Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess (2 page)

"Easy, Lady," Carey panted as his legs closed against her sides, giving her reassurance and guidance. She took heart and as they gained the bottom of the steep hill she gathered herself and bounded over the intermingled bodies of man and horse. She landed hard, felt Carey take up the reins and lean forward in the saddle. "Go, Lady," he whispered, and her ears flicked back to scoop up his words.

She forgot about the tree-dodging chase in the forest, where they'd lost one pursuer to a thick trunk. She forgot about the mad scramble through the knee-high creek; even the dangerous slope disappeared from memory in the depth of her concentration. It was only the here and now, the run, the grunt of exhalation forced from her lungs at every stride she took. Foam dripped from the sides of her mouth and the reins lathered against her dun neck and still Carey whispered in her ear, guiding her as though he knew she lived only in her inner world of effort, with no care for what her eyes might see. Then the ground under her hooves turned hard and pebbly, and when Carey asked her for a hard left, she suddenly knew where they were, and what he would ask of her next. With rock to her left and only a narrow rim of a path beneath her, she listened to the caress of his legs, the shift of his weight, and pivoted in a rollback that sent her chest and head over empty air, high above the dry riverbed they'd paralleled.

"Good job, braveheart," Carey wooed her, his voice harsh in a dry throat. In seconds they met one of their pursuers, and Lady, following the pattern of endless drills, put her nose to the inside of the path and shouldered aside the other horse. Then another—bay flesh that dropped aside with an equine scream of fear—and the path was clear, clear until the narrow foothold widened, to where another man stood his ground on a flaming chestnut horse. He dropped his reins, one arm cocked behind, the other clutching a straining curved stick.

There was a sudden odd thump just behind her ears and Carey's body shifted wildly, sliding from the saddle, skewing Lady's balance. Her head yanked far to her left with a brutal jerk on the rein, and her body followed. Fear drove her flailing legs but there was no longer any ground beneath them, and they hurtled toward the death waiting in the hard rocky riverbed.

The world stopped around them.
Arrested in midair, they were snatched by another force altogether, one that held Lady in a smothering grip and would not yield to her mental thrashing. She no longer felt Carey's failing grip on her black mane, nor his legs slipping off her sweat-darkened sides. Instead, her mind was twisted; her body knotted up, disappeared, reformed, and at last abandoned her, along with Carey and her senses.

Early spring in the park, and not warm enough by Dayna's standards. She forged ahead of Eric, who'd been distracted by a small, busy flock of kinglets in the underbrush. When he showed no sign of losing interest, she stopped, put her hands on narrow hips, and called back to him, "Coming? I thought you wanted to get those bluebird boxes checked out."

He uncoiled his lanky body from his crouch, looking at her with the perpetually bemused look he wore. "They'll still be there in another fifteen minutes," he said mildly, pulling at the yellow armband that labeled him a park volunteer.

Dayna merely ran a hand through her short, wedged sandy hair and waited for him.

"You didn't have to come," he said when he caught up. "If you had other things to do today, you should have done them. You know you don't enjoy this stuff if you have something else on your mind. I do."

"Have something else on your mind?" she responded, distraction so she wouldn't have to admit he was right.

Eric didn't miss a beat. "Know that you don't enjoy. Anyway, you're here now. You might as well appreciate it."

She looked up the significant distance between their heights and made a distinct effort to forget about the laundry piled on her bed, the bills waiting on her desk, the—
no, forget it.
"Okay," she said.

"Saw a weasel here last month," he commented. "You should have heard the chipmunks cursing him out!"

"Give me an example of a chipmunk curse," she challenged him.

"Greedy cheeks!"

"Nut waster!" Dayna said. "Fox bait!"

"Good one," Eric applauded. The bright, sharp chirp of the creature in question greeted them from the trees bordering the meadow they approached; a jay echoed with its own harsh warning, and the woods rustled with the movement of small creatures.

"Oops," Dayna said. "I guess we got a little loud."

Eric shook his head, curiosity lighting his features. "Nope. They're leaving the meadow, not running from us." He lengthened his steps and Dayna was forced to jog to keep up. They reached the edge of the meadow together and stopped, listening, watching. The meadow was still in the calm of spring, with short green spikes of grass just reaching through the dead thatch of winter. Three pole-mounted bluebird houses dotted the expanse, which remained as still as the slight breeze allowed. Dayna caught Eric's eye and shrugged.

He lifted one shoulder in reply and left the path to walk the perimeter of the clearing. Dayna fell in behind with a sigh, but he didn't go far before stopping short. "Holy shit," he breathed, and stared into the woods.

"What,
what
?" Dayna asked impatiently, and bumped him with her hip to move him over so she could see through the small gap in the brush. Her jaw literally dropped at the sight of dusky limbs and a tangle of leather equipment. After a moment the details sorted themselves out in her mind and she was able to discern that the limbs belonged to a young woman and the leather was a saddle and its accoutrements. Although her mind raced, it could provide no plausible reason a young woman would be lying in the woods clothed only in a saddle. "Yeah," she said finally. "Holy shit."

At the words, the young woman stirred. With a groan she shook her face free of the odd colored, ragged hair that had covered it; she opened her eyes and reacted with a strange, frightened
huff
that came from deep within her chest. She pulled herself awkwardly forward, out from beneath the saddle and the lather encrusted blanket, and Eric moved forward to help her.

She saw them for the first time. Her dark eyes widened with fright and her nostrils flared; she lurched to her feet and tried to run, but only got a few steps before she tripped, falling with a grunt.

Eric froze, dismayed, and Dayna tugged his arm. "Let me," she whispered. "There's no telling what she's been through."

Wordlessly, he moved back and crouched down, halving his height. Dayna took a step and said, "It's all right. We'll help you."

The young woman scrabbled backwards, paying more attention to her own clumsiness than to either Dayna or Eric. She looked down at herself and whimpered, and her eyes were huge and terrified. She thrashed to her feet again, just long enough to run headlong into a tree, after which she fell in a tangle of long limbs and curled around herself, trembling too hard to try again.

Dayna exchanged a dismayed glance with Eric; he shook his head. "Maybe she's on something," he said. "I'll go get help."

"No!" Dayna said emphatically. "I'm afraid she might hurt herself, and I can't handle her alone. Wait until we get her calmed down a little, okay?"

He looked at the still quivering huddle of woman and nodded reluctantly. Then he slipped off his loose lightweight jacket and said, "See if you can't get her covered up. She must be cold."

Dayna took the jacket and pushed her way through the twiggy brush between the meadow and the woods. The woman didn't react to her, and Dayna glanced back uncertainly; Eric nodded encouragement.

Another step, no reaction. Dayna quietly made her way to within a few feet of the woman, then went down on her knees and spoke quietly. "I want to help you," she said, but although she could see the dark eyes were open, they didn't seem to see her. Hesitantly, Dayna stretched out her hand.

"Be careful," Eric whispered.

Dayna nodded without taking her eyes from the withdrawn creature before her. Her unsteady hand brushed the naked shoulder without reaction. "I want to help you," she repeated softly. Her fingers stroked the coarsely textured hair, smoothed it in a cautious petting motion. "See, it's all right now." Was it her imagination, or had the trembling abated almost imperceptibly? "Take it easy now."

The woman stiffened, and Dayna froze, no less flighty than she. "Easy," Dayna repeated experimentally. "Take it easy." To her astonishment, the woman, still huddled in on herself, shifted her weight to lean against Dayna, pressing close.

"Oh, good, Dayna!" Eric encouraged, rustling in the brush behind her.

"Stay where you are," Dayna warned, her inflection still patterned to soothe. She smoothed back the odd hair and petted and consoled the woman, using the magic word
easy
liberally while she tried to take stock of what she and Eric had found. Long limbed and muscled like an athlete, the woman was bruised and scratched, both Achilles' tendons scraped raw and bloody. Her body bore no signs of abuse, but she was clammy with dried sweat and exuded an odd musky odor of effort.

Eric rustled behind them again, and Dayna bit her tongue on admonition when the woman didn't react—and when Eric seemed content, from the noises of it, to examine the saddle. "I don't get this," he said, a frown in his voice. "This blanket's soaking wet—smells like horse. Weird. I don't see any hoofprints . . . . Maybe there's something in the saddlebags . . . ."

Dayna didn't answer. She kept up her soothing patter of reassuring nonsense and thought, perhaps, that the woman who leaned against her no longer quivered quite as much, was possibly even beginning to relax.

After an excessively long pause, Eric reported, "Not much in here. A hammer, couple of nails, a horseshoe . . . it doesn't . . ." he trailed off into pensive silence, then picked up his thought. "These things don't look
right
. Like if I went into a store after them, they wouldn't look like this."

Dayna smiled tightly. "That's useful," she said, keeping her voice low. Her charge was definitely relaxing, unbothered by her conversation. "Isn't there anything that might tell us who she is?"

"Well, there's a packet of papers, but it's sealed."

"Open it," Dayna suggested.

Eric hesitated, then said, "I don't think I can do it without tearing them up. Besides, it looks pretty official, and it's got someone's name on it."

"What's the name?" Dayna said, rolling her eyes. She had no patience for dragging answers out of Eric, a process imposed on her any time he was in deep thought.

After another hesitation, he said, "I don't know. It's in a strange script. I suppose it might not be a
name
at all." After more rustling during which she supposed he was replacing the packet, he sighed heavily and said, "This just doesn't make any sense. How is she?"

"Better, I think. Maybe good enough so you can leave us, go get some help."

"I've been thinking about that," he told her.

Uh-oh.
"Eric, this isn't one of your orphaned bunnies to take home and raise," she said, almost sharply. "Something's happened to this woman, and it ought to be reported."

He crawled up beside her and looked into the woman's face. The large dark eyes were only half open, and they noted him without alarm or any apparent care for her nudity in his presence. He took his jacket from where it lay next to Dayna and carefully offered it to her.

Her eyes did open all the way, then, and she drew back from Dayna, only enough to support herself independently. She cocked her head and leaned forward and sniffed the jacket.

Another incredulous glance flashed between Dayna and Eric. "Weird," he whispered, as she drew back again, cocked her head the other way, and brought the other side of her face up to the material. Apparently satisfied, she gave a small huff and sat awkwardly back on her haunches. She took no notice of her completely exposed breasts, but Eric couldn't be so blasé. Pinking slightly on his high, tightly drawn cheekbones, he slowly settled the jacket over her shoulders. She made no move to thread her arms into the sleeves and, after a moment, Dayna took her unresisting hand and guided it into the garment. Eric, on her other side, did the same, then fastened the zipper for her. It was an exercise in slow motion that seemed to bother the woman less than it bothered the two of them. She ducked her head down to rub her nose on the inside of her wrist and regarded them patiently, waiting for whatever they might choose to do next.

"Dayna . . . if we call the police, what's going to happen to
her
?"

"She'll get help," Dayna answered promptly.

"What, they'll put her in some state hospital? Lose her in the system?"

"And what do you propose to do, take care of her for the rest of her life? She obviously can't take care of herself."

"You don't know that. I think she deserves a chance to get over whatever shock she's had. Putting her into an impersonal system won't give her that chance," Eric said, a familiar stubborn note creeping into his voice.

"So you just want to walk her out of here, stuff her into your car, and take her home for a few days," Dayna said with sarcasm, hoping it would ram the absurdity through his stubbornness.

He was taken aback only for a moment. "I want to help her, Dayna. Don't you?"

Dayna gave an exasperated sigh. "And what if we take her home and three days later we discover the police have been looking for her, and that her family's frantic, and that we've done more harm than good?"

Eric rubbed his nose and said frankly, "I know there's a good chance this isn't the right thing to do. But I think it's about even with the chance that taking her to some authority is exactly the wrong thing to do."

Dayna said nothing, lost in the surprise that he was anywhere near being practical.

"How about this," Eric suggested. "Twenty-four hours of TLC. If she doesn't straighten out by then, well," he shrugged, "I guess we can call the police."

"Right," Dayna grumbled. "And explain to them why we didn't call earlier."

"Dayna—"