Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls (22 page)

The route to the wounded man was difficult. Vivienne hadn’t realized it before, but Fain and Connelly had obviously been taking her along easy, clear paths on their day in the woods. Davies went as straight as possible, directly for the wounded man, and Vivi was hard pressed to keep up. They climbed ridges and slid back down the other side, scrambled over rock formations and large, fallen trees, and slipped on ice patches hidden beneath the snow. The men seemed sure footed in the snowy woods, but Vivienne fell more than once. She wanted to howl in frustration, but she could feel Fain watching her covertly, so she gritted her teeth and hauled herself up again, stumbling along faster to make up the ground she’d lost.

Finally she heard Davies let out a call like a kingfisher, and heard an answering call. He led the way into a small clearing and there, huddled around a tiny fire, was the rest of the party.

Connelly immediately went to the man lying on the pile of furs. Fain began questioning several of the men in low voices, and Vivienne hung back, trying not to eavesdrop. A string of horses was cobbled on the other side of the clearing, peacefully grazing on the tiny shoots that stuck up above the snow. All but one, that is. A magnificent black stallion, brushed and curried until he shone in the weak winter sunlight, was tied between two small saplings. He tossed and pulled at the ropes, but the knots held. It was clear, from the way everyone else ignored him, that this had been going on for some time. Fain moved over to stand beside Vivienne.

“Like him?”

“It’s a horse.” She kept her voice bland.

“Yes, I’m familiar with the animal in question.”

“Actually, it’s a number of horses.”

“Ten, I think, although I haven’t actually counted.”

“It’s an odd thing to bring back from a hunting expedition.”

“Is that a question, Belle?”

“No.” She slowly shook her head, then turned her eyes to look him in the face. “Just an observation.”

He waited, but she didn’t say anything else. She’d promised not to ask questions, and she meant to keep that promise, even if she had to literally bite her tongue to keep from doing so. A slow smile spread across his face as he watched her.

“It’s killing you, isn’t it?”

“Like the proverbial cat.”

“MacTíre!” Connelly’s voice came sharply across the clearing. “Bring yerself and the lass over here.”

They hurried over to the wounded man. Tom Woddsmith was a tall, thin man, and he was currently curled on his left side, gasping for air. Vivienne dropped to the snowy ground beside his head and took his hand.

“You’ll be all right, Tom. Connelly will see to it.”

“His ribs are broken, sure enough, MacTíre, but the problem’s his lung. I need yer great bellowin’ chest ta lend a hand.”

Connelly turned to Woddsmith. “This’ll be odd, laddie, but give me yer trust. Roll ta yer back and don’t fight MacTíre, here, while he does as I tell him.”

Vivienne helped Tom roll over, and, at Connelly’s direction, tilted his head back and held it still.

“Now, MacTíre, fill yer chest with air, pinch his nose, lock yer mouth on his an’ breathe out.”

Fain stared in disbelief at Connelly.

“Dinna give me that look, ye silly lout! There’s more I know than I could explain ta ye in a hundred years. Just do it.”

With one more doubtful glance, Fain did as he was bid. At first nothing happened, but then Vivienne heard an audible pop and Fain sat up. Tom took a deep breath and winced from the pain in his side, then smiled in relief. Connelly looked smug.

“Be sure an’ believe, lad, e’en if I tell ye ta dance naked in the moonlight, there’s a fine reason for it.”

Connelly didn’t want to risk transporting Woddsmith back to the keep.

“’twill be better if the lad stays in Dorshire until his ribs heal. He’s got kin there, an’ they can see ta his care.”

Fain agreed. He didn’t want to haul a man with four broken ribs over the rough terrain ahead, so he headed their party towards Dorshire. The men traded off carrying Tom on a makeshift pallet, four at a time, while Connelly led the string of horses with the giant black brute tied at the end. As long as the beast couldn’t see any of his kidnappers he seemed perfectly content to follow the other horses.

Belle posted herself to one side of Tom’s pallet, comforting him when the rough ride made his already—painful ribs agonizing, and distracting him when possible. She raised her eyebrows at Fain when Tom started talking about his family, but Fain nodded at her. She was about to meet them, after all, it could hardly hurt to let Tom talk about them. After his tacit approval, Belle asked a few questions of the wounded man, letting him babble on.

“And your parents?”

“Nah, they live leagues away. But my sister lives here with her mate and their two children. One of ’em, little Cady, calls me her favorite uncle.”

“Oh? And what have you bribed little Cady with, then?” she teased him gently.

“She wants to learn sword play, and I told her I’d teach her, alongside her brother.”

“Well, that was well done of you, Tom.” Belle nodded her approval. “She’ll likely be a fine swordswoman.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, now, Miss Belle. She’ll grow to be a wee tiny mite of a thing, just like my sister. Maybe dagger work would be better for her.” He spoke earnestly, and Fain saw Belle stifle a smile.

“Whatever you think best, Tom. We must all play to our strengths.”

Fain tore his attention away from their conversation. They’d reached the road, a dirt track just wide enough to fit a farmer’s cart or peddler’s carriage, and the thin layer of snow atop it was churned by the print of many hooves. His gut clenched in fear. Slowly he raised his hand, calling for a halt of all the men, and one by one the raiding party fell silent, as they caught sight of the multitude of tracks in the snow.

“Why’s everybody so quiet?” Tom broke the silence.

“I think…” Belle sounded uncertain. She probably didn’t understand. “I think a large number of mounted men have passed this way. Recently.”

As though her voice broke some invisible restrain on them all, the men surged forward, leaving Belle and the litter bearers to follow. Fain joined them, heart in his throat, poundi ng down the packed, frozen earth, headed towards the center of Dorshire. They ran in silence, no sound but their own breath and heavy footfalls. Even the few winter birds had fallen silent.

Rounding a last curve, they finally spied the village. At first Fain was relieved; the houses stood undamaged, and there were no armed men roaming the village. In fact, there was no movement of any kind.

Unease returned as the emptiness sunk in. There was nothing, no telltale sign of life among any of the small, wooden homes. Doors were flung open to the street, but no children played among them, no housewives bustled to their neighbor’s door. It was like the whole town had died.

Fain felt the rage and horror building in his chest, but he shoved it away. There wasn’t time for it now. Perhaps some of the folk of Dorshire could still be saved. “Check the houses. See if there’s anyone hiding.” He watched the men race to follow his command, and sent a silent prayer up to the gods.

Please let there be someone hiding.

Tom gestured to Vivienne, and she helped him struggle off his pallet. As the other men dashed frantically from house to house, he made directly for one small wooden structure, tucked beneath two ancient pines. The door had been broken in, and was twisting free on the single intact hinge. Vivi held it open while he shuffled into the house.

“Lara! Lara!”

It was clear the house was deserted, but Vivienne made no move to stop the wounded man as he slowly stumbled from room to room, calling out in a voice thick with unshed tears. Her eyes took in the table, set with four bowls, and the hearth, where low coals smoldered under a pot of burned, blackened porridge. To one side of the still-warm stones was a spoon, coated with cold, congealed oats, lying where it had been dropped. A half-loaded pistol lay among the breakfast dishes, and three shiny bullets had rolled to rest in the cracks on the table’s surface. In the far room, Tom’s voice was growing more and more panicked as he called for his lost sister.

“
Lara!
”

He broke off. Vivi made herself move, to step through that horrible tableau and find Tom. He was sitting on one tiny bed, holding a small, wooden sword in his hands. Another, slightly smaller, lay broken on the floor, with a hideous, red-brown stain on its tip.

“Cady told me once,” the poor man whispered, “that a knight always defends against evil, no matter how outnumbered she is.” Two fat tears rolled down his cheeks, and he stared in horror at the shattered sword on the ground.