Hidden Deep (18 page)

Someone entered the room. I bolted upright like a child caught in a naughty act. A man strode to the bedside, regarding me with unconcealed hostility, and I stepped back quickly, retreating to my position against the wall.

He looked as foreign to me as all the other men I’d seen here. Tall and lithe like the rest of them, he had loose chocolate-brown curls cut closer to his head than Lad’s. He wore a longer version of the leather breeches I’d come to expect and a form-fitting shirt made of natural-looking fibers. He appeared to be middle-aged, but well-preserved and unrealistically handsome, like the actors you see in those Viagra ads or smiling and holding tennis rackets in commercials for
active adult
communities.

The man exuded competence. I assumed he was some sort of a doctor. He examined Lad, and I knew when he located the gunshot wound. Lad cried out and lurched in the bed. The doctor stilled him quickly. He reached into the woven fabric bag strapped across his body and drew out a long cylindrical metal flask. Extracting a cork from one end of the tube, he put it to Lad’s lips, parting them. Lad sputtered but swallowed.

It must have been a pain reliever because after a few minutes the anguish on Lad’s face dissipated, replaced by a peaceful expression. Watching the color wash back into his skin, my legs went weak and shaky as I realized how comparatively gray it had been before.
This was close. I almost lost him.

I was so grateful to see his agony eased, my eyes teared up again. He was so helpless there. The desire to go to him was almost overwhelming.

The two men who had come to Lad’s rescue re-entered the room. They carried cloths and earthenware bowls of water. Lad lay tranquilly as they efficiently washed the blood from his body, only wincing briefly when one of them ran a cloth over his wound. When they finished, they gathered the cloths and bowls and moved to leave the room, but paused. They both looked back at the doctor, who stared expressionless at their faces. Then all three men looked at me.

I was suddenly hot and nervous. I couldn’t explain how, but they seemed to be having some sort of…
discussion
about me, for lack of a better word. The doctor’s face contorted in a disapproving scowl, he shrugged and turned back to Lad. The other men left the room without another glance in my direction. It seemed whatever had transpired, I wouldn’t be forced to leave, at least for now.

Lad yelled out.

I jumped, shocked and pained by the sound of it. Just as abruptly, he was quiet again. The doctor poured some of the liquid from his bottle over the wound and bandaged the area. After looking Lad over one more time, he brushed by me and out of the door. When he passed, I saw a bloody lump in his hand. The bullet.

I stayed in place, breathless for a few moments before stealing over to the bedside. I needed to feel Lad’s skin and hear his breathing for myself.

Carefully, I stroked his golden hair, his tanned brow, his eyelids as he lay sleeping and motionless. Inches away from him, I ran my fingertip lightly over the bridge of his elegant nose, across his perfectly formed lips. I felt his breath, warm and reassuring. My fingers gently explored the strong lines of his cheekbones and the hollows beneath them. My palm opened to glide over his neck then moved to his chest.

His skin was warm again, the heartbeat beneath it unnaturally fast. That was good. I didn’t understand why, but I knew for Lad, the racing rhythm was a good sign.

My hand still resting over his heart, I sat on the edge of the bed and watched Lad’s face. There was so much I didn’t understand about him. Not just his nature-defying pulse, or the things I’d learned about him before today. But now, this place, these people. I couldn’t begin to make sense of it all.

Whatever the explanation, whoever he was, I had to see that he recovered. He’d risked everything for me. It was my fault he was in this condition—if I’d only listened to him and climbed the damn tree—those drunken hunters would’ve passed us right by. Lad and I would probably have been cuddling on my couch watching a movie right now, or better yet,
not
watching the movie.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Lad smiled in his unconsciousness. My own heart sped up and fluttered a few extra beats. And then we were no longer alone.

A man burst through the door, followed closely by a woman. Her eyes were wide and feverish as her gaze darted around the room. The man’s face was tight, his hands clenched into fists as if he was ready for battle. From the familial resemblance and the distress on their faces, I knew I was looking at Lad’s parents.

I fell back a few steps from the bed, staring at them. They paid no attention to me. The woman’s face crumpled when she spotted Lad stretched out on the bed. She ran across the room on bare feet to reach him. Her hands fluttered across his body, his face, finally settling on the curls crowning his head. She didn’t cry but looked like she might at any moment.

Her hair was the same golden shade as Lad’s, spiraling in hundreds of ringlets pulled back from her face and falling around her shoulders. Her hands were smooth and delicate. She was fair-skinned and just… lovely. I couldn’t guess her age, but she seemed too young to be Lad’s mother. She gazed at his face as she petted his hair, then she turned and looked up at the man staring down at her and his unconscious son.

Lad’s father stayed unmoving at the side of the bed, not touching Lad, but standing controlled and staunchly upright, holding his wife’s gaze. With his square jaw lifted high, he reminded me of movie depictions of Julius Cesar, only dressed in leather and natural tones instead of Roman armor and a rich red cape.

His close-cropped hair was dark blond, and like his wife, he looked young to have a teenaged son. But he also gave an impression of maturity. His face was strong and handsome, bearing a resemblance to Lad, but more austere. He looked… forbidding. I had no trouble seeing this man as the demanding patriarch Lad had described.

His parents turned their attention back to his sleeping form. His father still didn’t touch Lad in any way, but as I watched his face, I saw the evidence of worry. Deep lines strained across his brow. The corners of his eyes pinched.

Then he glared intensely at Lad. I could have sworn he was silently shouting at him. Lad began to stir, dazedly moving his head side to side. His mother straightened and stood over him, joining her husband in a careful study of their son.

My heart vaulted when his eyelids eventually parted and blinked. Lad regarded his parents’ faces with confusion. He blinked a few more times, and his expression changed from disorientation to recognition. His mother’s face melted into a tearful smile, and even his father’s softened a bit. The three of them shared a probing, intimate look for long minutes as I watched, transfixed, afraid to breathe.

And then Lad darted his eyes around, tried to sit up, and grimaced. He immediately collapsed back, grunting and breathing hard. He tried again, this time lifting only his head, moving it in a scan of the room. When his searching gaze reached me, my heart stopped momentarily. It restarted in a new, restless rhythm.

Lad’s developing smile was weak, not the brilliant flash of sunshine that had knocked me out so many times before, but it was without a doubt the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. He was looking for
me
. He was happy I was there. I wanted to run to him, but I stayed back and silently returned his smile. I had to blink forcefully to stem the tears burning behind my eyelids.

His parents’ heads turned to follow Lad’s gaze, finally acknowledging my presence in the room. They must’ve known I was there before but hadn’t cared to address the fact until now.

I watched in apprehension and fascination as the three of them took turns looking at each other, at me, back at each other. Their expressions went through rapid succession from surprise to anger to puzzlement. At one point, his mother looked emotional and… happy perhaps? But then a harsh look from his father seemed to chasten her, and she looked at the floor.

It was one of the most unnerving experiences of my life. One, because I was clearly the topic of a heated argument. Two, because I couldn’t hear a word of it.

Lad’s father glared at his son then spun around and charged, fuming, from the room. Lad’s mother stayed by his bedside, looking into his eyes and patting his hand. After a few minutes he started to drowse. As his eyes ebbed and closed, his mother’s slender hand stroked his forehead and hair the way my mom had done to me when I was little and in bed with a fever.

She loves him.
It was obvious, and it reassured me. Whatever happened to me, Lad would be okay.

When his breathing grew slow and steady, his mother rose and walked slowly away from the bed toward the door. Reaching me, she stopped and turned to look right into my eyes. Even if I’d believed she could understand my words, I had no idea what to say to her. She looked at me with a tentative curiosity. After a few moments, she smiled and shook her head slightly.

Then she placed her fingertips lightly on my hands, which were folded tensely in front of me, and she squeezed. A pleasant heat bathed my fingers, and then it was gone. Lad’s mother looked back once more at her son, left the room, and left the door open.

I tensed as a guard stepped into the room. This was it—I would be removed now. But he simply stood in the doorway and turned his gaze away, fixing it on the wall. For whatever reason, it seemed I would be allowed to stay.

I went back to Lad’s bedside. He still looked sick but so much better than when we’d first arrived at his home.
His home
.

I surveyed my surroundings, finally calm enough to really think about where we were—deep underground, in a cavernous otherworld populated by impossibly beautiful people who didn’t speak my language and were very likely somewhere outside this room silently discussing what to do with me.

All I knew was Lad was alive and seemed to be getting better, and for the moment, we were together. Fatigue was starting to hit me. I went to get the chair from the corner and pull it over to the bedside.

First, I picked up the exotic stringed instrument and searched for somewhere else to put it. It was heavy and substantial in my hands, and somehow familiar. I could almost hear a lilting melody in my mind. It must have been the carvings that covered it. They were like the ones on the chest Lad kept in his nest hideaway.

I went back to the bed and held his big hand in mine, wondering how long he’d sleep, whether he felt any pain, and whether he even knew I was still there.

“What a mess, huh?” I said softly. “I’ll bet you didn’t expect to introduce me to Mom and Dad so soon.”

A tiny hint of a smile flitted across Lad’s lips. My heart contracted with a sweet pain. I wanted to kiss those lips again, to comfort Lad and make him feel good again. Instead, I brushed my fingers gently through his hair, lightly over his ears and the strong planes of his cheekbones.

He looked amazingly like an angel in his sleep. Not a baby-faced cherub or diaphanous floating vision of an angel, but a powerful, glorious Old-Testament-Gabriel-kind-of-angel, resplendent in masculine beauty and all that poetic stuff.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I know your parents blame me for what happened to you, and they’re right. It’s my fault. I should’ve come with you when you asked me to hide. I should have listened when you told me we couldn’t be together. I’m never going to put you in danger again. Keep fighting, okay? Rest and get better. I’ll be right here.”

Lad’s chest moved in a heavy breath, and his hand went slack in mine.

I woke to the pleasurable sensation of strong fingers stroking my scalp. Always a sucker for having my hair played with, I rolled my head dreamily to one side and smiled, still more asleep than awake.

Lad’s soft laugh finally opened my eyes. “Good morning, Beautiful,” he whispered.

“Is it morning?” I lifted my foggy head to look around.

“It’s a whole new day—in more ways than one.”

“Oh!” I suddenly regained my senses, the previous day’s horrifying events rushing back to me. “Lad—you’re awake. Thank God. I was so scared.”

He put a gentle finger to my lips to stop my eager babbling. “Let’s stay quiet, okay? I want some time alone with you before the others realize we’re awake and decide to join us. I sent the guard away earlier, but I’m sure he’s not far off.”

“Okay.” I lowered my voice. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been shot by a drunk, ignorant hick. And it’s a good thing for him he did shoot me because he was about to be a drunk, ignorant, dead hick.”

“Oh Lad, don’t joke about it. Yesterday was the worst day of my life. I didn’t think you were going to make it.” I choked a little on the last part.

“I’m not joking at all. I fully intended to kill those men after I realized they wanted to hurt you. If I hadn’t been out of my mind with rage, I would have come up with a better plan of attack and avoided all this… nonsense.” He gestured at his own wounded body in disgust. “How did you manage to get me here? I can’t remember.”