Remedy Maker (2 page)

The lantern on the apothecary table reminded him he had business to finish. He spoke in a low voice to Sam, who stood gazing out the front window with his arms crossed.

“I don’t choose to carry these feelings of prejudice, but they’re part of who I am. Two hundred years I fought the Wood Nymphs. That’s a long time, Samuel.” He inhaled a deep breath. “I wish this scar on my face was the only evidence I carried from war. But it isn’t. I lost my family, along with more friends and relatives than I can name. And you ask me to help her?”

Wide shoulders turned toward him, and a few steps brought the man into his personal space. Samuel ignored the white elephant in the room for the benefit of both. Each knew his surface scar was nothing compared to the subcutaneous damage Rhy carried.

Sam removed his hat and looked him in the eye, almost nose to nose. “Through turmoil and strife, persecution and condemnation, love conquers all.” Never breaking eye contact, he stepped back and put on his hat. His voice deepened. “Do you suppose it’s easy being Amish in a modern world, Rhycious? Everyone looks at me as if I’m a sideshow freak. We don’t always get what we want in life, but we do have to live the one God gives us. Even you, my friend. Especially you.”

The scar began to tick, much to Rhy’s annoyance. “Our families have been allies for many years. You’ve been my close friend all your life. But know this, Sam. I’m going to kick your ass if that little Wood Nymph drives me to drinking.”

The notorious habit told throughout the ages remained true. Centaurs loved to consume alcohol. He chose to abstain since liquor exacerbated his anxiety attacks.

Samuel’s lips pressed together, fighting his grin with a losing battle. “You’ll be all right. A fine strapping man like yourself can’t be undone by a twig of a girl. If she doesn’t wake until morning, she’ll see you as a human and never know she slept in the enemy’s den.” His smile went full-blown. “The enemy’s bed for that matter.” Chuckling, he turned toward the door. The sound of harness leather jangled outside.

“It’s a good thing I live in an area where hoof prints and hoof beats are a common occurrence,” Rhy said begrudgingly. Anger subsiding, he mellowed and followed Sam to the door. Leaning against the jam, his tail flicked back and forth, dispersing extra energy. “‘Tis necessary when one travels as a man by day and beast by night,” he said, turning on the old-world Centaur inflection.

Samuel stepped down from the porch and walked to his horse, Bert. “Your grandfather started the tradition of our families helping each other during that cursed war of yours.” He checked the bit and headstall. “I need your help now with the young Nymph. Your secret will always be safe with me. You know that.”

Once he was satisfied the bridle was secure, Samuel climbed up to the buggy seat and picked up the reins. “
Guten abend
, Rhycious.” He clucked to his horse.

As they passed, Rhy nickered to Bert, who blew softly through his nose and tossed his head. When Samuel gave a jaunty salute with his hat, Rhy grinned and slung back, “Screw you.”

Closing the front door, the jangles of Bert’s harness and the damned Amish man’s laughter floated to him. He slid the bolt home and took a deep breath. Why did he have the feeling his work had only just begun?

After checking his undesirable patient—
yeah, who am I kidding? It’s like having a Victoria’s Secret supermodel in my bed
—he returned to filling remedies for delivery in the morning. When he finished, he’d make the poultice for her injury. The lump would be purple by then.

Maybe he should just cut off her head to make the bruise go away. No brain, no pain.

Stop!
He chastised himself for going there.

Samuel had a point. He had to live the life his gods gave him. Why Pan and Bacchus had dumped the sexy little Nymph on him, he didn’t know. Of all places in the Boronda Forest for her to be found, fate led her to his cabin’s door. The gods must know something.

And when did he started seeing her as
sexy
? He shrugged and rested a hind leg.

Whatever. Bring it on.

Two

Luminous patterns danced behind her closed eyes in a kaleidoscope of movement. Shapes shifted with grace, never chilling in one place for long. Patience snuggled deeper in her warm cocoon and enjoyed the show.

If the constant thumping in the distance would stop swimming in her
fantasauce
, then she could dream her next skirt design.

As she imagined color schemes for fabric, the pounding increased in volume, bumming her dream voyage. Her eyelids were difficult to open, as if stuck together with sap. In her case, this was certainly possible.

Forcing her eyes apart, she blinked several times. Blurred images swirled before they sharpened into focus. Confusion followed when she didn’t know where she was.

Above her, a beautiful knotty pine ceiling glowed in warm shades of orange and black. The stained wood reminded her of a wild summer sunset.

She rested in a bed, the mattress semi-firm, and slid her fingers in groggy fascination across paisley sheets dotted white and navy.
Pima cotton, 700-thread-count. Maybe I’m in Elysium—
Nymph heaven.

Her gaze shifted toward her feet.
An iron foot rail graced the bottom of the bed, and rounded pine logs covered the room’s wall. Though her head moved as if it weighed six stones, she managed to turn it to the side. An old-fashioned dresser sat near a door slightly ajar. She pivoted her gaze across to the other side, where a handcrafted chair sat empty.

Nothing in the room seemed familiar.
Where the hell am I?
Her mind churned, jumbling the chaos in her already cloudy head.

Beyond the chair, a closet door stood open. She blinked her sleepy eyes and concentrated on the threads hanging inside the darkened space.

The strange pounding noise came to an abrupt stop—beside her.

Patience turned her aching head. If she hadn’t been so weak and exhausted, she would have screamed. Surprise flushed through her with the zing of an electric shock, shoving her heart into her throat.

Wearing a tight black t-shirt and low-slung jeans, a giant of a man loomed over her. He set a tray with assorted food on the bedside table, his muscles rippling with every move.
What’s with the pinched, sour look?

“How are you feeling?” His rough voice lacked any polite manners.

She opened her mouth to croak a reply. It sounded like a choking cat.

Eyes closed, she swallowed, and tried again. A whisper broke through her lips, and turned into a breathy moan when a cool cloth soothed her forehead. She sucked air between her teeth, noting the contrast between pain and immediate cold relief.

Patience sighed with gratitude. Her first impression of the
gigantor
was already changing. The log-lifter wasn’t friendly, but his nice touch made up for it.

Questions buzzed inside her head like newly hatched spring flies.
How did I get here? Where is here, and who are you?

As though the man heard, he answered. “You were brought to my cabin unconscious last night. Do you remember anything?”

She shook her head a microscopic inch.

The bed dipped beside her, and the compress gently removed. She cracked her eyes open when an arm slid under her shoulder to lift her. He pressed a ceramic mug to her lips and she sipped a sweet tasting tea.

She raised her gaze from the mug to the man of contradictions. His intense tawny eyes roved her face, examining her features. Slashed brows belied his tender actions. His hair, the color of aged oak, was pulled straight back and tied tight.

By his expression, Patience figured she came up lacking. Between sips, she studied a raised scar crossing his cheek, which added to the overall don’t-mess-with-me appearance. Broad and tanned, his forehead balanced nicely with a square cut jaw.

Ruggedly handsome, his scowl distracted her from further perusal. Something
fo-shoviously
bothered the man.

Her scrutiny drifted down his thick neck as he lowered her to the bed. Light through the window reflected off a wide silver armband when he adjusted her pillow. Decorated with two engraved half circles, one inverted to hook the other, the cuff appeared to either choke his biceps or restrain his deltoid—depending on how you viewed it.

“What’s your name?” His voice rumbled deep and comforting.

She pushed her heavy eyelids up and sought his face. Her lips formed the word, but the sound wouldn’t come.

“Try again.”

The armband drifted closer when he planted strong arms on either side of her shoulders to lean in close, tilting an ear toward her mouth.

She breathed deeply and caught his scent, and a whole lot more. Masculinity, spicy and rich, filled her head with promises of wicked pleasure. She and her friend Daisy often giggled over these naughty things.

She pushed her name out on the exhale. “Patience.”

“Huh?”

If his scowl appeared terrible before, it grew positively black now. Was the guy in a perpetual bad mood, or what?

“You want me to have patience?” His gaze flicked over her length. He took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out between pursed lips. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you must have family in the area. So, if there’s someone . . . .”

Deep resonations vibrated his tone. Despite his fierce façade, Patience found her caregiver’s voice downright soothing. She shouldn’t have gone down so easily in her latest encounter with the hunters. Fear only played a minute part of her current
illnasty
. In truth, she hadn’t felt good for months.

Restorative sleep floated her away, allowing her to forget about running for her life, the pain of her missing sister, Serenity, and the angry man with brooding eyes.

*    *    *

Damn
.

Her long, brown lashes drifted down and rested on peach colored cheeks. Her breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. She didn’t eat anything, but she had drunk all the white tea he’d given her. With luck, she’d sleep a few more hours and allow him time to deliver remedies he’d mixed the night before.

He placed the washcloth with curative healing agents back on her forehead. For the hundredth time, Rhy wished for an apprentice he could stand to be around, someone to help gather precious herbs, perform check-ups on patients, and free up his time to work on other projects.

Like how to get rid of a stick-figured pixie who told him to have patience, of all things.

Argh!

He deposited the tray in the kitchen before heading out to run errands and collect a few wild herbs in the nearby meadows.

Outside, his footsteps crunched over a faint walking trail weaving through the Centaur kingdom. Low-lying mist blanketed the moss-draped forest. Deadfall branches protruded upward in eerie intervals, as if Wood Nymph warriors from centuries ago were rising from the dead.

Thoughts of lifeless Nymphs ushered in a remembrance of territory rivalries, greedy opposing rulers, racial prejudice, and war. He tightened his fists in an attempt to squeeze the pictures from his head. Early morning quiet and the peculiar scenery brought this on, he reminded himself. While his head understood this, his gut compressed regardless.

Rhy doubted the Nymph in his cabin had even germinated during that gruesome historic time.

After delivering prescriptions for backaches, fever, and thrush to his patients, he arrived an hour later at the meadow where many of his herbs bloomed. He set about harvesting with ecological standards, never taking more than two-thirds from a single plant, thus allowing time for re-growth.

Studying the application of herbal remedies never ceased to amaze him. Hundreds of medicinal uses might come from a single plant, and there were a thousand other plants of therapeutic value just like it.

Since before the Great War, he had devoted his life to discovery in the world of healing, and explored restorative organisms. Research broke remedies down to their organic basics, keeping him centered on what was important in life.

The sun climbed higher and Rhy finished packing the last of his harvested Echinacea. Warmed from the sun’s bright rays, he wished for his long tail to chase off the pesky gnats.

If only it were that easy to swish away bothersome Nymphs. Privacy at home would be nil while she remained.

I need alone time.
Solitude and peace.

Stretching his arms overhead, he worked the kinks out of his back. As a human, he didn’t ask for much in life. As the Royal Remedy Maker, he had his duties.
Then there’s my whole Centaur thing. How’s the pixie going to react to that?

And why did he even care?

Being alone had its perks. One could argue a point without the counter feedback. He didn’t want her distraction in his solitary bachelor house, but the healer in him wouldn’t kick her out until he saw her strength returned.

Heavy footfalls from the path leading deeper into the woods caused an explosion of multicolored wings to escape into the temperate air. Rhy knelt on one knee and waited, rather than stand exposed in the field with no defensive cover.

Mere seconds passed before Dryas, a Centaur Regency Guard, broke into the clearing, his four legs moving fast in the direction of the cabin. He was heavily armed with cross braces of weaponry, a traditional quiver of arrows and bow slung over his shoulder, along with an arsenal of swords, daggers, and various throwing stars.

This didn’t look like a social visit, for which Rhy was grateful.

A dozen yards away, Rhycious rose from his crouched position and faced the passing guard. “Are you looking for me?”

Dryas whipped his head in Rhy’s direction, back hooves skidding to a halt. His gloved hand gripped a gray-hued sword and his breath came heavy. Square shaped designs engraved on the flat blade shone in the daylight, sparkling off the hilt inlaid with blue colored gems.

“Kempor Aleksander has bid you come at once. Queen Savella has taken ill.”