by A. M. Mahler
Only cowards attacked a woman, and so, without needing to aim, Jack drew and loosed in one motion. The arrow pierced its target right through the heart. The woman screamed and the other three men scrambled to find their attacker. Nocking another arrow, he crouched low and moved quickly through the brush with stealth he had learned from his Shawnee surrogate family. The next arrow passed by the man holding the woman and found its mark through the stomach of the second attacker.
Jack was soon only a few yards away, too close for arrows or a musket now, so he dropped the bow and drew his knife and tomahawk.
“This is no business of yours, bumpkin.”
“Where I am from, striking a lady is a grave crime,” Jack seethed, circling the outlaw as the fourth one held tight to the girl in question. “What is more, it is cowardice. Fight someone equal to you, if you dare.”
The man was probably no more than a common thug—all bluster, no substance. He drew his sword and made to close with Jack. Jack’s arm quickly swung up and then forward. The tomahawk flashed across the distance and buried its edge in the center of the brigand’s forehead, dropping him like a felled tree. Walking smoothly over to the corpse, Jack jerked the weapon free and then turned to the last pursuer.
The final scoundrel pushed the woman aside. Her hood fell away, revealing long hair the color of a chestnut. She clutched her stomach but did not look up.
“She belongs to Lord Rogan,” her would-be abductor announced, drawing his sword.
Jack and the last bandit began to circle each other. “It appears she is not of the same opinion,” he said pleasantly. He knew nothing of this Lord Rogan; only that he was about to crush the man's plans.
“She has something he wants,” the bandit hissed. He was missing quite a few teeth.
“The property is nothing to me. Only the girl's safety is my concern.”
“She is of no consequence to you.”
“Wrong.”
Jack couldn’t say why his current opponent was wrong. While he had not seen the girl's face, he was reasonably sure he didn’t know her. He didn't know anyone in this region and would certainly remember hair that looked as hers did.
The ruffian lunged for Jack, who parried the blade away with his knife and chopped at his opponent’s sword-wrist with the tomahawk. The enemy swung back and upward to evade the hatchet and slashed at the Jack’s belly. He, in turn, blocked. Their steel began to clash over and over. They were evenly matched in skill with their own weapons, but not in dealing with those of their opponent’s. As clash after clash resulted in one nearly fatal close call after another, both realized that the fight could not go on much longer.
A motion off to the side caught Jack’s eye. The girl was picking up a large branch. He didn't know what she planned to do with it, but he supposed it was better than no weapon at all. Just as his attention was diverted, his opponent launched a powerful slice at his shoulder. Jack knew that he wouldn’t succeed in blocking this cut—only in deflecting it—but at the same time, he saw his own moment. Lunging forward with the knife in his hand, Jack felt the hilt of his blade drive into the man’s chest. The last of the highway criminals dropped to his knees and fell forward, dead as a stone.
Panting for breath, Jack fell back against a tree, his vision wavering. He could just make out the girl, branch still in her hand.
“You can drop your club,” he slurred. “I am no threat to you.”
“You killed them all,” she sounded astonished. Her voice was soft and song-like. She didn’t sound like a Colonist.
“Was I correct in assuming they were no friends of yours?”
“They were not.”
“With them all dead, there will be no one to report back to your Lord Rogan.”
Jack pressed his hand to his shoulder and winced. He was losing a lot of blood and was in the middle of the forest. This did not bode well for him.
“He will know I was responsible,” the girl said.
“You weren’t responsible, I was.”
“It won’t make a difference to him.”
He dropped down, leaned back against the tree and tried to look up at her. She was still out of focus, but he liked the croon of her voice. It was soothing and he was not one easily soothed by a woman.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“My lady, if you could save the inquisition for another time, I am going to lose consciousness now.”
Her image got darker and darker to him. As his head lolled to his shoulder, she grabbed him by the ears and held his head still for a moment before letting it go with a gasp where it cracked against the tree.
Two
NORA LOOKED DOWN at the man slumped at her feet then around the clearing at the dead men who had been pursuing her. Her unknown rescuer had killed all four of them and nearly came out unscathed.
Nearly.
She winced as she looked at the man’s shoulder. It was actively oozing blood and looked to be serious. If he didn’t get medical attention soon, he’d likely bleed out from it and die.
Nora found herself in a predicament. She dared not linger in the woods long. Lord Rogan may send more men after her. He would be irate over the men she killed in her escape and would be looking for punishment. He was not a man to trifle with.
What she needed to do was get back to Ben’s posthaste and make her plans for departure. Rogan now knew she was in the area, and she couldn’t put Ben or his family in jeopardy. They had discussed various options for her next steps, but were far from any solid plan. It had been easy staying with him these past ten years, and she often traveled with him, helping each other in their separate quests. It also allowed her to move around and make contacts. She was confident the network of friends Ben helped her establish would be reliable and most importantly discreet.
She considered the man before her. If she rode ahead to get help, she ran the risk of Rogan’s men stumbling upon him and killing him. The alternative was to get him up onto his horse and bring him with her. The problem was, he was a large man. As she estimated his size, she began to wonder how this would work. She’d never be able to lift him on her own. She couldn’t drag him through the forest, even if she were able to fashion some sort of liter to attach to her horse.
She looked around her and assessed her resources. She walked over to the man’s stallion. Perhaps there was something in his saddle bags that would be of assistance. She was confident that the man wouldn’t appreciate a stranger rifling through his things, but she considered this a life and death situation.
She gave the horse a gentle pat when she approached, then opened one of the bags. The first thing she saw were the weapons. A hatchet of some sort, large knives, a revolver, and ammunition. Added to the bow and arrow that he killed Rogan’s men with and this man traveled heavily armed. Was he a criminal of some sort? A lawman? Did it matter why he traveled with so many weapons? He saved her life. She wouldn’t pass judgment.
But she would make sure he was separated from his weapons at Ben’s house until they could ascertain the manner of man he was. Whether he was a criminal or not didn’t matter to her at the moment. He was injured saving her and he was currently her responsibility to heal.
The second bag yielded a change of clothing, personal hygiene supplies, and a length of rope. She pulled out the rope and tested its strength. Then she fingered her cloak and considered the possibility that if she could weave the rope through the button holes, she might be able to pull him up onto his horse.
She removed her cloak and got to work. It wasn’t easy rolling him onto the garment, as he was heavy and unconscious. He never stirred and so she checked to see if he was still breathing—twice. Things would have been easier if she were able to rouse him the slightest bit to gain some assistance, however, nothing in her life was easy.
She began to perspire from the effort of heaving the man even the smallest of distance, but eventually, she had him centered more or less and was able to wrap him in the cloak and secure it.
> Next, she brought his horse closer and draped the rope over the saddle before leading her mare to the stallion’s other side. Her mare was a bit nervous of the new horse, but didn’t shy away. She tied the rope to the mare’s saddle and began to lead her away from the other horse. Slowly, the man began to rise from the ground. The mare dug in under the weight and the stallion sidestepped once, but all and all, the horses cooperated. Once she saw that the man was raised exactly level with his horse, she stopped her mare, ran over and maneuvered him the rest of the way onto his horse. She briefly considered tying him to the horse, but decided against it when she realized much of the rope was under the man’s body where he was draped across the stallion. She would just have to be careful.
Nora walked the stallion over to where her mare stood and paused before she mounted. A chill ran up her spine. It felt as if the forest had eyes. She had the ominous feeling of being watched. She searched the foliage, but could see no one. Pulling herself up onto her horse, she gave the forest another scan. She would be on her guard and pray there were no further attackers.
“Well, my mysterious savior, this should be an interesting ride.”
She turned in her saddle and set off for Ben’s as fast as she dared.
NORA HAD PLENTY of help once she arrived at Ben’s. His staff appeared as soon as she was sighted and two stable hands gently lifted the stranger from the horse and brought him inside. Ben appeared next, hurrying out the door.
Nora smiled and ran to him. He was a portly man, balding on top of his head, and the rest of his long gray hair hung to his shoulders. He rarely wore a wig, even at official functions. He dressed in the typical Colonial garb right down to his buckled shoes, but didn’t don a frock coat, despite the chill in the air. Nora herself was near frozen to the bone without the benefit of her cloak.
“Nora, my dear!” Ben called. “Thank goodness you are alive and well.”
Nora hugged Ben tight. She always lingered in his arms. He was a grandfather, and she sorely missed her own. Her grandfather was gone a long time—along with the rest of her family—and she was alone now. She hoped she wouldn’t be alone forever, but with each passing decade, she often wondered if she’d ever find the others; if she was stuck with this stone and life on the run while the others were tucked safely away. Were they hunted, as well? Were they together?
“I feared Rogan caught you,” Ben said, pulling away, then turned and brought her into the house and right to the large stone fireplace where a fire was blazing away. He called for a blanket for her and put her in a chair in front of the hearth.
“He did,” Nora nodded. “I escaped and was on my way back. I was being pursued and the man I brought back saved me in the forest, but he was injured in the fight. Ben, he killed four men.”
“Four?” Ben asked. He looked thoughtful, but didn’t give voice to what he may have been thinking.
“Yes,” Nora said. “Easily, too, but he was injured by the last man. He has a shoulder wound.”
“Betsy will clean it,” Ben said. “Then we will see to it its care.”
Nora nodded and thanked the servant who brought her warm coffee. Wrapped in the blanket before the fire with something to warm her insides, she began to thaw. She regained feeling in her toes and fingers, and they stung with the return of the blood flow.
“There is another pressing issue we must now discuss,” Ben began.
“I know, I cannot stay any longer,” Nora said. “Now that Rogan knows I am in the area, I cannot endanger you and your family.”
“We’ve discussed different options, but you’ve made no firm decisions.”
“I’ll need time to gather supplies for the trip. My personal belongings remain ready to leave, but I’d like some food and soaps, herbs. Rogan knows I am in the general area, but it will take him time to track me. He couldn’t know where I went from the forest, only a general idea. For all he’d know, I went into Philadelphia.”
“Which will make going there difficult now. I still believe you need to go back to England—back to where it all began. Captain Hancock can get you there. He sails out of Boston in December.”
“I can’t leave the Colonies until the Warrior is revealed. Fox said I would meet him here and the timing is right,” Nora insisted. “Then I can consider going back. The problem is where to go in the meantime.”
“I have some ideas on that,” Ben said, leaning up against the hearth and crossing his arms over his chest. “Colleagues of mine are in New York. They often meet in the upstairs of Fraunces Tavern. You’ll remember Mr. Hamilton, my dear?”
“Of course,” Nora said. Alexander Hamilton was a friend of Ben’s, a visionary, and a rebel. Though no treason could be proven as of yet, Hamilton often met with George Washington.
“He could take you in until a decision was made.”
“But the prophecy—”
“He only said you’d meet him in the Colonies,” Ben reminded her. “He said you’d meet the Warrior ten years after you met me. He did not specify you’d meet him in the Philadelphia area.”
Nora sighed, shook her head and looked away. “It is so frustrating at times. I get so discouraged that I’m afraid to do anything at all. I look for him now in every strange man I come across. Is he the one? The one to change everything?”
“Perhaps I will escort you to New York. I would be uncomfortable with you traveling alone.”
Nora opened her mouth to remind him of her capabilities. She was not without her survival skills. They’ve served her well this long. Ben merely held up a hand to stave off her comments. “Tell me about your encounter with this man upstairs.”
Nora watched him pace the room slowly as she described everything that happened from the time the dark haired stranger felled her first accoster until the time she returned home. Ben was a man that studied details and looked at situations from all angles. She learned patience from him. A virtue she wouldn’t have said she possessed before meeting him.
She learned so much more from him. He had a passion for learning. He was an inventor, an alchemist, a printer, a statesman. He could predict the weather and wrote about it. He was a brilliant man, a forward thinker. She respected his opinion greatly. Any advice he offered would be educated and based on her best interests.
“Could he be the one?” Ben asked, stopping and turning to her.
Nora shrugged. “He has the skill, and he was heavily armed. But I’ve met fighters before. It will take more than a forest brawl to convince me.”
“The timing is right,” Ben said. “It has been ten years since you found me. He should be showing himself any time now, and this was a grand introduction.”
“I told you what the prophecy said,” Nora said, shaking her head. “I can’t afford to be wrong, not when the stakes are so high.”
“I agree,” Ben said. Nora successfully halted her impending eye roll. Ben often argued the other side so she could consider all the possibilities. “Perhaps if his injury is not too great, he can offer temporary protection. You’ll need someone with you when you leave.”
“If he survives.”
“What happened with Rogan,” Ben asked. “How did you come to be taken and how did you escape? Were you with him long?”
“I was on my way home from Mr. Jefferson’s in Virginia when I was captured. I don’t believe Rogan is in Pennsylvania. I believe him to be in Virginia, though I can’t be totally sure. I was only two days into the journey when I was ambushed. After ten years, I don’t know how he finally tracked me down to this area or even the Colonies themselves. I didn’t see him, himself, thank God, just his henchmen, but they confirmed they worked for him. They took the stone. I had to go after it.”
“That was very foolish,” Ben chided.
“I couldn’t let him have it. I’ve protected it all this time. Ben, I’m its Guardian. I must always go after it.”
“I meant it was foolish to go alone,” Ben said, raising his hand in peace. “You have spent ten years building a networ
k of spies and associates. It would have been more logical—and safe—to call on them to go back with you. What good are they if you won’t use them?”
“Perhaps,” Nora shrugged. “But remember, I know him well. He would have expected something like from me. As it was, I was able to slip in and out unaccosted.”
“I don’t believe that,” Ben said. “You were accosted not too far from this house. You say you know him well, but you cling to notions that he is redeemable. He is not, my dear. Do not take more risks like that.”
Nora smiled sadly at Ben and looked back into the fire. Ben was only concerned about her. He had become like a father to her and she sorely missed her own father. Ben was everything her father was—what he should have been.
The timing was right for her warrior to reveal himself. Until these last months, she had only ever really thought of him in the abstract. According to Fox’s prophecy, she wouldn’t meet the warrior until 1774. It was September of that year now and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the man. She was beginning to think she might have missed him. Perhaps Ben was right. It could be that she would meet him in her travels to Boston. But she simply would not leave the Colonies without the man.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anne Marie received a Bachelor’s of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from Southern New Hampshire University. She writes in the contemporary romance and fantasy genres and The Good Race is her debut novel. She lives in the Richmond, Virginia, area with her husband, son, two dogs and cat.
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Copyright
A Note to Readers