Nuworld: Claiming Tara (36 page)

Tara’s heart began pounding, and icy fingers crept over
her flesh. Something was wrong. It was definitely cold
outside. How long had she been asleep? She thought of her
children, of Syra, and of Darius. What did they think? Had
they tried
to
rescue
her?
She
wondered why Gowsky
wanted her to think she’d only been asleep a few days.
Tara didn’t see Gowsky for almost a quarter cycle. She
spent every waking minute exercising, trying desperately to
rouse her atrophied muscles. Her physical condition proved
beyond doubt that she’d been asleep a long time. She was
weak and out of shape. Her body had always been in prime
physical condition, and her lack of strength annoyed her.
Someone brought her a generous plate of food several
times a day, usually dried meat and fruit. The same person
never visited her twice, and no one talked to her. Quite a
few people worked for Gowsky. She also sensed the fear in
each person who brought her food when they slid the plate
through the gap between the door and the dirt floor. They
fled from her wooden prison as soon as their task was
done.
Her foot mended quickly, but she decided it was best to
give no indication of this. The barn she was in was old and
unstable.
A
quarter
or
half-cycle
of
recuperation
and
intense calisthenics, and escape would be easy.
In the meantime, icy breezes tormented her, mingling
with dreams of her babies and loved ones. The blankets
she kept wrapped around her provided little comfort. Tara’s
imagination made
things even worse. She worried her
family was sick with worry, doing everything in their power
to
search
for
her,
and growing frustrated
when they
couldn’t find her. Yet while their images plagued her, they
also added incentive to endure the cold and bring back her
body to health.
Gowsky visited her a half-cycle after she awakened. It
was a bitter cold morning, and he pushed open the door
with one hand and carried a pitcher with a steamy, hot
fluid in the other. The morning glare was behind him.
Tara fought to keep her eyelids from shuttering against
the light. He’d awakened her, and she forced her mind to
clear before she moved.
Gowsky stood above her for a minute before sitting. Her
body was stretched out under the comforters. She was on
her side and the comforter curved over the outline of her
hip. One of her arms draped across her body and her long
fingers fell gracefully off the edge of the bench. Her sandy
brown hair fell in strings.
“I do believe it’s time to bathe you,” Gowsky decided,
doing his best not to imagine sudsy water sliding over her
naked body, and failing.
Tara focused one eye on him but didn’t move. Every
muscle in her body ached from the intense workout she’d
put herself through the day before.
“I’ve been bathing myself successfully for many winters
now,” she answered.
Gowsky chuckled and placed the pitcher on the ground
next to him. “Does a hot bath sound good to you?” he
asked and produced two mugs from his coat pocket. The
steam floated up to the ceiling as he poured some of the
dark liquid from the pitcher into each cup. It looked
incredibly tantalizing, whatever it was. She licked her lips.
“It’s good.” He held out one of the mugs. “It also helps
wake you up.”
She opened the other eye and stared at him.
“Come on. You’ll like it.” He waved the cup under her
nose. “Come on.”
She felt its warmth brush her face. Sitting up slowly, she
tried appearing to be in more pain than she actually was.
The warmth of the mug in her hand felt so good that she
wrapped both hands around it and sipped. The liquid was
thick and had a sweet honey and chocolate taste. She took
another, longer drink, then looked at Gowsky again. He
had filled his mug and took a large gulp before setting the
pitcher on the floor.
“How’s your foot?”
She didn’t respond, but instead situated herself on the
bench carefully. She had taken the clothes she’d worn
since she’d been there and laid them at the end of the
bench while she slept. At the moment, she only wore her
white pullover undershirt.
Adjusting the comforter over her legs, she noticed he
watched the action. His gaze locked on her bare legs, not
looking away until she’d covered herself. Whether he
noticed her muscles weren’t as atrophied or simply enjoyed
seeing a partially naked woman, she wasn’t sure. But
something told her he enjoyed watching her. She knew
interest in a man’s eyes when she saw it. How much had
he watched her? For whatever amount of time he’d kept her
here, he’d kept her unconscious. He might have enjoyed
any part of her, and she wouldn’t have been able to stop
him.
When she met his gaze, he didn’t look away but instead
smiled.
She didn’t smile back. “Why’d you tell me I’d only been
asleep for several days?”
Gowsky’s face looked completely innocent as he raised
his eyebrows. “And what makes you think you weren’t?”
“It’s almost new winter. You’ve intentionally cut my foot
and stitched it up so it would look like the injury from the
building. How long have I been here?”
“You’ve had plenty of time to think in here, haven’t you?”
Gowsky leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and
stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Well, it’s true.
We made certain you’d remain unconscious longer than a
few days. It was necessary.”
He said this so nonchalantly, the words stung. Anger
brewed through her veins, building to a boiling climax. The
Neurians had held her prisoner for cycles.
“I assume the Gothman and Runners believe me dead.”
Gowsky looked at her with dark eyes and sipped from
his mug. “Like I said, it was necessary.”
“So why did you bother to wake me now?” She matched
his look of apathy. Her mind now, however, focused on a
method of escape.
Gowsky
shifted
position,
drawing
his
long
legs
underneath the chair, but then stretching them out again.
He thought of the best way to answer her question. It was
one he had anticipated being asked and had thought of
several convincing responses. Telling
her
it
was
the
suggestion of
another
Runner wasn’t an option.
He
wouldn’t say,
Sorry lady, it was politics, and Neurians need
an income
.
He’d almost talked himself into doing away with her
when Fleeders came forward and told him that he believed
Tara had talked to a guardian in the desert. Gowsky was a
man of faith. He’d seen the dog-woman in his dreams a lot
lately, and that made him uneasy. He took it as a sign to
take
Tara out
of
her
unconscious state.
If
anyone
discovered her here, Gowsky knew he’d never be elected to
another term.
He wanted to confide in Tara and tell her everything that
had happened. The woman possessed a calmness, a sense
of authoritative ease, that led him to believe she could talk
through a dilemma and find a solution better than any of
his council members. He wanted to share his dreams that
he’d had during her time in captivity. He knew it meant
Crator guided him when he dreamed of a Guardian, and he
wanted to share this with her. Tara wouldn’t understand.
She was a Runner, a member of a race without Crator. If
she had seen a Guardian in the desert, it only validated his
dreams. It didn’t mean she understood Crator.
From the way he hesitated, Tara knew Gowsky wouldn’t
give her a straight answer. Her mind raced. Darius thought
she was dead. Had he claimed another? Was someone else
raising her children? What about Patha and Reena? Did
her parents believe her dead, as well?
If
so,
Patha would
name
someone
else
to
be
his
successor over the Runners. She would have to fight for
her rightful title if someone else was named heir in her
absence.
Her children were the heirs to two nations. When they
grew up, Andru would lead Gothman. Ana would lead the
Runners. She would not have that right taken from them. If
Tara lost her title, she knew Darius would see that Andru
became Lord of Gothman when he grew up, but Ana would
be without a title.
Tara looked into Gowsky’s dark eyes. He had a very
handsome face. She liked his high-set cheek bones and his
long, straight nose. His dark, smooth looking skin added to
his definite sex appeal. Unlike Darius, who had a way of
burrowing into a person with a hard stare, Gowsky looked
more curious. Darius demanded loyalty, and readily fought
for ownership and submission. Gowsky stared at her with
those black-as-night eyes and tried to analyse her. It was
as if he wanted to know everything about her. Tara wasn’t
sure what he’d do with the information if he did know her.
Darius would
never
have
to
worry about
her
being
unfaithful with this man, though. He was quite possibly as
gorgeous as Darius, but Gowsky had ruined her life.
“The Gothman were prepared to attack us when they
thought you were a prisoner. We’re not in a position for
such an attack.” Gowsky swallowed. “You died a warrior’s
death, saving one of our scientists from a horrible death.
We escorted your family safely to a rendezvous point where
they joined one of the Runner clans.”
“How long ago was all this?”
He sucked in a breath before answering. “Six cycles
ago.”
Tara’s muscles lurched. She fought hard not to leap
from the bench and attack from midair. She wanted to
pounce on him, pound his face and destroy those good
looks. She wanted to kill him.
It took every bit of power she possessed to remain calm.
Years of training were called into play. She stayed wrapped
in the blanket, masking her feelings. “So now what?”
“We’re not murderers. You were put to sleep to protect
our nation. Time has passed and our nation is no longer
threatened.” His voice was so calm. He believed he’d pulled
off his deceit-filled plan against the runners.
“And so now you send me home.” She didn’t make it a
question. Tara seethed with outrage. “Just like that?”
Gowsky reached for the pitcher and stood. “We’ll discuss
this further once you’ve calmed down.” He walked to the
door and opened it, letting cold air rush into the small
barn. “Get dressed if you want a hot bath.”
Tara sat in the same position for a long time after
Gowsky left. Sunlight reached her between the cracks of
wood. She watched dust rise and swarm in rays of light
that were paper-thin angles reaching the hard floor. She
wanted to scream. She wanted to kick and punch the
wooden walls around her until there was nothing left of
this barn she’d been housed in for six cycles like she was
nothing
more
than a caged
animal.
Neurians thought
nothing of the Runners. Maybe her people weren’t
scientists. More than anything she wanted to show Dorn
Gowsky
what
a Runner
was capable
of
doing. If
she
destroyed him and everything he owned it wouldn’t be
enough. She held on to the bench with both hands on
either side of her, digging into the wood with her nails.
That scream threatened to rise past her throat. She leaned
forward letting her hair fall in strings and shroud her face.
Tara squeezed her eyes shut and worked past her fury until
she felt the pain.
The
Runners and the
Gothman believed
her
dead.
Darius had mourned her six cycles and quite possibly be
ready to move on with his life. Andru and Ana would be
over a winter old now. They would be walking and climbing
and exploring their home.
Where was their home?
Were they with Patha? Or with Darius?
Darius would keep his children. They would grow up in
his large house, exploring from attic to basement. The
fields and hills surrounding it would be their world. All of
Gothman would be their playground. Tara groaned. The
pain came in waves. She missed them. All of them. They
needed to know she was alive.
Tara dressed and threw the comforters to the side. The
cotton pants she’d been wearing the night of the fire offered
little to keep her warm. Her shirt sleeves were short. Her
flat leather boots, with their flimsy soles, would not do if
she had to walk any long distance. Not only would her
clothing not protect her from the elements, they would not
protect her during battle, either. Somehow she needed to
obtain different clothing.
She stood in the middle of the shed and jogged in place.
Her foot had mended. It was sore, but she could live with
that. She dropped to the ground and began doing push
ups. She needed her stamina back up to where it was six
cycles ago.
Tara surveyed
the
walls of
the
shed.
She
glanced
through the cracks in the wall and saw no one. Her time
was limited. She took one of the blankets and carefully
wrapped it around her leg. Using the laces of her shoes,
she tied the blanket around her foot and leg. She stood and
made sure the blanket wouldn’t fall jumping up and down.
The blanket didn’t move. It would protect her from the
tearing through her flimsy clothing and into her skin. She’d
already tested the sturdiness of the four walls and knew
which wall was the weakest.
Tara jumped into the air and kicked the wall. Several
boards cracked and a hole appeared. The blanket got
caught though, and Tara fell to the ground with her foot
stuck up in the air. She struggled with the laces and finally
yanked her foot loose. Pushing to her feet, she stood to the
side, waiting. It was silent. She peaked out through the
hole.
There was still no one in sight outside the shed.
“Next step,” she whispered, planning as she began to
hurry.
Tara rolled up the blanket tightly. She re-laced her boot.
Then draping the other blanket over the hole so it covered
the splintered and broken wood, Tara jumped out of her
prison.
The bitter morning air slipped easily through her thin
clothes, and she shivered. Tara pulled the blanket out of
the hole and wrapped it around her. Carrying the other
under her arm, she glanced at the clear sky and got a
sense of her direction.