Cerise let go of the reins and turned to run. She focused on Lexin as he ran toward her.
The deck of the barge rose underneath her and then tilted sharply under her feet and she slid. A spray of water hit her, giving her barely enough time to take a deep breath as the deck went out from under her and she went flying.
She was vaguely aware of the chilling scream of her horse and his flailing legs as he was flung into the water with a huge splash
Lexin watched in horror as the barge went vertical and then almost overturned, Cerise and Mitch tossed like a child’s rag doll.
The barge was held by the heavy ropes, keeping it from following the woman and horse. Cerise came to the surface for a brief moment and took another deep breath before the current grabbed her again.
“Cerise!” Lexin yelled, seeing the roiling water take her down again. Mitch surfaced, water spraying as he thrashed. He was dragged under as well, but came up seconds later, closer to shore. He managed to find footing and lunged toward the bank.
Mitch spooked away when Lexin grabbed at the trailing reins, intent on capturing the horse to ride down the river, following Cerise. Mitch bolted up the hill toward the other horses, passing Cearan and Merrick.
Unaware of the shouting behind him, Lexin ran down the riverbank. Debris from the barge floated in the churning water. Lexin ran on but could not keep up with the rapid current. He saw Cerise once more, and to his anguish, could only watch helplessly as a crate from the craft caught her a glancing blow.
Unable to keep up as a man, Lexin mentally reached for the essence of the lion that lived within his soul.
The large lion ran much faster than the man could, jumping obstacles in his path. He ran without seeing any sign of Cerise. He ran until his lungs burned, heedless of the other lion or the panther that followed him.
Lexin continued until spots flashed in his vision from his oxygen-starved lungs. He came to a stumbling halt as the river settled to its normal state. There was no sign of Cerise.
The lion flopped to his belly, trembling and panting hard. He gave a great roar, and then a man laid there, the roar becoming a cry of despair. The two other big cats stood protectively on either side of him, their own growls of sorrow blending with Lexin’s.
Chapter Eighteen
Consciousness crept into Cerise’s mind, making her aware of the blinding pain in her head. She coughed involuntarily and water rattled in her lungs and leaked from her nose.
A strange chirruping noise sounded close to her head and she tried to open her eyes but found it nearly impossible. Weakly, she raised a hand to rub at them and found something sticky. Judging from the pounding of her head, she realized it must be blood.
As she lay there, she found that she was placed against the base of a tree. She was arched at such an angle that she feared her back was broken. She tried to move and her breath hissed out as pain lanced through her, especially in her other arm.
The noise she heard before seemed to escalate. She hurt too badly to be afraid of whatever was making it, having only a strange, disjointed curiosity.
Cerise managed to open one eye, and taking a moment to focus, saw a small blue-gray falcon on the ground by her head.
Its own head was cocked in a questioning position and its wings were halfway open as it made that chirruping noise again.
Suddenly, it turned and looked away from Cerise and made a screeching cry, unfurling its wings widely. The small falcon was protecting her—but from what?
The sound of muffled hoof beats came to her and she breathed a sigh of relief. Lexin has found me. Everything will be alright now, she thought and let the blackness claim her once more.
It was dark when Cerise woke again, slowly opening her eyes. The room was dimly lit by a fire in a hearth and a few candles. She heard a quiet conversation somewhere close by and realized it wasn’t English, but she was too tired to ponder it further.
She gave a cough as there were still traces of the river in her lungs. Oh sweet Mary, the river, she thought in a panic. Lexin!
Cerise tried to rise but was too weak. That and the small hand on her shoulder kept her down.
A small elf woman stood beside her. It was her hand that lay gently on her shoulder. She wore a dress made of soft doeskin, covered with intricate designs. She had a thick braid on either side of her delicate face, each adorned with various feathers and beads. Tattoos of vines edged her face and disappeared into the neckline of her dress.
The woman rattled off something Cerise couldn’t follow.
“I don’t understand,” Cerise said hoarsely, her throat raw.
A large man came into her view within the dim light. “Yetta says that you must lie still, that you are very weak and will only injure yourself further.”
His voice was deep and pleasant and his accent was vaguely familiar, but he spoke as if the common tongue was not what he normally used.
“Where are the others?” Cerise whispered, looking up at him. It was too dim for her to make out his features, only that he was tall and broadly built.
“I found just you, lady, and your bird. No others.”
Despair and fear ran through Cerise. “There were others…” She swallowed hard. “Lexin.” His name came out as a sob.
The man came closer and took a seat on a low stool by the narrow bed. “Mistress, you have been very ill. Please calm yourself.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You are safe here.”
Cerise wiped at her eyes with the back of her good hand, getting a closer look at him.
Long, thick, dark blond hair was gathered at the back of his neck and hung halfway down his back. A Werren male stared back at her. He had the golden brown eyes with the cat-like slant and lean cheeks that sported several days’ growth of tawny beard. He wore leather breeches and a simple white shirt of linen.
“You are Lion kin,” Cerise whispered in her surprise.
“I am. You know of the Werre?” he asked, removing his hand from her shoulder. “My name is Riordan.” He pronounced it as reer dan.
“I know the Werre. The men I traveled with are Werre. One is my…mate.”
Riordan leaned back a little and placed his hands on his knees. “I will look again tomorrow, mistress, but no other Werre other than my da has been seen in these woods in a long time. You have been here a seven-day.”
“I’ve been here a week?” She briefly closed her eyes in disbelief.
Riordan glanced at the elf woman who hovered nearby with a questioning look. She said something and shook her head slightly. Riordan answered quickly and his tone held a touch of authority. She shook her head again, this time in frustration at him, and then moved over to the hearth to tend a small kettle.
“What is your name, mistress?” Riordan asked when he returned his attention to Cerise.
“Cerise,” she answered. “Cerise MacKinnon.”
Riordan’s eyebrows rose slightly and then his expression returned to show gentle concern. “Cerise—a lovely name.” He shifted his weight on the little stool. It gave a creak of protest.
“I was returning to this village when there was a wawe, a…” He looked thoughtful for a second as he thought of the common words. “A great wave on the river—it happens sometimes when there are violent storms in the highlands. I found you and brought you here on a litter. I feared your back was broken, but Yetta says that only a bone in your arm was, although you are one big bruise. Some god must watch over you for you to have survived the river.” One corner of his expressive mouth lifted in slight amusement. “You have had the lung fever and Yetta stitched a wound on your head.” He touched his temple in demonstration.
“Your falke is a fierce little bird, you should know. She did not get in the way of my aiding you, but until she reasoned that I was helping you, she screeched and fluttered so,” he added. A more serious look changed his features. “I must ask this, mistress, although it saddens me to do so, but were you with child?”
<
br /> Cerise gasped at the past tense and felt a chill of apprehension. “Yes, I am pregnant.”
“I am truly sorry, Cerise, but Yetta says that you lost the babe. I felt that you should know this.”
“No, she’s wrong,” Cerise cried, her voice going higher. “She’s wrong!”
“Yetta is my foster mother and a healer, mistress. If she says it is so, then it is so. You must rest now.” He stood and motioned to the woman who brought a cup filled with a fragrant tea.
Sadness and despair washed over her. “Why are you telling me this lie?” she whimpered.
“You need to heal in mind as well as spirit. It is best to do so all at once and be done with it. Yetta does not feel you were so damaged that you will now be barren. Sleep now and we will talk more in the morning, mistress.” Riordan then ducked through a low door.
A chirruping noise drew Cerise’s attention. In a corner of the hut was the small falcon, its bright eyes focused on her. It was perched on a limb someone had propped up for it. It gave a small screech at her gaze and then fluffed its feathers. A falke, Riordan had called it. It wasn’t hers and she had no idea where it had come from. It did seem however, that the bird had claimed her, whether she wished it or not.
Cerise obediently drank the tea Yetta handed her and then lay back down. Feeling an odd emptiness in her heart, Cerise somehow knew Riordan had spoken the truth.
Somewhere out there Lexin was looking for her. That was all she had left to hope for. “Please, God. Please?” she whispered and then let sleep claim her as tears slipped down her cheeks.
Exhausted, Lexin sank down on his haunches by a small campfire. Cearan squatted alongside and gave him a concerned look through lowered lashes.
Lexin had become a wraith to Cearan’s eyes, lost in his grief. He had barely eaten and had lost weight. He had not shaved nor combed his hair since losing Cerise to the river.
When the three returned to the barge to retrieve the horses and supplies, they found the barge had been righted and it and all the crew were on their way back to Raparia. Lexin had screamed curses and then attempted to swim to the barge, murder in his eyes. He nearly drowned both himself and Cearan when Cearan followed to stop him.
The three men had searched both sides of the river for a seven-day, finding no trace of Cerise.
After staring into the flames for a long moment, Lexin abruptly rose and went back down to the river, motioning for the other two men to hold their places when they moved to follow.
When he reached the water’s edge, he lifted his head and gazed out at the setting sun. For seven days he had searched, keeping hope within him, but he had to finally accept it. Cerise was gone.
He could not breathe as the pain of acceptance, so long kept at bay, finally swept over him and pulled him down to his knees. He looked again to the western sky, the sun blurring through his tears as it disappeared behind the trees. So this was how my god will punish my sins, he thought. Death would have been kinder.
He knelt there until full darkness came. He then rose and returned to camp, dry eyed. He ignored the concerned looks of the other two men and lay on his blankets by the fire.
“Tomorrow we shall continue on to Burning Woods,” he said softly but firmly.
Cearan sat looking at him, despair in his own eyes. He had become close friends with Cerise and felt her loss keenly. “You are sure?”
Lexin closed his eyes as he answered in a mere whisper. “Yes.”
Cearan sighed deeply, and pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat there, wondering how he was going to tell Drace of the loss of his kinswoman.
Chapter Nineteen
Cerise unlocked her car with the key remote as she walked across the parking lot. Her arms were laden with packages from her favorite stores. Opening the trunk, she dropped the shopping bags inside, closed it with a little slam then climbed into the driver’s seat. The sporty little car started with a low purr of power and soon Cerise was on her way back to her house on the family horse farm.
It was night and her car’s headlights cut into the darkness. A few minutes into the drive, it began to rain. Cerise flipped her windshield wipers on low and then reached over and tuned the car's stereo to a light rock station.
Almost home, the station became static and she glanced down to find another one. A horn blared and she looked up in surprise, the split second’s distraction caused her to swerve slightly into the oncoming lane. Overcorrecting it, her car then slid on the wet asphalt and went over the edge of the road and down a steep bank. Suddenly, it hit something hard and flipped. Cerise had an odd few seconds when she could see the edge of a small river and the sensation of falling.
The car hit the water on its top and she found that she could not undo her seat belt. She began to scream as water rushed in rapidly around her. The car gave a groan of protest as it slid further into the water.
Hanging upside down, suspended by her belt, Cerise was trapped and the water quickly engulfed her. She fought wildly, striking her arm against the door. Agonizing pain shot through her.
Cerise gasped as she came out of the dream, aware of strong arms around her as well as whimpering noises. She realized they were coming from her and she sagged against the warm body beside her.
“It was a dream, lady. Wake up now,” a male voice said close to her ear, its tone soothing.
Cerise opened her eyes and saw the now familiar walls of the small hut by the light of a single candle. She had been here eleven days, still too weak to do more than make it to the chamber pot and back to the bed. She had studied her surroundings intently when awake enough to do so.
She suspected that Yetta kept her sedated with something in the tea she was given regularly.
Cerise looked up into concerned eyes and recognized Riordan. He was dressed in hastily donned breeches and nothing else. She had not seen him in the last four days and realized he had recently shaved, his jaw now completely smooth.
He smiled down at her, a slight dimple showing on each of his cheeks. “Are you better now, mistress?” he asked her quietly.
Flustered by his nearness and discovering that Riordan was an extremely handsome man, Cerise jerked away from his hold and hissed in a breath at the pain in her left forearm.
Riordan's smile faded and he stilled her. “You were thrashing around in your sleep, mistress, and I think you may have hit your injured arm.”
“What are you doing in here?” she snapped, cradling her arm. She would have given anything for some Tylenol, and maybe some mace. Riordan had not given her any reason to fear him, but he was leaning over her closely and held her by her upper arms firmly.
“I live here, when I am in the village,” Riordan informed her. “This is my house, and you are in my bed.” He released her and stood up.
“Oh,” Cerise replied, the sound insignificant even to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Where have you been sleeping?”
At her embarrassment, Riordan smiled again. “I have been gone for the last few days, but to answer your question, tonight I came in after you went to sleep and made a pallet by the hearth. Until you started to scream to wake the dead, I was resting quite comfortably.”
Cerise lowered her head, still unnerved by the dream. She hoped he didn't ask what it was about.
“Were you remembering being in the river?” Riordan asked astutely.
A vivid memory of fighting the current and of inhaling water and then losing consciousness assailed Cerise at his words. She gasped aloud.
“It would be a reasonable thing to dream I suspect, mistress,” Riordan commented as he moved about the small room, gathering a cup and water. He returned to the bed with it. “Drink, lady.”
“My name is Cerise,” she said testily. “Drop the formality please.” She took the offered water and drank.
Riordan dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Of course, la…Cerise. Are you feeling better now?”
Cerise handed him the now empty cup
. “Yes, I am, thank you.” She ducked her head and studied the bandage on her injured arm. “It was horrible,” she began and an overwhelming sadness assailed her. “It still is.”
Riordan sat down beside her, close but not touching. He felt a degree of sadness himself at the look of loss on her face. “Cerise, I am sorry for your pain. I know it is a terrible thing.”
Cerise looked up at his gentle tone. Her lower lip quivered and she fought back the tears.
“No lady, do not hold them back. Cry if you must.”
His kind words undid her and tears spilled over her lashes. “I’ve lost everything—a man I love with all my heart, my friends, my baby—I never even got to feel it move inside me.” She was sobbing, her words hiccupping from her. “I even lost… my stupid… horse.”
Riordan pulled her into his arms. “Shh, shh, I will not tell you that everything will be alright, Cerise, but you are alive and that is something.”
Cerise cried harder and he continued to hold her until she finally slept, exhausted. He settled her back on the bed and then stood and looked down at her. He wiped a big hand over his face as his own tiredness hit him.
He had been in the saddle for four days, looking for sign of a group of renegade Wilder elves who had been threatening a war with his family band. While searching, he kept an eye open for any sign of other Werre in the area.
He had not had time to do a thorough search, though, and it was possible that the men were still out there somewhere.
Riordan’s village was a long way from where he had found Cerise, a miracle that he had found her at all. Her fate would have been quite different if he had not. Now all he had to do was figure out what to do with her. The elves of the village were suspicious of humans. Riordan and his father were the only other outsiders there. His foster mother was a high ranking woman of the clans, which gave him a little position to protect the woman. However, if something happened to him that might not be the case, unless Yetta took pity on her.
He was tired of the petty wars the Wilders seemed to always be a part of, but his duty was to protect his family, and now this woman, as it was he who had brought her here.
Lexin's Quest (Knights of Kismera Book 2) Page 13
