Nate woke with a start. He looked around him, taking in the thatched roof and mud and stick walls. Hot, but not sweltering. The Azbak people knew how to build homes to withstand the extreme temperatures of the mountains.
He lay on a thin bed. Lumpy, not at all comfortable. Probably stuffed with wool.
Macy.
He sat up, gritting his teeth when his head spun, and threw the thin, woven blanket off him. Where the hell were his clothes?
The fabric covering the open doorway lifted and an elderly woman shuffled in, holding a chipped pitcher and cup.
Nate grabbed the blanket and covered himself. The old woman tisked and set the items on a tree stump that served as a table. When she turned to him, shoulders hunched from age, she had one blind eye. In Azebek she said, “Sick. Stay.”
He didn’t feel sick. A little weak. Headache. Dry mouth. But not sick. “Where is the woman that was with me?” He asked in the same language.
She waved him off, turning away to pour liquid into the cracked cup. Not water. Something browner in color. Without answering, she held the cup out to him. “Drink.”
Her tone left no room for argument so he did as told and tipped the cup to his lips. Warm, bitter tasting liquid slid down his throat and he grimaced. The woman put her hand on the bottom of the cup, forcing him to finish it. He coughed and thrust it at her. With slow movements, she set it down and turned back to him.
Her gnarled hand clamped down on his forehead with surprising strength. Murmuring to herself, she moved her hand to his neck, then to his chest, over his heart. She said a soft chant and then without another word, picked up her stuff and left the hut.
Nate spied his gear at the foot of the bed and reached for it. Within minutes he was dressed and heading for the door. They hadn’t confiscated his weapons. In fact, his pack hadn’t been touched. Everything was where he’d put it.
He stepped outside and found himself standing on the side of a hill. The village scattered around him had been built on the side of the mountain. Some poplar trees dotted the landscape; otherwise everything was dirt and rock. Besides a donkey or two and a villager here and there he saw nothing.
A man approached, his eyes guarded. “Come.” He said.
Nate followed him down a dirt path to one of the lower houses. His stomach churned, making him feel a little sick. At one of the huts the man stopped and motioned for Nate to enter. Hesitantly, he ducked through the doorway.
It was similar to the one he’d been in, but this one had more of a woman’s touch. Colorful, tattered rugs covered the dirt floor. More pottery. A crude chair. But it was the woman lying in the bed across the room that caught his attention. Her dark hair had been brushed away from her face, her eyes closed. She lay perfectly still, almost serene.
For a moment he froze, heart pounding, waiting for the rise and fall of her chest beneath the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. When he saw it, the breath rushed out of his lungs. Relief like he’d never felt washed through him, making his knees go weak.
Recovering, he set his pack down and walked over to her. She looked so frail lying there. Dark circles lined her eyes, her skin pale. He reached out to caress her cheek, the need to touch her overwhelming. A voice stopped him midway.
“Do not touch. She needs rest.”
He turned to see the elderly woman who had made him drink the disgusting tonic. “Her wound?”
The woman shuffled toward him. “She was with fever when they brought her to me. The wound had infection. She is healing now.”
Just as he’d suspected. “You treated her?”
The woman nodded, resting a hand on the bed next to Macy’s arm. “I give her something to make her sleep. Heal.”
“Thank you.” He said, bowing his head slightly as a show of respect.
She waved him off. “You must rest.” She reached over and pinched the back of his hand, surprising him. “Not enough water. Sick, too.”
Dehydrated. That explained his symptoms. He’d drank the last of their water during the search for a village. With the heat and amount of sweat he produced it didn’t surprise him. Macy had been the only thing on his mind.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He said. Macy was his responsibility and he wasn’t leaving her side.
The woman clucked her tongue at him and shook her head. She pointed to the chair next to the bed. “Sit.”
He did, hating the weakness in his body. His legs felt shaky, his head foggy. Dehydration or the tonic? Either way he didn’t like it.
The woman fussed with Macy for a few minutes, lifting the blanket and inspecting her wound, hovering a hand over Macy’s chest and forehead, murmuring things he couldn’t understand. When she finished she tucked the blanket snug around Macy’s shoulders and hobbled out of the hut.
Just before disappearing out the door she said, “She is the one.”
Nate went rigid. Shit. Did the old woman know who Macy was? He knew damn well there wasn’t electricity out here. This village was in the stone age. They didn’t even have running water.
No way.
Then what did the woman mean?
Uncomfortable with the cryptic comment, Nate rose to his feet. They couldn’t stay here. He wouldn’t risk Macy’s safety. For all he knew these villagers were working with the IPA and had already sent word to Diakameli that his bounty was here. They didn’t need modernization to be terrorists. God knows he’d been in many villages just like this that weren’t what they seemed. On the outside, it looked like a poor, underprivileged village. On the inside it hid weapons of mass destruction and IPA connections, prepared to die for their cause.
He put a hand on Macy’s shoulder. She didn’t stir. Unable to resist, he caressed her cheek. Warm. Not as hot. A good sign. Beneath his hand her skin felt soft as silk. He gently ran his thumb across the fading bruise on her jawline. Anger and the urge to protect and defend surged through him. Except, it felt more personal. Not just a bodyguard protecting his charge. More…
Nope. Not going there. The reasons stuck like a knife in his heart.
He dropped his hand to his side, sobered, and put his thoughts in proper order. First things first. Get Macy dressed, then grab her and go. They may not have confiscated his weapons, but that could be a ruse to keep him off guard.
His supply of clothing for Macy was running low. Only two shirts and one pair of pants left. Foregoing the undergarments, he grasped the edge of the blanket, prepared to dress her and make a run for it.
“Nate?”
The murmured question came from Macy. He froze, his gaze flying to her face to find her eyes open. Glazed, confused.
Letting go of the blanket, he leaned over her. “Hey. I’m here.”
Her beautiful blue eyes that reminded him so much of Bleu Lake back home, met his, radiating with pain. “Don’t leave me. Please.”
The impact of those words went straight through his chest. At that moment, he knew they couldn’t go. Not until she was healthy enough to go. They’d pushed hard already and look where it got them.
Bending, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. Go back to sleep. You’re safe.”
That seemed to work because the tension went out of her muscles and her eyes drifted closed. Seconds later her breathing evened out, indicating she slept peacefully.
Nate straightened and scrubbed a hand down his face. He returned the clothes to his pack, dragged the crude chair in front of the bed and dropped down on it. His Glock now rested across his thigh, finger near the trigger as he settled in.
Whomever, or whatever, came through that door they would have to go through him first in order to get to Macy. And he’d die before he let another person hurt her.