As if he'd heard her question, Shadow roused from his stupor. “Spinners do not travel far ... We are safe."
Before she could ask for more information, he lapsed back into a semiconscious state.
About a half mile ahead Dale could see a farmhouse. Though the road that way was rutted and muddy, she didn't think she had the strength to reach the village before darkness fell. Most farmers were self-sufficient. Maybe they could help Shadow or call someone for help.
A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat. Did this world have phones? So far she hadn't seen anything remotely modern. No jet streaks in the sky. No telephone poles or electric wires. No cars. She hadn't seen any people, either, other than the small moving specks down in the valley.
Adjusting her grip on the poles, she winced in pain and looked at her hands. Raw and bloody, her palms slipped on the rough poles. She bit her lip, tightened her hold and plodded forward. Years of martial arts training had taught her to endure discomfort without complaint and get the job done.
As she approached the farmhouse, two children peeked out at her from an open barn door. Both were dressed in overalls and barefoot. The little girl was about four or five, with tangled brown pigtails and chocolate brown eyes. Freckles danced across her turned up nose. She smiled shyly at Dale. The boy was several years older, and his dark brown hair was cut straight and short. He frowned and suspicion darkened his gaze as he pushed the little girl behind him into the barn's concealing shadows.
"Who are you?” he demanded, his voice shifting octaves. “What is wrong with him?” He pointed at Shadow.
"We're travelers. Are your parents around? My ... friend's been injured. We need help."
The little girl peered around the boy, then dashed off toward the house, yelling, “Papar! Strangers! Papar!"
"Amme,” the boy cried.
The door to the house slammed open. Footsteps sounded on the wooden porch and stairs. Dale turned in time to see the little girl scooped into the arms of an older boy. He quickly disappeared back into the house with her, and a large, burly man came out. Built like a professional wrestler, the man was an intimidating sight, even without the wicked looking sword he wielded with obvious skill.
Holding his sword aggressively, he stopped a few yards away. “Who are you? What do you want here?"
"I ... we..."
Dale struggled to hold the poles, but they started to slip from her slick fingers. Her muscles screamed in agony as she crouched to keep the travois from falling and dumping Shadow on the ground. The bird squawked and flew off.
Shadow's groan drew the man's attention.
"Your man is ill?” He took a step back. “What ails him? Does he carry the plague?"
"No. A spinner bit him. I cut out the poison, but he took ill anyway. I hate to impose, but can you help him? We're strangers here. We were crossing the mountains. Bandits stole most of our possessions and our transportation and left us in the mountains.” Dale struggled to concoct a story as close to truth as possible. One that wouldn't reveal just how much of a stranger she was. Fatigue muddled her thinking, making her feel slow and clumsy.
The man lowered his sword, but kept it ready. “I am Dolan. Few who come from the mountains come in peace. Of late, slave raiders have harassed us. A tenday ago my lifemate and infant son were taken.” His voice grew husky. He cleared his throat and called, “Thom. Mozin. Amme."
The two children and a young man hurried to their father's side. Mozin, the smaller boy and Amme both resembled their large father, dark-haired and dark-eyed. But the young man, Thom, was tall, with fiery red hair. Though slender, his body was well toned, with a tensile strength that didn't depend on size alone. His sea green eyes had seen much but revealed little. His stare made Dale shift nervously.
"These are my children."
"I'm Dale and this is Shadow. Can you call a doctor for him?” Dale asked.
"The village healer is away, but we will do what we can for your man. Amme, help Mozin prepare the extra bedchamber. Thom help me carry the man inside."
Dale limped after them into the house. Her half frozen feet burned as they started to thaw. The smell of roast meat and fresh bread filled the comfortable dwelling. Her stomach grumbled loudly. Dolan's grin made her blush.
Once in the bedroom, her blush deepened as she and Dolan stripped off Shadow's clothes.
Dolan's mouth tightened as he took in the scars on Shadow's back. “He carries the mark of the lash."
"Someone did this deliberately? Why?"
Dolan traced a scar with his fingertip. “Whoever wielded the lash knew his business—to inflict pain without killing or maiming. Why don't you know whether your man spent time as a slave or paid for a crime under that lash?"
"We haven't been together long. He keeps his past to himself."
Dolan frowned, but he seemed to accept her explanation for her lack of knowledge about Shadow. “There are many who suffered unjustly before King Timon came into power."
A slave? A criminal? Neither description fit the Shadow she knew. But then she didn't really know him, did she?
But she needed him alive. Despite her words back at the cave about their parting company, she knew that without him she might never find her way home to Thea.
"Will he live?
Dolan looked at Dale. “I think he will survive. He is young and strong. The thick scarring probably blocked the poison. If you cut deep enough around the spinner bite you most likely stopped the poison from entering his blood stream. He will run a fever for a few days and be sore for awhile longer, but he should suffer no further effects."
"And if I didn't cut deep enough?” Beyond her natural compassion for another living soul, and her need of him, why should she care so desperately that Shadow live? She'd only known him for a day.
"Then the poison is already killing him from the inside out. We will have the answer by morning. He will either start to improve or he will die. I am sorry I cannot promise you better. Come. You must eat and rest yourself. Amme will draw you a hot bath. And I will find you some proper attire."
Reluctant to leave Shadow's side, Dale allowed herself to be led away. But after a quick bath and a hasty meal, she hurried back and stationed herself in a chair next to his bed. While she was away, Dolan had rebandaged Shadow's wound. Weary down to her bare and blistered feet, she watched him sleep. His skin looked pale and waxy, without the healthy robust glow he'd had when she first met him. Fingers lax, his hands lay motionless atop the blankets. His broad chest rose and fell in a reassuring rhythm.
She told herself that her gratitude for his help, and her future need of it, made her keep vigil at his side. Experience warned her to run away from him as fast and as far as she could. Caring for a man like Shadow could only result in heartbreak, particularly when he lived in another world.
But when she was helpless, he'd cared for her. She couldn't abandon him now. Besides, he might know more about how she came to this world than he was letting on. She had to stick close to him and learn what he knew. She'd just have to guard her emotions.
Dolan's surprisingly gentle touch on her shoulder startled her. The older man stared down at her with understanding.
"You need to rest. Your collapse will do him no good."
"I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done for us. Were these your wife's clothes?” She touched the simple white cotton blouse and a colorful peasant skirt he'd given her to wear. He'd also found a pair of sandals, but her feet were too tender to wear them yet.
He nodded and blinked eyes heavy with unshed tears. “My Saree would want you to have them. I pray that wherever she is, someone will do as much for her in her hour of need. I brought a salve for your hands and feet. It is made by the Sisters of Light, a group of learned women dedicated to healing. It should relieve the pain and quicken the healing. I used it on Shadow's wound."
"How does his wound look?"
"It is clear of discoloration. I believe you got all the poison. Morning will tell the tale. No
w you must sleep. Since I know you will not leave his side, I have brought you bedding.” He chuckled softly and placed several thick wool-like blankets and a heavy fur robe on the wooden floor next to the bed. “Rest well.” He patted her shoulder and left the room.
Dale spread the thick, sweet scented salve on her hands and feet. Almost instantly the throbbing pain lessened. She laid down on the soft warm blankets and curled under the silky fur robe. A cheery fire burned in the room's small hearth, warming and filling the air with a piney aroma.
She had no idea how much time had passed when an insistent tapping noise jolted her from sleep. She looked up at the room's small window. On the outside ledge the bird kept watch.
Exhaustion washed over her, but worry and fear kept her from returning to sleep. The sight of Dolan's children, especially the little girl, had stirred to life her longing for Thea. She'd been gone for nearly forty-eight hours. What was happening to Thea? Did she understand what had occurred?
She and Dale had discussed Cathy's disappearance many times. While Dale had believed that Cathy was dead, Thea had never given up hope. She claimed she had dreams about a Cathy who wasn't Cathy, about the imaginary world of Remal that Cathy had created in her art. Worried about the child, Dale had considered taking her for counseling, but before she did, Thea's dreams stopped. Or she stopped talking about them.
Always a fey child, Thea was also gifted in other ways. She excelled in school, and her sweet nature attracted people like honey drew bees.
Had Cathy disappeared into this strange world, never to return? Tears seeped from under Dale's closed eyelids. Was she doomed as well? Would she ever see her daughter again?
Chapter Four
Warrior caution made Raf keep his eyes closed. He slowed his breathing and remained still long after he returned to consciousness. One by one he tested his limbs. A painful ache, radiating from his upper back, encompassed his whole body. The sweet, familiar scent of moist dirt and newly sprouted grasses filled the air, along with the tantalizing aroma of fried kokora eggs, meat strips and fresh baked bread. His stomach growled, and he stiffened, preparing himself for his enemy's blow.
Dale's laughter, rich and satisfying as chilled buttermilk on a hot day, eased his tense muscles.
"So you're finally awake."
At the sound of Dale's voice, he opened his eyes and looked up.
She leaned over him. Her skin glowed pink and cream in a shaft of sunlight. Her fresh, clean fragrance awakened a deeper hunger in him.
"Where are we?” he rasped as she helped him into a sitting position. Her hair brushed his arm and it felt like the pelt of a shecal kit. Warmth surged through him. Food was forgotten.
"In a farmer's home at the foot of the mountains. You've been ill for three days."
Three days! Could he still track Treman? He surged upward. Or tried to.
Her hand on his shoulder held him pinned to the bed. Why was he so weak?
"Your body is still getting rid of the spinner poison.” When she stepped back, he missed her warmth. “Eat. It'll build up your strength. Dolan is quite an accomplished cook.” She reached for a tray sitting on a small table next to the bed.
"Dolan?” Raf accepted the food-laden tray.
"Our host. He owns this land and is the village crystal smith, whatever the heck that means. He and his children have been very kind.” She perched on the wooden frame of the bed. “Now eat. You've had nothing but broth since I dragged you down the mountain."
He eyed her slender frame. “How did you get me down the mountain?"
"I rigged a travois from some branches and your cloak and just pulled you down."
Though she shrugged it off, he knew it could not have been easy.
"Why?” He felt compelled to ask.
She looked surprised by his question. “To save your life. I couldn't just leave you for those creatures’ next meal, could I?"
"Why not? You know nothing about me."
"You didn't know me when you saved my life, but you did it. A life for a life. We've even now."
Even. The debt between them was paid. What he did next would tip the scales beyond redemption.
Raf's hand trembled as he lifted an egg soaked piece of bread to his lips. A dollop of yoke fell, landing on his bare chest.
"Let me help.” With her fingertips, Dale wiped the food from his skin, and then relieved him of the bread in his hand. His skin tingled as he watched her pink tongue lick the warm yellow yoke from her fingers. The tray rocked at his body's unexpected reaction to her casual sensuality. He steadied the tray with shaking hands.
Seemingly oblivious to his arousal and her own part in it, she fed him with practiced efficiency while explaining where they were. Was she the guileless innocent she appeared or a skilled deceiver sent by Devros to trap him? Either way he could not succumb to her charms, or allow her to sway him from his goal. Honor and vengeance guided him down the path he trod.
Each mouthful increased his energy. Muscle aches faded. Strength returned. Drawing on a lifetime of training, he banished weakness. Time did not permit vulnerability. If he hesitated, Devros would evade him.
When he finished, she lifted her hand to his mouth. Before she could use her fingers to wipe away the crumbs from his lips, he caught her wrist in a steely grip. “Do not start this unless you intend to finish it."
"What?” She looked confused then comprehension, followed by anger, darkened her blue eyes to deep violet. Color swept up her throat and into her cheeks. Bristling like an enraged shecal, she tried to pull free of his hold. “Let me go."
"When I am ready.” Her pulse raced as he stroked her inner wrist with his fingertips. “Your attraction to me will make our trip most enjoyable."
The bed rocked as she sprang to her feet. She jerked her hand free. Blue fire sparked in her eyes, and her chest heaved in agitation beneath the thin cotton of her loose blouse. Silky strands of hair created a golden halo when she tossed her head. “Attracted to you? Ha! I'd as soon touch a—a spinner. And who says I'm going anywhere with you ... you conceited ... hairy ... baboon!"
She spun away, her skirt swirling around her legs like a colorful whirlwind as she stomped away.
Raf stroked a hand over his smooth chest. Conceited, perhaps, but a baboon? What manner of creature might it be? Judging from her tone, not an attractive one.
Raf stiffened as she brushed past the large man entering the room. Without taking his attention off the stranger, Raf scanned the room for his weapons. But the small chamber was empty of all but the bare necessities—bed, dresser, and washstand. Comfortable, but simply furnished, the room was obviously one set aside for guests.
Though Dale seemed not to fear the man, experience had taught Raf to assume nothing. He palmed the small butter knife and straightened to greet his reluctant host.
Broad of shoulder, the man filled the doorway. Tiny burn scars crisscrossed his thickly muscled arms, evidence of his trade as a crystal smith. Large calloused hands held a bundle of cloth.
"You look better. And must be feeling so as well, for your woman to lose her temper with you.” He laid the bundle down on the bed. “I have brought you some fresh clothing. Would you like to bathe first?"
The man's tone was friendly, but his eyes held a deep-rooted suspicion. Body coiled and ready to react, he watched Raf through narrowed eyes.
"You are Master Dolan?” Raf eased his grip on the butter knife. The man had had plenty of time to do harm, if that had been his intention.
"Just Dolan. We here in Dramon do not judge a man by his title, but rather by his character and deeds. From where do you come? Your accent is strange to me.” Dolan's words held a warning and a threat. Shadow understood the man was letting him know that he offered his hospitality to an injured stranger, but if his trust were betrayed he would exact a terrible penalty.
"We travel from the mountains of Arete.” Best to tell as much truth as possible when spinning a complicated web of lies.
Dolan looked d
oubtful, but he did not press further. “Let me show you to our bathing chamber. We are fortunate that the mountain's hot springs bubble to the surface not far from here."
Future guilt and regret churned in Raf's gut, but his path had been decided annum ago. There could be no faltering, no turning back from his fate. Knowing that he would soon betray this man, Raf accepted his arm.
* * * *
Thoughts of Thea pushed aside Dale's aggravation with Shadow. A week! She'd been gone a week.
Since she'd been with Dolan and his family she'd asked careful questions about where she was. The answers left her feeling confused and helpless. She wanted—needed to get home, but she had no idea how to accomplish it. Her only hope was to find her necklace. Somehow, it had brought her here, so maybe it could take her home. And as much as she disliked admitting it, to find her necklace she needed Shadow's help.
What had Thea done when she vanished? Was she feeling well? Was she getting to the hospital for her treatments? Worry and fear churned inside Dale.
After Cathy's disappearance, Dale had taken the precaution of arranging a trust for her daughter and listed her friend, Scott and his wife, Gail as guardians. They'd make sure Thea wasn't placed in foster care, that she was cared for. But they had a new baby to command their love and attention. Who would ease Thea's pain of abandonment?
Dale touched her abdomen. And without her kidney to transplant into Thea, her daughter might die. She had to get home—soon!
Why hadn't she taken the time to look for her necklace before she came down the mountain? Fear of the spinners and Shadow's injury were no excuse.
But what else could she have done? She couldn't have left Shadow to die, nor could they have stayed outside the spinner cave to search for her necklace, particularly when she didn't know where Shadow had found her.
She kicked at a clod of freshly turned ground. Guilt stirred her anger and fueled her aim. The clod flew through the air and smacked Thom square in the chest.
Stunned, the boy stopped and stared at her.
"Oh, gosh, Thom. I'm sorry. Are you hurt?” Dale hurried forward and started to wipe the crumbling dirt from the boy's chest. He caught her wrist in a strong grip.
Shadow Moon Page 4