He snapped his fingers. Heather looked at him and he gestured in a ‘what did I tell you!’ fashion. Ignoring him, she seized Cara’s hand.
“What were you looking for?”
“I don’t know I woke up too soon. I was so scared that the…”
His eyes caught hers then. She saw recognition in them, a tacit acknowledgement of his presence in her bedroom in the middle of the night. Without a single word he had the power to alleviate her anguish and make her feel safe. Boosted by his protective gaze, she continued.
“There’s something you need to understand though. I found myself on this land two days ago, but I come from another world.”
They seemed to take it well, although Heather’s expression showed concern. Letting go of her hand, she straightened up to fix his attention.
“You must take her to Caius.”
“We’ll leave at dawn tomorrow.”
A simple exchange and Cara’s fate had been decided for her. Whoever this Caius was, she’d be on her way to see him the next day. She had no other plan anyway, no idea where to start and not a clue as to the reason of her presence in this medieval universe. So why not have a chat with this Caius person?
“We’re talking dangerous grounds here, Dead. Bounty hunters are everywhere and you’re their main target. How will you reach him?”
“I’ll get us a ride.”
Focused on their preparations, they had forgotten all about her. As he mentioned a ride, Heather shook her head.
“Too risky. We aren’t even sure.”
“I am.”
His simple statement teased Cara’s pulse. He knew. He was sure. He was always right. Tiny shivers climbing up her legs, she tried to subdue her building excitement. It turned out to be easy.
They lived in houses made of wood and straw, they washed in huge buckets or freezing waterfalls and they used candles to light their homes. No need to be a genius to figure out the nature of their favourite rides.
Oh, shit. She had never taken riding lessons. Never even touched a horse, let alone hopped on one of them. This was going to be tricky unless… Well, she’d just have to hang on to him and try not to fall off the horse.
Although she still looked worried, Heather nodded. Then like a last reminder, she raised a finger at him and wagged it from right to left.
“But you aren’t taking the parchment with you.”
The apparently precious paper they had discussed earlier had slipped Cara’s mind. Forearms on the table, she leant forward.
“What does it say?”
Chapter Nine
He walked to the couch, picked up his jacket lying on the back of it and strode to the front door.
“I have arrangements to make.”
Heather must be used to his impulsive attitudes because she didn’t react. Once he was gone, she moved to the stove.
“Would you like more tea? I’ll brew a fresh pot.”
No, she didn’t want more of the, on second thought, bad tasting tea. She’d love an answer to her question though.
“Heather, what does the parchment say?”
The old woman placed a jar filled with herbs on the worktable. Crossing the kitchen-lounge, she went to the only other door besides the one leading to the stranger’s room.
From where she sat, Cara got a glimpse of a small bed, a large trunk and a wardrobe. As Heather disappeared from her sight something clicked, something creaked and something clicked again. Then she came out holding a long yellowish scroll in her hand.
With careful moves she tugged at the string fastened around the ancient page, unrolled it and spread the whole length on the table. She grabbed two mugs, placed one at the top and the other at the bottom to hold the parchment flat. Bending over the precious paper, Cara deciphered the flourished calligraphy.
In which Shade squanders Light
By his Hollow Sealed Fortunes
The Fateful Sentience shall awaken
In which Light squanders Shade
By his Blood Unbounded Portents
The Seventh Son of the House shall arise
This made no sense. The whole poem sounded like complete gibberish, and the author had obviously never heard of a little thing called rhyming. Taking her time, she re-read the short sentences. Although a vague sensation of déjà-vu hovered at the corners of her mind, she didn’t attain any kind of enlightenment. Some guy was coming all right but who, when and what for?
“I’m sorry, Heather, I don’t get it. What does it mean?”
“That’s the problem, dear. So far nobody has been able to give this prophecy a trustworthy significance.”
“That’s a prophecy?”
“Indeed. It’s a passage taken from the Book of Scriptures, and it tells of the destiny of our world.”
Cara studied the parchment once more—really looked at the words. No luck there, the elaborate jumble remained meaningless.
“I don’t see it. How do you know?”
“Because I’m familiar with the Book of Scriptures. Some of its prophecies are clear, some are shrouded in mist, but the writings nonetheless depict the past and future history of the Four Kingdoms.”
“Like a history book?”
“If you want. Except that it was written hundreds of years ago, long before the accounted events came to pass.”
“Wow! Kind of impressive, isn’t it?”
Heather nodded. With gentle fingers she delineated the outlines of the scroll, her thumb gliding over the precious document.
“This prophecy remains enigmatic. All we know is that a mighty man will come forward to prevent our doom.”
“Your world is doomed?”
“I’m afraid so, and it’s already happening. You may not have noticed devastation and suffering because this territory is still protected, but when you travel with Dead tomorrow you’ll see with your own eyes.”
As much as Cara would have liked to learn more, she couldn’t help but observe a sudden sadness on the old woman’s face—a hurt so plain that she felt the compulsion to take Heather’s mind off the subject.
“Look, why don’t we do something together?”
“I’d love that, but I have to prepare remedies today.”
“What for?”
“I’m a healer. Many people come to me for treatment and I help them to the best of my ability.”
“In that case, I’ll be happy to assist you.”
The parchment secure in the bedroom, Heather introduced her to the art of healing with plants and herbs. Her interest aroused, Cara discovered much about ambrosia, milkweed, nettle, rocket cress, cornel, gillyflower, thistle and different roots with mysterious names. That morning they made potions to treat infection, skin conditions and other various ailments.
They had lunch together before getting back to their work. By mid-afternoon Cara had had enough of herbs and plants. She realised she missed the stranger’s presence when, her attention elsewhere, she dropped a small jar. Where had he gone? Why wasn’t he coming back?
Yet the real reason her focus kept skipping away from the task at hand didn’t elude her. She needed to hear… To hear what? A confirmation of her suspicions? A long-buried truth that would only bring her pain? The past couldn’t be changed, so what good would that do her? Drawing in a daring breath, she seized a strange brown root and began grating its tip over a bowl.
“Heather, do you mind if I ask a question about your daughter?”
“Go ahead, dear.”
“I’ve noticed that”—try as she might, Cara couldn’t bring herself to pronounce his ridiculous name—“he seems very much at home in your house. Did he, I mean, was he married to your daughter?”
Bent over a plant with a large lush head that might or might not have been a white peony flower, Heather grinned.
“No. Dead and my Lilly knew each other since infancy because they were brought up together. It’s certain they were inseparable, but they used to think of themselves as brother and sister.”
 
; Silly happiness flooded Cara’s heart. Although she shouldn’t have been jealous of a long-dead girl, she had been and Heather’s words felt like a salve on an open wound. Breathing more freely, she wondered what had happened to his parents.
“So he lived with you? Was he an orphan?”
“Thank the Mighty Gods, his parents are very much alive and well. But right after he was born, his mother got sick. To make things easier on her, I took the boy in with me. I had just given birth to Lilly and taking care of two babies was no bother. I have wonderful recollections of that time.”
“And his father didn’t mind his son living somewhere else?”
“But, Cara, there was no other way.” A frown creasing her brow, Heather looked clueless. Then a new light crossed her eyes and a smile reappeared on her lips. “Dead didn’t tell you, did he?”
“Tell me what?”
“I was his wet-nurse.”
Cara burst out laughing. The image of the forbidding stranger as a baby and happily suckling milk cracked her up. Peals of laughter shaking her whole body, she had to hold her sides to soothe her aching ribcage.
Although she didn’t want to look impolite, the mental picture seemed etched in her mind like a funny loop she couldn’t get out of. Vision blurred with amusement, she chuckled while trying to draw air into her lungs. And when she spotted him standing at the threshold a new convulsion seized her.
Heather grinned from ear to ear, and Cara’s infectious laugh got even him. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he watched her chortle and struggle to breathe. He stepped into the room.
“I see you’ve had a fruitful day.”
Unable to answer, she wiped her wet cheeks while wheezing in and out. Sitting beside her, Heather replied in her place.
“We have in fact. We prepared potions for my patients and I was just telling Cara I used to be your wet-nurse.”
His smile vanished. The merry twinkle in his eyes disappeared. A hard coldness crept up his features as well as a curious expression Cara couldn’t quite put her finger on. Was he angry? Upset? No, he looked offended.
Still snivelling from laughter, Cara went back to work on the root she had dropped but watched him from underneath her eyelashes. He unbuckled his weapon belt and crossed the room to place it on the low stool by the fireplace. Obviously aware of his abrupt mood swing, Heather gently put down the white plant.
“What is it, Dead? What’s gotten into you?”
He turned to her, his tone respectful but icy. “Aren’t you supposed to go treat Mary’s child today?”
“Yes, but…”
“I’ll walk with you. Let’s go!”
With that, he grabbed his belt again, flung it over his shoulder and exited the house. Heather stared at the empty threshold. Then she stood up, retrieved a few jars along with a flask from a cupboard above the stove and joined him on the porch. She had cared for him since his birth, she must have known now was a good time to obey him. As she went to shut the front door, she smiled at Cara.
“Don’t wait up, dear. I won’t be back until midnight.”
Left alone, Cara sighed. His peculiar attitude had changed her good day into hours of wondering what to do to avoid thinking. She looked around. Spotless, the cabin didn’t need cleaning. She wouldn’t know where to find rags and stuff anyway. What else? Her gaze drifted to the stool where he had dropped his weapon belt for a good five seconds and she found her new activity.
Recalling the shed she had seen at the back of the house the previous day, she set to carrying logs. As of tomorrow Heather wouldn’t get any help. Stashing wood for her was but a small price to pay for her kindness and generosity.
Yet the damn things weighed at least a ton. Shuffling and groaning, Cara managed ten trips between the shed and the fireplace. She stopped—exhausted, sweaty, smelly, out of breath. This was definitely a man’s job.
To keep up with the good work, she placed three logs in the hearth, threw in some paper for good measure and hesitated. They wouldn’t have a lighter, so how did they light a fire? There was a black object on the mantelpiece but how did one handle it? Instead of burning the house down to the ground, Cara settled for using the stove.
She heated water, poured it into the huge tub-bucket and added cold water to obtain the perfect temperature. Naked, she stepped in to enjoy the moment. As she sat down and spread her arms over the rim, a flash crossed her mind.
She remembered the dingy shower in her Brooklyn apartment, the bed banging against the wall when her neighbours had a go at it, the sweet and sour aromas coming off the Chinese restaurant downstairs, the wailing sirens at night and the wondrous feel of the city. Why had she lost her life?
Although the recollections didn’t help understand her situation, she welcomed them. They might not be the solution to her troubles, but it was a start. As the water cooled down, Cara searched her brain for more clues. However she grew scared when her train of thought kept bringing her back to the nightmare, to the metallic door that had terrified her. So scared she knew her relaxing bath had come to an end.
In need of a distraction she stood up to retrieve the large drying cloth that passed for a towel. Arm extended, she gasped when her eyes met his. Damn the stealth of that man, he had crept up on her again!
He stared at her. A famished look burning in his eyes, he devoured her, then he closed the short distance between them.
Chapter Ten
As his hand hovered inches above her shoulder, she felt heat coming off his body, saw naked desire clouding his eyes. The thought of him caressing her skin raised fine hairs at the back of her neck. Although her past was lost, she knew in her heart she had never wanted another man so badly.
Shining with craving, his emerald gaze penetrated her soul. In slow motion, the stranger brought his hand to her face and tenderly stroked her cheek.
“I desire you so much.”
His whisper melted her heart. His soft touch set her ablaze. Yet she forced herself not to make a move. He slid his finger along the side of her neck, the flesh below her collarbone, the top of her breast. When he reached her nipple, goose bumps broke out all over her body. She breathed out.
Sweet lust running down her pussy, she didn’t breathe in again until he moved. As if time belonged to him, he caressed the side of her breast down to the curve of her belly. There he paused. Her pulse went wild. The yearning in his stare affecting her like a jabbing thorn, she closed her eyes.
She felt his hands on her waist, gentle, seizing. She heard his intakes of air, erratic, imperative. Behind her shut lids darkness and anticipation blended. She stifled a cry when he took her nipple between his lips. Mouth closed over her breast, he brought her bud to erection. She whimpered her pleasure.
Run through by the thrilling licks of his tongue, she gripped his shoulders for support. The weakness in her legs reflecting the pounding of her pulse, she clung to him as he removed his hands. But not his mouth. Although she felt him pull his pants down the suckling of his tongue continued to enthral her.
His weapon belt hit the floor. The arousing touch of his lips on her nipple vanished and her hands followed the upward move of his body. Stomach on fire, thighs quivering, she opened her eyes. An intense emotion inflamed his gaze as he stared at her.
She squeezed her fingers. He seized her waist and lifted her out of the bucket. As he brought her to him she drew her knees up. She clung to him, arms resting on his strong shoulders, legs circling his hips. He sighed with desire and she got the feeling he could hold on to her forever.
His dick brushed her pussy. She rejoiced at the sound of his moan, at the hardening of his muscles. Legs spread wide, she lowered herself as he placed the tip of his cock between her thighs. A violent satisfaction gripped her body when he entered her. And when he drove his cock all the way in, she felt enraptured.
But she heard his sudden grunt of pain and she knew this wasn’t meant to be. His limbs seemed to freeze and he groaned again—just like the night before. Just l
ike he had rolled away from her at the inn. Then he wrenched himself out of her.
Although he dropped her, he managed to soften her landing. As soon as her feet touched the floor, he clutched at his chest with both hands. Respiration harsh, a thin layer of sweat covering his brow, he winced.
Panic invaded her heart. What was happening? What could she do? Cara read such terrible pain on his features that she willed herself to think of something—anything to thaw his agony. But time denied her wish. As she desperately searched her mind he slumped down on his knees.
Back rounded, arms across his heart, face bent forward almost close enough to touch the floor he drew in short, raucous breaths. Feeling totally helpless, Cara knelt in front of him and took his head in her hands.
“Oh, my God, don’t die. Please, don’t die.”
As he struggled for his life she felt him move his head towards her. Without letting go of him she sat on the cold floor, legs curled up under her buttocks. Placing her arms around his shoulders, she nudged his body. He followed her movement, slowly rolled onto his side and dropped his face on her lap.
She held him tight. She stroked his cheek. Leg muscles twitching like they were being pricked with needles, fists pressed against his heart, he gradually overcame the attack. When his breathing eased and sounded less like grated rocks, she reached for the towel. She had felt flustered in the heat of her panic, but the aftermath chilled her.
She covered her shoulders and went back to smoothing his hair. He sighed under her hand, his lips moving without sound. Outside a bird chirped in the nearest tree, branches rustled against the roof. After a while he unclenched his fists, stretched his long legs, lifted his head off her lap and sat up, his back to her.
While he pulled his pants on she drew her knees up, gathered the towel around her bare body as best she could and stared at the floorboards. In a second she’d get up, get dressed and go on with her life, but she needed a second. He had almost died. He’d never look at her again with such intensity. He’d never want to touch her again, and she couldn’t blame him.