Lost in You (6 page)

“It looks out on the stable yard. But it’s clean.”

“And the water?” Conor asked, surveying the musty chamber.

“I’ll heat it. But I ain’t got no bath nor help to carry it. If’n ya want it, you’ll have to come and get it. There’s a pail on the table there for washing. My name’s Kay if you need aught else.”

The spots were back and growing larger. He shook his head to try and clear them.

“You’re too kind. Thank you,” Ellery said firmly. The invalid act was obviously over. She pushed the man out the door, shutting it just as Conor’s control slipped and the
fith-fath
dissolved.

She blew out a large breath. “That was close.” He would have nodded, but the nausea that had plagued him all day sent him diving for the wash pail.

Afterwards, he rolled up and over onto the bed. He’d lay here. He’d rest. Just a few minutes, and he’d be better. He was sure of it.

“So much for using that pail for sponging off,” was Ellery’s wry comment.

Ellery leaned back against the headboard, closing her eyes. Conor lay next to her, sleeping—finally. The room had only the one bed and no chairs so it was together here or alone on the floor, and she was just too tired for worrying over conventions.

Conor had passed between raging fevers and chills that left him curled into a ball. He’d emptied his stomach long ago, but still he heaved until blood stained his lips. She’d tried offering him water, but he pushed it away or it dribbled down the corner of his mouth, untasted.

She couldn’t see any injuries. So why did he sicken? Where was his ability to heal when he needed it most?

She had some nursing skill. No one could live in the tail of an army without picking up the basics. But it was just about enough to make her well aware that she was as unprepared as she could be. She didn’t even have clothes, for heaven’s sake. She needed help. Or at least, supplies. Something to fight the fever—and the
Keun Marow
if she had to.

Conor’s sword belt hung on a peg by the door. Ellery rose, hoping her absence didn’t wake him. Her fingers found the worn ridges where countless others had gripped it before her. Or was all that due to one man? She glanced back at the bed. Could Conor alone have caused such wear? It seemed doubtful, but then just what did an
amhas-draoi
do?

She slid the blade free, catching the awkward weight of it before it clanged to the floor. It was far heavier than her father’s saber, but looked more deadly. The polished edges gleamed red in the firelight.

The sword was useless to her. She could barely lift it much less wield it effectively against an enemy. A knife or a dagger would stand her far better and would be small enough to hide beneath the greatcoat. Though, beneath Conor’s greatcoat, she could hide an entire armory with no one the wiser.

She returned the sword, taking a dagger instead. Now this was a weapon she understood. Her father had made certain of that. He’d had her practice hour after hour until she could throw it with a good chance of hitting her mark, and she could fight in close quarters if cornered.

“It’s best to know a bit of knife play. You never know when the enemy might be on our heels.” He would eye the faces of the men as if one of them might drag her away by the hair if given half a chance. “Or when a friend might fall to drink and bad judgment.”

Ellery had never had to use what he’d taught her. But she sent him a quick prayer of thanks tonight as she strapped the belt around her waist.

Assessing her apparel took only seconds. Her gown was gone, her shift in tatters. What she had was a pair of worn walking boots and Conor’s jacket and coat. She would need to find a milliner’s shop in the morning, but tonight she needed an apothecary or a surgeon. She couldn’t leave Conor. And she couldn’t wander the village in what she had on. She would need to send someone. Perhaps the innkeeper. All that remained was the money to pay for it. She didn’t have any, but Conor must. He couldn’t conjure food or clothes, and she doubted he rode a straw besom from place to place. Men needed money. Even
Others
.

She turned out the pockets of his coat, then his jacket. Nothing. She searched his breeches, praying he didn’t wake while she did it. She wasn’t sure how she would explain her hands placed just so or the hot flush in her face. If past experience was anything to go by, he’d have her pinned to the bed, his lips teasing a path down her neck, nipping at the flesh behind her ear. She stood up, yanking her hands away, her stomach still quivering. Where did that thought come from? What was happening to her? She shook her head, focusing again on the immediate problem. Money. Or more to the point, the absence of it.

So perhaps Conor
did
conjure up what he needed with a spell or two and a flick of his wrist. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a position to spin a few straws into gold. And Mr. Kay wasn’t running her errands without payment of some kind.

Telling herself it had nothing to do with the feel of his muscled body beneath her hands, she returned to his breeches. Passing them by the first time in her search, this time she drew out the contents of his pocket.

Two items. Both valuable.

The first, the pearl she had last seen pinned to Mr. Porter’s chest. A smile tipped her mouth. So he had done it. He’d recovered one of the reliquary’s stolen jewels. She could only imagine how. Mr. Porter wasn’t the kind to give up his riches without a fight.

Her eyes jumped to the sword again, but she dismissed the idea. She couldn’t say how, but she knew there were lines even Conor wouldn’t cross.

The second object Conor had hidden away as if protecting the Crown Jewels. His sister’s wolf-head ring.

The delicate gold work was exquisite, and Ellery couldn’t help trying it on. It stuck at her knuckle, but she forced it, and once over, it fit comfortably. She held it up, admiring the detailing in the animal’s face, its ruby eyes like twin drops of blood. She’d never seen anything like it nor worn it. Money went for necessities. You couldn’t eat jewelry.

She would use the pearl for the doctor. The ring, she would put back with Conor none the wiser. She tugged at it, but if it had been difficult getting on, it was impossible to remove. Perhaps some lard or grease would loosen it. The tavern’s kitchen could provide that easily enough.

“Ysbel?” Conor mumbled. His dull gaze swept the room.

“Ellery?”

She closed her hand over the pearl, hiding her arm behind her back. She had hoped he’d stay asleep until she had spoken with Mr. Kay. “Feeling better? I’ve ordered some broth. I’m just going downstairs to see about it.”

He wiped a hand down his face, grimacing as he tried to sit up. “Not going out like that, are you?”

“Unless you want to lend me your breeches and boots. It’s fine. I’ve done it once already. Your coat hides everything.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You obviously haven’t seen yourself if you’ve come to that conclusion.”

“You mustn’t be that sick. You’re still as nasty as ever,” she snapped.

He fought to rise, but just rolling onto his side sent him groaning for the pail. Ellery winced at the retching that went on and on, long after Conor fell back exhausted into bed.

“Mage…mage sickness…never like this…never so much.” His words faded out as he closed his eyes.

“I’m sending Mr. Kay for a doctor.”

But he was already asleep. And she hadn’t even thought to ask him if he had any money.

She opened her hand, staring down at the stone in her palm. She would explain once they were back on the road. He would laugh and praise her resourcefulness, and all would be forgiven.

At least that’s what she told herself over and over as she sought out Mr. Kay.

Ellery assessed the situation from the bottom step. The innkeeper stood behind a counter, wiping down glasses while he watched a darts game. The man who’d interceded for them earlier sat at a corner table, an untouched pint in front of him.

Mr. Kay glanced up. Catching sight of her, he stiffened, his face falling into long lines of displeasure. But when she gestured him over, he came.

“I need you to go for the doctor.” Sudden inspiration struck.

“Lord Bligh is ill.”

The title didn’t lessen the belligerence in Mr. Kay’s face. “His lordship got the money?”

“Something better.” She opened her fist, showing off the pearl.

“What’ll I do with something like that?”

“Sell it. Trade it. I don’t know. Whatever you like, I expect.”

“They’ll think I stole it. They’ll be questions.”

“I can’t help your neighbors’ distrustful natures. It’s all I have.”

“I knew it,” he answered as if she’d just confirmed his worst ideas about her. “What’s that? On your finger there.”

“This? A ring. It’s a bit stuck. I’ll need some grease.”

“I’ll take that for your doctor call.” She caught her hand to her chest. “You can’t have it. It’s not mine to give you.”

“Not yours? Stole it, did you? I knew it,” he repeated.

“It’s been in Lord Bligh’s family for generations. It’s quite dear.”

He grabbed her wrist, studying the ring. “A mite small, but my daughter’s wanting a bit of sparkle.”

She snatched her hand away. “I said it’s not part of the deal.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression hardening. “No ring, no doctor.”

Ellery thought of Conor upstairs. She thought of the battle at the cottage. The claws, the teeth, the weapons. And even if she didn’t carry the scars, she remembered the pain.

She fingered the hidden dagger. Who was she fooling? It would be like trying to fight a tiger with a table fork. Ellery made up her mind. It was the ring or her, and it wasn’t as if Conor’s sister was going to ask for it back.

She held out her hand to shake on it. “Very well. I’ll need some—”

Mr. Kay grabbed her by the wrist and with one painful wrench tore the ring from her.

“Grease,” she finished, rubbing her injured finger. “You could have given me a bit of warning. I use that hand.”

Her words trailed off as a shadow fell over both of them.

Mr. Kay glanced up.

A flash beyond Ellery’s right shoulder became the edge of a drawn sword, one she had last seen hanging in her room.

She wheeled around, coming nose to tattooed chest with Conor. Dark swirls of color stained his arms, his shoulders. Mage marks. According to her father, the signs of magic and power. Right now, Conor radiated both with enough force to knock her back on her heels.

“You stole it,” he said, his voice sharp as his blade and just as deadly. “You stole Ysbel’s ring.”

“Let me explain,” she started.

But he wasn’t looking at her. His glittering gaze was focused on Mr. Kay.

The innkeeper backed away, shock fast becoming indignation. “I didn’t. The girl gave it to me.”

Conor didn’t register the words, his glassy stare remaining fixed as he stepped down off the final stair.

Mr. Kay threw the ring at Conor. “Here, take the cheap, ugly thing.” It pinged across the floor to be lost in the dark corners of the taproom.

Conor threw himself forward, his sword sweeping out in a wide arc.

Caught between them, Ellery dodged Conor’s attack, an easy feat since he could barely stand, but made difficult by the fact that her coat was sliding down one shoulder. She grabbed for it while trying to hold him back, but pushing against his chest was like pushing against a stone wall. “Conor. Stop.”

Mr. Kay called on his dart-throwing friends to help him. They stood gape-mouthed for now. Ellery prayed they remained so. At this point, she couldn’t be sure who’d win such a battle. Conor sick was bad enough. Conor dead and she may as well stake herself out and wait for Asher and his pets to come and get her.

“Move aside,” Conor ordered.

“No. You’re sick. You’re not thinking, and you’re going to get us tossed out of here.”

He advanced on Mr. Kay, dragging Ellery with him. “That bastard stole Ysbel’s ring.”

“Careful tossing that word around. I might step aside and let him have at you.” The coat fell open again, giving one and all a great look at her legs, but by this point Ellery was past caring. “Stop, you great lumpen bullock.”

Ellery was quick. No matter which way he turned, she was there. But beneath her hands, a change was taking place. His chest was broadening, if that was possible. His arms pulsed as if the muscles would burst through the skin. His eyes glowed yellow as suns in a face that was his and yet not, the angles hardening, the jawline lengthening. And, Good God. Fangs?

She jumped back as if his touch scalded. “He’s one of them,” Mr. Kay yelled. “Knew it, I did. One of them
Others
. A monster.” He plucked a knife from behind the long counter. “Boys, get him. Before he springs.”

“Out of my way, Ellery,” Conor growled.

“They’ll kill you.”

He flashed her a predatory smile. “Do you really think so? Move, or you’ll end up as dead as your father.”

A knot formed in her chest. Stunned, she stepped aside, the fight sucked out of her by those horrible words. But around her the chaos still swirled.

“Corner him,” the voices shouted. “Hold him there. Watch that sticker of his.”

“Hold!” a new voice shouted. The man at the corner table stood up, his round face grim.

Blood and smoke disappeared back into memory, her father’s staring eyes vanished beneath Conor’s furious glare. She held out a hand to stall the three others. “He’s fevered, and no harm to you. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Conor’s animal-stare moved slowly over them. She felt like a rabbit caught in the mesmerizing gaze of the wolf.

“Enough. All of you,” the man in the corner said, and Ellery sensed the balance of power in the room shift in her favor.

Even Conor hesitated under the command. Although that might have been weakness. Already, the beast was fading back into the man. He wavered on his feet, and Ellery rushed to catch him. She braced herself against the stair railing, trying not to think of the transformation she’d just witnessed. What else about him didn’t she know?

“Bugger off, Evan,” the innkeeper said.

“I won’t have you stirring up trouble,” the man answered.

“Me?” Mr. Kay sounded aggrieved. “You saw what he done. Tried to murder us.”

“He’s sick,” Ellery interrupted.

All eyes flicked to her, making her suddenly aware of the state of her dress. The open coat showed off her bare legs. Conor’s jacket hung askew off one shoulder. With as much grace as she could muster, she pulled the jacket up and swung the coat closed around her legs.

Evan stepped forward, placing himself between Conor and the men. “He calls on the animal spirit to fight through him. That’s powerful magic.”

“He didn’t mean to,” Ellery said. “He suffers from mage sickness. He can barely stand, let alone fight. And he thought Mr. Kay had taken the ring. It was my fault. All of it.”

“Your fault? How so?”

“I was trying to get him a doctor, but we haven’t any money.”

Evan studied Conor’s slack features, his shaking limbs. Now that the fever madness had passed, he trembled as if palsied, even his voice gone.

“If it’s truly mage sickness, no doctor can help him. Only time and his own strengths.”

“Get him out of here, Evan,” Mr. Kay repeated. “He’s one of them. He’s dangerous.”

Evan shook his head, and Ellery wondered how she hadn’t noticed how wise and kind his eyes were. “He’d be more dangerous if we let him loose.”

“I won’t stand for it,” Mr. Kay warned, but Evan was already taking Ellery’s place at Conor’s side, helping him up the stairs.

“Come. Help me get him back to bed.”

Ellery glanced back.

“Evan.” Mr. Kay stood between the dart players, his face splotched with unreleased fury.

Evan never even paused or answered. “Are you sure we can stay?” Ellery asked. Evan dropped Conor’s unresponsive body back onto the rickety bed. “Only until he’s well enough to travel. Those men downstairs can be bought or threatened, but not for long. I can’t guarantee your safety more than a day or so. Once an
Other
reveals himself, it’s safer if he disappears.”

“Other,” she hesitated, “
Others
come here?”

Evan straightened from tucking the blankets around Conor. “Many. This is a place of refuge.”

“Some refuge.”

“My brother-in-law worries over his sister and his daughter living with such people.” Evan offered her a smile. “And being dependent on my charity also grates on his disposition.”

“But what can I do?”

“Rest. Sleep. He will mend, or he will die. That’s the way of mage sickness.”

Perfect. Mend and she had to confront the fact that her traveling companion was part wolf and may be her father’s killer. Die, and she had to face the
Keun Marow
alone. Neither one a thought to make sleep come easier.

“Well?”

Conor woke to Ellery spinning in a circle, showing off a dress of sprigged muslin. Was this another dream? He’d been drowning in a swamp of hallucinations, each nightmare ending with his waking—or so he thought until the next nightmare began. So he couldn’t be entirely sure. Although, he had to admit that this one was a thousand times better than any he’d had yet. “Are you real?” His voice sounded thick and croaky. He cleared his throat. “Or are you another bad dream?”

“So I’m a bad dream now, am I? That’s rich.” Conor pushed himself up on the pillow, even though it made his head swim. He wanted to say he preferred the half-naked look, but doubted by the challenge in her eye that it would go over well.

What could he say? The cut was simple, the style plain, but Ellery’s height and generous curves filled it to perfection. Even the color suited her dusky skin and picked up the brilliance of her blue eyes. She brushed the bed, and it took all his will to stop himself from dragging her by the skirts in beside him. Then reality hit, and he felt sick all over again.

“It’s better for traveling,” he answered lamely. “A lot of buttons, though.”

Her expression showed exactly what she thought of his answer. “You’re just grouchy because I won’t let you get out of bed until you’ve had a day to rest.”

“If you hadn’t forgotten, we’re being hunted.” She settled at the edge of his bed. “I haven’t, but thank you for reminding me. We won’t be any better off if you fall ill again on the road. At least here, we have a roof over our heads.”

“You take great stock in ceilings,” he commented.

“Try living without one.”

Her eyes stole to the window. When they met his again, the earlier light in them was gone. Hesitation and worry clouded their depths.

“Do you remember last night?”

Oh God, what had he done? What had he said? Had he tried groping her in his sleep? Or stolen a kiss? Did he snore? By the look in her eye, it was much worse. He had a moment’s panic that she’d found out the reliquary’s secret, but no. She would have been long gone if she’d made that discovery. “Very little,” he answered, vying for time. “I expect you’re about to fill me in on the gruesome details.”

She twisted her hands in her lap, shifted about on the bed. Sighed. She was vying for time too, it seemed. Finally, she spoke. “I’ve been thinking since you woke how to speak with you, what words to use to ask the questions.”

“I hadn’t considered you the timid type.”

“I’m not. Straight forward and bull-headed, that’s me. But that’s when I’m dealing with the world I know. You’re from an entirely different world where different rules apply. You tell me to trust you. You tell me I can’t understand. But damn it. I want to understand. I deserve to be trusted in return.”

Clanging anvils filled his head, he felt like something scraped off a boot heel, and now Ellery was carping at him. He closed his eyes.

“Don’t you get sick on me again, Conor Bligh. I want to—” The force of her thought pushed through the pain. “A
Heller
,” he spoke over her, not allowing her to finish.

“That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it? I’m what they call a
Heller
.”