Ever After (13 page)

Arabella stood among them, her lovely face twisted with horror. I spared her only a glance, though, before turning back to face my foe. But to my astonishment, he had vanished, leaving the shield behind in his haste to retreat and tend to his wound.

I cursed under my breath, furious with myself for letting him get away. I wanted to believe that the masked Executioner and the Huntsman were one and the same, but the man today didn't quite fit the description Georgie had given me. Georgie had said the Huntsman was similar to me in height and build, but this man had been several inches shorter and of an athletic frame. And why he had balked at the sight of my Unseelie eyes was beyond me. Did I know the man? Had we met in battle before?

Pondering the man's identity would have to wait though. Right now, we had to get the hell out of there before we drew any more attention and the jousting troupe returned from their demonstrations. I grabbed up the discarded shield and axe and limped toward Arabella, the pain in my side growing with each step now that my adrenaline was ebbing.

She rushed to me, pulling my arm around her shoulders and slipping her arm around my waist, offering me her strength. “Come on, love,” she murmured as we made our way from the makeshift battleground, offering smiles and nods of acknowledgment to the spectators and their continued applause. “Let's get you home.”

 

I groaned as I attempted to remove my hauberk, the bruises from my battle with the Executioner still healing. Arabella took hold of the mail and helped pull it off.

“I thought these would've healed by now,” I mumbled. “Damn, that bastard was good. I've encountered few with that kind of training since coming to the Here and Now.”

“Who was he, do you think?” Arabella asked, tossing her cap aside as she threw herself down upon the bed.

I sat down to remove my boots, wincing at the movement.
God, was I actually getting old?
“Not sure.”

“The Huntsman?”

“I've no idea. I've never met the Huntsman; I know only of his story. And without seeing his face, there's no way to be sure. And the Executioner had finesse, battle experience. From what I know of the Huntsman, he's more about stealth. He kills from afar, never getting close enough for hand-to-hand combat.”

I paused and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I mulled over the facts. There were so many unknowns. And I didn't like it one damned bit.

“Regardless of the Executioner's true identity,” I continued, “this is the second time someone's shown up where we were looking for one of the relics.” I shook my head, frowning as I mentally went through the events of the last two days. “I get that someone else is looking for the relics and has hired henchmen. But I want to know how the hell we keep winding up in the same place at the same time.”

“At least no one died this time,” Arabella soothed me.

I grimaced as I pulled off the sweat-soaked T-shirt I'd been wearing and got to my feet to head to the shower, but Arabella's sharp intake of breath brought me to an abrupt halt.

“Bloody hell,” she breathed.

It was at that moment I caught sight of myself in the dresser mirror. A massive bruise covered my lower back just over my kidney, a mottled, angry mess of blue and green and yellow. Hardly surprising considering the blows the Executioner had landed there, but what
was
surprising was the fact that it was still there. Even though it hadn't been that long since my confrontation, the bruise at least should've begun to fade by now, thanks to my Tale metabolism.

But even though the bruise was surprisingly slow to heal, that wasn't what was most troubling. Radiating outward from the mass of the bruise were numerous black and blue tendrils. And as we watched, they continued to spread, stretching toward my spine, wrapping around my ribs.

“What the fuck?” I muttered.

Arabella came to me, pressing gently upon my skin and wringing a cry of agony from me before I could check it. “Dear God,” she breathed. “What would do this?”

“Poison,” I informed her, my muscles growing weak even as I spoke, the tendrils now wrapping around my spine. I staggered back to the bed, falling onto it as my strength gave out.

Arabella was at my side in an instant. “Poison?” she repeated, her voice edged with panic as she knelt on the bed beside me. “But his weapons never penetrated your armor.” Her hands roamed my chest, unsure how to help me.

“Damned good thing,” I ground out, perspiration beading on my forehead with the effort to bite back the rapidly increasing pain. “I probably wouldn't have lasted more than a couple of minutes if I'd been without the hauberk.” I groaned and rolled onto my side, a fresh wave of agony surging through my body as the poison dug its claws into me.

“What can I do?” Arabella asked, her voice breaking. “Tell me what to do to help you.”

I shook my head frantically as I rolled onto my back, searching for relief and finding none. “Nothing,” I said through clenched teeth. “Just have to wait it out.”

She made a little sound in the back of her throat that was something between a groan and a sob. “Oh, God. For how long?”

The tendrils of torment had now worked their way up and down my spine and shot through my nervous system, making me arch off the bed. I panted for a moment, blinking away the involuntary tears that blurred my vision. “As long as it takes,” I gasped. “This is powerful magic. It might take a—” My words broke off on an anguished roar. My hands fisted around the bedclothes as I tried desperately to keep it together, to fight back against the pain, but it was a battle I couldn't win. When that wave of pain finally ebbed, giving me a moment of respite, I dragged in a deep breath and took hold of her wrist. I could feel another wave of pain building rapidly. “Arabella.”

She placed her cool hand upon my forehead. “Shh, quiet now, Gideon,” she murmured. “I'm here.” As the wave of pain crashed over me, wringing a guttural cry from me, she stretched out beside me, curling into me and resting her head on my shoulder, smoothing her hand over my chest. “I've got you, love. Just hold on to me. I'm right here. . . .”

“I
'm right here.”

I heard her laughter, but still couldn't see her from her hiding place in the woods. I was tempted to let my senses drift, trace her by the honeysuckle scent that was so intoxicating. Or depend upon my empathic ability, track her by the emotions she allowed so close to the surface but tried to hide behind laughter and lightheartedness. But it was far more amusing to allow her to play her games, let her think I was like all of her other merry men. There was no need to divulge my unsavory past or the truth of my heritage.

I crept through the underbrush, my eyes narrowed as I searched for movement among the thick brambles and overgrowth and in the trees overhead. In the year I'd been part of her band of thieves, I'd learned that no place was off-limits.

“Oh, come now, Little John,” she taunted, her voice coming to me now from far to my right. “Really, you disappoint me.”

“Do I now, lass?” I called back, stepping onto the trunk of a fallen tree to get a different vantage point. “I'll have to see what I can do about that, now won't I?”

She chuckled, the game we played a well-worn one now. “I'll look forward to your attempts.”

This exercise was supposed to be practice for our ambushes of wealthy travelers, but over the months I'd been part of her band of thieves, we'd taken to sneaking off into the woods together for training more and more often.

I didn't bother to suppress the grin that came to my lips as I moved toward the sound of her voice. I could picture her dark eyes shining with mischief, anticipating the moment when I would find her—or she would surprise me. The sparring that would then ensue was the best foreplay I'd ever experienced, but had yet to result in consummation. It was the sweetest torture.

I was so lost in my thoughts of her cheeky grin and sparkling dark eyes, I didn't sense the danger lying in wait. Suddenly, the edge of a sword at my neck brought me up short.

“Another step and I'll cut you down.”

I cast my gaze toward the brigand who'd ambushed me. He was ragged and filthy and had spent more than his fair share of time in the bottom of a bottle from the stench of him. “I wouldn't try it, if I were you, friend,” I warned as a courtesy. It was one I wasn't likely to repeat.

The bandit laughed. “Says you. But seems to me I've got you by the balls,
friend
.”

A slow grin spread across my face.

The edge of the sword dug deeper, the dull blade scraping against my skin. “What're you smilin' at?”

“I was just thinkin' it's been far too long since I split a man from gut to gullet. But I think you'll do nicely, friend.”

Before he could respond, I twisted inward and took a step back, grabbing his sword arm on either side, then pushed, breaking his elbow. The man howled in agony, dropping his sword. At the same moment, I heard his associates crashing through the brush, cries of rage filling the forest as they raced to aid their leader.

I snatched up the man's sword, cutting short his cries of anguish and pivoting just in time to meet the first of his associates to arrive. I dispatched him within two parries of his unskilled attack and turned to meet the next. He, too, met the edge of the borrowed sword and joined his companions on the forest floor.

The next leaped from the fallen log I'd stepped on moments before, slamming into my back, sending me staggering forward, but I threw him off with a shrug and spun in time to meet his sword and knock it from his hand before slicing open his stomach.

I heard a soft
swoosh
near my head and twisted around to see an arrow strike home in the eye of another would-be assailant. Another
swoosh
and the next arrow lodged in the chest of the man behind him.

“John! Behind you!”

I flipped the hilt of the sword in my hand, adjusted my grip, and dropped to one knee, thrusting the sword up behind me, driving it deep into the belly of my attacker. He was still groaning from the initial strike when I launched to my feet, twisting my body as I rose, using my momentum to rip open his gut, spilling his innards at his feet.

The snapping of a twig behind me brought me around again ready for the next kill, the rage of warfare hot in my blood, but the intoxicating aroma of honeysuckle brought me up short, staying my sword.

My darling lass stood there with an arrow at the ready; her eyes widened for the briefest moment as she surveyed the carnage at my feet, but she immediately turned away to scrutinize the surrounding area, searching for any other assailants lying in wait. Every muscle in her body was tense and ready to fight.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, too intent to spare me a glance.

I tossed the bloody sword aside. “I'm unharmed,” I assured her, then added, “thanks to you.”

At this she lowered her bow and turned to face me, her lips curving into a slow smile. “Oh, something tells me you would've been just fine without my assistance. It just might've required you to break into a sweat.”

I chuckled softly but didn't confirm that she was most likely correct.

“Come, lass,” I said instead, holding out my hand. “Let's be on our way before anyone else shows up spoilin' for a fight.”

She replaced her arrow in its quiver and pulled one from the center of the man's chest. When she reclaimed the arrow lodged in the thief's eye, she had to give the arrow a good shake, attempting to dislodge the eyeball that had come out with it. Finally, with a huff, she grabbed the offending orb and pulled it off, tossing it out into the woods.

“Where'd you learn to fight like that?” she asked as we made our way back through the woods toward our current camp. “I knew you were well versed in hand-to-hand combat when you bested me that day on the bridge, but I've never seen a man fight that way, move that fast. You don't strike me as one of the mercenaries the local lords hire or one of their degenerate knights who'd just as soon rape a damsel in distress as help her.”

I shook my head, glad she hadn't lumped me in with either group. “I'm not originally from this area of Make Believe, 'tis true. When I was a boy, raiders burned down our village and we were forced to find a home elsewhere. My mother was killed trying to protect me. Then my father was killed during a retribution raid.”

“I'm so sorry,” she said. “How old were you?”

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable reliving those horrible days. “I was eleven years old. Old enough to wield a sword. So I took my father's place representing our family and became a warrior for my people.”

“A warrior?” she echoed. “With warriors like you, I imagine your people are quite a formidable force.”

The sorrow I fought to repress surfaced before I could stop it. “We were,” I agreed. “But we are no more.”

“You're no longer warriors?” she asked.

“We're no longer a people,” I told her. “I am the last.”

To my surprise, her fingers curled around mine, giving my hand a comforting squeeze. When I turned my head to send a startled look her way, she lifted those beautiful dark eyes to mine, her gaze a little uncertain. But then she swallowed hard and twined her fingers with mine, ensuring they were clasped tightly together.

Warmth spread through the center of my chest and radiated out through my body. My God, the way this woman made me feel was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I'd shut down my emotions when my family was murdered, had vowed never to let another into my heart. And yet here was the lovely lass at my side, defeating me at every turn.

I needed her in a way that went far beyond the physical. I needed her lightheartedness, her enthusiasm, her gentleness. In my eyes, she was everything good and pure—my antithesis. She soothed my soul in a way I never could've anticipated. And I wanted her with a desperation that frightened me.

“Will you teach me?” she asked after several peaceful moments of walking hand-in-hand together through the forest.

“Teach y'what?” I asked, hoping like hell that her thoughts were tending the same direction as mine.

“How to fight.”

My eyes went wide. This was decidedly different from what I'd been hoping. “You know how to fight,” I reminded her. “You've done just fine for yourself.”

“Yes, but I want to fight like you,” she insisted.

“No, you don't, lass,” I assured her, shaking my head.

“Why not?”

“Because right now y'still have a conscience. You don't enjoy the killin'.”

Her grip on my hand loosened ever so slightly. “And you do?”

I halted and turned toward her, hating the sudden wariness in her eyes. “More than I should,” I admitted. “But not as much as I used to before—” I bit back my words, thinking of the rage that had fueled me for so long, had driven me to seek retribution for all that had been stolen from me. But some of that rage had dissipated, replaced by a new emotion that I'd never expected to feel.

“Before what?” she prompted.

My heart began to pound, uncertainty making my tongue heavy when I confessed, “Before you.”

She blinked at me, her breath going shallow. And her voice was little more than a whisper when she asked, “What are you saying?”

I swallowed hard, trying to hold back the words, but the truth I'd tried to deny would be contained no more. “I'm sayin' I love you, lass.”

She gaped at me in disbelief, rendered uncharacteristically speechless. My heart sank.

Damn me to hell.

Humiliated, I turned without a word and strode away, not wanting to prolong my embarrassment and concerned that my confession had irreparably destroyed the easiness between us, that the friendship and laughter we'd enjoyed would never be the same, that—

“John!”

I halted midstride, but couldn't bring myself to face her.

There was a slight hesitation and time seemed to have slowed to a crawl, but then I heard her hurried footsteps and turned around just in time for her to throw her arms around my neck. Gathering her into my embrace, I lifted her from her feet and buried my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, my heart nearly bursting at the feel of her in my arms. I closed my eyes, not sure I should trust this moment, knowing damned well I didn't deserve it.

And then she spoke. “I love you, too.”

My breath caught in my chest, and, for a moment, I was certain my heart had stopped. I slowly lowered her to her feet and took her face in my hands, marveling at the emotion in her eyes as she gazed up at me, emotion that she'd somehow hidden from me. But it was hidden no longer. The full force of what I saw, what I felt, was more than I'd ever dared to dream possible. It slammed into my senses, wrapped around me, filled me, making me whole.

And then I kissed her.

Her response was tentative, inexperienced. It was obvious she'd never kissed a man before, but that knowledge made our first kiss all the sweeter. And as my lips brushed over hers again, she followed my lead, her arms coming up to encircle my neck as she leaned into me. And when I deepened the kiss, she met me eagerly, a quick study in the lessons I was more than willing to teach.

When I finally pulled back far enough to look down at her smiling face and peered into that bright, intelligent, fearless gaze of hers, I realized I was lost—completely and blissfully lost. And I knew just as surely that I'd never find my way back. . . .

 

I awoke to the sound of sniffling. I had to blink a few times to orient myself to my surroundings. It took a few moments for the haze of pain to dissipate before I recalled that I was staying in Merlin's Chicago flat—and that Arabella was with me.

I turned my head toward the sniffling and saw her sitting beside me, her back against the headboard, her knees drawn up to her chest. “Aww . . . what's this now?” I muttered, my mouth feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton. “You're far too fair to be cryin', lass.”

She gave a little gasp and scrambled to my side, her cheeks still wet with tears. “You're awake,” she said on a sob. Then she laughed, the sound more relief than mirth. “Oh, thank God! You scared the
shit
out of me, Gideon! I thought I was losing you.”

I reached up and cupped her cheek, attempting a reassuring grin, guessing it looked as weak as it felt. “Nah . . . I'm not going anywhere. It'd take a little more than a couple of cursed weapons to do me in.”

She shook her head. “Cursed weapons? I thought you said it was poison.”

“Aye, it was,” I confirmed. Still weak from the hours of mind-numbing pain I'd experienced until the poison had worked its way out of my system, I pushed up until I was sitting against the headboard, my head swimming more than a little. “The poison was caused by a curse.”

“Who would have magic that powerful?” she asked, her lovely brows furrowed in a frown.

I pulled my hand down my face, sorting through my jumbled, poison-addled thoughts. “Unfortunately, I could probably give you a dozen. Witches, sorcerers, jinn, other fairies ... Hell, even your garden-variety gnome can manage to curse a weapon. The curses are cake. The strength of this curse, though ... That tells me it was someone with serious experience.”