Chapter Seventeen
The day flew by. After the wolves left, Connelly took them on a long but easy trek through the woods to find a patch of flowering black hellebore. He cautioned Belle and Fain to leave the flowers alone, while carefully harvesting several of them into a clay pot.
“Is everything you gather poisonous, Connelly?”
“’tis a difficult question ta answer, lass. Even water can kill ye, should ye apply it wrongly, yet ye need it ta live.”
Belle was mulling that over when they heard movement coming up the path they had taken. Fain stepped in front of her and drew his sword, but Connelly kept working calmly.
“Use yer ears, ya great lummox. ’tis only Davies.” Fain strained to listen, and could hear a faint wheezing that did sound like it could be Davies, but how Connelly could be so sure at such a distance...
He glanced back at Belle. “I see what you mean.”
She flashed him a quick smile, and then focused her attention back towards the approaching noise.
In a few moments Davies broke into the clearing. The young man was ruddy from exertion, and he panted, trying to catch enough breath to deliver his message.
“Breathe, man, breathe.” Fain stepped forward and helped support Davies’ shaking legs.
“Connelly. We need Connelly,” he gasped.
“Did something happen on the—” At the last moment, Fain remembered his audience. “Hunt?”
“After.” Davies was breathing easier, and his words came faster. “That beast is a devil, MacTíre. It’s kicked Tom Woddsmith in the ribs, and he’s hurt, bad. I came back to the keep for Connelly, then traced you out here.”
“Where are the rest of the men?”
“About three leagues from Dorshire, to the south-southwest. I can show you where they’ve holed up, now that I’ve caught my breath.”
Fain turned to Connelly. “It’ll be fastest if you head straight there.” Connelly nodded and grabbed his pack. “Belle, sorry to cut your day short, but we need to get back to the keep.”
Davies started shaking his head. “You need to come with us, MacTíre. None of us can handle that animal.”
Fain closed his eyes in frustration. He needed to be with his men, but he couldn’t send Belle back to the keep alone. Nor did he want to bring her with them. It was a bad choice. He was trying to decide on the lesser of evils, when he felt Belle’s small, mittened hand press into his arm.
“Let me come, Fain. I promise, I won’t ask any questions.”
He opened his eyes and scrutinized her face. All he could see was utter sincerity, and worry for the injured man.
“All right.” Fain kept his gaze locked with hers, watching the relief surface in those violet eyes as he made his decision. “Davies, lead the way.”
The route to the wounded man was difficult. Vivienne hadn’t realized it before, but Fain and Connelly had obviously been taking her along easy, clear paths on their day in the woods. Davies went as straight as possible, directly for the wounded man, and Vivi was hard pressed to keep up. They climbed ridges and slid back down the other side, scrambled over rock formations and large, fallen trees, and slipped on ice patches hidden beneath the snow. The men seemed sure footed in the snowy woods, but Vivienne fell more than once. She wanted to howl in frustration, but she could feel Fain watching her covertly, so she gritted her teeth and hauled herself up again, stumbling along faster to make up the ground she’d lost.
Finally she heard Davies let out a call like a kingfisher, and heard an answering call. He led the way into a small clearing and there, huddled around a tiny fire, was the rest of the party.
Connelly immediately went to the man lying on the pile of furs. Fain began questioning several of the men in low voices, and Vivienne hung back, trying not to eavesdrop. A string of horses was cobbled on the other side of the clearing, peacefully grazing on the tiny shoots that stuck up above the snow. All but one, that is. A magnificent black stallion, brushed and curried until he shone in the weak winter sunlight, was tied between two small saplings. He tossed and pulled at the ropes, but the knots held. It was clear, from the way everyone else ignored him, that this had been going on for some time. Fain moved over to stand beside Vivienne.
“Like him?”
“It’s a horse.” She kept her voice bland.
“Yes, I’m familiar with the animal in question.”
“Actually, it’s a number of horses.”
“Ten, I think, although I haven’t actually counted.”
“It’s an odd thing to bring back from a hunting expedition.”
“Is that a question, Belle?”
“No.” She slowly shook her head, then turned her eyes to look him in the face. “Just an observation.”
He waited, but she didn’t say anything else. She’d promised not to ask questions, and she meant to keep that promise, even if she had to literally bite her tongue to keep from doing so. A slow smile spread across his face as he watched her.
“It’s killing you, isn’t it?”
“Like the proverbial cat.”
“MacTíre!” Connelly’s voice came sharply across the clearing. “Bring yerself and the lass over here.”
They hurried over to the wounded man. Tom Woddsmith was a tall, thin man, and he was currently curled on his left side, gasping for air. Vivienne dropped to the snowy ground beside his head and took his hand.
“You’ll be all right, Tom. Connelly will see to it.”
“His ribs are broken, sure enough, MacTíre, but the problem’s his lung. I need yer great bellowin’ chest ta lend a hand.”
Connelly turned to Woddsmith. “This’ll be odd, laddie, but give me yer trust. Roll ta yer back and don’t fight MacTíre, here, while he does as I tell him.”
Vivienne helped Tom roll over, and, at Connelly’s direction, tilted his head back and held it still.
“Now, MacTíre, fill yer chest with air, pinch his nose, lock yer mouth on his an’ breathe out.”
Fain stared in disbelief at Connelly.
“Dinna give me that look, ye silly lout! There’s more I know than I could explain ta ye in a hundred years. Just do it.”
With one more doubtful glance, Fain did as he was bid. At first nothing happened, but then Vivienne heard an audible pop and Fain sat up. Tom took a deep breath and winced from the pain in his side, then smiled in relief. Connelly looked smug.
“Be sure an’ believe, lad, e’en if I tell ye ta dance naked in the moonlight, there’s a fine reason for it.”
Connelly didn’t want to risk transporting Woddsmith back to the keep.
“’twill be better if the lad stays in Dorshire until his ribs heal. He’s got kin there, an’ they can see ta his care.”
Fain agreed. He didn’t want to haul a man with four broken ribs over the rough terrain ahead, so he headed their party towards Dorshire. The men traded off carrying Tom on a makeshift pallet, four at a time, while Connelly led the string of horses with the giant black brute tied at the end. As long as the beast couldn’t see any of his kidnappers he seemed perfectly content to follow the other horses.
Belle posted herself to one side of Tom’s pallet, comforting him when the rough ride made his already—painful ribs agonizing, and distracting him when possible. She raised her eyebrows at Fain when Tom started talking about his family, but Fain nodded at her. She was about to meet them, after all, it could hardly hurt to let Tom talk about them. After his tacit approval, Belle asked a few questions of the wounded man, letting him babble on.
“And your parents?”
“Nah, they live leagues away. But my sister lives here with her mate and their two children. One of ’em, little Cady, calls me her favorite uncle.”
“Oh? And what have you bribed little Cady with, then?” she teased him gently.
“She wants to learn sword play, and I told her I’d teach her, alongside her brother.”
“Well, that was well done of you, Tom.” Belle nodded her approval. “She’ll lik
ely be a fine swordswoman.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, now, Miss Belle. She’ll grow to be a wee tiny mite of a thing, just like my sister. Maybe dagger work would be better for her.” He spoke earnestly, and Fain saw Belle stifle a smile.
“Whatever you think best, Tom. We must all play to our strengths.”
Fain tore his attention away from their conversation. They’d reached the road, a dirt track just wide enough to fit a farmer’s cart or peddler’s carriage, and the thin layer of snow atop it was churned by the print of many hooves. His gut clenched in fear. Slowly he raised his hand, calling for a halt of all the men, and one by one the raiding party fell silent, as they caught sight of the multitude of tracks in the snow.
“Why’s everybody so quiet?” Tom broke the silence.
“I think...” Belle sounded uncertain. She probably didn’t understand. “I think a large number of mounted men have passed this way. Recently.”
As though her voice broke some invisible restrain on them all, the men surged forward, leaving Belle and the litter bearers to follow. Fain joined them, heart in his throat, poundi ng down the packed, frozen earth, headed towards the center of Dorshire. They ran in silence, no sound but their own breath and heavy footfalls. Even the few winter birds had fallen silent.
Rounding a last curve, they finally spied the village. At first Fain was relieved; the houses stood undamaged, and there were no armed men roaming the village. In fact, there was no movement of any kind.
Unease returned as the emptiness sunk in. There was nothing, no telltale sign of life among any of the small, wooden homes. Doors were flung open to the street, but no children played among them, no housewives bustled to their neighbor’s door. It was like the whole town had died.
Fain felt the rage and horror building in his chest, but he shoved it away. There wasn’t time for it now. Perhaps some of the folk of Dorshire could still be saved. “Check the houses. See if there’s anyone hiding.” He watched the men race to follow his command, and sent a silent prayer up to the gods.
Please let there be someone hiding.
Tom gestured to Vivienne, and she helped him struggle off his pallet. As the other men dashed frantically from house to house, he made directly for one small wooden structure, tucked beneath two ancient pines. The door had been broken in, and was twisting free on the single intact hinge. Vivi held it open while he shuffled into the house.
“Lara! Lara!”
It was clear the house was deserted, but Vivienne made no move to stop the wounded man as he slowly stumbled from room to room, calling out in a voice thick with unshed tears. Her eyes took in the table, set with four bowls, and the hearth, where low coals smoldered under a pot of burned, blackened porridge. To one side of the still-warm stones was a spoon, coated with cold, congealed oats, lying where it had been dropped. A half-loaded pistol lay among the breakfast dishes, and three shiny bullets had rolled to rest in the cracks on the table’s surface. In the far room, Tom’s voice was growing more and more panicked as he called for his lost sister.
“Lara!”
He broke off. Vivi made herself move, to step through that horrible tableau and find Tom. He was sitting on one tiny bed, holding a small, wooden sword in his hands. Another, slightly smaller, lay broken on the floor, with a hideous, red-brown stain on its tip.
“Cady told me once,” the poor man whispered, “that a knight always defends against evil, no matter how outnumbered she is.” Two fat tears rolled down his cheeks, and he stared in horror at the shattered sword on the ground.
Fain waited in the village square, keeping his mind carefully blank. He listened to the slowly resuming bird calls, and the jingling of the horses’ tack, and the growing despair in the men’s voices as they called for the townsfolk and went unanswered. Man after man came to stand before him, reporting in broken voices of empty houses. All through the town, it seemed, tables were set, breakfast was laid, and not a soul was found.
Aside from the lack of people, there was nothing else to report. He ground his teeth in frustration. What purpose was there in spiriting away an entire town, but leaving behind no message? No threat? No warning? They had to be missing something.
“Fain.” It was Connelly’s voice, more somber than any had ever heard him. “Over here, man.”
Fain slogged through the thick snow, headed for Connelly. When he reached the last house, he could see what the little medic had noticed.
On the edge of town was a cattle pen, where the town’s herd was kept. The cows had been loosed; stolen or set free, there was no way to tell. In the center of the pen was a hastily erected gallows, built from the fence posts. An empty noose swung free in the air, and a sign was nailed to the cross-beam.
BUILT FOR THE BEAST
A dam inside him broke, and he threw back his head and howled, pouring his anguish out in that piercing, mournful cry. Then he fell to his knees, brought down by the damning gallows.
This was all his fault.
Chapter Eighteen
The men were angry. Fain sent three of the more skilled horsemen to the keep, riding bareback on the newly acquired mounts. The rest made their way as swiftly as they could without putting Tom through too agonizing a ride. The band was mostly silent and fuming as they quick-marched through the mountains, and Vivienne was scared. She would have sworn these men would never hurt her, but, angry as they were, they seemed like different people. When she couldn’t keep pace with them they rapidly outdistanced her, and Connelly fell behind, making sure she didn’t get lost on her own.
“Connelly, what has happened?”
“The foolishness o’ men, lass. O’ pride an’ greed an’ revenge.” Even Connelly seemed angry, although it was mixed with a deep sadness.
“Don’t give me a riddle! I want to know what happened at Dorshire.”
He looked at her. “The people have been taken.”
“All of them? Where? By whom?” Vivi was horrified.
He shook his head. “Nay, lassie, ye must take this up with MacTíre. ’tis not my place ta tell his stories, no more than I would tell yer own ta him.”
Vivienne practically hissed infrustration. “Do you never tire of being mysterious?”
“Call it a hazard o’ the trade, lass.” Even his rejoinder was tired. “But I can tell ye this much; if I could knock yer heads together an’ banish this foolish mistrust, I would.” At that he fell silent, and she could wheedle no more out of him.
Instead she thought of Dorshire. A whole town full of people—men, women, and children—taken from their homes. Who would do such a thing? And what did Fain have to do with it? For surely as she knew anything, Vivi knew that there was some connection there.
What had Connelly said? That pride, greed, and revenge were the motivators. Was this a counter-strike of some kind? Had these folk been taken as punishment? And, if so, punishment for what?
She cast a sidelong glance at the string of horses.
A growing horror settled on Vivienne. She had kept silent about who she was out of prudence, and a stubborn refusal to offer trust to one who refused to trust her. But she had never actually thought that Fain might be some sort of villain. What if she was wrong? What if he had done something so terrible that this was a reprisal for his actions? What could he have done to warrant the taking of an entire village?
She watched his broad back as he strode ahead of her. Her heart ached inside her chest. What if this man was not what she thought he was?
By the time they reached the keep, the word had already spread. The bailey was filled with men speaking in rough, angry voices. Vivienne tried to listen, but it was hard to pick out individual words from the general commotion.
“—black-hearted bastard—”
“—get them back.”
“We’d never catch them—”
“—flush out Fain.”
She twisted her head, trying to find the man who’d mentioned Fain, but it was impossible. Fain himself strode to the cente
r of the crowd and raised his hands for quiet.
“ Tonight we hold vigil for the people of Dorshire. All of us had friends there, and many of you had family. I hope, wherever they have been taken, they are together, and safe.” The men around Vivi murmured fervent prayers as Fain continued. “There will be time for every man who wishes to offer up his prayers to the gods. As for me, each of you know what my prayer will be.”
Vivi felt ice go down her spine as the entire courtyard joined Fain in what must have been an oft-recited sentiment.
“May my foe someday be within my reach. And may my knife find his black heart.”
The men sat huddled in small groups, sharing stories and remembrances. Vivienne drifted from group to group, letting them tell her of their friends from the town of Dorshire. Occasionally a group would fall silent as she approached, and then she’d smile and move on. Those groups spoke in hushed, angry whispers, and Vivi knew they were speaking of retaliation.
Fain sat alone before the hearth, a jug of the disgusting rotgut balanced against his knee. When her wanderings brought her close to his seat, she came to stand beside him, staring into the fire.
“Still no questions, Belle?”
“I promised.” But her voice was tight with tension. It was hard not to demand answers.
“And you’ve shown admirable restraint.” He paused to swig from the jug. Vivi wondered how much he’d already drunk. He seemed possessed of some odd, melancholy whimsy. “I find myself on fire with curiosity, though. If I offered to answer one question for you, what would you ask?” He leaned forward in his chair, focusing on her intently.
Vivienne’s mind raced. So many questions she could ask. Who are you? What are you doing here? Who is your enemy? What do you think has happened to the people of Dorshire? She realized, though, that there was only one answer she truly wanted. She turned from the fire and met his eyes. Something burned in their depths, as though what question she would ask were a matter of vital importance.
As the Last Petal Falls Page 14
