Finally Clara removed her hands. She swiped at her useless tears. Embarrassed beyond words by her stupid weakness as this huge male stood staring at her, expressionless, probably bored to weeping by her tirade. She straightened, building herself back up.
Matthew watched her gather herself together and grudging admiration began. Beaten, almost raped, and kidnapped twice. And yet here she was gaining her composure. His hands ached to hold her but he remained where he was. There was one gift he could give her and he did; his trust.
It was a larger thing than his comfort.
“I was twelve when the Band found me starving and delirious from thirst, hunger and neglect,” he began. His mind wandered a million miles from that spot remembering:
Matthew lay down in the meadow, his head swimming with dizziness, flies buzzing above him, impatient for his death. He looked down at his body, the planes of it like weaponry: sharp hipbones, ribs like poles of a house, tethered together with skin. His eyes rolled, dry and swollen within their cavities to where he had heard a noise. He raised a hand at the alien noise, knowing it was not the fragment. Hoping, as only a young boy can, that someone would help him, that he could either end forever or begin with new hope.
A shadow fell over his body and he had not the strength to shield his eyes from the sun. The shadow form seemed to realize this and fell over his line-of-sight. A great warrior stood over him, weaponry hanging off his body like the leaves of a mighty tree. Matthew was too weak to feel fear but his heart paused its rhythm, stuttering.
The great male crouched down in front of him, grabbing him gingerly by the wrist, firm but gentle.
He seemed to pause for a moment, head cocked. Then he spoke to someone just behind him, “He is Band.” As he turned his head, Matthew saw a bow shift with his body and the boy took in his weapons: daggers lay at the small of his back in a complicated contraption of leather, a bow rested upon the back of his right flank and a quiver down his spine. A small dagger lay at his right hip and another at his ankle.
His eyes flitted to the great male above him and he smiled down at Matthew. “Where do ye hail from, lad?”
Matthew opened his mouth to answer but was too parched to form words. The male saw his problem and said, “Bracus, fetch me the flask. His heart beats steady but not for long. If we had not arrived...”
“Yes, father,” a young voice came from behind him.
Suddenly, a second shadow crossed the first and Matthew was looking into the face of a male that he instinctively knew was the same as he.
Finally, Matthew belonged.
Beleaguered, starving, thirsty... near death...he had come home. These were his people. He gave a weak smile, drank the water, the large male's hand cupped underneath his neck and then passed out.
Clara listened to Matthew quietly tell of his recovery by the Band. Why, she asked, had he been with the fragment? Why had they beaten him, starved him, treated him so terribly?
“Why does your mother beat you?” Matthew countered.
“I do not know,” Clara said, her eyes filling with unshed tears. Realizing, perhaps for the first time, that she wished that her mother loved her.
Matthew saw the loneliness and fear rise in her eyes like a poisonous tide and could have struck himself for being insensitive in his comment.
He tried to salvage things, “I think it may be because I was different and they knew that. I was threatening to them, their way.” He thought carefully about his next statement. “You may also be a threat to your mother.”
“The Queen,” Clara corrected automatically.
Matthew inclined his head in acknowledgment, watching her distance herself from the familial tie.
“I do not threaten her. She is in ultimate control of all,” Clara said, sweeping her hand around the forest, visualizing it as her kingdom.
Matthew saw the marks on her throat from his fingers. They were reddening, just shy of bruising and he was ashamed.
Clara saw him flick his eyes at her throat and back to her face, an uncomfortable expression laying there. She narrowed her eyes, what was he thinking?
She asked the next question instead, the most obvious one, “What is this fragment?”
His eyes became hooded and dark. “They are a people bent on taking. They take whatever they can, from whomever they can. Use it until it is no longer worthwhile then discard it. As the locust.”
Clara stared at him, watching his fists clench. The cords on his neck stood out, his huge hands bunched into fists the size of the reticule she had used, now laying by the hot springs.
“Bracus said that they kidnap women, for forced breeding.”
Matthew nodded, once.
So, it was true. Suddenly, Clara became acutely aware that it was just she and Matthew. Band or no, here in the forest they were quite vulnerable.
Matthew saw the emotions pass over her face and knew what she was thinking before she did.
“Fear not. They would not dare try to take you.” Clara watched his posture change, becoming more. He would be something for them to fight against.
“They have no Band?”
Matthew shook his head. “No. My existence with them...” he shrugged. “We do not know why I was with them. Bracus has speculated...” he trailed off turning away from her.
He could feel her approach. Her warmth a thing of solidity, worming its way underneath his skin.
“What?” she asked softly.
“That they may have come upon my mother...” he breathed out in a rush, his face hotter than he could hardly stand, but he continued, “ and they kept me for a slave of sorts.”
Oh, how horrible. They may have taken him while he and his mother were outside the protection of their clan, whichever one that was.
And he had been raised a slave.
Clara was a hair's breadth from his back. She reached out to the broadness of it, the fine fibers of the tunic having small bumps where the linen and cotton mixed.
He had suffered as she. They actually knew each other well, she thought. At least in the ways that mattered.
She pressed her palm on his back. The spine formed a shallow canal between muscles that bunched and intersected, running from huge shoulders to a waist which tapered to the small of his back, where diminutive swords lay crisscrossed. But Clara was unafraid. His treatment of her was that of someone that did not know, could not know, kindness, concern... care. How could one show compassion when one had never known it? And the males of the Band would include him but would not be nurturers.
She lay her head in the middle of his back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Silently lending her compassion to him, wanting him to know that she forgave him his treatment, that he understood he had a friend.
He felt her heat emanate into his body, seeping from the point of contact. It slid to his extremities. With a low groan he turned in one smooth motion and grabbed her upper arms, his hands completely encircling them and drew her to him until their chests were crushed together.
Clara felt him pull her against him in a spine-tingling rush of desire that swept over her in a heated wash and was powerless to remind herself that this must not happen, that he was not of the sphere. The fragment raged about them waiting to take the unprotected. His own Band sought them even now. Instead, she fell into his embrace like a woman lost, a bottle in the ocean, swept to sea.
Matthew put a hand underneath her chin, cupping it loosely, his fingertips moving up the length of it, gliding until they swept beyond her temple, carving pathways through her hair. He fisted it tightly and she gasped. He held her there and gazed into her eyes. He did not want to force her but he could not seem to help his actions, resisting as long as he could. He felt that his whole life had been but preparation for this moment with this woman. All intellect lost before her.
Matthew let the question fill his eyes, she saw it and gave a very slight nod and he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.
Clara was shocked by the softness of
his kiss. For all his size and mannerisms she thought his kiss would be an onslaught. But it was not. It was soft, a velvet feather. With pressure and movement, his lips lifted, sought, connected and explored. When he took her lower lip in his teeth capturing it there, he nibbled on it then sucked it into his mouth softly, his tongue explored the inside of her mouth delicately then with increasing passion and Clara was lost in it, her body afire. Clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline, she gave back what she got, pressing her body harder into his, her hands sliding up around his neck.
Matthew was desperate for more of her touch and when her hands dug into his shoulders as she began to move up to encircle his neck, he lifted her right off the ground and she held onto him. His kisses rained down like rose petals on her throat... her neck, everywhere skin was, he worshiped it with his mouth.
She felt him move her until her back was against the very tree that she had cowered against earlier. The rough bark biting slightly as his body covered hers completely. Those large hands pressed her body against his, one hand exploring her ribcage and waist and the other holding her against the trunk.
Matthew became aware of far-off noises and broke off his attentions...his breath coming in quick gasps. His senses sharpening, he looked down on her. Clara's eyes were swimming pools of turquoise in a face flushed a deep pink, the marks of abuse fading and in their place lips that were swollen from kisses instead of fists.
Damn.
He wanted her, it sung in his body like a finely tuned instrument. But his senses had roared to life and that meant threats were near. Ignoring his Band's directives could not negate those deeply honed instincts that he had been born with.
“What?” Clara asked, languid and drowsy in his embrace.
“Someone draws near,” Matthew said, gently lowering her down, his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest, his hand stroking her hair, his eyes scanning the distance.
He heard horses but not Band. Fragment? He pushed Clara behind him and said, “Stay behind me, no matter what occurs, do not leave my side.”
Clara felt sick, it was too many things, one on top of the other. She put her hand on the tree but met his gaze, nodding.
Satisfied, Matthew turned away from her. Releasing his daggers from the small of his back, his hands swinging around to the front of his body, his stance widening as the thundering of the horses hooves neared. Matthew lowered into a crouching stance.
Clara watched Matthew move in front of her and take the small swords from their sheathing, a singing metal sound as they briefly connected making her ears ring. She did finally hear the approaching horses and knew that her life would be changing yet again. She badly wished to move up behind Matthew, out of sight and hidden behind him.
But if there were to be a fight, she would be in the way so she stood where she was, vulnerability her burden to carry.
****
Charles and Clarence waited until the two savages were gone and the others back inside the gate then followed them after some discussion.
“She is not here, you heard those savages. She has escaped...”
“Or been taken,” Clarence said.
Charles nodded.
“We follow them then. Where they lead, we shall follow and the Princess will be there.”
Charles palmed his jaw thoughtfully. “They went to the trouble to acquire her and then she slips between their fingers?” his fingers clenched, then splaying, he shook his head. Something was amiss. The savages seemed far too astute and instinctual to allow such a thing.
“Agreed, but our path is laid before us, Charles. Whatever may have happened, it matters not. She is still in danger, true?”
“Yes,” Charles replied.
They followed, the savages' stealthy tracks a challenge to navigate but they did, for Clara.
****
Queen Ada sent Henry ahead to the huge complex which was surrounded by an intimidating natural fence made of the huge timbers that were so prevalent in this strange place.
It had not been without argument.
“Queen Ada, I implore you, that we behave in a friendly and peaceful way, not lurking about as if we mean harm.”
“We do mean harm, Henry. I do not wish to 'make peace' with the savages. I wish to take what is mine, return to the sphere and have the betrothal go forward so that we may ally the kingdoms,” she said to Henry as if he were a simpleton.
He sighed, she was stupidly stubborn. “My Queen,” she smiled at him without warmth, “I will spy for you but I do not feel it is to our benefit.”
“Duly noted. Now go,” she said, uncapping her wine flask.
Henry eyed the flask and tried again, “Queen Ada,” she narrowed her eyes on him, “what of food? When was the last time you took a meal? Some cheese perhaps?” she glowered at him and he unflinchingly held her gaze.
“Fine,” she made a disgusted noise in her throat. “You, guard,” she barked.
The guard which dragged the load that was the Queen, jumped on his mount at her tone, turning quickly. “Yes, my Queen?”
She spoke to him but looked directly at Henry, “Ready some cheese with grapes,” she spat the last word sarcastically. Henry was sure it was for his benefit. “So this worrisome nagging will discontinue.”
“Post haste, my Queen,” he said.
Henry could hear him rustling for the food.
“Satisfied?” she said, her question both a challenge and a statement.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, my Queen,” Henry said with resignation.
She smiled at his discomfiture. Whatever made others uncomfortable seemed to please her, he thought.
She was a hateful example of humanity.
He turned away and left her and the other guards in the deepest part of the woods, making his way toward a fence constructed of huge logs that had their tops sharpened to dangerous points.
As he approached, he became aware of raised voices. He crouched down behind wild ferns with serrated fronds that rose about in all directions, the low branches of the evergreen trees almost caressing their tops; he could not be seen. Yet one of the huge savages turned in his direction, his nostrils flaring, his hand hovering over the hilt of a dirk that hung at his hip.
But a short man with a barrel chest and a bald head of a certain age gained his attention and he was distracted. However, it was what they said that made the breath still in Henry's body.
“...but know this, I want that Princess back here, standing in front of me, unharmed. Do you understand?”
More words were exchanged, snippets heard but not in their entirety. Somehow, they had kidnapped the Princess, then lost her? To whom? Henry was more mystified than ever. This was no longer a simple acquisition mission. They had grossly underestimated the sophistication of the savages. Wrongly assumed a state of primitiveness that was unfounded. He closed his eyes for a moment, despairing. Gaining Clara for the sphere was now no longer a directive by the Queen.
She was their last hope, their greatest chance for a future without tyranny.
****
Jabez watched the Queen's First Guard make his stealthy departure from yonder foliage. Taking his leave, he was certain, to explain the surprise of what he had also heard.
The Princess had fallen out of their grasp and she was being reacquired somewhere in this vast wilderness.
Jabez moved quietly away toward their camp. He had seen the savages scanning the area constantly, as if they may know they were observed, which was impossible. He thought upon their strange size, the gills, that only fish should have. Their way of movement was lithe and graceful, but deadly. They would be fierce fighters.
Jabez could envision this.
His heart raced with the anticipation of coming against them. The Prince's guard would prevail, there were simply too many for the savages to gain advantage.
They would surrender or die.
He hurried back to tell the Prince all that he knew.
/>
****
Matthew's body trembled, adrenaline coursing through him, the female at his back. A new purpose drilled through his body which was almost painful. It was more than pure desire, he wished to share something more, something intrinsically powerful.
Life.
Now that epiphany was threatened.
Horses slowed and came into view... it was the fragment, and they were many. Matthew's heart sped, he could feel Clara's fear behind him. The need to cover her with his protection choked him, singing through him, unlike anything he had ever experienced.
His eyes traveled the group of twelve and one female, Evelyn. Her eyes pleading with him, her hair a matted mess, one eye swollen shut.
Rage surged through Matthew. They would die. Or he would die making them sorry.
Then his eyes landed on one male, then another, whom he recognized. The decade past had not dimmed in his memory.
Margaret’s attackers.
The large male of the fragment dismounted, keeping his gaze locked on Matthew. “Well, what do we have here?” he said, his eyes flicking behind Matthew then to Clara.
Clara looked at the girl, obviously abused and knew instantly that it was Evelyn. She looked upon each cruel face and saw no mercy, only evil intent. She knew that look, she knew it very well. The fragment looked upon them as the Queen looked upon her. As Prince Frederic did. Good Guardian, this was a horror.
“Ralph, does this breeder look familiar to you?”
“Aye, he does, healthier though...” Claude chuckled.
Matthew eyed them both, calculating his dagger thrusts as they bantered back and forth. His mind was already gutting them like the swine they were.
Suddenly, from the other direction, horses approached. Matthew knew the gait, the cadence of those horses:
The Band... his brothers.
Matthew straightened as Bracus, Jack, Jacob, James and Philip came into sight. Their steeds' sides heaved, glistening sweat wrapping the horses' bodies.
Clara could not believe her eyes; the Band. She dared to hope.
Bracus laid his eyes on Matthew, then Clara behind him. What was happening here? He saw the fragment, still with Evelyn and realized the Band's surprise entrance into the heart of the fragment foothold had been for naught. They had not been there. Having taken Evelyn, they had then led a hunting party. She had yet to be taken to their stronghold. Then his eyes touched on Clara again.
Destiny's Dark Fantasy Boxed Set (Eight Book Bundle) Page 88
