is impossible. She’s really selling this. Even Tristan is starting to fall for it.
She keeps looking at him like she knows him, like she expects him to suddenly come to his senses and let her go. She looks at Tristan like he’s the one she’s always loved and trusted.
“How am I supposed to prove to you I’m not the evil witch I look exactly like?” she asks, her teary eyes working Tristan over mercilessly. She must be doing it on purpose to get to me. She wants to turn me against him. I can’t take another second of this.
“You know how, Lillian,” I reply. “Let me in your head.”
“Ro. Be serious,” Tristan says. He’s so nervous his voice cracks a little.
He and Caleb argue against it, which I’m sure Lillian knew they would. She planned this perfectly. The only way for us to know the truth is for me to ask her who she is in mindspeak, where no one can lie. I don’t have to let her claim me, but I do have to let her touch my willstone in order for us to share a moment of rapport. In that moment she could do just about anything to me, and I may not be strong enough to resist her. A part of me is begging for it to happen. To finally be rid of the weightless ache.
Caleb won’t let me. He pulls rank and says it’s for the sachem to decide. Relief battles with disappointment.
We leave Tristan to guard her while Caleb and I go to see Alaric. My eyes keep straying back to her, even as I walk away.
“You have to calm down,” Caleb tells me.
“Calm down?” I say. I can hear the hysterical edge in my voice now that Caleb has pointed it out. “If Elias killed your father—”
Caleb stops and puts a hand on my shoulder, turning me to him. “I’m trying to help you, brother. You’re making stupid choices.”
“I know I am,” I admit. “How am I supposed to be calm about this?”
“No idea,” Caleb says. “But find a way.”
As I follow my stone kin through the trees, I try to pull myself together. I’m fighting the urge to go back and force her to admit that she is Lillian—that she recognizes me as she does Tristan. How can she manage to look at me like I’m a stranger to her? And the way she spoke to Tristan—so intimate, like he knew all of her secrets.
Caleb brings me through the main camp. Tents are already pitched and the few armored carts that travel with this light and fast faction of our tribe make a barrier wall toward the westerly side. Alaric is outside of the strangest cart I’ve ever seen. It’s completely windowless, so I doubt anyone would live in it, and judging by how deeply the extra thick wheels are sinking into the ground, it’s the heaviest cart I’ve ever seen. I can’t help but wonder what he’s hauling in it. It must be full of metal or an ore of some kind.
The council fire is lit in front of Alaric. He’s hearing a petitioner who is speaking passionately. The conversation stops as soon as I arrive, and the petitioner leaves without finishing his suit. As he passes me I see he isn’t an Outlander. I catch a whiff of hay and the fleecy smell of sheep about him and figure he’s a ranch hand, although I’ve never seen a ranch hand petition a sachem before. There are red patches on his face and hands. Burns. I scan them quickly and find no hint of ash or trace of chemicals in the raw skin. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
“Rowan,” Alaric says, standing up on his stiff leg. “Is she still unconscious?”
“No,” I reply. I’m distracted by the man’s injuries. “How did he get those burns?”
“A cooking fire,” Alaric says. I narrow my eyes at him and he laughs. “Okay. Not a cooking fire. But I can’t tell you the real cause, so let’s leave it.”
“Is that where all my salve is going?” I think of how much salve I’ve been making, calculating how many more are burned like that man. Dozens. Hundreds?
“Yes.” Alaric’s eyes say he’s being honest with me because he thinks I have a right to the truth, but they also
She keeps looking at him like she knows him, like she expects him to suddenly come to his senses and let her go. She looks at Tristan like he’s the one she’s always loved and trusted.
“How am I supposed to prove to you I’m not the evil witch I look exactly like?” she asks, her teary eyes working Tristan over mercilessly. She must be doing it on purpose to get to me. She wants to turn me against him. I can’t take another second of this.
“You know how, Lillian,” I reply. “Let me in your head.”
“Ro. Be serious,” Tristan says. He’s so nervous his voice cracks a little.
He and Caleb argue against it, which I’m sure Lillian knew they would. She planned this perfectly. The only way for us to know the truth is for me to ask her who she is in mindspeak, where no one can lie. I don’t have to let her claim me, but I do have to let her touch my willstone in order for us to share a moment of rapport. In that moment she could do just about anything to me, and I may not be strong enough to resist her. A part of me is begging for it to happen. To finally be rid of the weightless ache.
Caleb won’t let me. He pulls rank and says it’s for the sachem to decide. Relief battles with disappointment.
We leave Tristan to guard her while Caleb and I go to see Alaric. My eyes keep straying back to her, even as I walk away.
“You have to calm down,” Caleb tells me.
“Calm down?” I say. I can hear the hysterical edge in my voice now that Caleb has pointed it out. “If Elias killed your father—”
Caleb stops and puts a hand on my shoulder, turning me to him. “I’m trying to help you, brother. You’re making stupid choices.”
“I know I am,” I admit. “How am I supposed to be calm about this?”
“No idea,” Caleb says. “But find a way.”
As I follow my stone kin through the trees, I try to pull myself together. I’m fighting the urge to go back and force her to admit that she is Lillian—that she recognizes me as she does Tristan. How can she manage to look at me like I’m a stranger to her? And the way she spoke to Tristan—so intimate, like he knew all of her secrets.
Caleb brings me through the main camp. Tents are already pitched and the few armored carts that travel with this light and fast faction of our tribe make a barrier wall toward the westerly side. Alaric is outside of the strangest cart I’ve ever seen. It’s completely windowless, so I doubt anyone would live in it, and judging by how deeply the extra thick wheels are sinking into the ground, it’s the heaviest cart I’ve ever seen. I can’t help but wonder what he’s hauling in it. It must be full of metal or an ore of some kind.
The council fire is lit in front of Alaric. He’s hearing a petitioner who is speaking passionately. The conversation stops as soon as I arrive, and the petitioner leaves without finishing his suit. As he passes me I see he isn’t an Outlander. I catch a whiff of hay and the fleecy smell of sheep about him and figure he’s a ranch hand, although I’ve never seen a ranch hand petition a sachem before. There are red patches on his face and hands. Burns. I scan them quickly and find no hint of ash or trace of chemicals in the raw skin. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
“Rowan,” Alaric says, standing up on his stiff leg. “Is she still unconscious?”
“No,” I reply. I’m distracted by the man’s injuries. “How did he get those burns?”
“A cooking fire,” Alaric says. I narrow my eyes at him and he laughs. “Okay. Not a cooking fire. But I can’t tell you the real cause, so let’s leave it.”
“Is that where all my salve is going?” I think of how much salve I’ve been making, calculating how many more are burned like that man. Dozens. Hundreds?
“Yes.” Alaric’s eyes say he’s being honest with me because he thinks I have a right to the truth, but they also
Similar Books
Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for Christmas\The Secret Princess\Taming the Texas Rancher\An Unlikely Union
Rhonda Gibson, Winnie Griggs, Rachelle McCalla, Shannon Farrington
Sacrificial Muse (A Sabrina Vaughn Novel)
Maegan Beaumont
Newborn Conspiracy
Delores Fossen
Deadly Lullaby
Robert McClure
The Divided Family
Wanda E. Brunstetter
Side Show
Rick Shelley
Mercy, A Gargoyle Story
Misty Provencher
The Carrot and the Stick
C. P. Vanner
Fade Back (A Stepbrother Romance Novella)
Stephanie Brother
Anita Blake 20bis - Beauty: An Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Outtake
Laurell K. Hamilton