Defying Destiny
Page 19
watched her with a worried expression as
she breezed, waiflike, through the lobby.
She took her letter to the post, a sluggish
system of delivering mail via horseback.
“I would like to have this delivered to
the Decatur Estates in Dubwar.” She
handed the clerk her envelope.
The young man smiled down at the
letter. “Dubwar, you say? There is a horse
leaving for Dubwar in the morning.”
“A bit of good fortune. What is the
charge?”
“Eight coppers,” he told her, glancing
up at her for the first time. “Are you
feeling well, miss?”
She scowled at him. “Of course I am.”
“I didn’t mean to offend,” he said.
“You just look…ill.”
“I am very well, sir.” She reached into
her cloak and retrieved her money pouch.
She upended the pouch in the palm of
her hand and several coins along with a
pair of small, dragonfly-shaped barrettes
tumbled out. She stared at the barrettes.
Her heart gave an unpleasant thud, as her
thoughts drifted to a different time and
place.
“Eight coppers,” the clerk reminded
her. She’d been standing there silent for
more than five minutes.
Maralee started and glanced up at the
clerk. “Right,” she agreed, locating the
proper coins. “How long will it take to get
a reply?”
“A week at best,” the young man told
her. He accepted the coins and made some
notes on her envelope. “A month at
worst.”
“A month?” she muttered. “No, that’s
much too long. I need money now.”
“If it’s money you need then why don’t
you…”
Maralee gazed at him, confused. “Then
why don’t I what?”
The young man hesitated. “Well,” he
said slowly. “I was about to suggest you
get a job, but you look like you’re about to
faint.”
She scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous,”
she said. “Me, faint? I would never—”
She lost her train of thought as a wave
of dizziness forced her to clutch the low
counter in front of her.
“Miss? Are you all right?”
“I think I need to lie down,” she
admitted. She never expected to do so
right there on the floor without further
provocation or any warning.
CHAPTER 21
The dream again. The same dream, and yet
very different.
She wasn’t slaying Wolves with her
silver sword, but men, women, and, worst
of all, children. They succumbed easily
to her poisonous, silver blade, falling
lifeless all around her as she continued
her merciless slaughter.
“My destiny,” she cried as she killed
another and another. “I cannot turn
away from my duty as a Decatur. I must
protect…people…”
She stopped abruptly. Small hands
clutched both wrists.
“You have to stop this,” a small voice
pleaded.
“Please, no more,” another said.
She looked down and saw a child
holding her wrist. The young boy had
black hair, except for a single lock of
white draped over one eye. Nash as a
boy? There was definitely a resemblance,
but this boy had silver eyes, and full lips.
Like hers. Standing next to this boy,
holding her other wrist, was another boy,
identical to the first except his hair was
startling white except for a single lock of
black draped over one eye.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You have to stop this,” one boy said
to her.
“Please, no more,” the other said.
“Tell me who you are.” Her voice
was frantic.
They vanished. Nash stood in their
place. “I want this to end,” he said. He
was holding her gaze. His hands covered
hers. The tip of her sword pierced the
skin of his chest. He was driving her
sword ever deeper into his heart. She
couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t look away
from his beautiful blue-green eyes. Blue-
green? But Nash’s eyes were amber.
“With my spilled blood—”
“No!” she screamed. She bolted
upright, instantly awake. Her heart was
pounding and tears streamed down her
face in torrents. “No,” she whispered, still
caught in the emotions of her dream.
“Hey there, are you awake now?” an
unfamiliar voice asked.
She glanced around the dimly lit,
unfamiliar room. A man appeared,
standing above her. He had gentle blue
eyes behind thin-rimmed spectacles and
untidy brown hair. He raked a hand
through his hair, mussing it even more.
She estimated his age to be around thirty,
though he seemed unduly wise for his age.
He offered her a smile of reassurance
before he urged her to lie back on the bed.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“I’ll answer that after you answer
some questions for me.”
She sat up again and pushed his light
grip
from
her
shoulders.
“What
happened?” Panic wrapped a fist around
her throat as she tried to make sense of her
surroundings and this take-charge stranger.
“Try to think. What happened?”
Maralee screwed up her face with
concentration. “I went to the post to send a
letter to my aunt, and then I saw the
barrettes and…” She glanced up at him. “I
fainted, didn’t I?”
He smiled gently. “You did. You hit
your head fairly hard. Young Thomas
Starling was in a panic when he carried
you in here.”
“Thomas Starling?” The name was
entirely unfamiliar to her.
“The postal clerk.”
She nodded. Her head pounded with
protest at the jarring motion. “And who
are you?”
“First, tell me who you are.”
“I asked you first.”
He laughed—a soft, joyful sound that
seemed to warm the entire room. “That
you did,” he agreed. “I am Doctor Sabin.”
“Doctor!” she gasped. Was it really so
bad that she had needed a doctor?
“Does that surprise you?” he asked,
running a hand through his hair again. “I
guess most people think doctors should be
old and—”
“It’s not that,” she interrupted. “Why
would I need a doctor?”
He smiled at her. “You haven’t
answered my question yet. I refuse to
answer any more of yours until you clearly
state your name and where you are from.”
“My name is Maralee Decatur. I come
from Dubwar in the Northern Pr
ovince.”
He wrote some notes into a chart and
then flashed a bright light into one eye,
before jotting some more notes. “Well,
you seem to be in command of your
senses.”
His diagnosis would have been
different if he’d seen her a week ago,
when she’d been hopelessly in love with a
half-Wolf. Luckily, she was completely
over that bit of madness.
“How long has it been since you last
slept?” he asked, taking on the serious
look of a concerned doctor now.
“Five minutes ago.”
He laughed again. “You are quite
delightful,” he said, shaking his pen at her.
“Before you fainted.”
“I…” She hesitated. “I honestly don’t
remember.”
“Several days, in any case. You’re
suffering from extreme exhaustion and if
aren’t careful, you will fall ill.”
“I am obviously already ill. I’ve never
fainted in my life.”
“It’s nothing a little sleep won’t cure,
unless…” he caught her gaze. “Is there any
possibility you might be pregnant?”
Maralee’s eyes widened. “No,” she
said. “No. It’s not possible. I couldn’t be.
No. I—”
“Easy,” Dr. Sabin said. “I didn’t mean
to upset you.”
“I can’t be,” she said. She covered her
mouth with a trembling hand and gazed up
at the doctor in horror. “That would be…
impossible.”
“I understand, Miss Decatur. You are
still an untried maiden. I didn’t mean to
insult you.”
“Actually…” she trailed off and lay
back on her pillows. Her dream. Those
two boys. Hers? And Nash’s? She turned
onto her side away from the doctor, buried
her face in her pillow and sobbed.
Dr. Sabin sat down beside her on the
bed and gave her shoulder a reassuring
squeeze. “Now, there. It isn’t as bad as
that. If you are in trouble, there are things I
can do to help.”
She sobbed harder. If he only knew
how wrong he was. Nothing could change
Nash from half-Wolf to full human and
nothing would turn the duty in her Decatur
blood innocuous.
“Don’t cry, Miss Decatur. If you
explain your situation, maybe I—”
“Please leave me alone.”
“Sorry, can’t do that. If there is one
thing my father taught me, it was to never
leave a lady alone with her tears.”
She wasn’t sure how it happened
exactly. Had she gone into his arms? Had
he pulled her into such a position? She
found at least some comfort held gently
against his chest. At least she didn’t feel
as if she would drift away on the current
of her tears. When she had quieted to
shaky sniffles, he released her, handing
her a handkerchief so she could dab at her
swollen eyes and blow her nose. He
reclaimed his handkerchief and tucked it
in his pocket, as if unconcerned by its
apparent dampness.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Do you think you might like to eat
something?”
“No, I’m too tired to eat.”
He smiled. “Well, that’s something.
I’ll keep you here at the clinic tonight for
observation, and tomorrow, if you eat a
good breakfast, I’ll release you.”
She nodded in obedient agreement.
“Sleep well.” He lifted a lantern from
the stand beside the bed. “If you need
anything before morning, just give a shout.
I’ll be sleeping in the next room.”
She nodded again, but thought she
would never have the need of something
so badly she would call for assistance
from a perfect stranger in the middle of the
night. Of course, she hadn’t thought she
would ever faint either.
CHAPTER 22
The dream went on and on: a
ceaseless torment. Punishment for all the
blood she’d spilt over the years. The
dream played through from beginning to
end as before, but it continued now and
she couldn’t wake up.
Nash had succumbed to her sword.
He lay at her feet, the blank stare of
death on his face. Carsha confronted
Maralee, who stood over his body in
utter shock.
“You killed Uncle Nash,” she
accused. “First my father and now Uncle
Nash! I hate you!”
Maralee was confused. She needed to
deny it. She needed to plead her
innocence. “Your father? I didn’t kill
your father. I’ve never killed a man. I
only kill monsters.”
The woman who had once cleaned
Nash’s wounds and ignited Maralee’s
jealousy was holding Carsha’s hand
now. Rella. She spoke as if she were
talking about the weather. “A monster to
you. A brother to Nash. A father to my
children. A husband, a lover, a friend to
me.”
“No,” Maralee denied. “I only kill
wolves. I only kill…I kill…people…”
She screamed so loudly it woke her
up. Her entire body was drenched in cold
sweat. She was trembling so hard her
muscles ached. Dr. Sabin was suddenly
beside her bed. He hadn’t even bothered
with the candle. He found her in the
shadows of the dawn and gripped her by
both arms.
“Miss Decatur, what is it?”
“I—nothing,” she gasped. “It was
nothing.”
“You screamed,” he said. “You were
terrified. I heard you scream.”
“No, just a dream. A dream, that’s
all.” It was still haunting her even now
that she was awake.
“Do you often have nightmares?” he
asked. He sat down on the edge of her
bed, checking her for fever with his
fingers.
“Yes. Every night. I’m used to it by
now.”
“No wonder you don’t want to go to
sleep.” He looked at her with compassion
in his blue eyes. “I can give you a
concoction that will allow you to sleep
more peacefully.”
“Truly?” It was bad enough dreaming
about the massacre of her family every
night, but now she was dreaming of being
a murderer—a murderer of people, not
monsters.
“Would you like to try it? You will
probably sleep twelve hours.”
She gazed across the room out the
window at the pinks and oranges
spreading across the sky. “It’s morning.
You said you’d release me if I ate a good
breakfast.”
He sighed, looking worried. “I did say
that. Where are you staying?”
“At Smithy’s Inn.”
“I could stop by t
his evening and give
you the concoction. You would sleep very
soundly tonight.”
She smiled, fighting an urge to hug
him. “I could sleep without dreaming?”
He nodded, smiling in return.
“That would be wonderful.”
She could see the caring in his eyes,
his urge to help others, his need to do
everything he could for even strangers.
“Very good,” he said. “Now to find
you some breakfast. I guarantee you will
not enjoy my cooking, so why don’t we go
over to the inn. I could go for some of
Phyllis’s fantastic griddlecakes.”
“That’s a deal,” Maralee said. She
wondered if the innkeeper and his wife
knew she had spent the night at the clinic.
She wouldn’t be surprised if Gordon had
a posse of armed men standing out in the
street waiting to come to her rescue. Like
he had when she’d first stayed with Nash.
Nash. If she’d heeded Gordon’s warning
that day, she might have forgone the agony
of losing Nash, though she wouldn’t have
traded those two weeks of blissful
ignorance in his arms for anything.
“It’s a date,” Dr. Sabin said.
Maralee raised her brows at him in
question.
“Not a real date, Miss Decatur.” He
chuckled and shifted his eyes to one side.
“I’m your doctor. I can’t go around falling
for every beautiful, young lady in my care.
I’d never have time to shave.”
He scratched his jaw, covered with a
night’s
growth
of
beard.
Maralee
chuckled, the lump of lead in her chest
lightened marginally.
He smiled at her and turned to leave
the room. “You’ll find your clothes in the
wardrobe.”
He left her alone, closing the door to
respect her privacy, though he must have
seen her naked already. She climbed from
the bed, noticing her weakness for the first
time. The moon would be full in ten days.
How would she fight Wolves if she
couldn’t stand? How could she kill them if
she dreamt they were people?
Damn Nash! He’d been the one who
had
given
her
this
feeling
of
incompetence. She had never questioned
her duty in the past. And now, she couldn’t
even decide upon her destiny. Her duty
had been clear before, but now it was a
hazy cloud of doubt, lined with regret.
Had her entire purpose in life been one
huge mistake? Was saving the lives of