Outcast

by Angie Arms

  “Evander!” the pain filled call of Caius was close. He remembered. The battle had ended more than a year ago. He had found Caius, his life blood flowing from him. Two days it had taken for the young man to die. Two days he had called out to Evander, begged Evander to heal him, and begged him to kill him. After all the blood that was on Evander’s hands he could not bring death upon his friend when he needed it. For more than a year he had carried with him the guilt that he was not strong enough to bring his friend relief. When he needed to the most he was a coward and Caius had suffered immensely before death took him.

  He wasn’t alone. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck raise that told him he was not. The fog was too thick to see anything, he didn’t even know if it was night or day. Was this death coming for him? Was it finally his turn?

  He felt the brush of fingers against his shoulder. The lightest of touches but fear consumed him. Wasn’t this what he had been searching for the last year? Death for himself? Angry at his own cowardice he tried to jerk free.

  With a gasp he sat up, the fog was gone. Pain so intense he felt the world turning to black around him but he fought against it, willing it to go away. He was able to push away the fringes of blackness but the pain remained. He was glad for that. He deserved pain. More than any other person alive, he deserved the torture that only his own body could bring him.

  “Lie down,” the soft voice urged. He willed his eyes to bring his surroundings into focus. The effort seemed to take all his strength. He felt himself swaying and gentle hands were placed on his shoulders and eased him back down onto the comfort of the bed he lay on. Finally Evander focused on the dark eyes leaning over him and after a moment was able to take in more of his surroundings. Hair as black as her eyes framed a tanned, femininely formed face of perfection from high cheekbones to a pert nose and it left him feeling as if he could stare into it all day.

  “Who are you?” he managed after struggling to get his dry mouth to form the words.

  “Jillian,” she said as she pulled a blanket up to his shoulders.

  Didn’t the woman know it was burning up? With a grunt he grabbed the blanket and slung it off him as best he could.

  “Are you hot?” she asked and a soft delicate hand was laid against his brow.

  He wanted to grab her hand and make her stop touching him. More than that he wanted to grab that hand and pull her down against him and feel her willowy body fit snugly against his. He had the strength to do neither. “Yes,” he managed to croak out instead. A satisfied look crossed her face and she smiled.

  “You will get well now,” she said.

  When was the last time anyone had cared that he lived? When she moved her hand and straightened away from him he felt the loss and wanted her to return to his side. She moved to the hearth and ladling out what appeared to be soup into a bowl she returned.

  Jillian propped her knee on the side of the bed and bending over him she began to raise him slightly by shifting the pillows behind him. Pain shot through him, he didn’t know if his head or his chest hurt the worst, or if it was the deep, penetrating pain in his abdomen. He tried not to let out a groan, for she would see he was at her mercy but the pain was too intense and it escaped as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

  Her hands stilled and she slowly released him moving back to stare down at him. All his previous thoughts of wanting her close fled and all he had room for was the pain as it washed over him. He was in Hades paying for all he had done and it would make sense that Jillian was here, beauty bringing such ugliness upon him. He was able to gather enough strength that he grabbed her by the shoulders and was beginning to thrust her away when more pain surged through him. His hands tightened on her shoulders and the bile rose in his throat. He leaned to the side, the only thing that kept him from passing out was the extraordinary pain and it increased as he heaved and in the far reaches of his mind he knew he hurt Jillian with his grip but that grip seemed to be the only thing that was holding himself together.

  He became aware that she was prying his hands off her but despite his grip she did so gently. One hand free she allowed his tight grip to remain on her other as she tried to ease him back down. He wanted the blackness to take him, let the earth open up and swallow the cottage, fire sweep across the island and consume them. Whatever it would take to make the pain end. A spasm raced up his back, making him arch upward a muffled scream escaped from between his clinched teeth. Each movement created more pain but between the dry heaves and the spasms racing back and forth in his muscles he couldn’t stop. Just when he thought he could bear no more pain it intensified.

  She placed something between his lips, a liquid that numbed them before passing on down his throat. The quantity had to be a great deal as the majority escaped from the sides of his mouth. He could feel it running down his jaw, under his ears and wetting his hair. He heard Jillian’s soothing voice as she crooned to him as if he were a small child. Did Jillian have any children? He didn’t recall any appearance of children since he recalled being there. He did recall her on the floor. First it was the image of her lithe body, the black hair even blacker if that were possible clinging to her. The length of her legs, the generous mound of breasts that was a bit larger than one would expect on a woman of her size. The image of her in her own throws of agony came back to him.

  His eyes focused on her, leaning over him. A look of pure relief washed over her face as he met their blackness. He stared at her for a moment thinking her eyes could indeed be blue before he remembered what he wanted to ask. He tried to speak but only slurred sounds escaped his throat. He struggled upward but his body would not rise. Jillian shook her head as she made shushing noises to calm him. Before his eyes grew heavy he had the vague knowledge his thrashing had ended and the pain had subsided.

  Chapter 8

  Jillian’s body shook as the herbs began to take hold and pull the stranger down into sleep. She had watched his pain subside, she would have to thank Mirna the next time she saw her. The thought of the woman brought her back to the comment about the man’s body. Why hadn’t she asked him his name? She wished she had so she would know the name for such a superb specimen of man. She had never come this close to a warrior before. Her family had had guards which were little better than slaves. This man was a warrior through and through. His body attested to this, his iron grip told her he could kill with his hands. So why then did she desire to touch him each time he opened his eyes. Why did his touch send heat shooting to her fingers, toes and to her very core?

  His fever had broken, for that she was grateful. If she could keep him still he would probably recover well. If he continued to thrash about each time he awakened he may not be so lucky. She moved to the pile of clothes she had removed from him. Ripped and torn, first she would have to wash them then sew them back together. Not much a seamstress, for whom besides herself would she ever sew, it was a task she never bothered to learn. She would have to do the chore now for the man would have nothing to wear if she did not. Gathering up the small bundle she added two of her own garments and left the cottage, picking her way along the river until she came to the area she liked to wash the clothes. Here the bottom was more rocky and thrashing about as the clothing was being washed she didn’t muddy it up and therefore she didn’t have to lug the water all the way from the river, at least when the weather was fair.

  Jillian had many spots for various activities. When she did not have the care of a strange man she went further down the river to bath at the deep water hole with a small water fall filling it. Here too the bottom was pebbled and rarely did it become murky. Further on still was a deeper, darker hole she could pull fish from, about the only kind of meat she ever ate considering the other animals she did not like to kill and worse skin and gut. A little closer to her cottage the river, which was really more a brook, was surrounded by pines and the soft needles close to the water’s edge provided the perfect place for a nap, for what else did she have to do to fill her days after al
l.

  It took her a lot of scrubbing to get most of the blood and dirt from the man’s garments. Hefting the basket of wet garments she trudged back to her home, her thoughts filled with the man who shared it with her for the moment.

  Chapter 9

  It was an ambush. The forest had been eerily quiet. Why hadn’t he noticed that? He was a better soldier than that.

  Amicus tossed his head as Evander tightened his grip on the reins bringing him to silent stop. Evander’s men behind him did the same and the only sound came from the horses as they shifted or chomped at their bits. Evander pulled his sword and he heard the men behind him do the same. Slowly he began backing the big horse, one step then two, the men behind him did the same. Suddenly the forest around them opened up, steel met steel and shouts turned into screams as he and his men were overrun then cut down. He was pulled from Amicus a blade slicing into his side before he hit the ground. He came up fighting but there were too many, too close. He felt the wetness of his own blood flowing over his hip, down his leg. He staggered as another blade sliced into him. Fog rushed in clouding his vision, he could no longer feel his arms as they lifted the sword to defend himself.

  Evander watched his hands plunge the blade deep and his enemy fell leaving a path wide open to Amicus. He dragged himself to the horse and with limbs that were numb he pulled himself onto his back. The animal trembled underneath him. Amicus could hear the screams of their men and horses dying as well as his master could. Not one of the men he had led into battle and fought alongside still stood. His enemy closed in on him and the horse fled, all Evander could do was cling to his mane as the world tilted crazily in and out of his vision.

  Apples, why did he smell apples? Not fresh apples but apples cooking. Was that humming? Fear like he had never felt throughout his battles in life took him over. He felt warmth and he felt at peace. He was dead, he had to be for never had he felt peace such as what was settling over him now. It would only last a short amount of time before he was plunged into the burning fires of Hades. He realized his eyes were squeezed tightly closed and felt like a coward. Never had he faced death any other way than as a fighter and now was no exception. He opened his eyes and saw the beamed roof over his head. It was not high enough to be in a palace and it was not the thatched roof of a hut.

  Turning his head he ignored the throbbing and saw the raven haired woman sitting in a small chair by the hearth, needle and what appeared to be one of his garments in her hand. It began to come back, the black eyes hovering over him, the gentleness of her hands, and the pain of his wounds.

  Evander did not know if he made a sound but her black eyes darted to him and a slow smile spread itself across her face. “I see you have joined us once again,” she said from her seat. “Are you hungry?”

  Evander swallowed and found that difficult, his throat felt parched, and worse his stomach felt as if nothing had been placed in it for weeks. He tried to push himself on his elbows as he tried to speak but he had no strength. The woman, Jillian, he suddenly recalled, flung the garment she was mending as she hurried from her seat and moved toward him.

  “You must not move,” she insisted her steps bringing her to the bedside her hand touched his shoulder gently and he felt his body relax.

  Had she placed him under some kind of spell? He wanted to get up, and get out of here and find out the person responsible for the death of his men, he knew it had been the work of someone under the emperor’s power. The smell of smoke tingled his nostrils and suddenly he was afraid this too was an image that was not real, that he lay upon a battleground somewhere, for the smell did not match the smells he had awoken to. He glanced behind Jillian, toward the hearth where she had been sitting and saw she had flung his clothes too close to the fire and they were now in flames.

  “Fire,” he finally managed to croak out.

  His voice was low and raspy from no use and she bent over him with a questioning rising of her brows.

  “Fire, behind you.”

  If he did not fear the fire running out of control and claiming the whole cottage her reaction would be humorous as the puzzled look crossed her strong features and her dark brows knit together. Finally, she turned and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Oh Dear,” she exclaimed as she raced back to the hearth and in a flurry of stamping she managed to put the flames out. Bending she picked the cloth up between index finger and thumb and peered at it, giving him a chance to see the damage as well. A giant hole had been burned into the center and the flames had charred most of the garment to the point nothing could be salvaged of the cloth. She dropped her head and shook it in a gesture of defeat then raising it again in an angry gesture she flung it into the flames. She stared for a moment as the fire reclaimed it before she seemed to remember she was not alone.

  He watched her hurry to a bucket sitting on the little table in the corner and bumping into one of the chairs nearly tripped. Was she blind, he wondered but saw she poured the water into a little wooden cup well enough. She came back to him, carrying the cup as if it held molten lava that could spill onto the wooden floor instead of water. Reaching him she sat the cup to the side and bending over him she helped him push his way up into the pillows so he sat in a reclining position.

  “How is the pain?” she asked straightening from him and reaching for the cup. He drank all its contents before answering.

  “It is bearable,” he said directing his gaze to the empty cup she held in her hand.

  “But is it any better than the last time you were awake?” she asked moving back to the bucket of water and dipping another cupful out.

  He drank all its contents again, his thirst for the moment satisfied. He moved his head slightly, the ache was starting to leave it. Certain places of his body felt as if they were on fire but the pain he had awakened to last time was not there.

  “It is better,” he said.

  “Then you must eat now and get your strength back.”

  He watched Jillian move about the little cottage, collecting a wooden bowl she ladled some contents into then taking a wooden spoon she returned to him. Sitting down next to him on the bed facing him she scooped up a spoonful, paused to blow on it in an effort to cool it then held it next to his lips.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked refusing to open his mouth.

  “Because I thought you might be hungry,” she said pushing the spoon against his lips. He felt some of the warm contents spill down onto his chest. She placed the spoon back in the bowl then leaning down grabbed a cloth from nearby and dabbed the spill off his skin ever so gently. He looked down at himself, at the scars that marred his chest, some old, some she had tended and were now healing.

  “No, why are you helping me?” he asked. He knew his scowl did nothing to intimidate the woman sitting beside him because she looked up at him with confusion etched upon her face.

  “Why wouldn’t I help you?” she asked moving the spoon back toward him.

  “Why would you,” he asked but his question was cut off by the spoon plunging into his mouth. The soup hit his taste buds and it seemed to him as if it was the best thing he ever ate.

  “Because you needed me,” she replied as she sat to shoveling the contents of the bowl into his mouth.

  Once empty she sat the bowl to the side and began rearranging the blankets over him and the pillows behind him.

  “Give me more,” he demanded of her as he realized that was all she intended to feed him.

  She let out an exasperated sigh as if her were a child. “If you eat more it may not agree with you.”

  “But I am still hungry.”

  “And I have spent a great deal of time trying to make you better,” she snapped at him. “Furthermore the least you can do is ask politely.”

  Evander snorted at the ludicrous notion and her sharp black eyes were like little storms settling on him. “Then I guess you will get no more food from me. You’ll just have to wait until you can get yourself up out of that bed and make
it yourself.”

  In a fit of anger she grabbed up his bowl and stomped out of the little cottage. He waited for her to return but his wait grew longer and longer until his eyelids began to grow heavy. The angle he was sitting at made it hard to find sleep. He shifted and scooted until he lay mostly supine but the hunger gnawing at his stomach kept him awake a little longer before finally the sweet relief of sleep washed over him.

  He awoke twice more throughout the day, the sun streaming through the open door the only indication that it was day and not night. The smell of the apples persisted so he could only guess that it was the same day as he had first awakened. Jillian was not in sight either time so he fought to be reclaimed by sleep to escape the hunger. When he awoke again the door was closed and Jillian sat at the little table in the corner eating.

  As soon as his eyes settled on her she looked at him, studied him for a moment as if she were waiting and then looked back to her food. He allowed himself a few moments to watch her. It seemed as if she glided in every movement she took from sitting straight in the chair to moving spoon to mouth. To dispel him of that notion she dumped an entire spoonful down the front of her tunic. Her eyes darted to him and scowled to find he watched her.

  She raked it from her, dabbing at the stain that was left.

  “I’m hungry,” Evander stated. He found his voice was stronger now, with it carried the authority he was used to as a leader. She ignored him.

  He waited for some acknowledgment as she went back to her own eating.

  His stomach rumbled loudly in the quiet. She still did not spare a glance his way.

  “If you do not give me food you will regret it when I can move from this bed.”