Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess Read Online Free PDF Page B

own athletic build. His face was a little too spare, but she liked his eyes. They were dark, slightly uptilted, and nothing but mild. In them were none of the rules that flickered in Dayna's eyes. Jess had been ridden by men whose eyes reflected such self-imposed rules—but not for long. They invariably started a battle for possession of the reins and Carey never let these unyielding riders continue. Jess thought of Carey's hands: give and take, request and thanks. She stared helplessly at Eric, knowing she just didn't have the words to explain.
    "Jess," Eric said, nothing more, just the name he'd given her. He'd seen the frustration and loss in her face, and that one word held his own helplessness: the inability to fix things for her. He touched the saddlebags, a curious touch nothing like her own. "If these are Carey's, why is the bridle yours? And the saddle?"
    She stared another moment and dredged up what words she could. "Carey . . . feeds me."
    "She takes care of you?" Eric said, seizing gratefully on her effort.
    "Yes." Then she frowned and said, tentatively, "He."
    "Is he your husband? Uh, brother? Father?" Eric tried, sinking back into their failure of communication when Jess responded to each with a slight shake of her head.
    "Were you together in the woods?"
    "Running. Yes." She thought of that chase and scowled.
    "Where did the saddle come from?"
    "Jess."
    "I know it's yours. But surely you weren't running with that thing."
    Jess seemed to grow a little taller where she sat, hearing his apparent understanding. "Yes!"
    Baffled, Eric said, "Running with a saddle. With Carey. We found you and the saddle—" he said, looking bemused over the whole image, "—but where's Carey?"
    Jess lost her grasp on words, leaning forward with a tremble of intensity.
    In a flash of insight, Eric said, "You don't know!"
    "Yes!" Please, please, help me find him.
    The unspoken plea was not lost on Eric. "But you want to know, don't you," he asked softly. "Of course you do. What's his last name? We can call a few places, see if he's there."
    Jess sat back, defeated. She shook her head and looked down at the bridle in her hands.
    Eric put his chin on the heel of his hand and sighed. "No last name. That's going to make it a lot harder. What were you running from?"
    Jess heard Dayna come up behind her and stop. She lifted her head, listening for further movement, and returned her attention to Eric when Dayna seemed content where she was. "Men," she explained, and pantomimed the notch and release of the arrow that had hit Carey. "Jess— I —run for Carey. Until—" and she repeated the pantomime.
    "You ran for him," Eric repeated without comprehension. "You mean you ran with him?"
    "No," Jess said confidently. "For him." She flung her head up, and her clean, strong features held her pride. "Fast. Strong. I ," and she touched her chest again, "run for Carey."
    Eric shook his head again. "Sorry, Jess, I just don't understand."
    Jess picked up the bridle, splaying the fingers of one hand to spread the crown piece and the other to hold the bit out in front of her. "Horse," she said, clearly, watching his face for comprehension. "Dun Lady's Jess."
    Eric stared, first in the bafflement of noncomprehension, then the shock of understanding. "Jess—" he protested, as Dayna cut in from behind.
    "That's just great. I don't think there's anything we can do for her, Eric."
    Her voice held the finality of judgement, the finality of her rules. Jess' pride drained away, and fear took its place, for in that finality was rejection, and the loss of this safe place.
    * * *
    Dayna couldn't believe she'd let Eric talk her into this pointless little trip. Jess was probably on the loose from some institution, and the only thing to do was see to her return—and to the return of the saddle, bridle, and saddlebags, which were no doubt stolen.
    It could do no harm, he'd argued. She was less sure of that, but somehow, here they stood, in the aisle of The Dancing