"Is that you, Jath?"
An odd prickling sensation rippled down the back of Sorsha Swinley's neck as she peered into the dim rear corner of the barn where she thought she'd heard a rustling noise. Which was daft, of course. Her aunt's farm in the foothills of the Blood Moon Mountains was no different than her father's back in Windleford — quiet and dull. She'd been a fool to hope for anything different.
Likely it was just her oaf of a cousin, hiding in the hay to avoid some chore his mother had sent him. And maybe hoping to give her a fright so he could tease her about it at supper. She'd show him!
But first she needed to collect the eggs Auntie Ag had sent her to fetch for making dumplings. One of the neighbor lads had been invited to supper. Sorsha made a face as she groped under the black hen, which glared and clucked at her but yielded a warm, brown egg.
Was it too much to hope tonight's guest might have something interesting to say for himself? Or that he might cast her an admiring glance rather than spending every moment discussing weather and crops with her uncle? If she'd guessed her father had sent her on this visit to find a husband, she might have refused to come.
"That's not true and you know it," she muttered to herself as she poked through the straw on another laying box. She could never have turned down a chance to go somewhere she'd never been and do something different. Not that chores on Auntie Ag's farm were much different than chores back at Hoghill. At least the scenery in this part of the kingdom was more dramatic than back home…even if the people weren't.
Once she had four eggs tucked into her apron pockets, Sorsha hurried back into the snug farmhouse and gave them to her aunt.
"Thank you, lass!" Auntie Ag cracked the eggs into an earthenware bowl and beat them into a pale yellow froth. "You're such a willing little thing. You'll make some lucky lad a fine wife!"
Sorsha concentrated on keeping her tongue in her mouth rather than sticking it out in disgust. She tried to sound sincere when she said, "Thank you, Auntie." For she knew her aunt's words were meant as high praise. Glancing down at her broad hips and strong arms, it was hard not to laugh over being called a little thing.
Auntie Ag shook a measure of flour into the bowl, added a pinch of salt then commenced beating the batter again. "I only wish Jath would learn a thing or two from you — the shiftless creature. Have you seen him? I need more wood fetched in."
Her aunt's words reminded Sorsha. "I reckon I know where to find him, Auntie."
She headed back out to the barn, taking care to keep her footsteps light. When she reached the doorway, she paused outside it for a moment, listening. Sure enough, she heard the hay rustle again, just as she had when she'd been in fetching the eggs. Now she'd see who would get a fright!
Gathering her energy, she shoved open the barn door and bounded for the stack of hay in the corner crying, "You can't hide from me, Jath, you lazy lump!"
She felt her cousin wriggle beneath her when she landed on top of him, and she laughed, pleased with herself for turning his own trick back on him. Then from out of the dry, sweet-smelling hay came an odor that was anything but sweet. Sorsha wrinkled her nose. "Eeeeewe, what have you been doing, Jath, wrestling a musk pig?"
The words had scarcely left her mouth when two large blackened hands thrust out of the hay and closed around her throat. Sorsha tried to scream when a creature of her nightmares rose from the hay — dark and gaunt, with a mane of black matted hair and wild eyes. But the sound stuck in her throat as he throttled her with desperate strength.
"Why could you not leave me be?" The hoarse rasp of her attacker's voice sounded mad with rage, yet strangely wistful. "I meant you no harm!"
Meant her no harm? Sorsha's head began to spin. If she didn't do something to break free, she would soon be dead at the hands of this beast who claimed to mean her no harm!
With all the strength she could summon, she drove her fists into his middle and flailed at his legs with her feet. He gave a grunt of pain and his grip around her throat slackened enough that she was able to break free. Before she could draw breath to call for help, he spun her around, clamping a hand over her mouth and his other arm around her waist.
To Sorsha, their brief but intense struggle seemed to stretch on and on. Her attacker was strong and desperate, but he looked half-starved, and either ill or wounded. She was a healthy farm girl, used to hauling water from the well, fetching armloads of firewood and hoisting heavy butter churns. It wasn't long before she had him pinned beneath her.
As she gasped for breath to call for help, she heard Auntie Ag's voice just outside the barn. "She went to look for you. Have you not seen her? Oh, there comes your father now with young Huard. Go find Sorsha!"
"Kill me!" gasped Sorsha's attacker. His limbs went slack, as if he had spent his last crumb of strength. "I beg you. Only do not let them…take me back to the mines!"
"The mines?" If that was where he'd come from, then her attacker had truly escaped from her worst nightmare. The mines beneath the Blood Moon Mountains, where Umbrian criminals delved for metal and gems to arm their Hanish conquerors, were often called "a living death." Sorsha had never heard of any prisoner coming out of the mines alive…until now.
The man's muscles suddenly contorted in a fierce spasm and his eyes rolled back. Sorsha might have thought him dead, but she could still feel his heart hammering. Only then did she realize her bosom was pressed hard against his chest, and her open thighs splayed over his hips. A fierce blush set her whole body atingle, blazing hottest between her thighs and in the tips of her breasts. She let go of her attacker and crawled backward away from him, disgusted by her reaction to a creature that scarcely seemed human.
She half expected him to rouse and flee once she'd let him go, but he did not move. Overcome with curiosity even stronger than her fear, she edged back toward him. This would be a story worth telling her friend Maura when she returned home to Windleford — that she had fought and subdued a savage fugitive from the Blood Moon Mines!
But when she looked more closely at him, she could not take pride in her victory. He was so thin, dirty and battered. And she could not forget the raw despair in his voice when he'd pleaded for death.
"Sorsha?" called Jath from close by. "Ma says come for supper!"
She should call her cousin and have him tie up the fugitive. Then they should take him to the nearest Hanish garrison. There might be some kind of reward, which her aunt's family could well use.
If they were caught harboring an escaped miner, on the other hand… Sorsha shuddered. Would that be crime enough to land Jath and his father in the mines? The Han claimed that only outlaws, smugglers and those of that ilk were sent to the mines to keep Umbria safe for law-abiding folk.
The question was, did Sorsha want to abide by Hanish laws?
"Sorsha?" her cousin called again from out in the farmyard. "Supper!"
Sorsha stared down at the unconscious fugitive who'd tried to strangle her then begged her to kill him rather than betray him to the Han.
"I'm coming!" she called. After a moment's hesitation, she heaped straw over the man so no one else would see him.
She couldn't kill him and she did not have the heart to condemn him to something he feared worse than death. By the look of him, he might die soon, anyway. Then she could pretend to find his body and let her kin deal with it as they wished. Satisfied with her decision, she brushed the bits of chaff off her clothes and smoothed her hair.
"There you are!" cried Auntie Ag when Sorsha entered the house. "Come sit by Huard. He's anxious to meet you."
"Mistress Swinley." Huard looked her over as he bowed. A lass didn't have to be the Oracle of Margyle to know he was thinking, She'll do.
He wasn't a bad-looking fellow. Just the kind her father would want her to bring home as a husband, no doubt — one with strong arms and an even temper. But Sorsha could not summon a spark of interest in him. After her aunt said the table blessing, she tried to make conversation, but Huard seemed more interested in talking about planting and plowing with her uncle. And she could not stop thinking about the man in the barn.
Was he still alive? Could he smell the savory aroma of her aunt's stew while hunger gnawed at his belly? The thought took Sorsha's appetite away.
She jumped up as soon as the others finished eating so no one had time to notice her barely touched bowl. "I'll clear the table."
Perhaps thinking Sorsha meant to impress Huard with her industry, Auntie Ag did not object. Rather than dump her leavings into the slop pail for the hogs, Sorsha stole out to the barn with her bowl.
The pile of hay in the back stall looked just as she'd left it. Was the man dead? She thrust her hand into the straw to feel for a heartbeat.
When he grabbed her wrist, she gasped but did not scream. "I…brought food for you."
His shaggy head twitched away the straw covering his face. "Why?"
"Because you looked hungry. Are you?"
"Starved." A hollowness in his voice made Sorsha's belly gape with answering hunger, though she'd just eaten.
She shoved the bowl toward him. "Eat, then. I will not betray you to the Han."
Whatever he'd done, he did not deserve a slow, brutal death in the mines. An exciting, dangerous idea took root in Sorsha's mind.
His grip on her wrist slackened. "I did not want to harm you before. Truly."
"I know," Sorsha whispered. He'd only wanted to hide in the hay, temporarily safe and free. When she'd jumped on him, it must have scared the poor man out of his wits. "I must go now. I'll come back later with drink and a blanket."
Though the light was growing dim, Sorsha could see a look of bewilderment on his face, as if the smallest act of kindness were beyond his understanding.
Returning to the house, she helped Auntie Ag clean the dishes, then made awkward conversation with Huard until he left.
All the while, her heart beat faster and her thoughts whirled. Here was a chance to have the kind of adventure she'd always dreamed of. A chance to strike back, in her own small way, at the mighty Hanish Empire that had oppressed her country since before she was born. She would hide the fugitive until he was fit to travel. And afterward, when folks claimed no prisoner had ever escaped the Blood Moon Mines, she could savor her secret act of rebellion.
After the family retired to bed, Sorsha lay awake, her mind humming with plans. Once she reckoned the others must be asleep, she crept out of bed and collected what she needed for her fugitive.
"Don't be afraid," she called in a loud whisper as she slipped into the barn. "It's only me."
By the flickering light from her stub of a candle, she glanced at the bowl of food she'd left earlier. "Did you eat?"
"As much as I could. I've never tasted anything so good." He hesitated, as if searching for words he could barely recall. "Thank you."
Sorsha set her candle up on a thick beam, away from the straw. Then she wrapped her extra blanket around the man's broad but bony shoulders and handed him a drink skin. From the bottom of her basket, she took a crock of salve she'd brought from Windleford. Her friend Maura had compounded it, and its healing properties were magically potent. Perhaps it was magical — Maura was the ward and apprentice of a wizard, after all.
Dipping her fingers in the salve, Sorsha reached to smear it over a jagged gash on the man's cheek. He flinched when her hand came toward his face.
"It's all right," she murmured. "I won't hurt you." How long had it been since he'd met anyone who could make that claim?
He let her anoint the wound, though Sorsha sensed he was fighting well-honed instincts of self-protection.
This wary hint of trust moved her. "Have you any other hurts I can tend?"
A bitter chuckle wheezed out of him. "More than you could heal in a lifetime, mistress."
"My name is Sorsha. What's yours?"
He gave a weary shake of his head.
"Don't worry," she said. "I won't tell anyone."
"It's not that." He hung his head as if ashamed to admit, "I…cannot recall my name. I reckon I had one. But it seems like ten lifetimes since anyone called me by it."
"Oh. How did you escape from the mines?"
"A sickness killed many on my level. I crawled into the pile of corpses and pretended I was dead, too." His tone had a deadened sound as he spoke of it. "After they pulled us to the surface in the ore bin, I took off while the guards were busy with the next load. Been on the run ever since."
On the run? Sorsha winced at the sight of the fugitive's cut, blistered feet. How had he ever walked on them? The nearest mine was high in the mountains. Every step must have been torment.
Gently she daubed the raw, broken flesh with Maura's salve then bound his feet in strips of linen. Even with the ointment, it would be some time before the nameless man could walk any distance.
"You can stay here until you're fit to travel," said Sorsha. "I'll bring you food and whatever else you need."
He tensed then, and gripped her wrist hard.
"Slag?" His gaze glittered with something avid and dangerous. "Can you get me slag?"
Sorsha shook off his hand. "What is that?"
A great shudder quaked through his wasted flesh. "The one thing that makes life in the mines bearable."
"You aren't down there anymore," Sorsha reminded him. "So I reckon you won't need it."
"I need it as bad as ever." He twitched. "Once slag gets its claws in you, it doesn't let go that easy."
Had she thought this a glorious adventure? Sorsha chided herself. This man had suffered things she could not imagine — did not want to imagine. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I don't know where to get this slag stuff and I wouldn't if I could. I don't believe it can be good for you."
"Not good for me?" He laughed in hoarse, cracked heaves. "It's pure poison!"
"Why do you want it, then?"
"Because I'll die without it, fool!" He lunged toward her, but when she drew back in fear, he sank into the hay and wrapped his long arms around himself. "Or wish I could die."
He looked so lost and broken, Sorsha yearned to take him in her arms and ease his hurts. But his flashes of feral rage daunted her. The sooner she could get this man fit to travel and away from her aunt's farm, the better it would be…for both of them.
"Jath!" Sorsha ran to catch up with her cousin. "Have you ever heard of something called slag?"
Jath started and looked to see if anyone else was close enough to hear. His voice dropped to an urgent hiss. "So I have! But how did you? Don't ever let Mam hear you say that word!"
"Why? What is it?"
"Bad stuff. Dust from the mines. Makes a person all dazed and fuddledlike when they breathe it."
"What if they stop breathing it?"
Jath pulled a face. "Stop breathing and you die, don't you?"
"That's not funny, Jath. What if a person got used to breathing it, then came out of the mines?"
"But nobody ever comes out.…"
"I said what if?"
Her cousin shrugged. "I hear bad folks over the mountain will steal or kill to get their next sniff of the stuff, so I reckon it can't be pleasant." His eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know, anyhow?"
Sorsha did her best to look innocent and ignorant. "Just curious."
The fugitive's feet looked less like raw meat when Sorsha changed the bindings a few nights later.
"This balm of Maura's must be magic," she murmured to herself.
"Magic?" The fugitive flinched. "I want nothing to do with that wicked stuff!"
"Wicked, is it?" Sorsha pointed to his foot. "Look at how fast you're healing. Call that wicked?"
"I…reckon not." He didn't sound convinced.
"There's a world of difference between the death-magic of the Han and the life-magic my friends practice." She went on to tell him what benevolent spells the wizard Langbard had cast on her family's farm so the stock never sickened and the cows gave extra-rich milk. "Anybody who's ailing in Windleford calls for his help, or Maura's, though all secretlike so the Han don't hear of it. And they always go, though folks are never as grateful as they should be."
The fugitive shook his head as if he could scarcely believe her. "Is everyone in this Windleford place as kind as you are?"
Slowly he raised his hand and brought it to rest against her cheek. Sorsha felt it tremble, though whether from his craving for slag…or something else, she could not guess. His touch set something inside her atremble, too. She tried to tell herself it was only a shadow of fear. But when her gaze met his and held for a long breathless moment, she knew it was not.
"You're eating more." Her usually deep voice came out high-pitched. "That's good."
He let his hand fall. "It made me sick to eat at first, hungry as I was. Everything tastes and smells too sharp when you come off the slag. The straw feels like nails digging into me, and any little noise sounds like thunder. Slag would dull all that." The sharp edge of need honed his tone.
"Do you want to live all your life dulled to the world?" She had seen him sweat and shake and retch in the grip of his craving. What little she had coaxed him to tell her about the mines wrenched her heart with pity. "I reckon you needed it to survive the mines. Now that you're out, there are beautiful things in the world to see and hear and feel that you won't want to miss."
"I reckon there might be at that," he murmured, gazing at her so intently it made Sorsha blush and look away.
But when she anointed the healing gash on his cheek with more of Maura's ointment, her fingertips lingered on his face. "I brought you some of Jath's old clothes. They'll hang loose on you now, but we'll soon fatten you up."
"I can't." He glanced down at himself, as if noticing for the first time in a long while how he looked. "I'd get them all dirty."
"We'll clean you up, then," said Sorsha. "We should, anyway, in case someone sees you, or you have to leave suddenly. If you're clean and wearing decent clothes, you won't draw so much attention. The day after tomorrow is bath night. I can go last and say I mean to drain the tub afterward, but I won't. Add a few hot rocks later and the water will be nice and warm for you."
"Bath," he agreed, though he spoke the word as if he scarcely remembered what it meant.
Three nights later, Sorsha stole out to the woodshed where the bathing tub was set up.
"Come on," she called softly into the darkened barn. "I put extra dreamweed in the tea at supper, so they'll all sleep sound."
A darker shadow detached from the others and moved toward her with a halting step. "I'm getting better, Sorsha. I really felt it for the first time today. I'm not so…raw."
His words made her throat constrict. Watching his fierce, painful struggle to break free of the slag, she'd feared he might do away with himself rather than endure it. But he had refused to surrender, and for that she admired him. If their places had been reversed, she was not certain she'd have found the courage to cling to life that for so long had brought nothing but pain and despair.
She led him to the woodshed, where a candle burned just bright enough to catch the fine wisps of steam rising from the freshly warmed bathwater.
"Strip off and hop in." Sorsha tried to sound matter-of-fact as she turned away to check she had everything she needed. But the quiet sounds of his disrobing made her feel all warm and wriggly inside.
When she heard him ease into the water with a sigh that sounded like pleasure, she spun around to hand him soap and a cloth. "Wet your hair down, will you? It'll be easier to cut that way."
Obediently, he bent forward, plunging his head into the water. Sorsha stifled a gasp at the sight of his bare neck and back. His neck bore the mark of a branding, while his back was scarred from whipping.
With an effort, she put them out of her mind by concentrating on her task. While he scrubbed himself from head to toe, she sheared his hair, leaving just enough in back to cover his branded neck. After cutting his beard as close as she dared, she lathered his face and shaved it clean, as she'd often done for her father.
When he finally draped a cloth around his hips and climbed out of the wooden tub, the water was as black as liquid soot. Sorsha busied herself draining the tub and sweeping up the hair, all the while struggling to avert her eyes from the fugitive as he dried and dressed himself. Though still painfully gaunt and scarred in too many places, his body was firm and well shaped. With proper feeding and care, he might fill out to a fine figure of a man.
"There," he said, after he'd pulled on a pair of Jath's outgrown breeches and a loose-fitting shirt. "I almost feel like a man again, not some starved, beaten beast."
Sorsha swept her gaze over him. "You look just fi—" The word caught in her throat. Never had she guessed what ruggedly handsome features lay beneath that dirty tangle of beard! She'd been too busy trying not to cut him with the razor to notice when she'd shaved him.
Did he glimpse the flicker of attraction in her eyes? Or did becoming a man again instinctively cause him to respond to the nearest woman?
The next thing Sorsha knew, his arms were around her and his lips closing over hers, hot and hungry. His kiss tasted dangerous and forbidden…and altogether delicious.
Perhaps the fugitive had never kissed a woman before. Or perhaps the mines and the slag had robbed him of that memory.
Sorsha did not have much experience to judge by, but she wondered if other men might employ their lips with more confidence and skill. The fugitive kissed her the way he'd eaten those first bits of food she'd brought him — ravenous, yet wary. That combination stirred her in ways a more gallant advance might not have.
Yielding to the moment and to the unspoken attraction that had intensified between them over the past several days, she parted her lips and relished the sensations his kiss and touch kindled in her body. His lips strayed from hers at last, rambling over her cheeks and down her throat with a delicious rasp that struck sparks of passion in her.
Sorsha arched her neck, the better to savor his attentions. Her fingers played through his wet, shorn hair. His head dipped lower still and his cheek rubbed against the straining fullness of her bosom. Even muffled a little by her night smock, it was enough to make a gurgle of pleasure rumble deep in her throat.
Then she felt his hand tugging up her night smock as the hard hump of his arousal jutted against her leg. She recalled the animal matings she'd glimpsed around the farm — swift and fierce. Her father had often warned her to stay clear of male animals in rut, for they were dangerous. The peril of what she was doing suddenly dawned on her and she felt like a green fool for not seeing it sooner.
"No!" Her sudden change from willing partner to hissing hill-cat caught him off guard, so she was able to break free and scramble to the other corner of the woodshed. She grabbed a heavy stick and shook it at him. "Get back to the barn! Just because I brought you food does not mean I'll satisfy every hunger you have."
He stared at her as if dazed, his chest heaving beneath Jath's old shirt. "You can put down the stick. I'd never take you against your will." He shook his head and a look of sorrow twisted his rugged features. "I thought you hungered, too."
"I…did." Sorsha still clutched the stick, but lowered the hand that held it. "I…do. But satisfying that kind of hunger is more dangerous for a woman than for a man."
When his brow furrowed, she answered his unspoken question. "You might sow a babe in my belly that I would have to raise alone."
Like what had happened to her friend Maura's mother. Sorsha remembered overhearing whispers of how Langbard had taken the young woman in, and how she'd later died of a broken heart and the shame of having borne a fatherless infant. Sorsha had never breathed a word of it to her friend, of course, suggesting instead that Maura's parents might have been murdered by outlaws.
There was more for her to fear from lying with the fugitive than just getting with child. But Sorsha could scarcely put it into a clear thought for herself, let alone words to make him understand. "It may sound daft to you, but I was taught that mating is something folks should only do when they're wed proper."
Again he looked as if she were speaking a language he did not understand.
"Wed," she explained. "Promise to live together and look after one another for the rest of their lives. Ask the Giver's blessing on their union."
"The…Giver?"
Sorsha tossed the stick back on the woodpile. "Never mind. Just go get some sleep. And for the rest of the time you're here, no more kissing or carrying on. It's too dangerous. Do you understand?"
He thought for a moment then shook his head. "I don't, but that doesn't matter. If you say that's how it must be, then it will, Sorsha. I owe you my life and more. I'd never do anything to put you in danger."
With that, he turned and wandered out into the night. Sorsha watched him go with fire in her flesh and a gnawing ache in her chest that she doubted Maura's most potent tonic could ease.
When she finally stumbled into bed, memories of the fugitive's kiss and touch haunted her dreams. Somehow she knew she could trust him to keep his distance from her. But could she trust herself? There had been times when his craving for the slag had driven him to the brink of violence, and her pity for him had been mixed with fear. But that was nothing to the fear she felt now, as she found herself falling in love with this dangerous man whose name she did not even know. How could she risk losing her heart to a man so tortured, dangerous…and perhaps doomed?
She slept later the next morning than she meant to, then woke with a guilty start. She'd been so busy arranging the bath for her fugitive last night, she hadn't thought to feed him. After they'd kissed, she had ordered him away, still unfed.
Bounding out of bed, she dressed quickly then hurried to the kitchen. "Auntie, why didn't you wake me? I hate to lie in so late in the morning."
Auntie Ag placed a bowl of barleymush on the table before her. The soft bland porridge was drizzled with honey. Sorsha's mouth watered, but all she could think about was her hungry fugitive in the barn. He'd fasted far longer than she had.
"You wouldn't sleep if you weren't tired, pet," said Auntie Ag. "You haven't seemed yourself lately. I catch you yawning late in the afternoon and I know half your food goes into the slop bucket, though you try to hide it. You're not ill, are you?"
Sorsha almost choked on a mouthful of barleymush. "Ill? No, Auntie. I reckon it's all the…excitement."
"Excitement? Here?"
"Being someplace different and all. I reckon a bit of fresh air might perk up my appetite. Do you mind if I take my porridge outside to eat it?"
"Go ahead, child."
With a word of thanks to her aunt, Sorsha headed out the door. She'd have to be more careful from now on about sharing her food with the fugitive, so her aunt didn't get more suspicious. At least there would be no questions this morning when she returned with an empty bowl.
Slipping out the kitchen door, she headed for the barn. She only got a few steps then froze. For there in the barnyard stood her uncle, looking pale and fearful as two Hanish soldiers towered over him. One had a vicious-looking hound on a chain. It barked loudly at Sorsha.
One of the soldiers turned to her, bellowing a question in Comtung. "Where are you going with that food, girl?"
Sorsha's knees began to tremble, but she tried not to show weakness. That only made the Han angrier.
She held out the bowl. "For you, my lord. I thought you might be hungry."
The soldier glanced at the barleymush and scowled. "Call that food? Only fit for sucklings!"
"Your pardon, my lord, I will take it away."
"Sorsha?" said her uncle. "Have you seen anybody strange around the farm?" "We search for an escaped outlaw," said the Han who had refused the food.
Sorsha pretended to think for a moment. She willed her voice not to betray her by cracking. "I have seen no strangers."
The Han with the dog headed for the barn. "I will look in here."
Panic seethed within Sorsha as she watched the Han and his hound stalk toward the barn where her fugitive lay hidden. A warning scream rose in her throat, but she had to stifle it for the sake of her family.
"Mind your dog!" she shouted instead, hoping the fugitive would hear and understand her warning. "We have chickens in there."
Not that it mattered if he heard, for there was no other way out of the barn and no way to hide from the hound's relentless sniffing. She dared not stay and watch them take him, or she might betray her part in keeping him hidden. He'd likely fight to the death to keep from being recaptured. Part of her beseeched the Giver that he might get his wish, though another part could not bear the thought of him cut to pieces by a Hanish blade or mauled by the hound.
It took every ounce of will for her to turn and go back into the house, as if she did not care where, or how thoroughly, the Han searched for their quarry. Once the kitchen door closed behind her, however, she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
"What is it, pet?" Auntie Ag rushed toward her. "You're white as snow!"
"Hanish soldiers," Sorsha gasped, hoping her aunt would think it was only that that had alarmed her. "Looking for an outlaw."
"Is that all? You had me worried. I should have told you — the soldiers come by a few times a year, poke about a bit then go away with no real harm done." Auntie Ag's eyes narrowed. "Then again, we've never had a lass around the place before. Perhaps you'd better stay out of sight until they go."
She grabbed the bowl of cold barleymush from Sorsha then shooed her upstairs to do some spinning.
Sorsha dug out her aunt's spindle and a wad of wool, but she could not concentrate on the task. What was going on down in the barn? She waited and waited until it felt as if her nerves were being pulled taut as spun wool and whirled dizzily on the distaff.
Then she heard it — the frenzied barking of the hound. Sorsha's sturdy legs gave way beneath her, and she sank to the floor, whimpering as if the hound were tearing at her flesh. This was partly her fault. She should have made the poor man leave the moment his feet were healed enough to carry him. If she had, he might be many miles away by now, where Hanish patrols were scarcer.
But she hadn't wanted to let him go. She'd enjoyed her secret adventure and the forbidden feelings he'd stirred in her, forgetting this was no adventure to him but a matter of life and death.
A while later Auntie Ag called from the bottom of the stairs, "It's safe to come down now, pet. They've gone."
Her aunt sounded very calm about the whole thing.
Sorsha ventured out to the head of the stairs. "I heard a lot of barking. What happened?"
"One of them thought they saw something off in the woods, so they went to check. I doubt they'll be back."
Relief swamped Sorsha.
Perhaps… Had everything she'd said and done last night driven the fugitive away? Part of her rejoiced if it had, but another part grieved. He was still gone and she would never see him again. For the rest of the day, she went about her chores in a daze of regret and longing.
When her aunt sent her to see if any of the hens had laid after all the commotion, her step lightened for the first time.
"Hello?" she whispered, groping through the hay in the back stall. "Are you still here? The Han have gone — you can come out now."
Something stirred in the hay and for an instant her heart leaped, but it was only a small hill-cat hunting for barn mice. With a sigh, she turned back to collect the eggs. If only she could have seen her fugitive once more for a fonder word of farewell than she had sent him away with last night.
"Who are you trying to fool, you daft lass?" she muttered to herself. "If you saw him one more time, you'd only want to see him a time after that again."
That night she told her aunt and uncle that she should be getting back to Windleford soon. No doubt her father would be disappointed when she returned without a husband to help on the farm, but he'd just have to get used to it. They would have to hire a chore lad, for Sorsha could not bear the thought of lying with another man when her heart belonged to…
She did not even have a name to remember him by.
Late that night, she woke from a light, restless doze, conscious of a warm shadow looming over her.
She gasped and shrank back, only to feel a hand cover her mouth.
"Hush, it's only me. I didn't mean to wake you."
Was she dreaming? Sorsha did not care.
She grabbed his hand and smothered it with kisses, then tugged him close enough that she could throw her arms around his neck and rain more kisses on his face.
"I was so worried for you!" she whispered. "Are you all right? Are you hungry?"
"I was only hungry for one thing — to see you again before I go away. I must leave tonight."
"Take me with you!" Sorsha tightened her grip around his neck. It was madness, but she did not care. Her heart and destiny were entwined with his — she'd never been so certain of anything in her life.
"No!" He reached up to break her hold on him. "I have put you in too much danger already. I vowed I would not bring more upon you. If you came to any harm…it would be worse than anything I suffered in the mines!"
So he did care for her, too — not just as a handy woman to satisfy his hunger. It made no sense that his feelings for her should prevent them from being together.
She clung to him tighter than ever. "Come to Windleford with me! You'll be safe there. You can begin a whole new life and we can be together."
"A new life," he murmured. "Could it be?"
"It could and it will." Sorsha let go of him just long enough to dress and throw her clothes into a bundle.
"What will your kin here think when they wake and find you gone?"
Sorsha pondered the problem for a moment.
"Wait here," she whispered, pushing her bundle of clothes into his hand. "Don't go without me, Promise?"
"I…promise."
Stealing into her cousin's room, Sorsha gave his arm a gentle shake to half wake him.
"Just a moment more, Pa." He rolled away from her.
"It's me, Jath. I'm feeling dreadful homesick and I'm going back to Hoghill now."
"Oh? Want me to come with you?"
"I'll be fine on my own. You go back to sleep, like a good fellow. But tell your folks in the morning where I've gone so they won't fret."
"All right. G'bye, Sorsh."
He was snoring again before she crept back out the door.
To her vast relief, Sorsha found her beloved waiting for her as he'd promised. After gathering a little food for the journey, they harnessed her pony and set off into the night. Two fugitives from the Blood Moon Mountains.
For the next few days Sorsha and her fugitive journeyed in stealth, making their way eastward by night, then finding some hidden spot to sleep. When they woke after midday, they would eat and talk quietly together, waiting for the friendly cover of night to fall before moving on.
Sorsha did most of the talking — about Windleford and Hoghill and the new life they would make together there. The peril and worry of the past weeks had taught her to cherish the placid peace of her old life on the farm. Now she yearned to share it with the man she loved. A man who had known so little of either.
When at last she glimpsed the familiar buildings of Hoghill, she nearly wept with relief.
"Sorsha!" Her father ran from the barn and caught her in his stout arms. "It's good to have you back, lass. I've missed you!"
She returned his hearty embrace. "Me, too, Da!"
Her father turned to stare at her traveling companion with an expectant grin. "And who's this young man you've brought with you?"
Sorsha beckoned him forward, introducing him by the name they'd agreed on. "Da, this is Newlyn. I met him on my visit to Auntie Ag's and we wed there. He's looking forward to making his home with us at Hoghill if that suits you."
Her father beamed. "I hoped you'd fetch home a husband. If this one suits you, he'll suit me just fine. Welcome to Hoghill, Newlyn! What's your kin name, son?"
Before Sorsha could fumble a reply, Newlyn spoke. "Where I come from…we only go by one name. I'd be honored to take yours if that's all right."
"Well, now. I reckon it is." Sorsha's father looked even better pleased, if that was possible. "Newlyn Swinley has a nice sound. And it'll mean Hoghill can still rightly be called the Swinley Place."
That evening as she prepared supper, Sorsha hummed a merry little tune to herself. She looked forward to feeding Newlyn proper hot meals and sharing them with him. She would sew him some new clothes and teach him how to do farm chores. All the familiar activities that had once felt like drudgery now took on new value and purpose for her.
At supper, Newlyn seemed anxious and awkward with the simple luxury of eating at a table. Every noise made him startle, as if he expected Hanish soldiers to batter down the door and arrest him at any moment. Luckily Sorsha's father was too pleased with the way his plans had worked out to notice anything amiss.
"I hope you won't think me too forward —" he leaned back in his chair after he'd finished eating "— but I had your Mam's and my big bed moved into your room, Sorsha. It's more than I need now."
His words brought a hot blush to Sorsha's cheeks. Though she had slept in Newlyn's arms the past few days, he'd never again tried to kiss or touch her as he had the night of his bath.
To cover her embarrassment, she jumped up and began to clean the dishes. "That was kind of you, Da."
"I reckon I might head over to Langbard's for a spell." Her father rose from the table and grabbed his cap. "Tell him and Maura our good news. Maybe have a pint or two with the old fellow. Don't wait up for me."
With that, he was off.
"Don't mind Da." Sorsha shook her head. "He's about as subtle as a hungry boar."
She sat down next to Newlyn and took his hand. "So, what do you think of the place? Do you reckon you'd like to stay?"
"It's a paradise, Sorsha. But I'm not sure I'm fit for this. Maybe it would be better if I move on."
The thought chilled her. "Move on where and do what? Join some band of outlaws? Live like a wild beast? Risk the Han catching you again?"
The haunted look in his eyes told her he did not want that.
She must use every means of persuasion to make him stay. "I hope you didn't mind my telling Da we were married?"
"No!" One of his hands easily enfolded both of hers. He raised the other to cup her cheek. "I wish it was true."
Sorsha leaned into his caress. "It can be." She recited the words from the ritual of joining. "I offer myself to you — all that I have and all that I am. I promise to sustain you, heal you, support and cherish you as long as I live."
When he did not make the ritual reply, she prompted him, "Do you accept me as your lifemate with a joyous and thankful heart?"
Newlyn scarcely needed to answer. Joy and thankfulness glowed in his dark eyes. "Aye," he whispered. "I do."
He repeated after her the bridegroom's offer, which she accepted without an instant's hesitation.
"There's generally a bit more to it than that," said Sorsha. "But that's the important part, I reckon."
"What now?" Newlyn asked.
"Now…" Sorsha clung to his hand as she rose from the table. "We go to bed. Are you still hungry?"
Newlyn got to his feet and followed her out of the kitchen. "I ate my fill at supper."
She led him into her bedchamber…their bedchamber, pushing the door closed behind them. "I didn't mean that kind of hunger."
Twining her arms around his neck, she offered him her lips and any other part of her he would have. Again she asked, "The night of your bath you said you were hungry. Are you still?"
A light of understanding glimmered in his eyes, followed immediately by a hot flare of wanting. He gathered her close and answered in a hoarse whisper, "Starved."
Then his lips closed over hers, sweetly ravenous. His hands fumbled over her, awkward in their eagerness, but still gentle, as if he held his raw passion on a tight rein. Desire swelled within Sorsha, dark and delicious, making her impatient to embark on a different kind of adventure.
Newlyn hoisted her into his arms and carried her the few steps to the bed, easing her down upon it, and hovering over her. It felt so right to begin this new stage of her life in the bed where she'd been born.
Between kisses, caresses and whispered endearments, they shed their clothes and began to explore each other in the warm twilight with innocent, wanton curiosity. It did not take them long to discover many ways to bring each other pleasure.
Each time she glimpsed some mark of violence upon his body, the sight brought a pang to Sorsha's heart. She remembered his despairing claim that he had more hurts than she could heal in a lifetime. If it took a lifetime of tenderness and patience, she vowed she would heal every wound of his battered spirit.
His touch carried her to a peak of moist, quivering desire then launched her to the rising moon on powerful wings of rapture. She clamped her lips to imprison a cry of pain when he claimed her with a restrained thrust. She feared he might stop if he knew it hurt her, and she did not want him to stop until she had brought him the kind of ecstasy he had brought her. When he thrashed and gasped her name in the potent grip of his release, she felt a warm echo of his pleasure.
"It will be well, Newlyn, you'll see," Sorsha murmured as he cradled her in his arms. "I'll never let anyone hurt you again."
A faint chill pierced her heart as she spoke those reassuring words. In such dark, dangerous times, did she dare make him such an impossible promise?
"Sorsha, I'm so glad you're home safe!" Maura Woodbury gathered her friend in a warm embrace. The two women had never been apart so long in their lives. "I worried all the while you were gone. The very name Blood Moon Mountains gives me a fright."
"Auntie Ag's place is just in the foothills." Sorsha drew her friend into the shade of the porch where she was sewing a shirt for Newlyn. "It's not so different from here. Hanish soldiers did search the place one day before I left. Apart from that, it was quiet."
"Not too quiet, I hear." Maura gave a teasing smile as she settled into a chair. "To think you're a married woman now. I never imagined you'd meet anyone up in the mountains to take your fancy. He must be quite a fellow, this new husband of yours."
"He's a fine man, Maura." The power of her newfound love overwhelmed her for a moment, making her throat clench and her eyes mist. Her feelings for Newlyn made her ache even more to think of all he'd suffered. "If you only knew…"
"Only knew what?"
Sorsha caught herself. Only once before had she kept a secret from her dearest friend. Then it had been to protect Maura. Now she must protect Newlyn, even if it meant being less than truthful. "Only knew…what a…fine man he is. And you will as time goes by. I know it."
"I hope so." Maura leaned toward Sorsha, resting a hand on her arm. "For your sake." Her voice carried a note of doubt.
Sorsha told herself it was just Maura's way. With Langbard always fretting over her safety, no wonder she imagined a threat behind every tree.
Until now, Sorsha had been impatient with the old wizard's overprotectiveness. With a loved one of her own at risk, she could sympathize with him. But Maura was not in the kind of danger Newlyn would be if discovered…was she?
The three men joined Sorsha and Maura on the porch.
"A blessing on your new union, child," said Langbard.
Sorsha sensed an unusual wariness about him. Until today, she had never seen him worried about anything except Maura's safety. Surely he did not think Newlyn posed a threat to that?
Newlyn greeted Maura with a little bow. "So you're the lady who makes the good salve."
"Yes," said Maura, "how did you know?"
A look of alarm tensed Newlyn's rugged features as he searched for a reply.
"Why, I told him all about you, of course!" cried Sorsha with forced cheer. "And Langbard, too. Shall I fetch everyone a cup of cider?"
When they accepted the offer of refreshment, she headed for the kitchen, beckoning Newlyn. "Will you lend me a hand, love? I'll never be able to carry five cups at once."
While Sorsha poured the cider, Newlyn whispered in her ear, "That wizard knows something's not right with me. He asked all sorts of questions about my kin and my village. I didn't know what to say."
"Don't fret." Sorsha handed him two of the cups. "Once they see you don't mean any harm and how happy you make me, they'll accept you."
"I hope so." Newlyn sounded every bit as doubtful as Maura had.
The weeks that followed were the happiest Sorsha had ever known. Newlyn's pale skin gained a healthy tan and his old scars began to fade. Though he would never be stout, he quickly put on enough lean, muscular flesh to satisfy his bride.
Sorsha's father had never been in a better humor in the five years since her mother's death. It was more than just the relief of having a willing young helper around the farm and the satisfaction of knowing Hoghill would one day pass to another generation of Swinleys. He seemed pleased with the change in Sorsha, too —the new contentment she had found with the placid, peaceful life of the farm.
Newlyn showed a rare gift for working with animals.
"I've never seen the like," mused Sorsha's father. "You'd almost reckon he can tell what they're thinking."
"I know how it is to be treated like a beast," was all Newlyn would say when Sorsha repeated her father's praise.
Under his patient handling, the donkeys and oxen became more tractable — the cows and ewes gave more milk than they had in years.
And when each peaceful, healing day came to a close, the newlyweds snuggled in their bed, sometimes taking passionate pleasure in one another, other nights just lying close and talking until they fell asleep. When they woke the next morning, Sorsha would see a little less of the haunted look in Newlyn's eyes and she would rejoice.
One late summer day, Sorsha returned home from a visit with Maura. Her heart clenched in her chest when she spotted a strange horse tethered by the water troth. Treading quietly, she approached the house, alert to the sound of voices from the kitchen.
She could make out her father's —grave and anxious. "I don't understand it. She brought him home and introduced him as her husband. Said she'd met and wed him on her visit with you."
"I should have come sooner." The voice belonged to her cousin Jath — curse him! "But we were so busy haying. Mam near had my head for letting Sorsha go off alone."
Visits between their family and Auntie Ag's were so infrequent, as a rule, Sorsha had not worried how she would explain her lie about getting married.
"But she didn't come alone," said Sorsha's father. "Are you certain you don't know any lads called Newlyn?"
Newlyn? Sorsha looked about with mounting alarm. Where was he? She must find him.
Stealing away, she searched Hoghill, but found no trace of her husband. He must have fled when he'd heard Jath's voice, which he'd have recognized from his days hiding in their barn.
That thought kindled a tiny spark of hope in Sorsha. She crept to the barn door and listened. After a few moments she heard a familiar rustle from inside.
"Newlyn," she called in a whisper. "It's me. I know you're here. Come out and talk to me or I'll come in after you."
Following a tense, breathless moment, Newlyn emerged from the hay. "I was just waiting till dark to go."
"Without me?" Sorsha's voice broke.
"And take you away from this?" The despairing sweep of Newlyn's arm took in all of Hoghill Farm and told her he had come to love it in a way she'd only begun to. "I couldn't live with myself, love. Being an outlaw and a fugitive isn't much of a life for a man, but it's none at all for a woman."
"I don't care!" Sorsha threw herself at him. "It's no life here for me without you! I won't let you leave me again!"
They had wrestled once before in the hay, and she had managed to restrain him. Now she was no match for him…at least, not physically.
"I'll tie you up until I get away if you force me to!" threatened Newlyn. "I promised I'd never put you in danger. Now I have and I can't bear that."
She could tell the arms that pinned her with such grim force ached to embrace her instead.
"Don't go!" She had only her love to hold him now, but it was strong. "Trust me —let me try to find a way for you to stay. I think I know how."
"I'll give you until moonrise, Sorsha." He pressed his lips to her brow. "After that, I must go and I will not take you with me." He had never sounded so fiercely resolved.
And never had she feared him more.
Never in her life had Sorsha dreaded moonrise as she did this night. If she could not find some way for Newlyn to stay at Hoghill Farm, she would lose him forever.
Already she had wasted precious time telling her father and cousin the truth and pleading for their help.
"An escaped miner?" her father cried as her cousin shook his head in disbelief. "Newlyn's a good lad, but it's just too dangerous to have him living here with the garrison so nearby. If the Han ever found him out, we'd lose the farm. I'd end up in the mines, and I hate to think what might become of you. I know you love him, lass, but he cannot stay."
"If he cannot stay, then neither can I!" Even as she ran from the farmhouse, Sorsha knew her father's fears were not groundless.
But the Han had never taken any notice of Hoghill. If a wizard could live quietly on the edge of Windleford without drawing their notice, then perhaps an escaped miner could, too.
A wizard! That was it! Sorsha ran all the way from Hoghill to Langbard's cottage.
"Sorsha, what's wrong?" Maura looked more alarmed than usual when she answered her friend's urgent knocking. "Your husband…?"
"How did you know?"
"Any fool could see there was something not right." Maura drew her inside to a chair by the hearth. "But you were so blinded by love. Now tell me what's happened? He hasn't harmed you, has he?" She called for Langbard, who came running.
"He'd never harm me. It isn't that." She had urged Newlyn to trust her. Now she must trust her friends — the only ones who might have the power to help her.
Mindful of the rapidly sinking sun, she gasped out the whole story. "Please, Langbard. You're a powerful wizard. Can you help us? Newlyn is a good man. He deserves a chance at a decent life and I cannot bear to lose him!"
Langbard beckoned to Maura. After they exchanged hushed whispers, she hurried away to the room at the back of the cottage where she prepared her medicines and magical agents.
Langbard knelt beside Sorsha. "I wish you had told us this sooner, my dear. I'll admit it worries me to have a man like Newlyn living so nearby. He could bring danger to Maura and me. But you have been a true and loyal friend to Maura all these years. For the sake of that friendship, I will do what I can."
A short while later, Langbard and the two women raced back to Hoghill with a special draft Maura had brewed.
"So you've heard about our troubles, Langbard?" Sorsha's father looked more grieved than angry.
"When I think he was hiding in our barn all that time," muttered Jath. "If those Han had found him…" His ruddy face went pale.
"Drink this up." Langbard poured the two men cups of Maura's brew. "It will steady your nerves."
As Maura's father and cousin guzzled the draft, Langbard began to talk about all manner of commonplace things — the weather, the crops, Jath's journey to Windleford.
"Well, it's been pleasant visiting with you," he said at last. "But Maura and I must be getting home to supper."
"Good to see you, Langbard." Sorsha's father looked as though he hadn't a care in the world. Neither did her cousin. "Come visit anytime."
Sorsha saw their "guests" out to the farmyard. "What was that all about?"
"A strong draft of muddlewort and some other ingredients," said Langbard. "Neither of them will have any memory of what's happened today. And they'll be primed to believe whatever you tell them. So think up a good story that will satisfy them both, and stick to it. You have my word, Maura and I will never betray your confidence."
It was a wonder Sorsha did not strangle them in her frenzy of relief and gratitude. "Stay just a moment more," she entreated them. "I know Newlyn will want to thank you, too."
She flew to the barn.
"Newlyn!" she called. "It's all right. Langbard has made it all right. You can come out now and you can stay!"
For a moment, nothing moved. Dread kicked her in the belly. Then Newlyn emerged, covered in hay, and took her in his arms. "Are you certain?"
She explained what Langbard had done. "Come see for yourself. And come thank my friends."
"There is still some of the draft left," said Langbard when he had been thanked twenty times over. "You may have it if you wish, Newlyn. It would ease the worst of your memories about the mines."
Newlyn gazed at the flask in Maura's hand for a long moment, as if he had never thirsted for any drink worse in his life. Then he shook his head. "I thank you, but I don't want to forget the mines. Hard as it is to bear the memories by times, they make me treasure what I have now all the more."
Langbard gave a nod of grave approval. "I see Sorsha has made a wise choice after all. Which leaves only one thing left to do."
To their baffled looks he replied, "Get the two of you properly married, of course. There is a little glade not too deep in Betchwood that I have used before when couples have asked to wed according to the Elderways."
"How soon can we do it?" asked Sorsha.
"Dawn is the time for weddings," replied Langbard. "If you call for Maura and me tomorrow morning before sunrise, you will be able to eat breakfast as lifemates in the eyes of the Giver."
So it was that the rising sun found all of them together in the woodland glade, Sorsha with the traditional wreath of flowers in her hair, and Newlyn with a wreath of leaves in his. Once again they offered themselves to one another and were accepted with joyous, thankful hearts. This time Langbard and Maura were there to entreat the Giver's blessing on their union.
At the end of the ritual, it was customary for the bride to toss her wedding wreath into the air, where it would break apart and any unwed girls in attendance would scramble for the blossoms — tokens that they would one day find true love.
Instead, Sorsha carefully lifted the bridal wreath off her head and set it on Maura's, bestowing a kiss on her friend's cheek. "I hope some day the Giver will bless you with as fine a husband as I have found."
Maura blushed and thanked Sorsha for her good wishes. But Langbard paled and looked worried. Or perhaps she just fancied it.
"One day," he murmured, gazing around the glade, "I hope folks who wish to wed according to the Elderways will not have to do it in secret."
Little chance of that, thought Sorsha, unless the Waiting King should return to deliver his people from their conquerors, as the old legends claimed he would. Until that day, if it ever came, she would make her home a haven of light and peace in these dark, troubled times.
"A secret ceremony suits me well enough." Newlyn wrapped his arms around his bride as if he never meant to let her go. "So much about Sorsha and me has been a secret."
"Everything but how much I love you." Sorsha returned his embrace with a sigh of sweet fulfillment. "And how happy we will be together."
The End