The Eden Series: The Complete Collection (18 page)

“Don’t worry—they’ll be waiting for us.”

As the two men began going into further detail about the battle, Rose silently crept over to the tray on the floor and began eating. At one point she saw Callum look at her from the corner of his eye, observing that she was eating, but he continued on with his battle plans. Looking at his profile, Rose couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like if he didn’t have a beard on his face. It made him seem older than he really was. As far as she could remember, he was only in his early thirties, his face and hair barely touched by age. She could see how smooth his face still was, but he hid it behind the short beard. Brutus was already in his fifties, she thought, and even he still looked good. It must be the air up in the mountains, she speculated. Her head tilted as she looked at Callum, trying to picture what he would have looked like when he was her age. He was twice her age, literally. Her attention was so involved with her thoughts that it took her a moment to realize he was looking back at her. Instantly her cheeks heated. She looked away quickly, not even wanting to think about the expression that might have been on her face. When she glanced back up through her eyelashes, he was looking away again.

Not wanting to repeat the situation, Rose went back over to her bed and lay down. The summer was slowly approaching; she could feel it in the air. It was stuffy and humid, so she kept the blankets off her while she slept. When she woke up a short time later, both men had gone and the small woman sat where Callum had been before.

“You come with me,” she said in the heavy accent of the mountain people. Rose got up slowly and followed her out of the tent. Men were sitting around and moving in and out of other tents. Rose couldn’t help but wonder if they actually did anything besides kill innocent people. How could this old lady associate herself with them? She must have been in her sixties, or even older. Her hair was completely white, and her skin was wrinkled from age.
She must be someone’s mother,
Rose thought as they walked through the camp. Everyone turned to look at them as they went, men calling out rude remarks and whistling at her as if she were cattle. Rose tried to look for any other women as they moved through the tents, but she didn’t see any. Her heart felt heavy with concern for them. All she could do was pray they were all right.

“Here,” the lady said, pointing at a wooden shack. Rose stopped and looked questioningly at the small building.

“What is it?” she asked, hesitating outside.

“You go in,” the lady said in a harsh voice. Rose jumped at the sound of it, and went to open the door. It was a tiny room with a tub inside. Fresh clothes were folded on a bench beside it, and a towel lay on the floor. The old woman followed in right behind her, forcing Rose to move deeper inside. “Clothes off,” she instructed.

Rose’s cheeks went hot. She had never undressed in front of anyone before. The woman’s face left no room for discussion, so Rose had no choice but to comply. Taking off the nightgown she wore, she looked nervously over at the door, praying no man would come in. The old woman saw her face and shook her head in response.

“Everyone stay out,” she said. Rose narrowed her eyes in wonder. Did Callum have something to do with that? The woman walked over and grabbed her dirty clothes, tossing them to the side. She helped her get into the tub and then proceeded to wash Rose as if she were a child. Too embarrassed to argue, Rose sat there while the lady scrubbed her back and washed her long hair. When they finished, the woman braided her hair into a neat rope, twisting it at the base of her head. The clothes were made of fine, rich fabric. She didn’t know where they came from, but she wasn’t about to object. Anything was better than her nightgown. The dress was a cream colour, setting off her red hair and pale skin. It was tight around her breasts, but it didn’t expose enough to make her uncomfortable. The length was perfect, reaching just to the ground. Along the top seam were pearls, stitched by hand into the thick fabric.

“It was my daughter’s,” the lady said, smiling for the first time as she looked at her. Rose smiled back, avoiding the obvious question of what had happened to her daughter. They walked back to the tent in silence, the lady turning to leave as soon as Rose was inside.

“Thank you,” she called out. The old woman paused, then continued out without another word. Looking around, she noticed a book lying on the floor beside the bed. It was called
The Art of War
, and looked to have been written centuries ago. Curiosity overcame her, and she grabbed the book, sitting down on the bed to read. She had always been a fast reader and was instantly pulled into the fine details of war. It was like a game of chess, with the opponents always anticipating the other side’s moves before they were made and countering them while still carrying out their own attack. She was a third of the way through when Callum returned. Her body jumped at his appearance, and she lowered the book instantly. He glanced down at the novel in her lap.

“Do you find that interesting?” he asked, sitting down on the chair. His front was covered in mud, his face clearly betraying his fatigue. She shrugged her shoulders in response, pushing the book aside. “You look … refreshed,” he continued awkwardly. She looked at him questioningly, wondering if that had been a compliment.

“Thank you?” she replied softly, making it sound more like a question. He slowly took off the vest he wore. She gasped as a large gash in his side came into view. It was fresh, blood still dripping from the wound. He looked down at it uninterestedly.

“It’s just a scratch.” He winced as his movements opened the cut wider.

“Don’t move,” she instructed, getting off the bed to get a closer look. Her father had been the blacksmith in their small village, but he was also the provisional doctor for wounds like this. He had been well versed in the care of wounds made by his weapons, so Rose was used to looking at large gashes. She knelt down beside him, placing her face close for inspection. It ran along his ribcage, under his left arm. The opening was too large to heal on its own and would definitely leave another scar on his torso. She could feel him watching her intently as she inspected him. His eyes practically burned her.

“Are you a nurse?” he asked, tilting his head to the side as he regarded her.

She shook her head. “I’ve seen a lot of wounds like this before. It will need to get stitched.” Sitting back on her heels, she created some distance between them, ignoring his eyes on her. Looking around, she asked him, “Do you have a needle and thread?”

He got up without talking and walked over to a small table beside his bed. Inside the drawer was what she had asked for. He brought it over to her, placing the objects in her hand. Rose burned the tip of the needle in one of the candles before getting the thread ready.

“Sit still,” she instructed. “And keep your arm lowered, so the wound isn’t pulled open more.” He flinched as she made the first incision. She couldn’t help but smirk. “This can’t hurt more than the wound itself.”

He chuckled softly, holding his breath against the pain. “When it happens during combat, you have too much adrenalin to really notice. I don’t have the same adrenalin now. Not to mention you’re being awfully rough.”

Rose looked up in defence. “No, I’m not. I’m just trying to make sure it heals properly. You don’t want a massive scar, do you?”

“I thought women liked scars on men.”

She ignored his jest, focusing on the task at hand. “You shouldn’t let your men fight with such blunt swords. From the look of the sides, it wasn’t a clean cut because the blade is worn, and if I’m correct it is also quite rusted. You’d better watch that this doesn’t get infected.”

“How do you know all this?”

“My father was a blacksmith,” she explained. “I’ve been around weaponry my whole life.”

“How unfortunate for him that he never had a son then,” Callum commented. Her body stiffened in response.

“What is unfortunate is that he is now deceased,” she replied bitterly, pricking his skin roughly. His hand immediately shot out, grabbing hers in midair.

“That was not nice,” he said through clenched teeth. “What you need to learn, little girl, is that this is a war. There will always be casualties during times like these. That’s life.”

She looked up defiantly, meeting his eyes for the first time. “That’s not life; that is what man brings into this world. There is no need for war, especially not against one’s own blood.” The colour drained from his face.

“You’ve overstepped your boundaries, madame,” he said slowly. “I’d watch your tongue if I were you.” Her face was hot with anger, but she didn’t argue further. She met his gaze with as much courage as she could muster before he finally released her hand.

Continuing on with the stitching, she began speaking again. “In any case, my father does have a son. His name is Felix.”

Callum’s face looked down at her in surprise. “We found no boy there.”

“He is not here,” she said sadly. “He fights now for the High King of Eden.” His body stiffened, but he didn’t speak. Neither of them did again, until she was finished. “Be careful not to pull the stitches again,” she said as she got up from the floor. He looked inquisitively at her.

“Do you even care if I do?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Not really—I just don’t want to have to do this again.” Surprisingly, he began to laugh, making her jump at the sound.

“You’re too much, Rose,” he said lightly. She looked back at him in surprise. He addressed her so casually, it took her off guard. An awkward silence filled the room afterward. Rose avoided his look, walking over to the small area she slept in. “Are you hungry?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“A little,” she admitted. Callum got up and left the tent momentarily, returning with a tray of food for the both of them. Rose ate cross-legged on her blanket, while he ate on his bed. “What am I doing here?” she asked, the question that had been foremost in her mind since her arrival.

Callum swallowed the mouthful he had been chewing before answering. “It is normal for the men to bring back the young women from destroyed villages. Most of the time they end up becoming servants to the men; some don’t make it past the time we’re stationed in one place. They usually dispose of some, so we’re not dragging dead weight around from camp to camp.” His words frightened her, making her wonder who would be killed before they left. It didn’t really explain her situation, though, and she guessed he knew it. They both continued to eat before she got up the courage to speak again.

“What am
I
doing here, though?” she emphasized, looking over at him. He looked back with a blank face.

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided.”

“Why did you even bother to save me in the first place?”

“I don’t know, Rose. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“Yes, complicated. Now leave it alone.” They didn’t speak about it again. She didn’t want to get him angry, and she could tell she probably wasn’t going to get anything out of him regardless. Callum finished his meal and got up to put his boots back on. “I need to go meet with Brutus. I’ll be back late.” He started toward the opening, pausing to look back at her. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

CHAPTER NINE

They stayed at the camp for two more days before the soldiers started to pack up all the tents. Three men came to pack up Callum’s, sending the girl off with the others to be loaded onto the wagon. Callum wasn’t sure how many were left, but it was few. He walked through the camp, making sure all the fires were out. The last thing they needed was a fire starting, sending the forests and grasslands into a blaze. They didn’t need that coming up behind them. The air was already reaching the humidity of summer, making it almost unbearable for the men. Their armour was hot, causing sweat to drip into their eyes. If the battle did take place at the emerald fields, they would have the breeze off the water to help cool them down, not to mention the shade of the forest.

It had taken them ten years to prepare their army, making sure it would be one to reckon with. There was no room for failure now. If they were going to do this, they had to win; otherwise, all their efforts were for nothing. Brutus was known in Eden as being a barbarian, but Callum knew him better than most. He was rough around the edges, but he really wasn’t a bad man. He had a light humour, and affection for those he cared about, such as his wife and children, who stayed in their mountain castle. His motives were to expand his people’s horizons, make a bigger home than just the frozen mountain tops. It wasn’t easy living there, as Callum was well aware: the air was freezing, the food scarce. Brutus wanted to expand his kingdom so his people would have an easier way of life. Callum found nothing wrong with that, understanding his desire for a better life. Aziz’s motives were still a mystery to Callum. He was a strange man, Aziz. He often would keep to himself, and he would hardly say a word when they met regarding plans. The men he had brought with him as personal guards did not socialize with their men. He couldn’t recall a time when he saw them even speak to each other. Callum never quite understood the Sand People, but Aziz’s intelligence and talent were undisputed. Even Diana did not have the talent he did. The creatures he had created from nothing were terrifying. Jameson had no chance, he told himself as he readied his horse.

Callum rarely thought about his brother as anything but the opposing side. Childhood memories were pushed back in his mind, and any affection he might have once had was forgotten. Sometimes, at night, he would think of their father. It was no secret that Callum had been fiercely loyal to his father—he had loved him very much. That final betrayal had been too much, though, and now the thought of his father was like a rock on his chest. It hurt, even if he thought about Jameson as the person he knew him to be before he had left—his fun-loving brother, always getting away with whatever he did and avoiding his responsibilities. The men had loved him because he acted like he was one of them, but he wasn’t. They were the sons of the High King, and that required them to be above the others in the Kingdom. It had never bothered Callum at the time, the way his brother acted, because he knew their father saw it too. Everyone knew what Jameson was, what he had to offer, and Callum was sure their father would do the smart thing and appoint him as the new King. Then it had gone terribly wrong. He shook his head, pushing away the painful memories. It had been a whirlwind of events that night, and he didn’t like to remember them.