Chapter Four
Desire pulled Turi from the depths of sleep. He was erect, throbbing, eager to mate with the woman who slept at his side. He whispered her name and reached out, expecting to feel the warmth of her flesh and draw her atop him. But the place where she had lain was empty and cold. A chill brushed the back of his neck as he blinked into the darkness.
Where had she gone?
A dog’s howl drifted through the night, its haunting sound echoed by another and another. A faint smell of smoke made Turi’s nostrils flare. Foreboding tugged at his instincts like a nervous child. He sat up.
Others who shared the roundhouse, their beds separated by thin walls of fabric and animal pelts, also began to stir. Whispers became murmurs. Then a shout echoed across the village, that of a man, although Turi did not recognize the voice. Moments later, a woman screamed and Turi looked again at the empty place beside him.
Where had she gone?
“To arms!” someone cried. “They have found us.”
And Turi knew, with instinctual certainty, where she had gone. What she had done. And in that blinding moment of truth, his world, his life, everything he had ever believed, changed. He had brought her to his village. He had trusted her.
She had betrayed him.
Sickened to his core, he took up his sword and flew naked from his bed. Already, an ominous light flickered beyond the door and screams of terror rose into the air. Without hesitation, he plunged into the night and hurled himself into a nightmare of a lover’s betrayal. He fought hard. Fought like a demon against the enemy she had visited upon them.
The cries of those trapped in the flames tore into him like blades. The women. The children. More torturous yet was the terrible, subsequent silence. With the stench of burned flesh and spilled blood turning his guts, Turi carried on fighting. He meant to fight to the death. For him to survive beyond this night was unthinkable. His life had to be forfeit. Such a paltry, insignificant sacrifice. But he had nothing else to offer as an atonement. When the Roman blade at last struck him down, he almost wept with relief.
May the gods damn his soul for all eternity.
“Turi.”
A cool breeze brushed across his brow. It smelled of thyme. And perhaps a hint of lemon. He filled his lungs with the sweetness of it.
“Turi, please. Wake up.”
Something touched his face. A hand. Small. Soft. Gentle. He sought it out, wrapped his fingers around it. Light streamed into his head and his dark thoughts scurried away like beetles. He opened his eyes.
Cristen was there, leaning over him, face ghostly in the gloom.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “I think you were having a nightmare.”
“Aye.” Curse the gods. “Forgive me. Did I frighten you?”
“Nay.” She pulled her hand free of his and, to his utter surprise, settled at his side. “Do you have them often?”
Turi continued to breathe her essence. “Every night,” he admitted, without thinking. “I have them every night.”
“Dear God.” She shivered against him. “How awful for you.”
“Are you cold?” He reached across to pull his cloak over her. “’Tis perhaps best you stay close to me for warmth.”
Turi held his breath and waited for an objection that never came. Moments later, he heard the soft, rhythmic sound of Cristen’s breathing. She slept. Slept at his side.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Diolch, fy aderyn bach,” he whispered, and dared to press a kiss to her hair. Then he closed his eyes and descended into a calm, blessed sleep.
*
Turi awoke on the threshold of dawn, its arrival marked by the subtle hint of light visible through the gaps in the barn wall. He lay still, discomforted by a fading arousal but, thanks to the girl’s magic, naught else. His sleep had been profound. Deep. Free of disruption.
Cristen still slept soundly beside him, her small form buried beneath his cloak. At some time in the night, her hand must have wandered and come to rest atop his heart. Turi had no desire to disturb the lass. Not yet. She’d been through much these past few days and her exhaustion the previous night had been obvious. Apart from that, and perhaps the more pertinent of reasons, the tranquility of her touch was the sweetest elixir.
Trust.
It seemed he had gained it, albeit in a fragile form. Turi reckoned he had the measure of his little bird. If pushed, she resisted. Cristen St. Clair needed to be coaxed, but in a surreptitious fashion. Without her realizing it.
There had been nothing furtive about his nightmare, however. But it had turned out to be a godsend, apparently capturing her sympathy. Was he using her? Aye, without doubt. But, in return, she had the sworn protection of an immortal and highly-skilled warrior. A mutually beneficial barter, he reasoned.
The church bell pealed; a sudden and loud clamor that all but shook the barn walls. Cristen let out a squeak as her head emerged from beneath his cloak, wayward strands of red hair floating about her face.
“A rude awakening,” Turi said, biting back a temptation to smile at her alarmed appearance. “Take a moment if you need it, but we’d best be off without much delay. Folks will be up and about already.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Cristen sat up and blew a curl from her eyes as the bell continued to peal. “Goodness, that is loud. Did you manage to rest after your nightmare?”
Turi got to his feet and held out a hand. “I did, my lady. Thanks to you.”
She appeared puzzled for a moment, but allowed him to pull her upright.
Turi gathered his things and then led the way outside, where the fog remained as thick as it had the night before. Perhaps a blessing, he thought, settling his cloak around his shoulders. It offered them some cover, at least.
With the night in rapid retreat, they set out again, following the track through the village and into open countryside. Turi, with Cristen’s hand tucked into his, said little, focusing instead on their surroundings. So far, he’d seen no sign of trouble or any indication they were being hunted. He wondered if anyone would even bother searching for the rapist’s killer. Somehow, he doubted it. Especially with the fog still thick on the ground.
Cristen glanced behind. “Do you think they’ll be searching for us?” she asked, her thoughts obviously exploring a similar path.
Turi shook his head. “I think not. There were no witnesses, so they won’t know who they’re looking for. The fog, too, will deter them. For now, at least.”
Cristen released a small sigh. Of relief, Turi thought. Then she appeared to ponder further. “This morning, when I asked if you’d rested, you said you had, thanks to me. I’m trying to understand your expression of gratitude. What did you mean? What did I do?”
He shrugged and told her a semblance of the truth. “You remained at my side. I found it comforting.”
“You did?”
“Aye.”
Again, her expression became thoughtful. “Who is Nareen?”
Turi cursed in his native tongue. “I spoke her name?”
“Several times,” she replied. “Forgive me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“I am not offended, aderyn bach. Merely surprised.”
“Is she your wife?”
“Nay. I’m not married.”
“Your lover, then?”
Turi gave her a sideways glance. Did he imagine the hint of dolefulness in her voice? “She was my lover, aye. A long time ago.” Although it seems like yesterday.
“Did she die? Is that why you have nightmares?”
“She betrayed me.”
“Ah, I see. How sad for you.” Cristen shook her head. “I’m of the opinion true love is a rare creature, if it even exists at all.”
Turi glanced about, able to discern a line of trees off the right. From somewhere to the left, he heard the distant hiss of waves upon the shore. It seemed the fog was lifting. “You are young to harbor such convictions,” he said, turning his gaze to the encouraging brightness above. “The cruelty of one man does not speak for all men, just as one lover’s betrayal has not destroyed my faith in women.”
“You are entitled to your opinion, sir,” Cristen replied, a slight waver in her voice, “and ’tis true I have but eighteen summers behind me. Yet I have already been given to two men, both times against my wishes. One was older than my guardian and kept several mistresses, the other was a monster who taught me how to hate. I believe I am also entitled, then, to my convictions.”
Turi uttered a soft curse and halted his stride. “Explain,” he said, feeling the sudden, fierce rattle of his heart. “Explain what you mean by ‘given’.”
“I-I mean in marriage, of course.” Cristen’s pale cheeks flushed pink. “I have been wed twice. I was orphaned at the age of twelve and became a ward of my uncle. He did not exactly mistreat me, although I knew he viewed me only as mere chattel. I was but fifteen when he gave me to his friend. Walter was not unkind, but neither was he faithful. The marriage lasted a little more than a year. He died of a sweating sickness during Christmastide.”
Turi frowned. “And Cedric?”
“My uncle owed him money. A gambling debt, I believe.” Her lip quivered. “Cedric agreed to take me instead.”
Turi’s free hand clenched. “And what of this uncle? The man you claim did not exactly mistreat you. Where is he?”
“He died in a hunting accident several months ago.” She released a sad little laugh and looked down at the ground. “Now I think on it, the men in my life do not fare well at all. Perhaps you should run from me, Turi. It would appear I am cursed in some way.”
Turi hooked a finger beneath her chin and raised it. Her eyes had tiny, gold flecks in them, he noticed. “Your perception is misplaced, aderyn bach. The fault does not lie with you, but with the men who mistreated you, including your uncle.”
Cristen drew breath and glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe. But now I’m a fugitive and I warrant there’s already a price on my head.” She turned wide eyes back to him. “And you will answer for it if you are found with me.”
Turi held her gaze, trying to define a sudden and strange emotion that tugged at his heart. “Being found with you is a prospect that holds no fear for me,” he said at last. “Come. The fog is lifting. We should move on.”