FREE SPIRIT

by JennaKay Francis

  "I realize Scanlon does this much faster," Drake said, setting a small fire to the coals below the tub, "but I think for now we’re stuck with the human way. Are you feeling better?"

  She nodded. "Scanlon is very thorough. Why didn’t you tell him about the baby?"

  Drake shrugged. "I wasn’t sure if he needed to hear it from me."

  "You didn’t want Kittellan to know," she stated with understanding.

  "That too. I saw no point in bringing him any grief. He didn’t even know about the baby."

  Diesa chewed thoughtfully on her lip. Nor the fact that it was Scanlon’s, she thought. "Drake," she said quietly. "The baby wasn’t Kitt’s."

  He stopped in his work and looked over at her. "What?"

  "The baby wasn’t Kitt’s," she repeated, marveling at her own words. "It was Scanlon’s, put there the night I stabbed myself."

  Drake stared at her, stunned. "Why?" he asked softly. "Why would Scanlon do this to you?"

  "I don’t know. But one thing I do know, he truly mourned the baby’s death. That much I felt."

  "But why did he arrange that night with Kittellan then?"

  Diesa thought a moment, then sighed. "To make me think the baby was Kitt’s. If I had known then that I carried Scanlon’s child I would have killed myself and the baby, too. Scanlon knew that."

  "And now?" Drake asked softly.

  Diesa looked at him. "Now it doesn’t matter."

  "But he could try again," Drake pointed out. "What will you do then?"

  Diesa rose. "He is my master, Drake. I think I finally understand that. And my role. If I had simply given in to Marsden none of this would have happened. He is Scanlon’s friend. I am a slave. It was his right. Gods, for all I know, Scanlon may have given him the leave." She felt a sudden, sharp tug at her mind.

  ::And why not, M’lord?:: she asked in surprise.

  ::Why would I?:: he countered, his voice confused and hurt.

  ::I’m a slave, M’lord,:: Diesa returned wearily. ::Nothing more.::

  There was a pause before he answered. ::I would never suffer you to his touch, Diesa. Never.::

  ::You are kind, M’lord. But if I’d had my magic I could have fought harder.:: She could not keep the biting tone from her words.

  ::If you had used your magic, Marsden would have killed you. He is easily angered.::

  ::An elfin trait, M’lord?:: Diesa expected a reprimand for the harsh words, but got none and felt him pull away.

  "The water’s hot," Drake said. "Would you like help getting in?"

  "You’re stalling," Diesa told him. "Lord Scanlon is waiting. And I promise, Drake, he won’t be angry. You may have saved both our lives by your quick thinking. I believe Scanlon knows that. Go, love."

  She gave him a quick kiss and he left, ashen-faced and trembling.

  Chapter 12

  * * *

  Diesa was right. Scanlon had only words of praise for Drake’s actions regarding the attack. He did, however, reprimand the boy lightly for taking the wine and the items from the cottage to furnish the cave, although he did not demand that it be vacated.

  He seemed worn, distant and withdrawn. When he settled himself into his favorite chair and saw the stains left by Marsden’s slovenly behavior he sighed and covered it with his arm. Kittellan, obviously sensing the elf’s fatigue, moved around behind him to massage his shoulders. Scanlon relaxed under the boy’s hands and closed his eyes. Diesa went to the kitchen to help Drake.

  "That custard," he cried desperately. "The one Scanlon likes so much, how do you make it? I know it has eggs and milk and…"

  "Here. Let me. You tend to the meat before it burns. Did you put the potatoes on to boil?"

  "Aye. And carrots as well. Scanlon likes carrots." Drake stopped and stared at her, then grinned. "I’m actually glad to see him back. After that horror of an elf ordering me around, Scanlon’s like a god. I actually want to serve him."

  "I know," Diesa said absently. "I know what you mean." She looked up as Kittellan entered the kitchen. "Welcome, sweet angel. We’ve yet to hear of your trip."

  "It’ll have to wait," Kittellan said softly. "But this much I will say. We went to the palace, Diesa. You should have seen it! It was magnificent." He grabbed up a glass, chose a bottle of wine, then looked to Drake and the meal. "You may as well stop. Scanlon doesn’t wish dinner," he said. "And, Diesa, he wants you to go back to bed." He gave a wan smile and left.

  Drake frowned. "I don’t like the thought of him drinking without food to soak it up," he murmured, then looked to Diesa. "You’d best do as he says. Drink and grief do not make good company."

  Diesa nodded, wondering what had prompted Scanlon’s trip to his palace. She left the kitchen, daring only a glance toward the living room. Scanlon hunched in his chair, his gaze fixed on the fire before him. He neither looked her way nor touched her mind and she went back toward her room. On sudden impulse, she turned to the guest room. She pushed the door open and stepped just inside. She stared at the bed for a long time. A small patch of dried blood showed on the sheets. Her blood. More blood stained the carpet. She shuddered and returned to her room. It was still in disarray but she was so tired she simply collapsed on her bed, giving in to her fatigue and heartache, and slept.

  A loud oath of rage awakened her hours later, and a second later Scanlon threw open the door of her room, his gut full of drink, his eyes full of fury.

  "Where are they?" he raged, then turned as Kittellan and Drake stumbled from their room, blurry-eyed and confused. "Go back to your room! This does not concern you!" They hurriedly obeyed and Scanlon stormed into Diesa’s room. "Where are they?" he asked again, his voice threatening and cold.

  Diesa stared at him blankly, her mind whirling, her heart near to bursting. "M’lord?"

  He whirled and began searching through the clothing strewn about the floor. He threw open her wardrobe and tore out what remained. "So help me, Diesa, if I find that you took them, I’ll—" He spun to look at her. "I know you found them!" he cried, his words slurred with drink. "Would you take them out of hate?"

  The rings! It suddenly dawned on her. Scanlon spoke of the rings!

  "Of course, the rings," he snapped. "My rings. Where are they?"

  "I…I don’t have them," she stammered, stung by his accusations. "I wouldn’t."

  His gaze settled on her pack in the corner and he reached it in two strides. He snatched it up and shook out the contents on her bed. There was a blanket, a change of clothes, her dagger, the container of loose gems and a little tin box—the one containing the silver rings. Diesa stared at it all in bewilderment.

  "Planning to leave?" Scanlon’s voice was wickedly cold.

  "I…It’s…" Diesa could not get her thoughts together.

  "Damn you, Diesa!" Scanlon fumed and snatched up the box. "Have I treated you so badly? Has your life with me been so horribly wretched? Would you sell these, Diesa? Sell something that is a piece of my heart?" He closed his fist around the box. "Yes! I planted my seed in you without your consent, without your love! Yes, I know you hate me for it! You’re repulsed, disgusted and vengeful! But this!" He slammed the pack with his hand. "How far did you think you’d get? You asked me once if I would come after you. I would, though not for the reason you think! You believe me incapable of love? I loved Amarra! I was to marry her! When she died I told myself I would never love again. Never suffer the pain. But, dammit, I did! I loved you! And I loved our child! Damn you! I should have sold you in Estower! You wish so desperately to be free of me? Gather up your things. I’ll see to it that you are!" He stormed from the room, slamming the door.

  Diesa stared at the door, Scanlon’s words burning into her heart. She reached out to him with her mind, found him blocked. This made no sense! Why didn’t he just read her thoughts? He would see the truth there! He hadn’t even tried!

  ::M’lord?:: she tried again. ::M’lord, please answer.:: She was met with stony silence. And the truth hit her hard. He didn’t want to
try! He didn’t want to know the truth. He would rather rage at her, accuse her and convict her, for justification to be rid of her. Rage stilled her tears. Fine, she seethed. Fine! If he wished to push her away now, after all that had happened, then so be it! She snatched up her pack and began to shove things inside as fast as she could pick them up.

  "Diesa?" Kittellan’s soft voice interrupted her and he slipped into the room.

  "Go away!" she snapped.

  He took her by the arm and turned her to face him. "I believe you, Diesa. I know you didn’t do the things Scanlon accused you of. He knows, too. Deep inside, he knows. He’s just so full of rage and grief right now he’s not thinking straight." He stroked her cheek and kissed her forehead. "You’ll see. He’ll find a way to deal with Marsden and the loss of his child. Yes, I know. I could hear him."

  Diesa shuddered and reached up to smooth Kittellan’s hair. "Sweet angel," she whispered. "You just don’t understand. I was merely a vessel for him. Now I am nothing. He wishes to be rid of me but I won’t be sold again. I need to go home, Kitt. I need to see Omerron again. Now go to bed. I’ll be fine. Really." She paused. "I’ll not leave tonight. I’ll give it some thought. Don’t worry."

  Kittellan eyed her suspiciously, then held her tightly for a few moments.

  "Kittellan!" Scanlon’s slurred bellow startled them both.

  "Go!" Diesa cried, pushing him toward the door. "Don’t bring his wrath down on you."

  "Diesa, you—"

  "Kittellan!" Scanlon roared again.

  Kittellan gave her another kiss, then whirled and rushed out. Diesa drew a deep breath and finished packing. She had lied. She would leave tonight. There really was no choice. If Scanlon had blocked her he would not know. If she waited until tomorrow it would be too late. She picked up the box of gems, then sat down on the bed holding it on her lap. She opened the lid and stared at the colorful display. One handful. One handful was all she would need. All the wealth to take her to a life of freedom. But to be a thief? She shook her head, sighed and drew forth a single pearl. She laid the box aside, found a thin strip of leather, strung the pearl on it, tied the ends securely and slipped it over her head, hiding it under her tunic. It would remind her of Scanlon and the love they might have shared.

  She shouldered her pack, then crept across the hall to the guest room. The room was in shambles, no doubt from Scanlon’s search. Quietly she smoothed a corner of the bedclothes, then laid the box of gems at its center. Without a backward glance she opened the window, climbed through, and dropped into the bushes. It was easy to gain the cover of the dark forests to the north, and she melted into the darkness silently. She wished she had been able to say good-bye to Drake. She owed him much. And she hated lying to Kittellan. But her leaving was as much payment as she could give. Without her around, perhaps things would settle down. Kittellan and Drake could be happy. She hoped.

  She made her way to the stables where Pearl and Jet, Scanlon’s stallion, waited. Pearl nuzzled her affectionately as she entered the stall.

  "Just for a while, Pearl," Diesa whispered. "I know of your love for Jet and I’ll not pull you from that love for long. But you must help me now." She quickly bridled the mare and led her into the night, then swung up and started away from the cottage, praying that Scanlon had dropped the wards upon his return.

  She was in luck. Pearl entered the black forest to the north easily without hesitation. Diesa spurred her into a gentle gallop and left Scanlon’s property without looking back. She rode the entire night trying to put as much distance between herself and Scanlon as possible. She had no idea how far his mind probe could reach—he had so far only used it in close proximity—but she suspected he was capable of much more.

  Toward morning she slowed her pace and finally stopped to rest both Pearl and herself.

  She made a light meal of bread and cheese and was about to reclaim the trail when the sound of breaking branches caught her attention. Heart pounding, she quickly grabbed Pearl’s halter and pulled her behind a thicket. A flash of yellow in the green showed and a young boy not more than ten years of age appeared, his clothing torn, his sandy blonde hair disheveled. His lean face was dirty and ashen, his light blue eyes wild with terror. Diesa’s heart leapt to her throat. A runaway! He had to be. She jerked her head up as more sounds came from the forest. He was being pursued.

  Her thoughts came quickly. She darted from the thicket, seized his small hand, and dragged him with her. He was so startled, he followed, not even fighting against her hold. She ran with him to the nearest tree and pointed upward. His eyes registered understanding and he scampered upward with the grace and talent of a squirrel. Diesa grabbed her pack, slapped Pearl’s rump to send her home, and followed him.

  They climbed as high as the branches would allow, then settled back into the dark green foliage to wait. It wasn’t long before three riders came into view. They were big men carrying both dagger and whip and the boy wrapped his arms about the tree, closing his eyes. Diesa placed one hand on his shoulder in reassurance.

  The men milled about underneath for a few seconds then, hearing Pearl’s movement through the brush, rode away with a shout. Diesa waited for several long moments, then looked to the boy. He was trembling and crying and trying hard not to let her see the tears. She smiled softly and patted his back. He cried out and arched away from her. Diesa’s breath caught in her throat and her stomach knotted. Beaten! The little boy had been beaten! Rage swept through her and she calmed it by speaking quietly.

  "My name is Diesa. What’s yours?"

  "Magus," he whispered, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  "Well, Magus, it looks like we’ll be traveling together," Diesa said with a small smile. "Are you hungry?"

  He nodded, eyeing her suspiciously. She pulled some bread and cheese from her pack and handed it to him. He grabbed it and stuffed it into his mouth as if he were starved. And to look at his frail frame, she supposed he was. It made her sick, the thought that people could be so cruel to another human being. She offered Magus her waterskin and he drank long and noisily, gulping the cold water. He looked exhausted and she hesitated. He probably wouldn’t last long walking. She glanced back toward the ground, then gasped as a spark of brown moved below. Pearl! She had come back! Diesa grinned and touched Magus lightly on the arm.

  "Come on, let’s put some distance between us and those men." She started down the tree, then glanced back to make sure he was following.

  They gained the ground in moments and Diesa helped Magus onto Pearl’s back, then climbed up behind him.

  "This is a beautiful horse," Magus murmured, stroking Pearl’s neck. "Where did you get her? Did you steal her?"

  "No," Diesa answered at once. "No, she was a gift." She urged Pearl into action, turning her north and east, away from the men and Scanlon.

  "But aren’t you a runaway?" he asked.

  She hesitated. "No. No, not really," she lied. "Those men, they were your masters?"

  He grimaced. "Just the one. The others are his brothers. But they all order me around. And they all"—he paused, shuddering, then glanced at her before continuing—"beat me."

  She frowned, reading more into his words than what was there, but did not question it further. "Where were you heading?"

  He shrugged. "No where. Just away. Thank you for helping me."

  Diesa smiled. "You would do no less," she said. "Why don’t you sleep a little? I’ll wake you for lunch."

  Magus shook his head, though his eyes were already half closed. "That’s all right. I can stay awake."

  "Can you? All right." She smiled again and fell into silence. Within moments, Magus was asleep, slumped forward onto Pearl’s neck.

  As they rode, Diesa studied him. He was small, thin, undernourished. Large bruises showed on his exposed skin and she thought she could see whip marks beneath his collar. The very thought sent shudders of revulsion through her. He wouldn’t be able to take much more. She vowed to protect him however she could. Sh
e wouldn’t let him fall prey to those men again.

  But how? She was nothing more than a runaway herself. She had no money, no home, no one to turn to. Her thoughts went to Scanlon and she looked at Magus again. He needed more help than she could give him. Scanlon would take him in, she knew he would. After all, he had helped Drake, hadn’t he? Surely he wouldn’t turn away a small boy. She fought with herself for a long time as Pearl picked her way through the dense forest and finally, with a heavy sigh, she turned the mare toward home. Funny, she thought, when did I start thinking of Scanlon’s cottage as home?

  She brushed the thought aside and let Pearl have her head. The mare seemed more than willing to return, as if she viewed this whole episode as a simple excursion into the woods. And perhaps it had been at that. Diesa shook her head. It had been pure folly to think that she could simply ride away from Scanlon. And what would the consequences of her actions be this time? What would Scanlon do? Sell her as he threatened? She shook her head. No. No, he would be sober, he would read the truth in her mind. Everything would be fine. She had to believe that. She stiffened her resolve and concentrated on her surroundings, ever on the alert for Magus’ pursuers. She decided to take another route home, one that would put her at a safer distance from the men.

  The little boy woke late that afternoon, momentarily confused to find himself on horseback and seated before Diesa. She grinned.

  "Hello. Did you have a nice rest?"

  He nodded and yawned. "But I’m hungry again. And I need to relieve myself."

  Diesa laughed and pulled Pearl to a stop. She slid from the mare’s back and helped Magus down, handling him gently against his injuries. She pointed to a clump of brush. "Why don’t you go over there? I’ll get some things ready for lunch." He nodded and hurried away while she dug into her pack.

  It didn’t take him long and he rejoined her, his hand already out for his food. She grimaced and handed him the waterskin instead. "Wash. You’re filthy."