Hers held an emotion he did not think she easily embraced.
Surprise and on the tail of that: terror.
*
Rowenna had a small Band contingent accompany her to the Pathway. Rolland had made himself scarce, begging off because of his scouting duties as Band. Rowenna knew otherwise. He did not wish to see her hand her babe to the man he presumed had created it with her.
How much more awful it would have been had he known it was Harland, not Raymond... who was the child's father? So it was Harland and two other of the Band who flanked Rowenna.
Rowenna had not even tried to feign bravery.
No mother should have to say goodbye to their flesh and blood. This small wonder who had taken the milk from her body, slept next to her for this week past, whose aqua crystalline eyes had quietly followed Rowenna with unnerving intensity as she changed, bathed and cuddled her with soft cooing sounds that Rowenna had never imagined she would utter.
Yet... she had uttered them.
The tears soaked her tunic, Harland physically restraining himself from offering comfort. There were two pairs of eyes on their journey. He could not afford a compromise of Rowenna for any reason.
Her sadness floated away on the bite of autumn wind that lifted their hair, stinging the two men of the Band and the half-blood with the scent they had been trained to recognize.
Fragment.
Jared turned to Harland, his thoughts instantly on Beatrice, her Day to birth quite near, vulnerable at the clan without them. There was a skeleton crew of warriors at the grounds.
His eyes sought the many of the Fragment. His count put their numbers at thirty.
Theirs were three.
They could not prevail. Jared looked at Harland and Robert. All three knew what it meant. As did Rowenna.
It was in that moment of realization that her eyes met Raymond's, her heart stuffed in her throat, she could hardly breathe for its throbbing terror.
Rowenna made an instant decision. She turned her child against her, tightening the papoose, and though she was sore and tired from the birth a week past, she ran to Raymond. The King of the sphere and the Pathway, those things would route her daughter to safety.
Her body remembered and overcame its fatigue, aiding her progress in the truest form of fight or flight response there ever was: a mother saving their child is a fearsome thing to behold.
Harland tore after her, watching the lioness move with her cub strapped to her chest, the wheaten hair a flag of slashing gold behind her, a dot of copper at her front, one hand pressed against the flame of hair on their child, the other around a dagger.
Harland had never been more scared for another nor had he ever thought anything more beautiful than Rowenna as she fearlessly sprinted with their babe toward safety.
Raymond watched her come, a fierce creature, teeth clenched, the babe held with a strong arm, the other outstretched with a weapon at the ready.
The Fragment moved in and they met her blade.
Raymond heard Rowenna's cries. They blended with those of the Red Men in an eerie harmony that would haunt him on his death bed.
“Raymond!” Rowenna screamed.
Raymond met her, an arrow sailing over his head with an ominous whistle.
Up close she looked frightened and young. The babe gave soft whimpers of distress. He had but two heartbeats to admire the large sea-colored eyes and burnt orange hair, like a high-burning flame as a Fragment moved behind Rowenna.
Oh Guardian.
A weaponless Raymond jerked her behind him and looked into the whites of eyes that gave him pause, the manic glee all that lay therein, sanity a theory.
Then the head rolled, a dagger punching from back to front, the tip an angry metal fin at the front of his neck. A boot kicked the vagrant aside and Raymond saw that it was Harland.
Harland and Raymond looked at each other as a moment of silent understanding passed and Raymond nodded his assent. Harland turned, moving into the wall of bodies that was the Fragment.
“No!” Rowenna screamed, the baby beginning to flail and scream, reacting to her mother's distress.
“Rowenna,” Raymond yelled over the fight, the Red Men taking the scalps of those they killed.
Raymond watched the slaughter as if outside his own body. There was none of the romanticism that he had read about in the few books which remained in the sphere.
War was not romantic.
All around the smell of blood was a choking metallic sea, wave after wave crashing against them both. The sounds were not the muted clash of swords but of flesh being tenderized under fists and bone.
Males fell and the Band was overwhelmed, as were the Indians.
Raymond knew what he must do. He had known when Harland had given him a look only another male could understand.
Raymond had understood when Harland told him with his eyes, I shall not live, but Rowenna and the babe shall... protect them.
Protect them thought the cost be high.
Raymond pulled Rowenna backward as five of the Fragment overcame Harland.
“No!” she screamed again, moving forward and Raymond grabbed her around the waist, jerking her off the ground and lifting her backward.
Leaving Harland for dead they moved to where the remaining Band still stood and Rowenna slipped from his grip, running to Harland, cradling the small baby's head against her chest.
“No, no, no, no...” she cried softly in disbelief, putting her head against Harland's chest.
“If I but had gills...” he tried to gurgle through the wounds of his chest.
“No, do not leave me, dear one... do not leave us!” she said urgently, hitting him on his arm. “I cannot... I cannot, be without you,” Rowenna said, searching his face.
He gave her his eyes, his heart in them as it had always been. “I love you...” he said, his eyes sliding to the babe that was his. When he had his fill he looked at Rowenna again, then his eyes shifted to Raymond's and their stare held.
“I shall,” Raymond answered his unspoken request.
“Do so,” Harland said, choking out his last.
“No!” Rowenna screamed, her head thrown back, the breaking of her heart like shattered glass that fell from the sky like jagged rain.
The remaining Fragment looked at the female, their eyes missing nothing.
Especially the second female held against the first.
The leader moved toward the sphere-dweller and the female of the Band. Her mate was dead, leaving her unprotected and exactly like a ripe piece of fruit.
For the taking.
Raymond jerked Rowenna from Harland's still form and ran the few yards with her, stumbling... her grief crippling them.
The familiar undercurrent of the Pathway recognized Raymond's biological signature as it had been programmed to, accepting the bundle that was attached to him without question. Its futuristic technology automatically embedding the new biological organisms with whom he traveled.
The babe and Rowenna had been duly noted and cataloged. They would be recognized as long as they both lived.
The hand of the Fragment passed through Rowenna's hair as she was sucked into apparent nothingness.
He stood motionless as one moment, the female and her baby had stood there taunting him with their nearness, then the next, an arrow rested in the meatiest part of his neck.
He turned, the motion bringing the flint tip deeper, as was its design.
The Indian smiled, fool, he thought in his native tongue. Soft and stupid. And with a wail of express joy, the remaining Indians called to the Mother Earth, and she opened her skin to receive the blood of battle that they had spilled.
They wept when every scalp was collected, giving thanks to the earth for its bounty and cleansing of the white skinned scum that roamed without giving back.
Taking, always taking.
However, now they took no more.
Their eyes moved to the strange males that had the white skin but the gills o
f the meat of the sea.
The Indians approached the strange warrior pair who remained, fascinated by the slit skin at their necks. It moved as they breathed, flaring and nearly disappearing in the exhale.
“Come, Adahy!” the Red Man leader said sharply.
A tall Indian warrior approached, his height unusual for the tribe.
Jared and Robert tensed. The Fragment lay dead yet this new people could be a threat. And they numbered ten. Seasoned warriors. Though they were smaller in stature, they were fierce in battle. To be respected and watched.
“Make the white man words,” he instructed.
Adahy had not always been tribe and he looked at the two warriors with white skin, a burning in his chest.
“He is Band,” Jared whispered.
“He is a Red Man,” Robert answered with puzzlement.
“Kinship recognition,” Jared clarified aloud in amazement.
Adahy scowled at the two warriors, looking at him so strangely. He was a warrior of the Iroquois.
He released his dagger, moving forward.
“Definitely Band,” Jared said dryly, holding his hands up, palms out, in the universal language of peace, as did Robert.
The Red Man leader laid a staying palm on Adahy and he growled low in this throat, his raven's wing black hair tied at his nape, his eyes, a deep mossy green, narrowed on the strangers, his tawny skin rippled with the musculature indicative of all Band.
“Use them,” his Chief commanded in the native tongue of the Iroquois and his shoulders relaxed.
Adahy would much rather kill them and dance the victory dance around the fire as they told their stories.
However, for this moment, he would do as his elder wished.
He used words that fell, rusty and slow from his mouth. They were from another time. A time that he never thought of. It did not matter, it was before his time with the tribe.
The tribe was all that mattered, they were his people.
Adahy turned to face males that equaled himself in size. He tried not to think of the coincidence of that, averting his eyes from the slits at their throats. “What do you say?” he asked in halting rudimentary speech.
Jared's jaw dropped. Robert glanced at him. “Let me... let me attend to Harland.”
Jared nodded and Robert went to cover Harland's body and that dagger flashed again.
“No!” Jared yelled for Adahy to stop, “he sees to our dead!”
The massive fist with its deadly spike of metal came shy of digging a hole into Robert.
“Definitely Band,” Robert said.
“I believe I mentioned that,” Jared answered, his eyes wide.
“Yes you did.” He looked back at Harland, his skin cooling, Rowenna had gone into the nothingness of the sky. He might have only been a half-blood but he had enough blood of the Band to fight as a male of honor, throat slits or no.
Adahy gave a short nod and Robert laid his outer tunic over Harland, his sad expression causing Adahy to take note that the battle was over, they were no threat. Though they shared skin color with the other males they had put down like the rabid dogs they were, it was a superficial resemblance.
Adahy sheathed his dagger, straightening, he watched the two that caused his chest to burn with pleasant fire. It felt good. It intimidated Adahy.
Jared looked back at the warrior, cautiously approaching him. When they were within arms reach, Jared looked him over, head to toe.
He was one of us, he marveled, somehow.
Jared received a similar appraisal. When Robert rejoined him, a grin spread over his face and Jared stuck his hand out.
Adahy looked at the proffered hand curiously and finally he gave a tentative hand back. Jared enclosed it with his own, doing a slow pump.
“We are well-met warrior, very well met,” Jared said.
Adahy gave a tentative smile.
“What does the white flesh say?” his chief asked him in their native tongue.
“He says we are equal.”
“In what?” the Chief asked, looking over the pair of the Band with some distrust.
“War,” Adahy said simply, the thrum of their common ancestry like a lock slipping into place he did not realize needed to be found.
It was a good day.
Epilogue
Rowenna wailed into Raymond's arms as he patted her awkwardly.
“I cannot abide his absence!” she mourned, the tears running to pool in the hollows of her collarbone.
“Listen to me,” Raymond said, giving her a hard, brief shake, barely staving off the hysteria he saw at the edges of her. The maidservant, Olina, cradled the two babes against either side of her body. The little babe of Rowenna's sucked on Olina's finger.
Rowenna gave up with a sniffle. “This too shall pass. I am sorry that Harland is gone... however,” Raymond raised his finger, practically shoving it underneath her nose, “he wanted you and little...”
“Clara,” she said in a whisper.
“Baby Clara to live more than he wished to keep his own life.”
A silence drew out, the maidservant holding the children to her breasts, both nearing their feeding time. Though little Olive was a month older, the wee red-headed one was brawny and lively, searching for the tit as she sucked on Olina's finger. She fell in love with her as she watched her huge, strange-colored eyes take in the world around them with a keen curiosity. She was a beautiful child.
She would be a marvelous princess, Olina could feel it in her bones. She was interrupted from her musing while her King put sense into the Savage's head. Olina eyed the young woman curiously.
Oh the tales she would love to tell. Though she would not. That was part of the code of royal loyalty. You did not just serve the royals, ye kept their secrets for them as well.
Rowenna dipped her head to her chest, taking a few deep, sucking breaths. She must return. It had already been one day since Harland had died protecting her. Protecting Clara.
Now she must grieve doubly. Rowenna took a deep breath, striving for calm when madness brought on by heartsick grief tried to close in all around her.
For Harland was dead and the wee babe would remain with Raymond.
“Aye, you are right.” Her eyes rose to his, ancient in her experiences and he was so sorry for that. Yet, they were a product of the fates, moved about by the control of forces unseen. Raymond only hoped that the acts they committed now would be for the betterment of all.
Rowenna cupped his face. “I love you, dear Raymond.”
Raymond's gaze softened on this fierce woman before him. The mother of his new charge.
“Get ye back, Rowenna.” His eyes bore into hers, forcing a promise that was too early for her to give. “Wed Rolland, for he wants you. Bear a child that you might keep close to you. Then one day... one day, you shall see your dear Clara again.”
She gazed into Raymond's eyes. A future of happiness only a theory to a girl who was not yet a woman but had lived through much as if she were.
Instead of saying all she wanted, she said none of it, just nodded. If she began she would never stop... Rowenna would never leave. She knew that about herself. Instead, Rowenna walked to where the Pathway began to tug on her body, low and deep.
“I shall not forget you, King Raymond,” she said, her eyes going to the baby whose hair still held her tears, splintered pieces of her heart laying alongside them. Rowenna tore her eyes away from the sight of another woman suckling her daughter and gulped.
Raymond met her grief stricken stare. “And I, you.”
“I will love her as is she were mine, Rowenna,” King Raymond promised.
The tears glittered unshed in her eyes. “I know,” she said in a voice gone low from sadness.
Then Rowenna was gone.
Raymond lowered his head until his chin touched his chest, hands pegged on his hips. He took several, slow methodical breaths. When the babes began their noises near the carriage, he felt he was ready to leave the heartache behind him.
Raymond returned to the Royal Manse, a fed and languid days-old infant in his arms. He looked down and the baby's eyes were at half-mast, holding a small smile on her cupid's mouth. As he watched she gave a little burp of satisfaction from her feed with Olina. Raymond chuckled, brushing the soft tuft of red hair back from her perfect face.
He did not want to forget Rowenna's sacrifice.
An idea struck him.
There lay a dark spot on the royal stairwell, cloaked in shadow, it was gloomy and despondent. Each time Raymond retired for the night he would pass through that turn in the stairs and it would take a little shine off his day.
He would commission a master glass artisan to fashion something that reminded him of sacrifice and honor. It would allow the sunlight in. Mayhap one day, Clara would make her way to that very spot as she moved through the royal domain.
She would see the likeness of her mother's gaze upon her, watching over her until they would someday meet.
It made Raymond lighter to think on it.
The entire ride back to the royal manse was met with the soft lulling pull, lift and subtle bounce of the carriage as it navigated first the dirt floor of the sphere tunnel then the choppy cobblestone of the interior.
The carriage gently lurched to a stop and Raymond smiled as he hopped from the door, his foot barely catching the running boards, so light was his step.
He looked down at Clara with a smile.
There was happiness to be had in this world. One need not look too hard to find it. It was a ready choice.
As Raymond gazed at Clara, he chose her. He chose happiness.
*
later
Rolland watched Rowenna when she was not aware and smiled. He could not stop the expression.
They had been joined and he now knew her, body and soul, as true mates do.
When she had returned from the world of the sphere, ruined by grief and the sadness of both the loss of her babe and their good friend, Harland, Rolland had attended her. As the months wore on, she had gradually cleaved to him. Not because she was weak, but because she was strong.
The SAVAGE Series, Books 1-3: The Pearl Savage, The Savage Blood and The Savage Principle Page 63