Frantic now for air and blessed life, the instinct to survive jolting through her brain, she kneed him. But he protected his balls by kicking her shin just before she made contact. The sickening crack she heard mimicked that of a snapping twig. She screamed again, this time a strangled, snarling sound of hopelessness and anguish. Pain shattered in her leg and she knew at that second that he had broken her bone. Instant nausea swirled in her gut and she struggled to fend off the clutches of oblivion. No longer able to focus on the strength of escape, she reached behind her to cling to the tree, to avoid sliding down and having to put weight on the injured leg if he should suddenly release her.
And he did free her at the very second the thought had entered her mind. But freedom came brief and cruel. Before she realized what he had done, before she could drag two full breaths into her burning lungs, he had her pinioned to the tree again. Duncan wound the rope around and around her torso and the tree trunk. He secured it so snugly she could barely draw half a breath into her lungs. Ah, but by the grace of God, he had lowered it, and not encircled it around her neck.
“Duncan,” she rasped, her throat now scratchy and raw. “Please do not do this…please, I beg of ye.”
He shot her a murderous glower and crossed to their campfire, carefully choosing kindling and an armload of several thicker branches. Next he ambled over and arranged them at her feet. Duncan finally knelt and drew out the tinderbox.
“Nae one, not even a spawn of the devil himself,” he swore, his teeth clenched, “will ever use me Fraser against me as ye just now did. Ye made it all up with yer malicious witchcraft.”
“Nae, ‘twas him, I swear it! I did not conjure it up. I merely brought his spirit forth for ye to speak with just as ye requested. Duncan, ye must take heart. Seems ye murdered yer own lover, and he remains angered in death, as he should. ‘Tis nae true that I invented it! Duncan, please did not—”
“Liar! Silence, I say, or I’ll be burnin’ down yer whole village without allowin’ so much as a single minute of a trial for any of them.”
With the flint, he struck a sharp blow against the fire steel. A shower of red sparks fell onto the tinder, and he quickly held a sulfur match to the embers in order to ignite the fire. Smoke rose as it caught to first the kindling then to the hem of her cloak. Instant heat permeated the layers of her clothing and slowly soaked into her flesh. The flames rose higher, catching to the twigs, licking at her braies and boots beneath.
Duncan stepped back and watched, his eyes gleaming with vindictive hatred. “Finally ye’ll be goin’ to hell where ye belong, ye evil witch.” He spun, turning his back on her, and returned to the camp. Even though she screamed, even though she cried and wailed and bucked away from the searing pain when the flames finally caught to her braies and engulfed her, he lay down upon a blanket next to the campfire and watched his wife burn.
Catriona howled and writhed against the searing heat, never having felt such intense pain in all of her life. As delirium overtook her and the pungent odor of burning flesh and hair filled her nostrils, all those who had gone before her flashed in her mind…Duncan’s poor, unsuspecting brother, several of her Gypsy kin, the many spirits she had channeled through to the living, her dear, sweet ma.
All she could do now was beg for swift death. As she did so, even as she convulsed in pain and prayed to God for forgiveness and mercy on her soul, she thought of one more person. Catriona cried out his name just before she toppled into blackness.
“John!”
Chapter Eight
“I smell something…smoke,” Salena murmured on a sniff.
Falcon shook his head. “I tell you, John, she has always had the snout of a bloodhound. Can smell the food before the cook even thinks to prepare it.”
“This is no time to jest,” John said under his breath to Falcon. To Salena, he asked with impatience, “Can you tell what direction it comes from?”
She nodded, whirling her mount toward his. “Due north-northwest. And I also—oh, what was that? Was that a scream?”
John perked his ears. Yes, he thought he heard what sounded like a second cry of a bobcat, yet it held an almost gravelly form of Catriona’s voice in it. “Falcon, is she close enough? Can you pick up her location by her thoughts?”
Falcon narrowed his eyes and scanned the rocky horizon. “Nay, nothing. Must be too far away,” he mumbled on a sigh. The opening of a gorge lay ahead as he searched toward the sound of the screams. He started to rein his horse around westward when it appeared something had caught his eye to the north. “What is that? A flicker upon the canyon walls.”
“A flicker?”
“Yes…” Falcon urged his mount closer. “Ah, there, do you see it? There must be a fire up ahead.”
“Dismount at once!” John ordered.
Salena and Falcon had been with John for what seemed forever. There was no need for Falcon to read John’s mind, or for Salena to inquire as to the purpose of his sudden demand. They both obeyed him without further delay and leapt to the snow-packed ground. Racing up to John’s side, they hooked their arms around his waist, one on each side of him.
Now that John knew the location he sought, he could invisilate with accuracy. He wrapped his arms around them and shouted, “Core of my magic, supreme and so sure, follow the screams and transport us to her.”
The sharp suction of the vortex drew on them. John closed his eyes as a portion of his energy was sapped from his soul. Within two seconds, they appeared by the fire. What met his eyes made him dizzy with both shock and anger. Her charred lower body thrashed and fought against the ropes that bound her to the tree trunk. Her cloak ignited into an inferno that nipped at the ends of her unbound hair. John smelled the sharp odor of both burning tresses and flesh. He would never forget the pain-racked screams, the horror on her scorched face and the far-away glaze in her lovely eyes.
“Nay!” His own cry rent the night air, frightening the wildlife away. Without a moment’s pause, he drew on his powers and raced in a lightning-quick circle around her. It achieved just what he hoped it would. The snow flew up, smothering the flames and coating her burned body with its cool, numbing quality. In the wake of the speedy action, all that remained of the fire was the sizzle of wet wood and the plumes of smoke.
The arrow hit John square in the back. He neither felt the pain nor the anger that simmered there, for he knew where the arrow had come from. Duncan. But his only concern at the moment was for Catriona. There was no doubt Falcon and Salena would see to Duncan. John broke off the tip that had penetrated his abdomen, and reached behind himself. He yanked out the arrow with a grunt, tossing it aside. Grasping the dagger at his waist, he stepped up to Catriona. She hung slumped from the tree, her whole person smoking, her body blackened from the chest down.
Love and panic warred in his mind. He sliced at the burnt ropes cutting them away from her with adept speed. His jaw clenched with rage and helplessness, and he felt the tears well up in his eyes. God help him, but she appeared to be dead! Had he been minutes too late? All those extraordinary powers at the disposal of he and Falcon, and he had not been able to perform the miracle of saving her in time? Through all the snow, smoke, charred remnants of her clothing and the sickening singe of flesh, he could not discern for sure if she lived. He refused to think what it would mean if he had been delayed too long.
His gut churned with nausea and regret. “Catriona…Catriona, please, please, my love, awaken. ‘Tis John.”
She stirred and he let out a moan of relief ridden on a sigh. Strangled groans of pain tore from her smoke-drenched lungs. As he continued to carefully but swiftly free her, out of the corner of his eye he detected the rise and fall of her chest. Her head lolled and rolled in a circle around her shoulders, the singed ends of her hair brushing her reddened shoulders and chest. Even as he cut her free, he heard the commotion behind him, Duncan’s shouts, Falcon’s stern warnings. But John had only one goal, one new purpose in life.
Catriona and her resc
ue and healing.
He peeled the crispy bindings away and caught her in his arms. With as much care as he could render while carrying out the task with rapid adeptness, John cradled her in his embrace and knelt in the snow. The scorched odors assailed his nostrils, and it reminded him he had never felt such hatred for any human being as he did at this moment for her husband. This Duncan would pay with his life if John had anything to say about it—but first he must heal her and take away all the pain the bastard had caused her.
Catriona’s eyelids fluttered open, the tips of the lashes singed. She coughed and wheezed, attempting to draw air through the damaged passageway of her windpipe. He watched as the green orbs found and focused on him, a look of disbelief in their depths.
“John…” she said with a hoarse, whisper-soft voice. “Is that ye? Am I in heaven?”
“Aye, ‘tis me. And no, my love, you are not in heaven. But you are going to be fine.” I pray it is so! “Just lie still for me.”
“John…oh, how it hurts! P-please just let me die. Please, so the pain will end.”
“Nay! I will not let you die! Shh, hold still. You know I am capable of healing you. Just try to relax, sweetheart. Hold on to life—please! I beg of you, do not leave me.”
The clutches of unconsciousness assailed her on a long moan of anguish. He held his breath, his eyes widening, until he was assured air passed through her lungs.
Drawing in a deep breath, he gathered his forces, centering it in the palms of his hands. John knew this would sap his energy far more than healing her arrow wounds had that first day. He could only hope that the foursome she had shared with him, Falcon and Salena, had been enough to sustain John to perform the extensive lifesaving measures needed.
He started with her chest, carefully peeling away what remained of garments as he went. He knew she required air first and foremost to live, so he began with her lungs. The hot-cold vibrations shot through his arms with little effort. He centered each palm over a breast and rubbed in a circular motion, closing his eyes until he felt the positive force of healthy tissue being transmitted back to him. He moved up to her neck, healing both the reddened flesh and her damaged air passage. Relief flooded his system when her ragged, distressed respirations were gradually restored to soft, slow breaths.
Next he moved to her face feeling the slight lessening of his own strength. He rubbed his hands over her scalded skin, fluids seeping out as the raised blisters tore. His breath nearly caught in his throat at the startling beauty that slowly returned, as if he had drawn a damaged drape away from her face and let the breathtaking sunlight shine through.
Slight dizziness now warbled through his head as he taxed himself, moving down her arms, abdomen and thighs, again peeling away the remnants of burnt clothing as he worked.
“Holy mother of hell!” he bit out when he finally reached her right shin. Blackened flesh had been melded to the sharp jut of snapped bone. “The bastard broke her leg.”
John glanced across the small clearing of the gorge and narrowed his gaze on Duncan who now stood backed against the canyon wall as Falcon gave him a tongue-lashing. Rage built to a maddening level. It boiled inside him making him long to go crush that asshole’s neck and take his very life from him. But Catriona lay unconscious and unfeeling at the moment, and he did not wish her to suffer even one iota of pain once she awoke.
Gathering his energy and focus once again, he concentrated on curing her ailment. It took quite a bit more power than he had anticipated, but he focused, determined to repair the fractured bone. And he did. The leg straightened, and he felt the energy of healed bone and renewed skin transmit into his hands. Fighting the fatigue and dizziness, he moved down her opposite leg and foot, repairing every cell. He then rolled her over and inspected her backside. Only when the last area of flesh had been restored to its normal dusky tint and silken texture did John collapse in the snow and curl his body behind hers.
Spent, his skin beading with sweat, he drew her close and stared over her body toward the commotion across the gully. Now that his attention could be drawn away from her, he could hear every word being spoken, but his body had not the energy to rise.
“I say there, sorry chap, you best re-sheath your dirk, or face death.”
“Nae!” Duncan growled, jutting the sharp weapon at Falcon. He easily dodged the swipe and leapt to Duncan’s left. But Duncan’s eyes widened and he gasped when he glanced across the craggy ground and saw Catriona lying unscathed but unconscious, tucked lovingly into the crook of John’s body. “Witches! All of ye are witches. Ye will all die in the name of King James of Scotland.”
“Salena,” Falcon murmured, never taking his eyes from the crazed man. “Go to them at once. Get out of this madman’s reach.”
She jutted her chin and furrowed her brow, swinging her gaze to her husband. “Not a chance. Not until this fool is taken care of. Catriona is now well, and John will simply need revitalizing.”
“Do not be stubborn, woman! Remember the uncertainty of the amulet…” He lashed out at her verbally, John knew, due to his worry over her welfare. If the pendant should be accidentally—or intentionally—removed from around her neck, there would be no immediate way of knowing what it could mean for her. It was unknown if its temporary immortal qualities would lift and instantaneously thrust swift death upon her, or if she would be safe long enough to place the protective Centaurus back around her neck. But no one had ever wished to test its boundaries to be certain, therefore Salena had never removed it.
“Stubborn? I love you with all of my life, husband! But ‘tis you who remains obstinate throughout the decades, striving to continually protect me from—”
“Salena, look out!” John shouted weakly.
During the distraction of the marital disagreement, Duncan had turned the tables. He now detained Salena with his forearm across her breasts and her back held against his chest. With the other hand, he positioned the blade of his basket-hilted sword across her neck.
“Fools, all of ye!” Duncan hissed. “Now, ye bastard Robin Hood, either ye go and fetch me mount, or I’ll be slittin’ yer pretty little wife’s throat. Hmm,” he added glancing over her shoulder at the Centaurus nestled between the swell of bosom. “And I believe I’ll help meself to that rich jewel danglin’ about her neck, as well.”
“Get your bloody, filthy hands off her this instant!” Falcon’s fists were clenched, as were his teeth. A murderous gleam shone in his eyes. He took two strides, starting toward Duncan.
“Uh-uh-uh, ye come any closer, ye thievin’ bandit, and ye can bet I’ll be slicin’ this gorgeous head right off her slim shoulders.”
Falcon stopped dead in his path. John knew why he hesitated. They dare not experiment with the Centaurus’ powers until absolutely necessary. And Falcon knew John would be of no help, for he currently had drained all his healing stores until further rejuvenation.
Duncan cackled, sounding much like the witches he relentlessly pursued. To prove his point and determination at escape, he dragged the blade across her throat. A thin line of blood trickled down her slim, pale throat. Salena gasped, stiffening at the sharp pain, but she did not attempt to take flight. She stared wide-eyed and fearful at Falcon, suddenly aware it seemed, of her true vulnerability for the first time since donning the Centaurus.
“I swear, if you draw one more drop of blood from her veins, you are a dead man.”
“Ah, standin’ there like a coward, ye are, shootin’ empty threats and leavin’ yer poor wife in me great company.” Duncan snickered, his eyes glazing with the intoxication of control. “And here I was thinkin’ ye were some kind of brave, legendary hero or somethin’. Why, ye ain’t nothin’ but a spineless, bloody bastard!”
With that last word, Duncan’s voice rose to a manic, high-pitched tone. His guffaw echoed, bouncing over the stone rocks and walls. Apparently, though, he was not yet done with his taunting tirade.
“Just look at ye.” He swiped the sword deeper, eliciting a stra
ngled scream from Salena. Falcon swore and crouched in a stance, poised to attack at that very second. “What happened to yer supposed love for her, ye fuckin’—”
But before Duncan could finish the statement, his rant ended abruptly. The arrow struck him clean through the right side of his chest. His eyes snapped in surprise. He looked down to find himself speared side-to-side, the arrow having passed between his ribs and into his heart and lungs. The shocked gaze followed the direction of where the arrow had come from, resting upon his assailant, Little John. Duncan stumbled backward, releasing Salena in favor of catching his own body before it hit the ground with a thud. His breaths tore ragged and gurgled from his throat. Blood shot out from wound and mouth, spattering the rock and snow. The deep red splotches against stark white shone almost black in the waning firelight. He collapsed to the earth in a thrashing heap.
Falcon captured Salena in his embrace and dragged her toward John and Catriona. “Lorcan alive, if you ever disobey me like that again, I’ll…” He forced her face into his chest, watching with a satisfied glare as Duncan writhed and fought for his last breaths of life.
“Fraser…” Duncan moaned aloud. “Fraser, I am s-sorry.” His head lolled back, his eyes went glassy. It was the last words he spoke.
Salena sobbed, nodding vigorously as if she wholeheartedly agreed with her husband’s scolding.
Having pulled himself up onto his knees to aim the deadly arrow at Duncan, John now tossed his longbow away and collapsed at Catriona’s side. His body trembled and perspired uncontrollably. Never before had he pushed himself to this level of energy-expending exhaustion, not even that first day he had healed two mortal wounds in Catriona’s chest. Nausea and dizziness plagued him, making him groan and flail about. Fatigue engulfed him, and he finally welcomed the blessed embrace of sleep…or after all those centuries, was it finally death?
A Gypsy's Thief Page 16
