The king looked toward the heavens, his face twisted in fear, and then Nidaba was hauled through the door, pushed and lifted onto the back of a camel. A soldier mounted right behind her, and held her in a cruel grasp as he urged the animal forward.
It began to run, its long legs and bouncing, bone-jarring gait soon putting miles between Nidaba and the lush city-state of Lagash, carrying her deeper and deeper into the desert night. Farther and farther away from her prince. Her Eannatum.
She vowed in silence that she would never love another the way she had loved him. And she would find him again—somehow she would tell him the truth of all of this.
She would!
Chapter 5
NATHAN FORCED HIS tired eyes open, stirred to awareness by some sound or movement. He started when he realized he had fallen asleep.
And he knew something was wrong.
Nidaba’s head twisted from side to side on the pillows, her face contorted, her breaths coming in short, sharp little bursts while her hands curled into fists and clutched at the covers.
Nathan shot to his feet and leaned over her, pressing a hand to her cheek. “It’s all right,” he said, and he tried to make his voice soothing and low, but feared that it came out hoarse with worry. “It’s all right, Nidaba. I’m right here. You’re safe. No one can hurt you here.”
She only thrashed harder, and small sounds of anguish seemed torn from her chest as she became more and more agitated. He put his hands on her shoulders, tried to still her frantic movements. “Nidaba, it’s all right. Calm down now, it’s all right. You’re safe, do you hear me?”
Her legs began to twitch, her hands to swing in the air, and it was all he could do to hold her. She was strong, even in this state.
“Dammit, Nidaba, it’s me! It’s Eannatum!”
It was, he realized, the wrong thing to say.
Her thrashing ceased all at once. And her eyes flew open. Wide, wider than any eyes had a right to be, with tiny pinprick pupils drawn tight and irises like blue-black ice. Anger seethed in those eyes, so potent it hit him like a physical blow. The bed began to shake, to tremble and rock, as did the lamp on the nightstand and the floor under his feet. It shocked him so much that he drew back from her. His second big mistake of the night.
She swung her arms forward, her upper body rising from the bed as she closed her hands around his throat. The force of the attack sent him reeling. He fell backward into the chair where he’d been sleeping, and Nidaba came with him, landing half sprawled on top of him, her hands still clutching his throat with crushing force. The lamp on the bedside table crashed to the floor. He couldn’t breathe.
But only for a moment. He quickly grabbed her hands to try to pry them away. But then Nidaba’s death grip eased suddenly, and her body relaxed on his. The violent shaking around him stopped. Her face fell to his chest, tangled hair veiling it from him.
He drew a ragged breath, then another as he carefully moved her limp hands away from his neck. Then he pushed her hair aside, cupped her face between his hands, and tipped it up to see that those fiery eyes had fallen closed once more.
“What the hell was that about?” he whispered to her unresponsive face. “By the Gods, Nidaba, was that hatred really directed at me? Or was it just mindless fury?”
No reply came. No clue whether he’d just been given a glimpse of the drug-induced madness possessing her or of the cold, harsh reality that lurked beneath it. He sighed and leaned forward to press his lips to her cool forehead. She couldn’t possibly harbor that kind of hatred for him, could she? And why, for the love of the Gods? Then again, he thought slowly, she had attacked only when she’d heard him say his name. As if... as if just hearing it was enough to reach past the drugs still polluting her blood to the rage those drugs were supposed to suppress.
Rage against him.
But why?
The door flew open, and Sheila rushed into the room, then stopped and stared. And no wonder. He must have made quite the picture, lying across the chair with an unconscious woman draped over him. Behind Sheila that stray dog lingered in the hall like a shadow. Gorgeous beast it was, now that it was dry and clean. Its mouth wasn’t drawn into a threatening snarl, but relaxed, almost smiling. If a dog could smile. Its hair wasn’t bristled in warning, but instead, its tail wagged briskly. Nathan almost smiled at his earlier warning to George. This dog was anything but vicious. It almost bounced with friendliness.
“Nathan, what in the name of—”
He held up one hand, shook his head. “It’s all right, Sheila. Nidaba just... it was some kind of a reflex.” He gently closed his arms around Nidaba’s waist, lifting her so he could get himself upright, and then scooped her up more carefully. “Get the covers, will you?”
Sheila came forward, straightened the mess of tangled covers, and pulled them back. “What in the world was that rumbling I felt, Nathan?” she asked, her voice tight. “Like an earthquake, it was.”
“Must have been that thunder clap, just now. It... rattled the windows.”
Sheila frowned, tilting her head sideways. “I didn’t hear any thunder clap.”
“No?”
Sheila’s sharp eyes were raking the room, taking in the broken lamp, and then Nathan himself as he bent to lay Nidaba down.
“She attacked you,” Sheila said. “And don’t bother lying to me. She tried to throttle you, didn’t she?”
He glanced sideways at her as she spoke, saw the way her gaze was riveted to his neck, and reached up to touch the sorest places. His fingertips came away bloody.
Clucking her tongue, Sheila hurried into the adjoining bathroom, and he heard water running. He tucked Nidaba in, shaking his head as the dog came padding into the room and stretched itself out near the foot of the bed, as if intent on staying. “The drugs are starting to wear off,” he said. “Enough to let her break through momentarily, at least.”
“Oh, yes, enough so she can try to kill you, Nathan. No doubt you think it’s a good sign.” Sheila came out of the bathroom with a wet cloth and handed it to him.
“I do think it’s a good sign, actually,” he insisted. He thought he did, at least. “It didn’t mean anything, Sheila. It was just some kind of... misfiring in her mind as the chemicals wear off. It was like a spasm—a reflex.” He paced away from the bed, pressing the cool cloth to the scratches on his neck. It soothed away some of the sting.
“You can’t be sure of that, and you know it,” Sheila said.
“I’m as sure as I need to be.”
“She was in that hospital for a reason, you know,” she pressed on. “She jumped off a roof, for God’s sake!”
“Or fell, or was pushed.” He couldn’t tell Sheila that even if she had jumped, it hadn’t been an attempt at suicide. A forty-story plunge wouldn’t leave so much as a lasting bruise on an immortal as old as Nidaba.
“She attacked a paramedic.”
“Yes,” he said, suddenly feeling a bit better about things. “Yes, she did, didn’t she?” He even smiled a little. “That proves it was only a reflex, doesn’t it? It wasn’t me. She would probably attack anyone right now.” He turned, taking the cloth away from his neck, and gazed at Nidaba, who had returned to a deep sleep.
“You sound glad about that,” Sheila said. “She’s violent, Nathan. This is not a reason for celebration.”
He disagreed, but didn’t say so.
“She needs a nurse here, someone familiar with mental illness, who would know what to do for her. You’re doing her no favors by refusing to hire qualified caretakers for her, you know.”
“If anyone finds out she’s here—” he began.
“Listen to me. I’m your friend, Nathan. So for once, just listen to me.”
Sighing, he turned to face Sheila, and forced himself to at least look as if he was listening.
“I know people,” she said. “People... who can keep a secret.” She came closer and put a hand on Nathan’s arm. “Trust me, Nathan. I won’t put you or your lady at
risk.”
He met Sheila’s eyes steadily. “Exactly what are you suggesting, Sheila?”
“I have a friend. She was a mental health nurse Down Under. We came here on the same ticket, Nathan. She’s the only friend I have from back home, and she can be trusted. I swear it. I’ve known her all my life. She wouldn’t betray her best friend.” She shrugged. “And even if I wasn’t her best friend, she wouldn’t betray me. I know enough of her secrets that she wouldn’t dare tell one of my own. Let me call her. Let me ask her to come here and help us out for a few days. Please, Nathan?”
He glanced down at Nidaba, then up at Sheila again. Nidaba needed constant care. Sheila was right about that. She needed food, liquids—she was thin as a rail, pale, weak. “All right,” he finally agreed. “All right, we can get her here. But be careful, Sheila. Please, don’t take any chances.”
“I won’t.” She reached out and gave him a hug. “It’ll be all right now, you’ll see.”
Sheila left the room, but paused in the hallway when Nathan called to her, saying, “You’d better take the dog with you. I don’t want anything around that might startle Nidaba if... when she finally comes around again.”
The dog looked up at him, big eyes narrowing on Nathan’s face as if in some intelligent contemplation of his words.
“You heard the man. Come along, Queenie.”
“Queenie?”
Sheila shrugged, holding the door as the big Rottweiler trotted happily through. “George has already named her, love. I’m afraid you’re not the only one with a penchant for bringin’ home strays.”
Nathan rolled his eyes, muttering, “That’s all we need.”
Choosing to ignore him, Sheila closed the door. Nathan returned to his vigil beside Nidaba’s bed.
* * * *
THE DOG PADDED down the stairs behind Sheila, curled up by the fireplace, and lay there relaxing and soaking up the heat as Sheila telephoned a friend she called Lisette.
The conversation was exceedingly dull, until Lisette, it seemed, tried to refuse Sheila’s request for assistance.
“Don’t you forget, girl, what you owe me,” Sheila said, her voice lowering. “You’d be rottin’ in a cell in Queensland if not for my help. I’m callin’ in the favor, and you’d do well to honor the debt.”
It was obvious by the way Sheila’s face eased that the woman had become more agreeable. “Right away, and not for more than a week. She might be well by then, or she might not, but a week is all I’ll ask of you, either way. You’ll be well paid, Lisette. Well paid. Nathan is a generous man.” There was a pause. That’s fine. I can come pick you up, then. Noon tomorrow. No later. Good. Good. Thank you, Lisette.”
Sheila hung up the phone. She sat back in the easy chair, looked at the telephone for a long moment, and then, pursing her lips, nodded. “It will be for the best,” she told herself. “No better nurse on the planet than Lisette. Never was. Never will be.” Nodding firmly as if to affirm that it was true, Sheila rose and walked back up the stairs.
The dog sighed and settled into sleep.
* * * *
MORNING CAME, AND with it, another change. As the sun rose and slanted in through the bedroom windows, painting Nidaba’s face with soft golden light, Nathan saw that her eyes were wide open. Dazed-looking, extremely unfocused, but wide open.
He got out of his chair and went to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. Taking her hand in his, he felt the jolting awareness shooting through his hand at the contact. “Nidaba? Can you hear me?”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t blink.
“Can you hear me at all, Nidaba?” He patted her hand gently. Still, no response or reaction... until her fingers moved just a little.
“You’re coming back to us, aren’t you? Bit by bit, the drugs are wearing off and you’re coming back to us.”
The bedroom door opened, and Nathan smelled the mingled scents of ham and eggs, and his favorite morning tea, ginseng and peppermint. “Mmm, that smells wonderful, Sheila,” he said, not taking his eyes off Nidaba. Had her nostrils flared just now? Or had he imagined it?
“It’s not Sheila,” a voice said. Nathan turned his head as George came into the room with a tray in his hand. “She asked me to bring this up to you,” he explained. “And to tell you that she would be back early this afternoon. By two, she said.”
“Where did she go?” Nathan got up, took the tray from George, and put it on a table beside the bed. The dog at George’s side kept looking from Nathan, to Nidaba, to George, almost as if it was taking in the conversation, and maybe hoping for a scrap.
“She has a friend who’s coming to help us take care of the lady,” George explained. “She’s gone to get her.”
Nathan felt his lips thin, his gut tighten. Nidaba’s stomach growled noisily, and the dog’s ears perked up at the noise.
“George, that dog probably shouldn’t be in the bedroom,” Nathan said.
“She’s a nice dog, she really is.” As he spoke, George stroked the dog’s head. The dog sent George an adoring look and wagged her tail.
George grinned from ear to ear.
Nathan sighed. “There’s a fenced-in area off the garage,” he said. “If you truly want to keep the dog, she’s going to have to stay there. We’ll rig up some kind of dog door so she can get in and out of the garage. It’s heated, so she’ll be warm and dry.”
“But she likes to be in the house,” George said. “With me.”
Nathan shook his head. “She’s too big, and too new to us just now, George. Give us some time to get used to her, and her to us, and then... well, we’ll see.”
George’s lower lip thrust out, but he would obey. He turned and moped slowly out of the room, the dog going with him only after he called her several times.
Nathan adjusted the bedside table, pulling it closer to the bed. Then he sat down on the bed again, reaching for the stainless-steel cover on the plate of food, but paused when he saw the morning paper there. Picking it up, he flipped through it and finally found what he was looking for. A small story about the escape of an unidentified mental patient during the confusion of a brief power outage and false fire alarm at Brooker Hospital.
Escape. Not abduction.
Good.
He put the paper down and lifted the cover from the plate, eyeing the food. The ham would never do. But the eggs were scrambled, soft and fluffy. There was oatmeal, made extra thin. And the juice—well, that would be the test, wouldn’t it? If she couldn’t swallow liquids all bets were off. He took the small glass of orange juice from the tray and lifted Nidaba’s head with the other hand. Those wide black eyes stared unblinkinglv into space. But her nostrils flared at the scent of the juice, he saw it clearly this time.
“That’s right, Nidaba. It’s juice. I’m going to tip the glass up now. Try to sip. Just a little. All right?”
No reaction. He hoped to God he wasn’t about to choke her to death. He tipped the glass up, just until the juice moistened her parched lips. Then a bit more, so some of the liquid slid between them, into her mouth. A small amount trickled down her chin.
And it happened. She swallowed.
Nathan lowered the glass and grabbed a napkin to dab her mouth clean again. That was very good. Very good. Do you want to try something a little more solid?”
Nothing. He dipped up a spoonful of the oatmeal and carried it to her lips. Her mouth worked, accepting the food, moving convulsively to take it, grind it, swallow it. Oatmeal dribbled down her chin. It didn’t matter. She needed nourishment.
This was not lucidity. Swallowing was a reflexive action. Her body was hungry, and her brain knew how to accept food. But it was progress. She was reacting, in physical ways, if not mental ones. It was progress.
By the time the bowl was empty, Nathan thought there was as much oatmeal on the outside of Nidaba as on the inside. It stuck in the long tangles of her hair, and coated the front of the hospital gown.
It was high time he get her out of that thing a
nyway. He’d done some shopping in preparation for her visit. The closet was well stocked. He set the rest of the food aside and went into the bathroom to insert the stopper and turn on the faucets of the claw-footed bathtub. The water flowed, covering the bottom and slowly climbing up the sides.
There was no one here to help him with this, he thought, knowing full well that Sheila would probably disapprove. George certainly couldn’t deal with the task. No matter, though. It wouldn’t be the first time he had bathed Nidaba. Only the first time in... forty-some-odd centuries.
Besides, maybe it would help pull her back to reality. Something had to. Because he damned well wasn’t going to lose her again. Even now, the memory of the first time he suffered such a loss brought him close to despair.
Chapter 6
THE MESSAGE HAD been brought to his chamber early in the day by a temple servant. Eannatum had read the still moist clay tablet inscribed in Nidaba’s unmistakable hand, signed by her own seal, which she wore around her neck. But he didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. She loved him. She’d told him so, and by the heavens, he would make her tell him so again.
He threw his robes on haphazardly and ran through the halls of the palace to the rear doors, and through those to the worn roadways of the city. He didn’t stop, not until he stood outside the temple doors, hands braced on his knees, panting for breath, his heart pounding like a lillis drum.
He caught his breath and stiffened his spine. She would see reason. He would only need to kiss her once to make her admit the truth. Tugging the doors open, he strode inside, only to be met in the entry corridor by the priestess Lia. She was as pale as a demoness, dark circles beneath her eyes, her skin drawn and taut. She rose from the chair in which she had been sitting, and said, “I have been expecting you, my prince.”
“Where is Nidaba?” he demanded.
Lia’s head lowered and her eyes never met his. “I am sorry. She is gone, Eannatum.”
Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series Page 75
