The True One (One and Only Series Book 2) Page 3

  Darkness aided in their escape. But the presence of the captain cost them precious seconds. After they’d ridden a good distance, Tarak nudged his horse beside Gafur. “How is he?”

  “He’s barely breathing. Don’t know what’s keeping him alive.”

  “There’s a village ahead. I’ll send a man to scout for someone to take him off our hands.”

  No fires were lit. His men never questioned, simply followed the orders he gave. The group of rebels may wonder why he brought along a man who was sure to die, but none asked. Even Dinar withheld his opinion. They waited in silence.

  “Someone comes.” His second spoke.

  A wagon rolled into camp, with two of his men following.

  “Thanks to Buddha. We’re too exposed in the open,” Apu added.

  Tarak hurried to the wagon. A little man climbed down. A long plait of hair, bound by a strip of leather, hung down his back. He stood with his arms folded and his hands inside the sleeves of his too-big shirt. Another person climbed from the wagon, same size, same dark clothing. The little man gave a nod and let out a string of gibberish. About to hurl an oath, Tarak stopped at the soft voice of a young girl.

  “My father has agreed to help. Where is the hurt man?”

  Tilting her head, she avoided direct eye contact, but her voice crooned like a singing bird. The little man bobbed his head up and down in support.

  “Hand him over and let’s get out of here.” Dinar spoke from behind.

  His men had succeeded in their well-organized escape, but they were not yet in the clear. The quicker they got rid of the captain, the quicker they could cover their tracks and lead the prince in the opposite direction. For there was no doubt he would follow once he found them gone—if for no other reason than his pride would demand satisfaction.

  “This way.” Tarak led the little man and girl over to a spot on the ground. They couldn’t take the risk of being discovered.

  The little man slumped to his knees and ran his hands over the captain’s body. He spoke to the girl in their tongue.

  Hurry it along, would ya?

  The prince had been after his rebel army for a long time. When Tarak had been captured, he knew he would be tortured and was willing to die. But he’d been astounded at the lengths the prince went to torture the British captain. As though the cruel Rajput had a personal vengeance against the man.

  Silent in his own cell, Tarak had watched in revulsion as the evil prince ordered cruel acts upon the captain—and wondered if he would suffer the same fate, knowing most likely he would not survive. Yet, the captain lived, after all the man had endured. And he deserved to die somewhere other than that rotting hole.

  The little man stood and spoke again a slew of rapid words. This time, the girl did look at Tarak. “My father asks for you to place him in our wagon.”

  Mei Li dipped the cloth in the bowl and dabbed at the corner of the man’s mouth. She’d mixed her father’s curing sage with some water and finally got a few drops inside—hopefully into his stomach. A cloth wrapped around his head to hold his jaw in place made it difficult to give him any nourishment. For three days he lay still as death, yet he breathed.

  She’d never seen so much hair on a man’s face, or his body. The color of fire as the sun sets in the night sky. As she wet the cloth, she smoothed thick curls back from his bruised face. Yellow and purple tinted his left cheek. She applied ointment on the open wound, and then tied the cloth tightly under his chin.

  His hands and feet were sizeable. The torn clothing that hung on his body implied he’d been a large man at one time. Skin hung on his bones. Deep cuts oozed with poison. Every inch of his body had been wrapped with healing herbs. Her father had arranged the man’s limbs and bound them tightly for his broken bones to mend properly. As she rewrapped his ankles, she wondered what cruel person had done this to him.

  “Mei Li.”

  She stepped to the back of the wagon and raised the flap. “Yes, Father.”

  He stood with his hands folded inside the sleeves of his long robe. “Come. Let us eat.”

  Mei Li climbed to the ground. “Father, the movement of the wagon hurts him. His body rolls with each hole the wheel falls into.”

  He gave a short nod and turned to the fire. Mei Li lifted the kettle and poured a portion of tea into two cups. She handed one to her father.

  “I’m afraid, my daughter, the bounce of the wagon over rough ground will not allow his bones to mend.”

  She kept her silence not wanting to intrude on her father’s thoughts. She sipped her tea. After a long moment, he spoke.

  “The one who did this will search for him. We cannot hide him, daughter. The journey is rough. If we stop, we give aide to those who seek him. We must find other shelter.”

  Chapter 2

  The hateful man left.

  Reluctantly, Jennifer held her tongue and turned to go back inside the small house. Her haven, barely more than a mere shack in need of repair. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had.

  She closed the door, lowered the bolt firmly into place, and then pressed her back to the wood. Making a face, she contemplated her chances of getting away with shooting the loathsome man. Could she hide the body? Would she be able to drag him away or bury him without being discovered? She shook her head. What a flight of fancy.

  Only a few hours remained until darkness, then she would go to her lonely bed. But no matter how desolate she got, she would never welcome Barincott to her bed.

  Jennifer carried a well-worn pot over to the stone-laid fire pit. The first year in this isolated land, she’d been miserable. Blinded by love, she’d left her home in England two years ago.

  From a comfortable London house, wearing the latest fashion, dancing with the most handsome of men, she’d fallen madly in love with a second son. Only the first son could inherit land and a title. So with stars in her eyes, Jennifer had gone with her sweetheart to a new land full of promise and adventure. She’d left security and the warmth of her family to follow a man full of dreams, ready to make his fortune.

  If only he had.

  She’d gone from blind love to keen-sighted misery. Foolishly, she had believed his promises to love her forever—assuming he ever had. She could barely recall the happy times she’d shared with her newly married husband. A young girl with her delusions of fairytales, her head in the clouds, she thought she loved him.

  Johnny lost his boyish, good looks too soon. Failure after failure crushed all hope of finding his pot of gold at the next rainbow. Broken dreams turned him into a stern, obsessed, and finally, a dejected man. He took to the bottle. His drinking made him careless and by accident, he’d ended his young life.

  What would her existence be like if he had found his golden goose? What would her life be like if she’d remained safely ensconced in the bosom of her family?

  Jennifer closed her eyes and willed the tears not to fall. She’d cried enough when she came to this desolate country. She could never go back. Not after the way she’d left. Disobeying her father, she’d sneaked away like a thief in the dark of night. He would never forgive her.

  Kneeling before her grate of stones, her hands worked quickly to start a fire. In short time, flames licked the logs and warmth penetrated the small space. She stood and wiped her palms across her skirt.

  At least the dwelling was hers. She looked around the room. An uneven table, on which she’d put the wooden legs herself. If she had waited for Johnny, it would never have gotten done, for he was always chasing his next aspiration.

  Her husband’s death had left her at the mercy of the fates. But, Jennifer was made of strong stock. There was no one to take care of her, she had to rely on herself.

  Chopping wood gave her blisters, but she swiftly learned to tie cloth around her palms before tackling the chore. How
proud she’d been, building a bench for the table. Her back straightened and she stood a bit taller.

  It wasn’t easy. But she was a survivor. And she would waste no more tears over a man who had the insolence to die and leave her alone in this brutal country.

  Placing a precious potato on the table, Jennifer picked up a knife. The thought of carving an ear off her disreputable neighbor popped into her head. After their harrowing confrontation, she deserved a boon. So she picked up a second potato. As the dull blade scraped the brown skin, she made a note to add sharpening to her lists of tasks tomorrow. She cut the potatoes into pieces and dropped the bits into the pot above the fire. Adding a leftover portion of squirrel from yesterday, she left the stew to cook.

  She made her way to the connecting room. The only private room in her modest house—after she pleaded with her husband to put up a partial wall, which she had to finish. She stepped to the small trunk, where she stored all her worldly possessions when she’d fled and married Johnny in Gretna Green.

  Lifting the lid, memories crowded her mind. Her family gathering for the evening meal. Her mother and sister dressed in silk gowns and her father with his sharply tied cravat. Balls and parties, a different social every night.

  And then she met Johnny.

  How divine he had looked in his dandy finery.

  Shaking away the cobwebs in her mind, a trace of blue caught her eye. She lifted the first of the only two gowns she’d brought with her. Holding the smooth material against her cheek, moisture filled her eyes. Her vision blurred. She had no reason to dress for dinner now, other than the simple pleasure it gave her. Stroking the fabric with shaky fingers, she stared at the cobalt satin. After a few more moments, she refolded the elegant gown and carefully placed it back inside the chest.

  Not tonight. She’d wear it another evening when she felt a bit stronger.

  Jennifer picked up her brush and returned to the outer room. She sat in the rocker in front of the glowing fire. Lifting a long lock of dark hair, she stroked from the crown of her head down her shoulder and on to her waist. One. The first of one hundred strokes that had become her nightly ritual. As she stared into the dancing flames, she lifted the brush for another stroke.

  To look at her now, no one would know she’d been born a lady.

  If she allowed it, melancholy would settle over her.

  If she allowed it, she’d wish she were home.

  A long time passed before she realized dusk had settled and shadows from the fire pranced on one wall. A noise. Her head tilted to the side as she listened. The sure sound of a creaking wagon. It stopped outside her door. Who would be calling so late? She’d think it was her disagreeable neighbor, but even he would not come back again tonight. Arriving after dark, he’d take a chance she might shoot him.

  Turning up the wick, she lit another lantern and returned the glass over the flame. She lifted the lamp, and made her way to the one window in her small house. She pulled the curtain back just enough for her to peek outside. Foolish girl. Whoever was out there would see her before she saw them.

  With the moon’s glow, she made out the shape of a small lone figure. She jerked back from the window. A moment later there was a rap on her door.

  In all the months she’d been here, only two callers had visited. One was the man who wanted to replace her husband.

  Revolting idea.

  The other was a native of the land. He had looked her up and down, then turned his head and walked away. Johnny was still alive then. She supposed the native reckoned she already had a man and left her alone. She wished her distant neighbor would leave her alone, as well.

  Another rap. Reluctantly, she crept to the wooden door.

  “Who is it?” She called through the barrier.

  The stranger let fly a rapid string of words in a language she didn’t understand. In a weak voice, she called, “What do you want?”

  A shuffling sound and then a soft voice. “My father and I beg your forgiveness. We care for an injured man. We need help. Will you open the door?”

  A female. A girl, by the sound of her young voice. A woman living alone couldn’t be too careful. Jennifer opened the door a crack and held the lantern high. A girl. Long black hair, darker than her own. Bright pleading eyes stared at her. Then the girl’s chin quickly tilted downward, as if posing humility.

  Jennifer opened the door wider.

  “I am Mei Li. This is my father. The hurt man is in our cart.” She moved her hand slightly toward the covered wagon. “Please. Will you help him?”

  The little man hurried to the back. He moved something, stepped back and gestured inside with a sense of urgency.

  “He is hurt badly,” the young girl said.

  Jennifer looked at Mei Li and then to her father. Mother always said things happened for a reason. Of course, that was before her daughter ran off with a husband-to-be.

  Thinking this girl and her father were no threat, Jennifer took a deep breath for courage. Dear God, don’t let this be anything more than exactly what she’d been told.

  Hadn’t she learned her lesson by now?

  She trusted too easily.

  Jennifer carefully stepped through the door keeping her eyes alert for any sudden movement. Reaching the back of the wagon without mishap, she peered inside. What she saw horrified her. A skeleton of a man in filthy rags lay on a makeshift bed, wrapped in bandages from his head to his feet. At a glance, it was alarmingly obvious the man had been beaten within an inch of his life. Who could be so cruel? And how had this couple come by him?

  She didn’t need an extra burden. But she couldn’t turn her back on him. He’d probably die. Unless . . . Jennifer turned to the petite girl with sad eyes. “Is he alive?”

  “For now. It is up to Buddha how long.”

  The little restless man spoke again.

  Mei Li looked at her father and pointed to the wagon. “My father fears he will die if he does not remain immobile. We tried to heal his wounds but he was very near his last breath when he came to us. Travel is not good for him. My father asks if we can leave him here.”

  A thousand questions flooded Jennifer’s mind at once. But one thing the girl said surpassed the lot.

  Leave him here?

  Chapter 3

  Jennifer looked down at the man in her bed.

  Her bed.

  Compassion overrode good sense. She’d allowed empathy to triumph, overpowering any sensible protest she might have made. Her stomach was tied up in knots. Had been ever since he’d turned up at her doorstep. Who was he? Where had he been? Who did this to him? Best not dwell on the who. She prayed they would not come to her door looking for him.

  She’d never seen anyone in such bad shape.

  Mei Li said his jaw was broken. Jennifer studied the battered face of her patient—the part not wrapped in bandages. She wondered what he looked like under the bruises and swelling. Unconscious and limp as a wet cloth, he’d not made one sound when they carried him inside, which was no easy deed. He must have been a large man at one time, for his frame and loose clothing portrayed a man of massive build. Clearly he’d been starved as well as beaten.

  Shreds of cloth wilted from his shoulders down his sides. The marks on his wrists indicated he’d been chained or somehow restrained. Lifting the bandage from across his ribs, she gasped. Burned flesh. Her stomach rolled. She recognized the seriousness of the wound from a time when her husband, in one of his drunken stupors, had stumbled into a campfire and burned his arm. The scorched flesh took weeks of careful nursing before his skin regrew.

  Fortifying her courage, she took a deep breath and immediately realized her mistake. A mixture of decay and dried blood assaulted her nostrils, along with the herbs and ointment coating. The back of her arm flew to her mouth. Inhaling clean linen helped to settle
her stomach. She was not queasy by nature, she harbored a strong stomach. But the shock of the evening and the sudden realization of the brutality done to a human being, shattered her already tired bravado.

  Leaning over, she peeled bandages, one by one. Several cuts and burns covered his torso. How could anyone endure such agony? Although some festered, the wounds seemed to be clean. Probably thanks to Mei Li and her father’s healing herbs. Applying fresh ointment on his charred skin, she replaced the bandages. He moaned. Automatically her fingers went to his brow.

  “You are safe. Please remain still. I will take care of you. You are safe.”

  He did not wake. Hopefully her voice and gentle touch would calm him. With any luck, somewhere in his pain-hazed mind, the poor man would comprehend.

  Her gaze traveled down his body to rest on the bandages covering his swollen ankles. Her heart screamed at the viciousness of his wounds. His tattered trousers would have to be cut off. She stepped out of the room. Wrapping a cloth around her hand, she reached into the stove for one of the stones she kept inside. She dropped it into a bowl which she pumped full of water. She opened the cupboard and procured a knife. Then scooped up a tin of lye soap and carried everything back into the small makeshift room.

  As gently as she could, she grasped his trousers, which was not much more than rags, and slid the knife beneath. The sound of the tearing fabric sent chills up her spine. She refused to admit the chills had anything to do with seeing a man’s exposed flesh.