The Witch's Reward (7 page)

Chapter 7

Larra spent the first few hours on the road trying not to think. She tried not to think of her grandmother crying in the kitchen, or recall the way the stone of the cottage had shined a burnished gold in the morning sun as she rolled away. She tried not to remember Kiera’s sobs as she struggled against her father’s strong arms, or the look of acceptance in Jess’s eyes as he stood by the side of the road, realizing there was nothing he could do for her. She tried to ignore the memory of banked hazel eyes staring at her from a bronzed, handsome face. And above all, she tried not to think about everything bad that might happen.

If she did, she was going to fall apart. Mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, she would break into a million pieces, and then into a million more.

There was still hope, she reminded herself. She had to hold it together. She had to overcome the urge to disintegrate. And the only way to do that was to focus on the facts.

Fact: She was a prisoner. Okay, she could accept that. It wasn’t like throwing herself repeatedly against the bars of the cage in an attempt to escape was going to do her any good. Whether she liked it or not, she was stuck. She would have to learn to deal with it.

Fact: She was going to the palace. The truth was, she’d always wanted to go; so even though her transportation wasn’t ideal, the end result was the same. And that was something positive.

Fact: It was not certain that she would be executed. Likely? Yes. But she was working on forgetting that point of interest. The truth was that she was headed to meet with the king and be tried. A trial, not execution. Again, focusing on the positive.

Which led to the next two facts.

Fact: She was still alive and relatively unharmed, injured feet notwithstanding.

Fact: She was on an adventure. Her very first. It was something she’d always wanted, but never hoped to have. And though the circumstances were far different than what she could have ever imagined, it was still an adventure. For the first time in her life, she had left Farr. The lush, green valleys of the home she had known were now far behind her, and surrounding her was a world foreign to anything she’d known.

Aside from a few visits to the berry patches and an occasional town celebration on the outskirts of the forest, this was the only time Larra had ever been in the Rockwood. She noticed the trees seemed taller, denser, more alive within the heavy folds of the forest than she had imagined. The dirt road continued in turns and twists, winding its way through thick trunks and scraggly foliage. Sunlight filtered down in tiny clumps between the branches, casting grape-like spots along the road that danced to music of their own making. The scent of damp earth and old leaves rose from the ground, adding even more dimension. It was as beautiful as Farr, but in a totally different way.

She fantasized of gliding through the forest’s shadows, of stepping through its hidden hollows. But after glancing down at her feet, that fantasy quickly dissipated. The cuts she had received from being dragged down the gravel path at the cottage were coated in dried blood and there was no ignoring the stinging sensation of infection. It would be so easy to reach down and heal them, but she feared the consequences. She wished she’d had time to at least collect her shoes, if not some pouches of medicine from her grandmother’s supplies. It certainly wouldn’t have hurt anyone to have the herbs on such a journey; though, in all likelihood, the captain would probably think the medicines to be some sort of witch’s poison.

Looking up, she saw that besides the captain there were thirteen other men in the company. Two had been sent forward to scout the trail, leaving the remaining men riding in groups of two and three. They seemed far more relaxed now than at the beginning of the journey, the low hum of voices breaking the silence of the forest as they quietly spoke to one another. In addition to the men, there were the two dogs and two pack mules laden down with supplies they must have purchased in the village.

She didn’t notice one of the men approaching her until a voice startled her from her thoughts.

“Why, lookey here. What is this thing caught in a cage? Ah, I know. It must be a wild beast.”

The taunting, sing-songy words bothered Larra, and she jerked around to see a burly man riding alongside the wagon. Bushy, blond brows set heavily over a ruddy face were visible through the shadows of his helmet.

It was the man who had pushed her grandmother! 

Red, hot anger began to stir within Larra. Any man who could attack an innocent, elderly lady was the real beast, not her. It was the first time Larra had ever felt so intensely vengeful towards another individual. She wanted to shove him off his horse, make him hurt as he had hurt her sweet grandmother. The feelings of vengeance were new, but Larra couldn’t deny that they felt good. They were so different, so much livelier than the depression she had been fighting all day.

But the anger left as quickly as it had come. With the man’s next words rose a dark, shivering fear that stabbed at her like an ice pick.

“You better watch out, little witchy. Because I’m going to make sure you don’t reach the palace alive. You’ll be lucky to last the night.” He leered over her. “And when I finish with you, there will be nothing left to burn.”

A chill swept up Larra’s spine, and she knew instinctively that this man was not making an idle threat. She was terrified. Truly terrified of this man. Who was he? Why did he want to hurt her, and how could she possibly keep away from him when she had no control over her situation?

Huddling into the corner in a pathetic attempt to shield herself from the maliciousness radiating from him, she barely noticed when the blond man suddenly straightened in his saddle. Peering through the bars, she saw the captain riding toward them at a trot, a look of concern on his face. His big gelding puffed and collected its head against the bit as it was pulled to a walk alongside the wagon.

“What’s going on here, Smithen?” the captain asked. When all he got was a shrug, he ordered, “Then get back in line. This isn’t a side show.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” answered the burly man without hesitation and moved his horse ahead.

The captain edged closer, glancing briefly at the way she huddled in the corner before dropping his gaze to her feet. She expected him to say something, but he only pulled his horse around and rode back to the head of the group.

The party reached the Eyeris River by nightfall. The cool, steadily flowing mass of water moved like a large, slithering snake through the heart of the Rockwood Forest and southward, all the way to the city. Larra felt a cool breeze drifting off the waters and through the trees, touching her face. Despite the shade, the summer day had been hot and she felt sticky with sweat, dust and tears. She hoped she would be allowed to wash her face and neck in the water at the very least. 

After snapping instructions to his men to prepare the camp, the captain walked to the parked wagon with determined steps, an older knight at his side. While the captain exemplified youth, strength, and command, the other man, while still strong physically, emanated wisdom and experience. He had graying hair and light, blue-green eyes with crinkles at the edges. Though not nearly as old as her grandmother, his face was weathered in the same way Elaine’s had been—healthy, yet worn. And unlike the captain, who continued to stare at Larra with aloofness, this older man seemed almost sympathetic.

“Get ready, witch,” ordered the captain as they approached the door of the cage.

Larra scrambled to her feet, keeping her back bent so as not to hit her head on the low ceiling. The older man inserted a key into the lock and she heard a click, then the sliding sound of a spring-loaded lever, before the captain swung the heavy door open.

Contemplating how to descend the wagon without the use of her arms, she was surprised when she felt the gentle touch of a calloused hand just above her elbow. She looked down to see the captain’s large, sun-darkened fingers curling around the smooth slimness of her arm and for a moment forgot what she was supposed to be doing. It was not so much the touch itself that had paralyzed her, but the gentleness within the touch. It was so at odds with the persona he portrayed that it confused her.

She looked up to find him staring at her, his eyes delving deeply into hers as if seeking an answer to some mysterious question only he knew. Her belly flip-flopped and, disturbed by the odd reaction, she jerked her eyes away, looking to the ground below.

“Here, let me.” He lifted her down.

“Thank you.” She kept her face averted until he released her arm and hastily took a step back. When she could finally look at him, she saw that his features were schooled into an implacable mask, revealing nothing of whether or not he’d felt a similar jolt.

“You sure about this?” the older knight interrupted the moment, handing over a small container.

The captain seemed to mull over his response as he placed the item in a pouch at his belt. “Yeah. It’s only right. I’ll take the dogs with me to be on the safe side.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of their conversation, but before she could question them, a glint of silver caught her eye. The captain had pulled out a knife and was turning it in her direction.

She instinctively began to back away.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” He grabbed her shoulder before she could flee, turning her so that her back was towards him. Before she knew what was happening, he had placed the knife between her bound hands and cut the rope.

Relieved and more than a little confused, she rubbed at her wrists, willing the blood to circulate back into her fingers. “Why—?” She didn’t know what to ask, or how. After Smithen’s earlier threats, she found herself wary of the men she was with, and when she’d seen the knife in the captain’s hands, she couldn’t suppress the feeling of fear that had zipped through her.

“You’re being allowed some privacy at the river to wash and whatnot. Head along that small path,” he ordered. “The dogs and I will follow.” He didn’t replace the knife, but his sword remained in its sheath, and she took that as a good sign.

She saw a break in the trees that must lead to the river, and began a slow, painful walk. Her muscles were stiff from the journey, and the touch of sharp rocks and sticks to her feet was difficult to bear.

“I didn’t mean to scare you with the knife,” he said behind her. “We’re honorable men, despite what you might think. Our orders are to bring you directly to the palace. We won’t hurt you as long as you don’t use your magic or try escaping. If you’re compliant with the rules, you have nothing to fear.”

Not all of them were honorable,
Larra thought sorely, remembering Smithen. Should she tell the captain about the other man’s threats? She decided against it. Just because he said he didn’t intend to harm her didn’t mean he would help if she was in any actual danger.

The knowledge that he probably wouldn’t care if she lived or died was bitter. Once she would have secretly dreamed of meeting a man as handsome as he, albeit one who actually cared about her. If a miracle occurred and she was allowed to live, Larra decided she would make her dreams reality. She would stop hiding behind the folds of her grandmother’s skirts, figuratively speaking, and find someone to love. Someone to build a life with, a home and family with. She would look for that “more” she had mentioned to Jess.

After a few more painful steps, the rush of water became audible. The trees began to thin, eventually shrinking into bushes, then grasses, and then finally becoming a rocky shore that met the clear, steady flow of water from the river. She hoped it felt as cool as it looked.

“I’ll wait behind that tree so you can have some privacy,” he said, pointing to a big, thick trunk on the other side of the bushes. “I need you to speak so that I can hear you. If I don’t hear you, I’ll come out and look for you. Is that understood?” 

“Of course,” replied Larra.

“Just remember that if you do try to run, all I have to do is signal the hounds and they will be at your throat before you can blink.”

The reminder wasn’t necessary, in Larra’s opinion. She could barely walk, let alone run. And all she wanted to do right now was wash off the dirt and grime from the road.

“Here,” he pulled out a tin container. “This is for your feet, compliments of the older knight you saw, Sir Griffen. It will help with your cuts. My assignment is to bring you to the palace in one piece, if possible. I’d rather not lose you to fleshrot along the way.”

“Do you know what herbs are in it?”

“Does it matter?” He raised an eyebrow, as if such a question were ridiculous coming from a prisoner.

“It does to a healer, which I am. My grandmother is the village healer and I was learning her trade before you arrested me. Every healer uses different ingredients in their salves, and it can make a difference in how quickly a wound will heal.”

“Just use it and be grateful,” he said bluntly as he turned away, the dogs following at his heel. “And keep talking.”

The moment he disappeared behind the tree, Larra leapt into action. Carefully making her way to a large rock partially immersed in the river, she sat down and dipped her feet in the water, sighing in bliss at the cool, satiny feel of it on her burning cuts.

“I don’t hear you talking, witch,” came a deep voice from beyond the bushes. “Don’t make me come out to check on you. I doubt you’d appreciate the loss of what little privacy you have because you couldn’t follow simple directions.”