by Jen Holling
He withdrew the cup again and she asked, "Will there be more men after you leave?"
"No." He ground the word out in such a way that the single word was infused with so much conviction, such arrogant knowledge, that she almost smiled. He added, "You won't be here anyway."
Her heart sped and she reached for him with her good arm. He caught her hand in the darkness and brought it down to rest on her belly, enveloped in his. He was an anchor. She felt grounded with him here, beside her, holding onto her.
"How?" she whispered. "I'm not even sure I can walk."
"You'll be able to run when I'm finished with you." She heard a smile in his voice. "Drink more."
She did as he bid. Her body relaxed as the drug took effect. Her pain began to recede. His fingers were warm around hers, strong and reassuring. She trusted him completely, she realized. She would do whatever he asked of her right now. It felt strange and foreign to give her trust away so thoroughly, but nevertheless she was.
Her head was thick and pleasantly fuzzy, so without a thought, she said, "Stephen, I am afraid."
Before tonight, she would never have admitted such a thing to anyone. But now it seemed natural to share such things with him.
"I know!”' he said. "But I won't let anything happen to you. I vow it."
His voice, his promise, caressed her ears, the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard. His breath feathered against her cheek, his lips pressed a kiss to her forehead. She tilted her head so that his lips brushed her nose. He paused. His breath was uneven against her face. He didn't ask what she was doing, or what she wanted. He knew. His mouth touched hers, warm and inviting, and she drank him in, deeper than the drug that loosened her limbs.
His kiss was long and deep, tasting and probing. She made a soft sound, a moan of longing. It came from deep in her chest. He pulled away too quickly.
She wanted to whimper and plead, but she did not.
He sighed deeply, regret in his exhalation. "This is going to hurt."
Before she could ask what he meant, he took her wrist in one hand and placed the other on her shoulder. He gave a push and a twist, and it felt as if her shoulder had been skewered with a red-hot poker. Pain radiated through her body, all encompassing. She couldn't suck in enough air, and she lost consciousness.
When she woke it was still dark. She blinked and turned her head toward where she'd last seen Stephen.
"I'm here!”' he said, as if reading her mind. "Try moving your shoulder."
Her jaw tightened. The memory of the pain she had experienced before fainting came flooding back. She didn't want to move it. It would hurt too much. But she knew he'd only done what he'd felt necessary, so with a small grunt, she forced her arm to move.
And was astonished when it did. It hurt, quite badly still, but it was not beyond movement. In fact, at the moment the pain was completely bearable.
"You fixed it," she breathed, pushing herself to a sitting position. "How did you fix it?"
"It matters not now. Listen very carefully. We are running out of night, and darkness is our only friend. When I distract the guard I want you to quickly slip out the door and around the side of the cottage. From there you must tread carefully. Luthias has locked away most of the village’s animals to protect himself from you, but there might still be some animals that could give away your presence." His hand closed over hers, hard and urgent. "You must speak to them, Deidra, let them know you mean no harm and they must be quiet."
She nodded.
His hand continued to grip hers firmly. "Get as far away as you can before dawn. I don't care how you manage it—steal a horse if you must, run all night—it matters not, just move fast and do not stop. No rests. Continue northwest until you arrive at Drake's lands. Only then should you rest. Once—"
"Wait!" Deidra hissed, overwhelmed by his insistent instructions. "Were will you be? Must I do this alone?"
His hand tightened on hers. “Aye, you must. I will stay here and send Luthias's witch hunt in the opposite direction. Away from you."
Panic streaked through her. She grabbed his arms, clinging to him. "No! I'm not leaving you. The guard will tell—I don't care how much you paid him. I'm a witch and you're the last one with me before I escape. Luthias will torture him and he will tell."
"No, he won't. He will disappear tonight, never to be seen again. They will assume you did it, some soil of witchcraft." He paused. "Besides, you didn't have any problem leaving me before."
Her eyes burned and her breath caught. She released him abruptly, angry and hurt that he would throw that in her face, yet knowing he was right. "That was different," she said, her voice a choked whisper.
He let out a rueful breath. "No, it was just the same. I slowed you down then and I still will. Nothing has changed. I am a cripple."
"I'm a cripple now, too."
His soft laugh was bitter. "You're hardly a cripple. Even with a sore shoulder you can move twice as fast as I can." His tone changed, deeply serious. "Make no mistake. Your shoulder feels better now, but it will swell and stiffen. Willow bark is the best thing for it; have Drake brew you some. But you must keep moving; it will keep the stiffness at bay, for a while at least."
Her eyes burned, her face felt hot and tight. Terror froze her limbs. She didn't want to leave him, to do this alone.
He gripped both of her hands. "You're strong and smart and beautiful, Deidra MacKay. You'll be fine. You do not need me or any other man!”'
She sniffed. That might or might not be true, but she still wanted one—she wanted this one. "What will you tell them?" she asked.
"When it is discovered you've escaped and the guard disappeared, I will tell them that I was correct—you are a blood witch. You healed yourself, then transformed your guard and yourself into animals to escape."
"Can blood witches do that?"
"I know not—but neither do they."
Deidra shut her eyes tightly, her heart contracting painfully in her chest. His boots scraped as he stood.
"Let’s go."
He helped her to her feet. Pain radiated through her shoulder, but it was contained to her shoulder and she could move. She was no longer immobilized with pain. She became aware of a burning in her thigh. She lifted her skirt and touched the top of her thigh. It was crusted and tender.
"What happened to my leg?"
"Luthias stabbed you...to be sure you were truly insensible. You'll need to take care of it as soon as you're safe."
She dropped her skirt. She wanted to protest, to insist he come with her, but he was safer this way. If caught aiding her, he would be tried with her. And his idea to send them in the wrong direction was an excellent one. Perhaps when they didn't find her quickly he would be able to leave and join her at Drake's.
He led her to the door. She noticed that his limp was more pronounced, and guilt stabbed her afresh. No doubt her predicament had put additional strain on him. When had he last slept? He was right; he truly would slow her down.
Oddly, that knowledge did nothing to dampen her desire to be with him. It was strange that she had formed such a strong attachment to him. In spite of his back, he made her feel safe and cared for wanted. It moved something deep in her chest that he'd gone to so much trouble for her, placed himself in such danger.
He cracked the door, and a sliver of moonlight limned his profile, strong and handsome. What had he been like before the accident? As a whole man, he would have been beyond the reach of someone like Deidra MacKay, but now, altered as he was, he saw her and cared for her.
He closed the door and turned to her. Are you ready?"
She closed the distance between them and placed her palm against his chest. He went very still. She lifted onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. For a single heartbeat he did nothing. He didn't move or breathe. Then his arms came up around her, pulling her into him, his mouth warm and soft. She clung to him with her good arm, fear and lust twisting into something sharp in her
belly. She was afraid of what would happen next, of losing this man and this feeling. His hands moved up her back as he kissed her, his tongue sliding warmly against hers. She shuddered, the sensations whipping through her, new and delicious.
When his hands cupped her shoulders, pain seared through her like a jagged piece of glass. She turned her head with a small cry, ending their kiss as she buried her head in his shoulder.
His whispered apologies ruffled the curls at her temple. His arms still held her, but delicately now, as if she were fragile as an eggshell.
"I'm fine," she said when she regained her breath. And she was—at least in comparison to how she'd felt earlier.
He set her away from him, his hands still rubbing her shoulders gently.
"You should go before the joint swells any more. Go to Drake and all will be fine. He can protect you." He pressed a fervent, lingering kiss to her forehead. Her heart reached out to him. What if she never saw him again?
As if reading her thoughts, he said, "I will see you again, Deidra, I vow it."
She nodded. She choked on the words; they stuck in her throat. There was so much she suddenly wanted to say to him, but there was no time.
He turned back to the door. After another brief peek outside, he opened the door wider.
"Now go," he said in an urgent whisper. Around the west side of the cottage—and do not stop until dawn."
He pushed her in the center of her back, breaking her inertia. She was out the door and moving quickly but silently around the side of the house. Her steps were inaudible in the soft grass.
She trusted him to take care of the guard, trusted him so much that she never even looked back. She turned the comer of the house and headed north.
The cottage was on the edge of a cluster of cottages. She only had to pass two more unseen, and then another hundred yards to the fields, where the wheat was tall enough to hide her if she bent low. And beyond that, the wood.
When she was at the last cottage, pressed against the outer wall, she finally looked back. But not because she was afraid or worried; because of the longing that tugged at her heart. She didn't want to go on without him. What would happen if Luthias figured it out? What would he do to Stephen?
So intense was the worry and longing that she almost turned back, but she stopped herself. He had gone through a great deal to help her. Her return could ruin everything.
She believed in his promise to see her again. She took a deep, cleansing breath and braced her shoulder with her hand—then ran as fast as she could toward the wheat and freedom.
Chapter 7
Wake. Wake. Danger. Hide. Deidra's eyelashes fluttered. Wake. Now.
She came awake immediately and lay very still. The moon hung low overhead, visible between a gap in the trees. She turned her head toward her companion.
The wolf stood just outside the pale light of the moon. She watched Deidra, eyes gleaming yellow.
Deidra had decided, while hiding in the waist-high wheat, breath sawing in and out of her burning lungs, that since she was suffering for magic she didn't even use, there was no more sense denying it. She was damned no matter what she did, so she might as well embrace it. Then, at least, if she burned for it, they would be justified.
She asked the wolf where the danger lay.
Animals did not communicate as humans did. There was no east or west to them; they did not perceive direction in such concrete terms. The wolf communicated senses and thoughts to her. This wolf sensed danger from the direction of the village she'd escaped from the night before. They were after her. Time to move.
She was on her feet, but unafraid. As long as she remained aware of her surroundings, she could stay one step ahead of the danger. The animals would help her with that.
The wolf turned and disappeared into the trees. Deidra followed. The wolf had come to her last night, in a dream, and when she’d awakened, there had been her new friend, sitting nearby, watching her. It didn't frighten her at all. Such things happened to her frequently. In the past she'd ignored it, which had puzzled the animals, since she had communicated with them in her sleep.
The wolf had a keen sense of direction and was able to understand where Deidra wanted to go. It had led her all day yesterday and had even fed her, bringing her a dead hare as an offering. Deidra normally did not eat flesh, but she made an exception out of respect to the wolf and uncertainty about her next meal. It had apparently watched over her all night.
Deidra didn't want to imagine what Luthias would make of this new development. Nothing that he didn't already believe, she supposed. It was too late to even care. She'd made her decision, and there was no going back.
Leaves and twigs crunched and cracked underfoot, sounding obscenely loud in the silent forest. Her wolf companion tread silently, not a single sound coming from her soft padding. Deidra paused, suddenly aware of how odd the absolute silence was. No a single sound, not even the soft buzzing of insects, broke the quiet. She scanned her surroundings cautiously, overwhelmed with the sensation of being watched. She looked at the wolf, but her friend had disappeared.
Deidra's heart leaped, and she called out to the wolf in her mind, panicked at being alone. A branch snapped loudly to her right. Deidra whirled toward the sound.
A boy appeared from the trees and froze the moment he sighted Deidra. His eyes widened so that the whites glared at her and his mouth opened and closed, though no sound issued forth.
Deidra shook her head frantically. "No, no. Shhh!”
But the boy paid her protest no mind—he was working up a scream. He dropped the bow he held and opened his mouth, his chest rising in spasmodic gasps as he prepared to let loose. But before a single sound issued forth from his lips, the wolf flew out of the trees and knocked the boy off his feet.
A shock reverberated through Deidra, almost as if the wolf had attacked her, and she rushed forward. No, her mind screamed at the wolf, but it was too late. The boy had never had a chance. His feet twitched, then went still.
Deidra froze, hands clapped to her mouth. No, no, no, oh, God no. The scream rose in her mind, spiraling around so that she thought she might be sick. How could she have been so arrogant, so foolish? This was why she’d stopped communicating with animals all those years ago. They thought she was one of them; one of them, but more. A leader, a god, and they protected her as such. Her fingers curled into her face. Did she really think anything had changed? She could not control the beasts.
Her feet were rooted to the ground, her heart squeezing in her chest as she stared at the boy, at his still feet, and the wolf feeding on him, ignoring her pleas to stop, stop, stop, please stop. It was ruled by the bloodlust now.
“Adam?" The voice rang out through the trees.
The wolf’s bloody snout jerked up, its ears pricked forward. Danger.
Run, Deidra ordered. The wolf darted into the trees. This time Deidra touched the creatures mind as it left, assuring herself that it was not just hiding for a new attack. She implored it to keep moving and wait for her somewhere ahead, then prayed that it would obey her this time.
She tried to look away from the lad, from his bloody rended throat glistening wetly in the moonlight. The wolf had done that to protect her A lone wolf did not attack without provocation. Although she was repulsed, she also knew the wolf was not to blame. It was her fault. She had not made her wishes clear.
This...this senseless death was what happened when she meddled with things she couldn't control.
“Adam!" The call came again, forcing Deidra to move.
She ran blindly into the wood, following the wolf. Branches slapped at her face, brambles and roots caught at her feet. The sound of her heart and her breath heaving in her chest filled her ears. Her foot caught on a rock and she went down hard.
She lay on the ground, the horror of what she was responsible for wringing sobs of revulsion from her. She didn't have the energy to go on, to even move, so she cried there, face in the dirt, tears
wetting the ground until there were no more. And when they finally dried up, she just lay there, exhausted, not having the strength of heart to do any more. She didn't care if they caught her. She deserved it. Perhaps she should go back and give herself up.
A wet, cold nose nuzzled at her hair, and she shrank away. She came to her feet and wiped the wet grime from her face. Yellow eyes stared back at her. Though the wolf could not articulate it’s thoughts in language, it understood what she contemplated and chastised her for a fool by sending her an image of herself engulfed in flames. The wolf was right; she didn't want to bum.
Time to move again.
After lying motionless on the cold ground, her shoulder and thigh protested movement. She gritted her teeth and ran after the wolf through the night. Her sides ached, her chest burned, her shoulder and arm were one blazing limb of fire, and the wound in her thigh throbbed, but she didn't stop until the black towers of her uncle's stronghold were in sight.
Creaghaven was an ancient keep, destroyed and rebuilt over the years. It sat on a man-made motte and was surrounded by a sea of jagged creags jutting up out of the ground on every side. Even a well-shod horse could not easily make it to the gates, at least not with any speed. And forget about maneuvering siege machines anywhere near the walls. The price of such safety, however, was isolation.
She picked her way wearily through the forest of rocks, limping slowly and wincing when she stepped on a sharp stone protruding from the ground. There was no sign of life outside the castle or on it’s walls—not even a lit torch. No doubt her uncle had few visitors to this remote and barren location and saw no point in wasting the fuel. She had arrived from the east, through the forest rather than the main road. She’d had to walk the berm and circle the curtain wall before arriving at the front gate. Perhaps they just hadn't seen her.
She pulled the rope that dangled down beside the portcullis. A sharp clang shattered the quiet. She rang twice, then waited.
It was evening; he should be up and about. Even if he wasn't, he had servants who would be.
It seemed a very long time before the porter's window opened in the door beside the gate. An unfamiliar face peered at her from beneath thick brows. It was night, but the moon was bright. Still, they were in the shadows, and his eyes looked like empty black holes burned into his head.