"I’ll set a fire," he said quietly.
"No! Marsden will see the smoke," she cried.
"No he won’t. For some reason, it drafts through there." Drake pointed. "Kitt and I haven’t fully explored that far, but we think it leads off Scanlon’s property back into the hills." He set to work on the fire and when it was burning nicely, came to sit next to Diesa. "I’d better look at that shoulder."
She yielded to his gentle hands and after a moment, he sighed. "It’s not broken. It’s separated. I can fix it but it will hurt like hell."
Diesa gave him a weak smile. "It hurts like hell now, Drake," she said. "Fix it."
He rose, dug into his pack and brought forth a bottle of wine. He uncorked it and handed it to her. "Drink up, Princess. It’ll hurt less."
She started but accepted the bottle. "Drake, that …title … It’s not real. Except to my mother." She took a long drink, then another. "And maybe to me. Certainly to no other."
"Your father?" Drake sat down in one of the chairs facing her.
Diesa gave a short laugh and took another drink. "Definitely not my father. He’s seen me but twice. I know who he is but I’ve never known him. He never officially gave me the title. I don’t even know if it’s true." She took another drink, already beginning to feel the effects on her empty stomach.
"It must be true," Drake said. "Else why would he bestow it?"
"Why indeed?" she murmured and took another drink. She was silent for several moments watching the firelight play off the wine bottle. Finally she spoke. "Do you suppose some men who take women by force actually feel guilt? Do you think they feel any remorse, Drake? Or is it just done then forgotten?" She touched at her bruised face and took another drink. "The woman always remembers, Drake. I was five when my mother died. Five years had gone by and still she trembled when my father was mentioned. Five years and still the fear was in her." She paused, eyeing him. "Why didn’t you let me kill Marsden?"
Drake exhaled slowly and came to sit beside her. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead gently. "Because I didn’t want you to forfeit your life for him."
Diesa started. "Forfeit my life? But he wronged me, Drake!"
Drake frowned and put another chunk of wood on the fire, averting his gaze. "It doesn’t matter. You’re a slave."
She stared at him, the words carving into her soul. A slave. Not even worthy of justice. A nothing, a no one. No more than an object, a possession. She took a long pull on the wine, letting it burn her insides. She regarded the near-empty bottle. "I’ll no doubt be deathly ill in the morning," she advised him. "I’ve so far not been able to hold my wine. And this time I’ve no Scanlon to touch me with his magic." She took another drink and eyed Drake. "Are you sure you want to deal with this?’
He shrugged. "I’ve dealt with worse. The important thing is to set your shoulder so it can properly heal."
"And what of the rest of me? What of the baby?" She paused, sinking into a black gloom. "I think he killed it."
"Maybe if you stay quiet things will be all right," Drake said. "If not"—he hugged her tenderly—"we’ll try again. I don’t think Kitt will mind."
Diesa gave a wry smile. "And where will we get the spelled wine?" she asked, draining the bottle. "From Scanlon?"
"Kittellan doesn’t need a spell, Princess," Drake informed her, taking the empty bottle. "And I think you’re ready. I’ll warn you. Despite the numbing effects of the wine, you’ll feel this. I apologize in advance."
Diesa sighed, snagged his head and gave him a sound kiss on the lips. "And I thank you in advance," she murmured.
Drake gave her a wan smile and set her shoulder. Diesa gave one sharp gasp and fainted.
She woke shivering and in pain. The air about her was cold and dark and, for a moment, her memory failed her. Panic leapt to the fore and she sat up, then shrieked as pain cut through her abdomen. Someone grabbed her and she fought against the touch until a familiar voice came from the blackness.
"Diesa! Hold! It’s Drake." He held her close, calming her wild panic. "The fire’s out. Stay here where it’s warm. I’ll restart it."
"No!" She tightened her embrace. "Don’t leave me!"
"Shhh." He rocked her gently, crooning to her like mother to babe, and at last, she relaxed. Drake lowered her back down and climbed from the bed to re-stoke the fire.
It caught quickly and, satisfied it would continue, he got back into bed, snuggling close to Diesa for warmth. "One drawback about the caves. They can get really cold."
"And dark," she added. "I don’t like it so dark. I prefer to at least see stars above my head."
"Then tonight I’ll show you the hole."
"The hole?"
Drake nodded. "It’s not big enough even for a child to pass through but you can see the sky through it." He sat up quickly. "And the road from town!" He climbed from bed.
"Where are you going?" Diesa cried.
"To see if Marsden has left. Stay here and stay warm."
"But what if he—"
"He would never find his way in here," Drake interrupted. "It took Kitt and me weeks to memorize the path. Still," he pressed a dagger into her hand, "if it would make you feel better, here." He bent, kissed her on the cheek, straightened, and left her alone.
Diesa held the dagger tightly, her gaze on the opening to the cavern. She expected to see Marsden step through any moment, to see his cold, unfeeling eyes upon her, to have to suffer at his touch once more. She trembled and pulled the blankets closer. It seemed an eternity before Drake returned and when he did, Diesa broke into tears of relief. Drake sat down at once to hold her.
"He’s gone, Diesa," he said quietly. "I saw him leave."
"I’m not going back down there!" she cried, alarm rushing through her. "Not until Scanlon gets back."
"Nor I," he agreed, then smiled. "So what’s your pleasure for breakfast, Princess?"
She winced. "Don’t call me that, Drake."
"As you wish." He rose and picked up his pack. "What will it be? Cheese, bread, fruit…"
"What? No meat?"
He grinned. "No meat. I know my dryads. Tea?"
"I can help, Drake. You don’t need to serve me." She threw back the covers and rose, then screamed and clutched at her abdomen, doubling over. Drake caught her and she brought her gaze to his face as a rush of wet warmth soiled her clothes
"It’s the baby," she whispered. "I’m losing it."
"You’re also losing a lot of blood," he said, his face going ashen. "I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do."
"Nothing. Nature knows what to do. I’ll just need cloths to soak up the blood. Drake?" She shook him gently. "Don’t faint on me. I need you."
"All right. Yes." He turned from her trembling and went into the smaller cave. He returned with a soft cotton blanket which he tore into long, wide strips. Diesa removed her bloody clothing, pressed the cloth against her skin, then lay back down, shaking. "You promised me tea, Drake. I could use it now."
That seemed to snap him out of his stupor and he set to work. "And something to eat? Something light?"
"Fine. Some bread then," she replied, though she wasn’t hungry. She was scared. And wishing with all her heart that Scanlon was beside her. He would know what to do. He always knew what to do. She thought back to his gentle touch when he had healed her. True, the healings had been painful but she knew from her own experiences in healing that it was simply part of the magic. Except perhaps when he had healed her fingers. She had sensed a good amount of frustration in that healing.
In fact, she had frustrated him quite a bit over the last three months. And most of it had been deliberate. She knew she had pushed him, prodded him to the point of rage, and yet he had never truly punished her, never used the magic she knew he was capable of using. He could have—any number of times would have—if he had been someone like Marsden. She sighed, took the tea and bread from Drake, and leaned back.
"He’ll be back soon," Drake said quietly.
/>
"I hope so," Diesa returned. "I truly hope so."
That night Marsden came again to the cottage, no doubt expecting to find the slaves returned. He rode away disappointed. Diesa cried when Drake told her and spent the night in the clutches of chilling nightmares.
For the next three evenings Marsden tried and, at last, seemed to give up. Apparently he did not possess the capacity to read her mind, to touch at her thoughts as Scanlon did.
How she missed that touch now. How she wished for it.
She continued to bleed and grew weaker day by day. Drake paced the small cave, worry etched on his fine face. He made numerous trips to the viewing hole to see if Scanlon was in sight.
On the fourth night, Diesa woke with a scream. Drake woke up immediately.
"What? What is it?"
"The baby!" Diesa cried. "It’s—" Her words were cut off by another wave of intense pain that spread across her abdomen. Diesa gripped the headboard and arched backward, her breath hissing from her.
"What do I do?" Drake’s voice was high-pitched with alarm.
"I don’t know!" Diesa felt rage course through her as another wave of pain hit. "It’s not like…I’ve…done this before!"
Drake pulled the covers aside and even in the dim firelight Diesa could see him blanche.
"Faint on me, Drake," she seethed, "and I’ll…" She gasped, her breath catching in her throat as every muscle in her body tightened and focused on her belly, forcing, pushing the unformed baby into the world.
Then as suddenly as it had begun it was over. Diesa fell backward with a gasp, her entire body relaxing. She saw Drake snatch up a blanket and wrap the baby in it. He stood as if to move away.
"No!" Diesa’s words stopped him. "I want to see it, Drake."
He looked down at her, his eyes wide, his face ashen. "Diesa, I don’t think that—"
"Drake!" she snapped. "I want to see it!"
Slowly Drake placed the still bundle in her arms. She hesitated only a second, then drew back the blanket. It was a boy, tiny and yet almost perfectly formed. She stared at him, tears clouding her vision. "He’ll have a name, Drake," she said softly. "I’ll not bury him without a name."
Drake brushed aside his own tears, and reached for the baby. Diesa kissed the child gently on the forehead, then reluctantly gave it up. Drake re-wrapped the infant, turned away, and placed the tiny body in a basket. He closed the lid and swallowed hard, waiting.
"Jalind," Diesa finally said. "His name shall be Jalind. In my clan the name means beloved."
Drake nodded and carved the name on the lid of the basket with his dagger, then rose and left the caves. Stoically, Diesa reached for clean cloths to pad herself, curled into a tight little ball and wept.
Finally, six days after Marsden’s violent visit, Drake came racing back from his observation point, his cry of relief echoing through the cavern. He kissed Diesa’s cold, pale face. "He’s back! Scanlon’s back! I’m going to get him!"
"Drake, no," Diesa mumbled. "Your place…he’ll know…"
"It doesn’t worry me, Diesa. You do." He put another blanket over her, added wood to the fire, and hurried away.
Diesa trembled and closed her eyes. It was too late. Scanlon had arrived too late. She could feel the life flowing out of her as surely as the blood that continued to flow. She had held on only for Drake, only to be sure he was reunited with Kittellan. Now she could stop fighting. Now she could simply relax and let death take her. He was back, but he was too late.
She drifted in and out of consciousness, words and images flitting through her mind. Something was wrong. Something in the words Drake had said was wrong. Her eyes snapped open. Drake said "he is back" not "they are back". Diesa felt a chill run through her. Kittellan? Where was Kittellan? Gods, what if something had happened to him? What if he was hurt? What if Scanlon had sold him as Marsden had claimed? A thousand possibilities blazed through her fevered mind and she pulled herself back from death’s door once more. She had to know! She had to know what had happened to Kittellan. If you sold him, Scanlon, I swear I’ll kill you. And then I’ll take all your wealth and I’ll find him and set him free. And Drake, too. Then I’ll find Marsden and this time there’ll be no Drake to stop me. I’ll kill him and then I’ll go to that world across the water. I’ll disappear into it. And Diesa de Tyronmen, Princess of Omerron, will cease to exist. If she ever had in the first place.
::She exists and she will continue to do so.:: Scanlon’s voice came into her mind, strong, firm and caring.
::Scanlon!:: she cried, surprised at the emotions his mental touch brought. ::Scanlon, where’s Kittellan?::
::Scanlon?:: His tone was strained, unreadable. ::You now call me by my given name?::
::My apologies, M’lord. Where’s Kittellan?:: There was no answer and Diesa’s anger and panic rose. ::Please, M’lord, tell me!::
"So you may then die?" Scanlon asked as he stepped into the cavern, a cavern he was obviously familiar with as Drake was nowhere in sight. His face was tight as he approached her. "Drake told me little of what happened. Will you?"
"I…I…that is…" She could not seem to get the words together as she stared at him, at his beautiful face, his gray eyes. She wanted nothing more than to hold him, have him hold her, tell her that everything was all right, that none of the nightmare had happened. And she didn’t know how to tell him about the baby.
When she was silent, he knelt beside her. His mind probed hers gently and she watched as anger and disbelief settled in his gray eyes. He yanked the covers aside, saw the blood, and bellowed in enraged pain. His cries echoed in the cavern, bouncing from one wall to another, and he suddenly whirled, kicking at one of the chairs, sending it crashing against the stone wall.
Diesa could do no more than stare at him in outright confusion. She had supposed he would be upset, yes, but this…this was far beyond anything she had expected. Questions pounded at her mind, questions which Scanlon swiftly read and then answered by freeing her memory. She gasped. That night! That night she had stabbed herself, the night he had brought her back from death. He had removed the man’s seed and replaced it with his. His child. To grow inside of her without her consent, without her knowledge. It wasn’t Kittellan’s baby. It was his! He had taken her and bound her to him with the strongest tie there was.
Emotions whirled through her, mingling in a confused potpourri—anger, revulsion, despair, sorrow. Scanlon’s face went cold, his gaze hard on her. He touched her abdomen, sending the white-hot heat of healing through her. She cried out but once then bit her tongue to avoid a scream. He moved his healing touch to her face, banished the hideous bruises, then to her shoulder and freed it from stiffness and pain.
And then he sat down and cried. His grief was like a living thing that wrapped around her heart and squeezed. Despite her anger over what he had done, she found no words of rage, only of apology.
"I’m sorry, M’lord," she whispered. "I fought him. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry."
He raised a tear stained face to look at her. A small, shaky smile crossed his lips. "Would you be who you are if you had not fought?" he asked softly.
"And who am I, M’lord?" Diesa murmured, remembering Drake’s words. "A slave. Only a slave who still does not know her place. And this time the cost has been high. I’m sorry."
Scanlon studied her for a long moment, his fingers brushing lightly along her cheek. "You’re wrong about me, Diesa," he said quietly. "I can love. I have. I do." He wrapped her in a blanket then picked her up. "And I can hate. And I do that also. Marsden will pay dearly for this."
Diesa felt a chill at his words and held close to him as he strode from the caves. He walked with a sure step as if he had traversed this trail a thousand times, though he offered no explanation for it. His stallion waited outside and he settled her gently, then swung astride behind her. Her gaze traveled over the immediate area, finally picking out a small pile of rocks with a large stone at its head. A name was etched in black on the sto
ne. Jalind. Scanlon’s gaze followed hers and he stiffened in the saddle.
"Jalind?" he asked. "Where did you come up with that name?"
"It means beloved among my people," Diesa replied her voice thick with tears.
"Does it? " He paused, then continued, his voice catching. "Among my people it means small prince." He turned the stallion away.
Diesa hung her head and cried.
They arrived at the cottage almost two hours later. Kittellan and Drake were waiting on the porch. Scanlon dismounted and Kittellan pulled Diesa down and into his arms where she huddled, crying and trembling. Scanlon grimaced, outright jealousy flicking across his face, and he went into the house, issuing orders as he did so.
"Kittellan, see to the horse. Drake, help Diesa to her room. Then I would like to speak with you."
"Aye, M’lord," Drake and Kittellan responded together. Drake looked terrified and Kittellan gave him a squeeze of reassurance and a quick kiss before he led the stallion away.
"He won’t be angry with you," Diesa whispered to Drake as he supported her into the house and down the hallway. "How could he be?"
"Oh, come now, Diesa," Drake returned softly. "I attacked his friend. An elf, for the gods’ sakes. If all I receive is a flogging I’ll consider myself lucky."
They reached her room and Diesa gasped when she saw it. Her clothes lay scattered on the floor, her bed was in disarray, her pillow slashed. It looked as if Marsden had gone mad. She whirled, wrestled free of Drake’s grip and bolted, slamming into Scanlon in the hallway. He caught her, returned her to her room, scanned the damage, and looked to Drake. "Take her to the guest room," he said.
"No!" Diesa shrieked in horror, jerking free of him. "No! I’ll not go back in there! Ever!"
Scanlon went red with rage. He pounded down the hall and flung the door open. "Marsden!" he screamed. "I’ll kill you for this!" He stormed from the guest room, pushed past them and went into his own room, the door crashing shut behind him.
"A bath," Drake said quickly. "Let’s get you into a bath." He guided Diesa into the bathing room, settled her in a chair and began to pump fresh water. Diesa sat in confused silence.
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