by Chris Lange
She flew onward. As he had commanded, she didn’t look back. Not until an approaching clatter of hooves striking the ground forced her to glance over her shoulder. Bent over his horse’s neck to pick up speed, a stranger raced after her and, inexorably, gained ground.
The wind whipped her face and blurred her vision. She spurred her mount on, pulse flying into high levels of panic, a bitter taste of dread rising up her throat. She rarely rode so fast, even when she trained with her shaman, and maintaining her balance on the saddle required all her attention. Still, the racket behind her couldn’t be misinterpreted. He was catching up.
She cried out when he shoved her side. The rough push almost threw her over. Teeth gritted, thighs closed around the animal’s flanks, she let go of the reins to hang onto her horse’s mane. The ground rushed past under her eyes. Gusts of air whistled against her ears.
She saw his hand from the corner of her eye. He grabbed the bridle, and the landscape moved in slower motion. Her brain starting to kick in again, she let him stop the horses. Just before they came to a halt, she pretended to slip down the side and hit the plain hard.
She could tolerate the sharp, brief pain. She was no match for him atop a galloping horse, but she’d turn the odds on solid ground. If he wanted her, he was going to have to get her.
Eyes closed, she lay flat until she heard the sound of his heavy boots battering dry land. She didn’t need to see to locate him. He never tried to mask his movements anyway.
Obviously convinced she was just a weak girl who had taken a bad fall, he moved toward her like a conqueror. Impatient to subdue his vulnerable prey. Careless and arrogant.
She sprang up. Not quite within her reach, he looked startled, but went for the scabbard hanging along his leg. She unsheathed one blade from her double sling. A crooked grin distorted his face when he saw her ready for battle. His sword gleamed as he took a step toward her.
“Wanna a piece of me, wench? Let’s see what ya got.”
He threw himself at her like a bull. She parried his attack with a swift move and jumped aside. Swept along by his own momentum, he stumbled forward before regaining his balance. He managed to face the right way again, but his wicked grin vanished. He had spotted her fighting stance.
He launched another attack as though she represented a fortress to invade. Arm slashing thin air, he struck with renewed energy. She ducked every time, dancing around him, amazed at the extent of her skills in a true life and death combat. This felt so different from her years of training with wooden blades. This felt real, scary, but so exhilarating.
The brute lacked finesse in spite of his virile strength, especially his boorish technique. Although she enjoyed the fantastic sensation of her own power running through her veins, she didn’t have the leisure to play with him forever. He breathed hard now. She didn’t. She waited for his next lunge. He crunched up his brow and leapt forward to cleave her apart.
She avoided his charge without even breaking a sweat, but she riposted this time. He lost the grip on his sword as a large stain of blood soaked his shirt. The blade clattered at his feet. Eyes widening, he pressed a hand against his shoulder and dropped to his knees.
“You, bitch!”
Careless, arrogant, and bad mannered. A slow smile curved her lips as he shot her a murderous look and dragging shudders shook his whole body. The injury she’d inflicted on him must hurt like the netherworld, but wouldn’t lead to his death if treated rapidly.
Not so deep down, she knew he’d have dealt with her with less reserve, but his presumable behaviour didn’t change the fact that she belonged to a different circle. She was a healer, not a killer.
“Give me your weapon!”
Her insides turned to lead when a twisted grin elongated the wounded man’s thin lips. The masculine voice resounded behind her at the same time she felt a sharp sting in the middle of her back. Another thug must have crept from the edge of the woods. Too focused on the fight, she hadn’t paid enough attention.
“Nice and easy, now. No sudden move.”
He took the sword she handed back as well as the blade sheathed in her double sling. How many men were there? Heart knocking against her ribs, she glanced toward the place where she had last seen Cameron.
Still astride his horse, his back to the forest, the Lord of the Clans fought like a wild bear. Four bodies littered the ground around him as he raised his long sword high to slay his last standing enemy. He’d slaughter them all to rescue her. Nothing would stop him from saving her.
Then she glimpsed the figure crouched at the edge of the forest. The drawn bow. The metal head glinting in the sunlight. A releasing movement, and the arrow rammed into Cameron’s back. The violent impact threw him off his horse. Before she could shout, the Lord of the Clans struck the ground.
Chapter Thirteen
The rope pulled on her skin. It didn’t hurt yet, but it would in a while. Huddled in a corner, she looked at the man who had dragged her from the plain to this dingy barn before tying up her wrists and ankles. Not only had he stripped her of her weapons, he’d also seized the double sling. He stood by the door now, eyeing her with a hungry light in his eyes.
“I’ll be back in a wink, gorgeous. Don’t go anywhere.”
Spit wet his lips as he guffawed. Why wouldn’t he? Trussed up like a turkey on summer solstice, she must look beaten and pitiful. She certainly wasn’t going anywhere. Not without Cameron.
As soon as the thug left the barn, she glanced at the Lord of the Clans. He lay on his stomach a few feet from her. The arrow stuck out of his back. Eyes closed, face ashen, he didn’t seem to be breathing anymore.
Looking at him in this condition was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Tears sprang to her eyes. She didn’t need to examine his wound to know he was dying and there was nothing she could do for him. The thugs knew it too, because they hadn’t bothered binding him.
She dug her heels to move forward and crawled on her butt toward him. From up close, his ghastly features reminded her of a death mask. This couldn’t be happening. Why did such an extraordinary man have to die while crooks and assassins roamed the countryside?
“Ariana.”
She barely heard his feeble whisper. Dropping onto her side, she pressed her face against the ground to be at eye level with him.
“Don’t talk. Keep your strength.”
“That’s gone. My life is leaving me, I can feel it.”
She meant to lie to him, but he wouldn’t even allow her to ease his last moments with false pretences of a miraculous recovery. Now that he had regained consciousness, his harsh wheezing filled her with dread. The arrow had pierced his lungs. In spite of the pain, he opened his eyes and whispered again.
“Heal me.”
Not that. For the love of the Creators, not the only thing she wasn’t able to do. She healed many injuries, but she didn’t have the power to bring someone from the brink of death. Nobody had, not even her shaman. Her lip quivered and she felt hot tears run down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t.”
He stopped breathing for such a long time that she believed he had taken his flight to the ether. Then he choked, and the wheezing grew worse than before. His lungs were giving up. Although hanging on to the last strands of life, he bore his steely gaze into hers.
“You can, and you will. Pull that damn arrow out.”
The pain would be unbearable. Why did he want to suffer more than he already did when no good could come of it? Crazy as it sounded, she understood the reason for his stubbornness. Because he was the Lord of the Clans, protector of the tribes, and he’d battle death with his last breath.
She nodded. She’d never see the light in his eyes again, but she’d obey him. A profound emotion expanded her heart to a living throb. He must have perceived the deep sadness, regret, and acute longing pouring out of her because he tipped the corners of his mouth.
“I trust you, flower.”
She trembled like rose petals u
nder the gentle caress of a summer breeze. All of a sudden, oblivious of his livid skin and laboured rasps, she took his face in her hands and softly kissed his lips. Dark silver streaks glittered in his eyes when she released him, but he didn’t speak, didn't stall the ordeal to come. Mustering up all her courage, she got up on her knees and hopped onto his back.
Her bounds restrained her. The rope bit her skin but she ignored the pain. Straddling the small of his back, she spread her thighs as far as possible with the cord around her ankles. Not easy, although she managed to stay on top of him and within reach of the weapon embedded in his flesh.
Not a sound escaped his lips. Not even when she laced her fingers around the wooden shaft and pulled.
The arrow moved but didn’t come out. She tightened her grip, addressed a silent prayer to the Mighty Gods and yanked with all her strength. She heard his brief cry, felt herself tumbling over from the force of her pull and grabbed his coat at the last second to avoid falling off his back.
She cast a quick glance at the weapon before hurling it down to the ground. The bitter taste flooding her mouth made her gag as much as what she’d just seen around the arrowhead. Large chunks of flesh ripped from his body, shards of bone sticking out of a gray substance she didn’t want to identify. She inhaled loudly, swallowed her revulsion, and hoped he'd passed out.
Her pouch hung at her belt, half full of herbs impotent to heal him. Nevertheless, she succeeded in unlacing the strings and tapping into her stock. No time to check which kind of herbs she held in her fingers, not that it mattered anyway. He trusted her. She’d grant his last wish.
She sprinkled the crushed leaves above the big hole in his coat. When they sank down, she covered the wound with both hands. Since she’d wrenched the arrow out of his agonizing body, the wheezing had ceased, and the awful silence made her guts twist. He was gone, so why was she sitting on top of him? Death couldn’t be healed.
With her vision blurred, throat constricted, she flipped her legs over his side and slid off his back. She didn’t need, didn’t want, to look at him. Yet she saw the smooth brow, the shut eyelids, the pinched nostrils, the sunken cheeks, the old scar that would never stretch again when she amused him. She cried then, without a sound, without restraint.
A shuffling of feet outside drew her out of the heart-breaking agony she wished to endure forever. Hands, heels, and butt working together, she backed away to the corner where the thug had last seen her. She barely made it before he strode into the barn, twiddling a knife in his fingers.
“Hey there, gorgeous. Been waiting for me, have ya? Good girl.”
He ignored the slain body as he walked up to her. Spit flowing into her mouth, she looked up at the grinning crook towering over her. She didn’t fear the knife. Not yet. First, he’d have his way with her.
He crouched in front of her, his broad chest filling her field of vision, his gaze travelling from her face to her heaving breasts. When she didn’t give him any sign of complying, he licked his lips.
“Let’s have a little fun, you and me.”
He raised a hand to touch her collarbone. She twisted her features at the foul odour of his breath and lost hope. He’d kill her once he got his pleasure from her. She’d probably also die in this barn, but the notion didn’t feel as frightening as she thought. Would she find Cameron in the ethers?
The thug lowered his hand. He inserted his palm under the top of her shirt and squeezed her breast.
“What d’ya say, gorgeous?”
“Fuck off!”
Her heart collapsed, died, and restarted. Her stomach lurched up and down, thrashing from shock, writhing with life. She cried out at the sound of his voice, the cherished voice that made her eyes widen to their limits.
One arm around the crook’s throat, the Lord of the Clans winked at her. She stared at him, at the lively light sparkling in his gaze, at the taut scar she longed to kiss. She stared longer, overwhelmed by the pleasure dancing in her blood, the fierce happiness reviving her pulse.
She didn’t close her mouth until he hauled the man up on his feet. She breathed a sigh of relief as her attacker’s gaze shifted wildly and his forehead oozed with perspiration. Behind him, Cameron tightened his firm grip.
“How many are you? Where are the others? Answer me, and I might spare your miserable life.”
“Four.” The man choked. His legs buckled from lack of air, and he parted his lips as much to breathe as to talk. “In the house outside.”
A crack rang out. The thug collapsed in a heap on the ground, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Mouth dry, she watched the lifeless corpse before raising her eyes again. He stood tall and vengeful. Shadows darkening his gaze, the Lord of the Clans took a step forward.
“Nobody kills me.”
He squatted, removed the knife from the dead man’s hand, and began to slice the rope binding her wrists. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Off his full lips vibrant with life, off his cheeks tanned from days in the sun. The cord loosened, and she quenched tears of pure joy.
“You’re alive.”
“Thanks to you.”
That was a wrong assessment, but they didn’t have time to start bantering now. Maybe later. She’d love to argue with him later. As soon as the last strands of rope fell to the floor, he handed her the knife.
“Can you free your ankles?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Stay here. I won’t be long.”
“Where are you going?”
He straightened up—tall and handsome, powerful beyond words. As he strode toward the barn door, she realised that she still hadn’t recovered from the violent emotion of seeing him alive. Her blood seemed to boil in her veins while her head swam in a lake of felicity. She saw him turn back toward her just before stepping out into the sunshine.
“I don’t want to see you out of this barn until I come back.”
“I know.”
He left and she started working the knife on the rope with shaky fingers. She lacked a man’s strength, so the job took longer than she expected. By the time she finally got rid of her bonds, he came back with the horses and all their weapons. He helped her to fasten the double sling across her back.
“You fight well for a healer.”
His tone carried a hint of approval and her limbs tingled with pleasure. Did this formidable man admire her fighting skills? Had she forced his respect? Not much could please her more than the appreciative look he gave her while she sheathed her swords.
“Thank you.”
He took hold of her arm to lead her to the horses. The sun glared in her face when she stepped outside, making her squint, though she still spotted the house half-hidden by a grove of trees. Nobody came out. Only the joyful chirping of birds disturbed the quiet area. What happened in there while she cut away at the rope keeping her prisoner?
“Don’t worry. They won’t be a problem anymore.”
He’d deduced her train of thoughts, probably because her gaze lingered on the open door of the house. Whether or not those men had rummaged through their saddlebags, she felt positive all their belongings were back and secured.
“What did they want?”
“I didn’t ask.”
As he said before, nobody killed him. At least not without retribution. His stallion pawed the ground. The dull sound brought her back to the present, and she mounted her horse. Despite her curiosity, she wouldn’t ask him if he’d killed them. Some things were better left unsaid.
They rode through the forest all morning, but he called a halt around midday. The spot he picked agreed with her. They refilled their goatskins from a brooklet before sharing the food he produced from his saddlebags. She chewed on the cold meat while waving another slice at him.
“Where did you get this?”
“At the house.”
“Oh.”
She guessed the crooks wouldn’t need their food anyway. On the other hand, she didn’t relish the idea of being hungry until her next meal.
So she swallowed back the surviving aftertaste of her bad morning, and enjoyed the moment. Although short-lived, the break invigorated her.
Hours later and leagues away from the sordid barn, her vitality was but a distant memory. The sun beat down on her all afternoon. A sore butt and sticky armpits being the least of her worries, she felt crushed by the ominous surroundings. All around, immense trees filtered the light and kept them in constant shadiness. The dense undergrowth slowed their pace and impeded their progress.
She felt like shouting her relief when they reached a clearing. Looking much fresher than her, Cameron dismounted. The giant trees still loomed around them, but at least she could see the sky. She also heard a strange, hard to identify, rumble close by. He tied the horses at the edge of the glade.
“We’ll camp here tonight.”
“Very well.”
Good. Fantastic. Her strained back pulled at her muscles while she got off her horse. She needed a good night’s rest.
Apparently, he was much more used to riding long distances because he’d already gathered wood for the fire. As she watched him carry logs and branches without effort, the confused feelings she harboured since his impossible recovery slapped her in the face. Wasn’t he overdoing it?
“You should take it easy, you know.”
“Why?”
“Because you almost died. Miracles like this don’t happen every day.”
“What miracle?”
Speech eluded her. She couldn’t believe he had forgotten, or disregarded, his wondrous revival. Arms dangling at her sides, she started when he dropped the pile of wood he carried at her feet. He tilted his head and regarded her with a puzzled look that made her fear for her own sanity.
“Are you dumb or just plain blind?”
Chapter Fourteen
“Come with me.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her across the clearing before she had an instant to reflect on the meanness of his question. Dear Creators, how his words could bite sometimes!
