Shield of Fire (A Bringer and the Bane Novel) (5 page)

Chapter Five

“Ravyn, wake up. We have to go.”

Goosebumps rose unbidden at the thought of tossing back the borrowed cover. Couldn’t she sleep a little longer? She cracked open her eyes and squinted at the unfamiliar surroundings. No hint of dawn filtered through the trees. High above, rain pattered against nature’s roof. The ground’s cool embrace stretched beneath her, but the thick blanket trapped the heat from her body, cocooning her.

His hand cupped her cheek, the warmth a glaring contrast to the cold wake-up she’d always received at the abbey. “We need to move before daybreak.”

Rhys sounded tired, and she suspected he’d stood guard all night. Events of the previous evening rushed back and extinguished her exhaustion. Her eyes tracked along his arm to his handsome face. She lived, thanks to this man.

She shifted. Every muscle throbbed, every bone ached, and every inch of skin recoiled from the slightest brush of a breeze. Tight tendons protested as she slowly uncurled her legs from their fetal position. Her body felt like a team of runaway horses had dragged her for miles over the uneven and rutted road.

“We need to move while we still have the cover of darkness. We’re an easy target if we stay here.”

She bit back a moan and levered herself into a sitting position, hating to appear weak. But even more than that, she hated the pity in his eyes.

He stared at her, his amber gaze fixed and harder than she liked. “You’re in no condition for a long journey. The inn is but a few hours’ ride from here. There you can rest and heal.”

She’d never depended on anyone, let alone a complete stranger. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

She cleared her throat. “For being a burden.”

He smiled, and his beauty hit her full force. She leaned away, as if by putting inches between them, his handsomeness would settle to a more realistic state. It didn’t. Had his eyes been this deep gold last night? His black hair fell in glossy sheets past his shoulder blades. Thin red cords tied off the ends of a braid woven at each temple. Ravyn curled her fingers around the blanket to stay their wayward desire to touch the strands. What was wrong with her? Perhaps she’d hit her head harder than she thought last night.

In her defense, no man she’d ever seen at the abbey looked this handsome, especially after getting caught in the rain. She’d once thought Mr. Trudeau, the farrier, handsome in a rugged way. Admittedly, she’d developed a bit of a crush on him, but her ardor had been short-lived. Unbeknownst to her, until she accidentally stumbled upon the scene, the farrier had made a practice of giving Sister Agnes a little
extra
service in the barn after tending to the horses. The image of Mr. Trudeau’s white buttocks pumping back and forth, and Sister Agnes’s booted feet bouncing over his shoulders, had burned itself into her mind. A large chunk of her innocence had been ripped from her that day.

Heat crept up her cheeks, and she scolded herself for such sinful thoughts. She turned away, resisting the urge to fan herself. Bless The Sainted Ones, the man even smelled nice—clean and wild.

She jumped when he slid his hand around her waist to help her rise. The feel of him pressed intimately against her body nearly paralyzed her. If she discounted Brother Powell, Rhys was the first man who had ever touched her.

He seemed oblivious to his effect on her, thankfully. Surely she would burn in The Abyss for the small thrill lilting through her.

Unable to avoid touching him, she held onto his arm and let the pain divert her thoughts. She struggled to rise, but quickly found her balance and detached herself from his grasp.

“Thank you and again, I’m sorry.”

“No more apologies. I’m used to inconveniences. One more doesn’t matter.”

The dazzle of his handsomeness dimmed to irritating. “Well, that makes me feel much better. Thank you. I think.”

“What I mean is—”

“I know what you mean. You don’t need to justify your actions. I’m still grateful.” She nodded toward the horse. Far too much intelligence lurked in the animal’s eyes for him to be a simple beast. “Now, will we be riding…Sampson, is it?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m supposed to mount him?” The prospect of performing such a feat with any amount of grace was doubtful.

Once again he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her away from the tree. “Take it slowly. I’ll help you.”

Her hands fluttered about like a crazed moth trying to find a resting place that wasn’t against his body. The urge to push him away butted against the enjoyment of his touch. Something truly wicked must nest inside her. “Uh, thank you.”

“I’ll help you as much as I can,” he continued, “but this won’t be comfortable for you.”

Irritation renewed itself. She craned her neck to glare at him. “Are you trying to comfort or torment me?”

“Sweet-talk’s always eluded me.”

“Obviously,” she grumbled. Exhaustion made her cranky but she shouldn’t take it out on him. “I prefer straight talk over sweet words. Usually.”

He arched a black eyebrow. “A rare trait in a woman.”

The seconds it took to hobble the few yards to the horse were agonizing, but not due to her aching body. He practically carried her to Sampson. Her toes barely touched the ground and she couldn’t think with his arm twined around her. Without thought, she blurted the first question that came to mind. “You don’t like women much, do you?”

“I like women very much.”

“But?”

“Most are tedious and not much use beyond certain situations.” He paused. “You have more backbone than most.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see how impressed you are once I start complaining. And I’m utterly offended, but I’m too tired to argue.”

“Another rare trait in a woman.”

She glowered at him.

He appeared unaffected except for the hint of a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll travel slowly. Once we reach the inn you’ll be able to rest, eat, and have a hot bath. By tomorrow, you should feel much better. But you won’t fully heal for quite some time.”

They stopped at Sampson’s side and Rhys eased away from her. “Lean against him while I gather our things.”

The horse’s warmth penetrated the chill and sank into her bones, easing some of the achiness. She pressed her chest into Sampson’s shoulder and laid her head against his silky black neck. His hide quivered where her fingers grazed him, but he didn’t shy away. Her eyelids slid shut. She felt eighty years old instead of twenty-three.

“I can help you with some of the soreness.”

She opened her eyes. Rhys stood a few inches away, watching her. Butterflies tumbled in her stomach as his gaze caressed her face. She stared back, unable to look away.

He rubbed his thumb across her forehead. “I can lessen your pain if you allow me inside your mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve tried to block your discomfort, but your mind is a fortress. If you allow me in, I can dampen the majority of your pain.”

“I don’t understand.” She straightened and winced. “Wait.” Her gaze raked him. “Did you attempt to push into my mind before the demon attack?”

“Yes.”

“I felt you.” She glared at him. “That was rather rude.”

He smirked, not looking the least bit remorseful. “Forgive me. I thought you were a human in distress. My mistake.”

“What do you mean, ‘mistake’?” She controlled some of her powers instinctively, but that was the extent of her command over them. “And why is my mind is like a fortress?”

“I’ll answer your questions when we’re safe. We need to be on our way.”

“Fortunately for you.” The effort of standing robbed what little strength the few hours of sleep had gained. “This conversation isn’t finished.” He gave her a quick nod and a brilliant smile.
Charming devil.
She sighed and leaned her head against Sampson. “And I need my bag.”

He glanced around their camp. “Where is it?”

“I lost it when the demon hit me. Maybe in the bushes.”

Without a word, he dissolved into the woods.

What had he meant she was no human in distress? Those words dredged up childhood horrors. The Sister Superior had muttered a similar sentiment with each lash of the switch she’d lain across Ravyn’s hands. Punishment for setting the altar cloths on fire or for speaking to those haunted souls only she could see. The memory bit like the chill air. No—she wouldn’t let past experiences control her. Things were different now. She’d do what had to be done and not lament the loss of her miserable life in the abbey.

A twig snapped. She pressed closer to Sampson, praying it was Rhys. He emerged from the darkness carrying her bag. She couldn’t help but stare as he picked his way across the ground. He was tall and muscular, not bulky like the farrier. His dark elegance reminded her of a mythical warrior. She pondered the thought
, if the Bane were real, why not a knight in shining armor?

“What do you have in here?” He tossed the bag up and down, weighing the contents.

“A few personal items and a book I stole from the abbey.”

“What kind of book?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t understand most of the writing, but the artwork is beautiful.” Heat fused her cheeks. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

“You’re lucky to have it. Books are a rare gift and should be owned by those who can appreciate their value.” He secured her bag to the saddle.

“I don’t think the Sisters would agree.”

He smiled conspiratorially. “Then we’d better not tell them. Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You’ll ride in front of me in case you need to sleep. Don’t try to brace yourself. This will be uncomfortable enough without straining your muscles. I suspect you have a cracked rib or two.”

His words skidded over her and her breath quickened at the thought of draping herself against Rhys.

Misunderstanding her hesitation, he said, “I’ll be as gentle as possible.”

She bit her lip and stared at her feet, unable to look him in the eye. “It’s not that. I’m just a bit nervous. I’ve never been completely alone with a man who wasn’t trying to kill me.”

“Shall I hold a knife to your throat? Would that make you more comfortable?”

“That won’t be necessary.” She frowned at him. “Perhaps I’m more naïve than I like to imagine.”

His smile hinted at sadness. “Innocence and naïveté are characteristics we don’t appreciate until they’re gone.”

Her nervousness abated. He was simply a good man performing a valiant deed. Right?

“You can trust me not to kill or molest you in your weakened state.”

She raised her eyebrows in question. He said nothing, but his sly smile spoke volumes. Her nervousness returned. Would it be her life or her virtue in danger?

“Can you get your foot into the stirrup?”

“Yes,” she said a bit too quickly.

“I’ll lift you into the saddle.”

His hands held her waist, warming her skin beneath her layers of dress. She placed her foot in the stirrup and grabbed onto the pommel.

“Ready?”

She nodded and gritted her teeth.

“One, two, three.” His words whispered against her ear and she suddenly found her body lifted off the ground and settled sidesaddle.

The position felt awkward, but took the pressure off her spine. As Rhys mounted behind her, she slouched forward to avoid contact, but with steady and insistent hands, he eased her against his hard chest. She stiffened, but the warmth of his body melted the last of her tension and she relaxed into the cradle of his arms.

A multitude of smells enfolded her—leather and rain, trees, wind, and fire. She closed her eyes and exhaled, as if her breath could carry away all trace of her shameful stirrings.

Sampson picked his way through the thick growth of the trees, staying clear of the road. An unnatural silence permeated the air around them. The wet leaves muffled the sound of Sampson’s hooves. It felt like they’d become part of the forest, indistinguishable from the trees and the wind. As with the abbey, the forest hummed with a life force she understood.

Rhys’s strength cloaked her. When was the last time she had felt safe? Or the last time somebody had been concerned about her? The girls had cared, but she had always been the protector, the lone tree that weathered every storm. Her soul yearned for one person she could depend on, one person she could be herself with, maybe even one person to love.

Exhaustion crept unbidden, and she didn’t fight her fatigue. It seemed like only minutes had passed when Rhys’s gentle shake pulled her from a dreamless nap. She yawned and stretched the aching muscles of her back to sit forward.

Grit scraped her eyelids as she blinked away the fog of sleep. A tug of vanity sent her hand inconspicuously across her mouth to check for drool. She might have no control over her unkempt state, but crust in her eyes and sleep-induced slobber was repairable.

Her right foot rested beneath her dress and blanket, but her left wasn’t so fortunate. Unprotected from the morning cold, it ached and tingled. She wiggled her toes in an attempt to coax feeling back into her foot.