AN: Thank you all so much for the kind reviews, please keep it up - they make my day! This chapter now... here goes nothing... Do you guys get nervous posting something?
Chapter 18 Aftermath
By the time he hit the wide valley floor, the moon had just risen above the horizon, and he could give the horse the reign, letting the animal's instinct set the speed.
At first light he found where their tracks from last evening came out of the valley, and almost instantly where the single unshod trail emerged at a right angle to where he'd come from. Lucas followed Eirik's trail, always alert for the scenery and possible dangers. But the countryside was untouched. The trail led up a gentle slope for a long, long time. Sometimes he feared he had lost it, only to find traces of freshly upturned earth. Into rocky territory he came, until Lucas found himself almost under an overhang, leading him toward two distinct cliffs whose silhouette he recognised. These were the marks left north on the horizon when heading for San Antonio. He'd never been up here. The wind had picked up sharply, and with it brought rain. Lucas knew the weather could change quickly north of the wide plain, and grimaced sharply. He'd have to find… His searching gaze caught on a long, narrow split in the raw cliff side, and a pale movement at its base. Spirit.
The dun stallion stood defensively until he recognized the human's smell, then he whinnied to welcome the newcomers. Lucas jumped off the piebald, startled at the dun's bridle-less state. The broad blanket was thrown over his back carelessly. The tall rifleman patted the horse who nosed him gently. "Where's your master, Spirit? Where's Eirik?"
The faint smell of a dying fire reached his nose, and the rifleman pushed on. The narrow split he had noticed transformed into a slim cave. The entrance was barely high enough for him to step inside upright, but widened toward its interior. He found the remains of the fire.
Besides it, crumpled, the motionless body of his farmhand.
One step brought the rifleman to the side of the silent figure, turned him around gently. He did not have to look for a wound, the large patch of fabric still wet with dark blood on the upper side of Eirik's belly spoke volumes.
Lucas cursed then, cursed his temper, the fact that he had ridden out alone, that they were so far from help. He fetched the saddle from the piebald, and Eirik's contraption of saddle bags from where they had been discarded near the cave entrance. The large blanket he stole unflinchingly from the stallion, and spread it on the cave floor. Valance's saddlebags held a spread of thick sheep-skins. Lucas lay that onto the blanket, gently rolled the life-less young man on top and set to work. Eirik had managed to collect a few thorny branches, and what stalks were left Lucas threw onto the coals. He remembered having passed a brook not much earlier, so used up all his water to clean the youngster's side until he could see the wound. At least the profound bleeding would have cleaned it, the rifleman hoped. Valance's package proved well sorted. Lucas knew more than a little about wounds, knife wounds in particular. He did his best with what he had.
Finally, the most glaring problem taken care of, the tall man sat back on his heels. The patient had not moved once during the last half hour. Eirik's face was bloodlessly white as a blanket but for an ugly dark welt spreading down from his eye. The boy's shirt was wet where it was not soaked with blood, and under the ugly gashes in the fabric makeshift bandage tissue could be seen. The ugly remnants of the fighting darkened the light skin in patches. Doc could check for broken ribs back in town. The rifleman put his knife under the cloth and cut through it, then made to gently pull it over the youngster's head. He threw it toward the fire, reaching for the grizzly fur in the same movement. He turned back to the patient, thoughts already planning ahead.
Lucas reeled back from the sight presenting itself to him. Pulling the destroyed shirt and several pieces of tissue over the patient's head had dislodged the dust-streaked scarf Eirik – Eirik? – had still worn over his head.
A flood of dark, lightly curled hair burst out in all directions over a deep widow's peak, covering the makeshift pillow. Remnants of a braid could be guessed at, but the adventures of the last days and the flight to the cave had destroyed that.
But what shocked the tall rifleman more – or less, he could not analyse his reaction - were smallish, white, but definitely female breasts above the narrow waist he had inadvertently laid bare by his well-meant actions.
Lucas pulled the blanket and the fur up to the – young woman's? what the hell? – neck with shaking hands.
Strangely, the emotions cursing through him were less of shock and anger, but more of a disbelieving quality. Hotly he remembered the moment after this farmhand of his had helped him fixing the fence – the day of that ridiculous abduction of the schoolteacher. Eirik – for the sake of his sanity he would keep thinking of the creature before him as Eirik, until she woke and could explain herself – she had definitely tried to tell him something of utter importance… he could see the scene before his eyes.
He stepped to the cave's opening and gazed out into the rain unseeing, thoughts a blur. It took him a long moment to settle his queasy stomach and take stock. For an instant he was almost tempted to jump onto his horse's back and ride, ride for town, for people, to clear his head.
The bandages had had a different application…
Her skin tone was just one step darker than his own, different in shade… the irish is strongest in my looks. He pushed both hands through his hair.
Darkness had fallen without him noticing. He took his water container and stalked to the brook he remembered, picking up what flammable material presented itself on the way.
The horses had found a dry spot under the overhanging rocks, and nibbled on the lichen.
Stacking the fire eased his nerves with the well-practised moves of every day and finally Lucas sat against the wall, eyes pulled inexorably to the pale immobile face. There was nothing left to do but wait for dawn, for the storm to settle and the young woman to wake.
She – he – He was going to go insane with this! She had lied to him for almost a whole year!
What in God's name would make a woman take this course of action? She had worked side by side with him for a year, slept in his barn, ate his food… he had trusted her with Mark, with his farm, with his life – he owed her his life, and Mark's life to boot! What about the things she had told him about herself? Women were not allowed at university – how could she be an engineer? How much of her story had been a lie? How should he ever combine the straightforward, trustworthy if too quiet young man he had grown so fond of with the picture presenting itself? She had accomplished tasks few women he knew would know to face, even less master…
Slowly, his churning brain gave over control to his exhausted body and he slipped into a light slumber, pictures and impressions playing incessantly behind his lids.
He woke abruptly to a choked sound, his mind taking a moment to settle. The young woman was tossing in her sleep, the pale face a grimace of pain and horror. Her lips were trying to form words, but no sound came – only a choked cough now and then, tearing at Lucas' composure. This was pure torture, whatever the young woman was dreaming, and him watching. He reached for her face hesitantly, and found it burning hot. The patient startled at the touch.
McCain moistened a piece of the left-over tissue from his water bottle and started to place it onto her forehead, only to have 'Eirik' pull back violently. She even raised directionless hands trying to ward herself against the touch.
"Gently, calm down…" God, he could not use the name, not when he knew… But then two scenes came to him, while he caught the hot wrists in his suddenly overlarge hands.
One – Sam Buckhart had said: "The girl vanished." And two… The farmhand himself had started telling him about a sister… a twin sister. Had started to say a name… Em-…
Clasping the weakly fighting hands tightly against his chest, he cupped his fingers gently around her burning face. Touching her knowingly sent a tingling down his arm.
"Tell me your name."
He wouldn't mind her waking up entirely, but she was lost to the fever. The hot, fragile head tried to shake, but Lucas bent deeper. "Then tell me your sister's name." That stilled the creature, the dark brows twitched, the eyes rolled wildly under the almost translucent lids. "Tell me her name." His voice shivered a little with the intensity behind the words.
And it worked. Her eyes opened a little, unfocused, tragic.
"Emery… I was… Emery."
"Then settle, Emery, sleep, you're safe."
"Mark… the children."
Oh good Lord, Mark. "Mark is fine, the children are all fine…" You saved them. Lucas had to swallow. That stupid temper of his.
The girl seemed to calm down a little, her eyes closed again. Though her breath was still laboured.
McCain sat back breathing heavily himself, stacking the fire with shaking hands. Warmth and light.
Emery. It fit the long curls, the fragile woman's body hidden under the wide farmer's clothes. How blind had he been? How could this have gone unnoticed for so long? He had treated Eirik/Emery like a man – they had worked, laughed, laboured beside each other, must have touched a hundred times…
But no. Eirik had been so very reticent in the beginning, and even lately, so careful about touching. – Aside from his accident, the young man had never instigated touch, and instinctively Lucas had refrained from more than maybe a hand to a shoulder. He remembered that weird realisation of bandages under the young man's shirt, but had forgotten about them when Mark declined any notion of an injury. Bandages… it made sense. She had… Lucas felt heat creeping up his cheeks. She had tied down her breasts, but after being hurt – and alone – had used the bandages for the wound.
A hundred small things fell into place – the first time they met, Eirik's reaction to the tall rifleman – that had been a purely female reaction. That had been Emery, Lucas nodded with a grimace. But after that initial moment of surprise, the only tell-tale signs were the sometimes studied stance, the mannerisms that seemed acquired, not natural, the way the young woman knew to keep her hands busy, always busy, because her hands would betray her. Thinking back now… she'd developed a lot of sneaky ways to hide her hands… Her reaction to their neighbour's unwelcome advance was even more understandable now – how scared must she have been, how close exposure of her secret.
Her expression after she had found him on the floor… the efforts of a poker face. Lucas smiled bitterly in memory. But then… how strong was this girl, in body and even more so in mind, to not only stand up to him, physically, but to tell her mind, and yet shield his boy… what had he done? Who had he let into his home, his family, and yes… his heart? He had considered Eirik a friend… a good friend! they had even talked about Margaret!
Lucas buried his head in his hands, suppressing a groan of frustration and rage.
Had Sam Buckhart known? Why had the native lawyer not said anything? How could he have kept the girl's secret? How could he have… oh Lord, how could he have sewn her arm, and treated her not much different than he would have treated Lucas himself?
That conversation with the native woman, Florence – the way "Eirik" had blushed, answering with the French version of a short "No."… Florence must have guessed something of the illusion.
How could she have kept the stupid head-scarf in place all the time? Mark or Lucas had surprised their farmhand from sleep now and then, but never had there been a moment that had either suspicious! How had she kept herself clean? What about the way a woman's body worked differently from a man's… the monthlies? He had been married for almost seven years, he knew about women… But it was true, he had never seen 'Eirik' take a piss, the 'boy' had always taken care to be far out of sight. Lucas had notched it up with his natural reticence and respected him. Never seen him with his shirt off… never thought it suspicious, either…
He had been in her company shirtless many times…
And no, he would not think about the broken hearts this revelation would result in downtown, nor the friendships shaken to the ground. Cade… Miss Schuler? Lord, what would he tell Micah?
He dozed off in the middle of his considerations, vivid dreams of the search for Mark and the children, of Eirik's shadowy figure always just out of sight, of the mountain lion's black outline above him, his claws burrowing into his shoulder.
Woken by a cold draft, Lucas realised he had fallen into deeper slumber.
The fire had almost died down, the air in the cave was cold. Quickly he stood and fed the flames. Exchanged a few friendly words with the horses, who had lifted their heads curiously at his approach. Spirit approached him with a nudge, and Lucas rubbed his hands over the proud face. "Calm, you ghost, I'm trying to take care of her. How come you did not tell us? You did not have to keep that secret!"
It felt nice to talk to somebody, even be it a stallion. How long could a single night be?
A quiet moan from the bedstead called to his attention – Spirit whinnied in reply, tried to force his way into the cave. "No, big guy, stay out here. I'll see to your mistress."
Lucas returned to the young woman's side, and gently cradled the out-flung hand in his paws. Her skin was ice cold, but her forehead was burning, even hotter than before if possible. The pulse in her wrist was racing.
"Eh, young woman, if we are to get you through this, you have to keep fighting, hear me?" Lucas reached for the wet cloth, found his stomach contracting. "Emery, listen to me. You can't die on me now! Not when I'm so furious, so angry..." So stranded. So full of questions.
The young woman moved a little under his hand, the cold fingers twitched. So Lucas kept talking.
"I owe you an apology, but you owe me more than that. And I guess I owe you more than that. Mark would be heartbroken if you died on us now!" He did not know how the boy would react to these weird news, bloody hell, how would anybody react to these news? He could imagine Miss Hattie's brows knitting together, her mouth pinch in a displeased expression.
"Let me check on the wound." But then he remembered that she wasn't wearing anything under that blanket and the grizzly fur…
Quickly Lucas fetched 'Eirik's' last remaining shirt, the supple leather one with the criss-cross at the throat, and gently clothed the almost boneless girl. That done, he focused on the wound in her side. There was inflammation, of course, but no fresh blood. He had no idea how long she'd lain there unconscious with the fire dying beside her before he had entered the cave… He'd have to get her to the house, to the doctor.
"And what am I going to tell him? Listen, I'm going to move you to lay on your side so juices can flow out of your wound." Gently he rolled her around, forming a pillow to support her against her back. Was she breathing easier?
Watching the lifeless pale face thoughtfully, Lucas felt anger rising in him. Whatever had made this young woman lie to him for a full year, work beside him like a man… he would get to the bottom of it. Leaning back against the wall, he let himself drift off again. But his mind would not quiet down, showing him scenes from the saloon where Ned had tried to force Miss Schuler to agree to marry him. Eirik entering with Micah in tow, the Sheriff's eyes a little blurry after the blow he'd gotten. The quietly intense words that had mad many a man shuffle around in embarrassment.
"Lucas."
He startled awake, rubbing his eyes. The girl was tossing and turning again, if an improvement from the lifeless fever before he could not rightly say. Reaching out to replace the wet cloth, he froze.
"Lucas…"
The sound of her voice was the same he was used to, distractingly so… infuriatingly so. But the emotions carried with it were of pure torture, of a pain so deep the tall rifleman felt his brows furrow. What had he done…
Then he remembered the expression of 'Eirik's' dirty, but glowing face.
"Lucas."
"Where have you been? How could you leave Cade like that? What about the children, what about Mark? I don't want to lay eyes on you ever, hear me!"
The young man standing in front of him was growing ashy under his layer of dirt. The green eyes took on an expression of childish bewilderment that infuriated Lucas even more. It took every ounce of his self-control not to lift a hand against the young man. His fingers gripped his rifle until he lost all feeling in them.
"Go! You're a coward, worse than a coward. I left my son in your care!"
The young man had turned without another word, his face closing, but not fast enough… not fast enough…
"Ei – Emery… don't. I'm real sorry for what I said. You saved those kids, you got Mark home safe and sound. I should've learned to keep my temper in check by now. I should have trusted in you." His tongue was heavy – how could he offer her trust?
But his words did not seem to reach the young woman. She was tossing and turning, biting her lip until blood came, fighting Lucas' efforts to keep her calm. Finally the tall man dropped the cloth and bent over her, cupping one cheek and her shoulder in his hands. He raised his voice: "Emery. Stop. You're going to reopen the wound. Calm down, you need to rest."
Her eyes flew open then, unfocused and wild.
"Emery." This was unreal, calling the so well-known eyes to him by a strange name, and still…
The green eyes, dark now like feverish marbles, found focus then, settled on returning his intent gaze. The rifleman shook with a sudden memory.
"Lucas." It was less than a croak, but it seemed to calm the young woman. One cold hand curled around his wrist.
"Yes, its me. You're safe. I'll get you to the doctor as soon as light is up."
A question seemed to rise into her face, though he could see the effort it took for her to hold on to reality. "Mark?"
"Mark is at home with Micah. He's fine." Guessing the direction of her thoughts, he added: "Spirit's waiting outside. He's fine, too. You need to rest now, to get better."
Her brows snaked together in an almost childish fashion, eyes wildly roaming over his face. But Lucas ran his thumbs gently over her brows, straightening them, and then over her heavy lids for good measure. "Sleep."
The young woman gave in, calm on her features now. Ah, he had forgotten to offer her more water – but she'd drink later. Lucas was suddenly more confident.
... But that memory… He'd seen her once, Eirik without the scarf covering his hair. The accident… he had the clear and undoubted memory of the heart shaped face, dusty and sweaty, the green eyes wide with terror, and the brown hair loosely gathered at the nape of her neck, the soft curls billowing out around her face… He had lost that memory in the aftermath, but the moment just now… That widow's peak, always hidden under the nondescript scarf… it changed her face.
Pulling his hand gently out of the cold fingers still curled tightly around it, he sat behind the young woman and carefully gathered the surprisingly silken strands together, braiding them into a heavy rope.
"Must have been quite a sight, you thrown over my shoulders, knuckles and toes trailing. I owe you for those shoes."
The laughter over the music, Mark's face at the guitar, … how much of it had been true? How much could be faked, and for what reason? How could he hold on to anger, when the first word out of the fever-addled mind of this creature had been his, and his boy's name? Why had she deceived them?
"I never meant to stay."
Lucas rubbed his hands through his hair in frustration.
"I guess it was a confluence of circumstances."
Well, it would have to wait till morning. Lucas began to gather their things together, too wound up to give into sleep once more. But the young woman had other plans. He returned from checking on horses and weather to find her shaking like a leaf, arms cramped close to her sides. Her hands were icy, her forehead burned. Her body seemed unable to produce the warmth the infection to the wound in her side tried to enforce.
"… killed him."
"You killed who?" Lucas frowned, touching the slender shoulder gently.
"…heard them… laughing… Mary… he wanted…"
Cold ran down the rifleman's back. There had been that expression on the schoolteacher's face, the way she had let Mark tell that part of their story.
"You heard them talking?" Should he try to wake her once more? The girl spoke through chattering teeth, eyes roaming wildly under half-closed lids. She moved her head erratically.
"He meant to… wanted to…" Her face spoke of the things she could not form words for. Had Eirik's face always been this expressive? Or was it the underlying, always alert wariness that was missing now?
"… keep quiet… must not make… a sound…"
"That's when you got hurt? He stabbed you?" Lucas inquired, wiping the wet cloth over her temple. "You did well. You defended yourself and the children. And Miss Schuler."
The shivers got worse, Lucas could see the young woman's eyes turn back into her head. Her whole body shook, her teeth clamped together.
A strange tension rose in the rifleman as he realised the only way to get the young woman to warm again. He'd seen wounds like this in the war often enough, and knew how to react, but it was different, so different… shaking his head gently, he slid under the fur behind the young woman and carefully pulled her back against himself. He found the lanky body cool and strangely alive, despite the shivers. Bedding the intensely female head on his arm, he rested the other over the covers around her middle, securing the fur tightly against her.
His body was telling him in unmistakable terms that he was sharing his bed with a sleeping woman for the first time in years. Not even the smell of warm spice and sweat he knew well enough to confuse him thoroughly could change that. But after a while, Emery's shivering gentled, and then subsided, and the young woman seemed to slide into a deeper sleep, drawing heat from him.
Contrarily, Lucas felt himself relaxing against the slender form, strangely satisfied at the calmer rise and fall under his arm. His eyes fell closed without him noticing.