The Witch's Reward (15 page)

Smithen hadn’t uttered a single word, and she didn’t know if it was because of fear or because his throat had been injured by the dog’s jaws. Blood still ran, albeit slowly, from the wounds on his neck and leg, and as she pushed herself steadily through the foliage, Larra found herself facing a new dilemma.

She had never known hatred before, never felt the red hot passion that fired the blood and made one want to injure another. After what Smithen had done to her, she began to experience it for the first time. The hatred was diluted with the ever-present fear that she’d had of the man since the beginning, but was there nonetheless. And it was strong enough that she would probably have turned around and struck him if it hadn’t been for another factor, and the one that caused her dilemma. Because although Larra wanted to hurt the monster who had tried to kill her, she wanted to heal him, too.

The power to heal was alive within her, struggling to break free and fulfill its purpose. It didn’t matter that Smithen was a monster, a creature of blackness with evil in its soul. It didn’t matter that he had tried to kill her, had almost succeeded in killing her. The only thing that mattered to the magic was that a person was injured and needed help. And with some surprise, Larra realized that instead of turning her into an evil witch, the magic was actually helping her remain human. She had just realized that incredible fact when they arrived at the camp.

True to what she had learned about foolsberries, the men were alert, if weak, and cleaning up the camp by the time they entered. She saw the shock on many of their faces when she walked freely into the clearing with Smithen held captive behind her. She imagined they made quite a sight, all three with their soaked clothes and Smithen with his injuries. The two dogs loped ahead of Christoff as he took his prisoner to the wagon. Without ceremony he opened the door and shoved the man in, slamming it shut after him and locking it. Returning to the fire, he informed the knights what had happened.

“That worthless soldier has attempted to murder this girl on several occasions and would have succeeded this evening if I hadn’t reached her in time. Your illness tonight was no mistake. It was a setup to allow him time to kill the girl, and his actions put your lives in grave danger because of your weakened state. He is a threat to us all; a far greater one, it appears, than our hostage. Therefore he will remain in the cage until we arrive at the palace and he can be escorted to the dungeons where he belongs. Larra will ride in his stead and has agreed to go peaceably to meet the king.

“If there are any among you with concerns about the new arrangement, you may speak to me about it in private. Now, let’s finish setting up this camp; there’s little light remaining.”

“Well, well,” Larra heard Griffen murmur under his breath. He had sided up to her at the start of Christoff’s speech and now gave her soaking garments and damp hair a worried look.

“Are you all right, my dear? You look like a drowned fish, and I daresay that is exactly what you are. I’m glad the brute failed.”

“Thank you, Griffen.”

“You certainly can’t walk around in that—you’ll catch a cold. I’ll bet we can find some extra garments lying around here somewhere.” He took her arm and led her to a log near the fire. “For now, rest yourself by the fire and I will return with some clothes. I have no doubt that your comfort is the captain’s highest priority.” He raised an implicating eyebrow and she blushed furiously.

Sir Griffen chuckled at her embarrassment. “Don’t worry, my dear. I won’t tell a soul that he likes you, though it is pretty obvious, even to my old eyes. If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t resist you either. You are very sweet, and he would do well to end up with someone like you.”  He patted her shoulder, then left to find her clothes.

Larra watched the embers of the fire glow, wrapped up in her own happy thoughts of the captain’s kiss. It was only a moment before Griffen returned with spare pants and a tunic.

“These are the smallest I could find among the men. No, don’t be embarrassed to wear them, as they were gladly given. The men trust the captain’s decision. They will protect you with their lives and it’s the least they can do to lend you some clothes. Come along, I’ll take you to a place where you can change.”

By the time darkness overcame the forest, Larra found herself warmed, dried, and stuffed with roasted hare. The clothing was big on her, but the leggings offered her far more freedom of movement than she had ever enjoyed in skirts. Just as she began to wonder where she would sleep, she felt a presence and turned to see Christoff crouching beside her.

“I will show you where you can lie down.”

He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet, keeping  a grasp on her fingers as he walked her to the other side of the fire where two blankets were unrolled side by side. 

“You’ll sleep by me,” he said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Do I need protection?” she teased.

A twinkle came to his eyes. “There are all sorts of creepy things lurking in these woods. A lady as beautiful as you shouldn’t endure the darkness alone.”

“So you would be my protector.”

He stopped and stared down at her, all laughter gone. “Yes,” he stated, solemnly. “I would be your protector.”

She knew he meant it. “I’m glad.”

She lay down on one of the pallets, pulling the wool blanket up over her body. He did the same, then turned to his side and propped himself up with his elbow, giving him the advantage of looking down at her. He was very close.

“I don’t dare kiss you here, with all these men around. But I want to. Will you let me hold your hand, at least?”

She smiled and reached over. The other men had bunked down already, with the exception of the night guard, who was at the far side of the clearing. Seeing that all was well, Christoff lay back and grasped her hand, holding it throughout the peaceful night.

Chapter 16

Lucien returned from the king’s chamber. Lissa had been absent, an unfortunate accident in the kitchen requiring her presence. Of course, it had been one of Lucien’s bats that knocked the cook into a vat of boiling oil, but why worry about details? The bat had accomplished its purpose, which was to get Lissa away from her husband.

He was in a much better mood, he realized. The meeting with the carnies had gone well, the prince’s party would be attacked before tomorrow evening, and the king’s demise was progressing nicely. 

He set the empty tea kettle on his scarred desktop. The king had been anxious to take his tea, looking forward to the relief it would give him from his pains. He’d never know that there was an increased amount of poison in this last cup. Lucien smiled. To a stranger, he knew he would appear quite handsome, distinguished. He was considered a trustworthy man with an important job. And that was the way he liked it. 

Lucien surveyed his study, satisfaction blooming with the knowledge that soon the entire palace would be his to use as he liked, not just this private little room. Glancing at the floor, he realized the old law books were still lying there, collecting dust.
Oh well
,
they won’t have any real use in a couple of days, anyway.
His smile broadened. By this time in two days, everything would be different.

The next morning, Lissa awoke to her husband’s harsh breathing. Sunlight was just beginning to filter through the drapes, and the maids had not yet come to bring their breakfast. Through the wispy stream of morning light, she could see her husband’s body, almost lifeless except for the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Thinking him to be asleep, she reached over and shook his arm gently. His skin felt clammy and unnatural under her hand, and she pulled back, alarmed. For a brief moment his eyelids cracked open and Lissa saw the heavy dilation of pupils through a thick sheen of moisture before the lids slowly shut again and his body resumed its laborious struggle for breath.

Lissa was beside herself with worry. For the first time since she’d known her husband, he was incapable of getting out of bed. Ever since he first told her of the painful stomach contractions, he had at least managed to get dressed, get to his study or the great hall, and accomplish his business. As the days passed, he’d begun doing things slower, taking a little more time to get ready in the morning, a few more hours to accomplish business that should have taken minutes. Regardless, he managed to continue moving. But this morning was different.

Immediately, Lissa did what any sane, intelligent woman would. She jumped from the large bed, threw on her dressing gown, and ran to the door. 

“Get a healer and a servant with fresh water here, immediately!” she yelled at the two stalwart guards who stood watch at the entrance to the private hallway. “The king is ill.”

She stood there only long enough to watch one of the guards sprint away before she ran back inside the room. The guard would not hesitate to send up the first servant he could find before locating the nearest healer in the city. The royal family typically enjoyed excellent health, so healers did not normally reside within the palace unless there was a particular necessity, such as impending childbirth or fatal illness. For a moment Lissa cursed her husband’s pride for not allowing a healer to stay within close proximity during these last few weeks of his illness. He kept assuring her that the pains would go away, that they were simply the result of bad digestion. And he kept taking that blasted tea from Lucien, claiming that his indigestion went away when he did. He would be better for a moment before becoming sick again, and then better again, in a continuous revolution. But never had Steffan been so ill as to be incapable of getting out of bed.

How had his illness become so much worse in such a short time? Over the last few days, he’d seemed to be getting healthier, the pains not as strong. He had even flirted with her yesterday before that terrible catastrophe in the kitchen pulled her away.

What horror, she thought, as she was reminded of the burns her cook had suffered. The woman had fallen onto a pot of boiling oil, apparently having been pushed from behind by a great big bat. Some of the serving girls had seen the creature fly into the kitchen and straight for the cook, as if the cook had had a large bullseye on her back. Lissa had been called at once, as all the servants knew she wanted to be informed of any goings-on in the palace. The oil, of course, had not only burned the cook’s chest and arms, but had spilled all over the floor and coated everything in a greasy blanket. Lissa was simply glad the spill had somehow avoided falling into the fire, or there would have been an even bigger mess.

The result of the accident was that Lissa had missed supper with her beloved husband and had returned late into the evening to find Steffan already asleep. He had looked so peaceful that she’d decided not to awaken him with an update of the kitchen. She’d been glad he was sleeping so calmly and thought that he was on the mend from his ailments.

But now he was suddenly much, much worse. Past the expertise of any local healer.

The beginning of an idea began to work its way to the forefront of her mind. Would it be possible? Steffan might be upset if he found out, but his anger came second to her determination to keep him alive. If he could just hold on a little longer…

Two servants arrived, carrying clean rags and hot water. Lissa immediately set to work.

Chapter 17

The day began like a dream come true. Larra awoke to find her head snuggled against Christoff’s shoulder, his arm around her, holding her close. She looked up to find him smiling down at her, his eyes still carrying a trace of sleep. She felt a blush creep into her cheeks and shyly smiled in return. She was new to this relationship business and wasn’t certain how to proceed until he lowered his head and gave her a lingering kiss before helping her get up. The men were barely stirring in their blankets when he nudged her toward the river.

“Go ahead. Get down there and wash your face before everyone else takes a turn,” he said.

“Doesn’t someone need to come with me?” she asked.

His response was to simply smile, and Larra knew in that moment that he was allowing her to go on her own as a symbol of his trust. She grinned and hastily made her way through the trees. If Christoff had any doubts as to whether or not she would return on her own, he hadn’t shown them.

The day proceeded smoothly from there. Once the men had risen and a small breakfast consumed, they loaded up the supplies and prepared to set out. Christoff estimated only two days of travel left before they reached the capital, and Larra could tell that the men were getting anxious to return home. 

Smithen was permitted an escort of four armed men to the river once Larra returned, and his wounds were taken care of so that infection didn’t set in. Christoff said he wanted the man in good health when they reached the palace so that he would be fully aware of his punishment when it came. The almost-murderer would be questioned and sentenced based on his actions, and Christoff assured Larra that they would find out the truth behind why the soldier had been so eager to kill her. So far he’d refused to tell them anything.

Once everything was packed and the new prisoner secured in the wagon, Christoff led Larra to Smithen’s horse. She’d never been on such a big animal before, her previous experiences limited to plow horses and small ponies that the villagers used to help with the herds. But this animal was gigantic, its back easily several inches above her head. 

“It will be fine,” Christoff reassured her as he gave her a leg up. “This horse has been on the road for almost two weeks. He is too tired to do anything but follow the rest of the animals. Just stay by my side and you’ll do fine.” He smiled and lightly touched her knee, which both reassured her and made her blush again. She knew he would keep their relationship quiet while they were around his men, and the touch was unexpected.

They travelled much as they had in previous days, with the men riding in uneven rows of twos or threes. Larra remained next to the captain, and a few of the knights even smiled at her when they saw her. Christoff and Larra used the time to get to know each other better, with Christoff sharing bits and pieces about his family. He mentioned his two sisters and that his parents were living in the city. But when she asked what they did for a living, he clammed up. “It isn’t important,” he said and changed the subject.

She told him about her neighbors and friends, particularly about Jess and Kiera. His eyes narrowed when she mentioned her close friendship with Jess, but he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until after lunch and they were on the road again that she dared bring up her magic. She wanted to tell him the truth about her mother and what had happened with Kiera and the lumbar, but just as she began to share, the scouts’ horns sounded in the distance.

Three rapid blows broke the comfortable quiet of the forest. It seemed time stood still as every horse and rider drew to a halt to listen to the signal. Even Larra’s gelding stopped, waiting with its head in the air and its ears pricked forward, as though it knew something horrible was about to happen. Again, three sharp sounds came through the forest. 

Then everything happened at once.

“Swords!” yelled Christoff. Holding his reins in one hand, he reached for his scabbard. He raised his sword into the air and whirled his horse around to face the men, issuing orders rapidly. The air all around Larra became crisp with anticipation as men jerked down the face guards on their helmets and unsheathed their weapons, preparing for anything.

“Jered,” Christoff called to a knight. “I want you to cover the left flank. Stay off the road and hidden in the trees. We may need the surprise advantage. Bart, you will do the same on the right. I need both of you to wait in the forest unless we require your help. Be on guard—we don’t know who is there or what they want. Don’t attack unless you are attacked first. The rest of you will follow me up the road. Be prepared for anything.” 

Horses pranced in place as they felt their riders’ tension. There was an excitement in the air such as Larra had never felt before, and she realized that these men were eager for a fight. They had hated the boring ride to and from Farr and longed to see some action. This was providing them with the perfect opportunity to dust off their armor and do what they were trained for.

“What about me?” Larra quickly asked, her voice barely loud enough to carry over the sound of stomping hooves and clanging armor. A part of her longed to see the excitement; too many years of quiet and solitude had made her eager for the adventure. But she was smart enough to know it could be dangerous.

“You’ll stay here, and keep out of sight.” His manner was gruff and for a moment Larra wondered if she had done something to spark his displeasure with her. But she realized it was probably just the energy of the moment that had him thinking only of what was ahead. She would just get in his way, she realized, somewhat disappointed.

“Griffen,” he called. The older knight rode forward, firmly controlling his own eager mount. “We don’t have time to dawdle. Take her into the forest towards the river and keep her safe. I don’t want to see or hear from you until I know the road is clear. Wait for my signal before you come out.” With that he snapped down his visor and spurred his great horse around, taking off up the road at a gallop. Griffen grabbed the reins of Larra’s gelding as the other men raced after their captain.

“Griffen…” she began with a worried look. 

“Come on,” he ordered briskly, pulling on her horse’s reins and guiding them both into the forest.

“But what about Smithen?” The wagon was still on the road, the drafts apparently the only animals not excited at the sound of the horn, as they seemed to be falling asleep where they stood. Smithen was sitting back against the bars with nonchalance. His neck was still red and tender from the wolfhound’s teeth, but otherwise he appeared well enough. Larra had not heard him speak since the incident by the river, and she wondered why he was so silent and, especially at a time like this, appearing so relaxed. Didn’t he want to fight with the other men? Locked up as he was, he was little more than a sitting duck for whatever danger was lurking around the corner. If anything came to attack him, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. It seemed to Larra that he was resigned to whatever fate held for him, as though he didn’t care to live or die.

“The captain left him there on purpose. There is no way we can take that wagon off the path with the trees here so crowded, and it would only be a hindrance to move him into the battle scene. He is expendable, but you are not. Now, let’s get out of here.” He pulled her into the cover of the trees.

They had barely found a small area to hide, the horses shifting nervously within the small space between a tall thicket and some deadened trees, when Larra heard the shouting. Whatever was out there, it was more than just wild animals or a robber or two, because the clang of heavy weapons hitting armor, of bodies slamming into bodies, and the hoarse battle cry of men defending themselves filtered through the forest like water through sand, bringing with it a terror of the unknown.

Griffen was focused on spot through the trees, his body poised for attack, his sword held high in the air with a tight fist. He didn’t appear afraid, but prepared, and she knew he would protect her at any cost. She only hoped there would be no cost. 

Images raced through her mind, possibilities of what was out there. And at the foremost of those images, was Christoff. As captain, he would be at the forefront of the battle. He would be in the thick of the fight, in the greatest danger. Her gut twisted at the thought that he might not come back alive.

Their relationship had changed so dramatically over the last couple of days. At first he had been little more than a handsome knight, aloof and distant, her captor. Now he was everything that was dear and important to her. She prayed he would return to her safe and sound, that they might have more time together. Time to live, time to learn about each other, time to love. Her dreams had barely taken flight, and now they were in danger of being shot down from the sky.

“Will he be okay?” she asked. 

Griffen didn’t need to be told who she was asking about.

“Of course,” he reassured her, his eyes never diverting from the direction of the battle. “The captain is the best of the men, which is why he was chosen for his position. The king wouldn’t have made Christoff a leader if the young man was not incredibly gifted in fighting. You have no cause to be concerned. But let us be quiet, now, and keep our eyes and ears open. Listen for anything that sounds…different.”

She was somewhat mollified at his confidence in Christoff’s abilities. Not having seen the captain fight, she could only assume that he was excellent—else he never would have been promoted to his rank. But assuming and knowing were two different things.

Larra’s horse suddenly shifted beneath her, then braced itself, its head raised high and its ears pinned forward. She noted Griffen’s horse had done the same and was about to question the animals’ behavior when she heard the rapid beat of hooves galloping quickly down the road from the direction of the battle. She felt, rather than saw, Griffen tense. He raised his sword a little higher. 

The galloping left the road and veered toward them. The sound of smashing foliage snaked through the forest like an approaching whirlwind, the volume growing louder and more thunderous as it neared. The horses began to dance in their places, their nostrils flaring for a scent of the incoming creature. Fear and anticipation filled Larra’s stomach, making it jump about like the horse beneath her. She stiffened in her saddle, eyes glued on the part of the thicket that was closest to the now deafening advance of an unknown rider.

With a sudden frantic crash, the thickets were flung open and a great black horse charged through. Griffen barely managed to lower his weapon in time to keep from stabbing Christoff in the chest. 

The blood-covered captain did not stop to make pleasantries. Within two strides he was galloping into them, forcing their horses to rear up and pivot around, and slapping the animals on their haunches with the ends of his reins. Larra and Griffen’s horses took off, both riders clasping onto manes as Christoff urged them to run away from the direction of the road and towards the Cypress River. 

Larra heard him shout only one word before she was catapulted forward on the back of the uncontrolled animal. It was a word that haunted children’s nightmares.

“Carnies!”