Goddess Born (7 page)

“Is it a trap?” I asked, afraid my worst suspicions were about to be confirmed.

“It looks likely. You stay here and keep your head down.” He helped me back into the carriage and shut the door.

The carriage swayed as Ben hoisted himself back up to the seat. He clicked the reins to put the horses into a slow walk. Henry found his footing on the step right below the door to watch the rear, hooking an arm in through the open door sash for balance. Several very long minutes passed in this way, nobody saying a word, when a pistol report cracked in the distance followed by a soft thud in the wood, inches from where Henry stood.

I screamed and fell back onto the floor just as Henry leapt down and disappeared from view. Horses thundered from all sides. Men began to shout, followed by the distinct clank of steel against steel. From my vantage point on the floor I could see nothing more than green leaves and the blue sky overhead, but it sounded horrible, as if we had been set upon by the legions of hell.

Another pistol discharged, much closer this time. A man screamed and I shut my eyes tight, trying to block out the chaos.
Oh
,
please Dear Lord
,
let Ben and Henry live
, I prayed fervently.
I’m sorry for being so bad and making Henry marry me...

I was on the verge of promising to mend my evil ways and send Henry back to England on the next available transport when the door was suddenly yanked open. A long shaft of sunlight spilled into the carriage, and I squinted into the glare, gasping at the sight of the redheaded demon.

A wicked grin revealed a mouthful of brown, rotten teeth. “I’ve been waiting for ye, m’lady. Won’t ye come out and play?” Before I could scramble away, the demon took two fistfuls of brown silk, and pulled me from the carriage, straight into his hideous embrace.

“You filthy devil!” I screamed, kicking wildly and struggling to break free. “Take your hands off me!”

He grabbed me by the hair and forced my head back. “Aren’t ye a pretty little wench,” he said, his breath a revolting mixture of whiskey and rot. “A mighty fine reward for helping Dirk get back that boy ye stole from him.”

I caught a glimpse of Henry and Ben not too far away, swords drawn and engaged in serious fighting. A third man lay still on the ground while a fourth circled Henry like a bird of prey, a rope in one hand as he waited for just the right moment to jump in. No matter what happened to Ben and me, it was clear they meant to take Henry alive.

The demon wrenched my arm, jerking me around the side of the carriage and away from the other men. “I’ll be enjoying ye first.” He pressed closer until our bodies were crushed together. “Dirk likes his wenches fresh, but he’ll have to wait his turn for ye.”

Terror rippled through me and I shrieked like a banshee, my knee flying straight up toward his groin. He shifted at the last second, taking the blow in his thigh.

“Play nice, my sweet,” he said, “or I may need to get rough.”

I wrestled one hand free and raked my nails down his cheek, leaving behind four long gouges that made him howl in pain. Scowling, he drew back his arm and punched me full force in the stomach. The air rushed from my lungs and I dropped to the ground like a rag doll.

“That’s better,” he laughed darkly.

I landed in a disheveled heap, my breath gone and my face resting in the dirt just inches from his filthy boots. Black spots dotted my vision as he placed the sole of one boot against my shoulder to nudge me over. From my back, I stared up at his depraved face, at the breeches that now flapped open around his hips. With a grunt, he came down on top of me and started to tug at the multiple layers of silk and linen in his way. The vicious blow had taken my strength, allowing him to hold me in place even once my chest released, and I wheezed for air.

Unable to escape, I had clamped my knees together hard when his weight shifted and then suddenly lifted from me altogether. His evil grin transformed into shock, and I watched as the point of a sword emerged through the front of his chest, the bloodstained tip stopping inches from my nose. Henry pulled the blade free and pushed the demon’s lifeless form to the side, where it landed in a clump of ferns.

“Are you hurt, Selah?” he asked. Sweat dripped from his face and his green eyes gleamed fiercely as he leaned over to help me up.

Shaking my head, I reached for his hand. A flash of movement caught my eye behind him. Before there was time to scream a warning, a pistol discharged, and Henry jerked forward from the impact. He stood for a moment, suspended above me. Then his knees gave out and he fell slowly to the ground.

Chapter Four

Behind Closed Doors

Dirk Fletcher sat astride a large brown horse in a lingering cloud of smoke, his outstretched hand gripping a flintlock pistol.

“No!” I screamed, my voice piercing the still air as though the one word had power enough to pull back time and change what had happened. Henry dropped to his knees before me, his face a deathly white. There was no fear in his eyes, only the sad acceptance of his own death. He said nothing, but gave me a weary smile, nearly tearing my poor heart to pieces.

“You will not die, Henry Alan,” I said, as much an order as a statement of fact. “Not while I’m here.” Reaching out, I bid him to me, and he fell forward, collapsing onto my lap. On his back just below the right shoulder blade, a bloodstain blossomed where his coat had been shredded by the shot. Thank heavens his heart had not been struck, or he would have died immediately and moved beyond my care. By good fortune he still lived, though the sound of his labored breathing indicated a punctured lung. I had to act quickly to keep him from drowning in his own blood.

A horse snorted and stamped the ground, and I glanced up as Fletcher tossed the empty pistol to the ground. Drawing his sword, he urged the beast forward, preparing for another attack. His initial plan in shambles, he seemed ready to kill us both, and I threw my arms protectively over Henry.

Heavy footsteps ran along the other side of the carriage. Ben lunged out, blade drawn and yelling like a madman. Slamming into the horse’s side, he sliced Fletcher’s arm, knocking the sword from his hand.

An angry cry rent the air. Blood streamed from beneath Fletcher’s coat sleeve, slicked his hand red on a path to the ground. Ben edged closer, sword raised for another attack. The horse pranced nervously, and Fletcher jerked one-handed on the reins, choosing to retreat rather than further risk his life.

The last of our enemies defeated, Ben rushed to my side. “Where are you hurt?” he demanded, seeing my hands smeared with blood.

“It’s Henry. He’s been shot.”

Ben looked again, this time registering the wounded man lying in my lap.

“Help me take off his shirt and coat, and lay him on his stomach” I said. “Then find something to dress the wound.”

Together we removed his clothing, and Ben spread his own coat on the ground before carefully shifting Henry from my lap. Another deep laceration marked his forearm, but this would be attended to later. Once he was properly situated, Ben went to the carriage in search of bandages.

Not daring to waste another second, I placed my hands on Henry’s back to inspect the damage. Closing my eyes, I followed the trajectory of the shot past torn muscle and cracked ribs to where I found it lodged well inside his lung. Ben returned with strips of neatly torn linen, and I sent him off again to begin clearing the tree from the road.

“This may hurt,” I murmured softly. With a deep breath I summoned my strength, letting the rush of warmth spread down my arms into his back.

Henry groaned as my mind took hold of the ball, dislodging it from the spongy tissue of his lungs. I then began pulling it backwards along a path of torn muscle and fragmented bone, and no doubt making him feel like he was being shot in reverse. When a glint of silver peeked up through the surface of his skin, I picked the ball out with my fingertips and dropped it to the ground. Having finished the worst of it, I turned my attention to his other injuries: the lung had to be drained and mended and the cracked ribs set. I would leave the rest to nature and Henry’s own body to heal.

My mother had taught me the importance of restraint in my earliest training—do what was necessary to preserve life. Then let the body take over. Though it often proved tempting to fix everything, it was a lesson hard learned to always leave enough to be convincing. To this day it’s unclear how many of my ancestors had been burned at the stake or driven from their homes because they had ignored this simple precept and went beyond the basic charge.

But the remaining wounds could become infected and fester, making additional knowledge essential. So while other children were busy with nursery rhymes, I had been learning anatomy and the various herbs and remedies essential for conventional healing. Now that Henry was out of mortal danger, his wounds would be cleaned and stitched once we arrived at the next inn. Over the years, I had also become adept at guiding people to see their wounds differently than they had first appeared. Henry would be sore enough to believe the ball merely glanced off the bones without actually breaking anything.

Ben returned from clearing the tree as I tied off the last of the bandages. “Will he live?” he asked, looking skeptically down at Henry.

I rested my hand over the strips of linen and felt the slow rise and fall of his chest. “He lost a lot of blood, but I think he’s out of danger.”

“He’s breathing easier,” Ben said, raising one eyebrow. “I could have sworn he’d taken the ball in the lung.”

“His lungs are fine,” I said, carefully choosing my words to avoid lying outright. “Help him to the carriage so we can be away from this place.”

“I’ve got some cleaning up to do once you’re settled,” Ben said. I assumed he meant dragging four bodies into the woods. Not that I cared if they rotted in plain sight after what they had done.

While healing Henry, I had been able to forget about being so violently attacked, but with the crisis averted my eyes strayed to the lifeless form of the redheaded demon. He was lying no more than a few feet away, his face settled into an evil sneer. My stomach would be tender for days from his blow, and I shuddered at how close I had come to being raped.

* * *

A sharp whistle sent the carriage lurching forward. Henry lay across the bench on his back with his legs off to the side to accommodate for his height. I sat on the floor beside him to guard against his being overly jostled or knocked from the seat altogether as Ben drove the horses hard the remaining distance to the inn.

Henry’s black hair ribbon had come undone during the fight, and his hair fell like silk around his shoulders. A stray lock played across one cheek, and I reached up to move it aside. Taking one of the unused strips of linen, I gently dried the sweat from his brow. I wet another strip with water from a leather skin to wipe away the smudges of dirt and blood.

Even wounded and fast asleep he was distractingly handsome, and I felt a sudden urge to touch him again, but without the piece of linen beneath my fingers this time. Assuring myself he would be none the wiser in his present state, I traced a finger along the fine angles of his face, around his ear and down along the strong jaw. He stirred, and I yanked my hand away.

His eyes fluttered open, revealing overly dilated pupils. Focusing the best he could on my face, his brows creased in agitation. “There’s been a mistake,” he slurred.

I gave an undignified snort of laughter. “Precisely which one are you referring to?” I asked, torn between vexation and amusement, as our list of mistakes seemed only to be growing today. Did he mean our being attacked by a group of scoundrels or how my dress was covered in blood from two different men? Or maybe that he had been shot in the back and should actually be dead by now rather than traveling on to the next inn? Really, he needed to be more specific.

“It’s my name,” he said, growing more agitated. “I am not Mr. Alan.”

“Of course you are,” I said soothingly. “It’s written right on your contract for indenture.” Henry wasn’t my first patient to suffer delusions. Once he was rested and the shock worn off, he would return to normal—memories and all.

“No,” he said and tried to push up. Barely making it to his elbows, he winced in pain from the effort. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Lie down before you cause more damage,” I ordered, placing a hand on his chest to make him obey. The initial healing had been exhausting, and I didn’t want to start again anytime soon. It was a wonderful gift, but as with everything great, there was a price. Supper and a good night’s sleep would restore my physical strength. The fire, though, could only be replenished in another world.

Henry lay back down and stared up at me intently. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“So you’re not the King of England?” I teased. “I was hoping to call you Georgie once we got to Brighmor.”

He fell silent, and I thought the fit had passed when he reached over and took my hand. “You are so beautiful,” he said, his green eyes boring into me. “Just like an angel.”

My spine stiffened, and I pulled my hand free. “Shush now,” I said, this time with real urgency. “No more talking.”

I don’t know if it was the tone of my voice or just plain fatigue, but he closed his eyes and fell back to sleep. Overcome by a heavy weariness, I slumped against the bench, feeling as though all my bones had been turned to lead. In his present condition, Henry would retain no memory of the words that now echoed inside my head.

Just like an angel...

This time it had meant nothing.

In the future it could mean my death.

* * *

When we reached the inn, Ben helped Henry out of the carriage and inside to a bed. Still at risk of serious infection, his remaining wounds had to be tended to right away, and I went straight to the kitchen to speak with the cook. Finding her decently competent, I decided to get cleaned up while she put fresh water on to boil and fetched needle and thread.

A basin of warm water had already been delivered to my room when I arrived upstairs. Quickly washing, I summoned the maid to help me into a clean gown. The brown silk was beyond repair, torn in several places and stained with blood, and I felt no remorse when I ordered the girl to see it burned.

The cook sent word when everything was ready, and I crossed the hall to Henry’s room to get started. Expecting him to be asleep or at least fairly miserable, I knocked softly before letting myself in. To my surprise, I found him fully awake and talking with the maid as she tucked a pillow behind his back. She was a very pretty girl despite the lovesick look on her face.

“There ye go, sir,” she said, giving the pillow one last pat. A wooden tray rested on the bed, and she picked up a bowl for him. “Yer sister didn’t ask for it, but the cook thought ye could use some warm broth.”

“Thank you, Ruthie,” he said, gladly accepting the bowl.

I tensed at the warmth in his voice.
Already on a first name basis
,
are we?

“Those highwaymen that attacked ye must have been awfully frightening. Did ye really kill three of them by yerself, sir?”

“Who told you that?” Henry asked curiously.

“That other man who came with ye. He told my mistress how ye was set on by five bandits, and that ye managed to kill three by the time he finished with one. Is it true?” Admiration shined on her face.

Henry flinched slightly as he lifted the bowl to his lips for a drink. “It’s true,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m now worse for the wear.”

“Would ye like me to feed it to ye, sir?” Ruthie asked hopefully, still taking no heed of my presence.

Oh
,
bother!
I rolled my eyes and stepped further into the room. “I see you’re feeling better, Mr. Kilbrid. You will please excuse us,
Ruthie
, while I tend to my
husband
.”

A faint pink came into Ruthie’s cheeks, making her even prettier. “Oh, yes, ma’am. Begging yer pardon, I thought he was yer brother with ye taking separate rooms and all.” She stole another peek at Henry. “If ye want, I can stay and help with the wounds.”

“I am quite capable on my own,” I assured her. “I will pull the bell if there’s anything else for you to do.”

Her face fell in response to my rather brusque dismissal. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, and scurried from the room.

“There’s no need to be rude,” Henry said when we were alone. “She only wanted to be helpful.” The shock had certainly passed, returning him to his former self, but I didn’t miss the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“It was a little too obvious how much she wanted to help,” I said peevishly.

“Does this mean you’ll be offering to feed me now you’ve sent the poor girl away?” he asked, his smile broadening.

I laughed in spite of myself. “I think you’ll manage just fine.”

He did, and in two gulps, the broth was gone. Taking the bowl, I returned it to the tray and then looked over the other items that had been sent up. In the center of the tray sat a large tureen of steaming water steeped with garlic and witch hazel to clean the wounds. The needle and thread were lying nestled in a stack of linen bandages, and next to this, a tall glass bottle and a shorter glass jar. The bottle I recognized right away as whiskey to help with pain. The jar I picked up and uncorked to find a salve meant to be rubbed onto the wounds once the stitching was done, to minimize inflammation and reduce the risk of infection.

I returned the jar to the tray and poured some whiskey into a small pewter cup. “You’ll be needing this,” I said, handing it to him.

He took it willingly and threw it back in one shot.

“We’d best get it over with.” I moved a step closer to start untying the bandages. The linen stuck to the skin where the blood had already dried. I gently pulled it loose, breaking the recently formed scabs. He didn’t even flinch when fresh blood appeared on the surface—a good sign, considering what was to come.

Once his back and arm were exposed, I dipped a clean cloth into the steaming water and thoroughly cleaned each wound. His arm had been very neatly cut with a sharp blade, leaving behind no ragged edges to work around. His back proved trickier, since the lead shot had made a messy entrance, tearing rather than slicing the skin apart.

With the cleaning done, I threaded the needle. “Do you need more whiskey?” I asked.

“The one cup will do.” He tightened his free hand into a fist in preparation.

“It’s not uncommon to vomit or faint,” I warned him. “I’ve seen it many times, even from the bravest of men.”

“Oh, I’ve been stitched before and made it through just fine,” he assured me. “And Ben said you’re the finest healer in all the Colonies.”