Rachel Rossano - The Theodoric Saga (2 page)

She struggled to remember how she ended up there. Then she became aware of his presence, a dark shadow propped against the wall close to her head. By concentrating she detected the shape of his form slumped forward in sleep. Her first thought protested he should not be on the cold floor. Eve crawled over to him.

Worries about his health prodded her. One serious setback and he might never recover. She must move him. Slowly she inched around him. He did not stir at her touch on his arm.

As her questing fingers located his heartbeat at his wrist, he sighed in his sleep and fell forward. She moved to catch him, but he caught himself.

Without a sound, he leaned back again, straightened his legs and adjusted position. His bandaged leg struck the hard wood. Moving away from the obstacle, he bumped his thigh even harder into Eve. This time his eyes flew open in pain. His nose missed her forehead by a breath. He registered her alarm despite the darkness.

“What was that look for?” he asked through gritted teeth. He gingerly guided his leg to a more comfortable position. “Surely you do not think I intend to hurt you?”

She ignored the question. “Let me examine it.” She reached to help him. He relaxed against the wood and watched from beneath lowered eyelids as she checked the dressing. She realized she required more light.

Fetching the lamp and lighting it took a good chunk of time because she also needed to coax the fire to life to keep the cold from overwhelming them. The man’s eyes followed her, disconcertingly clear and intense. He spoke while she put the burning straw to the wick. “How long since we met?”

Without looking at his face, she returned to his leg and set the light next to it. “Tonight is the end of the third day.” She bent to examine the exposed wound as she spoke. Satisfied the stitches had not been damaged; she reassembled the wrapping. He watched her.

“Healing?”

“The infection is leaving slowly,” she replied. “It is healing well.” She finished the bandaging and for the first time she met his gaze and froze.

Before, pain or fever blocked the way. Now she appreciated their cloudless depth. Nothing muted the force of his scrutiny. Flustered, she tried to continue in her work and treat him like just another patient.

“May I touch your forehead?” She hurried on to explain. “I need to check if you are feverish.” Certain her cheeks were red from the warmth flooding them, she was thankful for the dim light.

“Does my arm need examining too?”

Her hands shook as she pushed up his hair and pressed her hand to his forehead.

“Your fever has left.” She picked up the lamp. “I will check the shoulder in the morning. You need to get back to the bed. The floor is too cold.”

He shifted as she rose, offering her his good arm. “If you pull, I might be able to stand.”

“Ready?” she asked, gripping firmly.

He swallowed and then nodded. She pulled and he slowly gained his feet. Slipping an arm around his waist, she bore most of his weight. Together, they crossed the uneven floor to the place he had been laying the evening before. After a series of careful and painful negotiations, the stranger sat on the bed and tried to recover his composure. Pale and drawn, he rested for a moment with his eyes closed. Shivers set in, contorting his arms. She moved to retrieve his blanket from the floor when he reached out and stayed her. She lifted her head and he caught her chin in his hand.

 He studied her features. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied in a small shaky voice. His blue eyes were dark and clear. Traces of pain and sadness lingered, still the fever was gone.

Suddenly an expression of concern replaced his smile. His second hand joined his first, framing her face in a gentle, firm grip. “What is this?” He ran a thumb across her spit bottom lip. “And this?” She guessed he indicated the remainder of a bruised eye. “I was distracted by pain when we met, but I do not remember you appearing so beat up.” He frowned. Eve did not know if it was aimed at her or his lack of memory. Either way, something made her tremble.

“Masters have every right to punish their slaves.” She stated the fact in a flat voice. Mridle informed her of the law repeatedly as a warning to her. He had exercised these rights often and well on her in the past.

“You are a slave?”  The surprise did not detract from the severity in his tone.

“Yes.” She paused. “A runaway slave.”

With a swiftness that surprised her, he located the leather band around her throat. The circle rested where one had lain for as long as she remembered, above her collarbone pulled snugly against her neck.

“Unbutton your collar so I can see it.” Not waiting for her to obey, he searched his pockets for something.

“I removed everything resembling a weapon when we got here.”

“Whatever for?” His face hardened with disapproval. She flinched at the intensity of his gaze. He noticed and regret passed behind his eyes. “Sorry. You were correct to do so. I would have done the same. I am sure you were considering my state of mind.” She still heard the tension, but she knew she was not the cause.

“I will get them.”

“Please do.” He moved himself to a more comfortable position. “I want you out of that tonight.”

She gathered the items she had hidden: an eating knife, an ornamental blade, and a well-used, wickedly sharp dagger. He chose to use the last one. After instructing her to stand in front of him facing the fire, he started to undo the two buttons she had forgotten.

As he pushed the fabric away from her throat, Eve realized her dangerous position. His knife hung inches from her and she possessed no way of defending herself. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, his hand encircled the thick band and her heartbeat quickened.

 With his fingers protecting the skin from bruising, he slipped the blade into the space between the collar and her slender neck. Carefully he applied pressure to the leather. After only two quick, hard pulls, it gave way.

She did not pay any attention to where it fell because she became preoccupied with her patient. He groaned in pain after the final tug. The clutter moved aside with a sweep of her arm before she urged him to lie down again.

“I should have told you to wait a few days.” She shifted the mess to the table.

“I would not have listened.”

After a quick check that none of the stitches were torn loose, she replaced the lamp. When she returned to the shelf, she found him waiting for her. Ignoring the man’s eyes, she gathered the blanket she used the past few nights and purposefully approached the closet door. As she passed the table, she glanced at him. “Do you need the light?” she asked.

“Where are you going?”

“I will sleep in the lean-to.” She forced her voice to be firm. She did not intend to discuss the matter. “Want me to extinguish the lamp?”

A frown indicated he wanted to argue that she not sleep away from the fire, but finally he shook his head. “Yes.” He adjusted his position and said, “Good rest,” as if dismissing her from his presence.

“Good rest.” She blew out the flame. A quick glance behind her verified his eyes were again watching her. After closing the rickety door firmly, she regarded the back wall only inches from her nose.

The space was completely black accept for the star shine seeping through gaps in the boards. Eve tried to concentrate on the woodland around the building rather than the warmer and much larger room beyond. Panic rose in her throat. She forced the fear aside and focused on the sounds of the forest.
Kurios, help me.
Blanket wrapped about her shoulders and huddled against the cold, she settled in for a long restless night.

Bands of light fell across her face. Even as she opened her eyes, she knew she had slept late. Alarm pushed all sleep from her mind.
Mridle is going to beat me again.
She sat up abruptly, striking her skull solidly on the slanted ceiling above her.

“Are you alright?”

The question came from the next room. It made her heart jolt in surprise, and she cracked her head again.

She pushed open the cupboard door and rose as she answered. “Aye.”

Her memories from the night before seemed to be more like a dream than reality. To verify they had happened, she put a hand to her throat.

“The collar is on the floor.”

Eve jumped at his voice. With forced calmness, she confronted him. He had propped himself up with his good arm and the wall behind him. It was obvious he had been waiting for a while.

Her cheeks grew warm. In an attempt to hide her face, she busied herself at the fire. His gaze made her spine tingle. “Must you always watch me?”

He smiled slowly. “I enjoy watching you.”

“I expected you to grow weary of it by now.”

Eve moved through the motions of making breakfast. With her hands busy, she hoped that his presence would be easier to deal with.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“I do not want to tell you yet.”

“Then what should I call you?” She leaned over to lift the pot to the iron arm above the fire. She had found the thing discarded behind the hut. An hour of hard scrubbing to get rid of the rust and dirt caked inside and it appeared to have years of use left in it.

“You can call me Labren.”

He began to move toward the edge of the shelf. Gingerly, he put his legs over the side, healthy one first. His movement caught Eve’s attention and she moved to stop him.

“You cannot get up yet.” She placed herself in his way.

He looked her in the eye. “I am getting up. Either you assist me or I will do it without help.”

“You are not well enough to stand.” She put her hands on her hips and placed her feet in a firmer stance. “You will pull out the stitches and slow the healing.”

Her position lacked the overbearing air she had hoped for. It was difficult to stare down a man when one had to glare up to meet his eye. Regardless, she stood her ground.

“I was strong enough to move you across the floor last night, and a few hours later, I removed your collar.” His eyes filled with a combination of amusement and annoyance. “And I intend to get out of this bed. So, if you refuse to help, will you please move aside?" Although he was amused, he was not asking her this time.

The battle lost, Eve returned to her cooking. Behind her, she heard him land on his feet with a grunt. With the help of the old broom handle, he hobbled outside. As soon as the door closed behind him, she rushed to the window. She glimpsed his broad shoulders as he staggered around the corner of the shack. He had to relieve himself.

Scolding herself for checking on him as if he were a child, she resumed her work. By the time Labren reappeared, the broth was hot and waiting, with some of her dwindling store of bread. Pain and exhaustion pulled at his features as he sat down. The exertion from his short walk increased the pallor of his face.

After filling a bowl with the steaming liquid, she set it in front of him. She moved to return to the fire, but he caught her hand. “Come, sit down. We need to talk.” The remaining seat was a three-legged stool. Sitting so much lower than him would make her feel insignificant. She perched on the sleeping ledge across from him instead. For some reason, she did not want to be vulnerable with this man. His large presence intimidated her.

“I know very little about you.” He swallowed a spoonful of the thin soup.

“Isn’t much to tell.”

The expression Labren shot her over his spoon indicated he did not believe her. “I need the details of what happened to you the last time you saw your master.” He brought the bowl to his mouth. As he drank, he considered her face over the rim.

She refrained from acknowledging his discreet attention. In a flat tone she related the events as they transpired the evening they had met. “After I left you here, I went to the berry patch. Then, I returned to my owner, Mridle. He was waiting for me. He beat me with his razor strap, and when I didn’t cry, he used his fists. I cried.”

No shame came with her admission of weakness. Not wanting to dwell on her tears or the next part, she hurried on to finish.

“He threatened me and went to bed. I took the supplies we needed and came here.” Labren was silent. Her hands twisted in her lap while she waited for him to speak.

“What did he threaten?” He set his now empty bowl down.

“He said I had been sold to the Tavern owner, Mr. Horben. He keeps girls for the entertainment of his customers. I cannot go there and you needed someone to care for you, so I left.” She raised her eyes, but he avoided hers. “Please do not send me back.” The plea slipped out unbidden. She bit her tongue.

“Do you have any family?”

She frowned. “A brother, but…” She shook her head.

“A brother?”

“I haven’t seen him in years. He is at sea and may even be dead.”

Labren sat in silence for a long time. He kept his face hidden in the shadow, cloaking his thoughts from her as well. When he finally spoke, his voice was so tight with control he almost did not get the whole sentence out. “They will not have you.”

Another long period of silence followed. In a calmer, but still strained, tone he muttered something. “Any other possible way….” He absentmindedly rotated the bowl in his hands. Eve wondered what he planned, however she was too afraid to ask.