All for a Rose (7 page)

The trembling of the old man’s body grew worse, until it was a wonder the flesh didn’t fly from his very bones. “What do you want with my daughter?”

She doesn’t deserve your protection.
Daman tried to keep his voice level. “That is my concern.”

“I… I understand.” The old man half-collapsed on the ground, his head apparently having grown too heavy to hold up anymore.

“Good.”

Excitement swirled in Daman’s veins, anticipation of finally having the leverage to force the witch to break her curse filling him with hope. A deep satisfaction curled inside of him. She’d once begged to stay here, claimed she wanted to be with him more than anything. Well, she would get her wish.

She would stay here all right—but it would not be in the lap of luxury that she’d wanted so badly. She would lift her curse on him or he would make her suffer. There were things far worse than death—especially for witches who pined for the finer things in life. “Go to the front of the house and wait there. I’ll send a horse and carriage to take you home.”

Without waiting for a response, Daman shot down the path through the garden, riding a wave of adrenaline, feeling light enough to fly. Birds flew screaming into the air, and dirt scattered in all directions from the savage thrusting of his tail as he hurtled over the field in the direction of the stable.

He’d had no need for horses in some time, but he’d never been able to part with the last one. The ebony stallion had been the jewel of his stable, completely fearless—an attribute that had never been more clear than when it had been the only animal in his stable not to shriek in terror the day Daman had come to release them after the curse had taken his legs. Even now, with his heart pounding and what he knew must be a wild light in his eyes, the beast blinked at him, not bothering to stop chewing its hay as Daman entered its stall. Its velvety nose quivered as it snorted at Daman—unimpressed.

The equine was reluctant to leave his lunch, but he amiably allowed Daman to lead it out of the stall and over to a carriage covered in a year’s worth of dust. An undeniable feeling of indignation radiated from the beast as Daman hitched it to the carriage without cleaning it off first, but after a few tosses of its head, it snorted in resignation.

It took mere minutes for Daman to drag the heavy carriage from the confines of its dusty shelter and get the straps fastened snugly around the mild-mannered beast. He had to be particularly careful in his work, determined not to injure his noble companion with the sickle-shaped claws curling from his fingertips. When the final strap was secure, Daman breathed a little easier, patting the animal on the rump.

Cool scales slid over Daman’s shoulder, followed by the flicker of a slim pink tongue.

“That wasssn’t very niccce.”

The horse’s ears pressed flat against its head, but that was the only indication it gave that it registered the
cuelebre
’s presence. Daman gave it a swat on its silky hindquarters. The stallion shook out its mane and rolled one eye at the
cuelebre
as it trotted off down the path. The beast was well-trained, it would go to the front of the main house where it had once waited for Daman in his human form on those occasions he’d seen fit to go into town. The carriage, while unused for some time, was solidly built and barely swayed as it was jostled down the path.

“You know nothing of this situation. I have reasons for what I’ve done.”

“You want the witch.”

Daman faced the
cuelebre
with renewed interest, flexing his hands until his claws clicked against one another. “What do you know of it?”

“I know what a
naga
isss. You aren’t in thisss form by choiccce.”

The door to the stable creaked in protest as Daman’s hand tightened on the handle. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes and counting to ten before closing the door with as much restraint as he could manage. “What is your purpose here?”

“I am here to help.” The
cuelebre
tapped its chin with the tip of its tail, contemplating Daman for several long seconds. “You have a plan,” it said finally.

Daman waited, but the
cuelebre
said no more. Its black eyes were reflective black pearls, offering Daman no hint of its thoughts, only shining his own image back at him. “I do have a plan. But I will not require your help.”

The
cuelebre
bobbed its head. “That’sss how it goesss. The bessst laid plansss…”

Chapter Three

“Everything is about to get better. I can’t believe this nightmare is almost over.”

Maribel remained silent as she stood stirring the pot over the fire, adding a dash of dried spices now and then. The aroma of salty chicken broth, fragrant onion, and tender carrots and celery fresh from the garden wafted up to envelope her in a pleasant, steamy embrace. Chicken soup was one of her father’s favorites, a simple, but comforting recipe. It would be exactly what he needed after his long journey, especially if he’d had to travel at night. Nothing chased the chill from one’s bones like a good soup.

“We’ll have a real roof over our heads, not this miserable patchwork,” Corrine continued. “There will be people all around us all the time. We’ll have true friends this time, not people who will abandon us at the first sign of shifting fortune. Our clothes will fit properly and we’ll never be hungry again.”

Maribel forced herself to relax her death grip on the wooden spoon she held before she snapped it into useless twigs.
She doesn’t mean to be insulting. She’s just used to a certain lifestyle. She needs a different lifestyle to feel secure. It’s no reflection on how hard Father and I work to make her comfortable.

Squaring her shoulders, Maribel forced a smile to her face as she glanced over to where Corrine sat huddled under a thick quilt beside the fire. The chair had been pushed farther back, a testament to caution after Corrine’s last episode. “If you’re hungry, I can fix you a bowl of soup? It’s already done, I’m just letting it cook longer to make the flavor richer.”

“Do you remember our first winter here? How cold it was, how fast our food ran out?” Corrine rubbed the corner of the quilt against her cheek, the way she’d cuddled her coverlet when she was a child. Tendrils of fraying threads stuck out from the corners, betraying the blanket for the second-hand charity it was. Nothing like the silks and furs Corrine and Maribel had snuggled into when they were kids. She tugged at it, pulling it tighter around her, the damaged skin of her injured hand stretching with each movement.

“I remember.” Maribel stopped stirring, lost in the dancing flames of her cooking fire. Cold touched her back, the memory of that winter still fresh in her mind despite the cozy atmosphere in the cottage.

“Strange that the winters never seemed quite so cold before. Back at home there was always a roaring fire, plenty of hot tea and warm meals. I remember we used to sit at the windowsill wrapped up in furs and blankets, holding hot chocolate and watching the snow fall. It was always so beautiful, and those are some of my best memories. But here…”

Corrine pulled the quilt up over her head until she peered out of it through an opening the size of her palm, her voice muffled by the worn fabric when she spoke. “I thought I was going to die, Maribel. The wind came through a thousand cracks in this miserable shack and each one was a knife cutting into my skin. For a moment I was the same pathetic creature I was as a child. At Death’s door. Not strong enough to live.”

“A lot different then now, isn’t it?” Maribel broke in, trying to snap Corrine out of her depressing reverie. She winced at her tone and focused on the soup, stirring faster as if her body was trying to keep up with her racing thoughts. She hadn’t meant for her voice to be so sharp, but she’d heard Corrine say the same words so many times. Her sister was forever trapped in the memory of that one winter, a victim no matter how good her life became.
Corrine, I love you, but, demons take it, things aren’t that bad!

Corrine’s silence was so thick and sudden that it sucked the ambient noise right out of the room. Maribel yanked the spoon from the soup and rapped it violently on the edge of the pot. The loud clanging made her nerves spasm, the sound like a voice in her head shouting at her that she was losing her temper and she’d regret it.

Get a hold of yourself, Maribel.

Slowly, she put the spoon on the table beside her, careful to lay it down gently. She concentrated on the warmth sizzling against her face, the almost-burn that came from standing this close to the fire. The steam from the soup wafted over her, chasing back the memories Corrine was trying so hard to drag out of her.

“Do you ever see the faces?”

“Faces?” The hairs on the back of Maribel’s neck stood up, something in Corrine’s voice sending a chill up her spine despite the fire’s heat. “What faces?”

Corrine didn’t answer. Her brown eyes held a reflection of the hearth, glittering where they gazed out from the hood of her quilt. The shadows on her face flickered and jumped, seeming almost alive…

“Corrine?” Maribel’s voice came out louder than she’d intended, startling her more than Corrine. She cleared her throat. “Corrine, what faces?”

“Faces everywhere. Watching. Waiting.” Corrine startled, body twitching as though coming out of a daze. She blinked owlishly at Maribel, then suddenly she seemed to realize what she’d said and busied herself with pushing the quilt off her head and smoothing it around her again. “Or maybe it’s only the episodes putting strange images in my head.”

Maribel let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Oh. Yes.” She groped beside her for some peppercorns, her mind picking over Corrine’s words.

“Faces everywhere. Watching. Waiting.”

Something sour churned in Maribel’s stomach, a sense of unease. Against her will, whispers she’d heard in the past breathed through her mind.

“There goes the farmer’s daughter. I heard she was possessed by the Evil Fire.”

“Aye, touched by demons that one is. Studies with the old crone in the woods.”

“Mother Briar is helping you with those episodes, isn’t she?” Maribel dropped the peppercorns into the mortar, wrapping her hand around the base as she lifted the pestle to begin grinding them to powder.

Corrine lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I suppose. But what I really need is to get away from here.” She leaned her cheek against the edge of the chair. “I want to go home.”

And we’re back.
One of the peppercorns shot out of the mortar like a tiny black cannonball as Maribel smashed the pestle down on it with unnecessary force. “Corrine, do you really hate our life here so much?”

“Yes,” Corrine said without a moment’s hesitation. “I know you like being close to the land, combing through the dirt with your fingers.” She finally tore her gaze away from the fire to meet Maribel’s eyes. “But, Maribel, don’t you ever lie awake at night wondering how long it will be until our crops fail, or the hunting turns sour? How long it will be until we have another winter like that first one?”

“No, I don’t.” Maribel tapped the pestle against the mortar to loosen the clinging bits of pepper then placed it on the table beside her. Wiping her hands off on her apron, she went over and knelt by Corrine, taking her hands in hers. “We aren’t the same people we were back then, Corrine. We came here knowing nothing about how to fend for ourselves, spoiled by always having the money to pay someone else to take care of us. We know better now.” She brushed a curl of sleek brown hair behind Corrine’s ear. “I promise, I will never let you starve.”

Corrine opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, but suddenly horse hooves clattering on the stones outside the house drew both girls’ attention. Corrine scrambled free of the blankets like a rabbit desperately escaping a net, arms and legs akimbo as she fought free. In seconds she was out of her chair and through the door. A muscle ticked in Maribel’s jaw.

She can find the energy to half-fly out to greet a present-bearing father, but she can’t rouse herself to even
try
to help with the farming.

Shaking off the bitterness that pressed her lips into a thin line, Maribel gave herself a moment to regain her composure. She brushed her hair back from her face and settled her apron into smooth lines. Composed once again, she rose to leave the house.

She hadn’t even made it to the door when her father stumbled inside. His clothes were covered in dirt and clumps of drying mud, his hair was in wild disarray around his face, and his skin was red from the frosty air. Maribel went still as she noticed her father’s eyes were swollen…as if he’d been crying. Corrine trailed behind him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Maribel swallowed her questions as she clasped her father’s arm and helped him to the table. He fell into the chair more than sat and she set about getting him settled in, all the while fighting down a rising sense of dread. She retrieved one of the blankets Corrine had been using and wrapped it around her father, rubbing his shoulders and arms until the friction warmed the blanket. Corrine collapsed into another seat at the table, staring forlornly at the worn wood, appearing for all the world as though the light had been sucked from her life. Maribel poured a cup of tea from the pot keeping warm by the fire and set it down in front of her father.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, taking a seat.

Her father’s face folded like an ancient parchment, tears glistening in his eyes. “Everything’s gone. Claimed as payment for old debts.” He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard. “There is nothing left.”

Maribel firmly tamped down on the part of her that rejoiced at the news, the part that wanted more than anything to stay on this farm, to live this new life. Instead, she concentrated on her father, letting her sympathy for his loss show on her face. “Father, it’s all right. We’ll be fine here. We have each other, that’s all that matters.”

A sob escaped her father’s throat and Maribel stared as tears spilled over and slid down his face. She’d expected him to be disappointed, even sad, but this… For the first time, Maribel noticed the deep purple bruising on her father’s neck. Her lips parted in shock and her stomach dropped.