by Dora Machado
“This way,” the voice said.
She felt listless as a corpse, but she grabbed on to that voice and followed it to a semblance of consciousness. Fighting her heavy eyelids, she managed to glimpse the man’s stern face, outlined against a background of pewter clouds.
Brennus.
She rode with him on his horse, wrapped in an oiled mantle, mostly protected from the rain. His strong arms kept her from slipping off the massive beast. His armored chest offered a hard but steady pillow. The beat of his heart echoed through the copper plates, strong, vibrant, and enthralling.
He must have realized that she was awake, because his stare swooped down on her like a hawk on the prowl, even though his voice was gentle. “Hush,” he said. “We won’t be too much longer on the road today.”
His eyes were lined with worry and exhaustion. So were the faces of the other men who rode with him. All of them were wet, tired and miserable, picking their way up a steep mountain track as the relentless rain continued to pelt them. That same rain was dripping from Brennus’s face, drenching his hair and trickling down his neck.
“The rain,” she whispered. “It’s making you wet.” She reached out to dry the water from his face, but the wound on her back protested with a pang of pain.
He caught her hand and tucked it back into the blanket. “It’s no use,” he said. “You can’t keep me dry.”
“One can try,” she said.
And he actually smiled.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“South of nowhere and north of wherever,” he said. “Far from the usual routes. We’re seven days out.”
Seven days was an awful long time to be senseless among strangers.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Riva’s not going to find us.”
She winced when the horse missed a step.
“Hato!” Brennus called.
Why was he barking like that?
There was splashing, the sound of hooves clattering and then, “My lord?”
“We’ve got to stop. The fever’s back and she’s hurting again.”
“No place to stop around here, my lord,” the other man said.
“Send Severo and Cirillo ahead,” he said. “Tell them to find a decent camp and get a fire going. She’s got to rest.”
“My lord,” he said, “we have pressing business. We can’t slow down to accommodate her comfort—”
“Do you want her alive or not?”
The other man sighed. “As you wish, my lord.” He rode away.
She tried to tell him that she was fine, but ended up whimpering instead.
“Shush,” he whispered in her ear. “You need to sleep.”
And by the Thousand Gods, off she went, at his command, into the darkness again, following his heart’s steady rhythm as it sang a lullaby to her heart.
Chapter Six
LUSIELLE’S EYES OPENED TO REVEAL YET another unfamiliar setting. She lay on a wide and comfortable bed in a lavishly appointed chamber. She was fairly sure there was a feather mattress beneath the fine linens. Her head was propped on a pile of pillows. The fire’s chatter announced a crackling hearth in the room. Had she died and been reborn to one of the god’s halls?
She tried to summon some kind of order out of her jumbled memories. Rain. She recalled the endless drizzle. Gray. It had been the sky’s color for many days. And something else. Him.
She sensed more than saw a presence leaning over her. Her eyes focused on the intricate patterns of finely spun blue silk. Golden ribbons edged the ends of a dangling sleeve. Someone was trying to look at the wounds on her back. The expensive gown rustled when Lusielle stirred, announcing a quick retreat.
A woman with a goddess’s face and a temptress’s body stood above her. Her elegance matched the chamber. The pristine planes of her face served as the perfect background for her exotic blue eyes. Shrewdness sparkled in her stare, but the smile blooming on her face dispelled all traces of fear or caution.
“You’re awake,” the woman said.
Lusielle cleared the cobwebs from her throat. “And you are?”
“I’m Eleanor. You might know me as the Lady of Tolone. You’re in my house.”
Dear Gods. She was in the presence of a ruling highborn. She was in Tolone, one of the Free Territories bordering King Riva’s kingdom on the east side of the river Nerpes. Lusielle had never been out of the kingdom before, but she had heard many rumors about the Free Territories, including stories about Tolone and the fair lady who had come to rule it.
Lusielle took another look at the plush chamber, making out a third person in the room. A tall, dark-haired woman stood behind the lady with a hand poised on her dagger’s hilt. She was either a nicely appointed servant, or, more likely, the lady’s bodyguard. Well, the bodyguard could be well at ease. Lusielle had a hard time pushing herself up on her elbows to sit on the bed. She wasn’t any threat to anybody at the moment.
The Lady of Tolone’s shrewd eyes settled on her face. “You’re not exactly what I was expecting. You look like you’re healing well enough, but you are… well, a little mousy. I suppose that’s to be forgiven, given your circumstances. But on the whole, you’re not bad for a baseborn wench.”
The woman’s condescension was hard to take, but Lusielle was wise enough to let it pass. She was in the lady’s house, in a precarious, maybe even dangerous situation. Better to let the lady think she was slow-witted while she found her footing and figured out her surroundings.
She focused on the facts. “You said you were ‘expecting’ me?”
The woman exchanged a guarded look with her bodyguard. “I suppose we’ve all been expecting you in one way or another—not you, not exactly, but someone like you.”
The woman wasn’t making any sense to Lusielle, but then again, highborn hardly ever did. “Where is he?” she asked.
“Who?”
“The man who brought me here.”
“Oh.” She clasped her hands together. “You mean the Lord Brennus?”
“Is he a highborn also?”
“He might not always look the part, but he certainly is.” She tilted her head to one side and smiled sweetly. “He rode out for a few days. He said something about having some business to attend to. But he’s on his way. My scouts report that he crossed the border and should be back anytime now.”
Lusielle’s impossible situation was looking stranger by the moment. The Lady of Tolone seemed beautiful and nice, and yet warnings were ringing in Lusielle’s mind like fire bells. She didn’t trust the lady. First, she was a highborn. Everyone knew about them. They were rarely truthful and always engaged in intrigue. Second, the lady’s eyes shifted like a flowing river with too many undercurrents, and her gestures were a little too precise and schooled for Lusielle’s taste. Lusielle wagered that the lady could make anybody believe anything.
But if trusting the lady was out of the question, collecting as much information from her was absolutely necessary.
“Why did Lord Brennus bring me here?” Lusielle asked.
“He told me he wanted to give you time to heal.” The lady gestured to the tray of remedies on the night stand. “Believe me, child, in the last few days, I’ve put my best healers on you. A man like the Lord Brennus is always unpredictable. He has only a few friends, but if I had to guess, I’d say he needed a safe haven when he brought you here.”
“A safe haven from what?”
“Aren’t you a curious one?” The lady clasped her hands behind her back and paced to the foot of the bed. “Well, if you must know, the Lord Brennus is a wanted man in the kingdom and has been outlawed in most of the territories.”
“Outlawed?” Lusielle’s voice quavered. “Why?”
“Because—well, you know—this.”
Lusielle looked around. “This?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” the lady said, betraying a hint of exasperation. “Aren’t you going to ask?”
“Ask w
hat?”
“Why he fetched you in the first place?”
“I’ve been wondering—”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Eleanor said. “It’s because of your birthmark.”
“My birthmark?”
“Well, you must have a mark,” the lady explained. “You see, the noblemen of Uras are trained to chase the Goddess’s mark. They hunt. Baseborn. Females. With the mark.”
How Lusielle managed to repress the sudden need to wretch was a mystery to her, but she did, because now more than ever she was going to need her wits.
“So?” The lady stared at Lusielle expectantly. “Did you understand what I just said?”
“Yes.” Lusielle stomach was heaving to and fro.
“You must be so scared.” Lady Eleanor’s eyes widened with compassion. “But now you know. That’s why the Lord of Laonia is a wanted man in the kingdom. Ask anybody. Ask the servants. Ask Tatyene here.”
The lady’s bodyguard nodded.
Lusielle felt numb all over. “But … why?”
“Who knows the minds of wicked men?” the lady said. “It doesn’t matter. A woman mustn’t allow the world of men to destroy her. We’re allies, you and us. We must mind each other.”
The lady motioned to her bodyguard, who fetched and deposited a small pile of clothing at the foot of the bed. Tatyene’s smile might have been soothing if her canines had not been so sharply filed. She spoke in a gently accented voice that managed to suggest and command at the same time.
“You’ll find a proper shift and a decent skirt with a shirt among these,” she said. “You’ll also find wool stockings and a pair of sturdy boots. A traveling wench needs reliable footwear.”
A traveling wench?
Lusielle considered the women carefully. She had just learned a terrible lesson. It was more than fresh in her mind. It was seared into her scalded flesh. These two were deep and twisted, definitively plotting something. She had to proceed with caution.
“Does the lady think I should travel?”
The Lady of Tolone smiled and stepped aside to look out of the lead and colored-glass window, where the rain tapped a torrential beat against the panes. Her bodyguard sat down on the bed and clasped Lusielle’s hands as if they had known each other for years.
“You should listen to your instincts,” Tatyene said. “Freedom is a woman’s only assurance. Should you decide to part ways with the house of Uras, you’ll find the back gate behind the kitchens. Don’t follow the main road. It’ll be an easy hunt if you do. Take the shepherds’ shortcut through the wood. You can pick it up at the road’s bend, after the fenced plots.”
The icy touch of three gold coins tripped Lusielle’s fingertips. A single finger crossed Tatyene’s ferocious smile when Lusielle started to ask. She looked to the Lady of Tolone. Her gaze was lost out the window.
Lusielle didn’t know who or what to believe, but she knew that she had to make sense of her plight in order to make good decisions for herself. Her gut also told her that she had to get away from these scheming highborn and fast.
“One last question, if you don’t mind,” Lusielle said.
“Yes?” the lady said, emerging from her contemplation by the window.
“If the Lord Brennus wanted to hunt me, why did he spare my life after he found me?”
“Oh, no, dear,” she said quickly. “He didn’t fetch you to spare your life.”
“What do you mean?”
“You poor innocent.” The compassionate stare made another appearance. “Everybody knows but you.”
“Know what?”
“That he fetched you from the fire and brought you here so that he can take pleasure in killing you himself.”
* * *
Lusielle waited until the lady and her bodyguard left the room before she stole out of the bed. She stood up slowly, testing both her feet and her balance. The soles of her feet protested slightly as she pressed them to the floor, but then went numb. She tried taking a step.
The jars and bottles crowding the nightstand wobbled when she steadied herself on the table. She spotted an open jar. A quick whiff revealed the presence of cat’s claw, mixed with high quality fats and scented with lavender’s extract and a touch of calendula to ward off the festering. Upon further inspection, she recognized several kinds of aromatic oils to promote quick healing and the laudanum tincture that was most likely responsible for her drowsiness.
The lady’s healers had used nothing but the best ingredients. No wonder her burns were almost healed.
Dragging the linen sheet around her body, she shuffled towards the ornately framed mirror leaning against the far wall. It was a shock to see her reflection in that long, gilded mirror, disheveled, gaunt and half-naked, like a frail, helpless fool.
Lusielle found the sight alarming, because with the exception of the small hand-held mirror her husband used to supervise her when she shaved him, Aponte Rummins refused to allow mirrors in his house. He thought mirrors spoiled women, aiding in the corruption of the feminine virtues he appreciated best—modesty, obedience and humility. Vanity, he’d often said, was a woman’s blight, and he intended to protect Lusielle from the sins it engendered, including pride, arrogance and wantonness.
Ten years she had lived under Aponte’s rule. Ten lost years she would never get back.
Until today, Lusielle had never had the time or the means to examine her body in front of a full-length mirror. Releasing the crumpled sheet, she found her legs too long, her frame too thin and her feet bound in clean bandages. She also spotted a dressing covering her back.
After undoing the knots, the bandages dropped to the floor. Then for the first time she looked—really looked—at her back.
A few crooked welts snaked between her shoulder blades, marking the trail of the lash. Her skin was still red, but it was healing in the spots where the braided whip had broken through. A messy bruise surrounded the mending wound midway down her back. Craning her neck, she spotted the darker pigmentation beneath the bruise, the faint but even outline of what looked like a small pair of butterfly wings imprinted at either side of her spine.
The gods protect her. Her body indeed wielded a mark, just like the lady said!
She suppressed a rush of fear and forced herself to think. Just because she bore a mark didn’t mean that everything the lady and her bodyguard had said was true. Lusielle might come from a modest family, but she was no ignorant wench. She understood that every cauldron cooked a different mix, more so if it entailed the mighty highborn. For reasons she couldn’t yet comprehend, the Lady of Tolone wanted Lusielle gone. Thus the boots and the gold coins.
On the other hand, why stay and run the risk that the lady was right on any count? The most compelling fact supporting the women’s warning was obvious. Her rescuer was a highborn lord. He had no reason to offer Lusielle his protection and no motive to save her life. She could be of no value to him, as she wasn’t highborn and she didn’t command a ransom.
Her husband had repudiated her. Her town had turned her out. Orell had tortured her. The magistrate had condemned her to death. Under the circumstances, it didn’t seem so far-fetched that when it came to her, the grim-gazed lord had no other purpose but sport.
Nothing good could come from staying with these people.
She sensed the danger all around her. Sure, she couldn’t exactly go back home, but staying put offered more risks than advantages. She didn’t understand the Lord Brennus’s actions and she couldn’t even begin to fathom the lady’s motives, but she knew one thing—she had to trust her instincts. She had to leave.
But where could she go?
Lusielle knew she had to have a sound plan if she was going to survive. The last few weeks—no, the last ten years of her life—had taught her a brutal lesson. At sixteen, she had become an orphan and a bride. At twenty-seven, she was equally helpless and sentenced to die.
Despite her best efforts and sacrifices, she was still alone—as helpless, weak and vulnerable as
she had been the day her parents died.
She wiped a stray tear from her eye. No more of that. She was done grieving, and she was tired of submitting and conforming.
She was determined to turn disaster into opportunity. To do so, she was going to have to carve out a spot in a world that had thus far refused to make space for the likes of her. She must go to the only place where she might have a chance to survive and maybe even thrive. It entailed a long and dangerous journey with no assurances, and yet it was her best—nay, her only—chance. She just had to figure out how to get there.
Her eyes fell on the money Tatyene had given her, the three gold coins glinting atop the pile of clothing on the bed. They offered a good beginning.
She donned the soft linen shift and put on the ruffled blouse and the brown skirt. She rolled the woolen hose over her bandaged feet and up her legs, then put on her boots, lacing them loosely. Because of her rescuer’s care, she’d had precious time to heal, and thanks to the healers’ efforts, her feet were mostly mended.
No excuses. This had to be done.
A quick look out the window confirmed that the rain continued to fall. She had no choice but to steal one of the oiled leather mantles she found conveniently hanging on a peg. Her eyes fell on the tray of food standing in the corner. Her stomach grumbled. After downing a bowl of broth in one long gulp, she crammed a buttered roll in her mouth and stuffed her pockets with a bunch of grapes and a few slices of ham. She would have to eat the rest on the run.
She went to the door, but hesitated at the threshold. She had a plan and she intended to follow it. But what if this Lord Brennus was simply a nice man, the last one remaining in this cruel, crazy world?
She recalled how well he had cared for her throughout their journey. Had it not been for him, she would surely be dead. Even her lips remembered his kiss’s generosity. After enduring Aponte’s harsh mouth, she fancied she could easily distinguish cruelty from kindness and voracity from honest passion. No, despite the lady’s warning, she couldn’t think of the lord who had rescued her as mean, vicious or brutal.
