Tin Swift(5)

She held a bundle in one hand, just larger than a handkerchief. He couldn’t smell what she had wrapped up in it, but Wil whined.

“Do you think you should? Now?”

“Rose saw you kill a man.” Mae spread the kerchief out on a crate, revealing the contents. Herbs, a candle, a small bowl, and a bell. Her hand dipped to touch each item, over and over again, as if doubting their reality.

“I suppose she did,” he said.

Mae pulled the skinning knife from the sheath at her waist. “I don’t think we can wait any longer to…ease this.”

She straightened her shoulders, but it did nothing to hide the exhaustion threading her. Mae had spent most of the journey dazed in her saddle and staring at the sky through the night.

It tore him up to see her falling apart more and more each day.

Not that she’d complained. Not once. She’d known that leaving the coven would someday set this cost in motion.

“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Lindson,” he said, “but don’t you need your sisters’ help?”

“What I need, Mr. Hunt,” Mae said softly, “is a man with a sound mind.” She swallowed and nodded, as if agreeing with herself. Or with the voices only she could hear.

“A lot of land to cover before winter strikes.” She nodded, nodded. “Your expertise on the trail and surviving the wilds is invaluable. We are relying on you to see that we arrive at our destination. Safely. As safely as we can.”

“Sad day when a cursed man is the sure bet,” he muttered.

“Not sad. Not at all. It’s a practical thing,” she said with a faint smile. “I…trust you. And I will need your blood, Mr. Hunt. Water could work, or tears, or sweat, but for what you carry…” She studied him as if she saw him clothed in another man’s wardrobe. “For that curse to ease, I’ll need the blood that carries it.”

Cedar stood, took off his coat, then rolled up his sleeve.

In the enclosed wagon, with the warmth of the day still trapped inside, her presence was almost tactile. The scent of flowers, the halting rhythm of her breath, and her gaze that searched him as if uncertain, or afraid, of what she was looking for, fell on his senses like heady wine.

He offered his forearm. “Will this do?”

She nodded, and placed the bowl to catch the blood. “I won’t need much. Still—I’m sorry.”

He opened his mouth to say he didn’t mind, but she had already slid the knife quick and sure through his skin.

A hot sting licked across his arm. It hurt, but not all that much.

Mae set to gathering the drops of blood, her hands sure, as she suddenly became more interested in the blood than in the man who bled.

Cedar forced himself to look away from her, to the wagon door, and the sky and trees beyond.

Rose Small jogged up the steps, shotgun strapped to her back, a smile on her face.

“Found the chains,” she declared. “We’ll have you tied up and bug snug in no time. Oh.” She stopped just inside the door. “Is everything all right?”

“A spell,” Mae said. “For Mr. Hunt. For the curse.”

“Think you should take a seat, Mr. Hunt?” Rose asked.

“I’d prefer it,” he said.

Mae didn’t seem to hear either of them. She pressed a cloth against the cut on his arm. “Hold this.”

He put his fingers over the cloth, chose a pile of burlap bags for a chair, and sat.

Mae returned the bowl to the crate and then shook out a handkerchief, which she quickly folded.

“Do you need me to tie that over your arm?” Rose asked.

“No. It’s nearly done.” One of the things the curse gave him was a faster healing time. Already the cut was beginning to close.

Rose shook the chains free to untangle them. “Wish there was another way, Mr. Hunt,” she said. “I hate seeing anyone in cuffs.”

“I don’t much like them myself,” he said, trying to put ease in his words. “But it’s not as if they do me any harm. Given the choice, I’d much rather the cuffs than your bullet in my chest.”

Rose shrugged a little and clasped the cold metal around each wrist. “I would have aimed at your leg, I think,” she said, fastening the ankle cuffs.

“And if you’d missed?”

She double-checked the chain that ran from the ankle cuffs up to the wrist cuffs, then latched to the side of the wagon. “I wouldn’t have missed.” She gave him a smile. “You know that, Mr. Hunt.”

He couldn’t help but smile back at her. She was right. Rose was a crack shot.

Wil limped over to stand next to Cedar, ears up, head high. He didn’t look concerned, wasn’t whining or growling. No, if Cedar had to guess, he’d say his brother was just curious about the whole thing.