Renegade Heart (7 page)

E
nola sat in Magnosa’s bed, cushioned by a mountain of soft pillows, and gazed in wonder at the baby nestled in her arms.
Her
baby. So innocent was she that it had been down to Magnosa to explain to her the reason for her expanding girth. It had not occurred to her to question the lack of monthly bleeding because she had never fully understood its purpose in the first place. By the time Magnosa realised she was with child, it had been too late to give her the special herbal tea that would have caused her to miscarry.

Enola had not wanted that anyway. Secretly, she had been overjoyed to be carrying Wolf’s child. It was one more thing to bind them together even though, chances were, Wolf would never even know he was a father. Magnosa and the girls warned her that discovery would mean the child being taken from her as soon as it was weaned, in accordance with the law, so throughout her pregnancy she had been carefully hidden from prying eyes.

Now the child had arrived, Magnosa fretted over the practicalities of running a whore house with a baby on the premises, but there was no choice. From the moment the boy was born, she loved him almost as much as his mother did. The whores too, were totally enamoured by the tiny pink bundle with the shock of black hair curling on his neck.

“Well, there’s no mistaking who is his father is,” said Magnosa and Enola smiled proudly. “Have you thought of a name yet?”

Enola shook her head. Naming the baby had proven harder than she thought. She wanted him to have a strong name like his papa’s name, but nothing came to mind that suited him. Each time one of the girls came into the room for a peek at the new arrival, they brought with them another suggestion for his name. So far, Enola had rejected them all.

One afternoon, shortly after the baby was born, Enola sat on the bed and brushed her long golden hair. Beside her, one of the girls cradled the baby in her arms. Krisha was no older than Enola, but had been a whore for many turns. She was a simple, quiet girl with a pleasant nature and well liked among the girls.

“You know, I had a baby once,” Krisha said dreamily.

Enola did know. All of the girls had a story to tell of how they had ended up at the whore house. While most of them preferred not to talk about their past, the homes they had left or the families they had been excluded from, Krisha told her story repeatedly. For her, each time she told her tale, it was like telling it for the first time.

“Tell me about your baby,” Enola said kindly.

“Oh, he was beautiful,” Krisha smiled. “Big and strong. My papa was so angry. He said I had shamed the family and made him look a fool, even though it was his own brother who fathered the child.” She stood up and placed the sleeping baby in Enola’s arms. “You hold onto him tight. Don’t let them take him away from you like they did with my baby. A child should be with his mama.”

“Krisha, wait,” Enola called out as the other girl turned to leave the room. “I’ve never asked before. What was your baby’s name?”

“Oh, I wasn’t allowed to name him,” Krisha replied. “Papa said there was no point because they would give him a name at the orphanage. But I remember how his little eyes followed me everywhere, like he knew I was his mama. I never told anyone before, but in my head I called him Hawk.”

“It’s a good name,” Enola told her. “Would you mind if I used it for my baby?”

“I’d like that.” Krisha smiled.

In the three turns since Wolf had joined the renegades, their number had grown steadily until there was almost two hundred men in the forest camp. The camp itself had begun to resemble a small hamlet. The men, when not out with the raiding parties, had taken on roles within the camp. Some had taken up carpentry and built sturdy, wooden shelters for the men to sleep in. Others were hunters, bringing back food to those who had shown a flair for cooking. A couple of men had recently arrived from one of the out-lying villages, both skilled blacksmiths.

Saker, who had unwittingly become the camp’s surgeon, was demonstrating his rather dubious skills by attempting to stitch an open wound in Wolf’s shoulder, a task that would have been easier if Wolf could be persuaded to sit still for even a short while.

“If you don’t stop moving,” Saker snapped eventually, “I shall call for Garstan to come sit on you until I finish closing this wound.”

“Sorry,” Wolf muttered, gritting his teeth as Saker’s needle pierced his tender skin. “But, honestly, next time I go on a raid, don’t expect me to take along a pup still wet behind the ears.”

“He’s the same age as you,” Saker pointed out.

They both glanced over to where the young renegade known as Lark sat having his own wounds tended. Feeling their eyes upon him, Lark raised his head, his face a picture of misery.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” he said plaintively, which only served to make Wolf angry all over again.

“Your mistake nearly got us all killed. What kind of scout misses a dozen of the King’s Army on an open road?”

“Damn it, Wolf. Do you want this stitched or not?” Saker fumed, actually looking around the camp to see if Garstan was close by. If not Garstan, Fadul would do. Anyone big enough and brave enough to sit on his hot-headed patient while he finished stitching the wound.

“Sorry,” Wolf said again. He raised his head to make sure Lark heard his next words. “But next time he crosses me I’ll make him wish he’d never been born.”

His own wounds patched, Lark stumbled to his feet and turned quickly away before anyone had a chance to see how Wolf’s disdain hurt him. In blind haste, he careered headlong into Tregaar who pushed him aside impatiently. Some days it seemed to Lark as though there was nothing he could do right and nobody in camp he could go to without being annoying in some way.

“Wolf, come with me,” Tregaar said.

Saker nodded to say he had finished and Wolf eased his arm painfully into his shirt before getting up to follow Tregaar. He struggled to understand why the renegade leader should be angry with him when it was Lark who had led their party into the ambush. Tregaar waited until they were beyond the hearing of the men before he spoke. He might be the camp leader, but even he would not dare to give Wolf a dressing down in front of the other men. The young renegade took orders these days – or at least the ones he wanted to – with better grace than when he first arrived, but there were still times he was as stubborn and rebellious as ever. All the renegades knew Wolf was like a wild animal and only a fool would back the boy into a corner.

“I think you are too hard on Lark. He deserves a chance, the same as we gave you when you first came here.”

“I gave him a chance when I took him with me as a scout,” Wolf snorted. “And look what happened. He should go back to the farm where he belongs.”

“You mean the farm the soldiers took at the same time they murdered his family?” Tregaar shook his head sadly. “We cannot choose the men who come to us, Wolf. They turn renegade because they are desperate, because they have lost everything and have no place else to go. Lark is no different to any of us in that respect.”

“He’s useless,” Wolf argued. “He can’t even handle a sword. How can he be a renegade when he can’t fight? We might be the same age, but he’s like a child compared to me.”

Tregaar laughed at that and Wolf looked at him in surprise. “Most of us are like a child compared to you, Wolf. There isn’t a man in the camp who can ride or fight the way you do. You’re fearless and would never leave a man behind. The men respect and admire you for that. Even the ones who are scared witless by your hot temper.”

Side by side they turned and looked back at the activity in the camp. Even at night it was never completely still. Quite often fights would break out because, among two hundred men, disagreements and misunderstandings were inevitable. But squabbles were soon forgotten amongst this large, makeshift family. Wolf would give his life for every one of them. Well,
almost
every one…

“Lark is not a bad kid,” Tregaar said. “Maybe you could teach him.”

“Let someone else teach him,” Wolf answered stubbornly. “Because the next time he messes up I’ll kill him myself.”

T
he whore house was having an unusually quiet day. Due to the lack of customers and the pleasant weather, Magnosa had given permission for the girls to go into city and enjoy the summer festival. It made Enola sad for little Hawk who had only ever seen the world outside the whore house under cover of darkness. But despite his secluded upbringing, he was a bright, happy child with more than a passing resemblance to his absent father.

For once, as there were no customers on the premises who might see and report his existence to the authorities, Hawk had the run of the empty house and was playing hide and seek with his doting mother, giggling into a chubby hand as he listened to Enola search for him.

“Still looking?” Taola asked, passing Enola in the hallway as Taola was on her way out to the festivities.

“He’s too good at this game for my liking,” Enola admitted ruefully.

“Well, don’t say I told you so,” Taola whispered, “but the drapes in the parlour have a suspicious bulge.”

Enola grinned and hurried down the hallway, slightly breathless as she burst into the room. Much as she loved to play games with her young son she was always filled with a sense of relief when she found his hiding place. Her biggest fear was that she would never find him; that he would find his way outside and be lost in the city. But, thankfully, it was not to be so this time. The lump behind the heavy drapes quivered with excitement as Enola made her way across the room, her footsteps deliberately heavy.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “I just can’t think where Hawk could be. I may as well give up looking and beat the dust from the drapes while I’m here.”

She pounced upon the wriggling child, patting her hands up and down the drapes and making Hawk squeal with delight. He emerged from behind the heavy material with sparkling blue eyes and his dark hair on end.

“Mama funny,” he laughed throwing himself into her embrace.

“Enola?” Krisha appeared in the doorway. “This is Rixley.”

Enola clutched Hawk to her chest, her heart pounding furiously. All of the girls knew better than to bring a man back to the house when everyone was out. And to do so without warning, knowing Hawk was playing freely, was unforgivable. Krisha was simple, but not so much so she would risk Hawk being discovered.

Rixley, stepped into the parlour, a tall and heavy set man with thick hair greying at the temples. His clothes identified him as a travelling merchant, a brave man to risk his wares and his life crossing Renegade country in such troubled times.

“I mean you no harm, Missy,” he said running a hand through his hair. For a big man his voice had a surprisingly and reassuring quality. “And there’s no need to be worrying about the little man. I give my word, I will not be telling anyone he is here.”

“What is your business here?” Enola demanded, still holding onto Hawk, even as he struggled to break free.

“I see now why the young lady wanted me to speak with you,” Rixley said as he regarded the child in her arms. “That boy is the son of Wolf as sure as I’m standing here.”

“You know Wolf?”

“That I do, Missy,” Rixley nodded.

News of Wolf after more than three turns was enough to convince Enola she should indeed talk with this man. She motioned for him to come further into the room and take a seat on one of the plush sofas. His discomfort was such that Enola would guess, whatever the circumstance of his meeting with Krisha, he was not a man accustomed to the company of whores. It made him all the more likeable in Enola’s eyes. She handed Hawk to Krisha and sent them off to play upstairs, preferring him to be out of the room while she discussed the father he had never met.

“Are you a renegade?” she asked Rixley once Krisha’s footsteps had faded away.

“No,” Rixley shook his head. “I am what you see, a simple merchant. But I travel the length and breadth of this land and I have seen how the people suffer under the King’s law.”

Enola’s gaze drifted to the doorway, thinking of Hawk who, under the King’s law, should be in the orphanage. She brought her attention back to Rixley.

“So how do you know of Wolf?”

“I trade with the renegades,” Rixley said and then he smiled dryly. “So now you know a secret about me which would get me hanged more certainly than if you were caught hiding a child.”

“Then you also have my word,” Enola told him, impatient for news of Wolf. “I will not tell a soul.”

“I go into many renegade camps. The one where Wolf resides is by far the largest and undoubtedly the most troublesome to the King’s Army.” Rixley smiled again. “Young Wolf is something of a legend among the renegades. He is a fearless warrior and leads many raids. One day soon, he will have his own band.”

Enola could not explain why, but she felt strangely troubled. She was naturally overjoyed to hear that Wolf was alive and well, but a warrior? A renegade leader? It was hard to imagine him growing up and changing without her. Would she be able to love the man he had become as fully as she loved the boy he had once been? And what if he no longer had any interest in her? Maybe he had become so absorbed in his new life that he had forgotten his promise to return for her one day.

“And is that what you came here to tell me?” she asked. “That Wolf is well?”

“No, I knew nothing of your connection with Wolf until I saw the child. I was telling the young lady and she thought you would want to know; the King has ordered his army to hunt down and destroy all renegade bands in the territory. They have pushed him too far, stealing his coin wagons, ambushing travellers and raiding villages. Wolf’s band are not known to kill unless they have to, but there are other groups who are not so discerning. Recently, one of highest members of the King’s council was murdered by a renegade band. I tell you, Missy, there is going to be a war between the renegades and the Army.”

“But why tell me?” Enola said, frightened and confused by what she had heard. “There is nothing I can do.”

Rixley shrugged his broad shoulders. “Nobody expects you to do anything. The renegades are strong and ruthless men. They hardly require the help of a little girl, now do they?”