Foremost (The Lost Princesses Book 2)

by Jody Hedlund

  Only then did I glance past Edmund toward the passageway. His torch illuminated a sight more frightening than anything from the worst of nightmares. A black-and-brown-striped spider was crawling across the ceiling toward us. A giant spider the size of a goat.

  Chapter

  6

  Edmund

  None of my communication would get through to the giant arachnid. I’d only learned a little regarding the language of the lesser creatures, having focused mainly on the wild animals that roamed the Highlands.

  Its eight black eyes were pinned on me, sensing my attempt to communicate. But still, it crept closer, the hairs on its legs raised, picking up our vibrations and our scent. In the passageway behind the spider came the clanking and hissing of more. The place was infested with the giant creatures.

  I’d heard rumors of large, poisonous spiders once having lived in the Iron Hills in the days before the mines were fully developed. Their deadly bites had killed many miners until the spiders had been hunted to extinction.

  How had these survived?

  I thrust my sword, attempting to discern the best way to attack. Its hard exoskeleton would be difficult to penetrate. I’d likely have to start by slicing off its legs while dodging the dagger-like claws on each tip as well as the pedipalps next to its fangs.

  With a last desperate effort at communicating, I issued a short hiss, telling it to withdraw. It hissed back, releasing an odor that told me it had every intention of killing us.

  “Crawl through the opening, Maribel,” I said as the creature neared, so close that it was almost overhead. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed another one entering the room, as big as the first. Although I could possibly battle one, I wouldn’t be able to defend Maribel from multiple spiders at once. Not from overhead and certainly not with so many claws and legs.

  She moved to obey me but then stopped halfway through the space. “Give me your dagger, and I shall help you fight them.”

  “No! Make haste through the hole and leave space for me to dive out after you.”

  She did as I asked, no doubt hearing the strain in my voice. As a third spider crawled into the room, this one on the floor, I knew the only way we could escape was to attempt to outrun them.

  As if sensing my plan, the spider above me lunged, releasing silk from its spinneret as it descended. I spun and tossed my torch and sword ahead.

  “Start running!” I forced my head into the hole and scrambled to pull my body through. But I was too late. A jab into my calf was followed by piercing pain so intense I couldn’t hold back a cry. The spider had punctured my tender flesh with one of its claws. Within seconds, it would riddle me with more cuts from its other legs before finally biting me with its poisonous fangs. There was nothing I could do to stop it except attempt to crawl away and get as much of my body out of its reach as possible.

  “I have you!” Maribel shouted, clutching my arms and hauling me. I pushed with her, throwing myself forward. Another spider claw hit my thigh, grazing my flesh like a cat scratch.

  With Maribel dragging me, I managed to wriggle both legs through. Once out, I jumped to my feet. Heedless of the pain in my limb, I shoved stones over the opening. Maribel joined my efforts. Working frantically, we tossed and stacked but managed to block only half of the opening when a spider leg shot out and almost pierced Maribel in the chest.

  I shoved her away in the direction we’d hiked. “Time to go.” Grabbing both the torch and my sword, I waved her ahead of me. “Run, Maribel!”

  With the blood from my wound running down my calf and seeping into my hose and boot, I limped after her. The spider claw had penetrated deeply, but thankfully, from what I could tell, it hadn’t damaged muscle or bone. I needed to stop and tend it, at least slow the flow of blood. But first we had to put distance between ourselves and the spiders.

  “Would it help if I cover our trail with Mountain Essence?” Maribel called as she stumbled along the rocky path. The nuns had developed the herbal mixture long ago in an effort to keep tracking dogs and wolves from picking up their scent. It worked well in many instances and had been one of the ways Wade had been able to cover his scent during his forays up and down the mountains over the years.

  “It won’t suffice this time.” My breath already was labored, and I was weakening from the loss of blood, but I pushed onward, praying I’d make it to the horses without passing out. “Even if you mask our scent, the hairs on the spiders’ legs will pick up our slightest movements.”

  “Can we outrun them?”

  “Yes, if we don’t stop.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. But it wasn’t the entire truth. Spiders could crawl exceptionally fast. Each of their eight legs contained six joints, making them versatile. Our only hope was that the stones in front of the opening would delay them enough to give us an advantage.

  “Make haste,” I urged Maribel even as I began to lag, the pressure and discomfort in my leg burning with every step. The pain rose up, making me nauseous, and I breathed deeply to stay conscious. Behind, I could hear faint hisses and scrapes, informing me the spiders had broken free of the stones and were on our trail.

  After passing under a gate at the end of a low tunnel, I yanked on the rusty iron grill. Protesting and screeching, it gave way, sliding down far enough that it would impede the spiders—at least for a little while.

  When we finally reached the mouth where we’d tied our horses, I fell to the ground, trembling and weak. Maribel paused in untying the lead rope of her horse and rushed to my side. She took one look at my leg, frowned, and then ripped a strip off the shift beneath her habit.

  I needed to protest, tell her we didn’t have the time to tend my wound, but I sensed myself beginning to fade. I felt her tie the linen above my wound to staunch the flow of blood. Then just as quickly, she pressed something into the puncture before covering it with another piece of cloth.

  “Come now,” she said gently, slipping her arms underneath mine and lifting me so I was sitting. “I shall help you onto your horse.”

  The clacking of the spiders was closer. We had only minutes, if not seconds, before they surrounded us. As much as I wanted to push her away and tell her to go, I realized Maribel would never leave me alone to fend for myself. Her physician heart wouldn’t allow her to abandon someone in need, and I’d only waste precious time arguing with her to do so.

  With the last vestige of strength I could muster, I climbed onto my horse. Maribel scrambled onto hers, releasing a frightened scream as the spiders crawled one by one out of the tunnel into the cave, their multiple black eyes all focused on us. I leaned down into my mount, wrapped the reins around my arms to stay astride if I lost consciousness, and then whispered the words that would communicate to our horses the need to travel faster than they’d ever gone before.

  We charged into the growing darkness, the coldness of the coming night slapping us with the reminder we were still in a wild and dangerous land, that anything could happen, and that I couldn’t let my guard down for a second if I hoped to protect Maribel.

  The movement of my horse jarred my calf wound, but whatever Maribel had put there began to numb the pain, making it more bearable. The scratch along my thigh stung as well, and the blood from it had seeped through my layers of clothing. It was apparently deeper than I had first suspected. I’d likely need stitches for both injuries.

  As we rode, I could feel Sheba’s presence nearby, which brought me a measure of relief. The harpy eagle had accompanied us through the Highlands. And now, if anything happened to me, I could count on her to take care of Maribel. The bird had picked up on how much the young woman meant to me and was as protective as if Maribel had been a hatchling.

  After several hours of hard riding, we reached a small cave Wade and I used when hunting. In the moonlight, I’d noticed Maribel’s growing struggle to stay awake and hold herself aright. It was no wonder, after being up all of last night and then again today. Since we were far enough from St. Cuthbert’s and wouldn’t need
to worry about the spiders, I decided we’d rest a few hours before finishing our journey home.

  Maribel started a fire with flint while I tended to the horses. She found the small iron pot and a few other necessities Wade and I kept in the cavern. As industrious as always, she melted snow and began to heat water. When I limped into the warmth of the cave a few minutes later, the pot was bubbling, and she’d set out the few remaining food rations we’d brought along—goat cheese, smoked venison, and dried apples. She also had her medicinal satchel untied and laid open and was threading a needle.

  “Eat first,” she said. “The nourishment will provide strength for my mending.”

  I lowered myself gingerly on the opposite side of the fire and cringed at the throbbing surge of heat in my calf. Whatever she’d given me to ease the pain was wearing thin.

  As I ate, I sat back and watched her at work. Using a splash of boiling water, she mixed together several of the herbs she’d taken from her bag. She made two different kinds of paste and then finished with a tonic.

  I never tired of seeing her mixing her medicines. Her long fingers were deft but careful, elegant and yet proficient. I followed her every movement, the way the firelight flickered upon her bent head, highlighting the blond and spinning it into gold, the way loose strands of hair brushed her neck, and the way her pretty lips pursed in concentration.

  Finally, she turned to me, her blue eyes probing mine, gently questioning. “Are you ready?”

  “Whenever you are.”

  She began arranging her supplies next to me. “I shall wash the wounds first with warm water then numb it with the paste.” Her fingers shook a little. Was she nervous?

  I reached for her arm and squeezed. “I’ll be fine, Maribel.”

  She nodded but lacked her usual confidence.

  “You removed two teeth from Sister Margaret’s mouth a week ago,” I said, wanting to see her lips curve into a smile. “Surely this will be easy in comparison.”

  Instead of smiling, she frowned. “This is different. What if I make a mistake? What if I make things worse instead of better, as I did with Sister Agnes?”

  Her words confused me. How had Maribel made things worse for Sister Agnes? She’d stayed by the old nun’s side day after day and night after night, administering every remedy she could concoct.

  With a shake of her head, she gave a weak smile. “Listen to me. Letting my worry get the best of me.” She reached for the closest poultice. “If we let worry control us, we shall never accomplish anything.”

  Was she worried about me? More than other patients she tended? The thought sent a warm trail through my heart.

  She scanned my leg. “You must remove your hosen and breeches.”

  I shook my head adamantly at her brazen suggestion. “I’ll roll up my breeches up.”

  “Nonsense.” She reached for my boot and began to unlace it. “I shall help you undress if it pains you to do so yourself.”

  Speechless, I watched her take off my boot and hose, first one foot then the other with her usual focused efficiency. Even so, I couldn’t keep from experiencing a strange, low heat in my middle at her closeness and the fact that she was undressing me.

  When she moved to my waist and tugged at the drawstring on my breeches, the heat swelled through my chest and up into my cheeks. I grabbed her hand and stopped her. “I can do it, Maribel.”

  “Are you sure?” Her expression held only tender concern. Nothing else.

  “Of course,” I replied as nonchalantly as I could manage. This experience clearly wasn’t conjuring the same physical reaction in her as it was in me. She saw herself as the physician and me as her patient, while I couldn’t keep from thinking I was a man alone with a beautiful and desirable woman.

  Of the two views of our situation, hers was definitely the safest and most appropriate. And I should chastise myself for allowing my mind to go anyplace else. But my body seemed to have a will of its own, and I was attracted to her in spite of my best efforts to remain neutral.

  I stood and made quick work of divesting my breeches. My braies underneath came to midthigh, but when I lay back down in front of her, I felt entirely bare even though I was modestly covered.

  “Your braies are still in the way of the cut on your thigh.” Her fingers brushed against my leg near my wound. The soft touch sent tingles across my flesh.

  I sensed her request to take them off and interrupted before she could ask it. “Maribel, please. This is awkward enough.” My voice came out more strangled than I’d intended.

  As she lifted her eyes to mine, confusion and even a little hurt swam there. “Why is it awkward? I only want to help you.”

  How could I explain that even if she saw me as only another patient, as only her friend, I saw her as so much more? That I sometimes ached when I looked at her because of how beautiful she was. That sometimes I wanted to be in her presence more than I wanted to be with anyone else. That sometimes I needed to hear her voice and see her smile more than I needed nourishment.

  I wasn’t sure how or when my feelings for her had changed. Maybe I’d always been enamored with her. Maybe my childhood adoration had developed into an adult infatuation. Whatever the case, her feelings weren’t catching up to mine.

  Was that what I’d hoped? That eventually she’d feel for me the way I did for her? Of course, I hadn’t told her how I felt. I suppose I’d hoped she’d just naturally experience the same. Or at the very least, I’d hoped she’d sense my affections went deeper.

  “What is it?” she probed further, recognizing my need to say something.

  The clock was ticking toward the eve of her eighteenth birthday when she’d take her vows and I’d lose her. Maybe I needed to make my affections clear. Maybe I needed to simply come out and tell her. But what if I disclosed my truest feelings and then learned she didn’t reciprocate? I’d only make things worse.

  “Eddie,” she said, softly, almost pleadingly. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

  “You shouldn’t call me Eddie.” My voice was thin with my frustration. “I much prefer Edmund.”

  Her brows shot up, making the blue all the more vibrant and alluring.

  “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a young lad anymore.” There, I’d said it. Not my best explanation for what was going on inside of me. But it was a start.

  She studied my face for a moment and then reached for the pot of hot water, but not before I saw the smile she was trying to hide.

  I closed my eyes and bit back a groan. She was impossible.

  “Very well,” she said solemnly, although I could hear the mirth in her tone. “I shall call you Edmund from now on if that is what you prefer.”

  I didn’t respond except to press my lips together to keep from blurting out something I would surely regret later.

  Her fingers grazed my thigh again, sending another cascade of tingles over my skin. As she rolled up the hem of my braies, I gritted my teeth and attempted to think of anything besides her touch.

  “I know this hurts,” she said gently.

  I didn’t correct her mistake and instead allowed her to believe my grimace came from pain instead of pleasure. Inwardly, I counted myself a coward. And told myself I would have to speak the truth soon. Not today. But soon.

  Chapter

  7

  Maribel

  I brushed a strand of Edmund’s hair off his forehead. At my touch, he stirred as I’d intended.

  With his head in my lap, my legs were numb from the lack of movement. But I’d wanted to make him as comfortable as possible. The perforation in his calf had severed through layers of flesh—had almost gone in one side of his leg and out the other. I’d needed to clean deep inside, and the stitching had been more complicated than I’d ever done before.

  Throughout the entire procedure, he hadn’t spoken a word and had endured the pain bravely. But the moment I’d finished, he’d fallen into a deep slumber and hadn’t awoken. I’d slept off and on, too, waking to
check his sutures, flushing the inflamed tissues with a tonic, and reapplying poultices to the laceration.

  Now that it was midafternoon, however, we needed to be on our way. Edmund had insisted on leaving at break of day, not wanting to linger too long in any one place. I understood his caution. He was doing as Wade had taught him.

  But I was doing as Sister Agnes had taught me. The motion on the horse alone would jar Edmund’s injuries again and interfere with the healing process.

  He released a low moan and shifted his head. His normally smoothly shaven jaw and chin contained a dark layer of stubble.

  If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a young lad anymore. The remembrance of his petulant words made me smile. I wasn’t sure what had brought about his statement. Pain often caused people to say the oddest things. But he was right. I’d already begun to recognize the changes in our relationship when we’d stood together in the tower ruins of St. Cuthbert’s. It was past time for me to acknowledge we were growing up and no longer the same carefree children.

  I ran my thumb across the stubble, the proof he was indeed a man. The bristly hair tickled my fingers, and I rounded his chin and trailed my thumb over his jaw, relishing the texture. Only as I traced a path toward his ear did I realize his eyes were open and he was looking up at me. His forest-green gaze was dark—darker than I’d ever seen it. And filled with an intensity that drew me into its lush thickness, pulling me, embracing me, and somehow caressing me.

  The connection was unlike any I’d ever experienced before, and it seemed to unlock something inside me and release a warm tumble of fluttering feathers. It was an unusual sensation but not unpleasant. Much to my chagrin, it made me want to run my thumb across his cheek and chin again.

  I wasn’t sure what was happening. I tried to find something to say to explain why I’d been touching his face. But I couldn’t think of anything.