The Lost Tayamu (The Legends of Kiamada Book 1)

by Ben Cass

  Jen smiled slightly. “I really am sorry.”

  Doyle frowned. “If you apologize one more time, I’ll tell you what else is in that stuff.” Jen tilted her head.

  “What’s worse than a dozen cockroaches?” she asked, grinning. Doyle raised an eyebrow in challenge.

  “Apologize again and you’ll find out,” he retorted.

  Jen laughed. “Okay, okay. I get the point.” She plunged both hands into the bowl, scooping out some of the paste. She paused by his side for a moment, making sure no sneezing was imminent. “Ready?”

  He set his jaw. “Give me a second.” He closed his eyes and breathed in and out. It wasn’t deep, probably because of the ribs, but it was steady. “Do it,” he said.

  Jen gently placed both palms on his rib cage and slowly began spreading the paste around. She didn’t want to press too hard, but still had to apply some pressure to make the gooey paste stay. Jen took her time, noticing the bruising had darkened since she had first seen it. She was even more convinced he had broken several ribs, not just one or two.

  She examined his side critically, making sure she had covered everything. “Doyle, you really need to go back to the hospital and have that x-rayed.”

  He shook his head. “Not right now. If they hurt worse tomorrow, I’ll think about it.”

  Jen glared at him. “Don’t give me that military machismo act. I know you’re in agony right now, in part because I caused it. If you don’t go to the hospital on your own, I will drag your butt down there myself.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. If you think I need to go in the morning, you can take me. Just let this stuff sit for a while, okay?”

  Jen looked into his eyes and exhaled. “Deal. You sleep with the plant food on you and in the morning, I get to take you to the hospital.”

  She stood, picking the bowl up from the bench. “I’m going to wash my hands,” she said. “Do you want to keep the rest of this stuff?” Doyle nodded. “Okay. I’ll just set it on the counter and you can decide what to do with it.” She gathered up the discarded bandages and disappeared into the house, leaving Doyle alone with his thoughts.

  A few minutes later, she came back outside. She had decided to change into something a lot more comfortable, and was now wearing soft pink sweatpants with polar bears on them and a blue shirt with yellow words proclaiming Success is a journey, not a destination. They had been in her spare clothing bag in her car. Jen sat back down on the swing, her back pressed into the corner and her feet curled up so as not to kick Doyle.

  “Here, stretch your feet out,” he said, taking them and settling them on his lap. He grabbed his shirt and draped it across the swing, easing back against it, settling himself carefully. “Sitting all scrunched up is not good for you.” She gave a small gasp of pain when he touched her right foot. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. My ankle just hurts some. I think I twisted it the other night.” Doyle looked down at the offending body part.

  “Why didn’t you tell the doctor about it?” He gently lifted the foot, putting his left hand under it. Jen felt a flutter in her stomach when he ran his finger along the skin.

  She gave a rueful smile. “I don’t know. I guess it’s like somebody not admitting they have broken ribs or wanting stitches for dozens of deep gashes on their back.” Doyle smirked in response while his free hand gently poked and prodded. He was able to find the sore area rather quickly. Jen watched him, noting his concentration. “Do you have some kind of plant food for this, too?”

  Doyle shook his head. “It’s not plant food. But no, this doesn’t need anything on that level. Not for something this minor. This just needs some massage.” He quirked an eyebrow. “May I volunteer my services?”

  Jen twirled her hand as if a queen granting permission. “By all means, fair servant.”

  Doyle smiled brightly, but he did have a penchant for terrible jokes, she mused to herself. “Thank you, m’lady.” He used his left hand to gently move the foot from side to side while the right hand worked on massaging the ankle. Jen bit her lip once or twice but noticed that, for the most part, the pain was tolerable. She relaxed, banishing all worries from her mind.

  “You’ve done so much for us, Doyle,” Jen said quietly, staring at the trees off in the distance. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” Doyle huffed in reply, focusing his attention on the injured ankle. “I’m serious. You’ve taken such good care of us, like we’re your family.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” he assured her. “Really, it’s not.” He applied some pressure with one fingertip, working out a knot by the ankle joint. Jen drew in a breath, trying to ignore the pain. “May I ask you something?”

  “I think you’ve earned that much, yes,” she answered, smiling.

  Doyle’s gaze met her own. “Elowyn told me about your retrograde amnesia. Do you really not remember anything before you were sixteen?”

  Jen shrugged, her hands turned upwards. “Guilty. I do get flashes from time to time, images I think I should recognize, but they’re too fast to be useful.” Doyle studied her quietly. “What?”

  He blinked and looked away. “Nothing. I would say I feel bad for you, but you don’t seem to be too affected by it.” His left hand was gently kneading the bottom of her foot, moving it from side to side, while the right continued working on the ankle.

  She’d never had a foot massage before—at least, not that she could remember. Having Doyle touch her feet, even if it was intended to be therapeutic, was sending little shivers up and down her body. She found herself wanting to reach down and take his hand in hers.

  Jen forced herself to focus on the conversation at hand. “Like I’ve told Ellie, it’s not all bad. Yes, it sucks to not remember my family, to not know why I was alone in the woods at sixteen, to spend twelve years wondering why they never came looking for me.”

  “That would bother me,” Doyle said. “All those questions, and no way to find answers.”

  “It did at first,” Jen admitted, “but then I had an epiphany. I was bleeding from my head, the dress I wore was torn, and I was crying hysterically. I realized something very traumatic must have happened, so I’ve always...well, I’ve always privately felt maybe it’s better, for my sanity, that I don’t remember.”

  Doyle nodded in agreement. “Maybe it is,” he said quietly. “Hard to miss what you don’t know about.” She slid down further on the bench, closing her eyes and relaxing even more. Doyle’s hands had moved slightly to include her calves and Achilles tendons; his fingers slid effortlessly across her skin, gently pressing in. Nothing too hard, but not too soft, either. Jen was privately glad she’d shaved her legs in the shower earlier.

  What is going on with me? she wondered. And what is going on with him? Is he flirting? Or just genuinely trying to make me feel better?

  “I could get used to this,” she said softly, hoping he’d give her a hint of his thoughts. “A good man taking care of me, nothing to worry about.”

  Doyle sighed. “I’m sorry to do this to you, and this might be the single most inopportune moment in the history of inopportune moments, but there are some things to worry about,” he said gently. “Such as how I’m going to keep you and Elowyn safe.”

  Jen’s eyes opened, looking at him curiously. She wasn’t sure how to interpret his comment. Doyle elaborated, “Sheriff Bellsley came to visit you at the hospital. I didn’t think you needed any bad news at the moment, so after some...persuasion...on my part, he told me instead.”

  “Told you what?” asked Jen, a lump forming in her throat. She didn’t like the implication. Doyle probed her ankle for a few more seconds, not immediately answering the question. Just when she thought she would have to ask again, he spoke.

  “They found traces of accelerant under the porch at your house.” The sun was much lower, but there was still a little bit of light. The shadows being cast around concealed Doyle’s expression, but his voice was flat and unemotional.

  “You mean...somebody
intentionally started that fire?” Jen’s voice shook.

  “Looks that way.”

  Jen thought this over. “Are you serious? There must be some mistake.”

  Doyle shook his head. “The sheriff showed me the accelerant they found. I recognized it from my military days. It’s not something civilians should even know about.”

  Jen couldn’t believe it. “That just doesn’t make sense, Doyle. Arson doesn’t happen in Groverton.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “Don’t look at me like that,” Jen said. “I’m not crazy, Doyle. Things like that don’t happen here.”

  He looked away. “What?” she asked. “Say whatever it is you’re thinking.”

  “What about your step-parents?”

  That took Jen by surprise. How had he known? “Okay, the one time something bad happened. Still, nothing like that has happened again.”

  “Remind me again how we met?” he said, his voice almost infuriatingly calm.

  “Somebody tried to...abduct me,” Jen said slowly, her mind turning. “And then a crazy driver almost ran me over. And... then somebody set my house on fire?”

  Her hand went to her mouth. Doyle was right; holy shit, he was right! It had been in the back of her mind, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it.

  “Who would want to hurt me? What have I ever done?” Jen’s mind whirled. It wasn’t enough to have her parents killed by arsonists? Was history repeating itself?

  “What have you done?” he repeated angrily. “Absolutely nothing. They don’t need reasons, whoever these perverted minds were. That’s just the way it is, unfortunately.”

  Jen suddenly twisted around, pulling her legs down, and leaned her elbows onto her knees, her body starting to shake as she fought off the urge to cry. She felt Doyle put his arms around her and pull her into his chest, his hand stroking her hair. “Just like Mom and Dad,” she whispered. Doyle tilted her face up. In the dimming light, she could see the concern on his face.

  “With one big difference,” he corrected her. “You have me.” His thumb wiped away a tear. “I could take you two away, take you somewhere you’d be safe.”

  “You’d do that...for us?”

  Doyle raised an eyebrow. “How couldn’t I? It looks like I’m the best option for taking care of you and, besides, I wouldn’t trust anybody else.”

  “Where could we go?” Jen was still in shock over the thought of somebody trying to kill her, and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. Would anywhere be safe?

  “Kiamada. My home.” Jen looked at him, studying his face. He was completely serious. “I promise you would be better off there.” He released her chin to wipe away another stray tear. To her surprise, she liked the idea of going away with this man.

  “Yes,” she said. “Let’s go to your home. To...Kiamada, you called it?” Doyle nodded. “I’d rather be hiding there with you than staying anywhere else with anybody else.” She paused, thinking. “I’ve never heard of it. Where is Kiamada, exactly?”

  “I told you, back when we met up in the woods. Remote island, middle of the ocean.” He turned his head as a car door slammed shut beside the house. “I think our sisters have returned,” he said, quite unnecessarily.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Doyle,” she said softly, leaning into him. “I...I feel like I’ve known you forever, like I can trust you implicitly.” She looked into his eyes, hoping to see her feelings reflected there. His hazel eyes twinkled with what looked like happiness. Jen decided to go for it; her nose gently brushed past his, their lips only centimeters apart. Doyle jerked his head back suddenly, startling Jen.

  Oh, god, I was wrong. So wrong.

  There was a sudden sharp intake of breath and then a slapping sound. Jen’s head jerked around to see Kira standing in the open doorway, turned to the side, her hands held tightly across Ellie’s eyes. Ellie was standing slightly behind her, struggling to move the long fingers, to no avail.

  “My apologies,” Kira said, stepping back inside. “We did not mean to intrude.” She went to close the door.

  “You’re not intruding,” Jen said. She hoped her voice sounded normal, but knew her cheeks must be red. “How was the shopping?” She stood up and tested her ankle. It felt better than ever. “Thank you for the first aid,” she said formally to Doyle. “The ankle feels much better.”

  Kira released Ellie’s eyes, which immediately took in Doyle’s shirtless, paste-encrusted torso and the tight line Jen knew was on her own mouth. Ellie said nothing. Instead, she went into an excited state, hefting one of the bags into the air.

  “We found the cutest outfits for you!” she exclaimed happily. “You have to come try them on!” She led Jen away, but not before fixing Doyle with a hard stare. Jen sighed and went inside with her sister.

  KIRA remained behind while Elowyn led Jen upstairs.

  “I am sorry,” she began, but Doyle cut her off.

  “Nothing was happening, Kira. Jen helped me with the rumagna salve, that’s all.”

  Kira searched his face with her eyes. “And then she tried to kiss you, but you hesitated?”

  Doyle had always despised the fact his sister seemed to know everything he had done or thought without his having to tell her. Comes with being a twin, he always told himself. He nodded, knowing she wouldn’t believe anything else.

  “Yes. It caught me off-guard. I all but launched myself backwards.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands, thinking.

  Kira sat down on the swing beside him, her hand resting lightly on his muscled forearm. “I tried to tell you, Alistair. You have a chance for happiness literally staring you in the face. Why do you deny yourself?”

  “It’s not right,” he said, but Kira’s laugh cut him off.

  “That is not what you said years ago, Alistair.” While her expression was incredulous, her eyes were kind and loving. Her expression softened again. “Please tell me you have not turned your back on that belief.” She gently ran her fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp.

  “Maybe they were right, Kira. Maybe some loves are inappropriate. Have you ever considered that?”

  Kira took his hand in hers, gently squeezing it. “Yes, I have, my dear brother. Why do you think I agreed to introduce her to you? Why do you think I kept your secret, even though we had always been taught it was wrong? I decided our ways were wrong. I still believe that. Love is love, Alistair, and even you cannot make it do what you want. Perhaps some loves are not meant to be, but that does not mean you should not at least try. Follow your heart here, not your head.”

  Kira stood up and smoothed the wrinkles in her shirt. “Would you like me to talk to her about what just happened?”

  Doyle heaved a great sigh. “No,” he said with finality. “I will.” He stood up slowly, grabbing his shirt. “I hate saying this, but you may be right.”

  Kira smiled sweetly. “I usually am about these things,” she said, tapping his nose before gliding back into the house.

  ELLIE pulled Jen into the bedroom and dropped a bag on the floor. “And it was on sale, too,” she said as she closed the door. Jen smiled, but it was clearly forced.

  “Well, let’s see it,” she said. Ellie let go of her sister’s arm and turned to face her, hands on hips. “What?” Jen looked puzzled.

  “I think this is a good time for a serious woman-to-woman talk,” Ellie said.

  Jen ran her fingers through her long black hair. “All right. What do you want to talk about?”

  “You and Doyle,” Ellie said firmly. Jerking her head backwards, she continued, “What was all that out there?”

  Jen sighed. “All first aid. Doyle made some kind of plant food stuff for his injuries, and I helped him spread it on his back and arm. Then he tried to make my ankle feel better, since it’s been hurting. That’s it.”

  “What a lovely load of bullshit,” snapped Ellie, narrowing her eyes at her sister, fingers drumming on her hips. “You tried to kiss him, did
n’t you?” Jen didn’t say anything, so Ellie continued, “Or was it more? Did he say or do something inappropriate? Do I need to grab a stepladder and go kick his ass?” She grimaced ruefully. “I wouldn’t have to ask, but Kira covered my eyes as I walked through the door, so I don’t know what happened. I’m just spitballing ideas here.”

  Jen sat down on the bed. “I...I don’t know. It just felt right to me. Apparently, I misread the signs.” She put her face in her hands for a moment, long enough for Ellie to sit next to her and put a supportive arm around her shoulder. Jen took a deep breath and turned to face her. “And where do you get off trying to give me the pep talk about a guy turning me down? Isn’t that my job?”

  Ellie grinned and squeezed her Jen’s shoulders. “Like I told Doyle this morning, it’s my job to look out for you, just like it’s your job to look out for me.”

  “And it’s my job to take care of both of you,” Doyle’s voice cut in. They looked up in surprise. He was walking through the doorway, shirt still in hand. The sticky green paste on his arm and ribs helped Ellie curb her usual thoughts at seeing him. That stuff was disgusting, especially when a small chunk slowly fell off his side and onto the floor. Ellie gagged a little as Doyle stopped by the bed. “I owe you an apology, and an explanation,” he said to Jen.

  “There’s nothing to say, Doyle,” she assured him. “It was my fault.” Ellie looked from one face to the other and then jumped up.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” she said, but as she dashed past his right side, Doyle grabbed her around the waist and tossed her back onto the bed as easily as he would throw a doll, drawing a gasp of protest from Ellie as her slight frame bounced up and down from the force. His face looked pained from the sudden exertion, but he made no sound.

  “Unless I am greatly mistaken,” he said, looking at Ellie with a faint expression of amused tolerance, “no matter where you run off to, you will somehow manage to hear most of what we say and then badger either Jen or myself afterwards—I’m betting on me, personally—for a detailed explanation, complete with notarized forms of authenticity and testimonials from witnesses. True?”