Chapter 5 #2
She made it a half mile, head down, walking fast, muttering to herself like a crazy person, and then she heard the wolves.
That stopped her in her tracks. It was too early for the wolves to come.
They only arrived in the dead of winter when the animals in the mountains were scarce.
Even then, there would only be one at a time, scrawny and sick, a desperate thing looking for food.
These animals didn’t sound desperate. A hunting call lifted into the still air, echoing across the valley.
The call was answered a heartbeat later by something deeper in the woods.
They were still far off. Miles and miles away.
It was unlikely they’d come here to what was still the edge of the forest. They usually avoided people.
She wrapped her arms around her and looked around. At the dimming light. At the empty woods. She’d left her bag behind. Her waterskin. She’d left everything behind when she’d run away. Because that’s what she was doing—running away like a frightened child.
Her mother wouldn’t have run.
Closing her eyes, she tipped back her head and resisted the urge to scream.
If she left him there, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. Her mother might be blind, but she would still see right through her. She would know that something had happened today, and she’d badger her and badger her with sympathy and kindness until Rowan finally told her the truth.
And then she would know that the people of Jarn had been right all along. That Rowan was a wild, spiteful thing, half feral and strange. That there was a darkness in the Yahl home.
That they’d branded the wrong witch that day.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Dragging in a breath of the quickly cooling air, she turned on her heel and walked back to the river.
The horse was still there, ears perked and starting to look skittish.
The horse had heard the wolves. It must be impeccably trained to be so disciplined, still standing here watching over its master.
She supposed any horse you intended to ride against a witch would need to be special like that.
The man was still alive. Trying not to think about what she was doing, she dropped to her knees and quickly dressed the wound as her mother had trained her.
The cut along his ribs would need to be sewn closed, but she didn’t have the tools to do it here.
It looked like blade marks but there was more than one, running in parallel lines across his chest, almost like… claws?
Later.
She’d study them later, once she got him back to the house.
She bound him up as tightly as she was able, refusing to look at his face, ignoring his cries of pain and the half coherent words that spilled out of his mouth.
His men…the witch…the woods.
He kept trying to grab at her hands to get her attention, but there was no time to waste. They had to get out of here.
When she was done, she shoved everything back into her pack and stood to face the horse.
She didn’t know anything about horses. She’d never been rich enough to afford one.
She studied the thing for several moments before walking over to where it stood.
She moved slowly so as not to startle it, but the horse only looked at her with a steady eye, shifting its feet a little when she laid her palm on the side of its neck.
When she took its reins, it followed her docilely enough to its master.
The stupid man was trying to reach for his sword.
“I’m not stealing your horse,” she snapped. Squatting down, she wrapped an arm under his shoulders and attempted to take some of his weight. “Come on. I’ll need your help to get you on this thing.”
He was a head taller than she was, heavy with muscle, almost dead weight. The thought chilled her blood. He might not survive this.
And then what?
Would his men come looking for him? Hear about the witch who’d dragged his bloody body out of the dark woods?
It would be funny if saving him was what got her killed.
With a grunt, she hauled him to his feet. He was still trying to twist around.
“I need the sword,” he gasped out. “It’s blessed. It will protect us.”
She snorted. Fat lot of good it had done him. “I’ll get your sword as soon as you get on the horse. Can you sit in the saddle?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t know if she believed him, but he did manage to get a foot in the stirrup and with her hands on his ass and a lot of shoving and cursing, together they got him up there.
He hunched forward, practically falling across the horse’s neck.
She passed him the reins while she turned to grab the sword.
When she turned back to the witch hunter, he was sitting more or less upright and watching her with those piercing blue eyes she remembered so well. His lips were bloodless but he only swayed in the saddle a bit.
“Do I know you?” he asked harshly.
She barked out a laugh and handed him his sword. “We need to get out of here.”
He looked past her into the woods. “My men—”
“They’re gone. I don’t know where they went, but there’s no one else out here. If I don’t get you stitched up soon, you’re not going to make it.”
He scowled at her like this situation was somehow her fault.
His hand flexed on the hilt of his sword and for a moment she wondered if it had been a mistake to give it to him.
But he only sheathed the thing and then held out his hand.
“Take my arm and climb up behind me. Kenzi will carry us both. You can steady me if I pass out again.”
She hesitated, not wanting to climb on the big animal. Not wanting to be so close to him. Her desire to get out of the woods as quickly as possible won out.
She didn’t take his hand. He’d probably just fall out of the saddle and hurt himself worse if he tried to pull her up now.
Instead, she climbed onto the fallen log and hauled herself up behind him while he kept his horse steady with soothing words.
She was perched awkwardly behind him, sitting half on the bedroll.
The height made her a little dizzy, but she gritted her teeth and wrapped her arms around him, careful to avoid his injury as much as possible.
He grunted and turned his head. “Which way?”
She hated the determined set of his jaw. The way his blond hair caught the light. She hated that even after all these years, even covered with mud and blood, he still looked like some kind of hero. And that was a filthy lie. There was nothing heroic about him.
“Back up the bank and to the left,” she said. “Straight out to the edge of the woods.”
He urged his horse up the embankment. When he swayed, she tightened her hold on him, but he steadied and turned the horse in the direction she pointed.
A fast walk was all he seemed able to manage, but it still got them away from the sound of the wolves faster than their legs would have carried them.
Certainly, faster than she would have been able to carry him.
She couldn’t help but feel as the sun began to drop and the sky darkened, that they weren’t alone in that breathless woods. The hair lifted on the back of her neck and she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. Something waited back there, malevolent and aware.
Something that watched their every step as they painstakingly made their way home.