Authors: Natasha Knight
“They feel hot when they start, tingling. It’s not painful, although I can feel it.”
“I have some idea where Bardsey Island is, but it’s impenetrable from what I know.”
“What about the rest of it? The piece about you having the courage to take the one thing that will keep me safe?” she asked.
Galahad looked at her. She was confused and frightened, he could see it on her face, could feel it like an energy emanating from her body.
“Give me time to think about it,” he said, lying to her. That last message from her mother was meant for him, and he understood it clearly. “I will do whatever I need to do to keep you safe, Gemma. I promise.”
“She wouldn’t let me see her,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
He gathered her into his arms and held her tight to him. “Do not be afraid.”
She softened into him immediately, allowing his arms to wrap fully around her. He held her as he looked into the distance. They would both be tested on this journey.
Only once she stopped crying did he pull back. “There’s a village a few hours from here. There we can find out more about the island your mother spoke of.”
She nodded and wiped away the evidence of her tears.
“How do you feel this morning? Did the salve help?”
She blushed. He liked seeing that, watching her neck and cheeks turn a soft pink. It was charming.
“Yes. I’m not sore. I… last night… what you… we…” she stumbled over her words, unable to complete her sentence.
He smiled and raised an eyebrow.
She dropped her gaze. “Nothing.”
He let it go. What could he say anyway? “There are some bushes with ripe berries behind the cottage. I was coming to find a basket to gather them into before we left.”
“Ripe berries? It’s only April,” she said. “It’s too early.”
“I thought that as well. Perhaps it is a gift.”
She looked at him. “I’ll get a basket from inside,” she said. “I saw one there.”
“Let’s go then. We will need the food on our journey.”
She nodded, went inside to get the basket, and they both walked to the bushes.
“Be careful for the thorns,” he instructed, stepping right up to the bushes and reaching for the highest branch. He felt the cuts immediately as the thorns scraped his skin, but he kept working. She went to the next bush and did the same. He glanced over at her, watching her as she looked down at the arm that did not wear the bracer. There were scratches, and some were deep, but not a drop of blood spilled. He saw her take this in, saw her touch the bracer and turn to him. He smiled.
* * *
Baskets filled with plump blackberries, they headed north. Sir Galahad looked at her as they neared the next village.
“Gemma,” he began, slowing his horse. “I don’t want to attract any attention to ourselves.”
She only looked at him, not sure what he meant until he glanced at the birthmark that she could no longer fully hide with either her hair or her dress.
“I will go in alone, find out more specific information about the island. I want you to hide here. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Take this time to rest and take care of your horse.”
She looked down at the mark which had taken up the space of her collarbone.
“Has it grown?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“All right. I’ll wait here for you.”
“Hide yourself. Do not draw attention to yourself, understand? We do not have time to lose.”
“I understand,” she said, dismounting. “I shall remain hidden.”
He nodded. “I will be back as soon as I can.”
Gemma watched him ride toward the village, then walked Morning Glory off the path and into the thicket of trees. Once there, she secured the horse to a nearby tree, gathered her bow and arrow, and sat down. Untying her corset, she slid it off and pushed her dress over to look at the growing mark. The serpents were merely outlined, their bodies still the color of her skin, for which she was grateful. But he had lied. They had grown since this morning. And as she watched them, she felt her skin prickle beneath their thick bodies, almost as if they moved.
She shivered and stood. She needed to keep busy or the idea of these… things… slithering over her skin was going to make her crazy.
She walked a little ways away from Morning Glory and took an arrow out of the quiver. Looking around, she found a target on a tree in the distance. She took up her stance, lined up the arrow and drew it back, concentrating on her mark. She said her usual words in her mind, that act so subconscious, so a part of her hunting that she wasn’t even aware of it. When she let the arrow go, she heard it slice through air as she watched its progress until it hit its mark, the exact target she had aimed for.
Gemma smiled, walking toward the tree to retrieve the arrow. She looked down at the ground as she did and soon realized she was on a narrow but recently traveled path. The horse droppings and tufts of dog hair were fresh, perhaps a day old at the most. She followed the path and looked up at the sky, gauging the position of the sun. She looked in the distance, and sure enough, the path continued there.
Open your eyes to see.
Her mother’s words echoed through the forest. A shiver traveled up her spine, and she turned to look all around her. Although she knew she would be alone, she still felt a tug at her heart when hearing her mother’s voice but not being able to see or touch her.
She reached the tree and retrieved her arrow before following the path a little farther. She concentrated on her mother’s words. They were the same as her father’s had been that last night. “Open your eyes,” he had said.
She looked up at the now darkening sky. A storm was approaching.
“All right,” she said aloud. She stood still, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Show me what is true,” she said. “When I open my eyes, I will see what is true.”
Her body tingled at the instruction as all the sounds of the forest died away. The mark began to vibrate at the back of her ear and worked its way along its now elongated form. The sensation traveled down her arms, and it was more intense just beneath the bracer. She squeezed her hands around her bow and arrow and slowly opened her eyes.
She exhaled, not quite smiling but something else. The light had changed just slightly. A low mist covered the ground over the path, and she understood it to be the heat left behind from recent travelers. She walked a few steps, blinking several times, but it did not change. The path was laid out before her, as clear as day.
This time she did smile.
Only when the sound of a horse’s hooves coming fast woke her from her reverie did she jump, looking around her for a place to hide. She ducked behind a boulder, hiding herself but still able to see. She held tight to her bow and arrow and watched as one lone rider came fast around the curve she had just walked. Anger burned through her at the sight; she swore she recognized the heavily ornate reins on the horse. They were those of the rider who had set her barn on fire. She knew it as surely as she knew the sky was blue.
Unable to stop herself, she prepared her arrow, and just as the rider approached, she stood and released it.
Thunder rolled above her, and the rider’s pace changed, offering him a moment of reprieve so that her arrow flew just behind him. He neither saw nor heard a thing as he kept riding.
Gemma reached for another arrow as she turned to see where her last shot had hit. She gasped when she did, because standing there in the distance was Sir Galahad. He stood watching her as the rider disappeared into the horizon. He then wrapped his hand over the arrow and pulled it from a tree just a foot from him. The realization that she could have killed him dawned.
“Did I not tell you to hide yourself?” he asked, his voice stern as he approached her. His expression was as dark as the sky had just become.
“Yes, but I recognized him…”
“Hold out your hands,” he said, taking the final steps to cover the space between them.
“He was one of the men at my house.”
“Hold out your hands.”
“He was one of the men who took Alys.”
“Gemma, hold out your hands.”
She understood in that moment what he meant to do. She glanced at the arrow he held, then at his face, then back again to the arrow. She raised her trembling hands to him, palms turned up to the sky.
He lifted the arrow and struck one palm hard, the pain of the thin, flexible wood searing her hand. A welt rose immediately and Gemma drew her hands back, tears filling her eyes, her body’s natural reaction to the painful chastisement.
“Put them back out,” he demanded.
She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”
“You promised to obey, Gemma. You seem to have a hard time doing just that one little thing, and this time, you could have killed me with your arrow. Hold out your hands and take your punishment.”
“I’m sorry. I just, when I saw him, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to knock him off his horse, find out where they have her. I wanted to kill him!”
“You must learn to control those passions. Remember what is important now—getting your sister back alive. You need to trust and obey me. When I say hide yourself, I mean hide yourself. The instruction was clear, and you understood it, am I correct?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Did you consider the man may have been wearing a shield? Did it occur to you what he might have done to you if your arrow had simply grazed his skin rather than killing him?”
She looked at him. “I always hit my mark.”
“You did not this time.”
He was right. She knew it, as he stood patiently waiting for her to hold out her hands.
“I promise not to do anything like that again,” she said.
“Hold out your hands,” was his only response.
“No. Not my hands. I won’t be able to use my bow.”
He considered her. She eyed his sword belt and the memory of the last time he had used it made her clench her bottom.
Sir Galahad nodded and looked around. After a moment, he retrieved his gloves and slipped them on.
She watched him, nervous tension settling inside her belly. She did not want another round with his belt. “I saw the path. I can see it now. It’s there,” she said, pointing.
He looked, just as the first drops of rain began to fall. “I see what could be a path,” he said.
“You don’t see the mist?”
He turned to her. “No.” Thunder rolled, and in the distance, lightning struck. “Come, we’ll take shelter until the storm passes. Then we will ride in the direction of the new path.”
He guided her to a clearing canopied by a tall tree, and for a moment, she wondered if he had forgotten her punishment.
But when he next spoke, she knew he had not. “Straddle that fallen tree and lift your skirts,” he said.
She looked at him, her skin prickling, her belly and sex feeling something different than fear.
“Please don’t use your belt. It hurts so much.”
“I don’t plan on it,” he said, gesturing toward the thick tree that lay beneath the canopy of the larger tree. “Go on. If you’re not in position when I return, your punishment will double.”
“What will you do?” she asked.
He only gestured toward the tree.
Reluctantly, she moved to stand before it. She walked from one side to another and back. How was she supposed to straddle it? It was huge. She turned to ask only to find him leaning over growth of what she knew were stinging nettles.
“You cannot mean to use those,” she said when he rose to his feet and turned, two handfuls of the stuff in his gloved hands.
Drops of rain penetrated the canopy even as the downpour drenched the surrounding area.
“You’re not in position,” he said.
“And I’m not going to be!” she yelled as he came closer. “Have you ever felt those things?”
“That’s why I’m wearing gloves.”
She took a step back.
“What are you going to do with them?” she asked, her eyes wider as he approached, as she realized he could do whatever he wanted to do to her.
“That depends on you. I am not an unreasonable man. Why aren’t you in position?”
“Have you seen the size of that tree?”
“Why do you think I chose it?” he asked, almost grinning.
She almost had a comment, almost, but she closed her mouth and folded her arms across her chest.
“You are not using those things on me!” she said, driving her heels into the ground.
“Yes, I am. And you’ve just worsened your punishment. Care to get into position now?”
“No, I do not, as a matter of fact. What are you going to do with them exactly?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“They leave a lovely, long-lasting sting,” he said, setting the nettles down on the ground and taking a step toward her.
As soon as he did, she turned and ran. She heard him mutter a curse behind her but didn’t look back. She didn’t get far before he grabbed hold of her, and both of them fell to the now muddy earth.
“You are not going to use those th—” she began as he turned her to face him.
“You shouldn’t have run,” he said, his full weight trapping her, his face inches from hers, that grin now wide on his face. “But I like that you did.”
“Let me go!” she yelled, struggling against him as he brought his mouth to hers. He held her wrists above her with one hand and gripped the back of her head with the other. “How dare—” but her words were smothered by his kiss as were any other sounds of protest she attempted.
They were soaked through within moments, but he didn’t stop kissing her. Although she fought him, her body reacted differently, and she found herself arching her back, pushing into him, pushing her hips into his. She could feel his hardened cock, and as much as the thought frightened her, she wanted him. Wanted him to take and possess her.
“Through fighting?” he asked just as her body went limp.
“No!” she said, and because her arms and legs were trapped, she used the only weapon she had left: her teeth. She reached toward him and tried to bite, but he was faster and he only laughed at her attempt as he hauled her to her feet, threw her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing at all, and carried her kicking and screaming back to the dry ground beneath the canopy of trees. On his way, she noticed he picked up his sword belt.