Blood Curse (Branded Trilogy Book 2) (19 page)

“No, you have not spoken about the curse. If I remember correctly you expressed it to be a myth.”

“It is not.”

“I figured so. Do go on.”

“Vadoma placed the blood curse before she was hanged.”

“She cursed the Monroes?”

“Yes.”

“How did she come to know the Monroes?”

“She fell in love with Silas.”

“But he was the one who hung her?”

“Yes.”

“Explain.”

“Silas had stopped courting Vadoma when she became with child. She’d grown cold and distant, striking out at anyone who defied her. I tried to talk with her, offer comfort, but she pushed me away.”

“What happened to make the Monroes hang her?”

“Silas had come to fetch Vadoma one night after Tsura was born, begging her to come and help his father who was gravely ill. I knew why he’d come. I’d had a dream a few months before. I begged her not to go, but Vadoma ignored me and followed him into the forest.”

Her face lost all color, and her eyes blurred, haunted by the past. He almost stopped her, but needed to hear the details.

“That evening, when the moon was high, Vadoma still had not returned. I went in search of her and heard the commotion in town.”

“The whole town was in on her hanging?”

She nodded.

“The people of Jamestown had grown nervous around the Chuvani, and it didn’t help that the Salem Witch hunts were still fresh within their minds. They didn’t want to go back to that time and knew the magick Vadoma practiced was black. They’d come on several occasions to beg her to leave. They asked Pias, Galius and Milosh to speak with her, but she insisted on staying and scared them away with threats of spells and curses.”

“She was that powerful?”

“If the magick is dark it can become very frightening, and so it isn’t the measure of power one holds, but rather when it is done out of hate that scares so many.”

“I see.”

“Vadoma was an accomplished Chuvani. She knew the spells by memory.”

“You said she could do other things.”

“Yes.”

“Such as?”

“Throw a beam—a force so strong it could knock an eight hundred pound ox through the air.”

“That day I met you. Tsura did the same thing didn’t she?”

He remembered being in Pril’s wagon, seeing the child and then nothing more.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“What else could Vadoma do?”

“Cause wind storms, burn things…her powers were plentiful.”

“Can Tsura do all of those things?”

“She can and more.”

“More than Vadoma?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Go on.”

“When I was burned Tsura laid her hands upon me and healed my flesh.”

“Bollocks.”

“It is true.”

He watched as she pulled her blouse down. He had to keep from examining her breasts and concentrate on her defined collarbone instead.

“I’ll be. There are no scars. It is as if it never happened.”

“Precisely.”

He’d seen the burns on her skin and knew that even after she was healed they’d leave an awful scar. Her flesh was pink and unscathed. Unable to grasp the concept of a child with such powers, he changed the subject.

“Tell me when Vadoma laid the curse.”

“I had crept into town and hid behind the livery. I watched as they bound Vadoma’s hands and feet. Silas slipped the noose around her neck. I still remember feeling the rope as if it were around my own neck.” She rubbed her throat. “Before he pulled the lever, Silas ordered Tsura hunted and killed. Vadoma went crazy. Her eyes glowed red, and she brought forth strong winds that bent the trees, tore off roofs and doors. The townspeople scattered, but Silas held tight to the scaffold. Vadoma cursed the Monroes, killing any daughter born to them right before he pulled the lever. She dropped from the platform, and her neck broke. Later they would burn her and bury the ashes within the forest.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Gypsy.”

She faced him. He saw the depth of her sorrow in the creases around her eyes and mouth. He wished he could take away her suffering.

“I used to believe my sister had her reasons for behaving the way she did, but as I’ve been on this journey I have realized none of them were acceptable. She was evil to the very core of her soul, and nothing I did would’ve made a difference.”

“Tsura does not have the same evil within her?”

“I worry for her, but I do not believe so.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“No, I am not.”

What she said had made sense even if he couldn’t wrap his head around the magick part. Tsura was a gifted little girl and by circumstance had become hunted by evil people such as the Monroes. He ran his hand through his hair. It was quite the predicament. Would the child ever be safe from harm?

The boy leaned against her, and he watched as she placed her arm protectively around his waist to secure him from falling. The horses trotted at an easy gait. He inhaled the freshness in the air, the smell of the grass, his horse and honeysuckle. The plant grew somewhere nearby, and as the sugary fragrance wafted toward him, he felt a craving for something sweet. He glanced at Pril. His groin tightened, and he shifted on top of his saddle.

“What direction are we heading in?” she asked.

“Northeast. Toward the water.”

“I feared so.”

Jamestown was where Pias’s tracks were headed. Kade had every intention of killing Silas, and he knew the plantation owner would meet the Renoldi to trade the pendant for Tsura. He hoped Sam was still alive and healthy. He worried over his heart and how the Monroe’s were treating him. Did he have enough water? Was Silas feeding him? The pain Sam must’ve felt when they sawed off his finger turned Kade’s stomach and caused his forehead to perspire. His mouth watered, and he tasted bile upon his tongue. He shook his head and pushed the thought aside, unable to think of it any longer.

I will get to you. I promise.

He tightened his grip on the reins, pressed his heels into Goliath’s sides, and the horse sped up. Goliath cantered across the open field. He didn’t need to glance behind him to know Pril followed. Time was of the essence in more ways than one. He needed to reach Sam, find Tsura and distance himself from Pril and her gypsy heart.

The wide oak door creaked as Silas leaned into it. He stepped into the room. The small space was lit with two candles, one on the bedside table and another on a small shelf crooked and hanging from the wall. The air was damp and smelled of mildew. The wetness clung to his skin, and he felt dirty. He covered his nose with a handkerchief before going any further.

An old cot taken from the slaves’ quarters, sat in the corner against a rock wall. The stones seeped from the dampness in the room. Samuel Walker lay beneath a thin blanket, his ragged breaths scarcely heard.

Silas came closer.

The sea captain’s skin was pale. His cheeks were sunken in, and black circles shaded his closed eyes. Thin long gray hair fell onto his shoulders, unwashed and matted. Silas shivered when he saw the small bugs crawling across his scalp.

A sour scent came from the body, and he pressed the cloth further into his nose. He hadn’t been back into the room after he’d cut the finger from the man’s hand weeks before, and he could see no one else had either.

Jude and Hiram were the only ones who knew Samuel Walker was locked in the cellar below the stairs. It had been Jude’s job to see to the well-being of the sea captain, and by the looks of it his brother had failed miserably.

He stepped closer. The bandaged hand was crusted with dried blood. The skin around where the cloth ended was a light shade of black. He lifted the arm, puss oozed through the cloth. The rancid stench wafted from the limb. He dropped the arm, stepped back and gagged.

“Damn it.”

The man was his barter. He used him to get Kade Walker to search for the child. The bastard was near dead, dying of starvation and a ghastly infection. It mattered little to him that these were the man’s last minutes, but he wanted the satisfaction of killing Sam Walker himself. He wanted to feel the proud sea merchant fight beneath the pillow he’d planned to hold over his sleeping face. Now he’d get nothing. The old bugger probably wouldn’t even wake.

He turned to leave, disappointment dampening his mood, and he scowled.

“Silas…”

He heard the faint whisper of his name and twisted back around, shocked when he saw the old man staring up at him.

“You live?” he asked the cloth still at his nose.

“I…do.”

“It is a shame.”

For the little bit of life left in the old codger, he still had enough energy to narrow his sunken eyes at him.

“My son…will…kill you.”

He smiled. Kade Walker would soon be dead. After he took care of the business with Hiram and Pias he’d hire a gun to kill the merchant runner.

“Your son will die before that happens.”

The old man chuckled, the act stealing his breath, and he began to gasp.

“Your threats are a creek run dry, a dead man’s last words. I am not frightened of you or your illegitimate son.”

Sam wheezed his wrinkled lips strained as he tried to force the air into his lungs.

“Come…come…close.”

The putrid smell seeped through the cloth across Silas’ mouth and onto his tongue. He spat onto the floor to expel the revolting taste. He wiped his mouth and went to stand beside the bed.

The sea master’s arm shot out of nowhere. A sharp piece of wood in his hand, he drove it into Silas’ thigh.

Pain irrupted in his leg sending explosive signals up and down the limb. Silas screamed.

He had no time to block it or knock the weapon from the frail hand. His body shook with rage as his expression sagged into an evil grin. He jumped on top of Samuel Walker and threw his fists into the skeletal face. The bed creaked with each blow to the sea merchant’s head. He pummeled him until his knuckles hurt, and he could not recognize the old man any longer. Blood seeped onto the pillow and turned Sam’s white hair crimson. The bones in his face crushed and disfigured, his nose flat and pressed into his skull.

Silas removed himself from the corpse, wiped his hands on his pants and limped from the room. His heart raced from the exhilaration of what he’d done. He didn’t feel the pain in his leg until he’d climbed the stairs to the main floor. He braced himself against the wall, sweat perspired on his brow, and his stomach lurched. The leg throbbed—the pain so intense it caused his head to spin and bile to rush up his throat.

A maid came out of the kitchen, a platter of food in her hand. She gasped, the dishes on top of the silver serving tray rattled.

“Find my brothers,” he yelled, leaning into the wall.

She placed the platter on a small table in the hall before rushing to do as he’d asked.

He walked toward the study, dragging his leg behind him. The wound poured blood and pulsed with each step he took. He gnashed his teeth against the misery and stumbled, reaching out he steadied himself on a chair. His leg screamed for release from the constant agony, and he eyed the bottle of whiskey on the mantel.

Three more steps, and he fell onto the sofa, not caring about the blood on his pants or his hands. He glanced at the wood sticking from his leg and groaned. The damn thing needed to come out. His hand shook as he grasped it, feeling the rigid edges as he pulled. The wretched stick wouldn’t move. He screamed his frustration and pain.

Jude and Hiram came running into the room.

“What the bloody hell happened?” Jude asked, panic on his pale face.

“I’ve been stabbed. What in hell does it look like?” Silas growled.

“I see that, but how?”

“Just get the damn thing out.” He fell back against the sofa, too worn to do more.

“Where did all this blood come from?” Hiram asked his eyes big and round as he inspected Silas.

Silas ignored him. The snake was lucky it wasn’t his blood.

“Brother, why are you covered in blood?” Hiram asked again.

He turned his eyes toward him, and let the hate show within the inky pits.

“I killed the bastard who stabbed me.”

“A slave? Was it a slave?” Jude asked.

He shook his head.

“Then who?”

“Walker.”

Hiram’s face paled.

“You…you killed Walker? But
why
?”

Silas ignored him.

“Get this damn stick out of my blasted leg!”

“Hiram, go, and get clean linens. Tell Gertrude to boil some water,” Jude commanded.

Hiram nodded.

“Wait,” Silas called. “Whiskey, I need the whiskey.”

Hiram went to the mantel, grabbed the whiskey from the shelf and brought the bottle to him.

He ripped the bottle from his brother’s hands and pulled the cork free with his teeth.

“Get the damn cloths, Hiram,” Jude growled.

Silas took a long drink from the bottle. The whiskey burned his throat and set fire to his gut. His leg ached, and he lifted the bottle again, downing another three swigs before the pain in his thigh began to numb.

“Why did you kill Walker?” Jude asked.

“We have no use for him. Pias has the girl. I was merely cleaning up loose ends.”

“Yes, but Kade will not be pleased.”

“Once we’ve taken care of the others, I will hire a gun to destroy Kade Walker.”

“He won’t die that easily.”

“I am not concerned.”

“You should be. Kade Walker adored Sam. Everyone from here to England knew it. He will seek revenge.”

Jude’s face blurred, and he blinked several times to clear his vision. The whiskey was working, thank the saints.

“If need be, I’ll end the bastard’s life myself.”

Jude observed the room, concern stretched across his forehead.

“I fear you’ve made a grave mistake, Brother.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Jude questioned him on killing Walker. What did he think they were going to do with the bastard merchant when Kade brought them the girl? Let him go? Silas knew all along he’d kill Sam and enjoy doing it. He’d had his reasons for ending the weasel’s life, and he wasn’t sorry.

“You dare to question me about an old man, and yet you are willing to slay a little girl?”

“I…I was simply reminding you Kade Walker is not some vagrant we can just forget about. He is a skilled fighter and even better with his blade.”

“Your weakness disgusts me. I thought you to be tough—cunning and lethal. You are no better than Hiram.”

“It is far wiser for me to know what we are up against than to be fool enough to turn a blind eye.”

Silas swatted the air. The room dipped, and he leaned to the side.

“Do not forget of the past, Brother,” Jude whispered.

“I have not forgotten.”

“I am not so sure.”

Hiram returned with the cloths and water. He handed them to Jude.

“Brace yourself, this is going to hurt like bloody hell,” Jude said as he wrapped the cloth around the protruding stick and pulled it from his leg.

Silas screamed and passed out.