“Who?” Clara asked as a command.
“Prince Frederic....” Joseph said.
Evelyn came to Clara and looked at her. “And their leader, Clara.”
Tucker.
Clara backed away shaking her head, hysteria beginning to hem her in. “No! I saw him die! I wore the Prince's blood on my face!” she yelled. “He cannot live.”
Matthew grabbed Clara and held her against him, putting her face against his chest, her hitching sobs muffled by his body.
“You killed him,” she whispered and his arms tightened about her.
Bracus stroked her back, his hand winding around the back of her neck. “He suffered a most grievous injury. Most could not survive it. Surely he has slunk off somewhere to die.”
Clara wanted to believe the Prince was bleeding out as she stood there in Matthew's arms, but he had escaped as an eel in butter before.
“What of the other...?” she pulled back, searching their faces.
Joseph shook his head and pulled Anna to him. “We have not found them.”
“The remaining fragment has fled. We are free to leave this place. With their diminished numbers, they dare not attack,” Philip said as Sarah gave him a look from beneath her eyelashes. He saw it, boldly staring at her until her gaze fell and heat rose on her cheeks, noticeable even in the gloom.
“We ride now. There is nothing good with lingering here. What if they gather their wits about them? I, for one, need food and water,” Bracus commanded then looked at Clara, his eyes softening.“We must press forward, Clara. I cannot let another round of fighting with the remaining fragment ensue. Your protection and that of the other females is paramount.”
Clara took in the group, the women with wide shocky eyes, the Band bloodied and filthy. They stood with the skin shredded off their knuckles. They had hit human flesh with enough force to slough the skin of their enemy off their bones. Finally her eyes rested on Charles.
She nodded at Bracus, longing for another embrace.
Aching for one.
Instead, she turned to find some clothes that she and the women could change into for the long travel that lay ahead. It was critical that they put distance between themselves and the fragment.
Distance from the Prince and Tucker.
Her hand floated to her neck, smooth and free of gills. The Band watched her gesture. She was different in their eyes now. She was more than a select.
She was a female of the Band. She was not Band, but the organic matter that made them ran through her veins, her body.
The mystery of her gills reappearing and disappearing would need to be solved in the future.
Very soon.
CHAPTER 12
Clara was decidedly tired of the quest. The horses had moved endlessly northeast. The Band had assured her that it would be no more than a week hence. That the sea would be within their sight.
Clara ruminated on the glass piece that marked the stairwell turn in the Royal Manse. Were the waters of the glass as blue as the sea?
Was her natural mother the woman in the glass? Immortalized with the sea a riot of flaming waves around her? Did her gills disappear?
Bracus halted the procession. Clara tugged the white gloves, now layered gray by travel dust, off her hands and flexed her fingers. She shielded her eyes with her hands, hitting the wide brim of her hat as she did.
Clara tired of all the accessories that she must wear Outside or her skin would blister. Evelyn wore no hat, but used a foul-smelling, grease-like substance on her nose and cheekbones that kept the sun's damage to a minimum. Consequently, Clara enjoyed teasing her. She looked as the skunk, a creature which lifted its tail when threatened and sprayed a fetid smell such that ones eyes watered with it. Stripes lay under her eyes and her nose had a stripe of fair skin that ran its length.
Bracus dismounted and jogged back to the middle, grabbing her mount's reins. “This is a place we shall remain for two fore-nights. There is a glade, which lays very close to the river.”
She stared down at Bracus, the sun beating upon shoulders connected to arms that were the size of her thighs. A blush struggled to assert itself on her already flushed face at the sight of his physique and what it made her think.
A small smile graced his lips and was gone. He knew what effect he and Matthew had on Clara and he would not press his advantage. It was a dangerous thing, Matthew and he toe to toe on more than one occasion.
“Does it have salt?” Clara asked as a distraction.
“You know that it does,” he looked at her levelly. Bracus had broached the subject of the appearance of her gills. How had they manifested, under what conditions?
Clara could still not bear to think of the near drowning, her hands shaking whenever she thought of it, her chest tightening, her hands dampening.
She could not speak of it.
Matthew and Bracus had argued. He felt Clara should not be forced to confess things that gave her such obvious, physical distress. Bracus disagreed, saying that the knowledge of their appearance was more important.
Charles had ended the disagreement by insisting Clara choose a date that she would speak of it.
That date was today.
It had been one week past that the fragment had been subdued in battle. Even now, the twenty or more that had fled may be reassembling for another attack. Prince Frederic and Tucker were possibly amongst them. When she closed her eyes she could still feel the blood splatter on her face and neck, see him slump to the ground, remember the meaty sounds of Matthew's fist pummeling Tucker.
She glared at Bracus and he laughed. “Dear Clara, do not attempt to intimidate me. We must know what happened at the river. It is not curiosity that motivates me.”
Clara crossed her arms, she did not believe him.
“Not entirely,” he amended.
“Humph!” she exclaimed, expertly dismounting into Bracus' arms.
“What!” she spluttered and he laughed, swinging her around in a circle. The heat that climbed her body from their contact was a fire licking between them. The easy smile slipped from his face to be replaced by a burning intensity, need.
Clara's arms wound around his neck and he stared into her eyes, his grip tightening about her waist.
“I believe you forget yourself, Captain Goodman,” she said in a droll way.
He sighed, allowing her body to slide down the front of his.
Very unseemly.
Matthew rode up upon his mount, casting a dark look between the two of them so close together.
“What say you, Captain?”
“I say that we must set up camp,” Bracus said to him, his eyes all for Clara.
“Mayhap our Queen does not need such thorough assistance in her dismount,” he said in a level tone.
Bracus looked at him, saying nothing. Their gazes locked and tension began to build as static upon the air.
Clara stepped in front of Bracus, pressing her back against his chest and gazed up at Matthew upon his mount. She took off her hat and twisted it in her hands. Matthew's eyes fixed upon the loosened hair that hung about her like spun copper in the sun. “You are too right. I tire but not enough for more than a hand to but guide me.”
Clara looked at him and as he gazed at her she let all the feelings she had for him fill her eyes, her intent and emotions naked to him.
He let out a mighty exhale and his eyes shifted to Bracus. “We break for camp then,” he said as a statement.
Bracus nodded and Clara allowed him to take her horse as he and Matthew followed her into the forest, the cool depths a salve to the heat of the day and their tempers.
*
The faces glowed around her, the firelight dancing with moving shapes on the group. She searched each one, finding only acceptance. Clara took a deep breath, Charles at her right hand, Sarah her left.
She began, recounting the whole of it. The game of hide and seek going too long, Thomas calling them out. Finally needing to leave their hiding place.
>
“When did you realize you were alone?” Clarence asked.
“When my guard lay about, gutted like swine,” she replied without emotion.
Matthew and Bracus looked at her. “You understand that we could not find you. That you were hidden and our number was not great enough. Without the element of surprise, we dared not take on the whole of the fragment?” he asked, the standing question in his eyes.
Clara's eyes remained steadily on Bracus. “I have never had protection until now. I am not accustomed to relying on it. The only thought in my head was of Evelyn.” She glanced at the girl, cuddled up against Bracus' side.
Matthew's hands clenched and Clara stilled his response with a palm. “It is not that I believed you would not come for us. I was certain you would.”
Sarah interjected, “She said if there was 'breath left in your bodies, you would come'.”
Philip looked at her for a long moment and she swallowed. His look spoke for the Band.
“In any event, I had not but a moment's contemplation. Tucker...”
“Who is that?” Clarence asked.
“The one that I may have not killed,” Matthew said in way of explanation.
Bracus clapped the back of his shoulder. “He had our Clara, mayhap you were too much in your head.”
“I was,” Matthew glowered, a tic in his jaw pulsating in the light of the fire.
Clara continued, disallowing questions until she was through with the part where Tucker determined drowning her the best course of action.
When she finished there was a protracted silence that was broken when Joseph said, “Matthew, are these the same fragment we fought from the battle one year past?” palming his chin thoughtfully.
“Nay, they are different,” he said as he cocked an eyebrow.
“Their leader...?”
“Tucker,” Bracus supplied and Joseph nodded.
“He seemed to understand a great deal about our physiological design. How would he, one of the fragment, be aware Clara was Band?”
“No. He did not recognize me as Band. He said...” Clara began.
Charles interrupted, “What Clara? He said what?”
“He said that I was of savage blood.”
“He was obviously demented and delusional in his thought processes. Our Queen is not a savage,” Clarence said in indignation.
The Band turned as one and looked at Clarence. “What?” he asked.
Philip said, “That is a most stupid supposition, dolt. Obviously she is something. Our entire clan witnessed the Rite of the Select. In which there was a physical reaction to certain members of the Band? You were there, you know what it was. Why is it so far from the realm of reason she is not in some way of like kind?”
“She is royal, fool. It is but an anomaly that she is a select...” he sputtered.
Philip stood, taking a menacing step toward Clarence.
Good Guardian, Clara thought.
Males.
Clara stood as well and added, “Gentlemen,” all eyes turned to her again, “I do not think this Tucker was inaccurate. I am not at all certain as to why he recognized me as thus. But, I will say that he is correct.” Clara glanced at Anna. “Anna made it clear that my people are sea-clan. I am more than just clan. The same heart that beats within the Band, beats within me. This is the basis of why we endeavored to travel on this quest. There are questions which need answers.” Clara looked at the faces, making sure she had their attention. “We know not what we may encounter. The Band that Anna hails from is not the one that I know,” she looked at Anna and she shuddered, Joseph pressing her against his torso. “I hypothesize that all select are related to the Band,” she said and watched Matthew nod.
“It is true when I was held by the fragment I was but a wee lad, as Evelyn,” he nodded to her.
She said, “I am a girl, not a boy! As you very well know,” she crossed her arms huffing at him and the adults laughed. Her youthful manner neutralized to the somber tone of the conversation.
When the laughter had quieted Clara continued, “The question that is foremost in my mind is how Tucker knew what I was before I did. He looked at me and told Prince Frederic that I was of the blood of the Band.”
“We have rarely to encounter females of the Band,” Bracus shrugged.
“I have seen a female of the Band but one time,” Anna recounted and everyone looked at her as her voice lowered, her memories flowing from her lips...
*
Anna moved awkwardly with the saddle basket strapped to her hip, struggling to keep up with Stella, who having much broader hips than she, had one on either side. How she wished to be roomy of hip as Stella was, attractive to the males and a good child bearer. Anna pursed her lips as they made their way to the marsh to collect the grasses that were edible for the salad that night.
The ground became soft beneath Anna's feet and she hiked her skirt, longing to have worn breeches but they were hot and uncomfortable, especially beside the humid marsh.
“Keep up, girl!” Stella shouted.
Anna looked about, hoping one of the Band kept pace. She was relieved to see that it was not He. The one that followed her with eyes that were hungry. He scared Anna.
Finally at the marsh, she scooped and picked, placing the tender bulbs in the depth of the basket and sliding the grasses against one woven side.
They worked diligently, their brows glistening with the activity.
Anna thought she heard the approach of horses but did not break from her work as the Band used horses. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and stretched, little popping sounds resounding with the movement. She glanced briefly to where the sentry of the Band should have been and saw his arrow knocked and her heart stilled.
It was trained on a rider coming at a gallop.
Her fair hair streamed behind her and a tunic hugged her body, laced tightly at the sides. A spear-type weapon in one hand and reins in the other, the pure white horse that she rode upon glowing in the sunlight.
A triangle formation of huge men flanked her and flared at her back, their horses riding hard to the marsh.
Stella stopped her gathering and came to stand beside Anna.
Their lone guard of the Band racing to the women even as the horses rode to the spot where he had stood. He turned quickly his arrow re-sprung in its knocking.
The woman slowed to a walk, her body dancing rhythmically atop the horse.
Samuel of the Band did not waver, nor did he look intimidated by the number that faced them.
A Band that included a female as its leader. Anna's attention was riveted on her; she curled her lips into a smile as Samuel laid his arrow in line with her heart.
Anna could not see the humor in the situation.
“Greetings, Brother,” she said in a voice that was equal parts sultry purr and feminine command.
“What say you, Sister?” Samuel asked, his arrow tip never wavering.
“We come peaceably, you do not need to train your weapon. Or is this how you regard females?” she asked, her expression darkening.
Anna slid closer to Stella and they gave Samuel the room he would need should defense become an imperative.
“You are not a female of the clan to be safeguarded, but Band. That is a different female entirely. A warrior who looks soft but fights true.”
“You are so right, warrior. It is good that you know this,” and with that she leapt off the horse and stalked to him, pressing her chest against the arrow tip, drawing a drop of blood.
“Slay me now or replace your arrow to its quiver,” she smiled up at him. Anna was struck by her beauty all wrapped around an attitude of confidence and strength. She was unlike any female that Anna had ever laid eyes on.
Samuel knew that she was Band and mayhap he would have sprung the arrow at a male but she was absurdly female, throat slits or no. He could not hurt her. She had bloodied herself and that was a blight on his maleness. He let the arrow drop between them, slotting it
within the quiver with a practiced arm.
“You play a dangerous game...?”
“Rowenna,” she said, cocking a pale eyebrow.
“Samuel,” he responded, laying his fist above his heart.
She responded with her fist, mirroring him.
“It is not often that I encounter Band other than our own, Samuel.”
“What Clan do you hail from?”
“The Greater Clan of Massachusetts,” she responded.
Samuel's eyebrows shot up. “You are far and away... what region?”
“The clan by the sea, Cape Cod,” she murmured, her lavender-colored eyes studying him intently. It was only then that Samuel noted the difference from their Band. Many were of stout constitution and a few had hair of bronze.
She looked at her Band and they stared back at her. “We depart forthwith.”
Rowenna returned her gaze to Samuel. “We often journey to Pennsylvania to trade with the Red Men.”
“What say you? The heathen?” Samuel asked in disdain.
Rowenna's brows shot down over her lovely eyes, her spine straightening to a height just a few inches shy of Samuel's. She was very tall for a female. “Mayhap you confuse them with the other...?”
“There is only one heathen, who take our women and steal all that we do not lay down in chains.”
She shook her head, flaxen hair shimmering to her waist in the sun. “No, do not confuse the fragment with the Shawnee. One is not the other.”
“Do you speak of the painted face or the other.”
She shrugged her nearly bare shoulder and replied, “The Red Men call themselves Shawnee. They are warriors as well but different from us,” she gestured to her gills that lay slightly open and pink at her throat. “They war with the fragment as we do, their enemy is our enemy. They have aligned themselves with us.”
“That is good information, Rowenna, I thank you,” Samuel said cautiously.
“I must go.” Her eyes lit on the women behind Samuel and he moved infinitesimally to block her view and she smiled, her eyes softening. “You are a true warrior. We will meet again. However, now we must go and trade with the Red Men, as our time away from the sea must be brief.”
The SAVAGE Series, Books 1-3: The Pearl Savage, The Savage Blood and The Savage Principle Page 37
