Blood Curse (Branded Trilogy Book 2) (12 page)

The emotion tugged at his insides, and he turned from them. He couldn’t think past the display behind him and wanted some space. Time was short, and he needed to find the child. He glanced back at the scene again. How was he going to take the girl from Pril? He ran his hand across his tired eyes. He must. There was no choice—a life waited for his return. If he didn’t follow through, the life would be taken—a repercussion he wasn’t willing to let happen.

He walked into the forest, leaving the boy with Pril. Distance was best for now—before he broke down and spilled all his apprehensions to her. He sat down on a log and pulled the letter from the inside pocket of his trousers. It told of the child and her mark. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling the tie that held it back and off of his face.

He thought of the messenger he’d spoken to before they left Riverbend. He’d told him of the threat with each day that passed if the girl wasn’t brought to them. A day hadn’t gone by where the words didn’t replay in his mind. They were a reminder of what the future held if he did not find the child.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to fruition—that by some force of nature things worked out. But it had already been five days, and he feared what he’d find in the next town. He brought the worn paper to his lips and inhaled. He’d been pushed into a wall, and there was no way from it without hurting Pril.

He never asked what did the Monroes wanted with the girl. He’d had no time, and he doubted they’d tell him. Thrust into the situation without being told all truths was not how he conducted business, but then this wasn’t business. This was bribery.

Silas stood on the harbor away from all the commotion. Sellers and buyers lined the wooden walk, waiting anxiously for the merchant ships to anchor and display their products.

He was relieved the ship transporting the slaves was the first to dock. He stood among men of all esteem waiting to cast their bid. The smell of unwashed bodies and sickness wafted toward them as the slaves filed off the boat. Men shackled with metal chains around their wrists and ankles shuffled down the wooden plank onto the wharf.

Silas pulled the handkerchief from his pocket covering his nose and mouth. Even though he was careful to position himself down wind, the smell made its way toward them. He hated the stench—the rotten state the slaves came in was nothing short of vile, and he refused to be anywhere near it.

The Peruke he donned this morning was made of goat’s hair and smelled of orange flower. He’d had it freshly powdered the day before. He was careful not to move his head too quickly and leave small deposits upon his face. Had it not been for propriety, he’d have ripped the wig from his head just to inhale the orange flower and drown out the stench from the slaves.

Jude stood beside him, tall and rigid. His long wig tied at the nape curled down his back. His brother hated this as much as he did. Neither of them cared for the process, more so because of the unkempt state the slaves came in. He and Jude demanded the slaves be bathed before they arrived at the plantation.

He motioned to Isaiah and waited for his foreman to amble toward them. The heavyset man wore no wig. Instead, he chose to keep his greasy black hair long and loose around his shoulders. It wasn’t a fashion Silas cared for, but he elected not to address the man’s appearance on many occasions for the mere fact of him dealing with the slaves directly.

Isaiah nodded to both Jude and Silas as he came to stand in front of them.

“We will take three and no more. Be careful who you choose. I desire none that are related,” Silas said.

“Right, boss.”

“Do not bring them without a bath and clean clothes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Finished with the foreman he walked away, and Jude followed.

“Did you send it?” he asked.

“I did,” Jude said.

“Which slave did you chose to deliver it?”

“Malachi.”

He nodded.

“He knows what will happen if he does not deliver the message?”

“He does.”

“Very good.”

Jude was the second oldest of the three brothers and always did as asked. He never wavered or defied Silas’ demands. Instead, he agreed to even the most absurd ideas. Hiram was nothing like Jude. He was defiant and needed to see just cause for everything even when there was none to give. Silas had begun to despise him. The youngest brother had proved to be more of a nuisance when it came to the capture and death of the girl.

He would not be stopped, not by the gypsies or his own brother. He’d be sure the child held no life within her if he had to drive the knife through her heart himself.

He spat.

“Troubled, Brother?” Jude asked.

“I cannot condone Hiram’s way any longer.”

“What are your thoughts?”

He stopped, turned toward Jude and with evil eyes that held no hint of mercy or empathy growled, “He will soon expire.”

“Why wait? I myself have grown tired of his relentless whining and reluctance to get rid of the child.”

“I do not know all of Hiram’s secrets, and until I do he will live.”

Jude nodded.

“Now let us slip into the goldsmiths. I’d like to buy something nice for Beth.”

It’d been seven days since Pril had seen Tsura. She was so close to holding her baby she couldn’t contain her excitement. They’d been tracking Milosh for a week, and the last two days they’d rode with short breaks just to catch up to them. She hadn’t slept in twenty-seven hours. The insides of her legs ached from sitting on top of Athos for hours, and she longed to stretch them. Soon all the tiredness and hurting muscles would pay off.

She wanted to know her brother’s reasons for taking Tsura. Kade had mentioned yesterday they were heading south. She knew they were close to the Monroe’s place. Had Milosh intended to take her daughter there, to the enemy—the very men who killed so many gypsy girls and possibly his own? Had he no love for his niece at all? The answer came quick and without shock. He’d despised Tsura from the moment Vadoma placed the blood curse. He’d wanted nothing to do with the baby or Pril for raising her.

She missed the days when they were young. Milosh had been her best friend. They had explored the land around their home, pretending to fight off evil sorcerers while Pril threw spells, and Milosh used his sword. She smiled. Their imaginations kept them busy for days. Galius hadn’t stepped in to help Pril until Milosh had disowned her and Tsura. Being the leader of their clan, Galius commanded Milosh to keep the family secret once they left the Renoldi clan.

When Magda became pregnant and Alexandra was born, his resentment toward Tsura seemed to fade. He concentrated on thinking of ideas to keep the girls safe from the Monroes. As more families joined their clan, Milosh made it his job to find new ways to protect the children.

When Alexandra was killed, his anger came back tenfold. He was filled with rage, hurt and resentment. She wished she could’ve helped him, but her shame would not allow it. It had been her job to create a protection spell—one that would shield the girls from harm. There wasn’t enough oil, and she’d been selfish. She protected Tsura instead. The ache in her chest resonated down her back and into her sides compressing all her emotions. She’d live with the consequences of her selfishness for the rest of her life.

She was anxious for answers. She wanted to talk with Milosh. Too much time had passed, and she needed to make things right between them. Her legs tightened around Athos’ sides as she sat in her saddle. The valley was shrouded in darkness except for the flicker of a campfire below. Kade sat beside her on top of Goliath, the boy asleep in front of him.

“What will we do with him?” she asked.

It’d taken two days for the boy to talk, and neither of them could understand him. He was Indian, but of what descent or tribe they didn’t know. He’d not divulged his name, not that they could understand, or if he even knew what it was, and so they continued to call him boy which bothered her.

“We take him. If a fight breaks out I’m sure he will scramble.”

She sighed.

“It is only my brother.”

“Precisely.”

She glared at him. He had a tendency to convey too much sarcasm, and it got on her nerves. This was a serious situation and shouldn’t provoke one’s arrogant side. There was no time for such foolishness.

Athos whinnied and shook his head.

“Ready, Gypsy?”

She sat taller in the saddle, inhaled the cool night air and fixed her gaze on the glowing embers a few hundred yards away.

She nodded.

Kade clicked his tongue, and Goliath made his way down the hill. Athos followed a short distance behind.

As they drew near, Pril’s stomach rolled, and her hands shook while she held the reins. She stared at Kade’s wide shoulders and broad back to keep from falling off of her horse. Soon she’d see Tsura—touch her hair, kiss her cheeks and hold her tight. The light from the fire outlined his body, and she knew they were close. Anticipation built within her, and she found it difficult to swallow.

Kade stopped suddenly, and she pulled on the reins to halt Athos from bumping into them.

“What is it?”

“Something’s not right.”

“What do you mean?” She yanked Athos’ reins to move beside Kade and scanned the deserted area.

The fire glowed bright in the middle of the camp. Milosh’s horse was tethered to a nearby tree, the saddle on the ground and some blankets strewn about the grassy floor.

“Where is Tsura?”

“The better question to ask would be where is Milosh?”

Anxiety crept in to steal her breath and squeeze her ribs. She slid from Athos, letting the reins fall from her fingers.

“Tsura?” she whispered as she walked toward the blankets on the ground. “Tsura?”

The camp was deserted. Left as if someone were coming back. Where could they have gone? She picked up a blanket, holding it to her lips and nose. She inhaled trying to draw any scent of Tsura that she could.

“There are other tracks here,” Kade said.

She spun to face him as he knelt, inspecting the ground.

“Whose?”

“I do not know.”

He stood and walked the perimeter of the camp while she rummaged through Milosh’s saddlebags. She pulled out dried food, wax and the charm she’d made to keep Tsura safe from the Monroes. He must’ve taken it before the Renoldis attacked them.
Tsura. My baby, where are you?

“Pril?”

He stood on the edge of the trees, his face pale. She looked into his eyes and didn’t miss the remorse and pity there.
Tsura…Tsura.

“No. God, no.”

She scrambled to her feet, dropping the charm. She ran past him into the woods. She wasn’t sure what she’d find, but she knew by the look on Kade’s face it would be devastating. She didn’t know where to go once she’d passed him. The blood rushed through her body making her lightheaded and dizzy. She struggled to catch her breath as the realization of finding her daughter dead struck her in the gut and knocked the wind from her lungs. She was anxious and at the same time full of dread at what she’d find.

She stopped, bottom lip trembling. She turned slowly toward Kade. She was unable to go in alone and see the image that would change her life forever. She waited, frozen by nature, by the existence of living a life without her precious child. She swallowed, the tears hovered within her lashes, and she blinked them away.

He went to her, placed an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

“It is not Tsura.”

Any ounce of courage she had left dropped to her feet, and she collapsed in his arms. Relief gave way to her sanity, and she released a loud sob.

He held her and rubbed her back as she leaned into him.

“Pril?”

She pressed her face into his chest. The smell of leather, pine and horse surrounded her, and she inhaled slow even breaths using him as her leverage—strength.

“Pril?”

She tipped her head up.

His face solemn, he whispered, “It is Milosh.”

She shook her head not wanting to believe what he’d said.

“It cannot be. He has Tsura, and she is fine like you said.”

He held her away from him, and she witnessed the regret flicker in his eyes.

“Tsura is not here.”

“But their things—they left everything here.”

“Gypsy,” he said giving her a shake, “Milosh is dead.”

“Impossible.”

Kade closed his eyes, and she wasn’t prepared for his next words.

“He hangs from the tree to your left.”

She stiffened.
No. No. No.
Fear crept up her spine. The forest walls spun around her. She hunched her shoulders forward and groaned. She couldn’t contain the shock of what he’d just told her—of what he’d been trying to tell her. Every muscle in her body went numb, and she fought back the urge to scream. She felt his arms around her—strong and protective. She wanted nothing more than to lean into them, but instead she shook him off. She needed to see Milosh, to be sure.

She flew from Kade’s embrace.

“Gypsy, wait.”

He tried to stop her, but she had to see—had to know Milosh had left this earth.

She cried out as she ran toward her brother. His legs dangled three feet from the ground, a rope around his neck, his head tipped to the side at an awkward angle—eyes open. She grabbed a hold of his feet and pushed him up, holding his legs on top of her shoulders.

“Kade, Kade! Help him. Get him down. Help him,” she cried.

“He’s gone, Gypsy.”

“No. No. No.” She wrestled with Milosh’s cold legs, trying desperately to push him up and bring life back within him. “Help him! Help him, damn it!”

She couldn’t see for the tears in her eyes, and she didn’t care. Her cheeks were drenched, but she refused to let him go to wipe them. She needed to hold Milosh to beg for his forgiveness—to hear him say the words. She had to know he still loved her.

“Please. Please help me,” she wailed.

She struggled to stay on her feet and pressed up onto her toes to loosen the rope that hung from his neck. How could this have happened? Why had he hung himself? She couldn’t comprehend, didn’t understand, and the one thought passing through her mind was to tell him she was sorry…so very, very sorry.

She watched as Kade climbed the tree and sawed at the rope holding her brother. The full weight of Milosh came down upon her and buckled her knees. They both tumbled to the ground. She crawled to his side and cupped his face within her hands.

“Wake, Brother. Wake up.”

She shook him.

Milosh’s lips were blue, and his lifeless eyes stared up into the black sky.

“Bring me my bag. I need my wax and the charm by the fire. I need the charm!”

Kade placed the dagger he’d used to cut Milosh down back into the leather holder on his waist. “He’s gone, sweetheart.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she shoved it off.

“No.” She shook Milosh again. She rubbed her hands over his cheeks and into his long hair. “I can save him. I can work a spell. I can bring him back.”

“No, Gypsy, you cannot.”

“Leave me!” she screamed. “Go away. I will fix him. I will bring him back.”

“It is too late.”

“Lies.” She placed all her anger, all her guilt into her next words. “You’re nothing but a liar. Go from me!”

He crossed his arms.

She flew at him with helpless rage. Her body yearned to expel the emotions swirling within her. She shoved him.

He didn’t budge.

“Damn you, Kade Walker.” She shoved him again. “If we had been here yesterday my brother would be alive. I could’ve talked to him. Shown him I was sorry. Told him—begged him—anything. But you kept us from getting here on time. This is your fault.”

He was silent while she pounded her fists into his hard chest.

Tears streaked her cheeks and fell from her chin. She was powerless to it all, not an ounce of what she did would matter. Alexandra had been murdered. Milosh was dead. Tsura was still missing, and no amount of praying could fix the past. She couldn’t bring them back. She dug her fingers into her scalp and pulled on her hair.
I cannot bring them back.

She fell onto her knees. Oh, how she’d tried. She’d prayed Alexandra had found peace. She apologized a thousand times over in the middle of the night, and she’d shed countless tears, but it didn’t change a damn thing. It didn’t make the hurt, or guilt go away. It was there when she’d risen and when she lay down to sleep, haunting her like the vile demon it was. She felt the claws dig into her spine. She fell forward, pressing her hands into the grass and moss on the ground.

Helplessness compressed her lungs, and she gasped. Each breath she took was like a knife to her back—a reminder of her betrayal—of her selfishness. She looked at Milosh, cold and still, and she reached out her hand to him. He was gone, and there would never be reconciliation. He’d never know how truly sorry she was. How each day she lived with her shame. He’d never know that after everything he’d done, the words he’d said and taking Tsura, she still loved him.

She crawled toward her brother, placing her head onto his chest, she wept.

“I am sorry, Brother. Please, please forgive me.”

Kade watched with a heavy heart as she lay over her brother weeping. Her desolate sobs tugged at his soul causing his own eyes to water. Unable to survey the scene any longer, he left her to grieve.

He walked the campsite one more time. He searched for anything that would tell him who took the girl and why her uncle would hang himself. It didn’t make sense. He frowned. Why would Milosh do himself in if he had the girl? What benefit would come of that? Pril’s brother was taking Tsura to someone, he was sure of it, so why would he end his life before doing so?

He walked back to where Pril lay with Milosh and stood over them scanning the area with careful eyes. Something wasn’t right. He examined the tree Milosh had hung from. It would be impossible for him to place the rope around his neck then throw it over the branch ten feet above and hoist himself up.

He bent over Milosh’s body and inspected it for any signs of a struggle. He spotted the bruised and chafed skin around his wrists.