by Billi Jean
Now the cottage was filled with the homely scents of cooking and the sharp tang of soap. He swore she’d scrubbed the place with a thoroughness that even the owners hadn’t used. And he’d assumed she’d sit down and fall instantly asleep after walking so far.
“A tub?” She shook her head. “We have no use for a tub.”
“We do if we want to bathe.” He grinned wider at her immediate frown.
“I don’t need to bathe.”
“Oh, angel, you always need to bathe. You’re a woman.” He heaved the beam back into place and secured it properly. Dusting his hands off, he scanned the room for the broom.
She had it. She was already cleaning up the new mess. The cottage was convenient. He liked it much more than for a simple layover before they began again tomorrow. It was cozy and warm.
He tried to take the broom.
“I’ll do it.” She whisked it away from his reach. “You go clean up. The stew is almost finished. There’s no flour though—”
“I didn’t expect a stew so I won’t complain you didn’t make a chocolate cake.”
She smiled but shook her head. She’d put her long hair up in a twisted knot that left her pretty little face completely visible. He’d gotten caught staring at her several times already. There wasn’t any help for it, though. She was so damn pretty. Even her ears were delicate and pretty.
“I don’t know how to make a…chocolate cake.” She spoke hesitantly, trying out the new words, he assumed.
He paused, rubbing at his bristled face. “Wait. You’ve never had chocolate?”
A puzzled frown and small shake of her head was his answer. Suddenly all he could think about was covering his body in melted chocolate and letting her have her fill.
“It’s a dessert?”
He snorted at such a description. “It’s the food of gods.”
“And you eat it, of course.” She tutted and gave him another shake of her head.
He couldn’t help it. He sat and laughed until his sides hurt. She hit him a few times with her broom because he was right in the middle of the dust he’d knocked down, and because she wanted to, he could tell.
“It’s candy,” he wheezed, defending himself from more blows. “It’s not really for gods.”
She pursed her lips and quirked a brow. “I see. Well, if it were for gods, I am certain you would still eat it.”
“Why?”
She’d returned to sweeping the corners to avoid him. She’d been staying away from him as if she feared he’d pounce on her at any moment. The thought had occurred to him several dozen times. But she’d kept her distance, and so busy he’d stayed back.
She began to sweep the pile of dust out of the house but caste him an impish grin. “Because you’re so arrogant. Isn’t that why they call you Narc? After your god, Narcissi?”
“Oh, you are full of surprises. How do you know about him, but not about chocolate?”
She laughed merrily and set the broom down. “I don’t know. I suppose we don’t have this…candy in our world, but we do have Greek gods and their stories.”
He wasn’t about to explain that they certainly did have candy—her, for example—so he stood and sighed. “I can go get more water.”
“We have plenty for the night. Will we leave early?”
“Yeah.” He went to the bowl she’d set aside with a bar of soap and began to lather up his hands while he scanned his finds, happy with his luck. Water skins, a brightly colored woven pack for Maeve to wear, a change of clothes for her and a shirt for him. Soap. It was more than he’d dreamed they’d have. “Maybe I’ll go check out the stream for fish. We could have fish and chips for breakfast.”
“Can you catch fish?”
He snorted. “Of course. I caught most of the rabbits.” He frowned at the admission. I sound like I’m bragging, or worse, want a pat on the head.
She nodded from where she was stirring the stew. For some reason, his chest swelled. The smells coming from the pot were incredible. His mouth watered. It’d been days since he’d had her cooking. And this time he’d have it all to himself.
“I know you did. You like your rabbit stew. I made this like that…for you, but with no rabbit, of course.”
Made it for me? He dried his hands and walked over, drawing in a deep breath as soon as he could hover over her shoulder. “It smells delicious.” His stomach growled loud enough he heard it, but it was her sweet scent that really made his mouth water.
Maeve giggled. “You missed some.” She brushed her fingers over his arm then his jaw. “Go clean up. I won’t eat all the stew.”
“Best not,” he mock growled and got another happy laugh. Damn I like the sound of her laughter.
“Go! I’ll serve us.”
He obeyed, his stomach complaining louder than his libido. The soap smelled of something, roses, he realized with a grimace. He washed his face, hands and arms up to his elbows this time, doing a better job. The tub would have to wait. If he bathed… The idea had his blood surging to places that were determined to experience Maeve’s touch again.
“I hope that the men are…all right.”
At the hesitant words he wiped his hands. She’d set the table with the cleaned bowls, cups and wooden spoons. It looked like they were simply two people enjoying breaking their fast together.
“They’re men, they’re going to fight as hard as they can to survive.”
That didn’t sit well and instead of taking a place across from him when he sat, she fiddled with the stew and the fire.
“Come sit. You need to eat. Your brother is going to be fine. You’ll see.”
She took a seat but she played with her spoon in the bowl of stew.
“Who do you think owned this place?” he asked, more to distract her from her thoughts, then anything else. “It’s near enough to the town to be useful, but a bit too far to go into town daily.”
His question seemed to surprise her because she stared at him silently before she cleared her throat. “I don’t know. Maybe they liked being away from town, but close enough to go there on occasions.”
He took a huge steaming mouthful of stew while she spoke. It was so hot his eyes watered. She looked up at his silence, saw his dilemma and started to laugh.
“It’s hot! You can’t take such a big bite.” She poured him water and handed it to him.
After swallowing the stew, he took a long drink. “I got that, now,” he managed once he could speak.
“You have to take a smaller bite.” She reached over to stir his soup. “Take from the top, like this.” She filled her spoon with a little from the top of his stew, and after blowing on it, took the bite. Chewing, she smiled at him and swallowed. “See? Small bites.”
He gave her a look for that and tried it her way. It wasn’t as hot and damn was it good.
“It’s a delicious stew…rosemary?”
A little frown then a surprised look in her hazel eyes that made him wink.
“Yes, rosemary. I think that’s why you like the rabbit stew.”
“It’s good. Eat.”
She didn’t respond, but soon finished two bowls to his four. He scraped the last of the pot onto the spoon and tried to give it to her but she covered her bowl with both hands. “Eat it. I can make something else for our morning meal.”
“We’ll leave early, but I almost wish we could stay here longer. It’s cozy, huh?”
“Really? You like this?” She made that sound doubtful.
“Sure.” He shrugged and finished his last bite. “What more do you need? A snug home, a bit of land and the essentials.” He waved to the room and her, but didn’t add her to the list. “It’s all you can ever really have.”
“Do you have this? In your realm?”
He laughed. “Me? No, nothing like this for me.”
“But…you—?”
“I mean for a mortal. This is what an ordinary man wants. A home, a wife, children. Not a warrior. We can’t have this. It wouldn’t work fo
r someone like me.”
“Why?”
He met her puzzled gaze and tugged his ear. “For one, I am always in the middle of some fight, two, three times a week, if not more. Sometimes I don’t see my home for months. What would I do with a place like this? Leave it for some woman to watch over? Who’d watch over her? And what woman would want to wait? No, this isn’t for me or my kind. We fight.” He shrugged and crossed his arms, settling back in his chair. He tipped it onto two legs. His mind went to what they’d do after dinner. Soon she’d want to take a bath, then he’d show her what else they could—
“Well that’s sad. I’ll go wash these in the stream.” She stood so abruptly her chair scraped back. With their bowls in one hand, she marched to the door, opened it and left before he could set his chair down on all four legs.
What the fuck? He stared at the door, not quite believing she’d left. What about a bath?
Maeve wasn’t certain who she was angrier with, herself or Stephano. Such a life isn’t for him? Why? Because he is a warrior. She threw her head to the side, getting the wisps of hair out of her eyes with an irritable toss so she could see to rub the bowls clean in the brook.
He chose that life. He could have more. If he wanted.
Her brother would have liked nothing more than to have a home like this, free of her, of course, but with a real chance at a life with a wife and a child. She’d love to have such a thing. For a brief moment, when he’d said such a place was all a man needed… I pictured him, a little curly haired boy on his knee, him smiling at me as I cook.
I obviously hit my head harder than I imagined. The bowl flew out of her grip and landed in the rocks by her side. She bowed her head, feeling defeated. Why did I let this happen? She rested back on her feet, without a clue why she felt like crying. Because he’s nice, because he’s here, doesn’t mean he’s for me—
Footsteps behind her had her jolting to her feet. If Stephano wanted to sneak up her she was going to give him a good scolding. But it wasn’t Stephano.
The man standing under the sheltering limbs of the trees was smaller, for one. She held her breath, shocked and now frightened. From the cottage, she heard crashing sounds, followed by more loud slams and bangs from a struggle. Stephano!
Her heart felt as if it were crashing into her ribs with each frantic beat. She took a step, only one, but the man blocked her path. Startled, she stumbled backward and to the side, trying to go around him. He watched her closely, giving her the impression that if she tried to go to Stephano he’d stop her. To test it, she tried to go around him. He moved again, cutting her off.
His face glowed in the moonlight. But his eyes shone, dark under equally dark brows. He was dressed in black, all but a silver stitched belt crossing his chest and holding a quiver of arrows over his shoulder. The clouds shifted and moonlight revealed a silver star on his left breast.
She fell backward, hitting a tree in her haste. A Tracker. They were legendary for their skill in finding what they sought. This one didn’t move toward her. He stood completely still. His hands loose at his sides, but she had no doubt that he could easily reach the quiver and arrows, along with a long bow, slung over his broad shoulder. His slanted eyes glittered at her but his expression gave nothing away.
The sounds of a struggle inside the cottage grew louder. I have to go to Stephano! She took a step but his hand went up, a finger over his lips. She froze. His gaze never wavered from hers. His clothes made him almost appear like a head floating above the forest floor. The deep blue-black brocade was heavily designed, but she knew up close would she be able to read the symbols. There were bedtime horror stories about them told to keep children in their beds at night. But she knew they were real. They were even more dangerous than her parents had ever known.
Abruptly the fighting in the cabin ceased. She grimaced, pleading with her eyes for him to let her go. He shook his head, scowling harder at her.
Frightening moments later she heard a call, then another. Two Faye emerged from the cottage. Stephano was a limp form between them. Shocked she bit her lip to keep from crying out. His head was down, his body limp, but there was blood on his arm, more on his shoulder. She scanned the Faye. The ones carrying him were bleeding from wounds on their faces and one, on his chest that looked as if Stephano had sliced him from hip to chest. A third limped out of the cottage with the aid of another who held his bleeding side. The first Faye called and across from her the Tracker jerked his head to the forest as if for her to hide.
Unbelieving she blinked at him. He’ll let me go? Instantly, she shook her head. She motioned to Stephano. The Tracker stared at her dispassionately then spun away and reached up and left a mark with his knife in the tree. It was small, a chip with two more under it, but it was clearly a sign she could follow.
One more shout and the Tracker met her eyes, then loped away, gone within seconds into the darkness of the forest.
He wants me to follow the Faye? So many reasons why that wasn’t a good idea rushed her. I can be found. Killed. Worse, taken. She felt so weak, her legs were wobbly. But if I don’t then Stephano will be gone.
She crouched by the tree, watching as the Faye dragged Stephano to their horses. They weren’t gentle. They threw him down onto the ground where he rolled to his back, unconscious. The moon broke free again and revealed more details. Her breath caught at how much blood there was on him. He had blood on his forehead, a cut that had no doubt knocked him out, but more on his jaw, his chest and more on his ribs. But he’s alive. I know he’s alive. He needs me now.
A few seconds later the Faye went back inside the cottage. After a long while, they came out. Two carried men over their shoulders. She covered her mouth. Did Stephano kill two of them? Or knock them out? He’d also wounded every single one of the others. Seven against one. She watched as the Faye strapped the men down, then walked over to pick Stephano up and sling him over a horse. Before she was ready, they mounted and were riding away.
If they stop somewhere down the road, I can sing them to sleep. I can free Stephano. But is that what the Tracker wants? Why?
She watched the Faye take off into the forest rather than the road. Did they happen upon us? Why didn’t they look for me? Does that mean they were after Stephano? Why?
The questions had no answers. Not now. Now she needed to hurry and see if she couldn’t save Stephano. She got up and raced to the cottage, fighting tears. The tub, where she had no doubts Stephano had planned to seduce her, was on its side. His sword belt, sword, satchel and her new pack were all scattered about the floor. The table was shoved to the wall, the bench-style seats broken. Like him. But why? Why him? Why not me? Did the Tracker hide that I was there? But why? Why let them have Stephano then?
A chill settled over her shoulders. She remembered Stephano, describing the warning he knew meant something was wrong. Is this the warning? She didn’t know, but hurried and gathered their things as quickly as she could and raced out of the cottage, spotting the cut in the tree farther down from where the Faye had ridden. The next was as easy to locate, then the next. If this was a trap, to bring her in, she’d have to deal with that when she arrived.
I have power. I can free him. Ellaine thinks I am powerful. I freed those people. I can save Stephano.
She bit her lip, struggling with tears, but refused to cry. I can save him. He needs me now.
Chapter Twenty-One
Stephano woke with a jerk, but held himself as still as possible. Ropes bound him to a tree. He tested the bonds. They were tight. His head was on fire, his shoulders burned and his hands were numb. He worked his fingers, trying to get feeling back in them. The ropes were tight. Whoever the damn Faye were, they could tie a knot.
A rock hit him on the chest.
Is that what woke me? He squinted his eyes open. The pink of sunset barely colored the horizon. There was no one he could see guarding him. Another rock pinged off his head. He caught his breath as Maeve’s pretty face appeared in the foliage across fro
m him, behind a Faye he’d missed spotting.
He shook his head at her.
She disappeared back into the bushes, then emerged again, a scowl on her face and…his knife in her hand. Fuck! What did she think…? He shook his head harder and mouthed for her to go.
The guard suddenly shifted his feet and stood straighter away from his tree. Stephano hung his head, hiding that he was awake. His mind raced. She can’t do this. She couldn’t possibly do this. Maeve was small. She was fragile. She barely came to his chest. She won’t attack a man, she’s going to try something, but not attack a man with that knife.
A shift of leaves, a twig snapping near him, and he sensed the guard coming closer. A kick to his foot, he ignored, then the man walked away. Stephano dared to lift his head and nearly lost his ability to breathe, then he did. Maeve was poised on a rock, the Faye’s back to her, while she waited, a foot above the man’s head, no doubt to drop on his back. He shook his head again, harder, but she was focused on the man. Almost before Stephano could accept that she was going to attack, the man spun to face him, and Maeve sprang from on top of a boulder. Heart in his throat, he watched her land on the guard’s back and stab him in the neck with his knife. Fuck! She’s going to get killed. The warrior didn’t make a sound but he reached up and caught her around the head, trying to get her off.
“Again! Hit him again!” he shouted.
With a frantic look at him, she pulled the blade free and brought it down again, clearly scared to death, but doing as he commanded.
“Again, again!” He kept his voice down but put enough urgency in it to get her to listen. “Until he falls!”
The warrior was huge, a big, burly Faye, but he stumbled. He also seemed unable to get her off or break her hold on the knife. Blood made the weapon slippery, no doubt, but she must have had a death grip on it.
The next strike had him going to his knees. She almost fell off, but let out a panicked cry and plunged the knife in again, clearly in a panic.
“Again!”
