by Deborah Camp
“They’d betray their own family?”
“Perhaps.” He sighed and rocked back to look into her face. “I think we should go back to Van Buren tomorrow and tell the sheriff about our misadventure.”
“Why not go back to the Jefferses and demand that they—” She didn’t bother to finish since he was laughing silently at her. “They’d kill us, wouldn’t they?”
“They’d try, and we don’t have any weapons to use against them. Besides, I could use a day or two’s rest before I meet the Jeffers clan again on their territory. It’s best if we enlist the sheriff.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back onto the bedding. “Go to sleep.” His lips were cool upon her brow. “And try not to dream. I need a good night’s rest.”
She slapped playfully at him, and he caught her hand and kissed it before moving to his side of the campfire.
By midday the sparkle of the rushing water proved too tempting for them as they traveled toward Van Buren. When Balthazar suggested they stop for a while beside the creek, the others readily agreed. During the night, clouds had rolled in to block the morning sun. The air was unseasonably heavy, making the return journey considerably less comfortable. Although they’d left shortly before sunrise, Lily estimated they were several hours away from Van Buren.
As she stepped down from the buggy, the muscles in her legs, shoulders, and back complained and she released an audible groan. Orrie laughed and echoed the sound of fatigue.
“I’m going to sit my weary bones down someplace soft and stationary,” Orrie declared, rubbing her backside. “How about you, honeypot?”
“Not me. I’m tired of sitting. I think I’ll stroll along the creek bank. Maybe I’ll even dip my hands into the cold water.” Lily touched the back of her wrist to her forehead, which was warm. “It’s so terribly oppressive today.”
“Part of me wishes it would rain and part of me prays it won’t, at least not until we get to Van Buren.” Griffon handed the reins of his horse to Balthazar. “Zar, I believe I’ll accompany Lily on her stroll. Will you see to the horses?”
“Most assuredly.” Balthazar began loosening the saddles.
Lily experienced a tiny thrill when Griffon’s hand closed on her elbow. She smiled at him, then directed her gaze to the carpet of mossy grass and wildflowers. She was struck by how her feelings toward Griffon had changed since yesterday. On the way to Devil’s Den, she’d thought of him as her adversary. His brush with danger had educated her to how foolish it was to thwart him at every turn. Orrie was right. Being friendly toward Griffon made more sense. Her trepidation had nothing to do with him, but more to do with her aversion to the inexplicable. Simply put, her battle wasn’t with him but with herself. For as long as she could remember, it had been so. The two parts of her at war with each other. The sensible, rational part had been the victor until lately. Since meeting Griffon, Lily had felt that fanciful, irrational half of herself getting stronger and stronger. That’s what scared her. Not Griffon, but that other half of Lily Meeker. That pacing, restless beast inside her.
Looking back, she knew she’d found Griffon attractive from the moment he’d swept into the Meeker home on that stormy, blustery night that seemed so far past but, in fact, had been only a handful of days ago. Still, a part of her cowered from him even as her heart galloped from the brush of his body against hers as they walked side by side along the creek bank.
The water moved swiftly over jutting rocks. It was shallow, deepening in the center where the water flowed unimpeded, foaming and white-capped. It made a gurgling, sucking sound. Lily stopped to watch the hectic water swirl around a smooth rock. Uneasiness began to chew at the edges of her peacefulness. She glanced around, looking for a reason, finding nothing but greening grass and budding trees. But there was something about this place … something not right. She chalked it up to being on a creek bank, which usually reminded her of her mother’s accident. Horror crept into her heart and she turned her thoughts away from that hideous memory.
Griffon walked a few paces past her to a cypress that grew crazily over the creek. He touched its smooth trunk and examined Lily from the corners of his eyes. She crossed her arms and rubbed her hands briskly up and down them. He sensed her troubled undercurrents.
“Lily? Are you feeling unwell?”
“No.” She laughed breathily. Bright color stained her cheeks. “It’s the weather, I think. That expectancy in the air before a rain often makes me edgy. Does it you?”
“Sometimes.”
“How’s your head? Still pounding?”
He rested his fingertips gingerly against the scrap of Orrie’s petticoat. “Pounding away, but not quite as ferociously.”
“I hate that you’re in pain. I wish I could do something for you.”
“I’m not in pain,” he corrected. “Just a headache. Nothing serious. I’ve had much worse injuries, I assure you.”
The faint scar curving at the outer corner of his eye drew her attention. “How’d that happen?” she asked, running a fingertip along the corresponding part of her face.
“A jealous lover?” he said, false hope twinkling in his eyes. He scowled playfully when she shook her head. “Don’t believe that one, eh? Ah, well.” He sighed heavily. “I suppose I’ll have to tell the truth, although it’s not nearly as romantic.” He squared his shoulders, staring straight ahead at the gunmetal-colored creek. “This was a warning from my half brother to stay away from the family.”
“Your brother did that to you? Why?”
“I told you I was outcast.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I got homesick and tracked down my family. I thought my mother and grandmother wouldn’t be able to turn me away again. I was wrong.” He smiled to ward off the bitterness. “My cousins and half brothers greeted me with knives and threats. It got … nasty, and I was lucky to escape with only this.” He traced the scar, remembering his confusion and panic. “I never bothered them again. That night convinced me that I was no longer a son, grandson, brother, or cousin to them. When they looked at me, they saw a monster.”
Seized by a vision of him as a lost, lonely boy, Lily went to him and slipped her arm around his waist. His arm circled her shoulders. “A monster, indeed,” she chided. “How could your mother turn you away?”
He kissed the top of her head. “How could your father do the same to you?”
Lily jerked away from him. Hot, bitter words rushed to her tongue, but she held them back by pressing her lips together so tightly her teeth drew blood. She wrestled for control and drew a curtain across her mind to block Griffon out. To her amazement, it worked. She saw the evidence in his face: narrowed eyes, frowning mouth, an air of bewilderment. Good, she thought. I can escape you, after all.
“My father has never turned his back on me.” She turned hers on Griffon.
“Never?” he challenged, his voice softly doubting. “You’re going to stand there, Lily Meeker, and tell me that you’ve never felt abandoned by your father?”
She wanted to tell him just that, but she couldn’t. She thought too much of him to lie. So she shrugged nonchalantly. “What child hasn’t felt moments of abandonment?”
“That’s not what we’re talking about.”
Lily whirled and picked her way carefully along the bank where tree roots snaked along the ground and burst up through the mossy earth. The going became rougher and Lily angled farther from the bank. She heard Griffon’s soft tread. A glance located him several paces back, hands clasped behind him, eyes trained on the flight of a kingfisher. The bird dipped toward the creek and speared a small fish with its long beak. It climbed the sky on strong wings and disappeared through the lacy fronds of a willow. Lily, too, watched the bird’s showy hunting expedition, her steps slowing. When the bird left her eyesight, Lily found she had wandered farther up on the bank where tangles of brush and low tree limbs created an impassable wall. She started to veer away and seek the coolness of the creek again when something clutched her throat and began
to squeeze.
A few feet behind Lily, Griffon struggled with hindsight. Shouldn’t have barged into her past like that, he scolded himself. She’d come to him, hugged him around the waist, let him embrace her, and then he’d rubbed salt into a particularly bloody wound from her past. How would you like it if she did the same to you, old boy? a voice sneered at him. You’d tell her what’s what! You’d tell her to mind her own blooming business, eh? But it’s perfectly fine for you to tromp on her past, dig up her old skeleton bones, and rattle them in her face. Apologize, you pompous bloke. How the hell do you think you’ll win her affections if you can’t even keep yourself from batting aside her—
A strangled sound whipped Griffon’s head around. His gaze collided with a sight that made his blood run cold. His body turned in the direction of his head, slowly, numbly. All his awareness fastened on Lily’s odd pantomime. She clutched at her throat—no, at something that seemed to have hold of her throat. Her watery eyes ballooned from their sockets. Her tongue lolled out, and that sound—that warbling, garbled sound—emerged again from her throat. Her lips formed the word Help, but she didn’t … couldn’t … voice it.
“Lily!”
She didn’t acknowledge him in the least. Kicking backward, one foot and then the other, she seemed to be trying to damage shins. She clawed, twisted, but her movements grew less and less frantic as the seconds ticked by.
My God! She’s dying! Galvanized, Griffon sprinted to her. He tried to pry her hands from her throat, but her strength was superhuman. From the glaze of her eyes, Griffon knew she was totally immersed in the fugue. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently, trying to release her from whatever demon had dragged her into someone else’s nightmare.
“Lily, he’s let you go. Lily! Listen to me. The hands around your neck are gone. Breathe, Lily, breathe!”
She drew a short, vibrating breath and then wilted like a plucked blossom in his arms. Her sudden weight drove him to one knee. He draped her over his thigh and brushed the hair from her face and neck. Her neck!
Horrified, he saw the red marks appear on her white skin; marks left by the vise of invisible fingers. Grasping her frail body to him, Griffon lowered his face, positioning his cheek near her mouth and nose. Her sweet breath fanned his skin and he swallowed a sob of gratitude.
“Thank you, thank you,” he murmured, glancing up at the gray sky, his fear beginning to subside. She’s alive, he told himself, drawing comfort from that. She’ll be okay. Just get her to the buggy and get the hell away from here.
Even as he tucked his arms beneath her and readied to lift her and rise, he saw the angry, red marks begin to fade. Her lashes fluttered and she moaned. He kissed her, coaxing color into her lips.
“Lovely Lily,” he whispered against her temple. “Don’t scare me like that again, do you hear? I swear, you’re going to learn to control your power instead of letting it control you. It’s too dangerous to allow it free rein, don’t you see? It will trample you to death.”
She made no response, dropping deeper into unconsciousness. Griffon stood with her in his arms and headed for Balthazar and Orrie.
Chapter 10
A lullaby from her childhood wandered through Lily’s consciousness. Within, she hummed along, snuggling into the comfort of the tune and the voice singing it. Safe. She felt so safe and loved. Gradually, her senses came back to her. Her mouth, she found, was quite dry. She tried to swallow and couldn’t. Her throat burned, ached. Lily opened her eyes a fraction, letting her lashes filter the light until her pupils could adapt. Orrie’s face swam into focus. She was singing.
Lily moved her hand slightly and her fingers touched Orrie’s knee. The last note of the lullaby jolted from Orrie and she issued a cry of joy.
“Glory be! Lily, how you feelin’, dear heart? Sakes alive, you’ve been out like a light for hours and hours. I thought you’d never let me see those pretty brown eyes of yours again. Mr. Griffon said you’d come around, but—oh! I promised to tell him the moment you did.”
“Wait,” Lily managed to rasp. “Water. Drink, Orrie.”
“Of course, darling girl. I’ll fetch you a glass of water.” Orrie moved away but came back within a minute with the water. “Can you sit up a wee bit?” She tucked one hand at the back of Lily’s head and helped her raise it. The water cooled Lily’s mouth and throat, dousing the flames and washing away the bitter taste of ashes.
“Was I in a fire?” Lily asked, her voice emerging as a hoarse whisper.
“No, honeypot. You … had a bad spell and fainted.” Orrie knitted her brows. “Don’t you remember?”
Lily started to shake her head, but the tendons in her neck protested and she froze the motion. “I was walking along the creek with Griffon.”
“That’s right. I’d better go get him. He’s been pacing the floor with worry, he has. I do believe he thinks you’re sweeter than fresh milk.”
“Where are we?”
“Back in the Van Buren hotel.”
“How …?”
“Mr. Griffon put you in the buggy with me and off we went, riding fast as we could back here to town. You never so much as whimpered. Just lay there in the seat, dead to the world.”
“What time … what day?”
“It’s late evening,” Orrie said, sandwiching one of Lily’s hands between her own. “Ten or so. None of us could rest until we was sure you’d be all right.”
A soft knock sounded on the door and Orrie went to answer it. “Oh, Mr. Griffon,” she said, stepping back to let him enter. “She just now woke up. I was on my way to get you.”
Griffon stepped into the room and knelt swiftly beside the bed. He held Lily’s hand to the side of his face and closed his eyes for a moment as if overcome. “Gula devla.”
“Huh?” Orrie said, blinking in confusion. “You say something, Mr. Griffon?”
“What?” He glanced at Orrie, then dismissed her with a shake of his head. “No, I was …” He smiled at Lily. “I was only giving thanks for your recovery. How are you feeling, Lily? Any phantom pain?”
His strange question brought it all back, moving across her mind like the dark sweep of a cloak. Her hand sought her throat and she expected to feel welts.
“Someone tried to strangle me,” she said, but that wasn’t quite right. Her mind picked through debris and uncovered another chunk of the truth. “No … that is, someone strangled somebody.” She looked questioningly at Griffon. “Is my throat bruised? It burns, like I’ve breathed in smoke or hot air.”
“There were marks, but they’ve disappeared. Would you like another drink? Perhaps some warm tea,” he said, directing the last suggestion to Orrie.
“Yes, yes.” Orrie bobbed her head, setting her tight curls to bouncing. “I’ll trot downstairs and rustle up a tray. Honey and lemon tea will cure what ails her. You’ll watch over her while I’m gone?”
“It will be my pleasure.” Alone with her, Griffon gave Lily his full attention. “You rest, Lily. Don’t tax yourself. I daresay a spot of tea will have you dancing a jig.”
She smiled as his English accent and phrasing pleased her ear. “Do you miss your home?”
“My home?”
“England,” she said, her voice a bit stronger.
Still on his knees, he propped his elbows on the edge of the feather mattress and held her hand between his. “If the truth be known, I have no real home.” He winked.
“ ’Tis the Gypsy in me. Scotland, England, Ireland, America, it’s all the same to me. I don’t get attached to places. Only to people.”
“Like Balthazar.”
“And Thurman Unger … and you.”
She discovered a deep peace while gazing into his eyes. She allowed herself the luxury of simply admiring the beauty in him. If she were artistically blessed and asked to illustrate exotic, it would be his face she’d sketch. A bar of shadow slanted diagonally across his fascinating features, leaving his left eye and part of his wide mouth illuminated, the rest dark.
His hands were large and gentle on hers, and his thumbs massaged the inside of her wrist.
‘You and I have become friends, haven’t we?” He pressed a kiss to her palm when she nodded. “And you’ve grown to trust me?” Another kiss was her reward when she agreed. “Are you ready to open up your petals to me, Lily? Going to bloom and allow me to see your full beauty?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“No?” He quirked his brows. “I mean, are you finished hiding from me? What I saw today, what you went through, it shook me to the soles of my feet, so it must have literally knocked you off yours. It doesn’t have to be that way, Lily.” He kissed her knuckles. “We’re only afraid of what we can’t understand. Once you learn how to use your gift—just as you learned to use a fork or ride a horse—why, then you won’t have to be hiding from yourself. You can be yourself, once and for all. Isn’t that what you want, Lily?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“How long do you plan to avoid—” He turned as the door opened and Orrie came in with a tea tray. “Ah, good.” Getting to his feet, he moved aside to let Orrie fuss over Lily. He sat in a chair against the wall, waiting for Lily to drink the steaming herbal tea laced with honey and lemon.
The warm liquid coated Lily’s raw throat. Orrie helped her sit higher in the bed, propping her against the pillows and headboard.
“Feeling more like yourself?” Orrie asked, tucking the bed linens around Lily’s hips and waist. “You were as white as this sheet when Mr. Griffon carried you to the buggy. I couldn’t figure out what could have happened to you. What made you faint like that, honeypot? Can’t you talk about it? You can tell old Orrie, can’t you?”
“I’m not sure what happened. It’s fuzzy in my memory.” Lily glanced from Orrie to Griffon. Although she couldn’t see his face—it was hidden from her by the room’s shadows—she could feel his disbelief. “I remember walking along the bank.”
“That’s right,” Orrie said, patting her arm in gentle encouragement.
“And it felt as if someone grabbed me from behind. Grabbed me by the neck and squeezed hard.” She rested a hand protectively against her throat. “I couldn’t breathe. I tried to get away. She kicked at him. She twisted, but his hands closed more firmly on her neck.”