“Tell me something.” Clara stepped in front of him at the foot of the gate. “If there’s no escape from this place, what exactly is your plan where I’m concerned? Lock me in some room somewhere and have the townsfolk shove food under the door? Let me out for a walk a few times a week?”
“I have no desire to imprison you, Clara. Only protect—”
“You really need to find another line. You aren’t leaving me behind, Bowen. That’s something you’d best accept right now.” She poked an oddly warm finger into his chest.
And watched in horror as he flew off his feet and went soaring through the air.
* * *
“You need to eat, Mistress.” The gentle, juvenile voice broke through Clara’s cluttered thoughts, scraping against her nerves. She looked at the young woman Miranda had charged with assisting her. Long silver hair wrapped around her head in an intricate braid; the dress she wore was of sturdy, practical woven fabric in hues of blue that reminded Clara of the Pacific Ocean. “You’ll do him no good if you make yourself sick.”
“I’ve done him no good already.” But Clara accepted the plate of food and set it aside. “Thank you, Veronia. I appreciate your kindness.”
Veronia bowed her head in the same way Joshiah had when they’d been greeted on the road. Exhaustion crept over her, threatened to drag her under yet again. Resisting, she turned her attention once more to the man lying prone on the bed in the dwelling Miranda had arranged for them. The large space was kept warm by the fire in the corner hearth. The rudimentary mattress Bowen slept on bowed beneath his weight. Clara rubbed quivering hands over her face. At least she hoped he was sleeping.
Despite Bowen’s instructions to stay under the radar, she’d raced through the gate of the town to demand help, only to find herself surrounded by curious—and surprisingly helpful—town folk. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Town folk.
A bubble of laughter rose in the back of Clara’s throat. The term seemed so innocuous, so normal. And yet nothing had been normal since she’d stepped foot in that bookstore. Something had grabbed hold of her and thrown her into this world. Her stomach growled to the point of nausea and Clara surrendered enough to nibble on a chunk of the pungent cheese on her plate. All she wanted to do was get home. No. No, that was wrong.
Right now, all she wanted was for Bowen to be okay.
She’d stopped trying to decipher the emotions circling inside of her. Whatever was going on, whatever game was being played by sending her here, she couldn’t deny that from the moment she laid eyes on the warrior who hadn’t once balked at helping her, she’d felt an instant connection. As if she’d found a missing piece of her life.
She’d felt the shock fire through him when she’d poked him in the chest, as if a lightening bolt had struck them both; a bolt that had transformed the mind-fizzling attraction she’d felt for him into something else. Something stronger.
In that moment, it was as if part of him had imprinted on her soul, a tangible connection formed in that moment, and she didn’t feel the same without him by her side. He was...hers.
From her curled up space on the floor beside Bowen’s bed, she lifted her hand, desperate to touch him, to feel his steady pulse beneath her fingers.
Clara snatched her hand back and shoved it beneath her cloak. The cloak he’d given her. The cloak she refused to remove.
“Never met a woman afraid to touch Bowen before.”
Clara snapped her head around as Miranda closed the wooden door behind her. She set a crate overflowing with items on the table at the foot of Bowen’s bed and let out a weary sigh. “Not that he paid much heed to women. Always thinking about battles and honor. I see he hasn’t outgrown his affection for sleep. Don’t know why I thought this would be any different.” She jostled a few bottles as she dug around for a leather flask which she handed to Clara. “Drink. Since you aren’t going to eat. You need to keep up your strength if you’re to be ready when he awakens.”
Ready for what? “I’m fine.” She accepted the flask because it was the polite thing to do, but set it on the rustic woven mat next to the plate. Miranda grunted, shook her head, and retrieved a rickety wooden chair from where it was wedged under an equally distressed table.
She moved with more grace than her age would suggest. The wrinkles around her eyes, the shimmering silver hair she wore as a long braid down her back, the ever-knowing and all-seeing amber gaze that often left Clara shifting uncomfortably. Like she did now.
“You knew him as a boy?”
“Aye. Him and Keane and Rivalin. The best of friends they were from the moment of birth. Well, perhaps a bit after that.” Miranda sat beside her and, since Clara showed no interest in the food Veronia had brought, picked up a cluster of bright yellow bumpy fruit that reminded Clara of mutant grapes. “Have you slept?”
“A little.” Finally, she didn’t have to lie. The second, smaller bed sat across the room, closer to the fire and had served her well. For the few hours she managed to drift off. But the second she opened her eyes, all she could think of was Bowen. And whether she’d killed him or not. And what she’d do if she had. “What if he doesn’t wake up?” She’d have to make her way through this magical world alone. How did she do that when she didn’t know what was happening to her? What she was capable of. If Bowen, someone she trusted, someone she cared about, wasn’t safe around her...was anyone?
“You do worry a lot for a goddess.”
“Please stop calling me that.” Clara closed her eyes. “My name is Clara. I’m a librarian from San Diego.”
“Sounds regal.” Miranda readjusted her dress and strings of talismans and tokens around her neck. “You may as well get used to hearing it, young one. Accepting your lineage will be just as important as accepting your fate if you and Bowen are going to finish his quest. Besides, who you are is hardly a secret. Your arrival has set things in motion that were spoken of centuries before your birth.”
“You remind me of someone.” Clara rested her elbow on her knee and braced her chin in her hand. “Little green guy. Pointed ears. Lives in a swamp. Name’s Yoda.” She stifled a yawn. “Ever heard of him?”
“I have not.” Miranda inclined her head. The firelight caught against her hair and cast an odd aura around her. “Is he a mentor of yours?”
“In a manner of speaking. Nellie calls him my Friday night boyfriend. I like to binge watch science-fiction—” Tears clogged her throat. She couldn’t let herself think about her sisters. It hurt too much. As she blinked them from her eyes, something caught her attention. “What is that?” She pointed at Miranda’s neck as recognition sent chills racing down her spine. “That amulet; I’ve seen it before. What does it mean?”
“It represents the Goddess, Alastrine.” Without looking down, Miranda caught the circular token in her hand. The second she touched it, the vine-thick tree it depicted began to glow a vibrant green. “Only her most trusted advisors and priestesses were gifted with them. You say you’ve seen it before. Where?”
There was no mistaking the intensity in Miranda’s voice. Or her gaze. “The old woman in the bookstore. Elya. Except hers glowed this odd blue.”
“Elya.” The name may as well have been a curse. “I should have known.” Miranda gripped the amulet tighter. “She’s interfering again.”
“Bowen called her a traitor. So she’s what? Evil?”
“Misguided.” Miranda cringed and stuffed the amulet beneath the thick collar of her dress. “She was seduced by Dracha. Fell in love with him, even as he plotted against us. She was banished from any realm controlled by the Goddess. She must have thought by sending one of Shona’s daughters through she could find a way back herself.” Miranda seemed lost in thought for a moment. “But you arrived alone, you said. Elya did not come with you. Which means she failed. At least in this attempt. And you are one of three. I wonder—”
“Can you wonder a bit more quietly, please?”
Bowen’s gruff voice broke through Clara’s exhaustion and
had her leaping to her feet. “Oh, wow. Ow.” Clara rubbed her hands down each of her legs to get the circulation back. “Bowen, you’re okay.” She bent over him as he blinked his eyes open. And looked at her. Joy and relief surged through her and make her knees quake. She wasn’t alone any more. Even better, Miranda had been right. She hadn’t killed him. She wanted to touch him, to feel him breathing under her hands. But she didn’t dare. She fisted her hands and clenched them against her chest. And simply smiled at him. “Hey.”
The corner of his lip quirked. “You say the oddest things. What does hay have to do with anything?”
Clara couldn’t help it. She laughed. Covering her mouth, she found she couldn’t stop, until the sound of hysteria had her being pushed into Miranda’s abandoned chair.
“Sit, young one. I will tend—”
“Is she all right?” Bowen sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, then bent over and groaned.
“Fine.” Clara bent over and tried to take deep breaths. “Just overwhelmed. I’ll be fine in a second.”
“You two make quite the pair.” Miranda tsked and tried to push Bowen back down. When shoving at him did no good, she gave up and searched through her crate of bottles and containers. “More concerned with one another than with yourself. Took your own sweet time readjusting, Bowen. Wasted plenty of it and put this young one at risk.”
“I knew you would keep her safe.” Bowen croaked. “It’s why I brought her here. So you can protect her.”
“Don’t make me poke you again.” Clara’s hands trembled at the thought of being left behind. “I’m not staying here without you.” The fog in Clara’s mind cleared. He was clinging to the ridiculous notion that she wasn’t capable of being a part of what had brought her here in the first place So ridiculous, to be reliant on a man. So...irritating. To feel paralyzed without his presence, without his guidance, and yet now that he was awake, she didn’t want to be away from him.
Despite their situation, despite all that had happened, she couldn’t prevent the hope from swelling inside of her. She might not know much of what was going on or what fate had in store for them, but she did know she could face it all. As long as Bowen was at her side.
“You did poke me.” Bowen rubbed a hand over his chest. “It was so odd. It hurt, but it didn’t. Doesn’t. And then...” He flexed his hand.
Tiny gold sparks exploded from his fingertips.
Clara gasped. Bowen stared.
And slowly, a smile spread across his full, kissable lips.
“My magic.” Awe coated his voice. “It has returned.”
* * *
“Clara, come here.” Bowen sat on his bed, back braced against the wall and watched as Clara paced the room. She’d discarded the cloak that must have been suffocating her and had accepted a change of clothes provided by Veronia and Miranda. To see her in the cinched-waisted dress in the rich blue of a boddingbird’s plumage had him appreciating each and every barefooted step she made. He’d dreamed of her. Caught in a fantasy realm he’d begun to believe was real, she’d been with him the entire time, casting that brilliant smile up at him, her red hair shimmering around the face that would remain with him until his final day.
To awaken and find her beside him had sent a wave of affection surging through him until he realized how much danger she was truly in. He couldn’t remember being more afraid of failure in his life. Especially now that Miranda was refusing to shelter her.
“Clara, please.” He held out his hand.
She stopped, looked at him, looked at his hand and a flash of longing crossed her face. Before she looked away. “I’m fine here.” She nibbled, not on any of the food left for her, but on her thumb.
With the effects of Miranda’s equalizing potion surging through him, Bowen pushed himself off the bed. The magical charge he’d been bereft without was firing in his blood more and more with each passing moment. Whatever Clara had done, whatever powers she’d possessed had not been stripped from her upon arrival. And now...she’d reignited his.
And given him new life. New purpose. New...promise.
“What are you doing?” As he expected, Clara rushed toward him, hands poised to push him back on the bed. He reached her in two strides, locked his hands around her waist and pulled her against him. She locked her hands behind her back, fear shining in her bottomless green eyes as she inched that stubborn chin of hers up. “Bowen, please. Don’t.” Tears flooded her eyes as he slipped his hands around and slowly, torturously, slid his fingers through hers.
She caught her lower lip in her teeth and let out a shuddering breath that had her leaning into him.
“I don’t want to hurt you again. Whatever’s inside of me, I can’t control it.” Her fingers remained stiff and unbending as he slowly caressed her skin. “I almost killed you.”
“No.” He brought her in closer and tightened his grasp around her as her fingers began to yield between his. He brushed his lips against her forehead, her soft gasp of surprise and pleasure shooting through him. “You gave me back my magic.” He kissed one cheek, then the other, stopping when his mouth was a feather’s distance from her lips. “You gave me back that which I thought I’d never have again.” He kissed her, not intending for it to be more than a gentle caress, a promise of more. But the moment he felt her mouth beneath his, he couldn’t stop. He had to have more of her. As much of her as she would give. But he had to be sure that she understood she had nothing to fear. “You saved me.”
“Bowen.” She breathed his name against his lips as her fingers clenched around his. “I thought I’d lost you.” She gripped his hands and gasped as a spark passed between them. “How can...we barely know each other.” She moved against him, tempting him. He went hard and every bit of masculine pride he possessed exploded at the dazed, passion-glazed look in her eyes. “Is this even possible?” She released one of his hands, brought her fingers to his face and touched his cheek. “Can love happen so fast?”
“Yes.” He turned his head and kissed her fingers. “It can. And it has. You are mine, Clara. I believe you have been since the beginning of time.”
She stepped back far enough that she no longer touched him. She reached behind her, unlacing the ties of her dress and Bowen watched, awestruck, as the fabric fell from her body. Then she took his hand.
And led him back to his bed.
* * *
Warmth brought Clara awake. Warmth that felt like the morning sun. She blinked her eyes, confusion hovering and sat up in bed, clutching the rough wool blanket against her bare breasts. Around the bare everything of her.
As the bed beside her was empty and cool, the warmth had come from the stoked fire in the fireplace. Clara bit her lower lip and tried not to revel in the hours she’d spent in Bowen’s arms. Her body ached in that tingly way she’d only read about; as if she could still feel his hands on her body. Every inch of her body. Every inch of his body on her, over her, under her, inside of her. Her cheeks warmed as her smile grew. If this truly was all a dream, she didn’t think she ever wanted to wake up.
But she was awake.
And as much as she loved.... She pressed a hand against her heart and took a deep breath. As much as she loved him, she needed to get home to
her sisters.
She dressed quickly and headed to the women’s facilities nearby to clean up as best she could. What she wouldn’t give for a long, hot shower or, even better, a long soak in a lavender infused bath, but prison planets didn’t come with running water let alone bubbling spa tubs.
She found helpful—and fascinated—women to help her figure how things worked—and even asked one of the mothers if she could braid her hair like hers was done. The woman had looked surprised at first, then something Clara thought of as pride and gratitude crossed her round, freckled face.
By the time Clara emerged, pressed and dressed, she had to remind herself that this world was meant as a form of punishment. But the people she’d met, the dozens of faces that blurred in
front of her with every passing step on her way back to the room she shared with Bowen, despite their circumstance, carried their candles and lanterns with seeming unaffectedness, offering smiles of welcome and nods of approval as they went about their daily tasks.
Instead of returning to the hut, she followed the sound of laughter and cheers and the faint clanging of metal upon metal. Much like a market square in the renaissance fairs she’d been known to frequent, a section had been cordoned off for lessons—this one being led by Bowen who stood in front of dozens of youngsters ranging from just walking to late puberty. Boys and girls followed along as Bowen led them in slow movements with swords and knives, none of which looked blunted or dulled for their protection.
Her concern for these children vanished at the abject pleasure she saw shining on their faces. The same pleasure she saw reflected on Bowen’s as he corrected and praised in kind.
“He is a good man.”
Clara glanced over to find Miranda standing beside her in the crowd, two cups of steaming liquid in her hand. “He thought it best to let you sleep as long as possible given what lies ahead for you both.” She aimed a sly smile in Clara’s pink-cheeked direction. “Sleep well, did you?”
“Eventually.” Clara had never heard Bowen laugh before and the sound lightened her heart. “That tea smells wonderful.”
“Clavaris root and honeyberry. Women of childbearing age drink it most mornings unless they’re wanting to be with child.” Miranda held out one cup. “It also cleanses the system and prevents infection and diseases.”
“Well, the pregnancy issue I had covered.” The long-term birth control she used was more for cycle regulation than anything, especially given her self-imposed years’ long dry spell in the romance department. “But it’s not like Bowen carries a bunch of condoms around.” Something she had to come to terms with at a rather crucial moment. “I’ll happily accept the tea.”
Issue 7, Febraury 2018: Featuring Jayne Ann Krentz: Heart's Kiss, #7 Page 20