For the Wildings (Daughter of the Wildings #6)

by Kyra Halland

  Groaning, Silas stood up. His shirt had come untucked; he didn’t bother tucking it back in. To hide the fact that his pants were unbuttoned, Lainie was pretty sure. “I’ll go help myself,” he said. “Let you two get caught up.” He and Lainie exchanged wry smiles, then he left the room.

  Lainie sat up in bed, trying to hide her frustration and embarrassment and the disheveled state of her own clothes. Her Pa put the tray on her lap, then pulled a chair over next to the bed and sat down. He cleared his throat. “So, how’s my little girl been doing?”

  “Not bad, considering. Kinda sore and tired right now.”

  “He treats you good?”

  She smiled, and looked down at her stew. It looked delicious. If she couldn’t have Silas, this was the next best thing. “Real good,” she said, digging into the food in a way that she hadn’t since leaving Bentwood Gulch. “He loves me, and I love him.” Her cheeks warmed even more. “And I’m having a baby. I’m a couple months along now.”

  “Really,” Burrett said. “I thought wizards couldn’t have kids unless they was married before the Mage Council.”

  “It’s a spell the Mage Council puts on wizards when they’re young. I figured out how to undo it. You’ll have a grandson late next summer. I don’t know where we’ll be living then, but we’ll make sure you get to see him.”

  “Well.” Burrett leaned back in the chair, a rare smile on his face. “So it isn’t the end of my line, after all.”

  They talked for a while longer. Lainie told her Pa about some of the adventures she and Silas had had since her last letter to him, sent from Bentwood Gulch more than a year ago, and Burrett caught her up on news about the ranch and the town, which wasn’t as exciting as Lainie’s stories but she found it interesting anyway.

  She made sure to tell him about Mrs. Horden, a nice young widow lady they had met in Piney Ridge, and suggested to Burrett that if he went on the drive next year, he might stop by to give her Lainie and Silas’s greetings. And, Lainie thought, though she didn’t say so, maybe get to know Mrs. Horden well enough to bring her back here to the ranch one day.

  By the time Silas came back, Lainie had finished her meal. It hadn’t been nearly enough to fill the yawning emptiness inside her, and from the way Silas looked at her, he hadn’t had enough to eat, either. “I expect you two want to get some rest now,” Burrett said. He took the tray and left the room.

  As soon as the door closed, Silas shed his clothes and crawled under the quilt with Lainie. Though he looked every bit as tired and beat-up as she felt, they came together fast and frantically. With the pleasure and the energy of their lovemaking, Lainie’s power bloomed and swelled inside her, banishing aches and pains and hunger, until the whole world burst into a deliciously warm rose-colored glow.

  As they lay curled up together afterwards, Lainie felt heavy and relaxed with contentment, but also newly alive and energetic, ready to think about what lay ahead. “Where do we go next?” she asked. With only three days’ reprieve, they would have to decide soon.

  “I want to find out what happened at Bentwood Gulch,” Silas said, trailing his fingers through her hair. “See if any loose ends need cleaning up. And I think the folks there are less likely to run us off than anywhere else.”

  “I hate to impose on the Coltors any more, but you’re right. Though it’d be nice if we can find a place of our own before the baby comes.”

  He spread his hand over her abdomen, which had started to round out ever so slightly. “That’s what we’ll do, then, darlin’.”

  Epilogue

  SILAS STOOD IN front of the washstand in his and Lainie’s room in Coltor’s house, shaving. It was really a very soothing, relaxing thing to do; he should consider doing more often. But if he did, soothing would probably turn into tedious. Once every nineday or two was enough after all, he decided, as long as Lainie didn’t mind.

  In the mirror he saw Lainie behind him, wrestling with her pants. He watched her struggle for a moment as he finished shaving. “Something wrong, darlin’?”

  “I can’t button my pants. I could just button them yesterday, if I sucked in my stomach, but I can’t today.”

  He wiped the last traces of soap off his face, then went over to her. She was standing next to the bed, looking somewhat forlorn with her pants unbuttoned and her shirt hanging out untucked. He put an arm around her shoulders and rested the other hand on her belly. The changes from day to day hadn’t been noticeable, but it was definitely rounded, big enough that his hand couldn’t quite cover it. “I thought that was what the dresses are for.”

  In the wardrobe hung three dresses made of printed cotton, loose-waisted to allow for a pregnant belly. Mrs. Coltor owned a sewing machine and had a neat, quick hand with it; she had helped Lainie sew up the dresses in just the nineday or so since they’d arrived back at the BC Crown.

  Mr. and Mrs. Coltor had welcomed them back heartily and insisted they stay at least until the baby was born. “You don’t want to be wandering around without a roof over your heads when Mrs. Vendine’s time comes,” Coltor had said.

  Silas wasn’t sure he liked the idea of accepting Coltor’s charity for that long, but Color did have a point. And Mrs. Coltor was a great help and comfort to Lainie, being just a few months further along in her own pregnancy.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s what they’re for.” Lainie blew some stray hairs out of her face. “It’s gonna feel strange, wearing dresses every day.”

  “You’ll look pretty. Not that you don’t look pretty anyway, whatever you’re wearing.”

  “Mrs. Coltor sure did a nice job with them. They’re almost too nice for everyday.” She went to the wardrobe and stared at the dresses as though trying to decide which one was the least unsuitable for day-to-day wear around the house and ranch.

  In the distance, a bell rang to announce visitors to the house. A moment later, Silas heard men’s voices down the hall. They sounded serious and businesslike.

  Coltor had told Silas and Lainie how he and Jasik had dealt with the three Hidden Council mages who were trying to take over Bentwood Gulch and then had gone to run off more Hidden Council men in the towns of White Cloud and Fairbank. In the process, Coltor had had to reveal his magical power, much to the shock of the people of Bentwood Gulch. Fortunately, out of respect for him and his position, or, at least, his money, and out of gratitude for saving the town, the folks here seemed to be doing their best to come to terms with the fact that their leading citizen was a wizard. At least, no one had tried to hang him or run him off. Coltor now wore his mage ring openly, though Silas and Lainie still kept their new mage rings, which they had obtained only a few days ago, on their wedding fingers most of the time.

  Despite the general attitude of acceptance, Silas couldn’t shake the feeling that trouble was just biding its time, waiting to jump out at him when he was least expecting it.

  A knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Vendine? Mrs. Vendine?” Coltor said. “The mayor and some other fellas from town are here, and want to speak to all of us. They say it’s important but nothing we need to be worried about.”

  The mayor? Silas looked at Lainie; her face was drawn in worry. “Wonder what that’s all about?” she said.

  “We better go see,” Silas answered, and she nodded. She glanced once more at the dresses, then quickly buttoned her shirt the rest of the way up, leaving it untucked to hide the open buttons of her pants. Then they left the room, Silas’s mind working through one possibility after another, none of them especially pleasant.

  Three men stood in the front room, the mayor of Bentwood Gulch, another local rancher, and the chairman of the local cattlemen’s co-op. They shook Silas’s hand and greeted Lainie politely. Mrs. Coltor, who was too far along in her pregnancy to go to her office in town every day, sat on the couch, her hands folded so tightly together her knuckles showed white. Lainie stayed close to Silas’s side, holding his arm and looking nervously from one of the visitors to the next. Silas didn’t feel any l
ess uneasy, himself; what could a prominent rancher, the mayor, and the co-op chairman, all Plains, want with them?

  “Here we all are,” Coltor said. “Now, what is it you have to say to us?”

  The mayor cleared his throat ostentatiously. “In light of recent events involving a group of wizards with ill intent towards our rights and freedoms as settlers in the Wildings, and in consideration of Mr. Brin Coltor’s actions in defense of our town and the role of wizards such as Mr. Coltor and Mr. and Mrs. Vendine in fighting against their own kind to defend the Plain settlers of the Wildings, the voting members of the Bentwood Valley Cattlemen’s Cooperative Association and of the citizenry of the town of Bentwood Gulch have taken up and approved a resolution with the purpose of –”

  “Get on with it,” the rancher said.

  The mayor gave him an affronted look. “A resolution that no wizard or suspected wizard may be hanged, imprisoned, or otherwise harmed or punished without being found guilty of a crime in a fair trial before an impartial jury, being a wizard not to be considered a crime in and of itself.”

  Silence followed this pronouncement. Silas’s mind grappled with what the mayor had said – in the Bentwood Valley, it was now against the law to hang a mage without a trial first. And being a mage was not in itself a crime. “It’s safe for us to stay here,” he finally said.

  “We don’t have to worry about getting strung up?” Lainie added uncertainly.

  “Long as you keep your nose clean an’ live by the same rules as everyone else,” the head of the cattlemen’s co-op said. “Wizards have caused us a lot of grief, but wizards also saved our town – and, we’re told, a lot of other towns. And our herd and our livelihood.”

  “So we figure,” the rancher said, “just like with normal people, there’s bad wizards an’ good ones, so why not try living side-by-side and see if we can be peaceable neighbors.”

  “In short,” the mayor said, “Mr. Coltor, Mr. and Mrs. Vendine, the law is now on your side.”

  They were safe here, him and Lainie. The realization finally sank into Silas’s head. The mage hunters were no longer looking for them, and the Plain folk here in the Bentwood Valley weren’t allowed to hang them or harm them just for being mages. “I…” he said, struggling to find words for what he was thinking and feeling. He seldom found himself speechless, but this had done it. “That’s…”

  “That’s mighty good news,” Coltor said. He started shaking the men’s hands enthusiastically. “Good news, indeed.”

  “Yes, it is,” Mrs. Coltor added, rising from the couch. Smiling widely, she came over to the men and shook their hands, too. Behind the round lenses of her spectacles, her eyes shone. “I’m not surprised that the people of Bentwood Gulch would do the right thing.”

  Silas finally collected himself, and he and Lainie joined in the handshaking and added their thanks, as well. Lainie’s smile was bright enough to light up the whole room, and years of worry seemed to have fallen away from her face.

  After one more round of handshakes, the visitors tipped their hats and bade them all good day, then left. “Well,” Coltor said as he closed the door behind them, “I guess that means the two of you will be sticking around for the time being. Nikalsdon isn’t as young and healthy as he used to be, so he’s thinking about cutting back on work. I’d like to hire you on as an assistant foreman, if you’d be willing. I’ve got a second foreman’s cabin that’s been standing empty for a while, so you folks can make yourselves to home there if you want.”

  Home, Silas thought. Something Lainie hadn’t known since she was run out of Bitterbush Springs more than a year and a half ago, except for those few short months in that one-room cabin in Windy Valley. It was a word that hadn’t meant anything to him in years. A roof over their heads, a kitchen, a bed of their own to sleep in every night, a place where they belonged, where they could live in peace and raise their children, honest work that didn’t involve getting shot at, at least not very often…

  A smile stole onto his face. He’d still like a spread of his own sometime, but this was a good place to start. He put an arm around Lainie’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. She smiled up at him, her face alight with happiness and hope.

  “Sounds good to me,” he said.

  The End

  Thank you for reading For the Wildings

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  Discover the magical world of Tehovir!

  Read on for a preview of Heir of Tanaris

  Heir of Tanaris

  When Davian, a badly-injured runaway slave from a corrupted magical Source, is brought to Isamina's healing Source, Isamina must find the courage to heal his damaged spirit, while Davian must defeat the evil within himself to become the great man he was meant to be and win the love he yearns for.

  Chapter 1

  THE WIZARD’S SCREAMS echoed through the cavern, then died away. Davian stared down at the old man chained to the inquisition table. He was nothing more than skin and broken bones and thin, ropy muscles, covered in open wounds and blood and burns, but somehow he was still gasping for breath, still strong enough to scream, still resisting Davian’s best efforts to make him talk.

  It didn’t make sense. Most prisoners brought to Source Makarsk’s cavern for questioning would have either talked or died by now.

  Davian looked to the Inquisitress for instructions. She stood silently, draped from head to toe in blood-red robes that looked like flames in the flickering torchlight, her head tilted towards the trembling, sweating, bleeding old man on the stone table. Behind the red veil covering her face, Davian imagined the ice blue eyes narrowed in disapproval, the full lips frowning. Desperately, he hoped she wouldn’t take her displeasure out on him.

  “Useless,” she finally said. “Finish him, slave. Be sure to remove his Source-token once he’s dead, before you dispose of the body. It might be useful.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The knot of fear inside Davian eased a little. He wouldn’t be punished for failing to get any useful information out of the foreign wizard. Not yet, anyway.

  The Inquisitress left the cavern. Davian set down the sharp, pointed tongs he’d been using and picked up the knife. The black stone bowl, for collecting the wizard’s blood for the Archpriest’s rites later that night, stood close to hand. He grasped the wizard’s jaw and pushed it back to expose his throat, then raised the knife.

  Without warning, the old man seized Davian’s wrist with a grip so painfully strong Davian dropped the knife. With his other hand, he grabbed the front of Davian’s ragged tunic and pulled him down so that their faces nearly touched.

  Davian’s gut clenched. The wizard’s hands should have been bound to the table with heavy chains. How had he gotten free? The Inquisitress would certainly punish him for this.

  “You…” the wizard breathed against Davian’s face, his voice nearly gone after all his screaming. “Finally found… You can be more, better than this…”

  More? Better? Davian struggled to make sense of the old man’s words. He was a slave. High-ranking, who no longer had to clean out the cesspits or fight for scraps of food left behind by the kitchen dogs, but still a slave. How could a slave ever be anything more and better than a slave?

  The old man was crazy, that was all. “Be quiet.” He jerked hims
elf free of the prisoner’s grasp.

  The wizard grabbed his wrist again. “Take this,” he whispered. He held up the small wooden pendant, carved in the shape of a leaf, that hung from a chain around his neck – the pendant Davian hadn’t been able to take before; it had burned his fingers and slipped from his grasp when he tried – and folded Davian’s fingers around it.

  A lightning bolt of pain shocked up Davian’s arm. Brilliant blue-green light swelled inside him, unbearably hot and bright. Along with it came a feeling Davian had never known before. His mind seemed to expand and new strength flowed through his veins. He could be something more than a slave, something better than he was now. He could be anything he wanted.

  As the power continued to fill Davian, it grated against the dark imprint of Makarsk’s seal in his mind like a grindstone crushing his brain. Davian squeezed his eyes shut against the agony and clenched his teeth to keep himself from crying out. If the guards heard him and discovered he had lost control of the prisoner, he would be punished right then and there.

  And then the flow of power stopped. The blue-green glow gathered in on itself until it was no more than a tiny glimmer, then buried itself deep within him. The headache ebbed away. Sweating and shaking, Davian opened his eyes and unclenched his hand from around the Source-token.

  Nothing but wood dust filled his hand.

  His blood turned to ice. The Inquisitress had commanded him to take the token, but now it was ruined. She was going to be angry. What was he going to tell her? There had to be something he could say that would keep him from being punished. She hadn’t seen what had happened; maybe he could tell her that the wizard had destroyed the Source-token himself. Maybe she wouldn’t notice the strange new power inside him, or the strange new feelings it had awakened.