf? In any case, it appeared that in a couple of days Ryn would be able to move on. At a slower pace than he was accustomed to, perhaps, but he would live. He would survive and heal and thrive. And that meant she could leav
e him here without guilt.

  She didn’t know exactly which direction to travel, and being lost in these mountains would be perilous, at best. There were magical creatures here that she could not fight. Treacherous—and now icy—footing. If it grew much colder, she could very likely freeze to death. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t simply give in to Ryn’s insistence that she belonged here with him, simply because the idea of trekking down this mountain alone was daunting and more than a little frightening. The alternative was surrender to a man and a life that she had not chosen, and she wasn’t yet ready to take that step, no matter what dangers would follow her decision to escape.

  Juliet Fyne had never been one for taking chances, and no matter what she decided to do—stay with Ryn for the time being or head out on her own—she was taking a chance with her very life.

  Ryn stirred, but didn’t awaken. He tossed aside the section of bearskin that she’d draped across his midsection, and lay there in the cold without so much as a stitch of clothing covering him. A naked man who turned into a wolf three nights out of the moon’s cycle had decided that she was his wife and they were meant to be together. He knew about her dreams...or a dream, at least. With every step, he took her farther away from the ones she loved. Her sisters. If he had his way, she’d never see them again. What choice did she have but to run?

  Late in the afternoon, Juliet walked away from a sleeping Ryn and the fire and the safety of camp, snowdrops stinging her face as the wind buffeted her and tossed her cloak and skirts about. The first part of the journey was an easy one. She retraced the steps that had led them to this place, heading toward the unforgiving stone mountain that stood between her and home.

  She thought about her sisters as she made her escape. Had Isadora already shaken the soldiers and headed for Fyne Mountain? How could they get word to Sophie that the cabin had burned and that the emperor’s men had tried to kidnap them? Even though Sophie had Kane Varden to protect her, she should know that there were evil forces out there who wished to do the Fyne women harm.

  Sunset approached when Juliet came upon a ledge that looked down over the mountain she would have to descend on her own. The task would be daunting, but not impossible. It would take Ryn several more days to heal, and by the time he was well enough to chase after her, she’d be gone.

  Standing on the precipice, she looked to the horizon and took a deep breath. Ryn said she had the power to touch anything, everything. He said she fought her abilities, that deep inside she denied the depths of her power. Perhaps he was right. Being connected to the earth as he said she could be was a powerful possibility that brightened her. She’d always believed that if she kept her hands to herself, she could be spared seeing that which she should not see, but if her gifts went beyond what she had always known, could she touch her sisters now, even from this distance?

  She concentrated, but nothing happened. No sense of peace or danger filled her, no visions of her sisters filled her mind. Frustrated, she dropped down to her haunches and laid her hand—one hand only—upon the cold rock. She imagined a silver river that connected the Fyne sisters to one another, now and always. No longer shielding herself from what might be, she opened her very soul and reached for her sisters.

  Suddenly Juliet was blinded to reality. She did not see the mountain or the blue skies or the landscape below her. She was transported to another place, as if her spirit moved through the air quickly and without effort.

  Isadora moved closer to this mountain with every step, and she was distraught but unharmed. She was determined as always, angry and worried. Her anger was mighty and almost out of control, but there was a sadness in Isadora, too, a sadness that tore at her heart.

  Sophie was well, too, surrounded by her family and beginning her own travels once again. Heaven above, she was strong! That kind of power in Sophie’s hands was a frightening prospect, but at least Juliet had the solace of knowing that whatever Sophie accomplished would be colored with love.

  Sophie carried her own sadness, worried about what would happen to her husband if she was unable to end the Fyne Curse. Juliet tried to see if it was possible for Sophie to save her husband, but she saw no answer. That question was yet undecided. Certain events would have to unfold just so before that outcome would be clear. Everything would change for Sophie and her sisters and her daughter, and for all the Fyne women yet to be born, if that curse could be broken.

  Ryn had insisted that when Juliet used her powers, she was unconsciously reaching for him. She very purposely did not reach for him now.

  As if she had invited Ryn in merely by thinking of him, he intruded on her thoughts.

  You can’t run from me.

  I can and I am. Don’t follow me, please.

  I won’t.

  Juliet breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  You’ll come back to me of your own free will, wife. And I’ll be waiting.

  “Can you do it?”

  From the saddle of her own mount, a white mare to which she had immediately bonded, Sophie turned to look up at Arik, the rebel leader and rightful heir to the throne of Columbyana. He did look some like his half-brother, but was heartier in build and had a touch of curl in his dark hair. Just a touch. They both had the sharp features of their father, as well as his height. No one who had seen them both could contest the fact that they shared blood.

  Arik’s concern was etched in worry lines and a slight frown, so she smiled at him. “Of course I can do it.”

  The sloping pathway ahead was slippery with a thin sheet of ice, and Arik’s traveling party consisted not only of sure-footed horses but also of pack mules and wagons loaded with food and weaponry. This road had been built for spring and summer and fall, when crops were moved from village to village. During wintertime, the merchants and farmers who made up the majority of the residents of this section of the Northern Province stayed in their homes and villages, and the road was rarely used.

  Arik was not a merchant or a farmer, and that was evident to anyone who looked at him. He had the bearing and determination of an emperor. The eye of a hawk and the heart of a lion.

  Sophie rode cautiously ahead, Arik on her left, Kane on her right. Ariana was being carried in a sling which was presently draped across her grandfather’s massive chest, and she slept soundly in spite of being jostled so horribly during the first leg of the journey. If only Kane would accept his daughter’s intuition as proof that Maddox Sulyen was trustworthy, all would be well. But that was a matter for another day. Today’s concerns were simpler.

  “Wait here,” she said, dismounting on a level section of the road and tossing her reins to Kane.

  “But...” her husband began.

  Sophie smiled at him. “I’m not going far.”

  She walked just a few feet ahead of the men who waited, until her feet were barely touching an upward turn in the road. The ice chilled her toes, even through her boots and socks. Tossing her cloak back over her shoulders, she lifted her arms and turned her face to the cold sky, where clouds that threatened snow dimmed the setting sun.

  Sophie filled her heart with spring, with the coming of warmth and growth and a welcoming green. She filled her heart with love. For her husband, her children, her father, and her sisters. That love powered the strength of the sun and chased away the gray.

  The change began at her feet, not in a flash but with a seedling of warmth. Her toes were not so cold, and she glanced down to see the ice beneath her boots melting away. The melting continued around her, growing in a circle that changed winter to spring. She felt herself rise slightly so that her feet no longer touched the road but hovered a few inches above it. The sensation of floating was almost exhilarating.

  Dead, brown grass beside the road sprung green and new; trees beyond the grassy hills budded at a miraculous rate; the ice before the rebels’ caravan, on the long road south, melted away, and amidst the winter cold of a particularly nasty day in the Northern Province came the spring of the Southern Province.<
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  Sophie drifted down gently, then turned to her husband and to Arik. They smiled slightly and shook their heads, believing what they saw only because they had witnessed it with their own eyes. Sophie tried not to pay an undue amount of attention to the soldiers behind them, who watched her with open suspicion.

  Her father looked at her with a mixture of pride and awe and perhaps even a touch of fear on his face. And then he shook his head and smiled, and she knew pride was more powerful than the other emotions he experienced. She knew that smile well; she’d seen it in her own mirror more than a few times over the years.

  “We should stop just past that second hill and pick some tiki fruits,” she said as she hefted herself into the saddle.

  “There are tiki fruits?” Arik asked, a touch of the little boy he had once been in this normally staid voice.

  “Of course,” she said, riding forward. “And quite a few redberry bushes, as well. We might as well pick the fruits for the journey ahead. The cold will return once the sun sets, and they will be ruined by morning.”

  Her gift for making things grow was greatest when she was carrying a child. She took special care to stay away from any place where women might gather. In her current condition she had a powerful effect on women of childbearing years. The men seemed to be fine, as long as their loved ones were not around. She did make an effort to rein in her power when she was around Arik’s soldiers. Just to be safe, of course.

  “I haven’t had a tiki fruit in...” Arik shook his head and spurred his horse gently forward. “Years.”

  “I don’t suppose soldiers often stop to enjoy such things.” Sophie and Kane rode alongside Arik; the others followed.

  “No,” Arik answered.

  “They should.”

  Even though she had committed herself to Arik and his cause, Sophie was not a soldier. She never would be. But her husband and her father were warriors, soldiers now and always, and she would do what she could to make their lives fuller and sweeter.