by Ann Gimpel
“If you don’t have the horse, there’s likely time to eat. I think I smell bread.” She wrinkled her nose, sniffing.
“I smell it too.” He sat next to her and took her hand. His heart thudded against his chest, and his tongue stumbled over unfamiliar words. “I— What just happened was special for me.”
Her smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful look. “For me too. I could use sex to escape from you, but I don’t want to.”
He crushed her to him, breathing in the fresh, earthy scent of her, before scrambling back to his feet. “I’m on my way to find another mount for us. Meet you in the common room. If there’s something ready by the time I return, we can eat.”
“I’m sure I can talk the innkeeper out of something.”
Cameron didn’t doubt it for a moment. He couldn’t stop smiling. Joy was such an unfamiliar feeling, it surprised him, but he didn’t chase it away. He was halfway out the door when he turned and shut it, closing their room from prying ears.
“Remember your name, Louisa,” he spoke low. “Let’s get out of her without problems.”
She smiled, a slow, lazy affair that lit up her mossy eyes. “I can do that, so long as all I have to do is respond. Remember, I can’t lie—about anything.”
* * *
He looked at her with an odd expression before letting himself out into the corridor. Delight and something indefinable that she didn’t have a name for struggled for ascendency on his finely wrought features.
What was in his mind?
She could’ve sent power auguring into his thoughts, but using magic was a risk, and if they were going to be lovers, it was better for him to tell her things, rather than her helping herself. She stretched her arms above her head and pushed herself to a sit. The memory of his cock coming against her hand made her hot all over again, but she smoothed her skirts down. There’d be lots of orgasms with Cameron. No need to bring herself off and risk Aphrodite’s wrath.
She didn’t think there’d been any other guests at the inn the previous night. If there had been, they’d been quiet as ghosts. In lieu of the comb she didn’t have, she ran her fingers through her tangled locks before standing. She placed her palms flat against the low ceiling, pushing kinks out of her muscles, before slipping into her worn boots. Nothing more to gather, so she left the room and made her way back down the uneven stairs.
The common room was empty, but someone had lit a fire in the stone hearth. Sitting as close to its warmth as she could get, Cassandra kept a close eye on the swinging door she presumed led to the kitchen. There was bread baking. The odor was much more pronounced down here. Her mouth watered, and she wiped at it, feeling mildly ashamed of the trail of saliva.
“Oracle?” A thready voice rose out of nowhere.
She searched the shadows, seeking its origin. “Yes? Come closer whoever you are. I won’t hurt you.”
A maid of perhaps thirteen crept barefoot from a darkened hall. “You be the lady who tells the future?” The child bent over as a deep, phlegmy cough shook her slight frame.
“Yes, child. How can I help you?”
“Me Da, he tol’ me not t’ bother you. He says I’ll get better, but, Oracle, I think I am a-dyin’ and I want to know so’s I might make my peace with the Christian god. Me Ma, she prays to the Old Ones see, and I used to be leavin’ ’em milk and corn, too, but I wants to get into heaven.” Another fit of coughing ripped through her, and she spat a glob of bloody mucus onto the ground, wiping at it with one foot.
Oh my, I don’t need my gift to answer you, child.
“You need to return to your bed,” Cassandra began, but the child interrupted her.
“Am I a-dying, Oracle?”
Cassandra met the child’s dark brown eyes, rimmed with the pain of the wasting sickness gradually sucking the life out of her. She opened her mouth to craft a soothing lie, but nothing came.
Bound to tell the truth...
“Would the missus like some coffee?” The innkeeper emerged from the kitchen carrying a mug and a pot. Noticing his daughter, he drew his brows together. “Bessie, you get on back to the kitchen. I’ll not have you bothering the guests. I told you that afore.”
“Yes, Papa,” the child mumbled before turning to leave.
“Sorry for that, missus. Child’s got the grippe. I’m sure she’ll be better soon. How about coffee? I made some up fresh for you.”
“Yes, please.” She struggled to expunge the specter of the dying child from her mind.
Should I tell him, so he can prepare for her loss? Ach, probably best to not interfere... Besides, he wouldn’t believe me anyway.
“My, uh,” she stumbled over the word husband, then tried again. “What I mean to say is that Cameron is out looking to find another horse. I’m sure he’ll want some coffee too, when he gets back here.”
“Yes, he certainly would.” Cameron had just let himself in through the main door. “Found you a nice little filly, love. She cost us dear, but she’s perfect for you. I took her around to the stables and told the boy to get her and my bay ready to go.”
“Might I interest you in breakfast to go with that coffee,” the proprietor interrupted, apparently concerned his only paying customers might leave before he’d had a chance to sell them something further.
“Sure, so long as it doesn’t take long to prepare,” Cameron replied. “We have a long way to go today.”
“Eggs, bread and cheese for six pence?”
“Perfect,” Cassandra said. “We can eat those as we ride.”
* * *
They’d been traveling for hours through thick timber, the vegetation so dense Cassandra doubted they’d be able to force their horses through the undergrowth if they left the track. She picked out pines, firs, poplars, aspens, oaks, and sycamores, plus fragrant ferns and other shrubbery intermingled with the tree boles along the well-beaten road. The summer sun was warm on her hair, and she was enjoying the feel of a horse between her legs again.
As they rode, she kept quiet to see what Cameron chose to tell her. After an entire morning of silence, though, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Where are we going?”
“Wondered when you’d get around to asking about that.” He grinned. His worried mood from earlier seemed to have lifted.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“Sure. We’re headed across the state of New York, then into Canada. More precisely, we’re on our way to Caldwell. From there we’ll board a steamer traveling north on Lake George. Next, we’ll head to Fort Ticonderoga. Then it’s another steamer on up Lake Champlain. That will get us to Canada.”
“Why there?”
“If anyone stops us and asks, our home is in Montreal.” He hesitated. “The real reason, though, is people are more tolerant of those like us in Canada. That’s where I was headed...before I found you. Plus, the United States is only a handful of steps away from an internal war. I’ve fought in lots of wars I didn’t believe in. Wasn’t much interested in being conscripted into another.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “How’s your French?”
“Passable.” She paused. “But then, so are my Latin, Greek, German, and Italian. Of course I know about the war. Even tried to tell a few people but no one believed me—”
“You really are Cassandra, aren’t you?” He reined in, bringing the bay gelding to a halt.
She looked at him strangely. “Of course. Who’d you think I was?”
He shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes. “I wasn’t exactly sure, but the clues pointed that way.”
She cocked her head to one side. “The bigger question for me is who are you?”
“There’s no short answer to that.”
“How about the long version, then?”
“Later,” he murmured, neatly sidestepping her attempt to divert the conversation. “Back to the question of where we live... Remember, Montreal is our home. I’m in lumber. We have two children, Apollo and Diana. That should be easy enough for you to remember.”
“Why not Betty and Joe?” she asked bitterly. I’ve spent three thousand years trying to forget Apollo.”
“Hush!” He rounded on her, his gray eyes sparking with anger. “How in the nine hells do you think I figured out I needed to stop for you last night? The gods forced me to alter my route. Whether you like it or no, they’re still watching out for you. Best say a prayer. Quick.”
“What do you mean forced you?”
He glanced away. “I have visions. It’s all you need to know at the moment. Come on. Lots of miles left to go today.” He kneed his horse into a trot, and she did the same.
Cassandra thought as she rode. She did offer up a quick prayer, biting off a few hairs and tossing them back over her right shoulder as she muttered her expiations.
It’s not possible. Apollo hasn’t thought about me even once since he ruined my life.
Startled by the sound of horses’ hooves, she turned in her saddle. “Cameron. Look there.” She pointed at the unmistakable sheriff’s posse bearing down on them. “Guess Gretch decided to put up a fight. Who else does he have to make money for him?”
“We’ll wait and speak with them.” Cameron sounded wary, as if he were expecting the worst and girding himself to fight. “We can’t run. It’d look bad. Besides, there’s no place to hide. Let me answer their questions. No one will believe you.”
Bitterness coated her throat like sour acid. “Truer words were never spoken.” She reined her horse to face the posse summoned power so she’d have it to hand. She’d never return to Gretch without putting up a hell of a fight.
“Mr. Tracy?” The man with the badge pulled up next to them. The rest of the posse, Gretch among them, hung back, waiting expectantly.
“Yes, that would be me. What can I do for you?”
“This man,” he pointed at Gretch, “lodged a complaint against you. Says you stole his wife.” The sheriff stared intently at Cassandra. Remembering what passed for manners in this age and country, she demurely dropped her gaze and dredged up a blush.
“Seems he’s got that backward.” Cameron spoke gently. “Louisa, here, is my wife. She gets confused sometimes and wanders off. You should see the bruises that monster inflicted on her. He kept her chained up like a dog. She told me all about it last night. Show them, love.”
She dutifully rolled up her sleeves, wondering how Cameron could have known about the iron chain. Discolored, broken skin circled both her wrists, ugly and blotchy in the bright sunlight.
“Guess you couldn’t very well have done that,” the sheriff said to Cameron, eying the greenish flesh of her half-healed injuries. “Those have been there for a while.” He glanced over his shoulder at Gretch. “Did you inflict those wounds on this woman?”
“I have no idea how she came by them,” Gretch snarled. “She always was a clumsy wench.”
Nodding to himself, the sheriff turned back to Cameron and Cassandra. “Where are the two of you headed?”
“Canada.” Cassandra spoke without thinking.
“You’re Canadian?”
“Actually, we’re both from Massachusetts.” Cameron cut in quickly. “But we chose to settle in Montreal. I have a lumber business there. Lots of building going on, so it seemed like a logical choice.” He smiled at the sheriff. “Do you suppose we might go, sir? There are many miles betwixt us and home.”
The sheriff swiveled in his saddle, looking right at Cassandra. “Whose wife are you?” he demanded.
Can I force a lie to cross my lips?
Do I tell him the truth—that I am no man’s wife—and have him jail me for harlotry? Does it even matter if he won’t believe anything I say?
Help me, Apollo, she prayed in desperation. It’s been so long. Please, please lift that damned spell. You’re a beautiful god. And once I loved you so.
She took a deep, measured breath. “I would be his, sir,” she replied, pointing at Cameron. “That animal, Gretch, used me sorely. I was neither his slave, nor his wife, yet he beat me and starved me. He’s the one you should arrest.”
She held her breath. Would he believe her? Or was she on her way back to iron manacles, the whip, half-rotten food, Gretch’s stink, and his twisted lust?
Cameron reached out, laying a hand over hers, and she leaned into him as their mounts stood side-by-side. Both of them watched the sheriff as he mulled over what to do. After what felt like an interminable time, he said, “Feels to me like the two of you fit together. Mrs. Tracy, you’re too much of a lady for the likes of Gretch Smythe. Travel safely.”
“You’re not letting them go?” Gretch’s aggrieved tone filled the air.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” the sheriff replied, turning his horse so he faced Gretch. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll ride out of here and back to that wagon of yours. When you get there, you’ll clear out of my territory. Lying to a peace officer is worth thirty days in jail.”
Gretch’s eyes widened in shock. Hauling his horse’s head around so sharply the mare whinnied in pain, he dug his heels into her side and was gone in clouds of dust.
“Sorry for the trouble, folks.” The sheriff tipped his hat. Gesturing to his five-man posse, they turned their mounts and trotted slowly along the thickly-wooded track.
“I need to get down,” she murmured once they were alone again. “Apollo heard me, and I must have my feet on the earth to thank him properly.”
“What did you ask for?”
“I begged him to lift the curse and let the sheriff believe me, so I wouldn’t have to go back to Gretch. I’m almost afraid to trust it, but this is the first time since the God of Prophecy’s malediction that anyone’s believed what I’ve told them.”
One corner of her mouth twitched upward. “I even managed to tell half a lie without choking on the words.” Slipping down from her horse, she tossed the reins to Cameron, wondering if her other gifts had disappeared along with her curse. If the curse had truly been lifted that is.
Oh please, please let it be gone...
The half-taste of freedom was so heady she could barely contain her anticipation.
A crow fluttered down, landing on her shoulder. “Little one?” she murmured hopefully.
“Sister,” the bird croaked.
Relief swept through her. Thank the Goddess. I can still understand him.
“The shining one would have you know that you are released. He says he’d have done so long ago, had you but asked.” The crow quorked his message, with a lyrical chirrup at the end.
It couldn’t have been that simple.
Or could it? Ach, what a stubborn fool I’ve been to not see the truth right under my nose.
“Blessings, little one,” she said to the crow. “Tell your shining one ‘thank you’ from me.” Cassandra stroked the soft places just behind the crow’s head. He cawed again and ruffled his feathers, leaning into her gentle hand before taking wing.
Turning to Cameron, she asked, “Have you a knife or scissors?”
He nodded. Dismounting from the bay, he pulled a short dagger out of its scabbard and handed it to her. “My thanks,” she said, as she laid it in the middle of a small clearing between two sycamore trees. Squatting, she gathered bits of bark, twigs and leaves into a pile. When she had enough to get a fire started she stood, stepped out of her clothes and pulled the pins from her hair. Naked, her hair swirling round her like a living flame, she raised her hands to the skies in supplication.
A prayer she’d not given voice to since she left Troy flowed from her lips in ancient Greek. Tears came with it, streaming hot and bitter down her face. With them came visions of long, wasted years, tripping over one another like unwelcome guests called to bear witness. Snuffling, she hunkered down, calling on her magic to light the fire. Once it was blazing skyward, she picked up the dagger and sawed off several locks of her hair, feeding them to the flames as she continued to pay homage, humbly thanking Apollo for hearing her plea.
Cameron took his place next to her, naked as
well. Crouched low beside the flames, he joined his voice to hers. Druidic symbols were tattooed into his skin, mingling with fine, white lines of hundreds of scars.
“Apollo did send you to me. He must have. There’s no other way you could have found me.” She was crying again. “Somehow, through all these years, the old gods—our gods—still live.” Exultation swept through her, potent as strong wine.
“I never doubted it. Not really.” Cameron stood, pulling her to her feet so he could fold her into his arms. Lips buried in her hair, he whispered, “Join your life with mine, Cassandra. I don’t fully understand yet, but this seems to have been foretold.”
She breathed in the clean, woodsy scent of him. “’Twould be heresy not to since the gods led you to me.”
Tracing a few of his scars with her fingertips, she wondered about the wounds and how it was that a Celt understood the Greek prayers.
’Tis a tale best left for another day. He and I shall have infinite days together. As soon as she thought the words, she heard truth in them and it warmed her soul.
She opened her mouth to tell him, but he shook his head. “I see the same,” he murmured. “It’s why I asked you to become one with me. I never thought I’d love another woman, but I’m falling in love with you.”
“I’ll make certain you never regret it.”
Rather than words, he answered her with a kiss.
Cassandra leaned against him, and together they watched the flames of their fire kiss the afternoon sky.
~~~~~~~~~~~
An earlier version of this story was originally published by the Absent Willow Review in March, 2010.
Three Into Two Won’t Go
Corina trotted smartly down the well-worn dirt track. She’d gotten a shred off course, but astute orienteering had fixed that. The angle of the sun was a bit of a puzzle. She didn’t see how it could have shifted to the western sky so quickly. And she was worried about Josh. What had happened to him? One minute they’d been together, the next she was walking by herself, feeling out of it.
Just after rounding a bend, the familiar outlines of their truck came into view. Josh stood next to the cab, arms crossed over his chest. As soon as he saw her, he raced forward shouting, “Where the fuck were you? I’ve been so worried my guts are tied in knots.” Sweeping her into a hug, he trembled against her. “I swear to god, Cori, I was afraid we might miss each other if I left here. I’ve been up and down this godforsaken road at least ten times calling for you. If we’re late getting back, they won’t let us in.”