Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series) (38 page)

"You could?" His breath moved the hairs that had come loose from her plait and she ducked her head, unsure of how to answer. A deep flush rose up from the skin of her chest to her hairline and Micah pulled the glasses away, eyes squinted against the brightness of the sun, watching. He kissed her again, because he felt that he must; because he felt a tremor run through her that signaled another shift in the emotions already so close to the surface and he wanted to hold on to that particular one for a while longer.

When they parted at last Ailill was breathing hard, her face awash with tears. "I'm sorry," she said hoarsely. "I was so worried about you. I'm sorry that I didn't fire sooner, you wouldn't be so wounded if I hadn't hesitated. It's my fault. I'm sorry that I made you scream and hurt your throat; you can't even talk and tell me what hurts. But mostly, I'm sorry... I cannot heal you, Micah. It is just too dangerous, with Kiah gone missing. If he were to show his face here, I wouldn't easily be able to defend myself. I cannot take such a chance. I'm sorry, so sorry-"

"Shhshh, it's o.k." he whispered, smoothing the damp hairs away from her face. "Shh, listen." She stilled suddenly, her wet cheek resting in the palm of his large hand. She could hear his heart beating, feel the pulsebeat in his wrist; his steady breaths touched on her face like a caress. "I love you, Abby." The whispered words sent chills up her spine and she shivered, pressing against him for his warmth.

Holding him close some time later, her head in a fog, her eyes shining softly with the reflection of the sun in the blue orbs, Ailill answered him with a whisper and fell into an exhausted slumber, cradled protectively in his arms, for the first time without the ghosts of her dreams, her memories, whispering in her ear.

A warm breeze rustled through the endless ceiling of emerald leaves, stirring the thick black mass of tangled hair that had fallen across Micah's cheek, making his eyes pop open once again behind the dark lenses that shielded them from the brightness of a mid-morning sun. The air smelled of damp, loamy earth and growing things. A fresh, healthy scent that made his nose twitch and the back of his raw throat tickle. His limbs tingled with the need for exercise and he shifted uncomfortably in effort to ease the ache and numbness that had settled in his backside after five hours of sitting upright against the trunk of a tree. He wished that he could stretch out next to Ailill's soft body and go to sleep, as he had wanted to do the night before.

He had been watching her sleep, wondering at the many sides that she had shown him already, unsure of how many more layers he would find hidden deep within her; unsure if he really wanted to see more, though he knew there would be more to come for, if his suppositions were borne out, if she was truly what
he
had begun to believe that she was, even the simple fact that she was not quite human was enough to know that there had to be far more to her. It was a fact that had held his thoughts often in the past weeks, though he had not even revealed the whole of his thoughts, his seemingly wild imaginings, to Jacob, let alone anyone else. Ailill had proven herself over and over since her return to Jewel Mountain. She was the most accomplished person he had ever known, in any area. If she were his daughter, Micah thought, he would feel much more than simple pride for her. And yet, her parents seemed to always want more; as if being the very best at everything that had ever been set before her was not good enough. It was more than difficult to understand exactly what was up with the Mackintoshes, especially when he had seen firsthand how hard she pushed herself in order to appease their unwarranted demands, their abnormally high expectations. James, himself, didn't seem to be as accomplished as his own young daughter, though Micah would readily admit that he was much better rounded than Kiah would ever be; and yet, when the man spoke of her taking over the leadership, he made it sound as if it were as daunting as the ruling of an entire country instead of a tiny village well-hidden high up in the Smoky Mountains with a piddling population of only a few hundred people. Ailill fairly killed herself on a day-to-day basis with the intense physical aspects of working a prosperous ranch, keeping her body in top form by daily workouts with weights and an odd form of stretching exercises, "to keep her battle muscles limber" her grandmother had explained when Jacob had asked. The tiny woman's abilities, her stubborn perseverance and inexhaustible stamina, in any form of physical combat had shocked Micah, especially after James had insisted that she take on both he and his twin in a sparring match with broadswords. Two against half, as he had thought it at the time, though she had shown how very well she had learned under the tutelage of some sort of cousin back in Scotland; an unfair set of odds, most definitely; she had made it look easy, beating both men in less than a quarter of an hour with such a look of intense fury that it stole the very air from Micah's lungs, as well as the ability to think rationally. She'd seemed to become an inhuman beast, or at least something very close to that, for a very brief moment, though Micah knew, from the teachings of Kiah, and later of James, that that was part of it; the ability to psych out the enemy using any means possible. That was the harsh side of her; the shockingly battle-hardened young woman. The softer side was what he awoke for each and every day; the sweet, loving side. She was the nicest girl he had ever met; the most loving; though she had laughingly explained that away as the unfairness of genetics, in that she had been born with the purest of pure, and that made her have the "strength of a man, yet ever after be cursed with the emotions of a wee lassie." She had too many layers within her small self and it troubled him. He thought that it was highly possible that she was like a living time-bomb, that the constant demands of every person in her life might one day touch on the wrong button, a raw nerve, and that the resultant explosion would be quite devastating. There were signs already that she was struggling with her own inner demons far more frequently than she ever had before; and it wasn't only the dreams that proved it. Something had come over her not long before, although, try as he might, he could not put his finger on exactly what it was or what had brought it on.

Moving suddenly as the sun's rays lit on the blaze of her hair, Ailill had drawn back, her eyes staring through him, pupils dilated into dark pools of desire. She was lost somewhere deep inside herself, did not hear his breathless grunt of surprise as she straddled him or even the demands, the unspoken truths, that her own husky voice mumbled in a continuous stream into his ear. Her small, strong hands, wrapped about the taut organ beneath his kilt, her legs held him still as she moved on him, fully clothed yet taking from him the reassurance of his inviolable will to live with gentle force and a breathless cry of triumph as she felt his body shudder beneath her hands. She had expressed her love for him then with a sweet kiss and a soft whisper, collapsed against his bare chest with a sigh of relief, and had not woken up since.

He wondered if that was her way of saying goodbye to him, to the love that he had given her since the first day they met. He hoped not.

The fire had nearly burnt itself out, the perfectly laid cube of deadfall collapsing one layer at a time with such precision that Micah was sure he could set a clock to it, if he had so desired. Eying the pot of medicinal tea that Ailill had left on the outermost ring of stones, Micah slowly pushed himself up, away from the softness of the bison fur and Ailill, holding onto the rough bark of a tree for support as the whirling sensation in his head ebbed little by little. One slow, cautious step, and then another brought him within arms reach of the pot and he drank thirstily, ignoring the burn far back in his throat from the sudden heat. Setting the empty container in the dirt next to the firepit, he swallowed down a sudden wave of nausea and moved to the edge of the clearing to pass water. When he turned back, Jacob was standing beside the firepit, gazing down at Ailill's sleeping face, a distant look in his deep blue eyes, as if he, too, were lost in that same place that Ailill had been before the demands of her body took over.

Jacob looked as tired as Micah felt; the dark half moons below his eyes attested to the fact that he had not slept at all last night. He had cleaned himself up at some point, though. The long black waves of his hair had a glossy sheen, like the wings of a raven, the dark stubble along his jaw had been shaven away. He was dressed in a clean kilt, the muted greens and browns of a hunting tartan, and a thin sleeveless shirt. A bulging pack was flung over his left shoulder, the dark, gleaming barrel of his rifle pointed up, at an angle behind the tanned skin of his right, held in place by the leather strap that lay diagonally across his chest.

Micah still had little use of his voice and Jacob's head turned instantly toward the soft whistle his twin had used. With a significant glance in the direction of Ailill's sleeping form, Micah beckoned him over, leaning against the bole of a tree as he fought down another wave of nausea. His stomach rumbled loudly in greeting, making Jacob smile as he dropped the pack at Micah's feet.

"There's some foolcake in there, if ya think you can keep it down, Brother." Sitting on a fallen log nearby, Jacob nodded, indicating that he wanted Micah to sit because he had something to say. "I also brought a jug of milk." These he pulled out of his own knapsack which had been strapped over his shoulders, unseen from where Micah had been standing.

Chewing slowly, Micah watched his twin scan the area in silence, Jacob's dark eyes touching on anything but his brother or the small body asleep on the other side of the clearing. Out of a faint sense of modesty for her, Micah had covered Ailill with a sheet, but in the turnings of sleep it had slipped down and bunched around her narrow waist; her shirt had come up, leaving the large, smooth rounds of her breasts half exposed.

"I been talkin' with her Grammie for the last two hours," Jacob said at last, giving a nod in Ailill's direction. "I told her everything that went on last night." He met Micah's eyes and nodded in affirmation at the dark brows raised in question. "Yep... everything. I don't believe I could've lied to the woman even if I'd wanted to; I was compelled to the worst case of honesty I've ever had."

His head shook in wonder, still shocked with the way he'd spilled his guts to the strange old woman. "She says that Ailill can heal you better than Annie can, and much faster." Jacob's cheeks flushed suddenly and he looked away. "I'm guessin' she's right about that. I didn't expect you to be up and around yet."

Reaching one long leg out, Micah nudged him with a moccasined foot, pulling his attention back before it could wander. "What did she mean?" he croaked, perplexed.

"She said that her granddaughter has the ability to heal you with her body as well as learned skill. That each time Ailill touches you, you'll heal more than you would with medicine alone, even in her own weakened state. And far faster than if
I
were to try."

"What the hell does that mean?" Micah looked almost frightened and Jacob smile reassuringly, laying a hand on his twin's deeply tanned arm.

"That's what I said and she laughed at me. She says "it has to do wi' love; not magic, and certainly not witchcraft.," he mimicked perfectly. "Her words, not mine. She says that Ailill must take you to the healing waters, but I blew her off, 'cause that
does
sound like witchcraft. I think the woman knows at least something about us," he added with a shrug of practiced nonchalance. "You know, I'm almost to the point that I don't care who knows. I'm sick of hiding behind this damn mask, as if I'm as normal as any other guy, knowing all the time that I ain't.
We
ain't." Using his foot, Jacob hooked the strap of the other pack, sliding it over the sparse patch of grass beneath his long feet. Fiddling with the drawstring, he turned back to Micah with a heavy sigh, an odd glint in his eyes. "Do you want to go home?" Even as the words came out, he knew the answer by the look on his brother's face.

"Home? Our home, in Texas?" Micah's voice rasped painfully and he took a deep swallow of the fresh milk. "No," he said, his head shaking with startling vehemence. "I need-" he cleared his throat, wincing at the sharp pain that shot up through his skull. "I need Abby," he breathed.

Watching him closely, Jacob muttered, "that's what the old woman said."

"Do
you
want to go home?"

"Nah. I ain't never goin' back there... hell-hole. The memories alone would drive me insane. And so would living with Kiah, if that's where he's headed after this. I hate the man more than anything!" His features hardened as he eyed Micah's bandaged head. "I went down with James and Annie and picked up the rest of our stuff this mornin'." The look of surprise that passed over his twin's features should have been amusing but, to Jacob, it wasn't; he didn't laugh or even smile. Instead, he sighed unhappily, allowing the feelings usually kept hidden under a mask to come to the surface, marking his face with lines of exhaustion and strain.

"Kiah and I fought all this out this morning," he said softly.

Shock showed clear on Micah's face, a wave of terror sending icy fingers down his spine. He met Jacob's intense look with a pallid face. "He's back?" At his twin's solemn nod, Micah's heart thudded heavily against his ribcage. "She knew," he muttered to himself, sure that was what Abby had meant by her odd apology this morning. Eying his twin with suspicion, head cocked to one side, Jacob wondered what he'd missed in the hours of his absence. It was an effort to push aside the envy that niggled at the back of his mind with what could only be assumptions; to keep his thoughts on more important matters.