“We were further to the south at that time, where the land was flat in many places and easier for a horse to follow. No horse will follow us here.”
Juliet examined the face of her abductor, her rescuer, more carefully. She had not known many men well. Willym, Isadora’s late husband, was the only man she had ever called friend. She had never known her father, or Isadora’s father, or Sophie’s father. And yet this large man insisted he knew how she smelled. “Have we met?” Surely not. Surely she would remember such a man.
“In dreams,” he answered softly, that velvety voice washing over her.
Dreams. Her heart hitched. Was he talking about that nightmare she had never shared with anyone? “I don’t understand.” By the stars and the moon in the night sky, there were so many things she did not understand.
He, on the other hand, seemed to be quite well informed. “Juliet, my wife, I have been aware of you all my days. I have known you for years.” He thumped his chest. “Here.”
“Did you say...” She took a step back. Surely she had misunderstood. “Wife?”
“Wife. I have been waiting for you.” His step forward more than matched her step back.
A ruffle of panic washed through her body. “Obviously you are not well acquainted with the language. I am not your wife.” The expression on his face did not change; he was not at all perturbed. “I don’t even know your name!”
“Rynfyston Ditteri de Younsterfyn of the Dairgol Clan.” He bowed, sharp and shallow, and offered his right hand, palm up. It was an oddly courtly gesture for a man hardly dressed. “At your service, wife.”
“I am not your wife!”
He smiled, but only a little. “You may call me Ryn.”
She would run, but there was no place to go. She could jump to her death or she could remain with this Ryn creature until an opportunity for escape arose.
He hefted her gently over his shoulder, and began to climb again. They had gone a good way up the seemingly impossible mountain before he spoke again.
“You are pretty, and soft.”
Juliet supposed the words were meant as a compliment, but they scared her. She was not pretty, not like Sophie and Isadora. She was ordinary. She worked very hard to be ordinary, and it would not do for this man to see anything else.
“You are ugly and hard,” she responded sharply.
“That is as it should be,” he said without rancor. “You will be the softness of home, and I will protect you from the harshness of the world. You will offer comfort and I will offer safekeeping.” He climbed, he carried her, but he didn’t sound at all winded. “That is the way of a proper mating.”
“But this is not...I just...” Juliet sputtered. She never lost her temper or said unkind words. Ryn was obviously mistaken about many things, and she needed to find a way to reason with him. “I will never comfort you. Where I come from, marriage is a sacred ceremony performed in a church before a man of God. It is a solemn covenant undertaken by a man and a woman who are in love and who have decided to spend their lives together. It is a commitment which some women willingly make. It is certainly not a command by an uncivilized abductor who makes a woman his unwilling prisoner.”
“You will be willing,” he said confidently.
“I will not.”
Ryn hauled them both onto another plateau. He set Juliet on her feet and looked her squarely in the eye. So, she had been lying when she’d said he was ugly. He was fierce, and sharp-featured and brutish. But he was not ugly.
“You talk too much,” he said softly. “In that way you and Sophie are much alike.”
“If you don’t like the conversation, take me home.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, tears came to her eyes. Home was gone, burned by the soldiers. A single tear fell down her cheek, and it was cold. The wind here was cold. When Ryn, who was surprisingly warm, wasn’t carrying her, she was chilled to the bone.
The big man reached out and wiped the tear away. “Don’t cry.”
“I just want to go home, but...” Home was no more and the Fyne sisters were scattered to the far comers of the land.
Ryn continued to stroke her cheek with surprisingly gentle fingers, even though the tear she’d shed was long gone.
“That’s where I’m taking you, wife. Home.”
Chapter Four
In the camp that awaited them near the top of this rise, there was a crevice in the rock wall to keep the wind from Juliet. Ryn had prepared her a soft bed of bearskin for tonight. Nothing grew in this place, nothing with which he could build a fire to keep her warm.
Her flesh was cool to the touch, and she shivered as the afternoon breeze that felt pleasant to his skin whipped her skirts and tendrils of her red hair. He knew those who were not Anwyn felt the cold more than the people of the mountain, but he had not realized how chilled her skin would become. He had never touched a woman’s skin, other than Sophie’s. The air had been mild when he’d snatched Juliet’s sister from her lover, warm even, and she had not shivered as Juliet did now.
Tomorrow night they would camp in the forest on the trail that led to home, and he would build her a fire before night fell. It was his duty to keep Juliet warm until she became acclimated to the mountain winters or obtained clothing that was sufficient to keep a woman accustomed to milder climes comfortable.
She had not said much since he’d told her he was taking her home. He should be grateful for the respite. Much of his life was spent in silence, either in his duty as guard in the Palace of the Anwyn Queen, or in the hills surrounding The City when duty did not call. Some days the sound of another’s voice was welcomed, but for that voice to be so strident and endless was not pleasant.
The unpleasantness would not last. Juliet would learn to accept that she was his wife, as all Anwyn captives did. She would be happy, once he proved to her what a good husband and father he could be. He had a fine house waiting for her and the sons they would make. If there were babies right away, then Juliet would be busy at home, and she’d have no time for complaining.
Ryn had never wanted much from life. A wife who would be partner and friend; many sons; a solid home awaiting him at the end of every day. Juliet’s ramblings about love and sacred commitment were a woman’s fantasies, and she would soon come to see that marriage was a practical concern. The fact that she was meant to be his was a function of the blood that ran through their veins, not the frivolous notion of a destined love. Soon enough, she would see.
They reached the camping site near the top of the hill, and Ryn carefully placed Juliet on her feet. She was dizzy from traveling in an awkward position all day, but he’d had no choice. She could not climb these hills on her own, and he could not afford to take his time getting her to The City. Here, in a high and rocky place where no ordinary man would dare to follow, they were safe for the night.
When her footing was solid, Juliet glanced around to examine her surroundings. Her gaze soon fell on the bearskin beneath the overhang, and for a moment she stared. Her eyes widened and her face paled, and then she said softly, “Home?”
“No,” he replied. “Home is still some distance from this place. We will stay here until morning.”
Juliet glanced to him with a question in her eyes, and he knew what she was thinking. They had an hour or so until full dark. It did not make sense to stop now, when they could be so much closer to their destination in that amount of time. She wondered why he had stopped here and what he had planned for the night. She wondered what he had planned for her.
His wife was afraid of him.
He really should stop calling her his wife, even though in his mind it was done and had been for all his life. There were words to be said before the Queen. The Anwyn did not marry as lowlanders did, but they did take a vow before their Queen and the inhabitants of The City, pledging themselves to one another before friends and family and neighbors. By the time they reached The City, Juliet would already be his wife in every way, and the vow would be a
formality. She would comfort him; she would be willing. He was anxious for her willingness, but he knew it would not happen tonight.
“You will wish to sit,” he said, gesturing to the bearskin. It lay not in a cave, but rock walls on two sides sheltered the bed from wind and there was an overhang, in case rain should fall. There would be no rain during the night; he knew that. But he had not known that when he’d chosen this place for his wife’s first night in the mountains.
Juliet clasped her hands tightly. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Surely you are tired and wish to rest.”
“No, not really,” she insisted. “You did all the work, after all, carrying me and climbing. I’m not at all tired.”
“There is fruit and dried meat in a sack beneath the bearskin. You must be hungry.”
“Not really.”
She was a stubborn woman. Of course, he had known all along that she would be. “You would prefer to stand all night in the wind, hungry and cold, when you could rest in warmth on an animal skin I laid out for you and eat the food I prepared for you?”
“Yes.”
Ryn realized that the shiver of his wife’s body was not caused entirely by the wind. His instincts were finely honed, and he saw into this woman who was meant to be his in a way that was new to him. She was not only stubborn; she was frightened to the depths of her soul.
“Juliet,” he said. He would stop calling her wife for the moment, since it obviously disturbed her to face the truth. “You will rest upon that bed tonight. I will not allow you to become ill through your own stubbornness.”
“If I become ill, it will be because you abducted me, not because I refuse to take orders from a man who is obviously crazed.”
He took a step toward her, and she took a step back. Her movement took her toward the shelter. “I am not crazed,” he said calmly.
“I beg to differ.” A flush of bright pink rose to her cheeks.
“Do you fear I will hurt you?” He knew the answer.
Again, she took another step back. “Yes.”
“I won’t.”
“Perhaps you don’t intend—”
“I would die before I hurt you.”
Her eyes went wide and she looked at him with wonder and awe. Did she recognize the truth when she heard it with her own ears? “But—”
“You are mine to protect. No man will ever hurt you.” Juliet kept moving backward, until she was almost upon the bed he had prepared. She stumbled on the edge of the bearskin, but righted herself quickly.
“Sit,” Ryn ordered.
She did, with agility and grace, her gaze never wavering from his face. “See? I’m sitting. You can go away now.”
He shook his head. “Not yet. One taste, Juliet. That’s all I ask. One taste.”
Isadora crouched behind a woodpile and gathered her cloak around her. Night would be here soon, and then she would be safe. The night was hers. She would be able to travel without being seen, once it was fully dark. She could see in the darkness of midnight when no one else could.
As she’d fled from the camp, she’d cast a quick spell by the side of the road to bewilder the soldiers. For a few precious moments they had been unsure as to which direction they should take. Instead of dividing their ranks and pursuing both sisters, they were confused about which one they should chase. The confusion had not lasted long, and they would not even be aware that a spell had caused the chaos. But it had done the trick.
The spell had been a weak one, but she could not muster anything more at this point in time. Since leaving the cabin, her powers had been dimmed. It was as if the magic within her was a bright flame at the center of her being, and on that night the flame had been weakened. What had been a fire was now no more than a weak flicker that might be extinguished with her next breath.
She did not know if it was leaving the mountain she had always called home that had weakened her, or if in killing the soldier who had invaded her home she had dishonored the Fyne House in such a way that her strength had been taken from her. The Fyne witches had not been given special gifts in order to kill.
Now that she’d lost the soldiers, Isadora’s plan was to backtrack and follow Juliet. She would find her sister and rescue her, and together they would search for Sophie. When the three sisters were separated, terrible things happened. Terrible things. Together they could face anything, but apart...apart they were weakened and vulnerable. Juliet would know how Isadora’s strength could be restored, and together they would make things be as they once were.
Soon it would be dark enough to travel, but for now Isadora remained motionless and silent. She looked across the healthy autumn fields of this isolated farm and tried to make her heart stop pounding so hard.
Will would have loved to have such a place as this to call his own, and he’d had the money to begin such an enterprise. But she’d insisted on remaining on Fyne Mountain with her sisters, at least until Juliet and Sophie were older. Will, thinking only of his wife and the younger girls, had agreed that it was best. In insisting on having her way, she’d robbed him of his chance at realizing his simple dream. He’d been content to farm on the small plot of Fyne land that was suited to farming, while married to Isadora. Would he have lived longer if he’d seen his dream realized, if he’d lived on a place like this one? No. The curse she had challenged in taking a husband and loving him still would have ripped him from her.
Until the day Will died, Isadora had insisted to herself and to her sisters that the curse was a myth which had ruled the Fyne women for too long. No ancient tale would frighten her into not grabbing what she wanted from life; no whispered legend would make her afraid of love. And yet, in the end, she’d learned that she would’ve been better off if she’d been afraid.
She needed her husband, and she whispered the words she often spoke at midnight to bring him to her. In the months following his death, his spirit had always come to her when she called, but as the years passed, he became more resistant, his image hazier and the visits briefer. He had moved so far beyond her that the day would soon come when she wouldn’t be able to rouse his spirit at all. Will did not come to her now, as she called again and again. She called, she begged, she commanded. She was weak, and he did not come.
In the hour in which she needed him most, he had abandoned her. He had deserted her, just as he had when he’d died. She shouldn’t be angry with Will for dying; it wasn’t at all logical. But there were times when she couldn’t help herself. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Warriors did not cry, and in order to rescue Juliet, she would have to be a warrior.
Juliet scooted back as far as she could, until her spine touched the cold stone wall. Soft fur cushioned the hard rock beneath her. A lump to one side was no doubt the sack of food. Her captor had planned her abduction very well.
Ryn dropped to his knees on the edge of the bearskin. A taste. A taste of what? Oh, she knew very well what, and heaven above she was not ready.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she said as he leaned toward her.
“I won’t.”
He tilted his head, and a tangle of blond strands fell to the side, covering a portion of his face and touching his bare body. Could she fight him? She could try, but unless she was very clever, fighting wouldn’t do much good. Ryn was large and muscular, and he could overpower her with one hand, if he chose to. He moved toward her slowly, and when he reached out his hand and caressed her cheek, he was warm. So warm.
“You shake,” he whispered as he slanted his face toward hers.
“Of course I shake!” She tried to be stern, but she sounded terrified.
She reached out a hand to halt his progress, but of course her small hand on that massive chest did nothing to slow him down. Isadora had the power to stop a man in his tracks with a few words and a touch of her hand, but Juliet had never possessed such strength. She was a healer, a seer, and a gardener. Nothing in her life had ever prepared her to
fight for her life or her virtue.
With the hand at her cheek, Ryn tilted her head to one side, and then he laid his mouth on her throat. It was not a kiss, exactly. At least she didn’t think so. She’d never been kissed, but she had caught Willym kissing Isadora more than once. This was definitely not a kiss, it was...
It was a taste.
Ryn’s heat surrounded her and took away all the chill as he moved his mouth gently over her neck. He sucked, he licked, he moved strands of red windblown hair out of his way so he had before and beneath him a wide expanse of unobstructed skin. Juliet did not stop shivering, but the tremble changed as the tasting continued on and on. Ryn used his tongue, his lips, and even his teeth, in a gentle way. Physical sensations she had never even imagined danced through her body. After a moment she no longer attempted to pull away or fight, but instead found herself leaning toward the mouth that tasted her. She swayed into Ryn, encouraging him, drinking in the warmth as he tasted her. In the back of her mind she wondered what might come next. When he’d mentioned taking a taste, she’d had no idea that this was what he intended.
He shifted loosened strands of untidy red hair with a warm, gentle hand, and moved his head to the other side of her neck. Somehow he’d unfastened the buttons of her cloak without her knowledge, because the heavy outer garment fell away and he pushed it aside so he could lay his warm lips on the place where neck curved into shoulder. His tongue rasped over that flesh; his mouth danced until Juliet forgot where she was and who he was and why she was here.
She rested her hand on his shoulder, needing something solid to keep her steady. When she laid her hand on his skin, she saw no unwanted images; she felt no emotions that were not her own. Maybe it was a good thing that Ryn wasn’t an easy man to read. That fact had been quite annoying when she’d been trying to get a sense of what her future held at his hand, but at the moment she was glad she couldn’t see beyond her own mind.
No blinding flashes, no headaches, no disturbing notions or secrets or knowledge of pains to come. Just an odd and wonderful warmth that traveled from Ryn’s mouth through her entire body. Eyes closed, heart beating too fast, Juliet forgot everything but the way Ryn’s mouth felt against her skin.
The Moon Witch Page 6
