HerOutlandishStranger (13 page)

At last she made out the words he was muttering. “Wild
response nonsense. H-how do you stop this? These tears?”

“Time,” she said. “I think that’s all that will do it.”

“I can’t seem to stop.” And she realized he was asking
literally how he could stop crying. She couldn’t think of another answer, so
she kissed his hair, held him and waited.

Within a few minutes he dragged himself to his feet. Without
a word, he walked over to the corpse. He pulled Eliza’s papers out of the
corpse’s pocket and handed them to her. Then he settled cross-legged on the
ground and methodically pulled the possessions from the man’s pockets and the
bag at his belt. He looked the objects and letters over carefully and made a
pile next to the man.

When he was done, he just as carefully tucked most of the
letters and trinkets back into the pockets. He held up a small cross on a chain
and stared at it curiously for a long time, spinning it gently with a
forefinger.

“The man was a follower of the Christ then?”

At that instant, a surge of nauseated confusion hit Eliza.
Jas was a creature completely apart from anything she’d ever known. No other
remarks he’d ever made, nothing he’d ever done— not even the minutes earlier
when he’d effortlessly killed—made him seem as alien.

“Yes,” she whispered, almost afraid of him. His eyes
followed the twirling cross. He didn’t seem to notice her reaction.

“What sect, do you suppose?”

She moistened her suddenly dry lips with her tongue. “Much
of Spain is Roman Catholic.”

Jas nodded. He reached into his bag and pulled out the small
block of wood that was never far from his hands. He smoothed it for a moment.
Then to her surprise, he quietly spoke the Latin words of last rites to the
corpse. His voice was soft and intimate as a man bent on comforting a child.
Then he carefully, slowly made the sign of the cross.

He looked up at Eliza for a moment. “Can you write Spanish?
I mean, if I told you what to write you could do it? I-I don’t have good
handwriting.”

She was still cold with the fear from the encounter with the
soldier. And the sight of Jas staring curiously at the cross. She whispered, “I
think so.”

He pulled out pieces of paper from the pile he hadn’t tucked
away. “I want to write to his family.”

He handed her one of the grubby papers, a billet of some
kind, blank on one side.

“We need to leave. Those men—”

“They won’t be back for at least an hour. You heard them.
Their camp is far away. Please, please. Write this message for me.” He handed
her a stumpy pencil he’d gotten from the man’s pocket.

She nodded, understanding it really was for him. Folding her
skirts, she knelt on the dusty road next to him. He stared at the corpse as he
spoke.

“Write ‘this note is from the man who killed your loved one.
His death was a stupid tragedy’.”

He examined the papers in his hand for a moment before
continuing. “Juan Molinero was a brave man, defending his country…”

”Jas, he planned to ravish me and kill us both. He wasn’t
defending—”

He shook his head. “Please. Just write. ‘He was defending
his country and before he died he spoke of his departed sister with love and
anguish. I wish I could turn back time’. No, no Liza don’t say that. No. Please
write, ‘He did not deserve to die. Even though it was done in a time of war, I
will spend my life mourning the death of one so young and full of potential.
May God bless you and keep you’. Do you think that’s enough?”

She nodded, knowing that it was never enough for a dead
man’s family, but had to be enough for Jas. Her sensation that he belonged to
an alien race was almost dispelled now. She could imagine her father might say
that no man could be so concerned for others, even his enemy, and not be a
Christian. She looked over at the dead man. The fear she’d felt when he was
alive, and the bloodthirsty triumph she’d felt at his death were as long gone
as if they’d never been there. She, too, felt only a sense of waste.

She watched Jas tuck the rest of the man’s things away along
with the note and pencil. Then he pulled her to her feet. He slung their
belongings over his shoulder and they walked again. This time silently and away
from the road. She had to trot to keep up with his longer-than-usual strides.
She would not let him get too far ahead of her. Not when his face wore that
blank look of devastation. As she trotted along, she wondered that she read
this strange creature so well, and more than that, she was amazed that a man
who had no real God could be so dear to her.

For the first time in their journey, Eliza was the one to
call a halt to the day’s travel. She wondered if Jas would have walked through
the night if she hadn’t spoken. She found a spot on the rocky soil, nearly free
from pebble and rocks, and spread out the cloak. She sat down on it, waiting,
and watched him for a few minutes. She had not planned to discuss the incident,
yet she could see from the bleak look that filled his eyes he was thinking of
nothing else. She finally spoke. “Where did you learn how… How do you know how
to fight like that?”

After a long silence, he answered, “I was taken into the
army when I was ten years old. I fought for several years.”

“What army would use such young boys?” she whispered, but
then covered her mouth. She had heard of British soldiers as young as thirteen.

He gave a short laugh without a trace of humor. “We were
fine little soldiers. All trained for C.Q.B.”

“What does that mean?”

“Close-quarters battle. By the time I turned eleven I knew
how to kill a person twelve different ways with just my thumbs. Our commanders
had us and some other terrible weapons. I think they decided it was an easier
way to get rid o-of the enemy. Didn’t waste ammunition. The side we fought for
lost, I’m glad to say.”

“Dear God,” she said. “I’ve never heard of such a war.” But
unlike every other time she’d expressed her ignorance of events he described,
she felt no disbelief. She’d seen his ability first hand.

His explanation seemed familiar and she realized it reminded
her of the story he’d told her of Madame Blanro. Of course that had been a
myth. Nothing more. Dear God, she couldn’t stand to have the one comfort in her
life be so alien.

He lay down on his back, apparently unconscious of the
stones on the ground beneath him. His voice was distant as he spoke. The blue
of his eyes were as blank as the darkening sky he stared into. “I expect news
of our war won’t reach these shores for a while.”

“Did you…how many people did you kill?”

He exhaled slowly. “I have no idea. I don’t know any names or
any of their faces. I don’t remember any of it. From the time I was taken until
I was captured there is nothing. I remember most of training but the rest—it’s
almost like I had slept through the whole thing.”

“That is surely a blessing.”

“Is it?” he asked. “For me maybe. But what about for anyone
I killed? Or for the people who loved them? I never really understood that
until today. It isn’t fair to them.” His voice choked. “Ah, damn, I’m starting
up again,” he said with thick disgust. “How do you control these things?” He
rolled onto his side and curled into a ball.

“Tears?” she asked, bemused. “I don’t think you ought to try
to stop them, Jas. Just allow them to flow. Don’t you know how to cry? I
believe you have had more than your share of sorrows to cry over.”

“Can’t recall doing this. Don’t actually see the point,” he
whispered and then let her hold him again as he shivered. He rolled back and
forth in agony and she stopped him by cradling his head on his lap. At last he
ceased and rolled away from her to sit up.

“Thanks, Liza,” he murmured after he caught his breath.

“I have done nothing,” she said sorrowfully.

“Then thank you for not hating me.”

“How could I? I cannot forget that you saved my life today.”

He nodded and unceremoniously wiped his face on his sleeve
like a child.

“Yes. And that is most important.”

For a moment she was stung, thinking his remark ironic, but
then she noticed that the despair in his face had faded. He even smiled at her
as he climbed to his feet again and began to look through his sack.

“You must eat,” he said.

“Another of those wretched squares?” she asked.

“We will run out of them soon and I’ll have to hunt for
food. Easier now that we’re near woods again. But I don’t want to deal with any
more death tonight.”

She took the square without another word of complaint.

She resisted the urge to reach over and trace the lines
between his brow, then rub them lightly away.

They moved to a nearby spot beneath some trees to block the
wind. The nights were still freezing, but they’d moved south of the highest
terrain, which meant they were not so cold they worried about freezing to
death. As Liza spread her cloak—no, she reminded herself…his cloak—on top of
the blanket, she wondered if the weather was less harsh because they were moving
south or because of spring. Then she realized she didn’t know the date or how
long she’d been traveling with the strange Mr. White. Surely a long time. His
voice, his laugh, his eyes were so familiar and dear to her.

Yet when she thought about the stories of the war he’d told
that day, and stories he’d told her other days, she perceived that she couldn’t
know him completely—for she didn’t know his people at all.

The sight of the cross dangling from his hand flashed into
her mind. She shivered even as she pressed herself to the familiar solid back.
And there was his childlike astonishment at tears and the solemn way he spoke
of magic. For a moment she again tested the idea that he was insane. No, of
course not.

That cold nausea filled her again. If he was sane then what
did it all mean? She pushed hard against him, trying only to feel the warmth of
him against every inch of her front.

She could almost taste each of his deep, steady breaths.

Though she drew comfort from his muscular frame, and was
swamped by her usual desire for him, she could not banish the fact he was
entirely unfathomable.

Chapter Ten

Jas kept his promise to hunt. When he showed up with a dead,
bloodied chicken she closed her eyes at once and waited for the dizzying nausea
to pass. He knelt beside her and silently handed her one of the squares. She
ate it with no desire or hunger.

“I managed to find the thing and kill it,” he told her when
she could face the dead bird. “I must have hunted before. But I have never done
the next bit.”

“’Tis simple. Pluck and clean it,” she said, and realized
she’d never had to do that either. After the servants had left them, her father
had done that chore.

“Go ahead,” he offered. They both gazed down at the scrawny
body.

She gingerly put a hand out and touched the bird. A slight
breeze ruffled its feathers. She started and quickly drew her hand back as if
she’d touched something live.

“Same thing happened to me,” said Jas. “Scary, eh?” She
looked up and met his gaze, and suddenly they both were laughing. They laughed
so hard tears came to their eyes.

“Huyo,” Jas gasped at last. “L-Liza, this doesn’t— Doesn’t
make sense. Damn tears are starting again.”

Eliza looked over at the powerful man who was undone by the
body of a skinny chicken and by laughter and tears, and she doubled up with
even stronger gales of laughter. Naturally, that pushed him over the edge again
too.

When they finally managed to stop and regain their ability
to inhale, Eliza snatched up the bird. “I shall do the honors,” she declared.
“It is certainly time I did something useful.”

Jas disagreed. “You’re doing the most useful thing possible.
You’re carrying new life.”

The bird dangled from her hand, forgotten, as she stared at
him. To hear aloud the thought that the baby was something other than a
disaster or nuisance thrilled her. “Thank you for those words,” she said at
last. But she again grew businesslike at once. “Lend me your knife, please. I
shall turn this wretched bird into a meal. We’ll cook it and then carry it for
our luncheon.”

The scent of the roasted chicken was too much to resist.
While it was still hot, they wrenched off bits of meat and ate, scalding their
fingers and mouths. Then they moved off quickly, hoping no one had caught the
scent of their feast.

They only traveled for a couple of hours more.

Jas came to an abrupt halt. Something about his suddenly
stiff back alarmed Eliza.

She turned in a circle, searching for signs of trouble. “Is
something wrong?”

“Just gotta stop for a while.” He took a few steps away from
the path and suddenly sank to the ground.

She ran and knelt down next to him. “What is the matter?”

He gingerly rolled up the sleeve of his unscarred arm. “Huy!
Looks like Juan Molinero got a bit of his own back. I’ll have two scars, eh?
Wonder if he had poisoned it.”

Eliza gasped. The small cut on his golden skin was puffy,
red and oozing. A red streak went from the wound up to his shoulder. “Good
Lord! Oh Jas we must find help.”

He shook his head. “No. I can take care of it. I need to
rest. That’s all.” He shivered and Liza put a hand to his forehead.

She gave a cry of dismay. “You have a fever. Oh, if only I
knew the proper way to cup you. I will do what I can.”

Jas’ smile looked more like a grimace. “Liza, please spare
me that sort of treatment. I have a bit of medication from my mother. I’ll lie
down. That’s all I need.”

She wrapped her arm around his waist. “Lean against me.” He
slowly rose to his feet and allowed her to coax him to a small sheltering
orchard of olive trees where he sprawled on the ground with a groan.

“That’s better,” he murmured. “Less of the world is going
round and round. I’m an effing bonk to let it go so long. Just toss me my bag
and I’ll do fine.”

His strange language returning to him was a bad sign. As she
laid the bag next to him, she tried to hold back the tears but couldn’t, for
she understood Jas would likely lose his arm or even die. An uncontrolled sob
escaped.

“It will be fine,” Jas insisted. “Come on, Miss Wickman,
cheer up.”

Shame filled her. That he had to encourage her when he was in
such great need! She thrust her fingernails into her palm to drive off the
tears and panic.

“What shall I do? I can do anything you may require.”

Another shiver of horrible fear seized her.

She might have to amputate his arm. She had seen enough of
putrescence to know that the poison in his wound could kill quickly. The wave
of horror threatened to overwhelm her. She felt sick. When would the misery
end?

Stop, she silently ordered herself. He needed her strong,
not mewling in self-pity.

“Jas. I wish I knew better how to help you. Can you tell
me…? What should I do?”

“You could find a good source of water, I suppose.”

Yes. He had a fever and would need more than the lukewarm
liquid they carried. She gathered all of their flasks and ran down the hill.

Almost immediately after Eliza disappeared, Jazz heard
footsteps and a soft voice sounded in his ear. “You keep her close, don’t you?”
Steele again.

“Huh. You should talk. Don’t you ever go away? Don’t you
have better things to do with yourself?”

“No. Not until you are gone.”

Jazz rolled over and opened his eyes. “I’m not going to let
you kill me, Steele. You saw what I did to that soldier?”

“Yes. Truthie murderer.”

“I’d positively enjoy doing the same to you,” Jazz lied.

Jazz readied himself for an attack but Steele sat next to
him. “Oh, I’m not going to attempt to run you through. She will suspect foul
play if she finds you dead. I cannot risk it.”

Jazz believed him and relaxed. The man shifted and suddenly
Jazz felt a light touch on his wound. Jazz grabbed the other man’s wrist.
Steele must have not had paid attention to his own lessons because he’d let
himself be caught too easily.

But no, the agent wore a satisfied smile. Jazz let go of his
arm.

“Too late. Now your disease will progress nicely.” He rose
to his feet and stared down at Jazz. “You’ve already got an infection. This
will assure the blood poisoning. Painful suffering. You should be dead within a
few days, unless you go crawling back to where you belong for help. Return to
the DHU. They will know how to cure a simple infection. Perhaps you might go
back to where people know what kind of monster you are? Or perhaps you’d rather
die here. I will make certain the baby is safe.” He tilted his head and for a
second looked like the teacher he’d been when Jazz first met him. “Returning is
so simple. No need for you do anything at all. You give me your print and the
code and I’ll plant it here. You’ll be gone in less than a day. Back home.”

Jazz shook his head then wished he hadn’t because it ached.
“I won’t go. Not yet.”

“Eh, then you’ll be raving and in a fever.” He walked away
without another word. For a moment he turned and looked back at Jazz, smiling.
The first real happiness Jazz could recall seeing on Steele’s battered face.

As soon as the man disappeared, Jazz heaved himself up to
rummage through the bag for the supplies his mother had given him. Disease. At
least it wouldn’t be contagious—Steele wouldn’t risk Liza’s health. Jazz’s only
hope was the stuff he’d snuck in would work.

He’d be damned if some assassin would chase him back to his
time, away from his assignment. Using his teeth, he ripped the waxy cloth
covering off one of the medical vials. He drank it down quickly, grimacing at
its taste. Another vial held some lotion that he awkwardly smeared over the
wound. He shoved the empty vials away and firmly tucked the bag under his body.
He did not want Liza going through his things should he pass out.

* * * * *

Liza had trouble finding clean water. Her hands trembled as
she filled the skins and while shoving in the corks. In her haste, she stumbled
over roots twice as she raced back to Jas.

He lay flat on his back. His eyes were closed.

She threw down the water and ran to him. “Jas, oh God no,
Jas! I need you here with me. Come back!”

And miraculously, he did. He opened his eyes and gave her a
smile. “Just resting,” he reassured her. “I’m still here. Did you think I’d
died?”

Relief flooded her and she returned his smile. No, she had
only allowed herself to consider that he was unconscious, lost to pain and
fever. His death was too much to imagine.

She fetched him the water and examined his arm.

“No worse?” he asked.

“It’s still puffy,” she said. “Rest and I’ll check you
soon.”

He drifted back to sleep. His sleep was restless and she
winced, watching him thrash on the stony ground. She wrapped him like a mummy
in a layer of her clothing and their cloaks and lay down next to him.

Through the long day, she paced, lay or sat always watching,
helpless.

He writhed and groaned in his sleep. Liza wanted to go to
him and hold him, but he had once warned her not to wake him.

“I won’t!” He jerked up and his uninjured arm whipped out as
if he would grab an unseen enemy.

She stood a few feet away and called out. “Hush, Jas. You’re
here, remember?”

His eyes flickered open and his breathing calmed.

“You are awake?” she asked.

He nodded.

She knelt down and made him drink.

“I’ll just fetch some food.”

“Stay out of my pack,” he growled.

She smiled, too glad he was coherent enough to be ruffled by
his bad temper. She found a bit of food in her own portmanteau and tried to
feed him.

“No. More water, please, Eliza.”

Relief dissolved the lump in her throat. He was awake and he
knew her. The delirium had not set in.

Yet.

* * * * *

She didn’t mean to drift off, but she opened her eyes,
confused. She’d fallen asleep and it was near dawn. Gray light shone on the
still landscape and the pile of clothes next to her.

Jas was gone.

She scrambled to her feet and cried out, far too loud to be
safe. “Where are you? Oh Jas! What has happened to you?”

“Nothing.” He sat cross-legged nearby, carefully bending and
unbending his arm as he stared down at his stick of wood in his other hand.
“I’m right here,” he said, sounding surprised at her vehemence. “I felt better
so I thought I’d get up for a bit.” He walked slowly over to her. “Still a bit
rickety, but I’ll be fine soon.”

Liza reached for his forehead and found it was cool to the
touch.

“You’re better,” she breathed.

“Of course. Told you I would be.” He was completely
unconcerned. “But we shouldn’t be jumping around in the middle of the night.
Come on.”

He awkwardly knelt down next to the clothes. With his
uninjured arm, he tried to pull the clothes into order and Liza hurried to
help. She watched him slowly lie down in the pile. “Come on, try to sleep
again. You made a fantastic bed, Liza, I only hope your clothes aren’t ruined.”

Eliza laughed, giddy with relief. “I would not care a
tuppence, Jas. I’d sacrifice every garment I’ve ever owned if that’s what would
make you better.”

“Well,” he said, laughter in his voice, “too bad for me
that’s not what it takes.”

She smiled when she realized his meaning. “It is a miracle
worth going naked for. Oh, when I thought I might lose you.” She threw herself
down, wrapped her arms around him. “I am a regular watering pot,” she snuffled
into his chest. “But I cannot help it. I thought I would lose you.” He rubbed
her back and kissed the top of her head.

“No, no.” He sounded hoarse. “I won’t leave, but I, er, I
think I need to sleep again.” She understood and inched away from him. He
turned carefully over and she pushed against his back again, holding him as
tightly as she could. She was surprised to feel a rumble of laughter shake
through him.

“Liza, I promise not to drift away. I do not need an anchor.
Though if I did, I’d pick you for the job.”

She smiled, still too filled with gladness for jesting. His
swift recovery was miracle indeed, she thought as she forced her jangling
nerves to relax. Or perhaps his mother was a healer with magical powers. He had
been so casual about the infection, as if it were truly nothing to fear.

For once she didn’t care that he appeared strange to her.
Indeed, this time the peculiarity of his country managed to save the one thing
left on earth that she cared about. She had not understood how much she’d
needed him until she thought she might lose him. As she matched her breathing
to his, she considered that perhaps the strangest magic was the love she
discovered in the midst of the destruction of her life and world.

When she next woke, Jas lay next to her, sprawled across the
pile of clothes on his back. She moved closer to him and his eyes opened
instantly, but he did not stand. Instead he turned onto his side to face her.
Delighted, she wiggled closer. His breath hitched. Eliza knew it wasn’t pain
that caused a small groan. Slowly, to be careful of his injured arm, she slid
upward and without a word, certainly not to ask permission, she found his mouth
with her own.

The kiss shocked her, almost literally. This is what they
mean by sparking, came her hazy thought. She felt no surprise that his lips
were warm and welcoming, felt so perfect, or that they tasted like sweet water
to a woman dying of thirst. It was the strength of the heat between them that
filled her with incredulity.

She gasped his name as she pulled away for a second. In the
weak light of dawn, she examined his face. Good, she was not the only one
drugged by that kiss. She did not imagine the half-stunned yet greedy look she
saw. She closed her eyes for a moment and smiled as she felt the soft brush of
his beard as he moved his face against hers. His lips met hers again and her
insides twisted, each touch another clap of heat.