Blade Heart Page 3

  This time a brief shriek and a sickly gurgling mingled. He hadn’t missed his targets. She had the feeling he never missed.

  Leaves crunched and two men erupted from the woods, not ten feet away. Long blades in hand they rushed at them. He picked up a sword just in time to meet the first assault. Metal rang.

  Although he couldn’t possibly fight two opponents at the same time, he did. Shifting, springing, swerving, he faced death without a second thought. Cara knew she should run for cover, but the amazing sight of the stranger fencing rooted her to the spot. Her heart in rhythm with each clang of blades, her pulse simmering from the graceful beauty of his motions, her muscles strained with fear and wonder, she felt alive.

  She watched him battle. He parried, he warded off brutal blows, he attacked. Although fast and strong, his enemies lacked a trait he possessed. Something Cara had perceived since the day before without being able to put a name on it. Now faced with the reality of it, she recognised the queer perception.

  He didn’t care whether he lived or died. He wasn’t fighting for his life but for something to give meaning to his existence. Small wonder people called him Dead. Though what had happened to render him so disconnected?

  One of the assailants suddenly attacked from the side and the other one lunged. The stranger leapt back, but the top of his chest turned red, a long slash oozing blood across his open-necked shirt.

  Cara drew in a loud breath. Despite looking like a god, he was a man tiring from the vicious strikes he had to fend off. Still he didn’t lose ground. Not yet. But as if her gasp reminded him of her presence, he yelled at her.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Chapter Five

  Cara scrambled to her feet. Heeding his warning shout, she dashed towards the forest. She ran straight ahead, oblivious to the thump of her boots crackling dead leaves. Legs pumping, mouth open, she winced as a bitter taste rose up her throat. She swallowed it, not sure if she feared for her life or his.

  When her lungs began to cry out for please-let’s-not-do-anymore-of-this, she slowed down. Veering left towards the largest tree, she then flattened herself on the concealed side of the trunk. A rivulet of sweat seeped down between her breasts. Her calves trembled and her pulse played a flight of poetry against her temples. She didn’t need his cloak now.

  She pricked up her ears to listen to the loud pursuit with growing alarm until she realised it was the hammering of her heart. Head, back, legs and hands flat against the tree, she took deep breaths and willed herself to calm down. At this point she could only rely on herself. Although time passed she kept her ears open and stayed on guard.

  How long had she been gone from New York? Hard to tell given that her nap in the meadow might have lasted minutes or hours. Providing she had a family and friends, surely they must be looking for her by now. Maybe even the police if a missing person report had been filed. So where were they? How come they hadn’t found her yet? Unless she had no one in the world to care for her and she lived alone in the huge city.

  She uttered a sharp cry when an iron hand grabbed her arm and propelled her away from the safety of the tree. Flung aside, Cara stumbled, certain she was in for a bad fall. But the fist manhandling her also kept her upright. So she raised a confused face to find him glowering—really glowering.

  Though she was relieved to see him alive, her joy was dampened at his evident anger. His presence here meant he had dealt with his opponents. Instead of being satisfied or at least proud of his victory, he was towering over her like a discontented giant.

  Below his knitted brow, the furious light in his eyes appeared directed at her. What had she done now?

  “Why are you looking at me like this? I hid.”

  “Oh, because this is what you call a good hiding place. A blindfolded idiot would have found you here.”

  Back to the sarcastic tone and biting remarks. Okay, she might not have shown excellent judgement in choosing concealment, but he should figure that she had been scared and pretty tired. Couldn’t he understand that? After all, she had carried out his order.

  “Well, you told me to run.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Did so. You yelled at me to…”

  “I clearly asked what you were waiting for. Damn it, all you had to do was pick up a sword.”

  What on earth would she do with a sword? Fight experienced assassins? The man must be delirious if he thought her capable of such a feat. But as Cara acknowledged the rigidity of his stance and the seriousness of his stare she opened her eyes wide.

  “You wanted me to fight?”

  He looked at her with a mix of surprise, suspicion and disbelief. He let go of her arm while tightening his other fist around the sword. He hurled it down.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  The tone of his voice paralysed her. He kicked a large stone, uttered a half-mumbled word that bore a likeness to ‘Fuck’, and turned his back on her. Open-mouthed, she watched him go to the nearest tree. He flattened his hands on the mossy trunk and bent his head down between his arms. His back rose and fell with the continuous flow of long, deep breaths. Against all odds, he had assumed she would fight.

  His strange behaviour confounded her even more than the loss of her memory. What sane trained warrior expected a woman to ride her hobby-horse and dive straight into the heart of the battle? Come on!

  In spite of her common sense Cara didn’t know which way to turn. Even if she hadn’t meant to create such a bizarre situation, she had no care for feeling guilty or for him to brood over inexplicable matters. On the other hand, her actions had triggered an emotion in him—a real one.

  “Are they dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Bounty hunters.”

  Again! Did they hold secret treasure meetings in these parts? Did they organise scavenger hunts for bored and thirsty-for-extreme-sensations people? With maps and highlighted itineraries?

  “What were they looking for?”

  “Me.”

  “Oh, yeah, ’cause you’re a bounty all right.”

  Expressing derision hadn’t been her intention. Not right now. Not when his state of nerves indicated certain resentment towards her. Yet the words had come out of their own volition and she winced.

  But when he faced her again the angry glow in his eyes had vanished. He picked up the discarded sword and started back the way he had come. Nothing to do but follow him. As it happened she hadn’t run that far. Within a short while they were back at the brook, both of their assailants sprawled on the ground near patches of vegetation tinted with red puddles.

  He disappeared behind man-size bushes while she lifted his cloak and the unused sword off the grassy soil. He emerged with a dagger in his hand, drops of blood running down the grey metal and hitting dead leaves.

  As he crossed to the other side of the small stream to retrieve his second weapon from the other dead body, Cara wondered why she didn’t feel horrified at such a bloody sight. Instead she watched him wipe the blades with plants and come back to her. She gestured to the closest cadavers.

  “Are we going to leave them out here?”

  “No, I’ve just arranged for a service.”

  Maybe in another life he could’ve been a funny man. Not in this one. Especially when he took the sword from her like she might chop her own head off by accident. Left with the cloak she draped it over her shoulders.

  “May I enquire about our destination?”

  “You may.”

  And he strode away. If she thought to outflank his ironic flashes of wit she’d have to try again later.

  They walked through the Blue Forest for hours—in silence. By the end of the afternoon Cara was dreaming of juicy chicken wings, roasted potatoes, steamed tasty green beans, hot water pelting down her naked body and fluffy pillows on a comfortable bed. She exhaled a long sigh when he finally slowed down in front of the only structure around.

  Built with
dark round logs, displaying small square windows framed with a lighter sort of wood, covered by a long slanted roof, the low construction stood in the centre of a charming clearing. A house? A large cabin in the woods? Whatever, as long as it meant much-desired amenities.

  Along the front wall, a porch supported various plants ranging from bright pinks to glittering blues and dazzling whites. Huge trees shadowed the cabin all around, bringing daytime to a close.

  They climbed a few planks up to the front porch and he knocked. His tall body blocking the view, she waited behind him. He must have heard an invitation because he opened the door, stepped inside but made no move to free the passage. Still unable to see anything, she heard a lilting feminine voice.

  “Dead! I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  In Cara’s mind the stranger’s name had a ridiculous ring and it sounded even worse when other people called him Dead. He should really do something about that. Maybe try changing his reputation? While she wondered how such a complex alteration might be accomplished, he addressed the invisible person.

  “I found it.”

  “Good. Where is it?”

  He stepped aside. Extending his right arm, he placed a hand on Cara’s shoulder and drew her inside.

  “Here.”

  Chapter Six

  Oh, God. Now she had become ‘it’.

  Sitting across a table, an old woman regarded her with the utmost interest. Silky white hair crowning her head, blue eyes the shade of stormy oceans in winter, tiny wrinkles unable to conceal a once beautiful face, she beckoned her to come forward. Cara approached the table with timid steps. Should she shake hands? Probably not.

  “Hi, I’m Cara.”

  “I know.”

  Okay, this was getting creepy. Unless she had reached stardom around here, how come everybody seemed to know her when she herself didn’t? As if Cara’s hesitancy spurred him on, the stranger closed the door and walked up to her. Fingers gentle, he unlaced the string around her neck. The shiny piece she had noticed when waking up in the meadow glowed in the candlelight.

  He handed it to the old woman. She examined the object, using a round-shaped chunk of glass. Once she had turned it around a few times, held the surface closer to the flame, smelt one end then the other and grated the corners with her nails, she gave it back to him.

  “No good, Dead. This is worthless quartz.”

  Fist clenched around the shiny piece, he shook his head. He clucked his tongue and shook his head some more. Then he strode out of the house, heels stamping the floorboards. The door slammed behind him.

  Cara witnessed his departure, eyebrows raised. She winced when the door banged. So the quartz hadn’t proven to be a priceless treasure and he had stormed out. Sure, why not? Maybe she could tell him the shirt she was wearing had belonged to a legendary emperor. That might cheer him up.

  Beside her, the woman heaved a long sigh. She got up to put the round chunk of glass in a drawer and turned to Cara.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll be back.”

  “Do you know that man isn’t right in the head?”

  New wrinkles creased her cheeks as she smiled. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure he’s gone to the waterfall to get cleaned up.”

  “There’s a waterfall?”

  She nodded, her grin widening at Cara’s delighted expression. With gentleness she raised lined fingers to seize her hand.

  “Please, call me Heather. I’m happy to meet you. My house is yours, so make yourself comfortable while I cook you dinner. What do you say?”

  Food? Yes, yes, yes. Comfort? She’d take that too, although a most pressing wish demanded to be fulfilled.

  “Would you mind directing me to the waterfall when he’s done over there? We’ve been walking forever and I need a good scrub.”

  “I have something much better for you.”

  Drawing her to one corner of the room, Heather pulled back a large curtain to display a tub-bucket sitting on the floor.

  “Believe me, this will be much more pleasant than the waterfall.”

  She was right. As Cara soaked in wonderful hot water moments later, she moaned with contentment. She had to dangle her legs over the edge in order to put her head under water, but who cared? She felt clean, energised and ready to tackle the stranger’s next peculiar reaction.

  Heather also provided her with a new set of clothes, very similar to her own but dark green. As she handed them over, her eyelids drooped.

  “They belonged to my daughter. She died years ago and it’s a pity to waste good material. I’d like you to wear them.”

  “I’m very grateful, Heather, but are you sure about this?”

  “I’m certain. Here, try them on.”

  Her daughter must have been the same size because they fit perfectly. The leather pants tight around her curves yet supple enough to allow movement, the shirt soft and warm revealed the top of her cleavage. She loved them.

  Space had been attributed to the kitchen to the left side of the front door. Bent over her pots and pans, the old woman cooked on a curious stove that looked older than time. Divine smells made Cara’s mouth water even before she exited the washing corner.

  “Can I help you in any way?”

  “No, thank you. Dinner will be ready soon and Dead shouldn’t be long now.”

  She went back to her task. With nothing to do, Cara decided to take a look around. Outside the cabin long shadows lengthened the overhanging branches. As evening fell over the forest an eerie quietness settled in. Inhaling the strong fragrance coming off trees, listening to the musical breeze blowing through leaves, Cara jumped when he suddenly materialised at the bottom of the porch.

  His gaze travelled along her new outfit. One foot off the ground, he had been about to climb the steps, but he paused at the sight of her. She felt like drooling at the sight of him.

  He hadn’t put his shirt back on and a fierce need to touch his broad shoulders, to lick his flat stomach, overcame her. Most of all she wanted to run her hands through the mass of wet hair hanging around his face. Instead she focused on the long slash cutting his skin.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “Just a scratch. It’s already closed.”

  He reached the top of the steps. As if immobilised inside an invisible bubble, Cara watched him come to her. His naked chest seemed to claim her whole field of vision as he approached slowly. Then her heart lurched hard when he took her in his arms.

  A streak of moistness rushed between her thighs even before he embraced her. Only now did she fully grasp how much she wanted him, how much she longed for the taste of his mouth, for his body covering hers, for his cock digging into her.

  Except that he still wasn’t holding her. With his arms around her neck, he fiddled with something. She sensed his hand lifting her hair, his fingers grazing the sensitive flesh there, and a warm weight snuggled between her breasts. He straightened up. His eyes flickered over her cleavage.

  “This belongs to you.”

  Cara folded her hand over the quartz. Her inner turmoil preventing her from uttering a sound, she looked down. In the near darkness her boots merged with the porch boards and almost touched his. She wished they would stay near hers. And when he moved away to enter Heather’s cabin, she brought a hand to her belly.

  The moment she had just lived scared the hell out of her. Cara hadn’t known she had it in her to feel such a yearning for a man. Had she possessed this capacity before she lost her memory or did he create it? As she stayed alone in the dark, all her instincts urged her to turn tail and flee the heartless stranger. Because he attracted her beyond reason. Because she might lose herself in him.

  She untied the quartz. The ornament caught a glimpse of moonlight, a golden reflection of her sombre consternation. Somehow the shiny stone had become the symbol of her lost past and its sight turned her cold. She pocketed it but stayed outside for a while, breathing freedom, shutting away her fears.

  When Cara went back into the house, a big iron
pot stood in the middle of the table. Heather motioned her to take a seat before she served them potatoes and meat stew. Fresh shirt on, hair tied up, he came out of a back room and sat across from them. Unlike the previous night, he appeared to appreciate the offered food and even commented on its delicious taste.

  After dinner he carried thick logs from a shed by the cabin to build a fire. Heather settled beside Cara on the couch. Only the television set was missing. Legs extended, Cara enjoyed the warmth wafting from the fireplace. As though the soporific flames had an entrancing effect, she yawned. Heather gestured.

  “Dead, show her to your room. She’s exhausted.”

  One foot perched on a low stool by the fireplace, he dropped a rag and sheathed the silver daggers he had been cleaning. Cara followed him to the back room. When he lit the big candle on the nightstand, the first thing she saw was the bed—only one. Impulses wide awake, she blurted out.

  “Don’t you even think about it! I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

  A glint of amusement crossed his eyes, and died down. He rounded the bed. Muttering a vague ‘Goodnight’ as he departed the room, he closed the door behind him. She would spend the night alone. If she had expected relief, she had been wrong. A sudden void depleted her spirits and she had to sit down.

  Across the bed, the door of an ancient wardrobe had been left ajar. She spotted masculine clothes inside. Come to think of it, the stranger moved about as if he belonged to this place. His house? Was Heather his mother? No doubt she acted like one, but how could any mother nickname her own son Dead?

  A new mystery Cara had no intention of solving at this late hour. She’d rather sleep on it and ask Heather in the morning. She got undressed, smoothed the beautiful outfit before laying it on the seat of a chair and hurried to bed as a chilly draught from the window puckered her naked skin.

  Heather must have changed the linens while Cara had lingered in the hot tub-bucket because the fresh smell of pine tickled her nose. With a last yawn, she drifted off to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.