The Sanction (17 page)

Graeme nodded, probing along his body
with a steady hand. “Aye, but you’re healing. Can you not
move?”

The man shook his head and swallowed
hard before he continued. “The Hunters came.”

Graeme’s knees could no longer support
his weight. He sat beside him heavily and braced himself for the
worst. “Did they kill her?”

Rhys licked his dried, cracked lips. “I
do not know lad. But…”

Graeme watched as he forced himself to
roll upon his back. In his arms, held close to the warmth of his
chest, caked in blood and dirt and streaks of tears, was a baby.
Graeme’s eyes filled with hot tears and left him weaker than any
wound ever had. Shaking, he reached forward to retrieve the babe.
Clear eyes met his, a pristine blue that reminded him of a summer’s
sky. Awkwardly, he cradled the child in his arms and studied him
from the crop of thick black hair atop his head to the ten very
cold toes he stretched. Emotion swept him, and he snagged the
length of hair upon his friends head to pull him forward until
their foreheads kissed.

“
You have saved the life of
my son,” he croaked thickly.

Rhys cleared his throat and attempted
to speak once more. “If you do not get us out of the cold we will
both die and my effort will have been in vain.”

Graeme laughed and stood on unstable
knees before he turned toward the men high above. “Come down and
help us men! I have found two alive!”

****

Several men joined then in the ravine
carrying enough rope to make a harness that would keep Rhys
strapped to the wooden pallet they had managed to put together.
Graeme secured the child to his chest with his sweat-stained shirt
and fur, and was the last to make the treacherous climb. The rest
of the men greeted their General good-naturedly, some even joking
that he had become a hero for saving the life of a wee babe. No one
questioned why their leader held the child so protectively in his
arms, nor did they murmur among themselves when he saw it fit to
ride into vampire territory and take shelter in one of the
villages. It was Rhys who finally cut him a curious glance as they
rested in the evening.

“
I know you want to ask, so
just say it,” Graeme muttered behind a tankard of ale. They sat
before a roaring fire in the only tavern the village boasted. Most
of the men had already found rooms or places on the floor to rest
their heads, and only a few customers were left, chatting softly in
the dim lights. Those toppled over from excess drink slumbered in a
symphony of coughs and snores.

Rhys shrugged his good shoulder and
shook his head. “Nay. I’ve come up with my own theory.”

Graeme cocked a half-amused brow.
“Aye?”

“
Oh aye. The sight of your
son has muddled your senses is what it is.”

Graeme took another deep gulp of ale
and glanced over to where a buxom wet nurse in her late thirties
fed his son. For the price of a few gold pieces, she would see him
cared for until his return. “For the first time I see things
clearer now,” he spoke softly. He rolled the tankard in his hands
and focused upon the flames. “I have to find her.”

He sighed deeply. “It has been many
hours since her capture. Even if she is alive, how are you going to
rescue her? And the men? What will you tell them?”

Graeme drained the cup and shook his
head in despair. “I do not know.”

“
Then take my advice and do
what your father would have done – return to the castle, regroup
the horde and forget about the woman.”

Their eyes clashed. Graeme clenched his
jaw tightly. “This is not some woman. She is my mate. The mother of
my child. Dead or alive, I will find her.”

Rhys exhaled a sigh of defeat and
leaned back into the thick furs before sipping from his own cup.
“Aye, and I suppose you’re going to march up to the Coven and
demand to see her like a whipped pup?”

Graeme snorted in mockery. “I have
thought on it.”

Rhys flexed his shoulder and closed his
eyes for a few moments. “Then you need a diversion.”

Graeme glanced toward him and studied
his profile in the light of the fire, cast into shadows and sharp
angles. “I’m listening.”

Rhys met his eyes and frowned. “I do
not like this idea.”

“
Tis your idea.”

“
Nevertheless, one of us
might end up getting killed.”

“
Tell me.”

He grunted and took another swallow of
ale. “Villages are littered throughout these valleys. We know that
the Cronus Coven is three days ride from here. Go to the Coven and
have the men attack one of the villages close to the boarder. The
Hunters would send their best men for fear that you would breach
their lines.”

“
But I will not be with
them,” he continued, nodding.

“
She will be guarded but not
heavily so. You and I can get her out of the manse. By the time the
Hunters return, you would have rescued her, returned for the child
and have disappeared.”

Graeme clasped his hands together and
exhaled a puff of hot air within his palms. “Tis a simple
plan.”

“
The simple ones work the
best.”

“
And if news of the attack
forces them to have her moved? Or worse, if she is dead?” The words
broke as they were forced from his throat.

Rhys closed his eyes once more. “Then
you need to be honest with the horde, because there will be a
bloody battle anyway. If she is dead...”

Graeme sighed heavily and leaned back,
his eyes red and grainy from lack of sleep. “There might be another
way…”

Rhys considered him by the firelight
and frowned as the words that were spoken made his blood turn to
ice. “Tis madness!”

“
Be that as it may, it’s the
only thing that will work. We need someone on the
inside.”

“
But her family has done
this to her! Why would you trust them?”

“
Tis not a matter of trust,”
he muttered, finishing the drink.

“
I hope you know what you’re
doing Graeme.”

He considered the general and offered a
tight smile. “You have yet to tell me about the birth of my son,”
he invited lightly.

“
Some stories are better
told by women,” he responded quickly.

Graeme eyed him curiously and allowed
the escape without further prodding as conversation slipped into
exactly how he proposed to put his plan into action.

Chapter Fifteen

A baby’s cry echoed like a thousand
voices in the oblivion. There was much pain as mothers and children
ran screaming for their lives – lives that were not spared as blood
stained swords descended upon their helpless bodies mercilessly.
She tried to help them, tried to demand that the Hunters stop the
massacre, but none would hear her, for her throat was being gripped
menacingly by a Were. Graeme! It was Graeme…and yet it was not, for
his eyes flamed red and the look on his face spelt
retribution.

I can explain she wanted to cry. I
tried to protect our son!

“
Murderer!” he snarled,
moments before his clawed hand connected with her
throat.

Amarinda gasped for breath and darted
up instantly, only to feel the full impact of the concussion she
had suffered. Slowly, her fingers journeyed to her forehead where a
large lump was tender to the touch. She glanced around, recognizing
the thick drapes and lush eastern carpets that she had chosen for
her room here at the Coven. Hot tears stung her eyes. They had
succeeded. The Hunters had brought her home.

Home.

She sniffled and allowed her hands to
journey to her stomach. For a confused moment she stared stupidly
there, face pale and confused. Then all at once the memories came
rushing back, of Graeme’s quick kiss before he entrusted her to his
friend, of the cold and the fear and the wail of a newborn babe.
Her newborn babe.

Of the heartless reflection of
nothingness she saw in the Hunters eyes when they brutally tore her
son from her arms and…

Her scream was released in a surge of
anger and agony, one that echoed throughout the Coven, so blood
curling that the very walls shuddered at the emotion there.
Footfalls thundered, and in moments the door to her chamber was
slammed open to reveal the familiar concerned face of her brother.
Already his sword was drawn as if he had expected an attack. They
eyes met, and she noted nothing but the intense pain reflected in
his orbs when he spied her disheveled form.

“
Murderers!” she screamed,
rising to stand upon the center of the white satin sheets she had
once taken such pleasure in. “Cowards! You killed my baby! You
killed my baby!”

He was upon her in a flash, attempting
to cradle her shaking form in his arms. She pushed him away
violently, her blood hot and close to her skin. “Father tried to
protect you,” he whispered thickly. “The Elder sent Hunters from
anther Coven. He did not trust us to…”

She whimpered and sank her fingers into
the sheets, ripping them apart as she did so. And still, she
screamed. Her cries were heard echoed throughout the manse and
across the hillside where even the darkness felt her agony. She
screamed until weakness overwhelmed her, until she could do nothing
but weep. Crumpled upon the pillows, Vilirus attempted to approach
her again. A gentle brush was felt across her heated cheek as he
tucked strands of hair from behind her ear.

“
We did not want you to be
returned to us little one,” he barely said. “There will be nothing
but pain for you here.” The sheets were soaked with her tears. Her
crying could not be stopped. “Mother will be distraught to see you
like this.”

She shook her head and found the
strength to clutch onto his shirt. Her eyes were swollen and
water-logged and filled with a lifetime of torture. When she spoke
it was with a trembling voice. “I beg you brother, I beg you if you
love me have mercy upon me and cut me down. I cannot bear to live
without them…without my baby…”

Horror filled his face and he put her
away from him swiftly, darting to his feet. “No…”

“
Vilirus! Kill me! Kill me
or I will see you all pay with your lives for doing this to
me!”

He stumbled back and darted out of the
room, shocked when she swiftly followed him to the threshold. Her
nails sank themselves into the flesh of his shoulders, and with
strength borne of desperation, spun him to face her. She saw her
reflection in his orbs, saw her riotous hair and the wild way her
eyes darted this way and that, and it occurred to her suddenly that
if she did not put her emotions to rights, she might very well go
insane. Stunned, her crying stopped, and she released him quite
suddenly.

“
Deliver a message to your
precious Elder,” she said finally, still trembling, still hurting.
“Tell him I take full responsibility for my actions, and the
consequences to bear I shall do so gladly.” He clenched his jaw and
stepped back slowly. She lifted her chin and met his eyes once
more. “If I am not sentenced…I will ensure that he pays with his
very life for destroying mine.”

Vilirus held his breath but simply
nodded before closing the door in her face and bolting it from the
outside. He found his parents moments later in their room. Macer
responded to the gentle tap on the door swiftly, his blue eyes
glazed in worry. Behind him, his mother’s red hair flamed in the
firelight.

“
She is awake,” Macer began
thickly.

Vilirus nodded. “Awake, weeping
incessantly…I could not calm her.”

“
I should go,” Amalea
stepped forward. Vilirus stayed her instantly.

“
No mother, you should not.
She is…different somehow.”

“
Of course she is
different!” the woman exclaimed. “She gave birth exposed to the
elements and have lost her mate and child. She will never be our
Amarinda again.”

Macer turned away, his head hung low in
defeat. “This is all my fault,” he croaked. “If I had only listened
to her...”

Vilirus hesitated when he faced his
mother once more. “She has a message for grandfather.” Both pair of
eyes looked up, alert. “She requests full punishment for her
crimes.”

Amalea shook her head swiftly.
“No!”

“
She does not wish to live
without them.”

“
We are her
family!”

“
We are the ones who killed
her child!” his father erupted frustrated. His wife sank into a
chair and buried her face in her hands, sucking in large amounts of
air. “She loves us no more than she loves the Elder. We are just as
guilty.”

Her broken sobs was met with tender
eyes. “What are we going to do?”

He cupped her face gently and pressed
his lips to her forehead. He did not have a fitting
response.

****

They came for her just before the
midnight hour. Amarinda studied her reflection in the full length
mirror and thought she no longer recognized the flawless image that
greeted her there. Her eyes were ice – as cold as the Nordic sea.
She showed no emotion, but hatred boiled, raged within her. During
the past twelve hours she had done nothing but weep. Now, with only
the faintest blush of pink in her eyes to betray her, she secured
the last pin to secure the tightly wound braid at the top of her
head. The gown she wore tonight was nothing but black lace, so
elaborately decorated and strategically pattered that she opted to
neglect the corset and the knickers. They all thought her a whore
after all. She dressed like one.