Exile for Dreamers (3 page)

Something hard cracked against my skull. A roar exploded in my ears.

This was no dream. No vision. No nightmare from which I would suddenly awaken. This time, the bursts of light spinning in my head were real. And the devouring blackness would not wait.

 

Two

ALIVE

I awoke from that dark oblivion to the unbearable certainty that I'd failed.

There was little doubt that by now the men on horseback would have run Georgie down and captured her. And Lord Ravencross—

I swallowed against the dread swelling in my throat. What chance had he stood? One man against three. Three men with weapons. The curs will have killed or wounded him. The tightness in my throat swelled into a dry, prickly knot.

I was barely able to wheeze air into and out of my lungs. My skull throbbed as if the demons of hell were hammering against it. I'd been slung across the front of a saddle with the gunnysack still cinched over my head, and we were galloping hard. My arms dangled against the side of the horse, and I fought an overwhelming urge to retch.

My thoughts whirled from despair to rage and circled back again, to stomach-churning anguish. I couldn't stop picturing Georgie captured by Daneska's brigands and Lord Ravencross wounded or dead. And I hung there like useless baggage, unable to help either of them. How could I help them now, when I didn't even know where I was? What could I do?

Nothing.

Nothing, except surrender to Miss Stranje's training.

I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to slam my mind shut against the terrifying thoughts of what might be happening to Georgie and Ravencross. If there was even a remote chance left for me to help them, I needed to think clearly. I could almost hear Madame Cho barking at me to
regulate my breathing
, and Miss Stranje instructing the five of us girls.
“In a sticky situation remain calm
.
”
She would clap her hands marking each point.
“Order your thoughts. Assess the situation. Once you know the wisest course, take swift and sure action
.
”
She'd repeated that litany to us so many times it had almost become a song in my head.

There was nothing left to do—except obey. So I made a cold, unfeeling list of my circumstances and weighed the options.

My first inclination was to yank the stinking burlap sack off my head so I could see more than this reedy view of road and horse. Except that would alert the rider that I was awake, and in so doing I could expect another whack on my head.

Next, I considered shoving myself off the horse. Although falling from this angle, while galloping this fast, would most likely pull me directly under the horse's hooves. I might be able to grab my abductor's leg and yank him out of the saddle with me. Then we would both tumble under the horse, but at least that would injure him, too, and I might get free.

The horse.

I should've thought of that sooner.

“
Arhosiadau,
” I whispered, which meant “halt” in the old language. She tensed, lurched, and took a quick misstep before regaining her gait. Skittish. This was another rented horse, uneasy and fearful. I thought of a way to spook her, except at that very moment I heard a shout accompanied by the steadily increasing rhythm of another horse galloping not far behind us.

“Stop, or I'll shoot!”

That voice froze me in place.
Ravencross?

No. It couldn't be him.

He shouted again. It
was
him. Giving chase. Like the skittish mare, my pulse pitched forward and took several missteps before regaining her gait. How? How had Gabriel escaped the other men?

My kidnapper did not stop. Instead, he whipped our horse into an even faster run. I doubted Lord Ravencross would shoot. I wished to heaven he would, but he wouldn't. Not at this bruising pace. He'd figure the bullet might stray and hit me, or the horse. Even if he shot my captor, he'd assume, and rightly so, that the riderless horse would bolt with me slung over the saddle.

Time to act.

My hand dangled near the sensitive area where the horse's neck met her chest. I dug in my fingernails, moving them like tiny claws. The horse, thinking it was a rat or some other vermin that might bite her, shied and nearly threw us. I slipped my other hand under the girth strap and held tight, thrusting my nails into her neck again.

A gunshot startled me and the horse. Ravencross must have fired after all. The terrified mare reared, stood on her hind legs, and pawed the air. I prayed to God she wouldn't fall backward.

With me draped across the front on the saddle, the rider had no pommel to grab, nothing to hold. I felt him scrabbling and clutching at my back, except I soared up with him. But I had flung both arms around the horse's neck and hung on for dear life, kicking my feet back. The saddle jerked as the rider flew off. My legs airborne, I scissored them so that when we crashed back to earth I landed straddling the saddle. My frightened steed took off in a frantic gallop. I clung to her neck, the bag still over my head.

The poor animal smelled of fear—sugary sweat and urine. “
Tawelu,
” I called to her in the ancient Welsh tongue. I wrapped my arms around her neck and spoke calming words to silence her fear. “
Gwroldeb. Areulder.
” She still ran, but not quite as fast.

I heard Ravencross and Zeus gaining on us. Blind inside the sack, no stirrups, barely able to stay astride, I remained hunched over the pommel, holding on to her neck. The reins whipped useless in the wind. All I had were words. Melodic old words of peace.
Tangnefedd.
Ancient word songs about brave horses. She slowed to a jarring trot and snorted in answer.

“Good girl,” I crooned. “
Boddhaus.
I'm proud of you.” She tossed her head and allowed Zeus to come alongside.

An arm encircled my waist. I didn't need eyes to know his touch, to recognize his gentle strength.
Ravencross.
I let go, trusted him to swoop me away. As soon as he pulled me onto his saddle, I yanked that stinking hood off my head. We circled away from the runaway horse and slowed to a stop. He lowered me to the ground and dismounted.

“Tess,” he murmured, his hands scouring my head and shoulders as if he couldn't believe I was in one piece. “Tess,” he said again, this time with a sigh, as if saying it relieved some great strain. Then he frowned. “You've a lump the size of London on your head. You could've been killed.”

“What of you, my lord? You're bleeding.” The fabric just below his collarbone had been sliced clean through, and a gaping wound was staining his white shirt a rich scarlet.

He kept staring at me. “It's nothing.”

Nothing?

I shuddered, remembering the pain of that wound, having felt it earlier that morning.
Nothing?
It had been as if someone shoved a red-hot torch into my chest. That's what the dreams often do, they make me live through another's pain for a short time. For what reason or to what purpose I cannot fathom. I know only that the firstborn women in my family must bear this curse. Perhaps we are being punished.

I clutched his sleeve, in sudden terror of what else may have come to pass in that waking dream. “Georgie? Did they capture her?”

He squinted as if he didn't understand. “That's what they were after, then?
Her.
”

“Yes. Yes. Is she safe? Did she make it to the house?”

“Aye. I believe so. I saw her running toward Miss Stranje. Your headmistress came out of the house brandishing a pistol. She managed to shoot one of the blighters and reload. That's how I came by this.” He glanced down at the now empty gun tucked into his belt.

“You fought with them, didn't you? And they stabbed you. How did you get away?” I wanted to lay my hand over the wound and somehow make all the pain he must be feeling disappear. If only I were magic.

“How did I—” He ignored my question and raked back his dark curls. “You baffle me, Tess. In London, you fought beside me, but not like any girl I've ever known. And then, when you leapt onto Captain Grey's ship, I didn't know if you would…” Gabriel clamped his lips tight and took a step back.

“If I would what?”

He shook his head and looked annoyed. But I could see the hurt beneath it.

“I had to do it. I had to jump.” I parroted the words Georgie had used to console me earlier. They didn't seem to comfort him any more than they had me. And that raised my ire. Not that my ire isn't usually pretty close to the surface. “Aside from that, I had nothing to fear by trying. Had I missed my mark I would've simply swum to shore. I am a perfectly able swimmer.”

“Of course. You would be, wouldn't you,” he muttered.

“I'm sorry if that displeases you, my lord.”

“No, what displeases me is that without a thought for yourself, or a care for what I might fe—” He stopped short and rammed his fingers in his hair as he always does when he is completely flustered.

I'd hurt him that night. It grieved me to think it, but there was no denying what was plainly written in his face.

Part of what I liked about Ravencross was that, at least to me, he often seemed more beast than man. Never more so than he did that morning. He reminded me of our huge wolf-dogs, proud, strong, and magnificent. Even his hair was dark and wild like theirs. Yet, despite his powerful build, he remained guarded and cautious and wary as a wolf.

“It's highly irregular, that's what it is.” His boyish confusion vanished, and he flexed his jaw. “And now this.” He gestured at the runaway mare, as if I ought to have done something different. “I don't know what to think about you.”

If he were Phobos or Tromos, I would have ruffled his hair and challenged him to a race to goad him out of his wariness. Instead, I tilted my head to the side as if accepting a pretty compliment. “It's enough to know you think of me, my lord.”

His brows drew together in a frown, but I saw the corners of his eyes soften, hinting that underneath he was pleased that I'd flirted with him. “
Vixen,
” he said, as if that would humble me. “What I
think
is that you are the most troublesome female in all of Christendom.”

“Such flattery, my lord. You'll turn my head.”

He paled, and I realized he'd lost too much blood.

“Gabriel?” I took hold of his arm.

He looked down at my fingers on his sleeve and his lips curved in the merest suggestion of a smile. Except it wasn't a smile I liked. It was weary, too weary, and reeked of relief and surrender.

He looked at me oddly, the way a lover might if he were bidding farewell. “I'm tempted to kiss you and ruin your reputation altogether.”

He was teasing. The almighty unsmiling Lord Ravencross was teasing.

A distraction.

My heart faltered. It tumbled weightless through the air as surely as if I'd been thrown from the horse. Gabriel would tease in such a way only if his wounds were worse than he let on.

Much worse.

I tugged him toward his mount. “Get on Zeus. Now.”

“You first. We can both…” Without another word he gave up arguing and raised his foot into the stirrup, almost too spent to heave himself into the saddle, but he managed. Short of breath, he held out his good arm. “I'll pull you up.”

He sounded so weak, so un-Gabriel-like. I fought back the tears that were stupidly trying to water my eyes. There was no time for that. Instead, I took the hand he bravely offered and swung up behind him, clasping his blood-soaked waist. Thick wetness seeped through my fingers. So much blood. Too much. The coppery smell of it stung my nostrils. I regretted every second I'd wasted talking. We needed to hurry. I clucked my tongue and nudged Zeus forward.

Gabriel did not kick Zeus into a gallop, another testament to the truth of his condition. It meant he wasn't certain he could keep his seat in a gallop. We did an easy canter past my abductor. The wretch lay unconscious or dead in the road. I didn't care which. I had only one thought—get Gabriel home and tend to his wounds.

“Tell MacDougal … to collect that”—Gabriel drooped in the saddle—“that rubbish.”

“My lord?” He didn't respond. I reached around him, cradling his hands in mine, holding the reins with him. “Gabriel, wake up.” I had to keep him talking, so that he would remain alert enough that he didn't fall off the saddle. I held my arms more firmly against his sides. “How did you escape the attackers?” When he didn't respond, I spoke louder and jostled him lightly. “You were outnumbered. Tell me.”

He groaned. “Saw that cur hit you.”

“Yes, but obviously one of them stabbed you. How did you get away?”

“Couldn't let them take you.”

He had escaped for my sake. “Oh.” I drew in a shivering breath and, for just a moment, pressed my cheek against his back.

He straightened a bit. “When he hit you—it lit a fire in my veins.” I felt his muscles tense. “Could've killed ten men.” He slumped again. “But now…”

“No. No,” I pleaded. “Gabriel, don't give up now.”

He tried to sit taller. I felt his muscles tighten and then falter again.

“Stay with me.
Please.
Your manor is up ahead. There. See it?” I held him and kicked Zeus faster.
Don't die,
I begged silently. “We're almost home. Please.”

Lord Ravencross swayed in the saddle, barely conscious, making short unbidden sounds every time Zeus jarred him. Not full moans, and yet each utterance stabbed my heart as surely as any blackguard's knife. I told myself that at least those groans meant Gabriel was still with me, still conscious,
still alive.

We neared the place where the road split between the two manors. “Georgie!” I screamed. “Miss Stranje! Anyone! Help!”