Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles)

by Amy Rose Davis

  Connor stood. “We should ride.” He held out his hand, and she took it and stood. He lingered next to her and squeezed her hand before he let it drop. They remounted the horses and returned to Haman’s Road.

  When they stopped to camp for the night in a small patch of scrubby northern brush, Connor pulled out his fishing line. “We’re still close to that stream. I’ll go catch our dinner. Can you set up camp?”

  “Yes.”

  He walked away, and she wandered toward the trees looking for dry wood.

  She was kneeling to add a stick to her growing pile when she realized the forest had gone silent around her. Her skin pricked. Something’s not right. She straightened, her eyes scanning the trees. The hair stood up on her neck and arms, and branches snapped next to her. A low growl rumbled through the air, followed by a grunting sniff. Mairead started to back out of the trees, but fear paralyzed her feet as a brown bear walked from the trees and lumbered toward her.

  The horses neighed in panic, and Mairead screamed, dropped the wood, and ran to the horses for her bow. She nocked an arrow. When the bear stood on hind legs, she fired. The first arrow hit the bear’s chest, but only angered the animal. She nocked another arrow, fired, and it hit the bear’s throat. A choking growl wound out of its mouth. The bear lowered to all fours and started at a rumbling jog toward her as she nocked a third arrow. She focused, aimed, fired, and hit the bear’s eye.

  Still it lumbered closer, closing the gap. Mairead dropped the bow and drew a dagger. One paw lifted and brushed over her head. She ducked and stabbed, but her dagger glanced off the bear’s shoulder. She ran. The bear followed her, roaring in pain.

  She tripped, rolled over, looked up. Another roar—hot breath washed over her face. The mouth gaped above her, and she brought the dagger straight up under its jaw and into its head. She twisted the blade and pulled it down across its neck. A spray of warm blood covered her upper body. She blinked and shook her head, trying to clear her eyes, as the bear twitched, shivered, and fell, half of it pinning her to the ground.

  “Mairead?”

  Connor was calling her, but she couldn’t speak. She struggled to pull her body from under the bear. Connor ran into the clearing, sword drawn. He swore and fell to his knees next to her. “Gods—no—Mairead.” He pulled her from under the bear, and she struggled to sit up against him. “Thank the gods,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Thank the gods. Are you all right?”

  She bobbed her head and found her voice with effort. “Did you see it? Do you see it?”

  “You’re covered in blood.” He drew away from her enough to wipe away blood and check for wounds. He touched arms, shoulders, legs, back, chest to see if she was wounded. She didn’t resist. Fear hovered on his face, belying his calm tone. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine—bear’s blood. I heard it—I ran—my bow—” She struggled to catch her breath.

  Connor wiped as much blood from her face and hair as he could with a kerchief. “Can you sit up?”

  She nodded. “Not hurt.”

  He gave her one more searching look and then examined the bear. “Clean shots, all of them. And you hit his artery by sheer luck.” He flipped her braid over her shoulder. “If you didn’t want trout for dinner, Mairead, you could have said something.”

  She breathed out a weak laugh and collapsed against his chest. His arms tightened around her. “I heard it rooting around in the trees. It came out at a run and then it stopped and stood up on its back legs, and I shot—I didn’t even think about it. I just shot, but it kept coming. It couldn’t see, but it kept coming. I had to stab it. I’ve never killed anything before, except that snake. You’ve killed everything we’ve eaten. It’s one thing to shoot at a target, but this—” The words tumbled out in a rush as she started to shake. “All the blood—it just sprayed everywhere and I—”

  He cradled her head against himself. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She pulled away and nodded. “Is this what it’s always like? Killing something? Is this what it’s like to kill a man?”

  “The first time I killed anything on a hunt, I was seven years old. I was hunting with my father, and I shot a small deer. I didn’t think I’d ever stop shaking.” His eyes grew wistful, as they always did when he spoke of his father. “I’ve killed all kinds of animals, and it gets easier. I don’t think much about it anymore. But killing a man is different.”

  “How?”

  “I can’t describe it. I can justify killing a man when I’m defending myself or someone else, but it never gets easier. There’s always an ache.”

  “You were so hardened about killing the Taurins that day. You didn’t seem to care about any of them.”

  “I didn’t, not really. But they were still men.”

  The feeling started to come back to her feet and hands, and her head slowly stopped buzzing. She sat taking slow, deep breaths as she thought about what he’d said. “Have you ever killed a woman?”

  “No. But I would if she threatened me or someone else.”

  She gestured to the bear. “What are we going to do with it?”

  “We’ll carve some of the meat for food, and then we’ll move our camp. Tomorrow, we’ll bathe. I can keep our scent away from the camp with my air talent. No other animals will find us.”

  She nodded. “It seems like such a waste—all that meat.”

  He tipped his head. “We passed a farm not far from here. We could take it there.”

  “Could we?”

  “Yes. I hate wasting things, too, and I’m sure the people on the farm will be grateful for the meat.” He held out his knife to her. “You want to help dress and skin it? It’s your kill.”

  She took the knife. “Show me what to do.”

  They worked together in the waning light, carving as much meat as they could cook and eat before it spoiled. When they finished, Connor showed her how to make a travois, and he attached it to the sorrel’s saddle. They pushed the bear onto the travois, mounted the horses, and turned toward the farm they had passed.

  As they approached the farm, a woman ran from the small cabin with a pitchfork in hand. Dim firelight framed her body. “No closer, mind. My husband’s not far away. He’ll be returning soon.”

  Connor held up a hand. “Lady, we’ve not come to harm you. We’re traveling, and my companion killed a bear. It’s far too much meat for us to take on our journey. We’ve taken what we want, and we wish to leave the rest of the meat and the pelt with you.” He pointed at the travois.

  Her eyes widened. “What d’ye want in return?”

  “Just a little water to wash up,” Mairead replied.

  She hesitated before she lowered her pitchfork. “All right. Water’s inside.” She nodded toward the house.

  They entered the broken down cabin to find three children huddled in a corner. Mairead knelt in front of them. “It’s all right. We’re not here to harm you.”

  The children relaxed. The oldest, a girl, stood. “What’re ye doing here?”

  “We brought you some meat. We killed a bear, and it’s too much for us. Could you eat the rest?”

  The girl’s eyes grew wide. “A bear?”

  “They’ve not had much meat since their father passed,” said their mother as she entered the house behind Connor and Mairead. A flicker of pain crossed her face. “He’s been gone two years. Was a good hunter. Brought home deer and elk and whatever else he could find.”

  Mairead touched her arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ve done all right. We have goats and chickens. The animals provide us with much.”

  “Why don’t I finish butchering the bear for you?” Connor asked.

  “Oh, lad, ye needn’t—”

  “I insist.”

  She crossed her arms. “A wet rag won’t do ye any good, lass. I’ll draw ye a bath. The two o’ ye can sleep in the barn, if ye wish.”

  Mairead smiled. “We’re grateful, lady.”

  She nodded once and starte
d to bustle around her house, giving instructions to her oldest daughter to help draw the bath. Connor went outside.

  After Mairead had bathed and Connor had cleaned himself of the animal, the woman, Tarah, spitted the bear steaks and cooked them over her hearth. Mairead ate and watched the children feast on second and third helpings of meat.

  When they had finished eating, Tarah showed them to the barn and returned to her house. Connor spread their blankets on fresh straw and retrieved the skin of oiska from his horse. He sat next to Mairead on one blanket and gave her the skin. “To congratulate you on your first kill,” he said.

  She grimaced. “I’m not sure it went down very well last time.”

  He removed the stopper of the skin and took a long drink. He nudged her arm. “Try again.”

  She lifted the skin to her lips. The burn of the liquid felt oddly soothing, and she shuddered as it spread warmth through her body.

  He grinned. “Was that so bad?”

  She shook her head and took another drink. “It does feel good, doesn’t it?”

  He took the skin back and drank. He set it down long enough to drape her cloak around her shoulders. “Warm enough?”

  She nodded. She leaned back against the straw, warm and sleepy, and stared at Connor as dim light from an oil lamp flickered over his features. “It’s nice to be out of the elements for a night.”

  “It is.” He reached into the pocket of his jerkin and held out three bear claws. “Here. I saved these for you.”

  “For what?”

  “You should wear them. It’s not easy to kill a bear. You fired true and performed under pressure. These will help you remember.”

  She took the three claws. “I couldn’t do this without you. I didn’t know anything when I started this journey. You’ve been so patient and kind.” Her voice sounded far away, and her vision had grown fuzzy.

  He took the skin, drank, and handed it back to her. She drank again. He put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She felt his lips on her head. “It’s been easy to teach you. I’ve enjoyed it.”

  She sat up to look at him. He’s so handsome—those dark eyes. What was Muriel thinking sending me with this man? She traced the tattoos on his arm, let her fingers drift up to his shoulder, then down to his chest, just inside the opening of his jerkin. What if I offered? Would he turn me down? “I’m glad you’re the one the Sidh queen asked to come with me. I like being with you.”

  His breath quickened. He put a hand in her hair. “I like being with you, too.”

  Mairead leaned forward. “Connor . . .”

  He took her hand away from his chest and squeezed it. He picked up the oiska. “I think it’s time to put this away.” He helped her lie back on her blanket and took the bear claws. “I’ll put these somewhere safe until tomorrow.” He covered her with her cloak.

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “Will you lie here with me?”

  He patted her shoulder. “That’s the oiska talking. Go to sleep.”

  “You’re right. Thank you, Connor.”

  “Good night, Mairead.”

  He blew out the lamp and moved to the other side of the stall. Sleep drifted in and overtook her, and she dreamed that night of bear pelts and fires and oiska and Connor’s arms tight around her.

  When she woke in the morning, Connor’s things were already packed. She started to sit up and groaned. Her head pounded and her stomach lurched. “Gods.” She fell back into the straw.

  Connor’s laughter pierced her head, dagger-sharp against the pain. “Good morning, Mairead,” he said, his brown eyes sparkling with satisfaction. He wore only breeches, and his skin had a faint sheen of sweat. “Need some help?”

  “How much did I drink?”

  “Not that much. You just aren’t used to it.”

  “You are a little too happy about this.” She pulled her cloak over her face. “Bachi’s teeth, it’s bright.”

  He crouched next to her and slapped her shoulder. The vibrations sent waves of pain through her head and body. “Get up. We need to ride.”

  She threw the cloak off and blinked, trying to open her eyes all the way. “Help me up?”

  He held his hand out and helped her to standing.

  She let out a long breath. “Everything hurts.”

  He handed her a waterskin. “Drink.”

  Her stomach reeled, but she sipped some water. It helped, so she sipped a little more. She blinked again.

  His face came into sharper focus. “Better?”

  “Yes.” She gestured to his bare chest. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

  “It’s sunny out, and Tarah needed a few repairs to her house. I fixed a few things up for her.” He gestured toward the house. “She rinsed out our dirty clothes for us last night. Everything’s clean and ready to go.”

  “Last night? Did you go back to the house after I fell asleep?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him what he’d talked about with Tarah, but they were interrupted by Tarah’s son entering the barn. “Is the lady up? I need to milk the goat.”

  Connor grinned. “I think she lives. You can milk your goat, Dylan.”

  “You’ve learned the children’s names?” Mairead asked.

  “It’s hard not to when you’re conscious and paying attention.” He laughed at the dark look she gave him. “It’s all right. You were a little shaken last night at supper. Come on. Tarah will feed you. We’ll say goodbye and be on our way.” He walked out of the barn.

  Mairead folded her blankets. She found Connor in the house, pulling on his tunic while he talked with Tarah. What was wrong with me yesterday that I didn’t see how pretty she is? Her brown hair was swept back off her neck and face, revealing fine-boned features and soft blue eyes. Her figure was trim, and if her face had some wrinkles, they only served to reveal her hardships and joys.

  Tarah offered Mairead a chair. “Sit, lady. I’ll bring ye porridge. Your things are washed and dried.” She pointed to a pile of folded clothes.

  “You didn’t need to do that,” Mairead said.

  “’Twas nothing. I’m grateful for the meat and the pelt. My boys will share it next winter.”

  Though her head and stomach resisted the idea of eating, Mairead forced herself to have some eggs and porridge at Connor’s insistence. He moved about the cabin with familiarity, talking with Tarah and teasing the children.

  When they prepared to leave, Connor lifted Tarah’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lady. It was a true honor to meet you.”

  Her face colored and she brushed his hand away. “Such formality. I was glad to help ye.”

  Mairead gave Tarah a brief embrace, despite her hunch about why Connor had returned to the house the night before. “I thank you as well. You were a great blessing to us.”

  Connor and Mairead both mounted their horses and started to ride away. Connor stopped at the barn. He pulled a heavy kerchief from his saddle and dismounted. Mairead heard the clink of coins as he tucked the kerchief inside the barn door.

  “What was that for?” Mairead asked when he mounted.

  “They need it. I don’t.”

  She was quiet as they started to ride. “You could have given it to Tarah directly.”

  “I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Connor sighed. “I thought she needed some money, and I didn’t want her to think I expected something in return. She’s a struggling farmwife with no husband and only a few friends. I didn’t want her to think I expected bedding in return for coin.”

  Mairead’s stomach plummeted with shame. “You didn’t bed her?”

  “No, of course not.” He turned to her. “If I’d wanted bedding last night, I could have had you.”

  A warm flush crept up her cheeks. “Connor, don’t—”

  “You were in no state to stop me. You even asked me to lie down with you. But I didn’t, because a
woman who consents only because she needs money or because she’s drunk isn’t a bedpartner I want.”

  She met his eyes. “I’m sorry.” She bit her lip. “That was a noble thing—leaving that money.”

  “Not noble. Necessary.” He spurred his horse into a trot.

  Mairead’s face burned with shame, and she regretted her assumptions. I waver between wanting him closer and pushing him away, between trusting him to believing the worst of him. Will I ever figure out how to feel? She shook her head. A few more weeks—just a few more weeks, and he’ll leave, and then I can settle into an appropriate life without all of these questions.

  But as she spurred her horse ahead to catch up, she thought of his arms around her, and she couldn’t help thinking that if he’d only settle down, he’d be a completely appropriate man for the Taurin heir to wed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The village was a waste. The estate, the shops, the homes all gone.

  The people—Mac Rian’s men brutalized the women and tortured the men.

  I couldn’t serve a man who could turn a blind eye to that.

  — Letter of Logan Mac Kendrick, Year of Creation 5987

  As evening started to verge, Connor stopped and held up a hand. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  He motioned for silence and sat very still. “Someone’s in trouble.”

  Her heart raced. “Connor—”

  “Shh.” He set his horse at a slow, quiet walk along the road. He held up his hand again and dismounted. “Through those trees—hear it?”

  Muffled grunts and cries came from not far away. “What is it?”

  “Don’t know. Keep an arrow nocked. I’ll go see.”

  She dismounted. “I’m coming with you.”

  “All right, but be sure you can fire that thing if you need to.” He walked into the trees.

  She followed with the quiet, creeping steps he’d taught her. He crouched at the edge of a clearing and motioned. She peeked through the trees. Three men in brown kirok robes were tied together near a wagon with a team of two horses. Five men were taking belongings from the wagon and sorting what they wanted. She started to move forward, but Connor held her back. He shook his head and frowned. She waited.