Brian sneered at his self-image. He wasn't modeling for the cover of a novel, ripped-shirt masculinity cradling the swooning heroine in his embrace. He shifted her into a fireman's carry across his shoulders. It might not be as elegant or as comfortable for her, but life's like that. If she didn't like it, she could consider the alternative.
She didn't stir. She didn't even whimper. He felt her heartbeat against his neck, felt her breathing, so she hadn't done something soap-opera stupid like dying in his arms. She was warm, and her body-smell wrapped itself around him, a reminder of intimacy and promise of reward.
Maureen's hips poked into his shoulder, bony, no padding. He could wrap one hand around both her wrists. He thought about her eyes, sunken in purple hollows above knife-blade sharp cheekbones. Her skin was as thin as parchment, and her clothes hung on her like rags on a stick scarecrow. What it all boiled down to was, he was carrying a warm skeleton.
She was starving. She had been all lean tension when he'd first met her. Now she'd blow away in a light breeze. It wasn't just missing meals and sleep. Her body had burned itself to power her magic.
She really weighed too little to be slowing him down this much. He'd carried backpacks weighing more--carried them all day long, twenty, thirty miles through the Malay jungle or over the sodden moors of the Falklands. This tiredness was Fiona's gift, her theft of his Power. He couldn't draw on it to aid his legs, his back, his shoulders.
Where had Maureen found the strength to do what she had done today? If Dougal weren’t dead already, Brian would have killed the bastard three times over.
She slept on. He walked on. His legs and back complained on. Every few paces, he stole a glance back at the hedgerow and the ridge of Fiona's roof, half expecting to find his sister strolling casually along behind them. Those vines and Maureen's binding wouldn't hold forever, and his sister could give new meaning to the word "vindictive."
It would have been simpler to just kill her. Maureen said no. She'd spared Fiona, because of the baby his sister carried and because Maureen wasn't crazy any more. She'd spared Fiona because she didn't want to kill again.
"I love you, Maureen."
She stirred and settled into a different curve around his shoulders. She was still alive. He was still alive. She might even love him. Those had to count for something.
Not that he deserved it. After all his mistakes, she'd still escaped, she'd found him, she'd broken the spell that held him--set him free and defeated Fiona on her own ground. What it had cost Maureen to break that spell, to rise from butchering Dougal in his own bed to seducing a man, he'd never really know. How does a woman overcome something like Buddy Johnson?
"You remind me of the Gurkhas, love," he whispered. "You're like them, small and tough and indomitable and dangerous way out of proportion to your size. If we get out of this alive, I'll take you to Nepal sometime. We'll stay with Lobsang Norgay in a dirty stone hut and drink buttered tea spiked with Jamaica rum. He was my old corporal, saved my ass a dozen times. He wanted me to marry his daughter. He'll like you."
She made a quiet noise in her sleep. It might have been agreement. He wondered if Lobsang would see her magic: those mountain shamans were used to some truly strange things.
A sudden chill caught at his heart. She'd walled off Fiona's Power. That was how they'd finally won. But Fiona's Power bound Sean to the forest, blocked him off from Power.
With Fiona bound, Sean was free. Sean had his Power back. Sean knew Maureen wanted his head.
The forest edge waited, a hundred yards or so ahead. It didn't look as inviting, now. It looked dark and sinister, like an alley in a bad neighborhood at midnight.
Brian guessed he had just about enough Power to goose a grasshopper. Maureen might as well be in a coma. She was as fit for a magical duel as she was to run a marathon.
He had to sneak Maureen through that bloody forest without running into Sean, get her up to whatever was left of Dougal's castle. The people there would help her. They'd have to. They owed Maureen their asses.
Ancient strategic principle propounded by Sun Tzu: when your enemy is strong and you are weak, avoid battle.
Brilliant observation, Mr. Sun. Now let's see if I can implement it.
He climbed the stile over the stone fence and entered the forest. They were off Fiona's land. A chill ran down his spine as he carried Maureen into the shadows.
* * *
Sean clenched his fist around the feeling of Power and chuckled quietly. Fiona had released him. Fiona had forgiven him. He was strong again.
His fingers caressed the tree next to him, feeling the life pulsing underneath the bark as he had not been able to feel for the last endless week. The tree spoke to him again. The forest felt alive again. He touched Power again.
The tree nipped at his hand, trying to catch his fingers between the ridges of its bark. Ah, yes. That would be Maureen's sister. There's a lot of hostility in that family.
He threw back his head and laughed. The noise ricocheted out into the forest and died. The forest wasn't in a mood for laughter. The forest told him Dougal was dead. The forest waited for its new mistress. The forest waited to digest its latest meal, wondering what price it would pay.
It was time to leave this forest.
That other redheaded bitch would be coming down from her hill, looking for him. She did not love him. She had destroyed Dougal. This land
