Feather On The Wind

Feather on the Wind By Catherine Snodgrass

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass ISBN 1-55316-116-5 Published by LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com Copyright © 2003 Catherine Snodgrass Artwork copyright © 2003 Trace Edward Zaber Previously published by RFI West. Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1 All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law. National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data Snodgrass, Catherine, 1953Feather on the wind [electronic resource] / Catherine Snodgrass. ISBN 1-55316-116-5 I.

Title.

PS3569.N62F42 2003

813’.6

C2003-901345-6

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Prologue 750 A.D.—City of the Sun

Al-Mon stood as rigid as the statues that surrounded his bathing pool. Let the servants attend; he would offer no assistance to this ceremony. It was his way of showing objection without actually doing so. How could he refuse when this was for his benefit and the perpetuation of his royal line? His manservant tied the jaguar sash around Al-Mon’s waist, overlapping the matching loincloth. Al-Mon rejected the seashell collar, opting for a red feathered cape. His gods would accept him unbejeweled, without pretense, a humble subject seeking divine intervention. How could they refuse such a request? He had spent his life appeasing those omnipresent beings and had asked for nothing in return—until now. “Your headdress, my lord.” Al-Mon combed his raven hair to the crown of his head and secured the long strands with a narrow strip of leather. He sat upon one of the stone benches to enable the smaller man to seat this crowning symbol of authority. The plumage of red and yellow was heavy and awkward. Only with years of practice could one wear the towering mass without having it slip or, worse yet, throw its wearer off balance. Such a thing was not a problem for Al-Mon; his tutelage had begun at the cradle. Now the headdress was merely an extension of himself. With it, his subjects rarely noticed the unfortunate condition which set him apart from others. Without it he stood out. It was a cruel fate that his birth and that of his twin occurred on a desolate road with only his father and the high priest attending the premature event. He lived; his twin brother did not. A midwife would have found something, anything to press the surviving newborn prince’s head into the slope that Mayans longed for—but the men did not. As a consequence, Al-Mon was forced to give sacrifice to the gods at the tender age of three days. He was grateful that incident was not part of his memories. And yet he could not label all these circumstances as a curse. A lesser man would have let the difference destroy him, make him bitter. Al-Mon refused to let it rule his life, not when there were so many other more important things that should. The physical aspect was a minor annoyance. Dealing with it and the reaction of others helped him build the strength he needed to one day be a good ruler. Al-Mon adjusted the headdress and pulled his hair through the opening at the top. “I believe that should do.” “A grander prince I have never attended,” Tor-sa said. Al-Mon chuckled. “Tor-sa, I am the only prince you have ever served.” The little man smiled back. “Yes, my lord, that is true. I wish you good fortune tonight. I shall be watching from the portico. All three ladies are worthy. The gods cannot help but choose well.” Al-Mon’s humor faded. “How sad that the ladies in question do not feel that way.” From outside the conch shells called the city to the ceremony. There was no postponing the inevitable. Resigned to his fate, Al-Mon strode through winding corridors of stone to the entry

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass hall. He was late. His parents waited, dressed in full regalia. The prospective brides hovered nearby, dour-faced. Standing watch was the elderly high priest, Caan-tu. From the time of Al-Mon’s birth, Caantu had been a part of his life. No decision was made without him. It was said his powers went far beyond those required of ordinary priests. Al-Mon did not know if that were true, but he did know Caan-tu was one of the wisest, most learned men he had ever met. This ceremony tonight was his doing. With Caan-tu leading the way, they stepped into the night. A hush fell over the crowd as the royal procession appeared. No breeze stirred. Smoke from the torches hugged the ground like fog. The path to the temple was clear, but as the royals passed, the crowd closed in behind them. Drumbeats echoed their footsteps down the flight of stairs, across the courtyard, then up the steep temple steps. Silence descended when the entourage reached the top, and Caan-tu raised his scrawny arms. “Tonight, on this holy night, a bride will be chosen.” The crowd roared with approval, and Al-Mon looked over the candidates. By the ladies’ show of enthusiasm one would think they were to be sacrificed instead of honored. Al-Mon looked away and to the sea of faces below. That, too, was a bad choice, for one face stood out— that of Ka-la. Her dark eyes blazed with fury over the ceremony and the fact that she had not been chosen to participate. She would have been willing, so willing that this selection would not have been necessary. But had she been included, Al-Mon would have steadfastly refused to accept her. “We shall choose!” Caan-tu said, then led the king and queen into the bowels of the temple. Al-Mon let his gaze focus on his home, hoping to clear his mind and let the gods work their will. The royal dwelling-house was set at a right angle to the temple, and was the longest structure in the city. A rippling succession of eight archways marked the front; torches lit each one. Above the center arch, the main entrance, a bird was carved; its feathers spread in flight with a wingspan that reached past the arches on either side of it. To visitors and people of the city the bird represented the freedom and power of the ruling clan. But Al-Mon knew of the invisible tether that bound the bird. For a Mayan prince and future king there was no freedom. He existed for the sole purpose of serving his people and producing heirs, even if that meant with a mate who was less than willing. Al-Mon shifted his gaze to the black horizon. Why must it be this way? Somewhere there must be a woman, a love for me. He closed his eyes and prayed the gods’ selection would be wise.

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Chapter 1 1970 A.D.—Mayan archaeological site

Sweat pooled between Raina Cotterell’s breasts, then trickled down to the waistband of her faded jeans. The heat was a minor annoyance compared to the swarms of mosquitoes regrouping for yet another attack. By that time she hoped to be safely tucked beneath the netting in her tent, letting the night sounds of the Yucatan sing her to sleep. In an effort to get some relief from the humidity, she leaned back on her heels and tied the edges of her shirt beneath her breasts. One spear from the insect devils would force her to pull it back in place—until then, she opted for the slight coolness provided. With a flick of her fingers she released a cascade of gold hair from the confines of a barrette. She fluffed it to cool her head then gathered the mass once more to secure it atop her head. It was a foolish vanity considering her profession, but she couldn’t make herself cut it. Just because she had spent half a year researching Mayan ruins didn’t mean she had to look the part the remainder of the year. No concessions; she wanted the best of both worlds. She inhaled the scent of the jungle—sharp, pungent, heavy. The perfect blend of vegetation, soil and moisture. The smell of life. Stretching the kinks from her back, she looked up the towering ceiba trees to the azure sky above. A sky that matched her eyes … or so she had been told. A sky that had seen those who walked here centuries before. Who were these Mayans who had lived over a thousand years before? What had they thought and felt? If she closed her eyes and let her mind wander, she could actually put herself in their footsteps. Contact with pockets of Mayan descendants only whetted her appetite. Through these small remnants of the ancient civilization her archaeological team learned of customs. And when they were lucky enough to find an elder, they could tap into the language used long ago and passed from one to another. Like Grandpa Chapa who had joined the expedition again this season. The man was a wealth of knowledge, even if his stories of visits from the ancients was a little farfetched. Raina longed for a discovery that would answer her questions. True, she had made quite a few minor finds, but nothing major. Nothing that would rock the archaeological world and make her peers take notice. Little discoveries only made her hunger for more tangible ones. She picked up her brush and returned to her task. Something was beneath the pile of debris— she was certain of it and was determined to prove it. She needed this unlikely find to bolster her confidence and reaffirm her decision to enter the field of archaeology. The inconvenience of living in the jungle was insignificant compared to the reward of piecing together history. Who cared that water was at a premium? That the mosquitoes threatened to carry you away or eat you alive? That the heat smothered both day and night? She was reaching across time, touching objects that had once belonged to a mysterious people. Nothing could spoil that soul-hugging satisfaction. Nothing, that is, except … “Are you still working on that stupid pile of dirt? Leave it be and come look at a real find.” Before she could protest, Burke O’Neill grabbed her upper arm and hauled her to her feet. To look at him one would have thought he was on the wrong end of this archaeological puzzle. With his dark features, he could have easily passed as one of the people he researched. If any doubted -6-

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass his skill as a scientist, though, Burke was quick to set them straight. He was as good-looking as a man could be, but his ego destroyed any attraction gleaned from that asset. At the blink of an eye he would rattle off the tombs he had unearthed, the artifacts recovered and the awards he expected to receive as a result. He’d been everywhere, done everything, and done it better than anyone else. If anyone doubted, all they had to do was ask him. Sadly, his obnoxious behavior overrode any notoriety his discoveries might receive. And Burke was too self-absorbed to see that. Raina pulled away from his grasp to dust off her jeans. “Not now. I’m nearly finished. Only a few more hours and I’ll have it uncovered. I won’t sleep unless it’s done.” Burke shooed his hands toward her project. “Aw, leave it. It’s nothing. I have much more experience in this business than you. Why won’t you listen to me?” She held his gaze with an icy stare until he broke the contact. “I have a right to my own accolades and failures, Burke. Please allow me that much.” He shrugged off her words as he would a pesky insect. “Have it your way. But first, come see this. You just might get a kick out of it.” He took a step backward and jerked his head toward the courtyard. “Come on, it’s…” A sneeze swallowed his sentence, followed in quick succession by six more. Raina yanked the packet of tissues from her roomy back pocket and slapped it into his open palm. “Why don’t you take something for that? It’ll take less than a minute for me to prepare a tea.” “Forget it. You’re not pouring that hippie garbage down me.” “Herbal medicines have been used for centuries. They are totally natural and very healthful.” “I said forget it.” “Then see the site doctor. You’re sick more than anyone I know. You may be coming down with the Asian flu. You should have seen to it before we left the States.” “It’s just a cold, and as I recall, I was too busy bailing you out of jail. I swear, Raina, the people you associate with.” “As I recall, I didn’t ask for your help. Anyway, it was a peaceful sit-in. We did nothing wrong.” “When are you going to realize that demonstrating against the war will do nothing? War is war.” He shook a finger at her. “That’s what’s been around for centuries. It’s the nature of man. Why, I’d be willing to bet your gentle Mayans were as warlike as they come.” She crossed her arms and cocked out a hip, ready to defend a people even history could not unravel. “I’ll never believe that.” “Suit yourself.” He shoved the used tissues into his shirt pocket and tossed the packet back to her. Raina caught it with one hand. “If war is the nature of man, why aren’t you in Vietnam?” A gleaming smile cut his bronzed face. “I told you, baby.” He splayed his fingers across his chest. “I’m it. The last of the O’Neills. It’s up to me to carry on the family line.” “You’re going to have a hard time doing that all by yourself.” He chucked her chin. “Don’t be that way. You can’t keep saying no to me forever. Now, are you coming or not?” There was no use refusing. He would badger her until she gave in. This way she’d get back to her work faster. “Lead the way.” Burke was childlike in his exuberance—another discovery to his credit. Raina was certain this one would be as noteworthy as everything else Burke O’Neill unearthed. She supposed he

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass had earned the right to be smug, but it made his ego impossible to live with—a trait she was glad she saw before she made the fatal mistake of getting involved with him. If only he would understand there was no future for them. What magic words would it take? After this trip, she told herself. A confrontation now would only interfere with their work. Burke would not take rejection without a fight. His ego wouldn’t allow it. Seeing him everyday, having him hound her, would only make her life hell. No, she’d deal with it back home where the haven of her apartment would shelter her, and her father was near should Burke become too persistent. Raina saw the new stone carving before Burke could point it out. It was hard not to notice, large as it was. Twice as tall as a man, square in proportion, the glyph was emblazoned on the stone temple for all to see. On either side other images begged to be released from centuries of foliage and dirt. Farther along, the surface bore a tremendous carving of an eagle. Under it stood Burke, his head positioned where the rendering of the long-dead Mayan began. She glanced from one to the other. Burke affected a regal pose to match the one above. Her breath caught. Mirror images: one twentieth-century male in all his self-important glory; the other, eighth-century Mayan with all the regal splendor he deserved. Their fellow scientists chuckled and shook their heads while native workers eyed Burke warily. Only Roy Osborne was annoyed with the display. “Move out of the way.” He shooed him aside. “I can’t photograph and draw this thing with you standing there.” Burke tossed back a laugh and sauntered up to Raina. “Well, what do you think?” “Uncanny.” It was small consolation to a man who wanted praise, but it was all Raina could manage, for the glyph commanded all other conscious thought. “That’s all you can say?” When her reply was nothing more than an absentminded nod, Burke snorted and strode off to share the news with others in the field lab. Raina remained transfixed by the image. It was a coincidence at best. With Burke gone she could tell herself the similarities were minuscule. She glanced at Roy, his red head bent in concentration as he captured stone on paper. Here the likeness was undeniable, but he captured a quality the stone couldn’t provide. With each stroke of his pencil Roy brought out the ruler’s soul. His jaw was as squared as the stone upon which he was carved. Powerful, determined, handsome. No sloping forehead here as other glyphs displayed—a characteristic that gave her pause to wonder how he was fortunate enough to escape the horrid ritual of having his head pressed between boards at birth. His family must have been powerful. He bore the feathered headdress with a confidence that earned him authority. His gaze did not look down that aquiline nose, but to the distant horizon. In his eyes Raina would swear she saw a hint of humor. She looked at the stone image. Those same eyes seemed to stare at her. She hugged herself to ward off the chill that vision gave her, but the feeling didn’t dissipate. She moved to the left, then to the right, then paced to and fro, all the while watching the ruler while the ruler kept watch on her. At any minute she expected the thing to sprout arms and drag her closer, and she couldn’t say she would have fought it had that unlikely event occurred. There was a touch on her arm. Raina squealed and spun around. A blush crept to her cheeks over her foolishness.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Cynthia Osborne, pixie if ever there was one, smiled up at her. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Quite impressive, isn’t he?” Raina glanced back over her shoulder. Whatever had obsessed her before was gone. A shaky breath calmed her. “Are you all right? You look a little pale. I hope you’re not catching Burke’s nasty cold.” “No. I’m fine. I just…” She looked beyond the smaller woman to the site she had abandoned. “I need to get back.” I have to get back. It was all she could do to keep from breaking into a run as she hurried back to work. Something was here, she felt it, calling to her, nagging at her to hurry. She urged herself against haste, yet her brush had a will of its own. “Obsessed, huh?” Raina glanced up as Cynthia knelt across from her. “I know that feeling,” she said. “Mind if I help? It could be a tomb. I might find some interesting bones.” Without waiting for an answer, she started work on the opposite side of the rectangle. Raina offered a quick smile with her thank you. Pixie she might be, but the anthropologist was as hard working as the strongest man and as determined a scientist as Raina, even if her overactive imagination often carried her away. She and Roy were the perfect couple. They worked in silence, scrapping and brushing, careful not to damage anything that might be beneath the layers they stripped away. After several hours had passed, Roy wandered their way. He watched them for a few minutes before putting his own tools to work. His unsolicited assistance bolstered Raina’s confidence. Roy wouldn’t help unless he felt the discovery of some note. Idle pursuits weren’t worth his time. Shadows lengthened as the day waned. The sunset brought the mosquitoes and Burke. Raina let her hair fall in a protective cape about her shoulders. There was little she could do to fend off the human annoyance. Burke hovered over them, hands braced on hips, more an overseer than a scientific partner. The trio ignored him. “Looks like a capstone,” he said. “We know,” they replied in unison. “It’s nearly uncovered,” Raina added. “Well, leave it ’til tomorrow. We’re going to celebrate the autumnal equinox tonight.” “Go on. I have to see what’s in here,” Raina told him. Burke drew breath to protest; Roy stopped him. “Be a good boy and fetch us some rope, flashlights and a crowbar. Then you can go play with your friends.” “Very funny.” Nevertheless, he stomped away to retrieve the items. “I don’t mean to pry, but this is stupid,” Cynthia softly told her. “Why don’t you have it out with him. You’re a professional woman and should be treated like one. His attitude is …” Roy groaned and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Please don’t say chauvinistic. I am sick and tired of hearing that word.” Raina smiled at the couple. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle Burke after this trip.” She leaned back to survey her work, and, when her stomach rumbled a protest, realized she had not eaten all day. It was a minor annoyance she didn’t have the inclination to appease. Whatever was beneath this stone, she hoped it matched the anticipation of her heartbeat. Across a courtyard dotted with trees, torches lit the clearing before the partially unearthed temple. The flickering light cast shadows among the stone carvings. Those eyes held her again,

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass calling to her from across time. This time the spell couldn’t be broken, not even by Burke’s noisy return. “Let’s get this over with. I don’t want to miss the celebration,” he said. Raina took a crowbar from him. “Then go. We can manage without you.” He snatched it back. “Just move.” She did so only enough to give him elbow room. The men pierced the seal at the corner, then wedged the steel beneath it. The earth sighed. Together Roy and Burke levered the stone. The sigh turned to a hiss, then a puff like a tiny explosion. The sweet-sick smell hit Raina first, nearly choking her. On its heels came a vaporous bluegreen cloud. It enveloped the four, swirling from toe to head before melding with the treetops towering above. Cynthia fanned the air. “God, it smells like incense … bad incense.” Roy scratched his head. “I’d like to say that this is a common phenomenon in unsealed tombs, but … well … I’ve heard of gases before, but nothing like this.” “It is almost as if the mist were caressing us.” Raina sighed. Burke scoffed at Raina’s reverent tone. “Please spare me the mysticism. Leave the thing to air out and we’ll check it out in the morning.” “I can’t rest ’til I see what’s inside. I’m going in…with or without the rest of you,” Raina said. Roy slipped on his backpack, nestled his camera straps over his shoulders and flicked on his flashlight. “Lead the way.” The three lifted questioning eyebrows at Burke who tossed up his hands in defeat. “Go on. I’m right behind you.” At the entrance a short stairwell led to a white corridor. Red symbols grouped at intervals of five feet defied transcription. Despite Burke’s apparent lack of interest, Raina knew he’d be down here at the first opportunity to break the language code. It was his personal goal—to become a premier epigraphist. By morning he’d be down here with Grandpa Chapa. They inched along, taking note of all. Other than the glyphs, they found nothing remarkable. On occasion, Roy photographed a particular section of wall that caught his interest. “I smell incense again,” Cynthia whispered. Before they could confirm her impression, another cloud oozed around them. It was stronger than the first, overwhelming in its sweetness, strangling. When Raina was certain they could bear no more, the air cleared. “As much as I hate to admit it, Burke’s right. We should let this place air out,” she told the others. Her acquiescence gave Burke the chance to do what he most enjoyed—take charge. “There’s light up ahead. Probably the way out. I wouldn’t be surprised if we haven’t circled the plaza. We’ll probably come out at the temple.” Raina lagged behind the others. It was a nice discovery, but nothing of great worth, a fact Burke wouldn’t hesitate to remind her of, ad nauseum. He’d flaunt his Harvard education, his superior intellect, the two years field experience he had over her and anything else he could come up with. Before he was through, her personal views on life would come under attack. She wanted to fall to this stone floor and cry out her frustration. She’d been so certain that something lay in this corridor waiting for her discovery. What she found was her own inadequacies staring back at her.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass She was so deep in thought, she failed to notice the others had stopped until she smacked into them. Burke caught her around the waist to steady her and brought his finger to his lips for silence. When Raina cocked her head in puzzlement, he drew her forward yet kept her in the shadows. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” he whispered against her ear. Raina’s reply was wide-eyed wonder. Candles in niches along the wall lit a perfectly preserved room. In the center stood three people in the traditional garb of the Classic Mayan— two men and a woman. The men were draped only in a loincloths—the old one wore white; the other, younger man, jaguar. The woman was swathed in a gauzy caftan of red. All wore feathered headdresses. Necklaces of beads and seashells draped their necks in ever-increasing lengths until the chest was fully adorned. The woman filled a stone bowl with strips of fig-bark paper then knelt on a grass mat before the man in the jaguar cloth. He removed a stingray spine from a leather pouch at his side. Keeping his eyes focused on the woman, he parted his loincloth and pierced his foreskin. The woman chanted. It took Raina a few seconds to catch the rhythm. Then she recognized the dialect—the ancient language Grandpa Chapa had taught them. Raina felt Burke tense as the man’s blood dripped into the bowl. That done, the man lifted the bowl with blood-soaked hands and the trio filed out in slow procession through an archway. The sounds of a cheering crowd followed. Raina spun around. “Let’s get the hell out of here. The last thing I want is to be sacrificed by some fanatic cult.” “I don’t think it’s a cult,” Cynthia replied. “Did you notice their heads? Sloped. Just as they were before the Spanish Conquest.” The size of Cynthia’s eyes, coupled with her hushed tones quickened Raina’s heart. She caught herself before being drawn in. “What are you trying to suggest?” “That she’s nuts,” Burke said. “Let’s see what they’re up to before we go. I want to make sure I can identify them again.” Roy nodded his agreement, and they crept forward. The smell of incense reached them, not sweet this time, more of cedar and sandalwood with a hint of vanilla. Smoke curled up from the fire in the bowl while those standing at the altar followed its ascent to the heavens. In the silence of that worshipful moment, Burke sneezed. Heads whipped around at the intruders. Raina thought she’d surely die from fright. The old man came forward to escort them out. A scowl deepened his wrinkled forehead. Behind him two guards, spears at their sides, stood ready to defend him. “We don’t have much choice,” Roy whispered. “Go with them, but try to stay close.” Raina gave a nod and stepped forward. A collective gasp, followed by a rippling murmur came from the crowd below as Raina entered the circle of torchlight. There was another intake of breath from the Osbornes behind her. “Good God, look!” Cynthia exclaimed. From those gathered before the temple, another young man stepped forward. He wasn’t like the others. No deformity sloped his forehead. His dark eyes sparkled with the light. Raina’s breath caught. The stone image come to life! He stood before her, taking her limp hands with his long fingers. She looked up, her mouth agape with the impossibility of what was happening. “I have prayed long to the gods for you, and now you have arrived. You are most beautiful.” With a reverence given to a treasured work of art, he caressed her long blonde hair.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Soft. Beautiful. I shall look upon you always and bless the gods that sent you.” His smile pierced her heart. “I have been waiting for you an eternity and now you are here, my wife.” He stepped to one side and drew her forward for the crowd to see. A sea of people bowed to her. It was the last thing Raina saw before slipping into unconsciousness.

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Chapter 2

Al-Mon caught the girl against the wall of his body. She was a fragile creature, this gift from the gods—a package of angles and points. No meat padded her bones—a fall to the stone would surely cause her harm. What would the gods say if he allowed her to be hurt within minutes of being blessed with her? She would be taken back, of course. That could not be—it would not be. True, she was not perfect, but neither was he—a fact of which he was all too aware. Had he not been nobly born, his ostracization would have been total instead of merely whispered comments behind his back. Al-Mon swooped the girl into his arms and cast his gaze toward the three young women from whom a bride was to be chosen. They could rest easy now—none would be forced to wed such a deformity as he. Relief softened their faces. No matter how prestigious the title of queen, none wanted to be shackled to him. Now they need no longer worry. Womankind was safe. The decision had been placed in the hands of the gods, and they had granted his fervent wish by delivering a golden bride. He stared down at the woman in his arms. Yes, to him she was beautiful. Even without the sloped forehead. Even without the crossed eyes. Even though she and her companions wore strange clothing. All the oddities and abnormalities were insignificant—she was for him. Made from the corn as the first woman had been, and blessed by the sky. The trio who had accompanied her now garnered his attention—a mix as strange as she. A jungle nymph, the man with hair of flame whose many eyes dangled from multi-colored straps around his neck, and Al-Mon’s twin. How could any doubt she was for him, when his brother had been called from the land of the dead to escort her? “You will come with me,” he told them, and turned to the steps. He could take that steep descent at a run and not be winded. This time he would not—the life in his arms demanded he take care. The crowd gathered there parted in reverential awe to let the entourage pass. Al-Mon hiked his chin up a notch to keep from smiling as he made his way to his dwelling-house. This was a holy moment and he must treat it so. Torchbearers ran ahead to light the way. Gone was the heavy air and the strangling layer of smoke. With the woman’s arrival, a cooling breeze had lifted the solemn atmosphere. A million stars lit the night and blessed his good fortune. She stirred, and he looked into her azure eyes. They were wide with fright, reminding him of a wild animal cornered by the hunt. She craned her neck for sight of her companions. The man, his twin, motioned her to remain still, and she settled back into Al-Mon’s arms. It had not occurred to him until that instant that she might not understand what was happening. True, she would know her journey would culminate in becoming his wife. But, in his joy over her arrival, he had rushed her. He had not given her any benefit of formal introduction that, as a lady, was her right. His mother would surely counsel him over this breach of protocol at the first opportunity. A glance her way told him nothing. She was poised, unruffled as always. Not once in all his years had he seen her regal composure fail. Tonight might be the exception. A gasp from the small woman brought his lady’s head up.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Oh my g—” She clamped her lips closed and stared at the dwelling-house ahead as did her companions. Al-Mon offered her a reassuring smile. “Do not be afraid. This is my home.” “Your…home? Not the temple?” his twin asked. “We have just left the temple,” he replied, and motioned in that direction with his head. When the other man opened his mouth to speak again, a nudge from the little woman kept him quiet. At the base of the stairs to the house, Al-Mon’s mother scurried ahead. By the time the entourage reached the forward hall, she had already dispatched servants to prepare rooms. With a sigh of satisfaction, she turned to his father. “Shall we gather in the assembly hall while we wait?” His father scanned the crowd gathering around them. “Some place more private, I think. The meeting rooms in our quarters will do.” He pointed to the girl in Al-Mon’s arms. “I believe you may set her on her feet. She appears sufficiently revived. If not, I am sure you will be close by to catch her should she faint again.” The smirk that played upon his father’s lips set Al-Mon’s defenses on alert. Whether to tease or suggest he was being too courteous, Al-Mon had little patience to deal with parental discussion. Still, he could see the sense in putting her back on her feet since she appeared somewhat recovered. Reluctantly, he set her down and wondered how much time would pass before he could hold her again. She teetered, and he grabbed her arm to help steady her. “Sorry.” Her voice was as soft as the season’s first rain. “I haven’t eaten in awhile. I guess I’m a little dizzy.” Al-Mon smiled. “We too have fasted. Come. Food and drink await us in my parents’ rooms.” A sweeping gesture of his arm showed her the way, and they followed behind the older couple. Only Caan-tu accompanied them. Rounding the corner, Al-Mon caught sight of Tor-sa monitoring their retreat. A darted glance his way sent the servant ducking back to the shadows, but not before his bright smile fell upon his lord. It was an extension of Al-Mon’s euphoria, a joy that manners dictated Al-Mon repress for the moment. A rapturous feeling that even Ka-la’s brief but sudden appearance from the wings could not dampen. She was furious with this turn of events, and her rage made Al-Mon want to burst out with laughter. A door of ceiba branches was all that separated his parents’ rooms from the corridor, but that thin barrier was sacred. None could enter without the permission of those inside. The inner rooms were for sleeping and bathing; the outer for informal entertainment. Here his mother worked on her loom while his father carved jade. Capes and headdresses were normally set aside and lighthearted banter donned. This was where he and his sisters had grown until they were of an age to seek quarters of their own. They continued to gather here despite their independence, but now, with his sisters off and wed, it was often a lonely place. Because of their new arrivals, Al-Mon and his parents did not set aside their formal attire. Had only the young woman been there, that would have not been so; after all, she was to be family. The rites of nobility were for the benefit of the other three. “Please sit.” His father motioned them to the woven grass mats around the low table where food and drink waited. The strangers did not move until all four had exchanged glances. It was a trait Al-Mon noticed each time they were offered something as if they were seeking guidance

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass from a leader that did not exist. Whatever their oddities, all were aware of the proper protocol— none ate or drank before the king and queen. Their manners seemed impeccable. “Please … feel free to help yourselves to food and drink,” his father told them. Al-Mon twisted the lid off a serving jar and held it out to the golden woman. “Would you like some chocolate drink?” Her gaze darted from his to the jar and back again. “What I’d like to know is who the devil you people are.” Al-Mon chided his rudeness. He had been commending their manners when his own had been sadly lacking. Even his parents fidgeted with the realization of their social error. His twin seemed to feel otherwise. He grabbed the woman’s arm and whispered harshly. “Will you shut up!” She jerked free. The red finger marks left by the encounter set Al-Mon on edge. Women were not to be maltreated. That his twin would do so did not give him favorable light. “She has every right to ask,” Al-Mon told him. “My king and father, Lord Jaguar Sun. His queen, my mother, Lady Evening Star. And I am Al-Mon.” “And may we know the names by which you are called?” his mother asked. The reply the woman gave was as foreign as all else about them. “You have journeyed far,” Al-Mon said, but the woman took the statement as a question. “Since I can’t say exactly where we are, I can’t say how far the journey was. But I’m sure I speak for my friends when I ask when we may leave.” His father smiled. “You are guests, not captives. You may leave whenever you wish.” “Then we wish to leave now.” “Raina, I don’t think it’s as easy as all that,” Cynthia said. For the first time Caan-tu spoke. “You should listen to your friend. Do not be hasty. Your journey is longer than you may think. Enjoy your time with us. Stay until the morning. Things will look differently by the light of day. Eat. Drink.” With his gnarled fingers he took the pot from Al-Mon and filled their cups with chocolate. Raina stared at her cup long after the others had lifted theirs. This had to be an elaborate hoax or … No, she didn’t wish to entertain any other possibility, no matter how realistic this all seemed. It was a hoax, at least partially. They were a group of people celebrating the equinox in Mayan tradition much in the same way groups were beginning to engage in Renaissance faires. Burke had probably discovered them and was trying to pull one over on her. It was unfortunate that he hadn’t let Cynthia in on the joke—Raina was certain her eyes couldn’t get any wider. And if Raina knew her, her imagination was stuck in high gear. Raina studied the men on either side of her. This was too big a coincidence, especially on the heels of Burke’s discovery earlier that day. If anything, it cast suspicion on that discovery. She hoped Burke was paying this man good money—he was definitely worth it. He stayed in character without the slightest flaw. “Why do you not eat and drink, Raina?” Al-Mon liked the way her name fell from his tongue. Slow and smooth like a gentle shower. Spoken in harsh tones it would mimic a thunderstorm, but he could not imagine himself speaking to her in that manner. “I don’t care for any,” she said, and pushed away the cup he offered. “What I want is to go back to the camp and the privacy of my tent.” She whipped her head around to Burke. “The joke’s over, and I’m not amused. I came here to work, not play games. Why can’t you respect that?” He lifted palms in a shrug. “Hey, baby, I swear. It ain’t me.”

- 15 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Have it your way. Play to your heart’s content. I’m going back.” Al-Mon slid his fingers over her arm. Raina started from the unexpected touch but didn’t pull away. The idea of thrusting his hand aside darted through her mind. She couldn’t force herself to do so. Heat rose beneath his hand and tickled its way up. She glanced up at eyes as dark as the chocolate the priest had poured—the eyes of the carving seeking entrance to her soul. She could no more break their hold than she could the one of his hand. A cosmic glue bound them. “Does the sight of me displease you so that you would flee within moments of our meeting?” he whispered. The pain in his voice was no act—Raina could feel it. Whatever occasion they may have interrupted, whatever scheme Burke had concocted, there was a definite attraction between her and this man. “It is the manner of our meeting that displeases me. Perhaps under different circumstances.” Raina paused. Why not make her own circumstances? True, he could pass for Burke, but he exuded a different aura—one she thought worth exploring. “I live in Los Angeles. How ’bout you?” Al-Mon cocked his head to one side. “I do not understand.” “Where do you live?” The look he returned implied stupidity on her part. “I live here … always.” Raina jerked free. Another game player. She should have realized. The man couldn’t drop his character for a second to have a serious conversation. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going back.” He stood with her, and for a moment Raina thought he would physically bar her way. “I could not bear to make you unhappy by having you remain where you did not wish to be. The torchbearers have retired for the night. I will guide you myself.” “That won’t be necessary. We have flashlights.” She reached around to yank hers from where she’d shoved it in her back pocket. Cynthia caught her wrist. “We would be grateful for your escort.” Al-Mon swept his feathered cape from his broad shoulders. It fell to the grass mat with a sigh. Atop this he placed his headdress. His raven hair was combed up in a ponytail that dangled from the crown of his head. A wide strap of leather held it in place. As he picked up a torch and held it aloft, the obsidian mass reflected the flame. Raina tried to determine its length as they returned to the temple. Shoulder-length, at least, she decided. The temptation to yank the leather loose made her fingers itch. To control the urge, she hooked her thumbs in her pockets. It made negotiating the stairs awkward. Halfway up the temple steps she lost her balance. Al-Mon kept her from falling. Without breaking stride, he snapped the steel band of his arm around her waist and bore her effortlessly to the top. There he paused, flame dancing in his eyes, to look at her one more time. He curved her body into his. Softness melded against hardness to make them one. It was, by far, the most intimate embrace Raina had ever experienced. Her breath was suspended in time as a different hardness rose, returning ragged and quick once the full extension was wedged between them. She damned the others’ presence, yet longed for that chiseled mouth hovering above hers to swoop down and claim her lips as his eyes had done her soul. Instead, he set her back and seated the torch in a wooden sconce. “I wish you safe journey.” He bowed, then sprinted down the steps. Raina watched the night swallow his figure. It was all she could do to keep from following. Cynthia called her on.

- 16 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “We need to leave. We’ve been here too long as it is.” Reluctantly, she followed the others down the corridor. *** From the foot of the steps Al-Mon watched Raina disappear into the temple, and with her went his heart and his hopes. To be so happy then so miserable in such a short space of time was perhaps the most devastating experience of his life. He could fault no one but himself. He had bungled this chance for a normal life. For once his looks had not hindered him, she had told him that. This time it was his enthusiasm over her arrival that had chased her away. He had rushed upon her without thought of her timidity, backing her into a corner until she had no choice but to snarl like a frightened jaguar. He snatched up a beautiful gift from the gods like a greedy child instead of accepting it with grace and humility. His punishment was to lose that which had been given. So close to happiness. So near to normality. His one chance. His last chance, for he would take no more. Better to live as a solitary ruler than to suffer this continual rejection. Better to slake his needs in the company of women who did such for a living than to deal with those who turned their heads in shame while they bore the weight of his body. Better to let his heart go with the silken-haired beauty than to risk giving it to another. He turned away to walk back to his quarters and found Caan-tu standing behind him. “Your parents wish to see you,” the old priest said. Al-Mon brushed by him. “I have no desire to deal with their pity or recriminations this night.” “But you will go, will you not?” “Of course,” he said with a sigh. “When have I not answered a summons from my king and queen?” “All is not lost, my young friend, although it may seem so now,” Caan-tu told him. “Time will show you that.” Al-Mon gave a humorless chuckle. “All time will do is show our people that their future ruler is destined to rule alone. They will wait until I pass them along the streets then snicker behind my back. Tell me, Caan-tu, how am I to be an effective ruler when I have no respect?” “Time, my friend. Time is the teller of all things. There is always Ka-la.” “I will not dignify that with an answer.” Al-Mon walked on, shaking his head. The old man meant well, but he simply did not understand. Ka-la was not the woman for him. All the ceremonies in the world would not change that. His mother and father awaited him in their rooms. All ceremonial dress was now gone. “My son.” His mother held out her hands. Al-Mon took them and knelt before her. “Am I speaking to my mother or my queen?” “Your mother,” his father replied. “And your father.” “We feel your disappointment and understand it well,” his mother said. “While the girl Raina was quite lovely, we cannot help but feel relieved she has gone. Their manner of dress is most strange, as is their speech. And I find her male companion most … unsettling.” Al-Mon cursed his insensitivity. He had been so busy brooding over a lost bride that he had failed to realize what the specter of a long-dead twin would do to his parents. “There is no need to fear, mother. They have gone back to the gods. They will not return.” “I wish I could be certain of that. Caan-tu feels they will return.”

- 17 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass He slipped his arm around her quivering shoulders. “He is an old man given to fancy. Do not give his words another thought.” She gave a nod and patted his hand. “There is still the matter of a bride,” he father said. “Do not think you will foist Ka-la off on me.” His father fanned the air to calm him. “Never. Hear me out. Lord Smoke Monkey has a daughter. He is most anxious to ally our cities. She will do as he commands.” “No. There will be no further discussion.” In a voice that rang of his future status, he added, “I have spoken.” His father, his king, met his steady gaze, then bequeathed to him that right of birth he was demanding. “Then so shall it be.”

- 18 -

Chapter 3

Cynthia herded them down the corridor as if the devil were behind them. Raina ignored her clucking while her conscience held her back. She had been rude. The man had been doing what Burke had paid him to do. How could he have behaved otherwise? This charade wasn’t his fault, yet she had acted as though it were. Cynthia grabbed her wrist to tug her along. “Will you quit dawdling and come on?” Raina dug in her heels. “Stop it, will you? I want to go back and apologize.” Cynthia jerked to a stop and faced the other three. “You don’t get it, do you? None of you.” Burke folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall while Roy cast his eyes heavenward. Cynthia smacked them both. “Stop it. This is serious. We have to get back and seal this corridor. No one must ever know about it. It would be devastating to history as we know it. Already we’ve tainted it.” “Just what, exactly, are you trying to say?” Raina asked. “That we actually went back in time?” Cynthia lowered her voice to a whisper. “Well, of course I am. You saw those people back there. All of those people back there. Look at how they live. Look at their foreheads, for goodness sake. That went out with the Spanish Conquest! And the city. We’ve explored the jungle carefully. Something this big couldn’t have been hidden.” She glanced from one to the other, waiting for someone to realize the truth of what she was saying. Burke’s smirk raised his eyebrows while all Raina could do was stare back at her diminutive friend. Roy caught his wife’s arm and steered her toward the exit. “That’s it, honey. No more science fiction for you.” She jerked away and stormed ahead, stopping just beyond the exit. Raina stepped up beside her to find tears glistening in her eyes. “We’re too late,” she mumbled. Raina stared out, expecting to see their camp. Instead, she found they were standing across the courtyard from the dwelling-house. Impossible! her mind screamed. “We took a wrong turn, that’s all,” Burke said, but his voice didn’t sound convinced of this. “A wrong turn from what?” Roy snapped. “You go in; you come out!” “The wrong corridor then! How the hell should I know? We’ll go back and try another way.” “I am sorry to say it will do you no good,” a voice said from behind them. “At least for now.” They turned in unison as Caan-tu stepped from the shadows of the passage. “There are many corridors from the temple and all will lead you here.” “And where is here?” Burke asked. “The City of the Sun.” “And the year?” Roy asked. “As your people would calculate it…750 A.D.” “This is absurd.” Burke shoved a finger in front of the old man’s nose. “Show us the way out of this maze now or I swear there will be hell to pay.” - 19 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Caan-tu gave a single nod. “As you wish.” He led them back to the temple. There he pointed out the remaining corridors—six in all. After a brief flirtation with separating, they set out together to find the passage back. Each one gave them the same result with only different views of the city. At the end of the last corridor, Caan-tu waited. “There are no more.” In the silence that followed, jungle sounds filtered to them. The same sounds that had sung Raina to sleep each night—twelve centuries in the future! A lump welled up in her throat. Her parents, family, and friends were literally eons away. They would think her kidnapped, or lost or dead. She pictured her mother pacing while she agonized over her daughter’s fate; her father searching for her until exhaustion wore him out. “How can we get back?” The question was so choked Raina could barely understand herself. “Come with me,” Caan-tu replied. “It is not wise to speak of such things where it is not private. Keep your flashlights doused.” He turned away, knowing they would follow—there was really no other alternative. They skirted the dwelling-house, hugging the bottom step until they reached the end farthest from that of the royal family. At the last arch Caan-tu scrambled up the stairs. For an elderly gentleman he had a monkey’s agility. Raina couldn’t speak for the others, but keeping up with him left her winded. He didn’t wait to see how near they were, but continued his pace, winding through passageways lit by an occasional torch. At the entrance to his quarters, he swung open a door of mahogany limbs and waved them inside. “Please sit.” He motioned them to piles of furs while he rummaged through a tumbled collection of baskets. “I have amassed what I like to think of as a small trove of treasures in my years of travel. It is sad, though, that I could not share them with another…until now.” He pivoted around, wide grin breaking his bronzed face, and a bottle of Napoleon brandy cradled in his arms. If he meant to strengthen his case in convincing them they had been transported back in time, this prize achieved the opposite effect. Raina noticed even Cynthia’s eyes were beginning to cloud with skepticism. Caan-tu wagged a finger at them. “Anger will do you no good. What I tell you is true. Have a drink. I am sure you will find it preferable to the bitter chocolate offered you earlier.” He poured an equal measure into five glazed cups and passed them around. “My apologies for the lack of appropriate stemware, but I have limited space to hide such things. I may only keep those items essential for a journey.” Burke took a sip and leaned back. “Such as?” “Clothing, money, the many different cards and licenses required for the particular period I am visiting.” “How convenient,” Raina said, her voice as scalding as the liquor that burned her throat. “Do not be so hasty to judge. I have visited the past and the future.” His eyes took on a faraway expression, as if he were seeing it all before him. “Years beyond even the one you left. I have seen advances that stagger the mind.” “Then why come back here?” Roy asked. Caan-tu smiled. “This is my home. The ones I love are here.” The man was psychotic—a cult leader of some kind. There was no other explanation. Still, their safety depended on them believing him. Raina took another, longer drink. It went down easier than the first. “Then you’ll understand why we must leave.”

- 20 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “I do, but there is little I can do to help you right now.” “But you said you traveled often,” Burke said. “No…I said I have visited.” He refilled their cups. “There are many passages as you have seen. Yet access through time can only be made twice a year. During the autumnal or vernal equinox. Even then the time you reach varies with the time of day. Make passage early in the day, you may find yourself a thousand years in the past or a hundred years in the future. Or maybe even only a day’s difference. It is all very uncertain. It has been many years since I traveled, but in younger years, I would make a journey once every two years or so.” “And never hit the same place twice?” Raina asked. Again, Caan-tu smiled. “I did not say that either. If you do as I say, you can safely return.” “But not until six months from now,” Roy added. “Precisely.” “Bullshit.” Burke tossed his cup to the furs and stood. “I don’t like being held hostage. If you let us go now, there will be no trouble.” “As I explained … There is nothing I can do for now.” Roy stretched to his feet, pulling Cynthia with him. “Then you shouldn’t mind us checking the passages again.” Caan-tu closed his eyes with a nod. “It is what I would do if our situations were reversed. When you are satisfied, we will speak again. Morning will also give you the answers you seek.” Or find us killed while we sleep, Raina thought to herself. They left Caan-tu with his stash of brandy and returned to the temple. With the same precision they used in their excavations, they explored each corridor for hidden doors and passages. All they found was what they already knew—there was only one way, in or out. Afterward they sat at the top of the temple steps, elbows on knees, to mull over their fate. No one spoke. The concept was too incredible to be verbalized. Raina couldn’t count the times she tried to convince herself it was all a dream induced by the gas they had inhaled. But no dream had ever been as vivid as this. She stared out at the darkened landscape while trying to make sense of it all. Yet there was none to make. As the night began a slow fade, she saw that more clearly than ever. Below them the city spread to horizon’s curve. Stark white buildings splashed with red, yellow, and peacock blue marked the hub. From its axis, graveled roads spoked to other cities. Large expanses of green marked the outlying farms while thatch-roofed houses defined the border between fields and city. Perched at the temple, they could see all: the dwelling-house— that they had originally thought was a temple; the ball courts; the housing for scribes and other elite; the tradesmen and vendors setting up shop for the day; the river flowing nearby; the jungle that kissed one edge of the city. This was no hoax, of that there could be no doubt. They were twelve centuries in the past with no hope of seeing home again for six months, if ever. Grandpa Chapa’s tales of visits from ancient people didn’t seem so crazy now. No wonder the man had such a marvelous grasp of the old language—he had learned it from the masters. It was a blessing to them now. One of the few. “You just had to remove that capstone, didn’t you?” Burke said. “You just had to explore that worthless tunnel, didn’t you?” His sarcasm was more than Raina could deal with. She shot back with a little of her own. “Worthless? I just made the find of a lifetime. What archaeologist wouldn’t give his or her right arm for a trip to the past? Pay attention, Burke, you might learn something—like how to read their glyphs. How else could someone like you be an epigraphist?”

- 21 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass The last came out shrill. Raina felt what little composure she had fading. Rather than let her friends see, she darted down the steps then up the ones leading to Caan-tu’s rooms. She couldn’t explain what drove her to seek out the old priest. A reaffirmation, perhaps, that even though the current circumstances were grim, there would still be a chance to return home. That glimmer of hope had to help justify her lifting that capstone. It was all she had to grasp at to ease the horrible guilt discovering the corridor had given her. The others could believe she thought this was a dream come true, but she was wise enough to realize it was a nightmare. Adrenaline pumped her legs down the hallway to Caan-tu’s rooms. Despair slammed into her when she discovered he wasn’t there. She fell back against the stone wall, letting the cool surface drain the heat from her body. Voices drifted her way along with the steady tap of shoe soles. She couldn’t face Burke and the Osbornes now, not until she’d gotten herself, and her thoughts, in order. The Osbornes would throw no fault her way, and chances were Burke would also say nothing, but their silence as well as their non-looks would do more to devastate her peace of mind than verbal accusations. Raina flicked annoying tears from her cheeks and sprinted down another hallway. Light filtered down from open windows cut near the ceiling, guiding her deeper into the dwellinghouse. She had taken so many turns reaching Caan-tu’s quarters, it was impossible to determine where she was. Rounding a bend, the bright exit beckoned. She caught a glimpse of greenery and thought she had traveled through the house to the jungle on the far side. Rippling water seemed to verify her assumption until she reached her goal. She stood transfixed, wondering if she had passed through another time portal. The room before her rivaled any Roman bath she’d ever seen. Trees and potted plants decorated the columned perimeter. Stone benches were positioned nearby while stone figures stood watch over the rectangular body of water. No smooth lines adorned these statues—all were of squared Mayan design. While her heartbeat returned to its semi-normal state, Raina wondered if she would have truly lost her sanity if she had discovered she had crossed the threshold to yet another time. The dribble of water pulled her forward to seek its source. It cascaded from pitchers held by the statues at each corner of the pool. The soothing sound helped to ease her woes, calling to her as had everything else connected with this discovery. Her friends would eventually find her, but here she could gain some measure of peace until they caught up with her. She approached the nearest statue, hand outstretched to accept the solace offered. A chorus of giggles pulled her back. Raina peered around the figure. Three young women stood in chest-high water, their hands plastered to their lips to smother their amusement. Thinking it was she who had caused their laughter, Raina stepped forward to confront them. The water at her feet burst to life as Al-Mon breached its surface. Startled, she stumbled backward. A squeal caught in her throat eeked out. If the Mayan was surprised to see her, he hid it well. He stood before her, water lapping at his navel while his shoulder-length hair deposited droplets to the bare plains below it. After what seemed an eternity, he extended his hand to her. “You have returned, my lady of the corn. Your journey was long and tiring. I can see that in those beautiful eyes of yours. Will you join me?” Eons passed while Raina debated on what she should do. If they were to be stranded in this time, wasn’t it wise to stay isolated from the people to avoid contaminating history? Tell that to her fingers, which moved into Al-Mon’s open palm with a will of their own.

- 22 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon folded his fingers around hers. Until that second he thought she was a beautiful illusion come to haunt him as her memory had throughout the night. The three women behind him, a gift from his father for the evening, had done nothing to dim her light. He could not take the pleasure offered him even though only a dead man would have shunted that aside. And he might as well have been for he could not appreciate their temptations while thoughts of his Raina absorbed his mind. Now she was here. Real. The warmth of her hand in his told him so. She was an answer to his unspoken prayers. A second chance granted by the gods. He would not lose this opportunity by allowing his enthusiasm to overcome him a second time. “Leave us,” he spit out over his shoulder. Without question the women slinked from the water, wrapped themselves in sarongs and padded away. “They will not bother us again. Come … join me.” Raina toed off her sneakers, but moved no further. Al-Mon danced his thumb over her knuckles. “You have been crying. What has caused you this grief?” “I…I can’t go home, and I’m just a little bit afraid.” She crumbled into a sob. Al-Mon circled her ribs and pulled her into the water. He cradled her to his chest, her head tucked under his chin. Never had he known someone as bereft, and, therefore, he was at a loss to know how to handle the situation. Her shoulders shook with sobs, and he draped her in soothing words of comfort. I understand. I would feel as you do. You are not alone. I am here. He meant them all, but could not be sure if his sincerity broke through her grief. He could not say how long he held her. In some respects it seemed she cried for an eternity. In others, it seemed he held her only for a moment or two. He was relieved when she swallowed her last sniffle, yet saddened that the excuse to hold her was gone. She, too, seemed unwilling to break that contact—at least, he wanted to believe that was so. Al-Mon lifted her chin with the crook of his finger. Her azure eyes were bright like the sky after a rain. Her spiked lashes were the ferns touched by the downpour. “Do not cry, little dove. All will be well. You will find comfort here. I will protect you from harm…with my life, if need be.” He kissed her tear-ravaged cheeks then set her back before his obvious desire made her flit away—this time forever. “I fear I have ruined your clothing in my desire to comfort you.” Raina followed the direction of his gaze. The sodden blouse did more to enhance her bosom than if she had removed it. “You have my solemn vow that I will not violate you if you wish to undress.” She questioned his promise with a steady stare before glancing to the water line below his navel. Al-Mon chuckled and shrugged. “I am a man. For that you cannot fault me. But I do give you my word. I have no wish to turn you against me or to anger the gods.” To add weight to his words, he glided to the far end of the pool. It sounded too much like a twentieth-century male ploy for Raina’s liking. “I believe I prefer to stay dressed.” “As you wish.”

- 23 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass He ignored her then, gliding to and fro as far from her as possible until Raina set out to enjoy the water. A dive under brought him to her side. When he popped to the surface, it was to be greeted by her delicately arched brow. He laughed at her severity, but didn’t move. “You would find the water more soothing unencumbered.” “A sight you would no doubt enjoy.” Al-Mon tossed back a laugh, tucked his arms behind his back and leaned closer. “I shall tell you this, my Raina. Your clothing would stop no man from taking what he wanted. Your only protection comes from my word to you. So…” He fell back onto the water and swam away. He was right—Raina had to give him that. She might as well enjoy the water and save her clothes; after all, they were going to have to last her for six months. Al-Mon wandered the length of the pool and back, all the while keeping watch on her from the corner of his eye. Since she decided he was worth trusting, he wanted nothing to cause her to change her mind. Still, the temptation to look tore at his resolve. She stripped herself slowly, wringing out each article of clothing and tossing it over the nearest bench to dry before moving to the next. He caught a glimpse of white on otherwise lightly bronzed skin and wondered at its cause. Curiosity pulled his head around. Once that bastion of etiquette was lost, he could not force himself to look away. The patches of white were emblazoned across her most feminine parts as if to bring attention to her attributes. It was hardly necessary—they were unique without this sign. Her breasts were full and rounded, not pendulous as most women’s. Where he expected cocoa, the tips were like the blush of a flower. Hips, though slender, gave the promise of children while the delicate triangle at the apex of her thighs beckoned like the sun’s golden rays. It was enough to make him break his vow not to touch her. Her gaze caught his, and Al-Mon found he could not swallow. She stepped into the water, a goddess come to claim him. One touch from her and … He dove beneath the surface and came up under the chilling water that fell from one of the statue’s pitchers. It left him gasping for breath, sent goosebumps crawling along his flesh…and did nothing to eliminate his desire. A giggle threatened to bubble out of Raina, yet she couldn’t remember when she had been more charmed or flattered. There was the naughty temptation to add to his woes by throwing a little flirtation his way. Her conscience wouldn’t let her do it. Since he was being a gentleman, the least she could do was be a lady. “Would you like me to dress?” “No, no. All is well,” he said, waving her back. Raina parted the water and glided his way. “Is the water cold enough?” “Dear Raina, I could climb atop the tallest mountain I could find and plunge beneath its icecovered lakes and still the water would not be cold enough to quell this wanting of you.” His exaggerated agony brought out her laughter. “Surely it can’t be as bad as all that.” His eyebrows shot up. “Come closer and you just may find out.” She shook her finger at him while mischief crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Uh-uh-uh … you promised.” “That I did … but the vow came from a man not yet crazed by the sight of you.” “Enough!” she said with a laugh. “I swear you must know a thousand sweet phrases to get around a woman’s virtue.” She popped a wave his way. “Come on. I’ll race you. That should calm your overactive libido. First one to quit is the loser…Go!”

- 24 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Startled by her head start, Al-Mon plunged forward, letting his powerful strokes close the distance. They swam in tandem, the length of the pool and back, a total of ten times. Then, as if by an unspoken command, they slowed to a stop from the point where the challenge had been issued. Winded, he hauled himself to the edge, tied his loincloth in place, then gave her a hand up. “We shall rest over here. I have some refreshment waiting.” “My clothes—” “Do not bother. They are still wet.” From a niche beside the statue, he pulled a length of cloth and wrapped it around her. Raina lifted her arms and let him tuck the material in place. He was cautious about where he placed his hands, but once the task was accomplished he did not move back. “I have kept my word.” The softness of his voice was a caress by itself, and Raina fought hard to keep from shivering. “Do I get a reward?” She focused on his Adam’s apple while she struggled to make her own work. “What kind of reward?” “A taste of your lips is all I ask…Just a taste.” The warmth of his breath tickled her cheek. Raina closed her eyes and tilted her parted lips his way. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Burke snapped out. Raina jumped back so quickly she would have fallen had it not been for Al-Mon’s arm around her waist. She was only vaguely aware of Burke and the Osbornes standing on the other side of the pool with Caan-tu. What made the biggest impression upon her was the fury in AlMon’s face and his ability to keep it in check. “Was there something you wanted?” “Your father wishes to see you and our guests immediately,” Caan-tu replied. Raina smoothed the wrap over her curves. “Not like this. I need to change.” Al-Mon’s smile caressed her cheek. “You are more than fine just as you are. Get your things. We must go. When a king and queen say immediately, they mean just that.” Raina rolled her sneakers in her damp clothing and padded down the hallway behind AlMon. Try as she might to ignore Burke’s glares, she could still feel them burning her flesh. If circumstances had been normal, he might have yanked her to a halt and demanded an explanation. She could hear it now—“Why is he more worthy than me? Tell me that, Raina. We look the same. Yet you turn your little nose up at me.” Thankfully, even he had the presence of mind to watch his manners. Their troupe paused long enough for Al-Mon to snatch up a blue-feathered cape and length of cord from his rooms. With no break in stride, he tossed the cape over Raina’s shoulders. “I would not wish you to feel uncomfortable,” he said with a smile, and raked his hair into a topknot. She was grateful for his consideration, for this time their audience with the Mayan rulers was far from private. Caan-tu led them to a room filled with people over which Lord Jaguar Sun and Lady Evening Star presided from intricately carved mahogany thrones perched on a dais. Their attire was less formal than what they wore the previous evening. Only one strand of amber beads draped their necks and the feathered headdresses weren’t nearly as tall. But this time it was their expressions that defined them as rulers. Gone was any pretense of friendship— this was public. This was business.

- 25 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass A murmur rippled through the crowd as the newcomers approached the royal couple. It didn’t cease until Lord Jaguar Sun raised his feathered staff for silence. At the foot of the throne, Al-Mon and Caan-tu bowed from the waist. Raina and her friends mimicked their actions then knelt with them on mats of jaguar skin. The silence was broken by Burke’s sneezing. “Will you give me a damn tissue?” he ground out through bared teeth. Raina pursed her lips in an effort to maintain some level of dignity. Jamming her hand into the pocket of her jeans, she yanked out the sodden remnants of tissue. When Burke held out his hand for the packet, she squished the water into his palm and plopped the wad on top. “What is that object?” Lord Jaguar Sun asked. Roy snatched up the ball. “An offering we wish to burn for your gods.” With a nod, Lord Jaguar Sun snapped his fingers, and a young boy placed a stone bowl before Roy. With the flint and stone also provided, Roy set fire to the packet—not an easy task considering its condition. The king gave another approving nod. “So, you have returned.” Again, Roy took the forefront. “We were unable to depart. The path home was closed.” “It is the work of the gods. Stand. I would have a closer look at each of you.” They did as directed while Al-Mon and Caan-tu remained kneeling. Lord Jaguar Sun circled them slowly, taking note of their attire. Burke’s baseball cap amused him briefly. Once he discovered its purpose, he dismissed it as an unworthy headdress. Still sniffling, Burke shoved it back into his pocket. Lord Jaguar Sun pointed to Burke’s college ring. “What is this?” “My ring. I’ve had it for many years.” “I would see it.” “I can’t remove it.” He jerked on the ring to prove his point. “I broke my finger playing ball and never got it fixed. The ring’s on for good.” Raina waited for him to add, “Or until someone cuts off my finger,” as he always did. The words remained unspoken. Probably afraid they’ll do just that, she thought, and bit back a smile. “A noble sport. Perhaps you will have a chance to prove your skill,” Lord Jaguar Sun said, and turned his attention to Roy, pointing to the cameras around his neck. “You have many eyes. What is the reason for this?” Roy’s answer was quick. “Our journey was long and the hazards many. I needed many eyes to see us safely delivered.” “And what does your pouch hold?” He poked Roy’s backpack with the tip of his staff. “My companions longed to see what your city looked like. I used my eyes to look ahead and drew pictures for them.” “I would see.” Roy pulled out the sketchbook and passed it to him. “My view was not clear. Some of the pictures are not complete.” While Lord Jaguar Sun studied each one in detail, Raina silently commended Roy’s fast thinking. The king handed the book to Al-Mon. “They are excellent. He will work as court artist and carver. Do you agree?” Al-Mon stretched to his feet and flipped through the sketches. “Indeed. And I would wish him to start by carving this likeness of me.” Raina pulled in a sharp breath. “You mean it doesn’t exist?” “No, but I should like for it to,” he said with a smile, and gave the book back to Roy.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Lord Jaguar Sun let his gaze wander over Cynthia. “You and your husband shall have my daughter’s old rooms.” “My thanks,” she humbly replied, “but I would ask if we four might remain together.” He pointed to Raina and Burke. “Unwed men and women do not share the same quarters.” “They will not,” she told him. “Their rooms will be far from one another. I assure you, Raina has no interest in Burke.” He turned then to Raina and, after the merest of hesitation, lifted a strand of her hair. “Beautiful. Like corn silk. Truly a bride chosen by the gods. It is your right as such to have your own rooms until you are wed to my son.” Raina slipped her hair free from his hold. “There has been a misunderstanding. I do not think I am the right bride for your son.” “But you are. The gods have said. And so have I.” He strode to his throne, swept his cape of red feathers to one side, and eased down. “But until you see your destiny, you may room with your friends.” He clicked his fingers. “Take them to Tat-na’s rooms. See they are fed and properly attired. Assign them servants.” Al-Mon watched as they were escorted out. This time he would not blame them if they never returned, and he was sorely tempted to go with them. His father had pushed too far. He waited until they had gone before facing his elder. “I wish a private word with you, my father.” “As I do you, my son.” Leaving his mother to deal with court matters, they adjourned to a small antechamber nearby. Once the door was secured, Al-Mon spun around to confront his father. “Why must it always be force with you? Can you not let the woman decide for herself? For once in my life I have been blessed with a lady who is not repelled by my looks, and you are determined to force her to marriage. Let her be, I tell you! Give me the chance to at least try to win a little love from her!” His father regarded him with raised brows. “Have you defiled her?” Momentarily taken aback by this attack, Al-Mon’s anger now was fueled by his father’s uncanny ability to know what he was feeling about Raina. Even thoughts could not be his without the man’s interference. “Of course not!” “Good. I hope I do not have to remind you of the penalties if you should do so.” “It is difficult to forget with you constantly reminding me since the day of my birth!” AlMon whipped open the door and let his long legs carry him back to his bathing pool.

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Chapter 4

The time travelers’ rooms were austere compared to the others Raina had seen since their arrival. There were skins and cloth for bedding, a few grass mats for the floor and some pottered dishes for cooking and eating. But the extra touches, those that made it a home, were nonexistent. There were four rooms in all—three bedrooms opening onto a centralized room. Beyond this was a walled courtyard, a garden paradise safe from the jungle’s dangers. A well was set to one side under the eaves with a stone pit for cook fires beside it. A winding path wandered through trees and bushes, providing a private walk for anyone who wanted to enjoy it. Raina longed to explore it, but to do so would only postpone the inevitable. The four of them had to discuss the situation and plan how they could survive the next six months. Whether that occurred before or after Burke’s explosion over her romp with Al-Mon remained to be seen. However, none of this could happen until the army of servants who swarmed the rooms was gone. While they stood in the center of the main room, the Mayans bustled around transforming the quarters. Baskets, bowls, jars, and cups were set about on grass mats and tables carved from local trees. Bamboo chairs, early equivalents of the papasan chairs, arrived with sled-type beds of the same material. Skins, furs, cotton batting, and bolts of woven fabric followed, to be divided and piled onto each of the beds. Clothing and personal care items were placed on top. Lastly, while one woman cooked up a meal in the courtyard, a weaving loom was set up in the corner of the main room along with the tools Roy would need as the royal artist. It seemed they could want for nothing. The servants departed as they had arrived—en masse. Only the cook remained. Roy dropped his cameras and backpack to one of the tables. “Home Sweet Home.” Cynthia sank to one of the chairs with a sigh. “Thank God he didn’t search your backpack. We would have had a hell of a time explaining those flashlights.” Raina draped her clothes over the loom to dry. “Does anyone know how to use this thing?” “No, but I suspect we’d better learn,” Cynthia replied. Burke examined the pottery. “Too bad Raina can’t ask one of her hippie friends.” “Don’t start, Burke. I’m not in the mood for it.” “Yeah,” he snorted, “we’ve all seen what you’re in the mood for. If you’re that hot to get laid, we can take it in the other room and cool you off.” He jerked his thumb toward his bedroom. Roy took a stance between them. “Stop it, Burke. Now is not the time for this stuff.” Burke shoved a finger in her direction. It shook from the force of his anger. “Tell her that!” “Calm down.” “Calm down? Calm down?” he shouted. “That’s easy for you to say. Your wife wasn’t back there loving on Prince Valiant.” Raina shoved passed Roy. “I’m not your wife! I’m not your girlfriend! I am nothing as far as you’re concerned!” “Not yet!” “Not ever!” - 28 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass The cook’s head snapped up, ears cocked with interest. “Now look what you’ve done,” Cynthia scolded. “Don’t we have more important things to worry about? If the two of you insist on arguing, keep it down or save it for when we’re alone.” She could have left the words unspoken, for they had little impact on Burke. His dark eyes bore down upon Raina with a hatred that shot fear throughout her body. If he meant to intimidate her, he was succeeding. If he expected her to back down, he was about to be sadly disappointed. “You agreed we were right for each other.” “Wrong. Those were your words, not mine. You haven’t given me a moment’s peace since the day we met no matter what I said. Constantly hounding me. Talking marriage. Idiot! I never intended to go out with you, much less marry you. If you don’t believe me, ask Roy and Cynthia.” He looked at them for verification, and received their simultaneous nod. His gaze dropped back to Raina’s. “And would you mind telling me why not?” he asked. Raina ticked off each point on the tips of her fingers. “You’re rude, arrogant, selfish, and have an ego the size of the Grand Canyon. You can’t accept me for myself. From the moment I met you, you set out to make me over in an image that would suit you. To you I would be nothing more than a possession. I wouldn’t be required to think or feel unless it were in support of you.” He was quiet for so long, Raina thought he would make no response. When he did, it was clear none of her words had permeated that veneer of cockiness that surrounded him...as usual. “That’s quite a list. Are you finished?” “I think that’ll just about do it.” He folded his arms over his chest and stared down his nose at her. “If I’m so horrible, maybe you should ask yourself why you were loving up to a man who could pass for my twin.” “Al-Mon may look like you, but that’s as far as it goes. He has a gentleness about him you couldn’t begin to touch,” she softly replied. “You’re just horny.” Raina bristled at the vulgarity. That he would use such a word, knowing she disliked it, only confirmed all she had just said about him. A smirk lifted her lips. “If I am, it’s for him, not for you.” Without the hint of a warning, Burke cracked his hand across her cheek. The blow toppled her backward, knocking her and Roy to the floor. Roy pushed Raina into Cynthia’s arms and scrambled to his feet. “Don’t mess with me, man,” Burke said. “This is between her and me.” “Not when it resorts to violence. I won’t stand by and watch you knock her around.” “Nor will I,” Al-Mon said from the doorway. With a snap of his fingers the guards behind him rushed forward and caught Burke by the upper arms. “We have harsh penalties for such behavior.” Burke tried to pull free. A flint blade pressed against his ribs stilled him. “I demand to see your king.” A smile spread slowly over Al-Mon’s face, but it couldn’t be termed as humorous; if anything, there was a malicious vein to it. “Oh, believe me, you will.” He motioned the guards to leave. Burke dug in his heels. “There’s no need to drag me away. I’m no criminal.”

- 29 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Your violent actions speak differently.” Burke’s jaw tightened. “You don’t have to take me by force. Remember, I asked for an audience with your king.” Again, Al-Mon adopted that grin. “So you did. And so it shall be.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Escort him, but keep close.” They had barely loosened their grip when Burke yanked free and stomped away. Al-Mon extended his hands to the ladies to help them to their feet. “You three will come with me. My father will wish to speak with you…And to see this.” He brushed his thumb over Raina’s cheek, wincing as he did so. “It has already darkened. It is good I came when I did, but I regret it was not sooner.” Yet he knew he should have been relieved his arrival came after the fact. Had he been witness to Burke’s assault, nothing would have kept him from killing the man. As his mother and nursemaid had done countless times to childhood hurts, Al-Mon dropped a kiss to the growing bruise. “How did you know to come?” Raina asked, her voice barely above a whisper. He longed to tell her that the pool was desolate without her presence. That he sought to inquire about her comfort. That he sensed her in danger and rushed to her aid. In the end, there was only one thing he could tell her. “The cook alerted me to the trouble. I came as quickly as I could.” Raina cast her gaze downward while a smile teased the edges of her mouth. “So…now it seems you have two rewards coming. When might I expect you to collect them?” Al-Mon lifted her chin on the pads of his fingers. When their eyes met, he gave her a wink. “Come. We must not keep the king waiting.” He moved toward the door, expecting them to follow. Cynthia slowed Raina, letting the men proceed down the hallway and out of earshot. “What’s the matter with you?” “Nothing…I don’t know.” Raina brushed a sudden flurry of gooseflesh from her arms. How could she explain what she didn’t understand? “You can’t possibly be entertaining the idea of sleeping with him, can you?” “I don’t know.” Cynthia jerked her to a stop. “You can’t. The ramifications” “Are what?” She parked her fists at her waist. “That I might actually enjoy it for once?” “That you might get pregnant! Or didn’t you think of that? I don’t know about you, but my birth control pills are about twelve centuries away. And what about VD? You don’t know what these people may have.” “You’ve made your point.” “Good…so stay away.” Raina watched the curve of Al-Mon’s buttocks as he and Roy continued down the hall. As if sensing her gaze, he glanced around then stopped to wait for the women to catch up. He’s like a magnet that pulls me closer. She thought for a moment she had spoken aloud, but when Cynthia didn’t come back with a comment, she knew her thoughts remained private. “God, Raina, that look of his is enough to melt you where you stand.” So…Cynthia felt it, too, and his gaze hadn’t even been directed at her. It was primal lust at its earliest evolution, and Al-Mon was its progenitor. He saw, he wanted and he made no secret

- 30 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass about it, yet he tamed those baser urges with a civilization most men of her century still hadn’t achieved. “He calls for me, Cynthia. From deep inside. From the time I was first drawn to that capstone,” Raina mumbled, and closed the gap between them and the men before Cynthia could renew her lecture. “We will approach the throne together,” Al-Mon said. “I will present the problem. Do not speak until bidden. Have no doubt justice will prevail.” It was the type of justice that left her in doubt. They needed to make it back to their time—all of them. That meant Burke, too. No matter how obnoxious he was, no matter how many times Raina wished the Yucatan forest would swallow him whole, to leave even his remains in the past might be devastating to the future timeline. How would any archaeologist be able to explain the discovery of a twentieth-century skeleton found in an eighth-century burial site? True, Burke’s dental records wouldn’t give him away; he constantly bragged about never having had to go to the dentist. But there was that blasted ring. Unless they were really ready to cut off his finger and take it with them... Raina shoved all the rambling thoughts away. They had to survive. All of them. She and the Osbornes were poor liars at best. Truly, to explain that four of them went into the corridor and only three came out would have them all in jail in no time flat. Al-Mon marched through the arched door. His purpose lengthened his strides so that the women were almost forced to a trot in order to keep up. A clipped bow was his greeting to the royal couple. Burke stood to one side, the guards in close attendance. Lord Jaguar Sun’s gaze zeroed in on the bruise splashed across Raina’s cheek. As his eyes narrowed, Al-Mon’s did also, letting his anger feed off his father’s. “The guards have told us what occurred,” Lord Jaguar Sun said. “Did you witness this?” “No,” Al-Mon said. “If I had, I would have dealt with it in my own fashion.” The ruler nodded slowly. “Are you hurt elsewhere?” he asked of Raina. Her hand drifted to where her hip had smacked the stone floor, but the tense silence that encompassed the room kept her from telling them of the injury. “No. Just my face.” “Your eyes say differently … as do yours,” he told Cynthia. “He knocked her to the floor, your lordship,” she said. The king focused on Raina once more. She squirmed under the intensity of his gaze. “Why do you lie to protect him?” he asked. “I am afraid.” He leaped to his feet. “Of him?” Raina started from the force of his voice. “N-no. Of…I don’t understand what’s happening here. It frightens me.” Lady Evening Star patted her husband’s arm as he eased back into his throne. “No man causes harm to any woman,” she told Raina. “It is forbidden among our people and dealt with when discovered. That you are a royal bride makes the penalty more severe. A royal bride is not to be violated in any way. He will bear the consequences of his actions.” Caan-tu shuffled forward. “With your permission, my lord, I would speak.” He bowed low and stayed in that subservient position until the king gave him leave to speak. The wait was brief, an honor bestowed that showed the priest’s high rank within this court. “What words have you, Caan-tu?” He rose with as much speed as he had descended, weighing his words as he did so.

- 31 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “They come from a world unlike ours—the world of the gods. Their ways must surely be different than ours. Perhaps a little indulgence is in order while they learn our customs and rules.” Raina held her breath while she waited for Lord Jaguar Sun to decide. She followed the direction of his gaze from Caan-tu, who wore an expression no more animated than if he’d just suggested dinner. To Al-Mon, who stared past his father to the palm-leafed carving on the throne—his fists clasped behind his back. To Burke, who looked as angry as his Mayan counterpart, yet hid it half as well. Then back to Caan-tu. He had made up his mind. Raina could see the resolution in his dark brown eyes. Burke would be spared whatever fate they had planned. Her tension lessened with her imperceptible release of pent-up air, only to be seized once more when Lord Jaguar Sun’s gaze touched her bruised cheek. “Your words carry much truth, Caan-tu,” he said. “But no more so than the mark she bears.” He reached for the feathered staff beside the throne and tapped the end against the stone floor. Before he could announce sentence, Burke shoved forward. “You would judge without words from me?” The ruler ignored him and drew breath to deliver his ruling. This time it was Al-Mon who interrupted, after a side-long glance to Raina. “Let him speak, my lord. I would like to hear by what right he delivered this blow.” With Lord Jaguar Sun’s single nod, Burke strode center front. Al-Mon stepped behind Raina, far enough away to keep from breaching etiquette, but close enough for her to feel his heat radiating to her. She peeked over her shoulder. His eyes, which until now she had seen filled with humor and warm regard, were cold and stern in anger. The shiver that tickled her insides made her grateful this fury wasn’t directed her way. They touched her for a millisecond before returning to the object of his disdain, but in that brief encounter she felt an overwhelming desire to reach out and seek assurance that she hadn’t lost his favor. “Well, speak,” Lord Jaguar Sun snapped at Burke. “I grow impatient with the delay.” Raina faced forward. Having requested his audience, Burke seemed at a loss as to what to say. The king’s surliness spurred him to life. “By now there should be no doubt in your minds that I am your son’s long lost twin.” His plea was to Lady Evening Star, whose only show of distress was in the way her thumb massaged the wood beneath her hand. Burke spread his arms to her. “Come now…you would deny me?” Lady Evening Star squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head. “Leave her be,” Al-Mon said. “Your fate rests with the lord of this court, not the lady.” Burke whirled around, one shaking finger pointed toward his mirror image. “And you would deny me my right of birth!” “A dead man has no rights,” Al-Mon replied. “Exactly!” He spun back to the king. “I was forced to give up everything. I have spent all of my years in the Underworld. I have lived in fear, in the dark, no father to guide my way, no mother to nurture me against her bosom.” Lady Evening Star smothered a cry behind her hand. A single tear slipped from beneath her closed lid. Raina’s heart went out to her, and she silently damned Burke for the lies that caused her this pain.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “I have suffered greatly. And for what? All for the purpose of bringing my surviving brother a royal bride from the gods. A bride who, by right of my birth, should have been my bride. Yet the fate of my untimely death took that joy also. But have I complained? No! I bore it all for love and duty to family.” “God, it’s getting deep in here,” Roy mumbled, but it was enough to earn a darting glare from Burke, and Cynthia’s elbow in his ribs. “You would think there would be some display of gratitude from some quarter. Yet I have been relegated to one room in this great house when I should have an entire wing. I am no more than a servant while my companion is chosen as court artist. And the woman, the bride herself, has been insolent since our arrival. Of course I struck her. What else was I to do when I discovered she sought to seduce her future husband from a virtuous path?” Al-Mon strode forward. “That is untrue. Any seduction came from me, not her.” Lord Jaguar Sun stared down his nose at his son. “And yet the sun has barely moved since you declared to me she was not defiled.” Al-Mon hiked up his chin. “She was not, but I cannot deny I desire her. What man does not want his future wife? I cannot say what might have occurred had we been left alone longer.” “You are aware of the consequences of your confession.” “Yes. It has been made clear to me…many times.” He saw the condemnation in his father’s eyes. Had they been alone, he would have called him a fool for this announcement before all. Had he made the confession privately, his father would have waived disciplinary measures. But here, in the crowded assembly room, he left Lord Jaguar Sun no other alternative. He would suffer the fruit of his words, and in doing so would save Raina a similar fate had Lord Jaguar Sun believed Burke’s accusation of seduction. “You leave me no choice,” the ruler said. “I am aware of that. As you have no choice in the matter of my twin.” With hands folded at the small of his back, Al-Mon gave Burke his full attention. “If he is my brother, as he claims, he should be treated no differently than I would be. If I am to be punished for wanting to give Raina pleasure, he should be punished for causing her pain.” Burke popped his fingers in the other man’s chest. “I can take whatever you want to dish out.” Al-Mon smirked. “We shall see about that.” He lifted a brow his father’s way. “We are ready.” Lady Evening Star snapped to her feet. “Do not expect me to bless this contest of wills. I pray the beaters drive their canes deep, then perhaps you will think twice in the future about unnecessary desires to prove yourself worthy.” She paused by Raina on her gliding exit and scanned her once over. “It is my sincerest wish that you appreciate what is being done for you.” “I am certain she will, Mother. Now, please go. I have no wish to delay.” “Of course not. I can see where the prospect of a beating appeals to you.” With a shake of her head, she left the hall. Her departure signaled others they were free to leave. But when Raina attempted to do so, the king intervened. “You will stay.” She opened her mouth to protest then clamped it shut for fear of reprisal. “Bare your back and we shall be done with this.” Burke stripped off his shirt and tossed it her way. Raina caught it and passed it to Roy. That action seemed a signal to Al-Mon, who hurried forward.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “If I am to suffer, I do not wish it to be for nothing.” Before she realized what was happening, Al-Mon slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. His lips descended upon hers, kneading them to life while his tongue lapped for entry. Raina felt them give way under his gentle assault and met the questing spear of velvet with her own. She could have kissed him for all eternity and still have begged for more. But it ended as abruptly as it had begun. Al-Mon set her back on legs too shaky to stand, and marched to the pillars where the caners stood. Burke followed. The men were bound spread eagle between the pillars, facing each other. At the king’s signal, the caners sliced the air. Raina flinched with the impact, as did Burke. Al-Mon merely smirked at his opponent. The canes rose and fell, leaving an ugly welt on each man’s back to match the first. Again and again, strokes rang out until a lattice of bruises and welts covered their back from shoulder to lumbar. It was the test of wills Lady Evening Star had predicted. Al-Mon stoically enduring the beating while Burke fought to maintain his composure and prove he was the other man’s equal, if not his better. Raina lost track of the number of lashes that rained upon them. It was more than she could bear. It had to stop. Someone had to save them from their foolishness before this unorthodox game of one-up-manship killed them. She slid to her knees before the king and folded her fingers beneath her chin. “Please. No more. This is enough. What can you hope to prove by beating them more?” He tilted his head to one side. “It is not me who has something to prove. It is them. Let them play until they have had enough.” He smiled. “Say the word and I shall have the caners draw blood.” “I will not! And I no longer intend to watch. Let the fools find another princess to champion.” She scrambled to her feet. Lord Jaguar Sun grabbed her wrist and yanked her back in place. “Do not run out of here like a petulant child. If you feel you must go, do so with your head high and your nobility intact. It will do more to snap them back to their senses than a thousand strokes.” He gave her wink and released her. Raina sucked in a breath and started toward the exit. A glance toward the men revealed she had their attention. She hiked her nose in the opposite direction, swept Al-Mon’s feathered cape off her shoulders, and walked on, leaving the feathered pile in her wake. Just outside the arched portal, she stopped to listen—the canes were silent. She peeked around the corner for confirmation and saw the two cut free. Burke staggered under the pain. AlMon flexed the kinks from his arms. “Idiots.” Burke caught sight of her as she turned to continue on. Before she could take more than two steps, he bellowed her name. She jerked to a stop and spun around, fingers curled into rigid balls at her sides. “What?” A smile to match his current level of intellect was frozen in place as he eased into his shirt. “I give you the gentle Mayans,” he said, and dipped a bow her way. He paused at that right angle then toppled head first to the floor. Raina stayed long enough to see Roy and Cynthia rush forward to tend him. It was all the sympathy she could spare. Her departure this time was halted by Al-Mon, who barred her way.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “You dropped this.” He held the cape out to her. “No. I left it.” “I gave it to you so you might cover yourself … so you would not feel awkward or embarrassed.” “Then use it yourself. If anyone should feel embarrassed, it should be you. I’d be ashamed for anyone to see my back that way.” He caught her arm as she tried to squeeze by him. “But I did this for you—to save you from a beating.” Raina pulled free. “You don’t fool me for a minute with a line like that. You set out to prove you were the stronger man and see Burke hurt in the process. Well, you succeeded. Now everyone knows you are the big man.” “And what of you? What is it you think?” “They should have beat the two of you until the blood pooled at your feet. Maybe that would have put some sense into you. You’re just as big a fool as he is.” She jerked her thumb toward Burke, who struggled to his feet and into the arms of two Mayan women. “Maybe even a little worse. Now…if you’ll excuse me.” She rushed past him before he could recover, his slack jaw nearly hitting the floor. Her satisfaction in the retreat was short-lived when she reached her room and realized there was no door to punctuate her exit, only a divider of hanging beads. Privacy was also nonexistent, for her arrival signaled the cook to hurry forward with a tray of food. At first she thought to refuse it, but the aroma of corn cakes and roasted fowl set her mouth to watering. “Your friends will be here soon?” the cook asked. “Yes.” Too soon for Raina’s liking. She wasn’t ready to face the incessant whine that was sure to come with Burke’s recovery. With tray in hand she sought the solitude of the garden. Hidden by foliage thicker than any wall, the stone path twisted back and forth mere feet from itself. The illusion gave Raina the feeling of seclusion within the forest when she was only a call away from the back entrance. A smooth niche carved in a large boulder provided her with a place to enjoy her meal. She devoured it with a zest only a ravenous man could appreciate, then settled back to let the carafe of sweet fruit juice soothe her throat. At least they wouldn’t starve while they were here— if they managed to survive all the other obstacles they faced. A yawn scrunched her further into the rock easy chair. Exhaustion and a full belly called her into sleep. With it came dreams. Al-Mon knelt before her, his arms braced on either side of her. Those dark eyes pleaded with hers, but for what Raina couldn’t say. She draped her arms around his neck, letting her fingers drift to the raven strands. “Do you really think me a fool, my Raina?” he whispered. Her reply was to press her lips upon his. He parted them willingly, his tongue seeking hers to twine in a dance as ancient as time. With a muffled groan he gathered her to him, her hips straddled his. Al-Mon raked his mouth down her arched throat to the thin barrier of cloth that stood between him and his desire. If there was any hesitation at all, it was only in the time it took for him to tear open the knot with his teeth and nudge the material aside for his questing lips. A cry strangled Raina as he closed upon one peaked nipple. He drew it deep, shooting arrows of delight down to her belly and further.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Raina fell back in his arms, and he eased her to a fragrant bed of grass with only his cape beneath her and his body atop. Nothing lay between them—nothing but a long rock of a different nature. His hand swooped down to cup her buttocks, to lift her higher. She slid her calves around his back, over the curve of his taut bottom, then down to wrap around his legs. It was an invitation Al-Mon had no trouble translating. Raina gasped as he possessed her, then felt his breath against her ear. “I meant not to hurt you. Forgive me. I wanted you too much to take care.” Her response was a grinding request against his pelvis. He pulled back and slammed in again, sending shock waves of pleasure throughout her body. When she would cry out, his lips covered hers to silence them. She rocked with him, wantonly accepting each thrust of his body into hers until the final instant of oneness exploded in a simultaneous climax. “Do you still think me a fool, Raina?” he asked. “Do you, Raina?” “Raina…Raina.” She reluctantly opened her eyes to Cynthia’s hovering presence. “You shouldn’t sleep out here. Come inside.” Half-dazed, Raina rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What’s wrong? Can’t wake up?” She shook her head to clear it. “I just had the most incredible dream.” “Well, come on inside. It looks like the sky’s going to open up any minute.” Raina glanced up at the dark clouds overhead. As she stood, Al-Mon’s cape fell from her lap. Cynthia retrieved it and shoved it in her hands as the first of the raindrops pelted them. “Come on.” She ran ahead. Raina followed on rubbery legs. It was a dream, wasn’t it? She paused to squint into the shadows. There among the leaves, she thought she saw a man’s shape. A bolt of lightning dispelled that illusion. Another call from Cynthia urged her on. She reached shelter seconds before the storm opened up. “Where’s Burke?” Roy gave a humorless chuckle. “In the hands of three Mayan beauties. They are to tend him … in his own rooms.” Raina shook her head. “What a mess.” “We need to talk,” he said. Raina stumbled to her room. “Can it wait? I’m exhausted.” She walked on without waiting for a reply, then flopped onto the cotton batting cushioning her bed. Her last conscious thought before sleep overcame her once more was the hope she would dream again.

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Chapter 5

Al-Mon pressed his back to the stone and let the rain beat against his face and chest. The drops bounced up to fall in smaller fragments before melding with the puddle that surrounded him. His courtyard adjoined that of Raina’s—a convenience and a curse. A shaft of lightning split a nearby tree, shooting splinters his way. He didn’t flinch. If he lay here long enough, perhaps an arrow of light would pierce his heart and end his earthly misery. Such an act would surely send him hurtling toward the Underworld, a fate he deserved even more so than his self-proclaimed brother. Burke’s actions, though brutal, had been open. Al-Mon’s had leaped the bounds of decency and gone against every ounce of breeding he possessed. The very rules he embodied, he flouted without remorse…until now. Despite his physical differences, Al-Mon had never lacked for female companions to warm his bed and ease his needs. The lower classes he wooed with seashells. The royal ladies were wooed with words and their curiosity to know if he were different elsewhere made them easy to persuade. So, why did Raina stand apart from those women of the past? Was it because she did not view him as an oddity? Because she spoke her mind? Because she treated him like dog droppings after he had suffered for her? Or because she stripped back that subterfuge more quickly than he to reveal his true purpose? Whatever the reason, losing her favor hurt more than all the strokes the caners could deliver. The moment she refused his cape was like a spear thrust to his ribs. That she called him a fool, a double twist to his heart. From that second all that mattered was to win back her smile, and he would have done anything for that. He was like the dog whose waste he was now equal to, ready to roll over at her feet, belly exposed and tail a-wag. A feeling totally unbefitting a future king. That this ethereal female should cause it grated against his sensibilities. At first his only intent was to return the cape—to make her accept it. After all, it was a gift from a prince; she should feel honored. If not, she would know she should feel honored. Then he spied her in the garden, regal in her own right. A queen to be sure. Perhaps it was he the gods meant to feel honored. He would return the cape without incident. But how without exchanging barbs? His worries were for naught. Raina slept, a sweet smile of dreams was upon her lips. So sweet he had to know what she dreamed. Of whom she dreamed. What harm could there be? The link would bind their hearts, give him the chance to make amends. The carafe of juice on the ground beside her supplied the means. The few select seeds ground into dust dissolved quickly. Al-Mon took a long drink and closed his eyes. The effect was quick and he was with her in dream-time. He could have stepped away, pulled himself back when he realized where they had gone. It was too sweet, too real. The way her eyes opened to sensuous slits. The way her arms wrapped around him. And the touch of her lips to his. None of it mattered. It all contributed to his momentary lapse. And despite his supreme pleasure in bonding with her this way, he was desolate in the sin he felt he had committed, for he - 37 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass had taken that which was not willingly given—her private thoughts. No doubt in her current frame of mind she never would have submitted to a mind link. And, should she find out how he had used her, her rage would ensure he would never have the pleasure again. He had barely escaped discovery as it was, having had just enough time to drape the cape over her before her friend arrived. Perhaps, in some strange way, the gods were on his side after all. Yet why they alternately punished and rewarded him was beyond his comprehension. There was movement out of the corner of his eye, but he did not turn his head to see what or who it was. A few seconds later, his mother scurried out, grass mat shielding her from the downpour. “What are you doing out here?” she shouted above the din of thunder. “She called me a fool.” “And what would you call this?” She waved her arm over his prone figure. Al-Mon levered himself to his elbows. “Is that what you think? That I am a fool?” “Normally, no. But you have certainly acted the part today. What did you hope to gain by your actions? Did you really believe your father would have had that girl caned?” Al-Mon eased down and folded his arms over his chest. “If it was the man you were trying to shame, I fear you may have succeeded in doing the opposite. Even now he is being tended to by the very women your father sent to you last night.” “Then I hope he gets more enjoyment out of them than I did,” he snapped back. His mother jabbed a finger to his ribs. “I am quite sure you did not complain about it at the time. Come inside. I brought leeches for your back.” “Should you not be caring for your other son?” She popped upright and nudged him hard with her sandaled foot. Al-Mon scowled up at her. “He is no son of mine … and I am beginning to wonder if you are.” She splashed her way back into the house. Al-Mon followed, knowing that if he did not, she would pester and nag until she wore his nerves to a frazzle. “Wait.” She turned at the doorway, the clay bowl of leeches cradled in one arm. “Forgive me. Yes, I will take the leeches.” She waited until he changed to a dry loincloth and stretched facedown upon his bed. Even then she took her time approaching him. Al-Mon kept his patience in check while she licked her wounds. One by one she placed the leeches over his bruises, then sat back on her heels while they drained the blood from the wounds. “Did you offer one to Raina for the mark upon her cheek?” he asked. His mother studied her nails. “Why should I?” He hauled himself to one elbow. “Kindness?” “I owe her no such thing. I regret the moment she and her friends arrived. If my rudeness causes a premature departure, so be it. You will do far better with a more earthly wife.” Al-Mon smiled. “If I did not know better, Mother, I would say you were jealous.” He expected her to heatedly deny his words. Instead, she met his eyes with a sigh. “I am ashamed to say that is so. She has turned your head and your heart so quickly … it frightens me.” He caught her hand for a reassuring squeeze. “It does me also, but it is something neither of us should fear. The lady does not return the interest. At least, not in the real world. My heart is, as always, yours.” “Oddly enough, that also concerns me.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon tossed back a laugh. “Make up your mind, Mother. Do you wish me wed or not?” She snatched her hand back. “Of course, I do. It is my fondest wish.” “But only to a woman of your choosing.” When she did not answer, he laughed again and rolled to his belly. “You are a silly woman, but I love you dearly. Now tend my back, and I will personally take the leeches to Raina.” “As a peace offering?” His humor faded. “More so than you might realize.” She sought no further explanation nor did he offer one. His thoughts were allowed to remain private; a fact he instantly regretted, for the memory of Raina’s body arched to his in passion crawled up from the recesses of his mind. His response was a burgeoning forth from his loins, one he was certain had ripped his cloth in two. It was an embarrassing predicament in his mother’s presence. Once her ministrations were complete, he could not rise to thank her. If she thought him rude, she made no comment. She barely cleared the door when he dashed for the chilling rain. Its effect was minimal, but enough so that he could bind himself more conservatively. It was an uncomfortable arrangement at best, the cloth drawn between the legs then pulled through a tight band around the waist. But it served its modest purpose by concealing his unrelenting urge from others. A sharp intake of breath steadied his resolve and, with the bowl of leeches tucked under his arm, he sought Raina’s rooms. He might as well have been offering his heart for sacrifice, the feeling was the same. He had only to tap on the flimsy door before Roy swung it open. There was a moment of awkwardness when Al-Mon realized he had interrupted their meal. But, seeing Raina was not with them, he stated his purpose. “I came to see if we could rid Raina of that bruise upon her cheek.” He lifted the bowl in further explanation. Roy peered at the contents and wrinkled his nose. “I doubt you’ll be able to convince her to use those, but you’re welcome to try … if you can wake her.” He stepped aside to let him in. “Her room is there.” He pointed the way with the corn cake he held. When he made a move to escort him, Al-Mon motioned him away. “Eat. I promise no harm will come to her.” Fine words to speak from a man who invaded her dreams. The curtain of beads clattered as he parted it, yet Raina did not stir. Her breathing was so soft, he held his own until he was certain of hers. Once assured by the gentle rise and fall of her bosom, he knelt beside her bed. The storm cast a gray gloom about the room, lessening the effect of the bruise. Without light to throw it in stark relief, it looked more like a smudge that waited to be wiped away. If it were only that simple. He dusted his thumb over it. Raina did not stir. Another taste of her lips tempted him, but he fought the tug. He had taken too much from her as it was. Al-Mon called her name and gently shook her shoulder. There was no response—not so much as a sleepily muttered complaint. The beads rattled and Cynthia stepped up beside him. “I’ve never seen her sleep so soundly. I found her dozing in the garden, and had a hard time waking her before the rain started. For awhile I thought Roy was going to have to carry her in. She must be exhausted.” Mind links were draining—especially to a novice. Al-Mon wished he could put Cynthia at ease, but doing so would only cause more alarm. He fished one black worm from the bowl, and

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass set it on Raina’s cheek. While Cynthia monitored its progress with a myriad of expressions, AlMon stoked a fire in a small stone hearth in the corner of her room. He returned to her bed with a slender piece of kindling—the tip glowed white hot. “What are you doing with that?” A gaggle of monkeys shrieking over an intruder came to Al-Mon’s mind. So vivid was the image he could not contain his amusement. “It cannot stay there forever. I must remove it.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Just don’t burn her.” He curved a smile her way. “Then it would be wise to not distract me.” Once she reared back, Al-Mon touched the rod to the creature, then plucked it free and plopped it back with its friends. The bruise was now the palest of shadows. He tested it with the pads of his fingers while the woman beside him released a shaky breath. “I would die before I caused her harm,” he absentmindedly told her. “You know that, do you not?” “Yes … I believe you would. But if her welfare is truly your concern, it would be better for both of you if you found a different bride.” His eyebrows scrunched in a frown. “I do not understand.” “Explaining won’t help you understand either.” But his confusion demanded something. Cynthia stretched the kinks from her back. “Let’s just say you come from worlds that are too different.” That was true, he had to admit. It had already come to haunt him. Instead of accepting the challenge it presented, he had allowed it to corrupt him. He had become a stranger to himself, and that stranger was not someone he looked forward to having in permanent residence. It was as if an evil force had crept in with Raina’s arrival. He was as quick to discount her as the carrier as he was to assign Burke. There could be no other one to blame in Al-Mon’s mind. It was the curse Burke carried from having been reared in the Underworld, one that transcended the boundaries laid out in an attempt to contaminate the earthly plane. Everything about Burke O’Neill set Al-Mon’s teeth to grind and his nerves on edge, exacerbating the differences that existed between his world and Raina’s. How could he act reasonably when the man bred hate within him? If it was another test of the gods, Al-Mon failed greatly and without remorse. Nothing would make him view Burke in a favorable light, not after his assault on Raina. Yet even as he steeled his resolve against the man, all he need do was glance down at the sleeping beauty to be starkly reminded he was no better. Al-Mon followed the gentle undulation of her breathing. He had misjudged the power of their link—not a surprising act since he had never used it before without the other person’s permission. There were potions to rouse her. His only experience with those substances had been limited to watching others prepare the concoctions. He knew of no good antidote to bring her around. Any that did exist might kill her if used wrongly. Al-Mon buried his head in his hands. To use a potion he was unfamiliar with was truly a rash act. It could be added to his list of misdeeds, which was growing at an alarming rate. Her death would not be among those listed. “You say she has not stirred once?” he asked Cynthia. No reply pulled his head up. Sometime during his reverie she had slipped from the room. It was just as well he bore the burden of worry alone.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon excused himself long enough to take the leeches back to his mother. He delivered them discreetly and with speed before his conscience forced him to seek her out for a remedy for Raina. By the time he returned to Raina’s room, the outer area was vacant. A soft sound from the Osbornes’ room told him what occupied the couple. Unbidden, his body responded as his legs carried him on to Raina’s side. It was a good day to be inside, cozied up in other pursuits. The rain beat a pulse about them, and showed no sign of ceasing. Its constant thrumming permeated the thick stone walls that surrounded them until its rhythm overtook the body. Al-Mon envied the couples who paired off to pass the day wrapped in each other’s embrace. It was a pleasure he had yet to experience. During the storms, his hours were spent carving, braiding cotton into rope or setting the day’s events to scrolls of thin deerskin. All while the storm called and mocked, as it did now. He stared down at Raina. She had shifted position since he had last seen her. The cloth that swaddled her had ridden up, exposing one rounded hip and threatening to reveal more. He reached for her—it was a temptation designed to drive him mad. He tugged the sarong back into place, then plopped into the nearby chair to collect his thoughts and his composure. Another dousing of rain or a cold dunk in the pool was what he needed to rein in the ache her nearness presented. And he wondered if he was destined to live under the perpetual fall of icy water until their situation was resolved. By that time his skin would be permanently withered like a piece of fruit parched by the sun. All that would remain of him would be that longing and desire that haunted his life. The wait, especially since that forbidden taste of her sweetness, was agony—enough to kill a man. Al-Mon clamped his fingers over the chair’s bamboo armrests. The rain called, promising relief, beckoning him to touch the woman before him. The patter seeped into his veins, swelling them with the constant pulsing of his heart’s demands. His arms quaked from the tension as he hoisted himself to his feet, ready to dash into the downpour. Then he looked down and saw her smiling at him. Her eyes held the lazy expression of sleep combined with lust as she held out a hand to him. “You’re here.” She gave a soft laugh. “I thought you were a dream.” She tugged on the end of his white cloth. “You look like an undernourished sumo wrestler.” Al-Mon swallowed to quench a mouth gone dry. “What is that?” Raina giggled and rolled her back to him. “Never mind.” She patted the cotton batting behind her. “Come hold me. I’m just so tired.” It wasn’t an invitation she had to give twice. She was asleep before he could curve his body next to hers. It wasn’t the relief his body craved, but it provided peace for his soul. *** Al-Mon drifted awake with a reluctance to leave one of the best sleeps he could ever recall. His first awareness was that the rain had stopped. Birds twittered away the last of the drops. His second was of the feminine form molded so perfectly against the curve of his body. In sleep his fingers had curled around one soft globe. There it rested, riding the rise and fall. He pried open his eyes to gray daylight, but whether dusk or dawn he could not say. Moving from her bed seemed the sensible course of action, before they were discovered, but he could not force himself to do so. A sigh pulled his lids closed. Slumber seeped over him once more.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “What the hell!” The invective, followed by Raina’s leap from the bed, set his heart to racing. Still dazed, he jumped up, ready to defend himself and his lady from whatever ill existed. He saw only the blue ice of her eyes. Raina wrapped her arms about her midriff as if trying to hide from view. “Oh … it’s you … I thought you were Burke.” Her glare softened for a moment, then hardened just as quickly. “What do you think you’re doing in my bed?” Al-Mon sucked a breath down a scratchy throat to steady his rattled senses. “You invited me.” “I most certainly did not!” He questioned arguing with her. “You did.” The words were out before he could stop them. They proved to be the mistake he anticipated. Raina narrowed her eyes while trying to sort out the puzzle. “You would think I would remember.” He gave a slight nod. “Perhaps you were asleep and I did not realize it at the time.” “Yet you didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the situation.” He tossed up his hands in denial. “I took no advantage.” It was another poor choice of words that set her thinking again. She nestled her arms under her bosom and cocked out a hip. “You expect me to believe that I went to you, asked you to my bed and came back…all while I slept?” “No. I was here when you asked.” “In my room? Why?” “I brought a leech to see to your cheek. The bruise is gone. I took the bowl back to Mother.” His nervous chuckle quickly changed to a cough. She showed no concern that he was stricken and took the defensive once more. “And came back here?” Knowing he was losing ground fast, Al-Mon struggled for an answer while he recovered from the spasm. He felt ill equipped to fight her battle of wits. A fatigue weighed him down while his raspy throat added to the illusion that he had just completed a long trek down a dusty road. In the midst of this weariness, his royal pride reared its head, chasing off his careful reasoning. “I am noble-born. You have no right to speak to me this way and question my motives. I will not have it.” Raina returned a quivering laugh in the face of his mounting anger. He had succeeded in intimidating her, but she would not back down. Such stalwartness should have earned his admiration; instead, it made him angrier. The storm boiling within set his legs in motion. He rushed upon her until she was forced to lean backward to look up at him. Still she did not retreat. “I said I will not have it!” He delivered the words with a gale force, and got back an icy hurricane. “Of course you will not have it, oh noble one. It defies all the self-important principles that fill you with pompous bloating. Spoon-fed and pampered. The king and queen’s precious little boy. Spoiled. Indulged. You see. You want. You take!” Al-Mon’s arms shook from the effort to keep them at his side. “I see now all too clearly why Burke struck you. Your impertinence is challenge to any man’s temper.” He waved a finger in her face. “But have a care at whom you lash your tongue. You may have been chosen to be a royal bride, but you are not such yet. And there are remedies to cure you of disrespect.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Raina tossed back her hair. “Bring them on. I’m not afraid.” “I doubt you will be so brave when your backside burns from a switch laid across it.” She took a step back, and Al-Mon counted her chastised until she turned and braced her forearms on the edge of her bed. “Here it is. Flail away,” she sassed, and wiggled her bottom. It was an enticing view, one that elicited a different response within the turmoil of his anger. Perhaps that was her intent. If so, he would not succumb. “A tempting scene, if ever there was one. It prompts many reactions, as would any bitch in heat.” Raina whirled around. “You lousy…Get out!” He baited her with a smirk. “My, but this is totally inappropriate behavior for a royal bride. I believe the gods may have erred in their choice.” “I am not your bride! Get out!” She hurled herself against his chest, fists raised in attack. With a hoarse laugh, he caught them and yanked them behind her. He expected a struggle and got the fire of her eyes. His own matched it until the resulting blaze flared between them. Mind warred with body—one saying no while the other said yes. Body won. He pulled her closer, lifting her to her toes, then slipped his mouth over hers. Raina sucked in a breath, drawing him deeper in the oral dance. He circled, she twined— binding them in a caress that transcended the physical to touch their souls. Its end left their chests heaving in unison. A smirk curved one side of his mouth. “I believe I have discovered a much more effective use for that tongue of yours.” The sarcasm stiffened her, and the anger returned. But when she tried to pull back, he held her in place. “What about your rules? Aren’t you tempting fate?” His rich brown eyes glinted with mischief. “Only if I am caught or am foolish enough to confess. I promise you I will not be. And if caught … I could vow that you led me from a virtuous path.” Raina jutted her chin at that defiant angle that both annoyed and amused him. “Go ahead. I can take any beating they want to give.” A chuckle rumbled his chest. “I believe you could … and perhaps even enjoy it? I have known women … and men who thrived on punishment as pleasure.” Raina jerked back with wide-eyed denial shaking her head. Freeing her arms, he clapped his hands over her buttocks. Her squeal was swallowed by his kiss. It was deeper, more demanding, yet slow and thorough. He kneaded the soft mounds his hands possessed, grinding his pelvis in response to the whimpers that accompanied her own gyrations. He was descending once more into the forbidden and damned the consequences. He would have her. They broke apart on a gasp, and Al-Mon nipped at the golden flesh her arched neck exposed. Raina gave a soft cry and braced her palms against the hard contours of his chest. “Oh … please …” He lifted his head. “Stop? Go?” She bit her bottom lip while her breasts rose and fell in a desperate effort to collect her senses. It was foolhardy, she knew, but the heat between them burned as nothing before. Her body demanded—no, screamed—to discover if reality was as wondrous as a dream. Swallowing the dryness that closed her throat, Raina caught the knot of her sarong and yanked it open.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Go.” Before the word died, his mouth closed upon one taut nipple. He suckled … hard. With a smothered cry, she raked her fingers through raven silk and fell back against the band of his arm. When she could bear the sweet agony no longer, she pushed him away. His forehead wrinkled in a frown until she guided his lips to her other breast. He captured the quivering globe in a groan that mirrored a primal growl of victory. The animalistic sound shot sparks of excitement through Raina, covering her exposed flesh with goosebumps. Al-Mon lapped at the circumference of her rose-colored nipple then let his exploration encompass the paler flesh surrounding it. His lips burned and hungered for more. From the valley nestled between those orbs, he wandered south. Raina’s fingers dusted his shoulders to the clefts in his biceps. His wide hands cradled her back, easing her to the bed while his questing tongue moved ever lower. His sense of purpose made her suddenly shy, but when she tried to close herself, the gentle caress of his fingers at the point of her downy triangle parted them once more. Like a man starved, Al-Mon tasted her sweetness, tracing each hidden fold over and over until he had memorized all. Only then did he partake of the fruit at the top. He found it swollen to ripeness, ready to burst, a tiny replica of the throbbing length that pulsed between his legs. With the first flick of his tongue and the unrestrained cry she gave, he ripped off the cloth barrier that restrained him. She wanted to tell him to hurry. She wanted to tell him to take his time. All she could do was ball the linen beneath her while her body tensed for the final quickening. Its coming convulsed her with paroxysms of pleasure so intense she thought nothing could surpass it. Nothing, that is, until his body overtook hers. Al-Mon tossed back his head in a silent cry of wonder. No experience could ever match the sensation of joining with her. She fit him to perfection. Her hips moved in rhythm with his as if they had loved a thousand times over. He held on, giving and taking, until the need for completion demanded an end. It came upon him in a searing flash of white heat, melding them as one. Exhausted, he collapsed in the circle of her arms, yet still bore his weight on elbows to keep from crushing her. In the afterglow, he dotted kisses against her neck and reveled in her sigh of contentment. “The garden was no dream, was it?” she murmured. Al-Mon drew in a breath and pulled back to look at her, but he found he could not meet her eyes. “It was a dream.” He traced the curve of her cheek, dreading what was to come. “I can barely remember. I don’t understand. Why would I … How could you know my dream?” “We were linked.” Linked? How? Raina frowned. The memory was vague. Yet he was there, somehow part of the dream itself. Purposefully. She was in a strange land with strange customs. But she seriously doubted any of those customs allowed someone to trespass into another’s thoughts. Al-Mon took advantage of the situation. And no matter how sweet the dream, Raina still felt used. Al-Mon kept quiet as her frown deepened to a scowl. Any excuse he could make sounded feeble. How to begin. How to make her understand without setting her apart from him once more.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass A sharp rap on the outer door saved him. “Raina … Roy … Cynthia. Come. I must see you,” Caan-tu called. Pressing a finger to his lips, Al-Mon eased away and snatched up his cloth. By the time he wrapped it around his waist, he was through the courtyard door and gone, leaving Raina to stare dumbly in his wake. A second call from Caan-tu shook her to life. Covered only in the linen upon which they had loved, she stumbled to the door. “Yes, Caan-tu? What is it?” If he noticed her distress, he said nothing. For that, Raina was grateful. Questioning now would only serve to either reduce her to tears or break the tether binding her anger. She was incapable of dealing with either emotion at the moment. “I am sorry to wake you. Burke is quite ill. You must see to him.” A bid for attention or the real thing? “I’ll go, but not alone.” Roy folded his fingers over her shoulder. “You don’t have to. I’ll go, too. I have a few choice words to say to him.”

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Chapter 6

Al-Mon’s rooms stifled him, despite the fresh breeze the morning’s light brought with it. All it managed to do was stir the scent of the woman he had just loved, chasing fragments of her aroma from his body to that of the walls surrounding him. Sensing his lord’s preoccupation, Tor-sa bustled about in relative silence, cleaning the rooms and preparing a meal Al-Mon had already refused. Al-Mon appreciated his consideration, but still found his presence annoying. Rather than injure his feelings by ordering him away, Al-Mon kept quiet until he could bear it no more. Snatching up a fresh loincloth, he marched to his pool and dove in. He sliced the water with such precision there was barely a splash, but when he came up for air, he discovered the serenity he sought here no longer existed. The rippling water was also haunted by Raina’s presence. He hoisted himself to the side and let the warm air dry his skin to a bronzed hue while his toes tickled the pool. What was happening to him? In the short time since her arrival he had become a stranger to himself. Reason was gone. Common sense followed it out the door. Each time he was near her, the aura about her overtook him, forcing him to do what he normally could resist. Knowing it was wrong, he continued. All the control he possessed was gone. Something else directed his actions. He had become a madman, driven by jealousy and lust. Jealousy confused him. It was a new emotion. He had seen its existence in other people and laughed. His suffering now mocked his earlier perceptions. Oddly, it was not Raina who brought out this despicable trait—it was Burke. As far as he knew, it was impossible for anyone to return from the dead, and yet here was the ghost of his twin bearing a name bestowed upon him by the Underworld. Impostor or spirit, the man fed his competitive edge. And while Al-Mon believed the resemblance was coincidental, he could not say what others believed. As heir to the throne, he could not afford to let the people forget he was the stronger man. That was his true purpose in taking a beating he did not deserve. He could not allow sympathy for Burke to grow. Burke had to be shown as weak. Why Al-Mon deluded himself into thinking his cause at the time was for Raina, he could not say. Ah, Raina. Sweet, sensuous Raina. The lust was understandable—she was a beautiful woman. If he caved in to the demand of flesh, how could he be faulted—as long as they were not discovered. It was the manner in which he loved her that worried him. As if his very life depended upon it. All-consuming. Completion of the act provided bliss, but it was not sated—he wanted her all the more. Evidence of that jutted out from him at an uncomfortable angle. Selfrelief would leave him feeling hollow, providing no relief whatsoever. What he needed was something to distract his thoughts. Resigned to his condition, Al-Mon dressed and retrieved his spear from his room. The jungle was the one place he could not afford to let his mind wander. There, absentmindedness risked death. What better outlet? And the walk might be just the cure for his other problem. It was a good choice, for with his first step upon the well-worn path leading from his walled garden to the jungle beyond, his spirits lifted. Sadly, the effect did not reach his body. His worries tied invisible weights to his limbs, making him wonder if he would be able to take the next step. It was more evidence that something strange was trying to possess him, and he

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass was just as determined to reclaim his life—starting now. Whatever this demon, Al-Mon would not fall prey without a fight. With weapon clutched in his fist, he sprinted into the thick brush, following a trail beaten down from countless forays. Colored plumage shot into the upper reaches at his intrusion. Silence fell where birdsong had reigned only minutes before. A lighthearted apology would have been given if this were any other time, but all Al-Mon’s energies were focused on pounding one foot after the other. Blood roared in his ears. Breathing was an effort in itself that left him choking and stopped him cold. He braced himself against the nearest tree until the spasm passed, then reluctantly he returned. He had gone no more than one hundred feet. The peace of his garden awaited, and it was there, just inside the entrance that he chose to regain his strength. A patch of grass called to him. Al-Mon stabbed his spear into the ground and stretched upon the ground with a sigh. Never had such a sweat overwhelmed him, as if all the fires from the Underworld surrounded him. Sleep—that was what he needed. His bed would be this cooling sea of grass. His blanket, the sun. His lullaby, the breeze that rustled the leaves above. His dream, Raina. He drew in a slow breath to aid his growing contentment. A hint of sandalwood froze him. He dared another. The scent was stronger. Escape was too late. The grass crinkled with the footfall, and Al-Mon kept his eyes closed. Then he felt the warmth of another. “No, Ka-la.” He slitted his eyes in time to see the woman draw back the palm she was going to place upon his chest. She showed no injury at the rebuff. Instead, a smile lifted her mouth and deepened the sensuality of her sloe eyes. “Forgive me, but the temptation was more than I could bear.” “I am sure it was.” She lounged upon her side, bracing her head on the pedestal of her palm. A snort of frustration pulled Al-Mon upright. “What do you want, Ka-la?” “Silly man. I want you.” Using a nearby tree as a backrest, he stretched his long legs before him, crossing at the ankles. Her features were classic—envied by all. The midwife attending her birth had pressed her head to perfection, creating a straight line from the tip of her nose to the top of her head. Her body was full, ripe with curves and the promise of many children. The perfume of sandalwood clung to the air wherever she walked long after she departed. Heads turned, male and female, lusting and envious, to her presence. Ka-la thrived on the attention and encouraged it. She possessed only one trait that overrode all that outstanding physical beauty. Al-Mon gave a humorless chuckle. “You do not want me. You want the throne.” Ka-la leaned forward, offering him a full view of her bosom. When her bait was ignored, she sat back, lower lip protruding in a pout. “How can you say such a thing? How could you even think it?” “Your family’s ambition is well known throughout the city.” With downcast eyes, she replied, “I am not my family. I am myself. I have loved you since I was a child.” He could not dispute that. The prospect of being queen was a good incentive for love. He was grateful his parents felt toward Ka-la as he did. Otherwise, he might have been coerced into marrying her long ago. Ka-la draped herself over his legs. “I would be a much better wife to you than that tiny little woman the gods brought.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon raised a brow. “You scoff at a gift from the gods?” “If the gods sent her, how can she be a real woman?” she asked. “How can she please you … like this?” She slid her fingers under his loincloth. Al-Mon clamped his hand over her wrist before she could go further. “For a woman who aspires to be a royal bride, you take great risks.” Ka-la pulled her arm free. “I would risk all for a moment in your arms.” “A pity … since you are not worth the trouble I would bring upon myself.” “Yet you allowed yourself to take the cane for that golden woman, and you had only just met her.” “For some, worth is easily determined.” “And that is why you stole a kiss from her?” “I shared a kiss with her … and would gladly risk the cane again for another taste of her sweetness.” Ka-la bowed her head then looked out from the corner of her eyes with a sultry smile. “How do you know a kiss from me would not be as sweet when you have never touched my lips?” She slithered up his body and straddled his hips while she took his face between her palms. “Some say my kisses are hotter than volcano rock,” she whispered, then pressed her lips to his. Al-Mon remained impassive despite the disgust that crawled over his skin. Leeches were less aggressive than she. The urge to throw her off him threatened to override his determination to show her no type of reaction. She would give up when she realized she could pull no response from him. Ka-la let her palms wander to the curves outlining his pecs. “Your mouth is as hard as your chest. Open up and let me in … Hmmm?” Al-Mon spit on the ground beside them. “Is that answer enough for you? Get off and leave me be.” He seized her by the waist as he stood, then set her on her feet. Dark eyes of coal glared up at him. “How dare you reject me this way.” “I thought I was quite gentle. A lesser man may have tossed you in the dirt.” Ka-la balled her fists by her sides. “I will not be ignored!” He gave her a wide berth and walked toward the house. “Did you hear me?” she shrieked. “I curse your hide! You will regret this!” Al-Mon glanced over his shoulder. “You will regret this if you do not leave now.” She yanked his spear from its resting place and hurled it toward him. It clattered to an ineffective stop at his feet. Al-Mon bent to retrieve it and felt dizziness wash over him. It lasted only a fraction of a second—long enough to concern him, short enough to escape Ka-la’s notice. Rising, he tapped the staff to his forehead in mock salute to the woman before him. It set her off again. This time a rock was her chosen projectile. She reared back. Al-Mon held up a warning finger. “If you strike me …” Ka-la wavered, fearful of the king’s retribution. A pool of tears flooded her vision, and AlMon felt a tug of pity for her. Pride lifted her head but did not clear her eyes. With the airs of the royal honor she sought, she tossed the rock aside and prissed through the jungle gate.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass She had brought her woes upon herself. For that reason alone Al-Mon did not follow. Despite the vulnerability her tears presented. Despite the compassion that was demanded. Her greed negated friendship, especially from him, which would only be misperceived. Al-Mon rubbed the ache in his neck and shuffled behind the sanctuary his four walls provided. Tor-sa trotted forward with a tray of food and drink. “You did not eat.” “You are sounding more like a nursemaid everyday.” “But you must eat. It has been over a day since your last.” “And I am still alive—truly an amazing feat.” The words stung, and Tor-sa turned away. Al-Mon sighed. “Leave it. You are right. There is no need to fast.” A smile replaced his gloom as he gave his master the tray. “I shall return for it later.” Al-Mon could do no more than stare at the fruit and corn cakes. His appetite was gone. Bed called, but he made it no farther than the raised bench in the sunken central room where he entertained guests. There, stretched upon the comfort of a jaguar skin, he gave in to weariness. *** Raina had to give the Osbornes credit—they had wasted no time assimilating themselves into the Mayan culture. Both wore their scanty garb as if born to it. Neither seemed worried that a knot or tuck might fail, while Raina had replaced her sarong with the knee-length caftan for that very reason. The only thing that set the couple apart, Roy’s red hair and growing beard notwithstanding, was Roy’s chest. Raina had never seen a man so pale. His freckles were all that saved him from appearing ghostly. If those little brown flecks could join hands, he’d have a tan to die for. The thought made her smile as they followed Caan-tu around the corner to the corridor leading to Burke’s rooms. “Something amuses you?” Roy asked. “Nothing in particular. Just admiring your adaptation.” “Adaptation is survival,” Cynthia replied. “We stick out enough without our clothes setting us apart. We can’t afford to let these people feel uncomfortable around us.” Leave it to Cynthia to put things in perspective. Stopping short of Burke’s door, Caan-tu faced the trio. “If you are concerned with fitting in, Roy must remove his whiskers. And you may wish to have a care with your speech.” Raina’s face scrunched in confusion. “Our speech?” “Can’t, don’t, won’t. Contractions. Too harsh. Too much slang. Be more formal.” He nodded. “It will work. Trust me.” “And the beard?” Roy asked. “You will find clam shells and wooden tweezers among the items provided for you. Pluck it.” The last was given with a smile before he pushed open the door. Burke’s rooms weren’t unlike their own. A profusion of plants brightened the interior, making it difficult to determine where the courtyard began. Burke lay beneath a pile of furs in the center of the room. Center of attention. Raina scolded herself for the thought and stepped forward with the others.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Hearing their approach, Burke rolled their way. She was surprised to find him free of whiskers. “Hey, baby,” he croaked, then closed his glassy eyes. “I’m …” Remembering Caan-tu’s advice, she corrected herself. “I am not your baby. Who plucked you?” “Those women wouldn’t let me near them until the whiskers were gone. I can’t say it was worth it. Hurt like hell.” “I bet.” She pressed a hand to his forehead. “Fever?” Cynthia asked. “Oh, yeah … yes.” This was going to be harder than she imagined. “I would guess he has the flu … And you were worried about what diseases they could give us. In this century you might as well call it the plague.” A sigh weighed her words. “Not if we can isolate everyone he had contact with,” Roy said. “Caan-tu, have you any medicines?” The old man’s reply was dismal. “None.” Raina tucked the fur under Burke’s chin. “How is your back?” “Okay. Those women did something for that, too. But I didn’t ask what.” “Leeches,” she told him. “We might want to find those, too, just in case they are used on someone else. We must find those other people…anyone Burke spoke with or touched. Those three prostitutes especially, or we will have an epidemic. Bring everyone here. I believe I can get all we need from the jungle. This will be our hospital. I will need bedding, water…everything, but no one who is not sick must enter. Only us.” They rushed away without question, leaving Raina to prepare the room for other patients. As she gathered furs and linens and dragged beds from adjoining rooms, she ticked off who might be brought back. There were three prostitutes. Raina was certain Burke had taken advantage of all they had to offer especially after all he’d gone through in preparation. She considered asking him, but wasn’t anxious to feed his ego. The king and queen were added to her list. Then there were the two guards who had escorted Burke to court. The caners? She paused, head cocked. They had not gotten that close … Al-Mon was closer. Another one to add. And who had they come in contact with? Servants? Friends? A sneeze, a cough, an object touched was all it took to spread the contamination … and wipe out an entire population. She hugged the furs in her arms and longed to give in to despair. Their survival rested in the hands of one elderly time traveler, the smattering of knowledge she had gleaned from flower children, and whatever limited information the Osbornes could supply. No medicines, save the ones she could make. No doctors—of any kind. They were about to carve out a black niche in history—the beginning of the end of the Mayans. “Get me a drink, will you?” Burke’s whined request was nothing less than she expected. While he drank from the clay cup she offered, Raina wished she could cast blame his way. He was the one who was sick. He was the one who let a cold turn into the flu. He was the one who refused medicine when the symptoms first began. In the end the blame came around to her. She uncapped the corridor then insisted, against Burke’s more experienced orders, that it be explored immediately. If only she had waited until morning. But, no … she had stubbornly plunged ahead, in a desperate attempt to prove herself

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass worthy in her chosen profession. If the Mayans were to face decimation, it was by her hand and no other. Burke handed back the cup and tucked himself back under the llama fur. “Did you and your…guests,” the word came out more harshly than Raina intended, “use any cups last night?” Burke popped open one eye. “Jealous, huh?” “Don’t flatter yourself. Did you use cups?” “Yeah.” “Where are they?” He waved a hand in no particular direction. “I don’t know. Somewhere. Someone may have taken them away.” Raina let a sigh show her frustration. “They should be sterilized. Everything you’ve touched needs to be cleaned.” “Then boil water and clean it and let me rest.” He settled back to sleep, effectively dismissing her. Raina set the cup on the floor beside him before she could give in to the urge to smash it over his head. “Obviously, you have no idea how serious this is. Or you do not care.” He grunted an unintelligible response. Raina shook her head. “I’m going into the jungle to see what I can find to help ease the symptoms.” “Whatever.” He rolled to his other side and pulled the fur over his head. A typical response. It would serve him right if he were the first to succumb to the flu. But then he couldn’t return home and, as she’d already come to realize, that might have disastrous consequences for the future. While ticking off the plants she needed to look for, she selected a large bowl-shaped basket from the stack placed near the back entrance. It would be a challenge to be sure. Choosing natural products from the jungle was a far cry from a trip to a health food store. She doubted the flower children were even up to the task. Still, an entire race of people depended on her limited knowledge. She had to do it right, or as close to right as she could get. The fault of the potential epidemic lay before her as did the hope for a remedy. No twisting path led through Burke’s garden. The walk was a straight line from back door to protective wall. The gate to the jungle was a solid guardian against intruders, both human and animal. Raina had to tug on the rope latch with both hands to open it. She left it ajar in the event she had to return abruptly. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped on the wrong side of the door with a jaguar hot on her heels. At least in the daylight there was little chance of an encounter. Raina followed the narrow foot path that led from the house and let the jungle swallow her. The chatter of birds and angry monkeys dispelled the illusion of having entered a cavern, but it couldn’t chase away claustrophobia. She had been in tight places before—tombs and tunnels sometimes no bigger than she. But this … this was a living, breathing entity. She shook clear her rampant imaginings. No one would be helped if she panicked. “So, what do we need, Dr. Cotterell?” she asked herself, then mentally made a list. Fever, chills, coughs … pneumonia, if she wasn’t successful in keeping the influenza in check. “Well, they’re going to need something to ease the congestion.” Eucalyptus steam. Raina snapped her fingers. “Of course.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Defeat came before she took another step. The tree was native to Australia and wouldn’t be introduced for centuries. This won’t be as easy as I thought. She wandered along, studying each plant and tree for possible use—not a quick task, considering the profusion of foliage that existed. The futility of the effort weighed her with despair until she found a clump of raspberry bushes heavy with fruit. Gathering the berries and leaves bolstered her morale—she now had something to fight diarrhea. Other healing plants had to exist. A few yards on, the delicate fragrance of mint touched her. She found a bank of it nestled among the brush. A trove of ginseng further on lifted her hopes, and left her laughing when a mud puddle oozed around her ankles. The search was almost heaven-sent now. Plants she hadn’t noticed seemed to appear before her eyes. She was harvesting anise seeds when she spied the bees. At first she dismissed their low hum. Then, as the drone pulled her head up in search of the source, she realized the treasure she had discovered. Nestled well out of arm’s length in the cinchona tree looming before her was the largest hive she had ever seen. Every so often a shaft of sunlight would pierce the breeze-tossed leaves, lighting the hive in an amber glow. It was just the medicine she needed to help soothe throats gone raw from coughing. She carefully set aside the contents of her basket, then lined the bottom and sides with large waxy leaves pulled from a rubber plant. “That ought to hold it,” she said with a satisfied smile. She wedged the basket against the tree trunk and, straining on tiptoe, pierced the bottom of the hive with the longest stick she could find. The wound bled, sending a trickle of dark gold her way. She stabbed again and the trickle drew a river … of bees. With a squeal of distress she sprinted into the undergrowth hoping the tangle would discourage the swarm. But they fell upon her in a buzzing cloud of darts, sacrificing themselves in order to teach her to respect what wasn’t hers. Raina covered her head with the basket and plunged forward, until her lungs threatened to burst from the effort. “Stop it! Stop it!” Using the basket as a shield and then a weapon, she swung blindly at the minuscule missiles, but the enraged beasts attacked her fingers and anything else they could find. In her flight she skidded on a patch of mud. The dance for balance was over before it could begin. The fall took her breath away and gave her attackers a new advantage. Too weary to battle, Raina wiggled deeper into the goo until all exposed skin was covered. If it didn’t lessen the assault, at least the mud soothed the stings she received. She lay still, listening to the monotonous drone. How much longer? The smell of smoke provided her answer. As it grew stronger, the bees thinned and left. Raina gasped for air and wondered how she was going to outrun a forest fire. “They are gone now. Are you all right?” At the sound of Al-Mon’s voice, Raina tried to open her eyes, but the mud sealed them. Before she could swipe them clear, long fingers did so for her. She squinted up at him. A smoldering torch held high protected them from further attack. “I heard your cries,” he explained. “Are you all right?” “I’m,” she remembered her grammar, “I cannot be certain.” “Let us wash off the mud and see.” After a glance around to ensure they were safe, Al-Mon extinguished the torch in the mud and lifted her in his arms.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass The walk to the river wasn’t far, but Raina couldn’t say she would have been able to make it on her own. She expected Al-Mon to set her at the water’s edge. Instead, he waded in with her still cradled. Too hurt and weary to move, Raina was content to let him wash the mud away. “I hurt so bad,” she cried. “All over.” “Hush now,” he cooed, and cupped water in his palm to dribble over her face. “All will be well. I am here to care for you.” Al-Mon tried to hide his distress. It had been many years since he had seen so vicious an attack; that person had died. Raina was just as badly off. The only saving grace came from the fact that she was an adult and the previous victim had been a child. With each expanse of skin the water uncovered, more welts appeared. In some the stingers remained, pumping more venom into her beleaguered body. Al-Mon scraped them out with his fingernail. Raina sucked in a breath. “Please…it hurts.” “I know, but the poison must be stopped. A poultice will help when we return to the house.” “My plants. I have to get the plants I gathered.” “They will wait,” he said, and carried her from the river. Raina shook her head. “No, you don’t…do not understand. Burke is sick.” Al-Mon ground his teeth. She had risked her life for the imbecile. As far as he was concerned … “He can stay ill. Again, he has caused suffering to you for his own needs.” He trudged on. “Al-Mon, please.” She pressed her swollen hand to his cheek and forced him to look at her. “Normally, I would not care how sick he was since it seems he is always ill, but what he has can make others ill. I need those plants to help your people.” Al-Mon halted his march to give her his full attention. Her beauty was marred by welts. The agony she must have felt pained him also. She needed care, yet stubbornly insisted on caring for others. A true queen. Another affirmation that the gods chose well. “Where are these plants?” The intensity in his eyes made her hood her own. “Under the beehive.” “I will return for them once the bees have settled down and you are cared for. I will hear no more about it.” “But Al-Mon—” “Raina, I have spoken.” If the force behind that declaration sent a quake of fear through her heart, Al-Mon did not care. She might very well hold the title of queen one day, but he would be king and for this instant her needs would be put before others—especially those of Burke O’Neill. He trudged toward the house, determined to see she was cared for first and willing to fight anyone who would dispute him. Only once did he take his eyes from the path to glance at her. She rested against his shoulder with eyes closed. Whether subdued by his edict or by the attack he could not guess, but was grateful for her acquiescence. The stings had swollen her face so that the curves and hollows were no longer distinguishable. Worse still were her hands that had expanded to the point she could not bend her fingers. He hated to think of what would have happened had her cries for help not awakened him. Weary as he had been, one shout was all he needed to hear to spur him to her defense. Now that the heat of the rescue had dissipated, he felt that strange exhaustion seep into his muscles once more. He refused to let his step falter. Rest could come later. They were near the back entrance to his courtyard when Raina lifted her head.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Not here.” Her voice was so soft Al-Mon had to strain to listen. “Take me to Burke’s rooms.” A frown brought his eyebrows together and stopped his feet. “So, you would defy me.” Raina dropped her head back to his shoulder with a sigh. “You have been exposed to the illness, too. I can feel the heat of it in your body. All the sick are being taken to Burke’s rooms to contain the germs.” Disapproval turned to confusion. “Germs?” “The sickness. Al-Mon, please … I promise I will let myself be cared for. I can do little right now on my own.” She held up a swollen hand. “But I can tell others what to do.” “You will rest when we arrive?” She nodded. “And there will be no coddling of this Burke?” Something in his voice made her look up. The tick at the edge of his jaw confirmed it. AlMon was jealous. Agony replaced any flattery she may have felt. It was a damnable situation made doubly worse because of her intimacy with Al-Mon. If she could have taken back the moment, she would have—no matter how pleasurable the experience. “Why does that bother you?” she asked. “He is a man, yet he behaves like a spoiled child.” “Much like you did when you decided you would invade my dreams in the garden.” The animosity was washed away by a look of regret so painful Raina longed to bite off her tongue. “I can give no excuse,” he solemnly replied. “I ask that you do not speak of the deed to a soul, for the consequences would be graver than you could imagine. It was wrong. Yet it also was not forced. Had you shown the slightest reluctance, or had tried to shut me out, I would never have continued. Please bear that in mind.” “Did it not occur to you that I might have been dreaming of Burke?” Raina realized the folly of her words the moment they left her mouth, and braced herself for the resulting explosion. To her surprise, it didn’t come. Instead, Al-Mon smiled. “The idea did not occur … to either of us. You knew who you were with in dream-time. You spoke my name and reached for me. To deny you knew it was me now is to deny the heat that has existed between us from the instant we met. You have no heat for Burke, only disdain. I have seen it in your eyes. Deny that, my beauty.” She couldn’t. And when she remained silent, he conceded to her wishes to be taken to Burke’s rooms. There he placed her on a stone bench as far from Burke as possible. Still asleep, Burke didn’t move. Raina winced with the effort to find a comfortable position. “I know it hurts you—” “Like the dickens,” she replied in a rush of breath. Al-Mon reached to give her a sympathetic pat then drew back when he could find no safe place to touch her. “Do not move. I will return shortly with something to ease the sting.” Moving should have been the least of his concerns, since the tiniest flex of muscle was agony. She sat on the edge of the bench, forcing back tears from the burning pain. She longed to grip something to help her through the fight, but her swollen fingers made that impossible. A

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass brief flirtation with meditation proved fruitless, for her mind couldn’t dismiss the pain. A tear fell. She let it. Another followed. By the time Al-Mon returned, there was a steady stream. “There now,” he spoke softly as if to a child, “all will be well.” He dropped a kiss to the top of her head and straddled the bench beside her, placing a basket of papaya between them. Curiosity captured Raina’s attention long enough for her to rein in her tears. Al-Mon worked quickly to skin the fruit. The meaty flesh he tossed to a clay mortar resting between his thighs. Raina marveled at how fast his fingers moved, then was double-struck with wonder when she realized the blade he used was of flint. With the last papaya he cut a chunk and offered it to her on the tip of the knife. “Careful … it is sharp.” Raina slipped it free with her teeth then bit into fruit, juicy and sweet. Al-Mon gave her a wink, popped a chunk into his mouth, and gave the last bite to her. While she savored the treat, Al-Mon pulled a pestle from his waistband and ground the papaya to mush. “It does not look so appetizing now,” she said. “You will not eat it; you will wear it.” He swiped up a bit on his fingertip and reached for her. Raina drew back, a grimace of disgust animating her features. Al-Mon chuckled. “You can trust me.” “That episode in the garden shows I cannot.” “Or is it yourself you do not trust?” Raina forced down her pounding heart. How could he know her so well so fast? Her silence dimmed his smile. “A momentary lapse that will not occur again,” he said. “You have my word.” When she continued to regard him with the wary glance of prey to predator, he added, “Please … trust me. This time I will not fail you. You need not fear. If I should cross that line, you need only shout and I am certain Burke will leap from his slumber to champion your cause.” Raina gave a humorless snort and jerked her head in Burke’s direction. “The only cause he would champion would be his own.” Al-Mon smiled once more. “Then you have no choice but to trust me. Do you?” With her very life, if need be. She was surprised that she did. She nodded slowly, granting him permission to care for her. But the resulting aid did more to unnerve her senses than did the wounds. He was impersonal and methodical, dabbing each sting with such a delicate touch one would think she was made of porcelain. The papaya against her skin cooled the piercing burn while another heat flushed her skin. He was near enough she could have kissed him if she were able, and thereby ignore her own edict that physical contact between them would not happen again. She wanted him—damn whatever consequences might arise. It was a foolish notion, but reminding herself of that did little to stop the yearning of her heart. With the last welt covered, Al-Mon drew back, dusting his gaze over her in such a way Raina knew she could deny him nothing. “Try to lie back and rest. I will get those plants for you now.” He helped her ease down. The cool surface was a welcome respite to the fires that threatened to consume her common sense. Before she could thank him, he was gone. On the heels of his departure, Cynthia returned with Al-Mon’s parents in tow. Her eyes widened at the sight of a papaya-dabbed Raina. “What happened to you?” “I’ve been stung,” Raina breathlessly replied.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Cynthia narrowed her eyes to study Raina more closely. It was a perusal Raina did her best to avoid, but she guarded her eyes too late. “Hmmm … yes … I believe I just saw the bee leaving.”

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Chapter 7

Al-Mon was glad for the excuse to leave. If he had had to look at Raina one minute longer, he would have given in to the impulse to pull her into his arms so that he could absorb the agony she was feeling. With each second that passed it seemed the swelling grew, distorting her features until she looked like her greatest pastime was indulging in food. He worried that he had taken too long in fetching the papaya, then worried that the pulp would have little power in reducing the effects of the venom. There was nothing else he could do. The fact that she was still alive was a miracle by itself. His childhood friend had died within minutes of his attack. What amazed him was that her call for help would yank him from his sleep while Burke dreamed on. Burke was much closer than he—the garden door opened. The man was a fool—an idiot. Raina was right, Burke’s only cause was his own. She could have been killed and Burke would never have realized it. True, the man was ill, but Al-Mon believed himself stricken also. Yet his fatigue did not stand in the way of defending a woman in need. Al-Mon bent to retrieve Raina’s basket, recalling the dizziness when he had done a similar thing earlier. This time the action caused no vertigo. The sleep, though short, had revived him somewhat. More rest later, after his obligation to Raina, would put him to rights. He approached the beehive cautiously. All was calm. The colony was absorbed with repairing the damage Raina had caused. The plants were where she said they would be, undisturbed by the bee attack. It was a varied assortment. Some he recognized as healing plants, others he did not. From what he could tell from the selection, she was an experienced healer. Which made it harder to understand why she went for the honey. Did she suddenly hunger for the sweet treat? Odd behavior for someone who was in a hurry to return with healing plants. If it was the wax she was after, there were better ways of collecting it. Al-Mon placed the plants in the basket and added a few others he thought might be of benefit. The wax could come later, if she could convince him of its worth in her cures. He snickered at himself. He was fooling no one. All Raina need do was ask and the wax was hers. In fact, she could have the entire tree if she wanted it. The motive deserved consideration. Was it infatuation? Love? Or desperation? He could not honestly answer the question, but he prayed that he had not reached the point where he would do anything to keep a woman’s interest. That would make him no better than Ka-la. The realization sobered him. It was not his nature to be predator to Raina’s prey. Therefore, his motive must be infatuation. Another less destructive emotion, for the end result of this would be that he behaved as a fool—a name Raina had already attached to him in the heat of anger. So he was a fool for love. There was that word again. Often sought, never achieved. He fingered the plants as he started back. Is that what this was? The answer did not come as quickly as he wanted. He had no experience with love except as an outsider watching others. And while he had always wished for love, until now it had never occurred to him how that emotion would make him feel. How did he feel? Al-Mon shook his head to clear it. It was too soon, too quick. He was pushing, grasping again. Every minute he spent with her was time to know each other better. To go beyond the heat - 57 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass which drew them together and touch the mind. Being lovers was fine—wonderful, in fact. But a union blessed by the gods also required friendship and respect. Al-Mon would not wish to spend eternity with a woman without it. When he returned to Burke’s rooms, his first sight was of Raina tending others. And with that vision came the stranglehold of love. That it hit him so abruptly was shock enough, but it was the effect upon his body that bore the true surprise. Crickets lived in his stomach, jumping up and down with each shaky breath he exhaled. His heartbeat quickened under the strain of a grip so tight he would swear another was squeezing it. The tumbled flow of a thousand rivers pumped through his veins, drowning out all other senses. She glanced up then started toward him with a smile. The swelling, from what he could see through the papaya paste, had dissipated to such a degree no one would have realized she had been stung. Her hands still bore evidence of the attack, but they too had recovered enough to allow her to use them. Her smile hovered before him as she claimed the basket. Its presence stole rational speech from him. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He wanted to say that he did not mind, that he would do all he could to help. It came out as a jumble of words that brought the blush of embarrassment to his cheeks. Thankfully, she sorted through the plants and did not see. “You have added a few things.” “I thought they would be of use,” he said. “Yes … except for this.” Raina held up the cinchona bark. “What is it for?” “Fever. It plagues our people often if it is not chewed.” A crude source of quinine. But better than nothing at all. She had forgotten how susceptible she and her friends were to malaria. The pills they took were taken for granted as a part of living in the jungle. It had become so routine none of them had realized the impact they had on their health until now, when accessibility to the medicine was impossible. “A very good idea,” she told him. “And something we all need. I forgot to get it when I was harvesting the other plants.” “Most probably those bees drove all other thought away.” “And me with it,” she said with a light laugh that he joined. Raina longed to trace the shallow creases that bracketed his smile. It faded before she could do so. Their laughter broke the spell of awkwardness and freed Al-Mon to look around. It was not a sight that pleased him. His parents slept in the coolest part of the room—that farthest from the back entrance against the stone wall. A few of their servants lay nearby, not in attendance but resting as well. “What is going on here?” Raina had no chance to answer, for at that time Caan-tu returned with the guards and two of the prostitutes. “Have them rest over there.” Raina pointed to a site away from the others. “I will check them in a moment. Are there any others?” Caan-tu shrugged. “Who can say? There are many lesser servants. Many who have conducted business here. Al-Mon’s man will have to be found. And certainly the third prostitute. Other than that?” He hiked a shoulder again. Al-Mon stomped toward the old man. “This reeks of insurrection, Caan-tu.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass The accusation of treason weighed him down, making him seem older than his years. Raina’s heart went out to him. She hooked her fingers in Al-Mon’s loincloth and yanked him back. “Stop it, will you?” His scowl covered her like a threatening cloud. “You are part of this insurrection?” “You are being ridiculous. The only insurrection here comes from a bug so tiny you could not see it no matter how hard you tried.” On tiptoe she pressed her palms to his forehead and cheeks. “Looks like we have another patient here, Cynthia.” Al-Mon snatched her hands away. “Do not try to turn my head with your cool touch and strange words. I will know what is happening here and I will know now.” Raina folded her arms beneath her bosom with a frustrated sigh. “I told you earlier. There is a sickness.” He pointed at Burke. “You said he was ill.” “And I told you others would be ill soon, too. We must keep all the sick together to prevent the spread of contagion.” “And if not?” His tone hinted that the makeshift hospital would be dismantled if her reply didn’t meet his specifications for quarantine. Raina disliked the attitude and the stubbornness accompanying it. If he wanted a plausible excuse, she had one that would surely shake him from his royal pedestal. On her toes once more, she shoved her face within inches of his. “People may die.” “Because of his sickness!” He jerked his arm in Burke’s direction. Raina flinched, afraid he meant to hit her. Al-Mon caught her shoulders. “Do not cower from me, woman! I am not like him! I would not strike you!” Lord Jaguar Sun pushed himself to one elbow. “How can she know that with all your ranting and raving? Quiet down. Let us rest. Let them help.” Al-Mon released her. “None would be sick were it not for him.” His voice was calm but anger fed the words. “The spirits of the Underworld seek to take him back,” Lord Jaguar Sun said. “He resists and they grow stronger and spread to others near him.” Al-Mon curved his brow and glanced Burke’s way. “If the Underworld seeks his return, I shall be happy to hasten the journey and release others from torment.” “You can’t mean that,” Raina said in a breathless rush of words. “I will not risk the lives of those I love for his sake.” “But you have not given us the chance to help. You owe me that much at least.” “A threat, my Raina?” he whispered. It was; albeit a stupid one. She hiked her chin a notch. “Take it as you will.” Al-Mon looked down the bridge of his nose at her. “Threats will not matter if there is no one alive to hear them. I will not see my city fall because the Underworld wants the return of one worthless man. But I will give you this much. He will live as long as no one else dies.” He held a finger before her. “If one life is lost, his blood will pour from the sacrificial altar … And I shall see the deed done myself, and glory at the crimson life force while it drains from his body down the temple stairs.” He pivoted on his heel and marched toward the exit. Raina spun around to Caan-tu and the Osbornes. “Find that hooker before the slut contaminates the whole damn city. Roy, get a fire started and keep it going. Cynthia, water … lots of it and hot.” Orders issued, she ran after Al-Mon.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass It was a short sprint. He had gone no farther than the courtyard. He faced her with legs astride, hands braced on hips. Raina jerked to a stop. “You need not chase after me as if I were a naughty child,” he told her. “Where are you going? You have to stay here.” “I fully intend to comply with your edict, but I will have the comfort of my own bed. And my parents theirs. And did you not wish to have all those exposed confined?” “Yes—” “Then I must find them also.” “I’ll get your man. Roy and Caan-tu can fetch the beds later. It is not good for you to be out. Come back inside.” “While I am sure Tor-sa would not hesitate to come at your bidding, Ka-la is a different matter. I will find them myself. You are the one who should be inside—healing those stricken. I did not give my words lightly, Raina. Burke will be sacrificed if one person dies.” As he turned to walk away, Raina spoke. “That’s the only reason you have agreed to lock yourself in with us, isn’t it? So you can carry out the sentence.” She expected him to toss one of those malevolent smiles back, but he continued to face away from her. “You know me well for so short a time,” he said. “That is good, for you should realize I mean my words to be carried out swiftly. Sweet pleadings will not help him, and he will not have your skirt to hide behind. Burke will die…I have spoken.” I have spoken. The gavel of Mayan royalty. But there was nothing she could do except pray it wouldn’t come to pass. She had no doubt Al-Mon would carry out his threat. The animosity between the men was too great. Neither would lose the chance to destroy the other. The differences came in the manner in which they did so. Burke would want public humiliation, the loss of power, and total degradation. Al-Mon would strive for something more permanent. Neither man would step back from this war of wills. They were as stubborn as if they were truly born twins. It left Raina and the Osbornes in the awkward position of trying to protect Burke from himself. Hard to do when he had no respect for the seriousness of the situation. “It’s going to be a long six months,” she said with a sigh and returned to her patients. The virus would spread quickly in this virgin environment, attacking nobles and servants with indiscriminate glee. Headaches, fever, chills, and general malaise were merely the start— respiratory problems would follow. She sorted her natural pharmacy according to the symptom each plant was to relieve—congestion, sore throat, headache. It was a paltry medicine chest at best. “That’s quite a combination,” Roy said as he peered over her shoulder. “What do we do with it?” “Pray it works,” she replied. “Rest, liquids, and chicken soup?” “Something like that.” “Well,” he rubbed his hands, “show me what to do, Doc.” They placed steaming bowls of rosemary and thyme beside every bed to ease congestion. Jugs of water and raspberry-ginseng tea were within arm’s reach to ward off dehydration and fever. They finished apportioning in time to help Al-Mon bring in the remainder of the beds. By now there could be no doubt the illness weighed him down. Exhaustion lined his face and

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass reddened his eyes. Raina could feel the fever pulse from his skin, yet he refused to complain or cave in. “Tor-sa has gone to fetch Ka-la. I know of no others who could be affected.” Raina steered him toward his bed. “Only you. Come rest.” He caught her wrist in a gentle hold and pulled her to a stop. “Soon…Why did you want honey?” “It will help to soothe throats when the time comes.” Raina wasn’t sure if he nodded or sighed until he picked up a torch and started for the door. “Where are you going?” He reply was laden with weariness. “To get your honey.” “That is not necessary.” “I will not have it said that the lack of it kept you from healing. I will get it.” Stubborn Mayan pride. Raina knew he couldn’t be deterred from his task. “Not dressed like that, and not alone. Come with me.” She expected him to refuse, instead he followed her to Burke’s bedroom. Puzzlement set in when she gave him the twentieth century clothing to put on. “To protect you.” After brief explanation, Raina left him to dress while she retrieved her clothes. By the time she returned, he was still frowning over the shoes and socks. “Everything stifles a man.” He wiggled his toes. “But I cannot say whether I dislike these or these the most.” He pinched the leg of the jeans. “I cannot breathe.” Raina bit back a smile. “Put on the cap and let’s get this over with.” The transformation was frightening. If Raina hadn’t been there, she would have mistaken him for Burke. Except for the long hair, the only difference between them was Burke’s college ring. “Your bravery amazes me,” he told her. “I know of no one who would return to a beehive so quickly after an attack. Your powers of recovery are wondrous. Let us hope they are just as effective with those given to your care.” “If you do not rest soon, you will be the first victim.” To her surprise, he smiled. “And leave Burke unaccountable for the misfortune he has brought upon us? Never.” Sarcasm laced her reply. “Of course not. We would not wish to ruin your revenge. After you, my lord.” She swept her arm toward the door. Al-Mon tugged the bill of the cap in mock salute as he passed—a trait so twentieth-century male it set Raina’s teeth to grinding. The irritation didn’t last long. As they trekked through the jungle another problem supplanted it—her restrictive clothing aggravated the bee stings. Knowing Al-Mon would send her back, she kept quiet over the growing discomfort and maintained a steady pace behind him. Raina admired his stalwartness. A lesser man, a Burke-like man, would have taken to his bed. Al-Mon trudged on without pause to retrieve a golden treasure for her pharmacy. She cautioned herself against sentimentality. After all, he did state his reasons for doing so. Still, respect was in order—as was a curiosity about how he expected to accomplish the harvest without instigating another bee riot. All they brought with them was the torch and a large basket. The answer was at the hive itself, camouflaged among the foliage. Al-Mon seated the torch in a notch directly below the hive and yanked free the system of vines and wooden pulleys his people used to collect honey.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Put the basket in the cradle while I pull myself up. When I give the word, haul it up.” The sling seat reminded Raina of a homemade swing as did the wide cradle which held the basket. Al-Mon’s ascent was slow while he gave the smoke time to drift around the hive. Once he was parallel to the nest, he motioned for the basket. Following his cautious lead, Raina drew it up until he caught the edge with his foot. “You will need to hold tight and steady.” He shoved the basket against the tree trunk. From the branches above him, Al-Mon pulled out a knifelike spear, then carved into the wax. Raina hunched down, waiting for an attack that never came. The thick slice of honeycomb folded beneath a flood of gold then drooped into the basket. Once it was full, Al-Mon let it swing back. “Ease it down. It will be heavy.” Raina’s arms shook with the effort to hold onto the vine. Her grip slipped, and she tightened her hold to inch the basket down. Its counterweight pulled her off her toes. She curled her knees to her chest, hoping the tight ball her body made would set her back on the ground. The result was a quicker ascent past the torch, then the basket and the hive, stopping only when the load touched ground and she was face to face with Al-Mon. His stunned expression matched hers, but it soon changed to amusement. His laughter echoed around them, beckoning Raina’s. She bit back, afraid succumbing would cause her to fall. “Quit laughing and help me.” Her attempt at severity was swallowed by her smile. “It would be my pleasure.” He curved his arm around her waist and pulled her astride his lap for the downward ride. It would have been an enticement to other pursuits had Al-Mon not been so ill. His fever had risen in the space of time it took to harvest the honey. The heat it generated set Raina to sweating. “You must rest when we get back,” she said, when they touched ground. “I will put myself in the care of your capable hands,” he said, and reached for the basket. “Leave that. Roy can come back for it.” “Not before the bees discover the loss. Get the torch and follow behind.” “No. Your health is more important to me than the honey.” “Only because it guarantees Burke’s life.” He hoisted the load to his shoulder and walked on. “You are a fool if you think that,” she shouted to his back. Al-Mon turned. “What then?” The question took her unaware. What did he want from her? A declaration of loyalty? A vow of love? “Your illness makes you ask odd questions, Al-Mon,” she softly replied. “Put the basket down. Roy will come for it. The torch will have to protect it until then.” When he continued to frown at her, she added, “Al-Mon … I have spoken.” It was a dangerous tone to use on a ruling noble, but Raina knew of no other way to get her point across. He stared at her for what seemed like minutes, when it was actually barely seconds. Then, to her amazement, he set the basket down. “Then so be it.” He had deferred to her wishes! It was as simple as— “I will wait here until you return,” he said. So … the acquiescence was only partial. “You said I should not be alone in the jungle. There are many dangers. I might lose my way.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon took the torch from her and sat on a fallen tree. “The path is well-trodden and the distance is short. I am not far should danger arise.” “I am afraid. You must come with me.” A chuckle shook his shoulders. “I suspect there is little that frightens you. The torch cannot be left unattended. A passing animal could topple it and cause fire. You asked that I not carry the honey and I have agreed. What more do you require?” Raina balled her hands into fists. “Damn it, but you’re infuriating.” “I only wish to serve my future queen’s command.” He swept into a low bow. “Then get back to the house and into bed!” “Without the honey I labored so hard for?” The feigned innocence was too much. Raina was losing this battle of wits before it began. It was more of a delay than if she’d let him complete the task. She yanked the torch from his grip. “Fine. Carry the basket for all I care. And I hope you collapse from exhaustion, facedown in the mud.” He stretched to his feet and stared down at her. “Do you … truly?” Raina glanced away before that endearing look in his rich brown eyes could worm its way into her heart. “We must go. I have other patients to see to. Patients who will admit they are sick and are willing to rest in order to be well. You hate Burke so much it would not surprise me if you died just to have him killed.” Al-Mon hoisted the basket to his back. “He is not worth that sacrifice. I vow this will be my last task. Upon our return I will give myself into your caring hands.” As he followed the narrow path back to the house, Al-Mon wished she had pushed a little harder to get him to leave the honey. After the glorious pleasure of watching the fire in her eyes, he would have let her have her way. But he had frustrated her with too much teasing and now would have to suffer from having baited her. This strange sickness did seem to clutch at him, dragging him down until he felt he would collapse at any moment. The energy, which sustained him through the bee attack, had waned with his trek through the jungle. Sheer will was all that kept him on his feet now. That and the image of Raina standing up to him. By all the gods she was beautiful—despite the blobs of papaya still dotting her skin. Strongwilled and determined were attributes he added with a growing sense of pride. Such characteristics deserved equal measure from her future husband. Any show of weakness on his part would surely demean himself in her eyes—especially when she kept on while the venom raised welts once more in a renewed fight. Another test from the gods? So it appeared, but it was a challenge Al-Mon refused to meet. He was weary of invisible deities demanding constant placation. Their rules had no reason he could fathom except to provide them with amusement while mortal subjects did as they bid. Reward was nonexistent. Tasks completed generated more commands. Faithful service garnered him nothing. And now this—a golden beauty with Death sent along as her companion. Another cruel taunt from the gods. A gift of a bride. A curse of death. No more. He would bow to their will no more. The main source of Al-Mon’s disdain was upright when he and Raina returned to the dwelling-house. Burke’s eyebrows lifted with their entrance. A cup of tea was perched halfway to his lips. A scowl overtook him, and Al-Mon was glad to return it. “He’s got my clothes on! Why does he have my clothes? Take them off … now.” A child of three years behaved with more maturity than Burke.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Ignoring Burke, Al-Mon asked Raina, “Why not save us all the misery and let me slit his throat now?” “Please … do not tempt me.” Al-Mon eased the basket to the floor and stretched the stiffness from his shoulders. His intent had been to lend further assistance for the sick. Raina usurped his plans before he could initiate them. Cool fingers slipped around his elbow and guided him to his bed. There she discreetly helped him change to his own clothing. “I am certain you will be more comfortable.” She gently pushed him down to the cotton batting. When he opened his mouth to reply, she pressed a cup of raspberry-ginseng tea to his lips. “Drink often and a lot. Plenty of rest. I am only a call away.” He curled his fingers around the cup and watched her glide away to tend to the others. She was like a dream, drifting from one task to the other, offering soothing words and a tender smile to those stricken. And before Al-Mon realized it, that image became a true dream as sleep oozed into his weary muscles.

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Chapter 8

Raina knew Al-Mon had fallen asleep even before the cup slipped from his grasp. It was the sense that his gaze no longer followed her. She had felt its presence the moment she left his side. It warmed her through her rounds, touching her across the room as it had across time. Once shaded behind closed lids, Raina was bereft without the tender regard. Vulnerability seeped in— to what she couldn’t say. It caused an odd pang of aloneness despite her relief that he had finally allowed himself the rest his body needed. She tiptoed to his bedside, careful not to disturb him. Fever rose to meet her. If that were an indication of the level of illness, Al-Mon was sicker than the others—even Burke. Yet to listen and watch them one would think the opposite were true. Furrows rested between Al-Mon’s eyebrows while he slept. Raina smoothed them away with a gentle swipe of her thumb. His features relaxed with her touch, and in this state the resemblance to Burke wasn’t so great. Humor and compassion waited to be brought to life. With Burke those qualities didn’t exist, for even with laughter a cruel glint lit his eyes. Raina filled Al-Mon’s cup and set it within easy reach. As if by rote she dropped a kiss to his forehead before turning away in great reluctance to tend the others. “What a touching display,” Burke grumbled from across the room. “My cup’s been empty for an hour.” Cynthia stepped forward to intervene. Burke motioned her back. “No. I want her. I want the same attention she’s giving to jungle man.” Raina sighed. “I was merely checking his temperature.” A lie, of course, but it didn’t hurt her to tell it to Burke. “I have a fever, too. I’m sick, too.” His whining set her nerves on edge. Nevertheless, she walked over to fill his cup. “What you are is a baby,” she said. “Your mother may have put up with it and coddled you, but I do not have the patience or time to cater to your ills, real or imagined.” He caught her wrist as she reached for the cup. “Aren’t you going to test my fever?” She kept her voice low, but delivered her words through bared teeth. “Believe me, nothing would give me more pleasure than to ram a log-size thermometer up your ass.” He tightened his hold until she winced from the pain. “I deserve the same attention you’re giving him—more.” “You deserve nothing. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.” “Wrong!” he whispered harshly. “All this is your fault because you were too headstrong to listen!” He anchored her wrist to the bed and snapped his free hand around her neck. “Stay away from him—or else.” She tried to pull back, but his hold was strong for a sick man. “You’re the one who needs to worry about or else, Burke. One scream from me and Al-Mon will be at my side.” The blade of a flint knife slipped between them, then Raina felt long, hot fingers slip around her waist. “A scream is not necessary for me to know you are in danger, my Raina. I feel it as I do the wind.” Burke dropped his hands, and Al-Mon curled his arm around her waist to pull Raina back. “Another will care for you. Raina will not.” - 65 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Burke shoved himself to his elbows. “If you think you can dictate to Raina, you’re barking up the wrong tree, bud.” “I am not a flower nor am I a dog that barks at trees,” Al-Mon replied. “I do not seek to order Raina, only to protect her as any man would his woman. Surely she will see the intent.” He touched the tip of the blade to Burke’s chest. “I have not cared for your treatment of her since your arrival. You remain on this earthly plane only because Raina wishes it and the spirits of the Underworld are as yet too weak to pull you back. Take care that you do not tip favor against you. My patience has already been worn thin.” Their dark-eyed gaze bounced between them, each refusing to break the hold. Each daring the other to action that would elevate the confrontation. Raina didn’t breathe for fear of disturbing the spell holding them captive. A spell that, if broken, could teeter in either direction—peace or war. It was Roy who intervened, lending the soft-spoken voice of reason. “Come. Enough is enough.” His gentle touch upon Al-Mon’s arm pulled the Mayan back. “You are both too sick to think rationally. Rest. Al-Mon, I will tend to Burke so you need not concern yourself over Raina.” It was enough to appease Al-Mon, yet not completely. His gaze stayed locked with Burke’s until he sheathed his knife and passed it to Raina. “Do not hesitate to use it.” She accepted it with reluctance and, once it was in her hand, Al-Mon captured her fingers and brought them to his lips. The heat of his kiss stayed with her through Burke’s disapproving snort, Al-Mon’s return to bed, and Caan-tu’s arrival with two new patients. Then it was chased away by the contemptuous glare from the woman beside Caan-tu. She was a stranger to Raina. Had she been the missing prostitute, Raina was certain she would have recognized her. She had a look about her that didn’t suggest low birth, and she carried herself with pride, unafraid to meet anyone eye to eye. Whoever she was, she had no liking for Raina. The opposite could be said of the young man on Caan-tu’s other side. He stared at Raina with all the adoration of a schoolboy ensnared by his first crush. Raina looked to Al-Mon for some clue in how to deal with these newcomers, but he had already turned his back on them to sleep. “Tor-sa is Al-Mon’s servant,” Caan-tu explained. “And the lady is Ka-la. Neither seem to be ill at the moment, but I have not questioned them at great length.” “Take them over there.” Raina pointed to an area far from the sick. Ka-la smoothed her fingers down her throat, taking on the air of one who is bored. “You are not my queen as yet. I will not take orders from you until the law decrees that I must. Even then my obedience will be grudging, slow, or not at all. I will not move from this spot until I am told what this is about.” Again, Raina couldn’t determine what she had done to cause such animosity in a woman she had never met. She explained the situation, hoping it would alleviate some of Ka-la’s hatred. With the last of her words, a smile slanted Ka-la’s eyes. Raina was quick to notice there was no friendly intent behind it. “So, this sickness depends on how much contact one has with those taken ill,” she said. “Something like that,” Raina replied. “Tor-sa has served Al-Mon. Touched things he has touched. Is it possible you have also?”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass The question was a mistake. Raina realized that with the brightness that shone behind the other woman’s eyes. She glanced around then leaned closer to Raina. “I have been as close as one can get,” she whispered, then let her deep-throated chuckle fill in any gaps in Raina’s imagination. She strolled to the area Raina had previously designated, pausing to lasciviously scan a gapmouthed Burke before continuing on to her destination. Once there she stretched upon the bedding and let her sloe eyes take in Raina’s response. Jealousy smacked its ugly fist into Raina’s stomach. She turned her back to the Mayan beauty to hide the effect the words had on her. “Are you all right?” Caan-tu asked. No! And that alarmed her also. “Have … have you found the other prostitute?” It was a good ruse to cover her true upset. “Not yet. I am still looking. Discreetly, of course.” “Of course.” Her reply was absentminded, and she was vaguely aware of him leaving to continue his search. As close as one can get. The admission robbed Raina of all other thought. With the constant circuit it traveled in her head hyperventilation threatened to overtake her. That Al-Mon had slept with Ka-la after her doubled the pain. The brief doubt that niggled in was chased away by Raina’s recollection of Al-Mon’s insistence that Ka-la be found. He was no different than any other man she had known. Hurt came from the fact that she had wanted him to be. She believed the specialness between them was unique. Had thought his tender touch and sweetly spoken endearments were a treasure for her alone. Yet he had hardly had time to catch his breath from one encounter before leaping to another. Rage urged she carve her initials in his chest for all eternity. Pride nagged at her to shake him out of his sleep and demand an explanation. Propriety kept her feet rooted. No action on her part could change what had happened. All was best left as it was. Raina massaged the leather sheath housing the knife Al-Mon gave her for defense, a caring gesture in and of itself. Then, why? None of this should matter, but it did. It mattered more than she wanted to admit. Tears sprang forward to cloud her vision. She blinked them back only to have them flood again. Get hold of yourself! But it was no easy task; the hurt was too deep. She was going to have to find a secluded spot to cry it out. “I need to check on something,” she called over her shoulder. “I won’t be long.” Tying the sheath around her waist, Raina hurried to find a quiet location. Her footsteps led her to Al-Mon’s bathing pool. The tinkling water greeted her like a dear old friend, offering peace with its chiming purity. Raina selected the closest bench to purge her wounded heart, but the tears refused to come. Torment now came from a different quarter—brief memories. His smile, his touch, his protectiveness all conspired against her, making her question how she could have misjudged him. Yet the truth was irrefutable. It wasn’t something Ka-la would have lied about when doing so would cause her to be sequestered with a bunch of sick people. A heavy sigh drew her back to her feet. More depressed now than tearful, she shuffled back to her hospital. Raina nursed in a daze, sponging away fever here, offering tea there and leaving Al-Mon and Burke to anyone’s care but her own. Conversation was kept to a minimum. She lacked the

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass emotional energy for more than that. With nightfall she chased the Osbornes away to sleep and lit a single candle to chase away the gloom. With Caan-tu off on another attempt to locate the errant prostitute, she was on her own which, for now, didn’t present a problem. The sick rested in a room heavy with the scent of thyme and rosemary. If that didn’t break through the congestion, nothing would. She considered making her rounds once more. She’d made the circuit a hundred times today—nothing would have changed in the last few minutes. She turned instead to the courtyard window for whatever relief the thick tropical air could provide. Loosening her hair, she fanned it out to cool her head. Behind her the silence was broken by someone’s cough—Ka-la, she suspected, for the woman had started to complain of a scratchy throat shortly before the dinner meal. From that point, the illness quickly closed in. She handled it little better than Burke, whimpering where he would have whined. Raina chalked it up to being frightened and didn’t fault Ka-la’s reaction. Had it been her life in the balance, Raina was certain her behavior would also have been less than admirable. “God, how long is this hell going to last?” she asked with a sigh. “Six months, remember?” Cynthia replied. She strolled up beside her. “You’ve seemed preoccupied all day. Want to talk about it?” She doubted Cynthia would sympathize. “Not really.” Raina’s reluctance elicited a maternal sigh of frustration. “You’re doing the best you can to make everyone well, but I don’t know if it’s enough to seep through their veil of superstition should one of them not make it. If the worst should happen, Roy and I are hoping that Caan-tu will be able to talk Al-Mon out of giving Burke the death sentence. Maybe lock him away where his mouth won’t cause trouble until we can leave this place.” Raina doubted such half-measures would satisfy Al-Mon. Still, she offered Cynthia a noncommittal shrug. “I hope so.” “Me, too, because we’ll have a hell of a time explaining why one of us is missing. Even though Burke has no family, his disappearance would still cause concern. How would we begin to explain? We’d either find ourselves in a loonie bin or jail if we tried to explain.” “I know. I’m doing my best to save his worthless hide.” Her attempt at humor failed, for even she couldn’t muster an obligatory chuckle. “It’s a damnable situation,” Cynthia said. “I’ll be glad when the four of us are back where we belong.” “Me, too.” “Are you?” The question pulled Raina’s head around. She was grateful the dark kept her from seeing Cynthia’s eyes clearly. “Of course I am.” “I hope so. We have to go back. All of us, Raina. No matter what.” “I know that,” she snapped, and looked away once more. “And it won’t be a problem for you once the time comes?” “Of course not. All of us will return,” she quietly replied. “I hope so.” Raina listened to her exit then waited a little longer to ensure she wouldn’t return. Tears she thought under control trickled unrestrained to the point of her chin. Everything conspired against

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass her weary emotions—the arrival, the departure, Burke’s surliness, the sickness, Al-Mon’s suit and his betrayal. It was too much for one person to deal with at once. Turning from the window, she extinguished the candle and stretched upon the last empty bed far from the others to cry herself to sleep. Exhaustion claimed her first. It was the sense of something wrong rather than the sound that pulled her awake hours later. She came up with a start, her heart racing with anxiety. Straining to hear beyond that pounding thud offered her no clue as to what had caused the alarm, but she knew rest wouldn’t come until she had checked her charges. As her flint struck a spark to the candlewick, the flame illuminated a pair of yellow eyes. The jaguar padded into the circle of light. A low growl rumbled from its throat and set Raina’s hair on end. She could scarcely breathe, much less call for help. Any warning she might give was frozen in her chest. Her trembling fingers found the hilt of her knife and slipped it free. Don’t panic. Forcing air past her stricken vocal cords, Raina softly called for Al-Mon. As she had hoped, his response was immediate, and she blessed whatever powers made him a light sleeper. “Stay calm. No sudden moves.” “Don’t worry about me. Just do something.” The rustle of bedding was the only indication Raina had that Al-Mon had left the bed. His progress across the room was silent, but didn’t escape notice of the beast before her. The closer Al-Mon came, the higher its hackles stood up on its back. Its unremitting growl grew worse with each step Al-Mon took. “Do you want my knife?” she whispered, afraid anything louder would cause the cat to pounce. Al-Mon’s reply was just as soft. “I am in no mood to wrestle with it. Get behind me and we will see if we can chase it out the door.” A step in his direction turned a throaty growl to a snarl that jerked sleepers upright. In seemingly slow motion, the cat crouched. Like some ancient lion tamer, Al-Mon grabbed a stool and wielded it as a shield. It angered the jaguar further. With ears folded against its head, it shot a full roar into the air, waking any who might have slept through previous more subtle announcements. Al-Mon jerked Raina behind him and stabbed his makeshift shield at the cat. “Hah! Get!” Feline muscles tensed then launched the cat in flight. Raina watched in paralyzed horror as the jaguar lunged forward and over Al-Mon. She was what it wanted. Al-Mon snagged a fistful of skin and fur and slung the beast toward the door. It skidded to a stop on all fours, mere inches from freedom. Instead of taking flight, it hunkered down for another pounce. A spear whistled across the room, nailing the cat in place. The animal loosed a shattered cry of defeat then fell in silence. Al-Mon eased the knife from Raina’s white-knuckled grip and pulled her into a comforting embrace. It was impossible to determine which of them was shaking more. It didn’t matter. At that moment it was only important that they be close. And as Raina clung to the wall of his chest, she could almost forgive his infidelity … almost. That reminder was enough to pull her back—a movement that she sadly noticed Al-Mon didn’t protest. At least one of us is calm enough to remember proprieties, Al-Mon thought as he released her. It was unfortunate that as a man that could not have been him, but he was too rattled by the experience to care about rules and manners. No doubt Raina was the stronger one. To face a

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass snarling jaguar without blinking an eye or screeching to the winds, and then, just as calmly, keep him in place as the public decreed. Al-Mon shook his head. He was in awe. He faulted her none of her strength, but cherished it as a challenge to better himself. “Are you all right?” his father asked. Al-Mon combed his fingers through his hair. “Yes, I believe so. Shaken perhaps. I thank the gods that your spear found its mark quickly.” “No more so than I,” he replied. “But I question not only how the jaguar managed to find its way here, but also the presence of the spear I discovered between our two beds.” “Perhaps the gate was left open?” Al-Mon questioned Raina with a gentle lift of his brow. She shook her head then wrapped her arms around her midriff as if to ward off a chill. “None of us went near it. All was secure when I closed my eyes.” Lord Jaguar Sun gave a pensive nod. “I think it is yet another sign from the gods,” he finally said. “If there was any doubt before, there can be none now. You are the chosen bride, for it was you the jaguar sought. Once this illness has passed, you will wed my son. Caan-tu, you will make the necessary arrangements.” He scanned the room for the priest. Raina stepped forward. “He is not here, your highness. An errand …” The king fanned the air. “Morning will do to tell him.” “But, your highness, I do not …” Again he waved her away and eased back to his bed. “I am weary of this discussion. The effort to save my son has left me weak once more. Some tea, please, and then I must rest.” Al-Mon half-expected her to continue to press him, and was glad to see she had the sense to keep quiet. Pushing his father had its limits when the man was healthy, illness took away any tolerance. But Al-Mon knew Raina just as well. Whatever she had to say would not be forgotten, only saved for later. He looked around the room. No one else seemed to notice the possible conflict. All eased back to their beds—with one noticeable exception. If Ka-la’s eyes had been spears, the looks she gave Raina would have killed. There was as much menace behind her glare as there had been in the jaguar’s eyes … and just as deadly. AlMon willed her to turn his way so he could warn her away with a look of his own, but Ka-la’s gaze remained fixed until she flopped back onto her bed and yanked the cloth over her head. Al-Mon shook his head. She would bear watching. He turned to give his attention to the dead animal and found Roy behind him, also staring Ka-la’s way. “A spurned lover?” “Spurned she is. Lover? Never.” Al-Mon clapped him on the shoulder. “Come help me with this beast. The rest has left me fit, but I cannot say for how long.” It wasn’t the biggest cat Al-Mon had ever seen, but its size was substantial enough to make carrying it awkward. Hoisting it by its paws, he and Roy took it to the far edge of the courtyard. “Now what?” Roy asked. “Normally I would take it to my quarters to skin or give to the tanners to prepare and scavenge. Since Raina has decreed we must remain isolated, I will do the work here … if you would retrieve a few things from my rooms for the job.” Roy did not hesitate, and as he left to get the required items Al-Mon was struck anew at the differences between him and his friend. Thinking of Burke tensed his jaw. Again the man had made no move to protect anyone save himself. After all was done, Al-Mon saw him crawling from under the far side of his bed. A worthless man. Why Raina refused to let him …

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Bah!” The man brought out the barbarian in him. Al-Mon tried to toss all thought of Burke aside and checked the jungle gate. As he suspected, a branch wedged in the ground before it ensured it stayed open. He kicked it free and secured the door. Blame was something he was not quick to assign, since it could just as well have been an oversight when he and Raina brought back the honey. True, he was normally careful about such things, but with his concern about reaching the house without collapse, it was possible he had overlooked it. Just when Al-Mon had placed the burden of fault upon his royal shoulders, torchlight cast the dirt path in a shadowy pattern of tracks. His own had obliterated some of the animal’s prints, but enough remained to decipher the cat’s course. “Bring that light over here,” he called. “And keep to the edge of the path.” Raina tiptoed forward. “What is it? Is something else wrong?” “Only this.” He waved his finger over the pattern and squatted for a better look. With torch held high, Raina peeked over his shoulder. “Paw prints? Why is that wrong?” “It was lured in. You can see where it stopped to eat the food dropped on the path.” “You mean this was intentional?” Al-Mon stood and took the torch. “I mean exactly that.” “But who?” Rather than voice his suspicions, he shrugged a shoulder. “It would be hard to say, but I do know this,” he slid his arm around her waist and drew her close until their bodies meshed, “I am grateful beyond words that you were not harmed.” She did not meet his eyes, but stared instead at his Adam’s apple while her palms trembled against his chest. “I believe your fever has gone.” “No,” he softly replied, “I burn still … for you.” He nuzzled her cheek then let his lips slide over to capture hers. A small sound escaped her as she gave herself to the caress. Then, abruptly, she pulled back. “Don’t!” “Don’t what?” he asked, mimicking her words. “Make this harder than it is.” “What do you mean?” Raina shoved him back, breaking free of his hold. “If you want someone to kiss, go to your precious Ka-la!” A scowl clouded his face. “I would sooner kiss a viper.” “I would expect as much from a snake.” She turned to leave, but Al-Mon jerked her back into place. “Explain yourself.” “You are the one who should explain!” “How can I when I do not know what the problem is?” Raina hiked her chin up a notch and flicked back her hair. “Shall we ask Ka-la?” Al-Mon looked to the heavens. “Again with Ka-la. Explain yourself, woman.” It hurt—more than Raina wanted to admit. This time, facing him, confronting him, the tears wouldn’t be forced away. They fell like torrents down her cheeks, spilling to her bosom. Words he demanded came out choked. “You slept with her.” Al-Mon pulled back, puzzled. “I sleep alone except for that night I fell asleep in your arms.” Raina smacked her fists into his shoulder. “Slept with her! Screwed her! Fu …” The last word was too severe, even for her unreasonable anger.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon dropped his hand and stepped back. “Your words are harsh and foreign, but ones I suspect no lady should utter.” And ones Raina normally cringed at. That she had fallen into using gutter language was true testimony to the level of despair assaulting her, yet it didn’t excuse her lapse. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she accused him once more. “You joined with her.” Flame from the torch reflected in his eyes. “I most certainly did not! Why would you think such a thing?” “Ka-la told me.” Raina thought only an angry father could move as quickly as Al-Mon did. He charged inside with the force of a gale. Seating the torch in its sconce without breaking stride, he bore down upon Ka-la. Her dark eyes widened with her scramble for safety, but she didn’t count on Al-Mon’s determination. He seized her by the ankle and yanked her back, pinning her shoulders to the bed. “Never in my life have I been so sorely tempted to thrash a woman!” he shouted. “Please, my lord, please! Have mercy!” Her face crumbled with her plea. “I was crazed with jealousy. I did not know what else to do. I was as frightened as you when the jaguar appeared. You must believe me.” “It was you who lured the cat?” Lord Jaguar Sun asked. “And told lies to Raina of she and I.” Al-Mon released Ka-la with a jerk. The imprint of his fingers remained. “You have endangered the lives of everyone in this room. That is a crime which will be dealt with to the fullest extent possible, I promise you.” Ka-la looked to the king for support, but when he refused to contradict his son’s decree, she curled into a pathetic ball and wailed over her fate. Al-Mon spared her no more than a contemptuous glare before stomping back to the courtyard where Roy waited. Raina lingered in the hope he would cool down, then picked up the torch and joined them. “I thought you would like some light,” she said. “It will make the job quicker,” Al-Mon replied without looking up. Seeking to bridge his surliness, Raina offered an apology. “I am sorry for the misunderstanding with Ka-la.” “You should have trusted me. I have not given you cause to doubt me. I will not have a wife who puts anyone’s word before my own.” Raina steadied herself with a deep breath, but it was Roy who spoke. “Then perhaps marriage at this time would be a mistake. You are too new to each other.” Al-Mon glanced up at the man, then at Raina. “Is that how you feel?” She couldn’t bring herself to utter the words she knew she must. It wasn’t how she felt, but it was the way things had to be. How could she explain that to him, when her heart cried out to be with him? “I do not know how I feel.” Her voice was strangled again with those damnable tears, giving away more of her emotions than mere words could. “I do know how I feel,” Al-Mon said. “You will be my bride. There will be no other.” The force of his words underlined his intent and sparked a different kind of pride within Raina, a need to be assured of his love. “Why is that?”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon caressed her face with tender regard before turning back to the jaguar. It would have been a simple thing to declare his love, yet the hurt of her tiny betrayal made it a monumental feat. How could he pronounce himself when she had not? Had she not said she did not know how she felt? “The gods have decreed it,” he grumbled. “Leave the torch and go. I have work to do.” He rolled the jaguar onto its back and stabbed his blade into the belly. It may as well have been Raina’s heart. “Then let me tell you something, your highness.” The sarcasm drew his head up. “Your gods may have decreed it, but I do not bow to your gods. There will be no marriage. I have decreed it. I have spoken!” She dropped the torch on the courtyard beside him and ran for the door. A leap over the flame brought him to her side. Grabbing her shoulders, Al-Mon spun her around to face him. “And so have I! There will be a marriage!” “Not to me! I will not have it!” “And I say you will!” “Enough!” Caan-tu shouted. They broke apart, but moved no further as the priest descended upon them. “Raina is right. There will be no marriage to her.” Lord Jaguar Sun beckoned the old man to his side. “Explain yourself, my friend.” Caan-tu knelt in respectful regard. “I have seen the future, as you know.” “Yes, go on.” “These two will not be wed to each other. I have seen Al-Mon married with Ka-la as his wife, and Raina with Burke as her husband.” Raina snorted. “That was not the future you saw, that was a nightmare. I would no sooner marry Burke O’Neill than I would the man in the moon.” Al-Mon scowled at the priest. “If that was so, why did you not say so in the beginning? Why the ceremony at the temple? Ka-la was not a part of that, yet it was to choose a bride.” “Had we not been interrupted, Ka-la would have been divinely chosen,” Caan-tu said. “Bah!” Al-Mon dismissed the statement with a wave of his hand. “There are none in my family who would agree. Father, Caan-tu’s wise counsel over the years has been helpful, but this time he has gone astray. I would no sooner marry Ka-la than Raina would her moon man.” Lord Jaguar Sun nodded. “I would agree, yet Raina has refused, have you not, young woman?” “That I have. I will not marry Al-Mon.” The king sighed. “Then I see no other choice, my son. You must have a bride. Raina has refused. It will have to be Ka-la as Caan-tu has said.” Al-Mon puffed his chest. “I would sooner nest with a pit of vipers. They are less aggressive and the stench is much more tolerable.” With a low bow to Raina, he stomped back to the courtyard. “All right, everyone, enough excitement for one night,” Cynthia said. “You need the rest or you may never be well.” Tucking their patients back into bed gave Raina an outlet of sorts, a task to concentrate upon while she settled down. Her nerves trembled from the confrontation and all the deep breaths she could summon had no effect on calming her. All seemed subdued by the evening’s events, with two exceptions—Burke and Ka-la. Smirks and knowing glances nestled the former to sleep while the latter commanded the smugness her future title afforded.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Once the candles were doused, Raina watched Al-Mon work. His movements were quick, his face taut with anger. She expected by morning light the skin would be a butchered mess. That wasn’t the case. With the first rays of dawn, Al-Mon’s and Roy’s skillful work showed. Except for where the skin had been split to remove it, it was in one piece, ready for tanning. Teeth and claws were set to one side while the meat, bones and internal organs were sorted in other piles. All parts of the cat had been prepared for use, of what nature Raina didn’t want to speculate. Al-Mon looked up at her. It was the first time she realized he knew she had been standing there. “Tell Caan-tu to have some men remove this and take the skin to my rooms. Roy and I will be in my bathing pool.” A good idea since both men were covered with sweat and blood, and a place Raina wouldn’t have minded being at that particular time had pride and propriety allowed it. The desire must have shown in her eyes, for Al-Mon offered a solution. “If you wish, you may use it once we are done.” After a mumbled thanks, the men left, and Caan-tu, who had been listening behind her, handled the disposition of the jaguar’s remains. It was some time before Al-Mon and Roy returned, laughing with a camaraderie common among old friends. Snatching up a caftan, Raina hurried to replace them in the pool. Only briefly did she consider inviting Cynthia to join her. She needed the solitude as much as the bath. The water embraced her in a cooling blanket of liquid satin. At the side of the pool, scented oils and soaps and fresh toweling awaited her pleasure—placed there, she was certain, by AlMon—for the scents were too flowery for a man’s use. She glided to and fro until the water wrinkled her fingers and toes. After buffing her skin to a pink hue, she swaddled herself in toweling and took advantage of the quiet time to sit poolside and let her hair dry. A rapid footfall disturbed her peace. Seconds later Cynthia burst into the room. “Raina, quick! One of the prostitutes has died. Al-mon...” She didn’t have to say any more. Al-mon was making good his threat—one death and Burke would die as well. With Cynthia hot on her heels she raced back to the sick room. Al-Mon hovered over Burke, knife blade pressed against his throat while guards pinned Burke’s arms and legs. “Al-Mon, no!” she shouted. “I did not give my words lightly, Raina! He deserves death!” “No, Al-Mon, please.” Roy tugged his arm down. “We need Burke to get home.” Still clutching the towel around her, Raina reached for Al-Mon’s blade hand. “No, you cannot do such a thing.” “I can. The law is specific in this regard.” Stubborn and determined... “No, Al-Mon. Do not. I beg you.” He peeled her fingers from his arm. “Nothing will make me change my mind.” As a future ruler, he had no choice but to see the deed done. His standing demanded it. His word could never be questioned. Unless... “Nothing?” “Not a thing.” “Not even if I promise to be your wife?” Al-Mon paused and turned around. “You place a high price on yourself.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Once I give my word to you, I will not go back on it,” she replied. “You would give yourself to me in exchange for his worthless—” “The act you propose is not worthy of a future king.” It was a dirty tactic, and Raina wasn’t sure Burke was worth it, but it was the only thing she could think of. Al-Mon cocked his head to one side. “Hmm…Golden words to sway me. Do you think me that naive?” Raina sighed and turned away to tighten her towel. “No. I am offering myself to you, if you will spare him. Either accept my offer or get on with your bloody work.” She was gambling on his attraction to her and his dislike of Ka-la against his hatred of Burke. Quite a proposition, one she wouldn’t have wagered money on. He looked from her to Burke and back again, then to the knife in his hand. After what seemed an eternity, he sheathed the weapon. “I accept your offer.” He extended his hand to her, and Raina slipped her fingers into his. “I hope I will not regret my choice.” “I will see that you do not.” But she knew there would come a day in the near future when they would both regret this step.

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Chapter 9

Al-Mon should have been the happiest man in the world. He should have rejoiced, sung praises to the highest trees. And he would have done so had there been the slightest indication of love on Raina’s part. But…nothing. No sly glances, no whispered endearment. She entered the agreement as she would any business arrangement, her sole purpose being to protect a man who clearly did not deserve it. Why she insisted on standing between Burke and justice, he could not say, but it left him with a sourness that rivaled unripened fruit. The announcement of their impending marriage was greeted in solemn regard. His father nodded, his mother sighed and rolled over to go back to sleep, Caan-tu glided from the room, and Ka-la glowered—her natural state. Afterward Raina returned to care for her patients and, after a caution to him to rest, left him to fend for himself. It was subtle rejection that he took to heart. A sad way to start a life together. Al-Mon returned to his own courtyard to wander through his garden. The solace he sought was evasive, but the peace soothed his tormented mind. Where was the love match he so longed for? It simply did not exist except for those fortunate few—like his parents and his sisters. Bound to Raina for life, at least there was the common thread of attraction between them, and there was the relief that he would not be forced to wed Ka-la. That would be a match the Underworld would relish. He massaged the ache from his neck. “Ah, Raina.” He never knew what his life had been missing until she appeared. Now he could not live without her. Having her as his wife, under any circumstances, was preferable to a life alone. In time, a love of sorts might grow. Until then…what? He refused to spend his hours begging for an affection that did not exist. Mutual respect and consideration would have to see them through. Burke was another matter. His presence was a thorn in his skin. There was just so much interference he would take from Raina, yet it would be like Burke to purposefully try his patience and put a wedge between the newly wedded couple. Something would have to be done. The sound of footsteps pulled Al-Mon from his thoughts. He paused in his stroll until his father reached him, then the two continued the walk together. “You should be resting, Father…lest you incur the wrath of your healer,” he added with a smile. “That may well be true, but I felt the need for fresh air. It took a good deal of talking, but I finally convinced Raina I was well enough for a short walk. However, if I do not return in my allotted time, I fear she will hunt me down.” They shared a lighthearted chuckle, then the king grew solemn. “Raina will make a good wife and a good queen. I am not displeased with the choice— however it was reached.” “You would not know that from your reaction back there.” Al-Mon jerked his head toward the house. His father locked his wrists behind his back. “It is not the lady who disturbs us, but your obsession with her. She has been the sole focus of your existence since her arrival. You see, you feel nothing, no one but her. It is a frightening concept, especially so from the lady’s point of

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass view. Take care that it does not overpower any love which might grow or you will never know happiness … I speak from experience.” Al-Mon looked up. “Truly?” His father smiled. “Oh, yes. When I first saw your mother, I would not rest until she was mine. I pushed, I pursued, I pleaded … I took her as mine before we were wed. And I nearly lost her when I would not move back enough to let her breathe. As you can see, I managed to see the folly of my behavior before that happened.” Al-Mon studied the path before them. “You took her as yours? Do you not mean you claimed her as yours?” He halted, and when Al-Mon glanced up, said, “No. I mean I took her, with her consent, of course, just as you have done with Raina. I took her. Passion’s fires roared through our veins.” He arched a royal brow. “Would you like a more detailed explanation? I thought we had discussed those things when you were younger.” Al-Mon felt the heat of embarrassment rise to his face. He knew there was a physical side to his parents’ relationship, but had never thought of it in terms of passionate disregard for the very rules his father represented. “We were young once, you know,” his father said with a smirk. “I was not always king. I was not always wise. If you listen to your mother, she will tell you there are times I am still not as wise as I would appear.” Al-Mon chuckled. “Wise enough for me, Father. I understand and appreciate your counsel more than you could know.” “And I appreciate you not insulting my intelligence by denying you, too, have taken Raina as yours without the benefit of the marriage ceremony.” Al-Mon’s smile faded. “I would like to say I regret that, but I cannot. It was obsession as you have said. I felt driven to know her. As if someone else possessed my will and my body. Only her refusal could have stopped me, but it never came. She seemed as overtaken as I.” His father clapped him on the shoulder. “It is understandable and something I will not fault either of you. But I would advise discretion.” “I had thought we were.” “Your eyes tell all. Yours follow her. Hers follow you. Longing is there.” Al-Mon gave a humorless snort. “For me, perhaps, but not for her.” “Do not count yourself short. She watches you as we speak.” He motioned over Al-Mon’s shoulder, but before Al-Mon could turn the moment had passed and she hurried toward them. “There you are,” she scolded. “I thought I was clear that you were only to take a short stroll and here you are. You have been gone a considerable time.” As Raina caught his arm to tug him back, Lord Jaguar Sun cupped her chin. Looking down the bridge of his nose, he gently turned her face to his. “That was quite a bargain you made with my son,” he said. “My hope is that you do not regret your actions. I cannot say I am displeased with this marriage, but I will say that Burke O’Neill is not worth the bargain you made with my son. I sincerely hope he appreciates that, but I doubt he will.” He dropped his hand and offered her his elbow. “You may escort me back to my bed now.” After a lingering glance to Al-Mon, she slipped her arm through the king’s and led him away. Al-Mon followed at a slower pace, his eyes fixed on the gentle sway of her hips under the peacock blue caftan. He hoped concentrating on that temptation would erase from his mind the pain he had seen behind Raina’s eyes.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass It was a haunting look with a depth of sadness he could neither understand nor describe. He would have called it grief, had there been a death. Al-Mon brought himself to a halt. She did grieve—for the loss of herself. Again, where joy should have reigned, misery existed—all for a marriage she did not wish, a marriage he would not have if it caused her this much torment. Better to release her than to sentence her to a lifetime of anguish. All he needed was the courage to let her go, and time alone with her to tell her. Neither was going to be easy. Courage he knew he could muster if he was determined enough, but the private time was something over which he had no control. Once in the room filled with stricken people, Raina took over, shaking aside her hurt and issuing orders as if she were born to the task. His father was promptly tucked back into bed with stern orders not to wander around, a command which brought a smile to his mother’s wan features. For himself, Raina pressed a hand to his forehead and just as quickly found a place for him. “But I do not feel ill.” His protests fell on deaf ears. “Perhaps not, but I think your fever has gone up again—slightly, but I do not think it would be wise to tempt fate.” She pointed to his bed. “Go.” When he hesitated, she added, “Do not make me have to force you.” Al-Mon glanced over her slender form. Despite their physical diversities, he had no doubt she would indeed attempt to force him to do as she bid. He kept his smile to himself and crawled onto his bed. Her determination tugged at his heart, adding yet another reason to love her. Rest, he did, but sleep would not come. How could it when all he wanted to do was fill his eyes with the vision of her? A last look while she was still his. Afterward, watching her would be too painful. She cared for each person in the room, save Burke, who had found a sympathetic companion when his bed was placed near Ka-la. In honor of their marriage, she had begged a reprieve from Al-Mon for luring the jaguar. He let her worry over it for several hours, then granted the request. The sneers of her friends when he wed Raina would be punishment enough. Raina ignored Burke from the moment she returned and continued to do so. Al-Mon also refused to look his way—just the thought of the man made him want to go back on his word to Raina. Instead, he allowed himself the luxury of imagining life with Raina as his willing mate. The laughter, the love, the children—an unattainable dream, but one that was his to indulge in for the rest of his life. Raina avoided looking his way. A glance to check on his welfare was too much to give. AlMon resented the slight while alternately understanding it. He was the cause of her pain. Why should she care how he fared? One by one the others drifted to sleep, and Raina was left with no one to care for. Surely she will come to me. Instead, after a pained look his way, she steeled herself with a deep breath and walked outside. Al-Mon swung his legs over the side, ready to race after her. Cynthia barred his way. “Where do you think you are going?” “I need to speak with Raina.” “You should be resting.” Al-Mon glanced down at the jungle sprite, his gaze hovering between amusement and annoyance. “I will pick you up and move you if I must, but I will pass. I will have a word with Raina.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Cynthia’s defiance faded, but she did not move. “Al-Mon, please … she needs some quiet time alone. Time to clear her thoughts and refresh herself. She has been very worried about all of you. Can you not grant her this privacy?” He smiled down at her and gave her shoulder a pat. “I promise I will not disturb her peace. If I see she is deep in thought, I will return and speak with her another time. I seek only to ease her burden.” He cocked his head to one side, waiting for Cynthia’s approval. She gave it with a reluctant nod as she stepped to one side. Al-Mon approached the garden at a slower pace, careful to keep his presence a secret until he could determine Raina’s state of mind. The privacy he could understand. Many times a trek through the jungle or a long swim was all he needed to brush away the cobwebs that collected on his thoughts. She had not gone far. This particular garden was not that large. Her voice reached him first, just beyond a bend in the path. At first he thought she spoke to herself, then, as he peeked through a clump of bushes, he saw Caan-tu. “You could not find her?” “She has moved on, and there is little I can do. What concerns me now is the arrangement you made with Al-Mon.” “What else was I supposed to do? Let Al-Mon kill him?” “Something could have been done to stop him,” Caan-tu replied. “Nothing was going to stop him. I did what I had to do.” “Then undo it. This is not how things are supposed to be. He is to be with Ka-la. You are to be with Burke.” Raina narrowed her eyes. “Is that what you really saw in the future?” The old man closed his eyes and nodded. A deep breath opened them again. “Yes. You and Burke were married. Five children. Very successful in your work. Very well thought of in the archaeological community. You had completely rebuilt this city as well as others. You are considered the authorities. Your eldest will follow in your footsteps. He has the look of his father about him. Burke will be a premier epigraphist.” Raina snorted. “Then it must be very far into the future since he can’t read a thing now.” “Twenty-five years.” She curved a brow. “And hell must have frozen over because that’s what would have to happen for me to marry Burke O’Neill.” Caan-tu held out his palms to plead with her. “I do not understand why you doubt me. You know how things are.” “Are you sure it was us? Did you speak with us in this time?” “No, I did not approach you. But I am certain it was you. I did ask others. You are very well known by then.” “You must be mistaken about this one, Caan-tu. Nothing would ever compel me to marry Burke. Nothing.” “But…it happened. I saw it. You must believe me. This marriage between you and Al-Mon must not occur. Ka-la is the one for him.” “What happens later is not for me to say. For now I have given my word. I will not go back on it … for all of our sakes. Surely you can see that, Caan-tu.” With a look akin to pain, the priest shuffled away. Raina turned her back to him and strolled off in the opposite direction.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon looked from one to the other. The conversation puzzled him almost as much as Caan-tu’s disapproval of their marriage. The priest had no love for Ka-la or her family, yet he was adamant that a marriage take place. Then there was his talk with Raina. Both used words he did not know and hinted at the total destruction of his city at some point in the future. Senility could explain Caan-tu’s behavior—he was the oldest living priest in all the lands. But how could he explain Raina’s? Al-Mon took a step in her direction then reversed himself to seek Caan-tu. The old man had gone no farther than a small glade of palm trees. There on a wooden bench nestled beneath the shade he sat with his head cradled in his hands. “Caan-tu, I would have a word with you.” He did not look up. “Which word would that be?” “I overheard you and Raina.” “Then you understand why you must not wed her,” Caan-tu said. “I understand nothing. Your words were gibberish as far as I am concerned. I do not understand why you are so saddened by my decision to take her as a wife. Why are you against my happiness?” “If it is happiness you seek, you will not find it with that one, my young friend.” He looked up. Worry drooped the curtain of wrinkles that framed his aged face. Al-Mon had never seen him closer to tears than now. He clutched at Al-Mon’s loincloth, pulling him down to whisper in his ear. “You must let her go now, for you will have to in the future. I know. I have seen.” Al-Mon patted his gnarled hand, but could not summon the comforting smile he hoped to offer. “I will speak with Raina. That is all I can promise. The decision will be hers. Once made, I will not force her to retract it.” Caan-tu’s eyes pooled with tears. “Good. You may regret it now, but the future—” “Yes…I understand.” A lie, of course, but with the old man nearly frantic for him to believe what he had envisioned, Al-Mon was afraid belaboring the point would cause him irreparable harm—perhaps even death. He left him as he found him, head buried in his hands. Understand? Not in the least, and his nature rebelled against conforming to a set of arbitrary rules which no one could see but the priest. Still, his original intent was to release Raina—to spare her the pain of a marriage she did not want. If doing so also eased Caan-tu’s worries, so be it. Caan-tu would no doubt call him noble indeed and sing his praises for the same duration of time Al-Mon had longed to spend with Raina. And all the while Al-Mon would endure in miserable silence, for nothing could compel him to enjoy life without Raina in it. Not Raina’s desires, not Caan-tu’s demands, not the needs of an entire city. He urged his feet down the path with all the enthusiasm of a man bound for sacrifice. His human altar lay at the end. Raina stood with her back to him. He thought his approach was silent, yet somehow she sensed him and turned his way. No smile curved her lips. Her eyebrows scrunched together. His presence had angered her. He had disturbed her peace. It was an error he would rectify soon. The joy on her face from that point on would carry the only light in his heart for the rest of his days. “You are supposed to be in bed.” “I am fine,” he told her.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Raina closed the distance between them and pressed her hands to his face. She pulled back, confused. “I do not understand.” She touched him again, and Al-Mon caught her hands in his to cradle them against his chest. “It is still me,” he said with a smile. “What do you not understand?” “Your fever is gone again. You should be sick like the others.” He kissed her palms. “It is the tender care you give.” Raina shivered under the heat of his lips while his kiss tickled its way up her arms. Al-Mon pulled up before he allowed her reaction to tempt him to further caresses. Once he crossed that line his well-meaning words would never be spoken. “But I could have been near death and still I would have left my bed to seek you out. The sadness in your eyes haunts me.” With a sigh to match that emotion, Raina rested her cheek in the pillow of his chest. How could she explain feelings she couldn’t understand? It was all so bizarre, it had to be a dream. Yet this man who held her, who touched her heart, who set fire to her soul, who protected her with his life and defended her honor—this man was more real than anything else that had existed in her life. And he was temporary. Her heart knew this. She had cautioned it against involvement. She had fought against attraction. Still, it plunged blindly ahead with a mind of its own. Now, it was ensnared. Time was the only way out, and Raina cursed that enemy. Getting out—leaving was not what she wanted. “If … if I am the cause of your unhappiness,” Al-Mon rested his cheek on top of her head and squeezed his eyes shut, “I release you from your promise to me. I could not bear to sentence you to a life of misery with a man you abhor.” “Then never force me to marry Burke.” The words spilled out before she could stop them, but she wouldn’t revoke them. Misery and Burke were synonymous. If by some quirk of future fate she was going to marry Burke, why couldn’t she know a little happiness now? It would last her a lifetime. “Release from you is not what I wish.” “Then what? What would chase the pain from your eyes?” Raina arched her neck to stare into his dark brown eyes. Never having to leave you. “An end to this war between you and Burke. A healthy conclusion to this illness.” Al-Mon traced the curve of her jaw with his thumb. She could just as well have asked for the moon. He had no control over the sickness, and Burke…it seemed he had no control over that either. Rather than give her a promise he knew he could not keep, Al-Mon kept silent and studied the pattern he traced on her skin to avoid looking into her eyes. Raina nuzzled back into his chest. Twining his fingers through her silken hair, he cradled her head. A deep breath heaved in unison bound them. Each was content for this quiet moment, as intimate an experience as carnal joining. Al-Mon rubbed circles on her back. “Why would you think I would force you to marry Burke when you know I curse the ground he walks upon?” “I suppose I was letting Caan-tu’s words bother me.” “He can be very convincing when he is trying to get his way.” Raina drew back, puzzlement wrinkling her forehead. “You do not believe what he claims to have seen?” Al-Mon smoothed her frown with the pads of his fingers. “Who can say what he has seen is real? Perhaps it is the ramblings of his own imagination. He is in a powerful position—able to influence kings and queens. He wishes for something to be so and claims he has seen this thing.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Others, believing he is all-seeing and all-knowing, follow that direction. He has made the event happen by saying it will. Who can say what would have happened if he had never spoken?” “I suppose you are right.” She imagined the look on his face if he were to hear the truth. That Caan-tu had seen the future and all it contained. That he wasn’t predicting, only relating what he had seen. That she was part of that future. That one day they would be unable to stand this way in the shade of these beautiful ceiba trees. That one day her heart would break to leave him, but she would have to go. Merely thinking of such a confession and the reality it possessed brought tears to her eyes. With a flutter of her lids, she cleared them. “I need to check on everyone. I am especially concerned over one or two persons.” She hurried off before her emotions crumbled her facade. Al-Mon returned to the house at a much slower pace. What he intended as a joyous moment for Raina had succeeded in confusing him. Release offered was refused, but there was no joy in her declaration. It was an odd contradiction—the pain in her eyes, her body willingly pressed to his. She wanted him, but she did not want him. It was a riddle he was ill-equipped to decipher— too many pieces were missing. For now his heart was given a reprieve, and he would take the time allotted. The part of her that wanted him sparked hope. That part he would nurture until all other doubts faded from her eyes. He stepped into the back door with renewed purpose, ready to win not only her heart, but also her soul. The object of his quest sat on the edge of his mother’s maid’s bed, bathing the sweat from her face and arms. Cynthia cared for one of the guards while Roy prepared fresh tea and medicine. “Is there something I might do to help?” he asked. Raina peered over her shoulder. “Since it seems as though the sickness is evading you for now, your help would be appreciated. I believe everyone would be comfortable with fresh linen and clothing. We could also use some fresh water.” From his niche beside Ka-la, Burke croaked, “You’re wasting your time. He’s been pampered from birth. Servants do the work around here.” Raina sucked in a breath to reply. Roy beat her to it. “Shut up, or next time I’ll see it’s your tongue which gets cut out instead of your heart.” Burke swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Roy slung the herbs back into the basket and stood. “It means I’ve had enough of your mouthing off to last a lifetime. How about showing a little gratitude? Your death sentence was just revoked—or has that concept escaped you? Keep talking and you might find nothing else will save you.” Raina chanced a look at Al-Mon. His royal smirk approved Roy’s stance. “One more death is all it will take.” As an added threat, he slipped his blade from its sheath and studied its sharpness. The act elicited no sign of discomfort from Burke. Instead, it deepened the hatred in his eyes. Ka-la dusted her hand across his bare back, and spoke in a voice only Burke could hear. Whatever her words, he stretched back to the bed then turned away from his tormentors to Ka-la’s welcoming smile. It was an odd alliance, but not unsurprising considering the powerhungry nature of both individuals. If anything, Raina hoped it would take Burke’s mind off of her until they could return home.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon sheathed his blade and walked away to begin the tasks Raina assigned. His offer of assistance was a break Raina hadn’t anticipated. Not only did it provide sorely needed assistance, but it also distracted him from the turn the influenza had taken. While Al-Mon battled the virus with a strength uncommon among people of this time, the others didn’t. Their reactions and the course of the virus were predictable and alarming. Raina longed for a thermometer to gauge temperatures, then found herself thankful one didn’t exist for she was certain it would frighten her. The worst struck were naturally the ones the virus had first touched—the king, queen and their servants. Lord Jaguar Sun alternately slept and complained of confinement. His queen barely moved. It wouldn’t be long before Al-Mon noticed the change. There was just so much she could find to keep him occupied. “My throat feels as if it is on fire,” the young maid told her. Raina swiped her face with the damp cloth. “I know. Roy will have something to help soon. Suck on it and it will help ease the pain.” That was the plan—whether or not it worked was another matter. Neither Raina nor the Osbornes had any experience in candy making, except for the little gleaned from watching their grandmothers. They started with small batches of honey, water and mint, boiling each a little longer until the end result was hardened and not a mess of glop. “Did I hear someone say they needed a throat soother?” Roy asked as he sat on the bed behind Raina. In his hands was a basket of their homemade lozenges. “Guaranteed to ease the nastiest sore throat, or at least give you a treat you will never forget.” “They have a good taste?” the girl asked with a hint of suspicion. “Very good.” He picked up one and held it before her mouth. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it. The taste brought a smile to her weary face. “It is good. Very good. Sweet. Fresh.” Roy scooped out a handful and put them on the table beside her cup. “For later. Whenever you feel the need.” They left her rolling the treat from cheek to cheek. If it did no good, at least the taste took her mind off the illness. While Roy distributed the remainder, Raina freshened the tea cups, pausing to wipe a fevered brow where needed. Breathing was labored in a few cases—the older servants and the queen— and these she propped up at an angle. She had trouble with one particularly portly fellow, he being too weak or too stubborn to work with her. Raina was certain it was the latter. She briefly considered tying a rope to his torso to haul him places, but as frustration made that idea more palatable, Al-Mon returned. Seeing her struggles, he set aside the stack of fresh linens and pulled the hefty man into the position. She expected Al-Mon to question her once the man was settled. Instead, he pointed out the linens. “What do you wish to do with the old?” “They will have to be boiled and hung out to dry.” “I will set a fire in the courtyard and fetch a cauldron.” He took a step away, then turned back. “I did not give my words lightly, Raina. While I am willing to pardon Burke this once for your hand in marriage, I do not intend to let him get by with the continued murder of my people.” He held up his index finger. “One more person, Raina. That is all it takes … be it lowly servant or high-born king. One more.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Her heart raced in response. If his words left her in doubt, his look certainly didn’t. This time he didn’t have to end with the ominous, “I have spoken.” The severity in those well chiseled features uttered the phrase for him. She half-expected him to reinforce himself throughout the days and nights that followed by testing the sharpness of his blade like a frontier woodsman. But he bent to the work she assigned him without complaint, adding help Raina couldn’t do without. With Caan-tu having deserted them, it was up to Al-Mon to see they had food to eat. Although she questioned the wisdom of having him leave quarantine, he countered her fears by disguising his features with a cloth over his nose and mouth. It was he who fetched the water, stoked the fire in the courtyard, helped her wash the dirty linens. And when Cynthia, and then Roy fell victim to the influenza, Al-Mon was there to fill the gap—helping care for the others and preparing the medicines. It was then that he reiterated the stern reminder, “Just one more person, Raina.” Adding Roy and Cynthia to the circle of those whose life force he protected, despite the fact that he still had moments when he battled the virus. They rested in snippets and rarely at the same time. The mental stress weighed upon Raina with as much force as the physical exertion. But it was the exhaustion that allowed the very illness she fought to creep upon her. Sheer will kept her on her feet, for she knew that if she fell, so would the others. Raina refused to let Al-Mon know she was sick. Medicine was taken surreptitiously. She took advantage of the inhalants wherever she nursed someone. Still, the telltale cough was a give away, and with each spasm, Al-Mon would turn a frown her way. How much longer could she keep up? He was ready to drop. At times he wanted to order her to rest, but to force the issue would only cause heated words he had no energy to indulge in. All he could do was try to keep up with her and spare her extra work. Each day the strange sickness seemed to worsen, dragging his people closer to the Underworld. Cool cloths did little good against the fires consuming their bodies. The medicines and herbs were no more effective than a dart against a jaguar. Broth and teas had to be continually encouraged, forced to a point. And each day he contemplated dragging Burke to the top of the temple stairs, slicing a deep trough from ear to ear, and watching his blood pour down the steps from the gaping yawn created. One more death. One more person, he reminded himself, then prayed that one person would not be Raina. He watched her work, tending all with a devotion most had not experienced since the cradle. She too was stricken, as if the combined illness of all existed within her. She bore it without complaint, but exhaustion spoke for her. Change came subtly at first—a smile from his mother as he offered her morning tea. Weak as Raina was becoming, she praised his mother’s recovery. Roy and Cynthia were next, followed by his father’s demand for something more substantial to eat than broth. A tidal wave of health followed, and with the last person rosy-cheeked and hungry, Raina finally gave in. Al-Mon found her curled on the floor beside his bed, her arm propped beneath her for a pillow. She did not stir when he lifted her nor when he carried her to the more comfortable surroundings of her own room. Once in her bed, she merely snuggled into the cotton-stuffed bedcover for a more sound sleep.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass His mother drew a length of linen over her and smoothed Raina’s silken hair from her face. “We owe this little one our lives, my son. She has certainly proven her right to be part of our noble family. I shall never speak another cross word of her.” Al-Mon waited until his mother left the room, then snuffed out the single candle over her bed. “Rest for now, my love … my only love,” he whispered. He brushed a kiss to her temple, willing her to hear the words deep in her sleep, then slipped away to complete the nursing she had so unselfishly given.

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Chapter 10

Standing at the edge of her garden courtyard, Raina sucked in the first breath of fresh air she’d had in a week. She was still a little weak, but Cynthia had granted her permission for a leisurely stroll through the garden. It was a welcome taste of freedom from the bonds of sickness that had tied her to bed. Raina had little recollection of how she came to be in her own rooms. That mystery was solved when she discovered Al-Mon had carried her. It wasn’t the virus that made her oblivious to his tender care, but the exhaustion of having worked endless days and nights. After two full days of sleep, she woke to Al-Mon seated by her bedside, and Cynthia hovering over her like a cat over newborn kittens. She couldn’t have received better care had it been she who provided it. That which she had given to others was now her right. Al-Mon visited several times each day, staying hours or sometimes overnight to relieve Cynthia. Gifts of food, woven cloth, feathers, and shells arrived daily—tributes to the one who had saved the royal family. Raina wished she could have enjoyed the items upon arrival, but a smile often expended the little energy she possessed. Now that she was on the mend, she would be able to sort through the honoraria at leisure—if her stamina held. She sat upon the stone bench to catch her breath and enjoy the sunshine. She should have reveled in the attention she was receiving. Instead, she worried over the wayward prostitute and stewed over the consequences of her flight. Still, she dared not openly question the goings-on in other cities for fear any disease would be linked to her and subsequently to Burke. Since her confinement, Raina hadn’t seen Burke, and the only word she had of him was that he had recovered with the others and was spending his time strolling the city with Ka-la. Permanent quarantine might have been a better solution for the problem his presence created since he had difficulty keeping out of trouble. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a great weight had been lifted with his new preoccupation with Ka-la. On the other hand, she worried about the repercussions when they returned to their own time. Burke’s obsession wasn’t easily led elsewhere. In the twentieth-century without Ka-la to amuse him, Raina would be his target once more. Sadly she realized this archaeological trip would be her last. She couldn’t learn and enjoy the fruits of discovery with Burke constantly in her hip pocket. Another team would take her, she was certain of that, but she found the idea of trying to prove herself to another set of coworkers depressing. The soft tap of leather on the stone path brought Raina out of her thoughts. Lady Evening Star smiled a greeting and sat beside her with a basket of assorted fruits. “I thought you might like a treat.” She held up a mango. “Fresh and sweet.” Raina accepted the offering, but let it rest on her lap. “Thank you. I shall save it for later. My appetite still evades me.” “Then I will give the basket to Cynthia till then.” She slipped the fruit from Raina’s hand and placed it gently with the others. Raina expected her to go. Her visits over the last week had been brief—a gift delivered, a concern expressed over her welfare. The fact that she made no move to leave created surprise, a bit of pleasure—and finally awkwardness when the silence stretched out between them.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “I am overwhelmed with all the wonderful gifts I have received.” Like a schoolgirl facing a teacher for the first time, Raina kept her eyes focused downward. Lady Evening Star slid her hand over Raina’s. “You deserve them all … as the bride of my son and the savior of my people.” “Your highness, I—” “My name is Ta-li. You may feel free to call me that in family situations. Public appearances, however, demand more official titles. But do not worry; you will learn.” Confidence brought Raina’s chin up. “Yes, I will,” she said with a smile the older woman returned. “So…your health is much improved?” “Very much so, although I tire easily.” “Good. Tonight we will go to the temple and present you to our people as the chosen bride of my son. Then we can begin the preparations and training.” Ta-li gave her hand a pat and walked away, her basket of fruit balanced on one hip. Raina screwed up her face. Training? How much was required to be a bride? Once she was certain Ta-li had left her rooms, Raina sought Cynthia for an explanation. The anthropologist merely shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe they want to make sure you understand royal protocol. Maybe there are certain duties you’ll have to undertake.” “Maybe I’ll have to learn to let blood like they do?” If the question came out in a panicked squeak, it had every right. Piercing any part of her body to give blood to obscure gods had no appeal whatsoever. “Cynthia, I can’t do that. I just about passed out when I had my ears pierced, I’ll be damned if I’m going to pierce any part of my body for these people.” A shudder quivered through her as an afterthought. Cynthia grimaced and brushed her arms as if suddenly chilled. “Barbaric, I know, but how are you going to get around it?” Raina was half-tempted to call the ceremony off and let Burke suffer the consequences of her refusal to marry Al-Mon. Her conscience wouldn’t allow it. “I’ll think of something … I hope.” In an effort to build her strength and pass the time until she could question Al-Mon about it when he arrived for one of his many daily visits, Raina helped Cynthia putter around their rooms. There was little to do, as each day a group of women came by to clean and prepare meals. The only room that hadn’t been touched was Raina’s. That right had been Cynthia’s exclusively in order to prevent recontamination. Together they stripped her linen, boiled it, then hung it in the courtyard to dry. Raina admitted the effort tired her, and had no argument with Cynthia about relaxing on the soft grass outside with succulent treats from Ta-li’s basket of fruit. She had just carved into a blushing mango, pulp poised on the brink of kissing her lips when Ta-li returned with a small army of serving women. “Come. We have much to do before the ceremony this evening.” She clapped her hands, spurring her people to action while Raina and Cynthia let bewilderment freeze them in place. “What is all this about?” Raina finally asked. “We must prepare for your betrothal announcement this evening.” Ta-li caught her fingers in a gentle tug to pull her to her feet. Raina refused to budge. With as much diplomacy as she could muster, she slipped her hand free.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Not until I speak with Al-Mon.” Ta-li drew back, puzzlement wrinkling her brow. “I do not understand.” “I want to see Al-Mon … now. I will do nothing until I have.” “If you are doubting my son’s sincerity, I assure you he is himself preparing as we speak,” she replied with a smile. “Please … I must see him.” Ta-li gave a light laugh. “My dear, please do not fear that he has changed his mind. He has not.” Raina bit back her irritation. What was it going to take to get through to her? “Perhaps AlMon has not, but I may have.” The queen pulled back, mouth agape. Raina tilted her chin upward. “Please send for him … now.” Ta-li’s kindness faded beneath a veneer of ice. “That will not be necessary. I will get him myself.” *** Al-Mon shifted through his large assortment of feathers, searching for the brightest reds to repair his favorite headdress. Nothing but the best for this night. It had been long coming, and he intended to approach it with all the regal splendor and bearing his soul possessed. There was little to prepare. His ceremonial jaguar loincloth lay beside his red feathered cape. At Tor-sa’s insistence, he had given in to other adornments as well. A necklace of layered seashells, armbands of carved wood, but he drew a halt to ear clips—their annoyance would distract him from the reverence this night would hold. He held up a single feather and watched it ripple with the gentle breeze he blew across it. It quivered like a woman ready to be loved. His mind wandered a different course and the delights that awaited that path. “I am glad to see you are smiling.” Al-Mon turned at his mother’s voice, expecting some semblance of joy and finding a glower. “Something troubles you?” “As I said…I am glad you are smiling, for you will not be in a moment. Raina has requested…has demanded to see you. She hints that she has changed her mind.” Al-Mon let the feather fall, and followed its descent. When it lit on the stone floor, his heart started beating again. Had this been two weeks before, he would be resolved to let her go. The pain to his heart would have been no less, but his sacrifice would have deadened the constant, pounding ache. Since that time, watching her every day, working by her side, guarding her in sickness, she had done more than touch his soul. She had become a part of his existence. To live without her was unthinkable. It would be the same as draining his life’s blood. “Tell her,” he fingered one of the carved armbands, massaging the wood while he struggled to find a way to bind her to him without force. “Tell her you could not find me.” His mother crossed her arms. “And when she comes looking for you, what then?” Al-Mon had to smile—that would be like Raina to seek him out. “Tell her Tor-sa said I had gone on a trek through the jungle to occupy my mind until tonight. Tell her I burned so for her that I could not trust myself knowing she was fit once more.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Then you will not be here?” It was more of a demand to know than a question. Al-Mon’s smile turned to a smirk. “Of course not. I have not known her long, but I know her well. It will be up to you, Mother, to keep her from setting off in search of me.” “It would serve you right if she did.” She snorted and stomped from the room. Al-Mon did not linger to test his knowledge of his bride. But instead of hiding within the emerald depths of the forest, he scrambled to the top of the nearest ceiba tree, then picked his way from tree to tree until he reached Raina’s courtyard. There he could watch at his leisure with relative certainty that she would not think to look for him there. *** Raina felt a blush warm her cheeks. How could she respond to a statement like that? Until Ta-li had passed that particular information along, Raina would have sworn she was lying. But those words! He burned for her. It wasn’t the first time he had said that. It wasn’t the first time she had felt that devastating effect it created upon her senses. But to hear it from another—his mother—who had heard it from a servant! She wanted to die of embarrassment. Ta-li’s sly smirk didn’t help. “If you like, I shall send a group of men to find him,” she said. “I am certain that once he hears his bride beckons, his return will be swift.” And so would the laughter, Raina said to herself. “That will not be necessary. I shall speak with him this evening.” “Then we may continue with our preparations?” After giving her assent with a quick nod, Raina was enveloped in a flurry of activity only a pampered princess could appreciate. Lengths of cloth were draped against her skin, along with feathers and beads, until Ta-li approved of the perfect match. This done, six maids sat in a circle to make Raina’s costume for the night while another six worked on Raina. A slipper tub of polished wood was wheeled into the center of the courtyard and filled with steaming bowls of water cut by an occasional bucket of cold. Trays of oils and soaps were attached to the sides for easy reach. Raina eyed the open area with suspicion, a refusal poised on her lips. Before she could speak, a tall bamboo screen was erected around the bath, and the maids stepped back with a bow to her. “For your leisure,” one said. “Call us when you are ready and we will dress your hair.” Raina thanked her with a smile and ducked behind the enclosure while the ladies targeted Cynthia as their next project. The bath was a heaven-sent luxury after a week of confinement. The water seeped around her skin to rid her of the stench illness left behind. Thus embraced, she let her worries about the forthcoming training dissipate and her anger over Al-Mon’s disclosure fade. Time was hers. She would decide when the maids could approach her once more. Until then she stretched back to revel in the moment of solitude. A movement in the trees above caught her attention. From the corner of her eye, she thought it was a monkey. Closer inspection revealed something else. “A walk in the jungle, my eye,” she mumbled. “Well, my love, if it’s a show you’re looking for, you’re about to get one you will never forget … I would like a pot of melted wax, please,” she called out.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon leaned forward for a better view, then wished he hadn’t. A goddess captured in a rain puddle—that was the vision she created. Lazily oblivious, she arched in a catlike stretch, offering a mouth-watering sight of her rounded bosom. “By the holy gods, do you know what you are doing to me, woman?” he muttered. In response she tossed back her golden hair and offered her slender neck for his consideration. He had been trained to withstand hardships and torture. He could spend days without food or water. Live off the jungle for an interminable amount of time. Endure the pain of a cane driven deep, of bamboo slits under his nails. But this was something no mortal man should ever have to bear. For what seemed an eternity he was held captive by an enemy no one had prepared him for— lust—and nothing could compel him to leave. He followed each delicate movement. With unbearable slowness she glided the soapy cloth over her silken skin. Up and down. Around in circles. Pausing here to reflect with a dreamlike quality in her eyes. Resting there with a soft sigh. Then rinsing herself with the same deliberateness. That done, Al-Mon expelled a quivering breath that did nothing to ease muscles ridged with desire. He thought her done. She would return to the sanctuary of the house, and he to the strangled confines of his rooms. He wished too soon. The pot of wax the serving girl brought intrigued him, but not as much as the leg Raina draped over the side of the tub once the girl had left. After she dipped the pot in one of the buckets of cool water, Raina scooped up a bit of the substance and smeared it over her leg. He thought the behavior strange, but was even more puzzled later when she yanked the dried strips from her legs. With a smile, she dusted her fingers over the treated area. “Nice and smooth. Al-Mon should love the feel of that.” It took all of his willpower to keep in the tree, especially following a repeat performance with her other leg. By the time she called for the women to dress her hair, Al-Mon thought there was nothing more she could do to torment him. Again, he was mistaken. With her hair washed and bath drained, Raina chose to remain on the courtyard. There, behind the privacy of her bamboo curtain, she stretched upon a cotton mat to let her hair dry, while she lay naked beneath him. An hour passed before she gave another of those luxurious stretches and sauntered into the house. “It is your turn now, Cynthia,” she called. And my turn to leave. With agility that would have rivaled any monkey, Al-Mon scrambled across the treetops, leaped into his courtyard, then sprinted for his pool. The splash reached Raina’s perch in the doorway. “Burning now, I’ll bet,” she muttered to herself, and burst out laughing. “Something amuses you?” Ta-li asked. “Just the monkeys in the trees,” she replied. *** It was a beautiful star-flecked night—perfect for the ceremony. The gods had blessed them, Ta-li said. Raina stood at the top of the stairs leading from the dwelling-house. The path to the temple was lighted with torches and lined with people anxious to see the couple. Al-Mon was by her side, quiet and solemn. He had done no more than nod in her direction upon his arrival.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass He looked particularly regal this evening with the jaguar loincloth and belt around his waist. His red-plumed headdress scuffed the top of the doorway and Raina marveled at how he could wear it without it toppling. Hers of white and peacock blue was half the height yet she was in constant fear of losing it. Thankfully the cap seemed to be holding in place. She wished she could say the same about the matching sarong. Behind them Cynthia and Roy waited to play their parts as family of the bride. Rose and blue were the colors Ta-li had chosen for them. Before them were the king and queen, attired in jaguar skin and red headdresses. Then there was Caan-tu, dour-faced and resolute. It would be he who led them to the temple this night, but the king would oversee the announcement. Al-Mon bent close to her ear. “You are looking lovely tonight.” A smile twitched her lips. “And you are quite handsome. You seem … refreshed. I am surprised after hearing of your day-long trek through the jungle. And it was such a warm day. Did you not find it so? Were you not hot today? Very hot? So hot you burned?” When he drew back, Raina curved a sassy brow his way. “I would bet you were so hot you felt aflame.” As quickly as she gave her smile, she snatched it back. “How could you have done such a thing? Do you have any idea how much you embarrassed me? You are the one who preaches about the division between nobility and the serving classes. And then you turn around and break those very rules!” Puzzled, Al-Mon turned up his palms and shrugged. “Raina, I do not know—” “You damn well do,” she whispered harshly. “How could you confide something so intimate to a servant? You cannot begin to imagine how mortified I was when your mother, of all people, passed that word to me!” “But I …” Again, he shrugged. Knowing he was trapped in a web of his own making, there seemed little else he could do. “Not nearly as embarrassed as I was to deliver it, my agile young son,” his mother added. He and Raina now had the attention of all around them, and so he took the defensive. “You clearly deserved it. I am not at your beck and call. How dare you demand my presence?” “I had something of an urgent nature to discuss with you,” she snapped back, uncaring of who might hear. “Yes, I received that message also. Do not think you will back out of this arrangement, Raina,” he said. “As we speak, I have six guards prepared to take Burke in hand. You will see this through or I will see justice served in my own fashion.” “Why you imperious bastard! I wouldn’t marry you if you …” Cynthia clamped her fingers over Raina’s arm and gave her a shake. “Stop it, will you? Both of you. You are jumping to conclusions. Raina, tell him the real reason you wanted to speak to him.” She faced forward. “He is such an extraordinary spy, let him figure it out for himself.” Al-Mon studied her profile. So, she had known all along he was in the tree. It made her display that much more arousing. “If you knew I was there, why did you not speak up or leave?” he asked. Raina smirked and kept her eyes forward. “Because you deserved what you got,” she cocked a sly smile his way, “or should I say—what you did not get?” It was challenge hard to ignore. Had they not been surrounded by thousands of people, he would have dragged her to the nearest alcove and taken what was flaunted earlier.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Let us begin,” Caan-tu said. Lord Jaguar Sun spoke over his shoulder to the younger couple. “And let us end this dispute now. I will not be embarrassed by a scene in front of my people. May we start peacefully?” Their reply was a simultaneous, “Yes, my lord.” Al-Mon held his arm at a right angle, and Raina slid her palm over the top of his hand as the other women did their men. As upon her arrival, a rippling murmur followed their procession to the temple and up the stairs. Once at the top, framed by torchlight, all was silent below. The king took center stage and lifted his arms to the heavens. “My people … the gods have decreed your prince will wed.” His voice echoed between the stone buildings. “And they have chosen a bride of uncommon beauty, grace, and skill. She will do our city proud and rule faithfully by her husband’s side so that our reign will never die once your queen and I have moved to the other side.” He stepped aside, and Al-Mon took his place. “Let it be known I will take the wife the gods have bestowed upon me. By the light of the next full moon she and I will become one. This night she will take the royal name chosen for her, and I claim the right to bless this name upon her.” He extended his hand to her. It was as Ta-li had said. The name was to be a surprise to her, specially chosen by the man who would take her for all eternity. She slipped shaking fingers into his palm, and with eyes cast humbly downward, she let him draw her forward. “I, Lord Night Jaguar …” Raina’s breath caught in her throat. It was the first time she had heard his royal name. The power it invoked was heart stopping. “… decree, that from this night forward you shall be known and addressed as Lady Sky Silk. Let no man or woman dispute this right. I have spoken.” She lifted her chin with all the dignity her quivering body could muster. “Then so it shall be.” A roar of approval rumbled over the crowd. When it died down, the king took the forward place once more. “With the first rays of morning light, let all the messengers go forth and spread the word—there will be a royal wedding with the next full moon. Tonight we celebrate!” A chant pulsated from the back of the crowd forward, building in intensity with every step their small procession made back to the dwelling-house. Wishes and good fortune blessed them as they passed, and were accepted with humble regard from the nobles. The path closed behind them, and Raina half-expected to be followed into the house itself. But they stopped at the base of the steps, cheering long after they disappeared beneath the archway. A feast awaited them in the assembly room, where the betrothed couple was to entertain all the city’s high-born. As protocol dictated, the royal family retired to the anteroom to await the arrival of their guests. The room was spacious yet not overly so. Woven tapestries decorated the walls behind cushioned benches covered with jaguar skin. Raina eased onto a bench in the farthest corner, one that the torchlight cast in shadows. She hoped the solitude would give her a chance to gather her senses, but it took no time for Al-Mon to join her. He approached with an offering of hot chocolate. “It is a beautiful room,” she said as he sat beside her. “Yes … once we are wed you will have the right to wear the skin also. I have prepared the one from the cat that attacked you. It will be my gift to you on our wedding night.” Suddenly shy and a little nervous, Raina stared into her cup. “The gift of my name this evening was also beautiful. Where did you think of it?” “Your eyes … your hair.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass She took a gulp of the bitter drink and shuddered. Al-Mon chuckled and took the cup from her. “You need not drink if you do not wish.” “Thank you.” “But since there does not seem to be any further need for pretense, I must have my curiosity satisfied,” he said with a smile. “About what?” After a glance around to determine that the others were occupied, he leaned forward and slipped his hand through the folds of her sarong. The caress against her legs sent fire shooting upward. His smiled widened. “Very smooth. I believe I do like it. Will you always do this for me? And may I watch…always?” At that point she would have granted him anything. “I cannot promise,” she replied. “It hurts like the dickens.” “And yet I saw no sign of pain from you.” “Perhaps you were too busy looking at other things.” “Perhaps I was. In fact, I am certain of it.” His lips were so close, a fraction more and they would cover hers. Raina sucked in a breath and pulled back. “I must speak with you. It is a minor thing, but very important to me.” He straightened. “Then it is important to me.” “It is this training.” “What about it?” “I am concerned. What does it include?” “Protocol. And since you are new to our culture, other things as well.” “Such as?” He rubbed his chin while he considered a reply. “Well, a history of the city. Business. Tours of the different part of the city. Writing. Weaving. Ceremonies. Things of that nature.” “What kinds of ceremonies?” “Oh, for when we plant corn or cotton. At the beginning of the monsoon, at the end. For the equinox and the solstice. We have many ceremonies for many different things.” She was grateful for his continued patience. It gave her courage to voice her true concern. “That is what I am afraid of—all those ceremonies. Al-Mon, I am afraid…I just do not think…I cannot…let blood.” His smile was tenderness personified. “You will not have to … ever. No woman in this city has ever had to let blood, although it is the custom in other places. My people have always believed that a woman gives enough blood to the gods during her moon cycle and during birth. It is enough of a sacrifice.” “Truly?” She sounded like a little girl, but her relief was so intense she could not help it. Al-Mon chuckled. “Truly. And if the gods demand more blood, then they may have mine.” She sunk against him with a sigh of relief. “Is that all that bothered you?” “Yes, and you have no idea how much it worried me. That is why I wanted to speak with you this afternoon.” He traced the outline of her jaw with his thumb. “And to think I worried you had changed your mind.” “I gave my word. I would not go back on it.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Never?” he whispered against her ear. Raina shivered, and breathlessly replied, “Never.” She nuzzled his cheek, then let her lips wander to his. His tongue met hers, dancing, probing, while she pressed harder. He cupped a silky leg and drew it over his lap, and she followed until she was astride him. “Since you cannot resist the temptations of your bride,” the king called to them, “I see we will have to double our guard over her until the wedding.” Embarrassed by the public display and stunned by the depth of emotions that had overcome them, the couple pulled apart. “There will be no need,” Raina replied, through shaky breaths. “He might not be able to resist me, but I can resist him.” Al-Mon launched an eyebrow with his smirk. “Is that so?” “Yes,” she took a deep breath, “that is so.” “Another challenge, Raina? This will be one I shall enjoy accepting.”

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Chapter 11

Raina was a jumble of nerves. Tomorrow evening she would be married. Her temper was short, snappish. When she woke on this beautiful sun-kissed day, she was determined there would be no more training—especially if it involved the loom. She shuddered just thinking about it. Bloodletting paled in comparison. The concepts weren’t so difficult to grasp. It was the tedium and the fact that she wasn’t creative enough to come up with a design. Those presented to her she couldn’t make work. The instruction conjured up images of her and her mother before the sewing machine— another lost cause. Both had ended the lessons in despair. If sewing involved more than a button or a ripped seam, Raina called her mother or sister for help or discarded the garment. She envied Cynthia, who took to weaving as if she were born to it. In the time they had been sequestered for Raina’s bridal training, she had whipped up several lengths of fabric in designs and colors that Ta-li heartily praised. Raina fared better with the other lessons. Protocol was no problem, she’d always been precise regarding the do’s and don’ts of society. Pottery was interesting, and although her creations left much to be desired, the characters she painted on the work were close to perfect. Cooking was also a project she tackled with ease, earning her that much-desired praise from her future in-laws. Cynthia compared the lessons to summer camp, and in some respects that’s what it seemed like. But the last two weeks had been intense, so much so that she hadn’t been allowed to leave her quarters. She was unsure whether this seclusion had been to force her to concentrate on her training, or to ensure she and Al-Mon weren’t given the chance to give in to temptation. She had seen him during that time, but prisoners in jail received more private visitations. They spoke through the open gate—he in his courtyard with four male attendants, she in hers with an equal number of females. It wasn’t an arrangement conducive to conversation, much less romance, but then that was the point—they were to be kept apart. Instead of making her anticipate their wedding, it only served to make her more apprehensive. One of the serving girls entered with her morning breakfast tray. “Good morning, my lady. You fared the night well?” “I suppose I did.” She waved the food away. “Please remove this. I am not hungry.” The girl smiled. “All aquiver I can imagine. I was so when I wed my husband. It is a very busy time. There was much for you to learn.” Raina gave her a noncommittal “hmm” and swung her legs to the floor. “I am done with learning. No more.” She expected the girl to look shocked and run after Ta-li, but the girl merely nodded. “Yes, it is all finished. Today you will tour the city with the prince. He will be here shortly. I have been instructed to advise you to dress with comfort, as the day will be a long one. Will you need assistance?” “No, I can manage.” With a polite bow, she left the room. A day with Al-Mon—it quickened her heart more than she wanted to admit. Like a schoolgirl anticipating a prom date, Raina paced her rooms, grateful no one was there to tease her. Cynthia - 95 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass had left with Roy earlier, the maids were carrying out other tasks, and Ta-li entertained wedding guests who had arrived during the night. Their first time alone. It would be awkward at first, she was sure, but after awhile … “Oh, for goodness sake, get dressed or you won’t be ready in time,” she scolded herself. A caftan and leather sandals were her choices. The caftan because she wouldn’t have to worry about it falling, and the sandals because her feet were too tender to walk upon the city’s hot stone streets. It took her longer to decide what to do about her hair. Al-Mon had never stated a preference for it up or down, but she had noticed he enjoyed fingering the mass when down. When the memory set her all aquiver, as the serving girl had suggested, it stopped her cold. She was supposed to be resisting him, and yet she was doing all she could to entice him. It was a marriage of convenience for survival’s sake alone, anything else could simply not exist. Raina blinked back tears, swept her hair into a ponytail and secured it with a length of creamcolored cloth to match her caftan. It wasn’t fair. She wanted him, needed him, craved him. Time was truly her enemy. A cruel twist of fate had given her the kind of love she had always longed to feel, and yet she couldn’t keep it. She ached for her mother’s sage advice. She could always come up with the right phrase to turn Raina’s thoughts in a positive direction no matter how dismal the problem. “What would you say now, Mom?” she asked aloud. Closing her eyes, Raina let her mind drift, repeating the question over and over again to reach across the gap of time. Nothing. The attempt left her hollow inside. She tried again, concentrating harder. Still no heaven-sent message came to her. A tear drifted down her cheek. She flicked it away. Crying would solve nothing. The answer she needed would come, until then she would have to muddle through. A tap at the door snapped her to her feet. She wiped her palms down the front of her caftan, more to rid them of nervous sweat than to smooth the material. “Come.” The door opened to a sour-faced Al-Mon. Behind him was the cause of his discontent—his entourage of guardians had accompanied him. “Damn it all.” Too late she realized she had spoken aloud. The whispered protest brought a smile to Al-Mon’s lips—the first one in two weeks. She wanted to be rid of these unwanted bodyguards as much as he. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “It was Father’s idea.” “How kind of him.” Her sarcasm widened his smile. “Indeed. I suppose we should make the best of it.” He extended his arm to her, and Raina linked hers through it. “I suppose we should.” He had thought there would be some degree of awkwardness between them, having been forcibly separated since their betrothal. This was not the case. Despite the fact they had spoken little, the touch of her arm on his, the tender way she unconsciously caressed him as they walked, told him all would be well. They were of the same heart and mind. Co-conspirators in an unspoken plot to find time alone. “We will spend the day touring the city. This evening Mother and Father have planned a dinner to introduce you to my sisters.” “Have they all arrived?”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “All but Tat-na. She is too heavy with child. We shall see her when we travel to the coast after we are wed.” He dipped closer. “Much later after we are wed.” A smirk lifted her pinkened cheeks. “How much later?” “Once our desires have been slaked and we are sated,” he whispered. “Ten years from now?” The comment surprised her as much as it did him, and she scrambled to find something to cover up the innuendo. “After all, I did promise I would be able to resist you.” He chuckled and tucked her fingers deeper into the crook of his arm. “But can you…really?” Could not and most probably would not. Her repeated resolutions to put some distance between them crumbled each time she saw him. It was worse than all her teenage crushes combined. It was love. She traced his jawline with her index finger. “That will be for you to discover.” Uncaring of the guards which surrounded them, Al-Mon stopped in the middle of the corridor and pulled her against his body. She molded herself to him, slipping her arms around his neck even as his tightened around her waist. His kiss, tender at first, grew demanding. Raina met that urgent need with one of her own, pressing to him until she could swear the force of the caress bruised her mouth. Yet both refused to break the hold. Raina let her mind drift on a sensuous wave of oblivion, and in those dark recesses a voice came to her. Some people spend a lifetime looking for love and never find it. You have found a love to last a lifetime, but can’t keep it. Which would you prefer? A lifetime of futility or a brief spurt of joy? The answer she sought. A painful truth. Here was her decision, she had only to make it. She pulled away from him with a gasp and nuzzled her head under his chin. “God, Al-Mon, I love you. No matter what happens in the future, please never doubt that I love you.” The revelation twisted her heart and wrenched a sob from her throat. Once loosed, it sent a torrent of tears with it. “Leave us.” Al-Mon snapped out the order to the guards and was obeyed without question. She loved him! The declaration was sweeter than all the birdsong the forest contained. He wanted to climb to the highest mountain in the land and sing his joy to the world. She loved him! No duty bound her. No promise of wealth or title held her. She loved him. That was why her anguish puzzled and hurt him. Was she overcome by emotion? Was she shamed? What? Cradling her tight, afraid she might take the words back, he cooed soothing words of comfort, then dared to ask the question he most feared. “Raina, my love, why do you cry?” “I cannot bear the thought of losing you,” she sobbed. It was the truth, more so than he would ever realize until the moment she was no longer there. “Do not fear. My love for you is great. No one will part us. I swear it. My Raina. My love.” He tipped up her chin and kissed away the tears. “Come. You must see the honor I shall bestow upon you.” Lacing his fingers through hers, he tugged her outside while Raina wiped the remnants of her tears with the heel of her free hand. Bright light greeted them, but Al-Mon kept to the shade of the portico. Perched at the far end, with a half-finished basket on her lap, Cynthia greeted them with a wave. Beyond her in the full light, scaffolding covered the wall’s surface—Roy had begun his carving. The chiseled surface was rough, but Raina didn’t need to question the finished product—she had already seen it. “I see Roy is hard at work.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Yes, but that is not the surprise.” Al-Mon turned her to face the smaller dwelling on the opposite side of the square. “I have decreed that your likeness will be placed on that building, so that when I look out, it is your face I see.” She was moved. What woman would not be by such a tribute? However, the future implications were staggering. “Roy…” With Al-Mon present, there was nothing she could say without arousing his suspicions. Fortunately, Roy understood her concern. “You must not worry, my friend. I will carve your likeness to perfection, but first I must devote my time to your prince. A good job is not rushed. By the time of the next equinox, I should be ready to start on your carving.” Raina breathed a sigh of relief. The Mayan couldn’t argue with that logic, and it would appear Roy was complying with their wishes while he wasn’t. “I shall try to be patient,” she said with a smile, and linked her arm through Al-Mon’s. “Such an honor has humbled me beyond words. I am ready to see your beautiful city now.” “It would be my pleasure.” After a lingering kiss to her fingers, he called for their guards, who hadn’t been far, merely out of sight. “For appearances,” he said with a smile. “We would not wish for the citizens to think we were without need of chaperones on the day before our wedding. It might lead them to speculate the marriage is not what it seems.” She stretched on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Then we should spend the day reassuring them.” With her veiled suggestion, Al-Mon was ready to dismiss the guards and drag her back to her rooms. His father had warned him that this day would be particularly difficult. At the time he passed the advice off as folly, now he saw the truth. Desire for her buzzed through his head like a swarm of bees, then singed the surface of his skin. Today would be agony, but the wait would make tomorrow evening supreme. If they could last that long. “Yes, by all means, let us go out and assure the people the royal line will be perpetuated with our union.” They began at the top of the temple stairs where Al-Mon pointed out the lay of the city and outlying areas. Then they stepped onto the streets and into a throng of well wishers and curiosityseekers. Al-Mon was only vaguely aware of the words that left his mouth. He pointed out the ball courts, storehouses, and dwellings as if by rote, never truly conscious of what he was saying, for he was too absorbed with Raina. She greeted the people who approached her with a graciousness born of a queen. No one was beyond her attention—from the eldest vendor to the youngest child. Each deserved her attention. Flowers, feathers, seashells, and polished stones were bestowed upon her, and she accepted all with delighted enthusiasm until her arms were filled. Even then she refused to relinquish the load, and instead pressed Al-Mon to purchase her a basket to carry her gifts. A child who had fallen and skinned his knees was set to rights by her gentle hand. A woman swollen with impending birth waddled forward and a few minutes was spent exclaiming over the upcoming blessing. An old man, long gone blind, received a special treat. Raina knelt before him, and when he asked if she were as beautiful as all had claimed, she lifted his gnarled hand to her face so he might see for himself. Dogs lapped at her toes, then adopted her as a leader and followed along. Grand and gracious … a true lady. And with each step along those crowded streets Al-Mon loved her more and more until his heart threatened to burst from the feeling. Bread and wine shared was a feast. Her laughter was a song.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass It was a day of magic, one that extended into the night. Over a pre-wedding feast she met his sisters and their families. Al-Mon paid little attention to the conversation around him—his sole focus was Raina. Hours later when yawns outnumbered words, he escorted her to her rooms with their ever-present cadre. Her kiss to his cheek was the only intimacy shared—the only one he trusted himself with, for had their lips touched, nothing would have compelled him to leave it at that. Then, with her safely tucked away for the night, he sought relief in the cooling waters of his pool. *** Raina watched the sunrise pinken the city from the temple steps. It was a wonder she had slept at all the night before after all the day’s excitement. But the wine over dinner combined with a full day contributed to a peaceful night’s rest. Her first thought when she opened her eyes this morning was of the city, and she was driven to view it in pristine fashion. It was a sight she hadn’t appreciated when she and her friends first realized they had slipped back in time. Now she could, in all its glory. From gray to pink to white, the buildings came to life and with them the city itself. A rooster crowed, a goat’s bleat followed, and slowly the people filtered onto the street. Content in the picture unfolding before her, Raina stretched. She had her own day to begin. Soon Ta-li would arrive with the maids to prepare her for the wedding ceremony. It would be sunset when it occurred—it seemed all their ceremonies were under the cover of night. It made the occasion more auspicious, she thought with a smile, and started down the steps. She was surprised to see Roy up early, ready to work on Al-Mon’s carving. Cynthia sat nearby with a portable loom, working on a new design. By the time Raina had reached the top of the dwelling-house steps, Al-Mon had joined the couple. He surveyed the work with legs slightly astride, arms crossed, a statue himself. His hair was drawn to a tight ball at the crown, making him appear severe … frightening. Raina eased back into the shadows. A bird, startled by her intrusion, fluttered from its nest and toward the trio. They paid it scant attention, but its departure had given her away. Rather than be considered rude, Raina stepped forward. He turned with the others to greet her and it was then she realized her mistake. It was Burke, not Al-Mon—his ring gave him away. For a moment she didn’t know whether to feel relieved that the cold vision she had seen a few minutes before wasn’t Al-Mon, or concern that she had so easily mistaken Burke for him. Mocking her newfound status, Burke bowed low at the waist. “Good morning, your highness.” “Stop it. You should be grateful. If it weren’t for me, you’d be six feet under by now.” “I appreciate your sacrifice. You’re not suffering. But, hey, I don’t mind. You have your fling, I’ll have mine—Ka-la is a handful—and when we get back—” “Is that all she is to you? A handful?” His mask slipped. True emotion drifted in. He cared for the woman. “That’s all she can be. I have to leave. We all have to leave. No matter how much this place might feel like home.” His smirk replaced that flash of humanity. “And when we get back, we can settle down in wedded bliss.” His arrogance was laughable. “Don’t hold your breath on that, Burke. It’ll never happen.” “I wouldn’t bet on that. But I can tell you something that will never happen.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Raina nestled her arms under her bosom, and cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And what is that?” He tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. “You will never be an archaeologist.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he went on. “I watched you yesterday, with your adoring masses as they paid homage to the great Lady Sky Silk. Not once did I see you study your surroundings. You were too busy playing the great queen instead of memorizing the position of everything you saw so we could discover it when we get back.” “That’s not true.” Even though it was, she wouldn’t give Burke the satisfaction of knowing it. “My observations were discreet. I could hardly go out there and start pacing off the place.” “Whatever you say, your highness.” He bowed again and walked away. Raina stared ahead while his footsteps faded away. The fact that he was right galled her. She had been foolishly indulging herself in the idolization that came with her position when she should have been preparing for the more realistic status that could be hers in the future—if she paid attention to things around her now. Of all of them, she was the one who hadn’t taken advantage of their situation. Roy studied their art, Cynthia studied the people and their habits, Burke worked on their writing, and she … she spent her time being pampered and lusting after Al-Mon. “Aw, it’s just bluster and bullshit, Raina. Don’t let it bother you,” Roy said. “But he’s right,” she sadly replied. “I haven’t done a thing.” Cynthia snapped the batten in place. “No, you’ve been too busy healing the sick, and keeping Burke’s ass out of a sling. Yeah, I’d say you’ve been sitting around twiddling your thumbs.” The sarcasm hit home, and brought a smile to Raina’s heart. “That’s better,” Cynthia said. “Now we’d better get back to the rooms. We’ve got a wedding to get ready for, and I’m dying to see what kind of ceremony they’ll have.” *** Conch shells blew from all corners of the city, calling all to the wedding. Raina doubted there was anyone left. From the window in the corridor where she waited, all she could see was a sea of people. A path had been cleared from housing to temple for the wedding party. Garlands of flowers lined the walk, with petals strewn across the stone surface. Raina longed for a mirror in order to see herself. She felt beautiful—who wouldn’t after a day of scented baths and dressing. Her hair was pulled back into the inevitable ponytail decorated with a headdress made from water lilies. The dress was of simple design, tufted white cotton, off the shoulder, coming to her ankles with a seashell belt cinching it at the waist. Since her footsteps were to be padded with the most beautiful of the forest’s flowers, she was barefoot. There was a shift in the crowd. Al-Mon had begun his walk to the temple. Raina craned her neck for a glimpse of him. He was splendidly regal in red headdress and cape and white loincloth. Drums beat in rhythm with his steps until he reached the temple altar. There the shells trumpeted their prince and flocks of quetzals were released in his honor. Raina drew in a breath. It was her turn. As with Al-Mon, she would make the walk alone. All family members waited on different levels of the temple stairs to witness the vows. With humble regard for the man she was about to marry and the position she would assume, Raina followed his footsteps with shaky ones. Once by his side, her quivering fingers laced through his, the shells called out and flocks of white doves soared above.

- 100 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass They turned as one to Caan-tu. The words weren’t unlike what she was used to—promises to love and honor for eternity, pledges to hold no other. Then he lightly twined a length of jaguar skin around their arms to bind them together. That done, he stepped back and bowed to the couple. “The temple awaits you, Lord Night Jaguar.” Al-Mon inclined a nod Caan-tu’s way, then led Raina into the depths of the temple. He waited until they were secure from prying eyes and ripped off the binding. “By all the gods, this is a mess!” Confused by his outburst, Raina struggled for the words to demand an explanation. He caught her chin in a gentle hold and dropped a kiss to her lips. “Is it not you who angers me.” “Then, what?” “Come.” Taking her hand, he led her farther along until they reached a lighted alcove. A white mat covered the niche. Al-Mon gestured to it. “My father informed me only moments before the procession began. A tradition, he claimed.” He gave a humorless snort. “One passed on only on the day the son is to wed … It is here you and I are to join for the first time. An offering of virginal blood is to be given.” She echoed his curse and plopped cross-legged to the mat, resting elbows on knees. “And what will happen when we cannot supply it?” “That information was not given.” Al-Mon knelt before her. “I have an idea.” “I hope it is a good one.” “If it is blood they want, they shall have it. Only you and I will know from where it came.” He drew his knife and parted the loincloth. Raina jerked upright. “What are you doing?” “Piercing my thigh for a few drops of blood.” He glanced from under his brows. “Unless you prefer to make the sacrifice.” He watched her chew on her lip while she decided. That she did not come up with an answer immediately said a good deal about her character. She hated bloodletting as much as he did. The fact that she was willing to consider it made him proud. “How much blood?” Al-Mon shrugged a shoulder. “Not much.” She screwed up her face. “Will a prick do?” He chuckled. “I will make the sacrifice.” He parted his cloth once more and pressed the blade to his inner thigh. Raina gasped. “I have not cut myself yet,” he said with a laugh, then looked up. Her gaze was not upon his thigh, but focused on a more private part of his anatomy. The shock in her eyes sickened him. Above all people, he never expected this would disturb her. Normally, he would have covered himself, but she was his wife and he would not hide in shame from her. “Is there a problem?” His tone was perhaps gruff, but he refused to apologize. Raina stared at his maleness, mouth agape. No problem here—except for the fact that he had been circumcised. “You have no foreskin. I was not aware circumcision existed in this time … I mean this place.” “I have no understanding of the strange word you use. You find this repulsive?”

- 101 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Raina looked up to see the anger masking his hurt. How could she have been so insensitive? “Absolutely not!” She smiled. “Nothing about you there displeases me in the least. I was merely surprised, that’s all.” His anger lessened, but he still bore a puzzled frown. “How did you lose it?” she asked. “My birth and that of my twin took place while my parents were traveling from another city. It was early and there was no midwife in attendance, only Mother, Father, and Caan-tu. My twin died, as you know. There was no one there to press my head between the boards. My parents, naturally, were heart-sick over this and were afraid the incident would anger the gods. Caan-tu suggested a way to appease them. Upon our return to the city, he carried me into the temple—to this very alcove—and cut off my foreskin as an offering.” Raina nodded, then let a sly grin lift one corner of her mouth. “It must have hurt.” She cupped the length and stroked. It hardened beneath her caress. Al-Mon matched her smile and reluctantly pulled her hand away. “I will gladly accept your sympathy later. For now, we have a sacrifice to make.” With the tip of his blade, he pricked his inner thigh. Raina flinched in sympathy. “Does it hurt?” “How is it you say it? Like the dickens?” he said, echoing the phrase she had used in the past. She smiled and caught the blood droplets on her fingers, mixed them with saliva and rubbed them onto the center of the mat. “Now what? Does someone come to look?” He shook his head. “We must take the mat to the altar and make the sacrifice.” They waited until a reasonable time had passed before they exited the temple. Once back upon the altar, Raina by his side, Al-Mon held the mat for all to see. A cheer burst out from the crowd below, accompanied by the release of hundreds of jungle birds and a chorus of conch shells. Al-Mon held the mat to the nearest torch. The edge exploded into flame, and he tossed the conflagration into the altar bowl. Their gazes followed the smoke to the sky, then he slipped Raina’s arm through his and led her away. All bowed as they passed, paying homage to the newly wedded couple and the future they represented. “Do we have any other feats of magic to perform?” Raina whispered as they entered the corridor leading to his rooms. He smiled down at her. “The time is ours. No one, save our personal servants, will bother us for the next week. My rooms will become yours and it will be a haven for our love.” “It sounds like a treat I cannot resist.” “Ahh, but you must, my love. I have looked forward to you resisting me for weeks, do not disappoint me now.” She giggled. “Love games … how intriguing.” “More so than you realize.” He pulled off his feathered headdress and bent low to nuzzle her ear. A sigh closed Raina’s eyes. Al-Mon inhaled that scent that was uniquely hers. Jungle flowers and rain water. Fresh. Clean. An aphrodisiac so powerful he was sorely tempted to take her there in the corridor. It did not help matters that she leaned in to him while he attacked her neck with love bites. Resist him? It was the most foolish thing she had ever said. She could no more deny herself his touch than she could stop the seasons from changing. A slight sound, a subtle movement

- 102 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass were all it took to convey her desire. With eyes still closed, she arched back, offering her throat for attention. Al-Mon discarded the headdress. Other, more alluring matters awaited him, and he would lose no time attending to them. He flicked his tongue over the well at the base of her throat then traced the curve upward until he reached her parted lips. He dotted the edges of the bow with kisses then nipped the tender flesh before he gently slipped past the portal to the welcome warmth beyond. Raina twined her fingers around his neck and molded her form to his. The ridge between beckoned and she responded with a call of her own. The faint gyration shot darts of fire from his pelvis to his lumbar, threatening to finish him before they began. Abruptly, he set her back. She opened her mouth to protest, but he gave her no chance to speak. Instead he scooped her under shoulders and knees then captured her lips once more. The short walk to his rooms—their rooms now—stretched from feet to miles, each step along the way punctuated by one kiss after the other. The door was an obstacle not easily dispatched, for neither would take the time to give full attention to opening it. Frustrated by the latch, AlMon finally had no choice. With a sucking sound he pulled from her lips, set her to her feet, and yanked the door open. “By the gods, I can wait no longer!” he declared, voice husky with the heat of the moment. Made bold by the passion she had aroused in him, Raina returned a sultry smile and reached to caress him. Al-Mon snatched her hand away with a laugh. “Ah, my love, you think to tease. When I say I can wait no longer, I mean just that.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pushed her gently against the wall. Raina tugged the loincloth free, exposing the length that throbbed against her belly. He nuzzled a low growl into her neck, then nipped the tender flesh until she squirmed in his grasp. The seashell belt clattered to the floor, loosed by his hands and hers. Shaking fingers inched her shift to her waist until he could span his hand across her bare buttocks to knead the rounded treasure. Raina cried out and curved her calf around his waist. Al-Mon echoed with a call as primitive as that of any jungle creature and claimed his beauty, his gift from the gods, his wife. Like an animal in rut he took her, pounding with unending force over and over again with no thought to anyone’s satisfaction but his own. In the recesses of his mind, he knew he was being selfish, but he could not stop the blinding power driving him. The finish came too quickly, ripping from him until he cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Panting, he braced himself against the wall and withdrew. He felt her disappointment and his own, and pulled back to offer reassurance that he would not leave her this way. Her golden hair had fallen like a silken cap about her. Passion dilated her eyes and gave him new life. With a smile he pulled her shift up and over her head, then lifted her into his arms. Raina raked her fingers through his hair, loosening it from its band. Once free, she captured his face between her hands and took his lips. With the precision of an explorer she mapped his mouth, memorizing the velvety softness of his tongue as it twirled with hers. Then, all too soon, he placed her upon his bed and ended the moment. She looked up at him, impatient to continue. He stood as ready to take her as he had been minutes before. Raina sighed and opened her arms. “Come to me,” she whispered. “Soon,” he softly replied. “This time it is for you.”

- 103 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Her irritation with the delay was quickly replaced with curiosity. He left her long enough to retrieve one long red feather, then stretched out beside her, bracing himself on one elbow. His sensuous smile alone left her quivering with anticipation. So much so that with the first touch of the feather against her skin, she jumped as if shocked. He traced the line of her jaw and tickled her lips. When she shivered, he followed with a trail of kisses, while his plume of torture wandered on. Down her neck, across her shoulders, circling higher and higher up the mountain of her breast until it reached the top only to flick tauntingly at the peak. She whimpered a protest and his mouth claimed the charted territory, drawing the hardened nub deep into its warmth. Raina cradled his head, urging him on from one breast to the other. But it couldn’t detract from the wanton track the feather was taking. It brushed fire across her belly and singed her inner thighs. She fought in vain against its quest, determined that Al-Mon wouldn’t batter down the feeble defenses of the door upon which he knocked. But when his lips followed and gentle caresses wandered, she had no protest left to give. He tickled at the apex of her thighs and she opened herself to his love. No torture known to man could have been more agonizing. No valley and fold was left untouched and in so precise and lazy a manner, Raina swore she would die from the wait. She balled the linen beneath her in her fists, panting for control she had long since lost. She was a prisoner to his touch, his to do with as he wanted and the wait was maddening. In a final act of acquiescence, she gave up her pride in a single word. “Please …” Where the feather had played, he now wandered more surely, tracing its path until he found the center of her pleasure. Raina held her breath, waiting for his touch upon it. When it came, it brought with it a feeling so intense it pulled her hips from the bedding. He cradled her buttocks, urging her higher and higher. She fell into an oblivion of sensuality she had never known. At the top she felt herself open—her heart, her body, her love, her soul. With her cry, with the shudder that convulsed her, his body joined with her. Together they rocked, in a union time could never break, to wrap them in everlasting love.

- 104 -

Chapter 12

It was to have been an idyllic week. Days of seclusion interrupted by love’s call. A time to share the past and plan a future. But it wasn’t until the last day that Al-Mon realized something was missing. He had her love, her heart, her body, but her mind—that was another matter. Not that she blocked him out completely—that was not true, but it was the things she did not say or share that were so glaringly apparent. The odd thing was that it had taken him so long to realize it. Until that time he had done most of the talking. Prompted by her interest and questions, Al-Mon told her of his childhood, his training to be king, his family and friends. Discussion turned to the surrounding cities and customs. Then, on the last night, as he cuddled her in lazy moments of after-love, it came to him—he knew nothing about her. True, she spoke of things that had occurred during her seclusion prior to their marriage. She laughed over the antics of the monkeys scrambling through the branches, rolled her eyes over her ill-fated meeting with the beehive, and complained about having to learn to use the loom. But there was nothing of her past, her family or even the three who had accompanied her, save for the fact that it was important they remain together. He drew breath to question her, but sleep had already claimed her for the night. It would wait until morning. Unfortunately, this lack of personal knowledge bothered him more than he was willing to admit. Each time he closed his eyes, questions would tumble through his mind, nagging sleep away. By morning he was bursting to have them answered. He sat upright, hugging his knees, while he waited for daylight to pry open her lids. When that did not happen soon enough for his liking, he jostled the bed and jerked the linen around until she showed signs of stirring. Even then she did so at an irritatingly slow rate, stretching like a lazy jungle cat before parting her lids with a smile. “Good morning. You are up early and look like you are ready to jump out of bed.” She trailed her fingers up his arm. “No good morning snuggle?” Tempting, but … He chuckled. “You have become spoiled with too much loving.” “If I have, so have you.” She rolled toward him and nestled her head against his hip. “You must be anxious to start our trip to the coast.” He shrugged. “In a way … Raina, tell me of yourself. Your life before you came here.” Raina was glad her face was turned from him. Her surprise at the request would have surely given her away. It was bound to have happened at some point, and even though she had been somewhat prepared, now that it was here, she didn’t know how to reply. With a throaty chuckle she wrapped her arm around his waist. “I had no life before I came here. I had no life before you.” He pulled her wandering fingers away and kept them in his grasp. “You were dust? You were not a living creature?” “I might as well have been.” “Hmmm … When we met, you said you came from Los Angeles. What does that mean?” Raina flopped to her back. He wasn’t going to give up this quest easily. “It means the angels.” “What are angels?” Simple enough. “They are servants of gods.” - 105 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “So you are telling me you came from the gods?” “That was the whole point of the bride choosing ceremony, was it not?” she said with a nervous laugh. “And you were not real until you appeared here?” “I was as good as dead before I met you.” That much was the truth. She hadn’t lived until she had his love, and once she left, she would die again. Tears threatened at the thought and she rapidly blinked them away. She hopped from bed and dropped a kiss to his pouting lips. “Goodness. Such a sour face. Come. Enough talk. We have much to do before we leave. And I did want to say good-bye to Cynthia and Roy.” She was quick, Al-Mon would give her that much—clever, too. And evasive. In less time than it had taken for him to ask his questions, she had bounded from bed, dressed, combed her fingers through her tangled hair, and still had the consideration to give him a kiss before she skittered away to visit the Osbornes. “If you think I intend to let the matter drop, wife, you had better think again,” he called, but knew it was to no avail, for she was long gone. Half amused, half irritated, he scratched his head and dressed to follow her. *** With no regard for Cynthia and Roy’s privacy, Raina whipped open the door to their quarters and ran inside, shouting for them as she did so. Lounging in the central room, the couple jerked apart, much to Raina’s supreme embarrassment. While her cheeks grew redder with each passing second, Raina stumbled over awkward apologies then scowled when they laughed at her predicament and eased into their former positions. “Relax,” Cynthia told her, “I was only plucking his beard.” To emphasize her point, she snapped the air with her wooden tweezers. Roy held her hand back. “Torturing me was more like it … Continue, oh light of my life.” Cynthia stuck out her tongue and yanked out a whisker. “Ow! See what I mean. What’s up?” “Al-Mon has started to ask questions about my past.” She flopped into the nearest chair and buried her head in her hands. “You knew he would,” Roy replied. “The man isn’t stupid. What did you tell him?” “Oh, I bared my heart and soul,” she sarcastically replied, then snapped, “Nothing. What the hell do you think I told him?” “Calm down. I’m sure you handled things perfectly,” Cynthia told her, and yanked another whisker free. Roy yelped. “Geez, I’ll be glad when we get home and I don’t have to go through this any more.” Cynthia’s comment was absentminded as she scanned for more prey. “Yeah, me too. Look, Raina, you have to expect him to ask questions. It’s only natural. I’m sure you can satisfy him with a few vague answers. Or are you afraid he won’t be content with that and press for more details?” “I know he wasn’t satisfied,” she mumbled. “I know he’ll ask again, and again until—” “Until what?” they asked in unison. “Until he gets what he wants.”

- 106 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Meaning?” Another simultaneous response. Raina peeked between her fingers. They were frozen before her like puppets waiting for their master’s next tug. The vision clouded behind tears she was forced to blink away. “Meaning, you don’t know how it tears me up inside to lie to him,” she said, then covered her face while their eyes grew wide with horror at what she was hinting. “Good God, Raina, you certainly can’t tell him the truth!” Roy blurted out. “And why not?” Al-Mon demanded to know. He stood behind them like a genie just released from his lamp—arms crossed, legs astride, expression stern. Roy lifted Cynthia off his lap and stood. “Because … you just would not believe it. Trust me, leave well enough alone … Now, if you all will excuse me, I have a sculpture to work on.” Raina cursed him a coward as he hurried out the door, then added Cynthia to the list when she departed in his wake. With a bravery she didn’t feel, Raina faced Al-Mon. “Is it all that difficult?” he asked. “I have shared all with you.” Again tears obscured her vision. “It is more difficult than you could possibly imagine. All that should matter to you is that I love you.” He stared down his nose at her. “I am hurt you cannot confide in me so simple a thing. With the love between us, nothing else should matter.” “Right. Nothing else should. That is why I do not understand why this is so important to you. But since it is, I swear that one day you will know the truth, and, believe me, you will damn the day you hear it.” Before she could break down, Raina tried to push past him and out the door. He barred her way, then cupped her cheek and turned her face to his. “I meant not to cause you this much pain. I will push you no longer and wait for that ill-fated day.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead to seal his vow, before pulling back with a half-hearted smile. “Come. The trip to Tat-na’s is long and we have too much to do to spend the day in tears.” It was too late. The tears were determined to be shed. She clung to him now, knowing she couldn’t in the future, and sobbed for the loss of love going back was going to cause them both. Helpless, Al-Mon held her close, his heart aching with every sob she loosed. And as sobs turned to sniffles he made a silent vow to himself—if the past caused her this much pain, never again would he entreat her to share it with him. *** It was going to be hard for Raina to say good-bye. Harder still to know she wouldn’t see her friends for a month. It left her vulnerable at a time when she needed the security of their presence. Having them travel with the royal entourage was out of the question—it simply wasn’t done. Even if allowed, Roy had his sculpture to work on, and he absolutely refused to let Cynthia be parted from him. Not that she could blame him. “If you are ready, I will help you take your seat,” Al-Mon said. “Almost. Just a few minutes more.” He gave a nod and hurried away to tend to last minute details while she turned aside to say her farewells. “Well, I guess this is it.”

- 107 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Roy chucked her under the chin. “It isn’t the end of the world. Just be careful and make note of everything you see.” For a moment Raina thought he was going to give her another verbal list of the things he wanted her to look for, but luckily he was too enthralled with the procession stretched out before them to do so. “It’s something, isn’t it?” he said, his face alight with wonder. It was. Even a fool would have been impressed. The line of people, carts, and palanquins extended for the length of the dwelling-house. The four palanquins—one for each of the traveling nobles—waited at the foot of the stairs. Their tousled canopies shimmered in the breeze. They were of simple design. Their presence alone was enough indication of royalty, for only nobles traveled in this manner. During the days on the road each provided a comfortable place for the occupant to sit under a sunshade supported at the four corners by wooden beams. Broad-shoulder men in five teams of four stood at each litter ready to bear their human cargo. Warriors surrounded these and took up the rear and front of this odd parade. Interspersed among all this were servants with ox-drawn carts heavily laden with food and utensils, and tradesmen who sought to sweeten their lot by traveling to another city with their wares. “I wish I could catch all this on camera,” Roy said, then laughed. “That would take some explaining on both sides of time, wouldn’t it? Fortunately, I was able to sketch it this morning when they were starting to form.” “Raina, it is time,” Al-Mon called, and trotted up the steps to escort her down. “Sorry, love, we can wait no more.” There was time for only a quick hug—better that way than to prolong it any further. “Good luck,” Cynthia whispered. And with those words, Raina felt the first thrill of the trip on which she was about to embark. A final wave at the foot of the steps reinforced it, then, with an archaeological scavenger list tucked in her memory, she set out for what Cynthia referred to as the scavenger hunt to die for. The palanquins were in order of importance, hers being last. It was a rocky ride at best. Raina was grateful she wasn’t susceptible to motion sickness, then silently prayed her stomach would continue to be stalwart during the week-long journey. Afraid she would lose her balance, she clutched the arms of her chair in a death grip until she caught the rhythm. Even then she loosened her hold a finger at a time to be sure. With a few deep breaths to cleanse her nerves, Raina began her archaeological quest for knowledge. Most would be gleaned once she arrived at the Coast City. Roy wanted to know about structural designs and differing arts. Cynthia about their customs while traveling and entertaining visiting dignitaries. And she wanted to know how it all fit together and how she could find it in the future. Remembering everything was going to be a challenge, but it was a mental exercise she sorely needed to occupy her mind and keep it off her personal anxieties. She had to look at the remaining months as a golden opportunity to further herself in her profession, not as a clock ticking mercilessly away the time she had left. Depression crept in and with it those damnable tears that seemed to have become her best, albeit unwanted, friend. This has to stop! If she spent the next few months in this state, the only thing she would be fit for upon her return was an asylum.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Concentrate on your job, damn it! The self-reprimand pulled her chin up and forced her to look at her surroundings. The jungle had dropped far into the background, replaced wherever she looked by fields of cotton, maize, beans, fruit trees, and dozens of other crops too far away to identify. A group of men ran along the perimeter of the raised gravel road, flushing out partridge, wild pigeon or quail, which were then brought down by pellets launched from blowguns. Life on the road was fast-paced even if the trip wasn’t. Everything was accomplished while they walked: game cleaned, linens woven, jewelry carved, meals cooked. This last feat fascinated Raina. Prepared food—meat, bread, or vegetables—was wrapped in leaves and set in a clay pot of coals. By the end of the day, all was ready to eat. They traveled from sunrise to sunset, breaking during the day only long enough to change bearers and attend to personal needs, before trudging onward. More often than not, Al-Mon and his father would forego the palanquin and join the hunt and the march. There was an atmosphere of festival all about. With nightfall they usually camped in jungle clearings off the road. The palanquin’s sunshade was rolled down to provide a private tent for the royal couples. The remaining two palanquins were left for favored servants while the rest of the troupe got by with lean-tos or hastily constructed tents. A brave few slept in the open, near the posted guard. There were so many details to remember Raina ached for pen and paper, anything to record all she saw, and when she caught sight of the Coast City for the first time, she knew she had to find a way to permanently record her impressions. The white and blue towers of the city sparkled like the ocean that reflected diamonds of sunlight behind it. It was a small city, half to one quarter the size of Al-Mon’s City of the Sun, but commerce brought it to life. Fields of produce merged into private farms, into vendors and finally the city itself. With each mile that brought them closer, their ranks grew as friends, family, and entrepreneurs rushed forward. The temple offered priests access to the city but also the ocean with a long flight of steps leading down to the beach and the water’s edge. Where Al-Mon’s dwelling-house opened to jungle, this one offered a pristine view of the beach that could be reached after negotiating a winding path blazed down a steep slope. The ruling family dotted the stairs and portico of their house, greeting the visitors with shouts and waves. Raina scanned the group for some sign of Al-Mon’s sister, but no one of her description—heavy with child—was there. This mystery was heightened when their procession halted, and a woman of Ta-li’s age rushed forward to greet the queen. “It is time. She has begun her confinement,” Raina heard her exclaim. Ta-li stepped from the shade of her palanquin, her eyes alight with excitement. “Wonderful. We are just in time. Come, Raina, we must hurry.” As Raina left her vehicle, the woman with Ta-li pulled back in surprise then tried to cover it with a weak smile. “This is Raina … Lady Sky Silk, my son’s wife,” Ta-li explained. “You have heard of her, have you not, So-ree?” “Yes … oh, yes. We were told of her uniqueness, but word does not prepare one for the reality. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” She tilted her head in a bow. Raina returned the honor. “And I yours.” Ta-li fanned her hands toward the staircase. “Enough. We must hurry to witness the birth. Come, Raina, you cannot miss this.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Raina silently questioned her need to be present, but nevertheless followed the other women. A myriad of protestations about birthing babies rambled through her head, and she prayed the event had already occurred. It hadn’t, and the scene of the impending delivery seemed more a social gathering, for all female members of the immediate family had congregated there. Seeing them arrive, Tat-na shoved herself onto her elbows. “Mother!” Ta-li just as quickly urged her back down. “Yes, little one, and just in time to help you bring your first-born into the world.” Tat-na stretched a hand to Raina, which Raina accepted. “And my brother’s wife,” she said with a smile. “You are as beautiful as I expected. Perfect for my brother. Truly a gift from the gods to match him.” A grimace distorted Tat-na’s features as a contraction overcame her. The gentle hold she had on Raina’s hand turned into a death grip. Ta-li caressed her belly and offered soothing words of comfort until it passed. Gradually, Raina felt the pressure ease from Tat-na’s hold, and when she finally flopped back, she was certain the short time which had elapsed had exhausted her as much as Tat-na. She looked around to see how the others fared, and discovered only the midwife remained. “Where did everyone go?” Ta-li bathed the sweat from her daughter’s forehead. “Gone. We shall tend to her.” A sound of distress she meant to be inaudible squeaked out, bringing Ta-li’s head up. “Have you never witnessed a birthing?” Raina slowly shook her head. “You had no sister?” Well, yes, but I was in the waiting room like all good aunts. In a hospital! With doctors! Nurses! “No, never,” she managed to reply. Ta-li nodded and for a moment or two Raina thought she would get a reprieve. Instead, Ta-li gave a light laugh. “Well, I am glad we can share this experience. It will serve to bond us.” In retrospect, the loom now looked like a cakewalk. Raina doubted there was anything she could think of to relieve her of this familial responsibility. Resigned to her fate, she felt her shoulders sag in defeat. “Tell me what to do.” “Very little.” She swept her palm over her daughter’s sloped forehead and smiled. “Tat-na will do all the work.” If anything was a good advertisement for birth control, it was the hours that followed. Raina provided sips of water, mopped the sweat from Tat-na’s face and, on occasion, gave her a hand to grip. In her limited knowledge of child birth, pain had never been discussed. She wasn’t naive enough to believe it didn’t exist, but conversation about labor pains had been vague at best. This was grunting, moaning, sweating, face-contorting, body ripping pain. Each time Tat-na strained, Raina unconsciously scrunched her face in sympathy, as if by doing so it would hurry things along. No children for me. Never. “Now, Mother! Almost!” Raina jumped back to let Ta-li and the midwife work. Curiosity craned her neck. She’d traveled this far with her, she wasn’t about to chicken out. The view couldn’t have been more perfect if she had been the attending physician. With the first glimpse of the child’s crown, Raina’s breath stuck in her throat. A hearty push freed a squalling baby.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Oh my goodness! A little girl!” she heard herself exclaim. Overcome by the joy and wonder of the moment, she joined the new mother in happy tears and laughed at herself. Swaddled and placed in her mother’s arms, the infant soon quieted. “She is beautiful.” Tat-na looked at Raina. “Would you like to hold her?” Raina waved her back. “Oh, I could not. I would be so afraid.” Yet even as she spoke, she was reaching for the baby, and when she cuddled her and the child nestled deeper into comfort, Raina experienced an ache so intent she would have sworn her heart had been struck. Too soon the time was over and she was forced to relinquish care to the midwife. “I feel like I am the one who delivered. I am exhausted.” It was a lie, but she couldn’t stay there to watch the baby be fastened to a cradle and her tiny head compressed between boards. “Al-Mon will be waiting in the outer rooms with the men,” Ta-li told her. “Go, and tell the others they may come in.” She hurried off before Ta-li could change her mind. Her reception in the other room was a hodge-podge of questions and concerns. A reply of “girl” and a “go in” cleared the room of all but Al-Mon. With a chuckle, he drew her against him. “You look weary. Our rooms are ready.” Tucked under his arm, Raina let him lead her away. She paid scant attention to her surroundings—her mind was too filled with the birth and the sights she had taken in during the trip. So much to remember, and they had only just arrived. Their rooms were part of a small complex of six set aside for the visiting royals. Servants were assigned to their own quarters as were the warriors placed with their kind. Those who had tagged along were forced to make due with whatever they could scrounge. “We have a view of the sea from our sleeping area,” Al-Mon told her, and motioned her in that direction. “Access to the water is from the main corridor. A protection against invaders.” Peeking through the window, Raina caught a glimpse of the ocean captured in dusk. It was dark, a gray-blue, no sparkle set it to life. She watched the play of dwindling light upon the surface until darkness blocked the view. Al-Mon curled his arms around her and nibbled the tender flesh below her ear. “Food and drink await us. Unless you prefer something else.” She sucked in a breath when he nipped again. Because of the lack of privacy during the trip, they hadn’t loved. She was as starved for his affection as she was for a meal. Turning, she draped her arms around his neck. “Something else, first,” she whispered, and brushed a feathery kiss across his lips. Abstinence heightened their touch upon one another, bringing their lust to a quick conclusion that left them stunned with its forcefulness. Then they dissolved into laughter at the irony. “So much for our night of love,” Raina said. “Ah, but if I am fed, there is always the chance for more.” “Then by all means, let us see you are fed.” Fruit, corn cakes, water, and the obligatory chocolate had been prepared for them. By the time Raina had served up portions for each of them, Al-Mon was already stifling yawns, leaving her no doubt how their evening would end. Instead of teasing him, she let it go unnoticed. Relaxed as she was, with food in her stomach, a weariness crept into her bones. And while her mind wandered away from delightful pursuits, it traveled back to all she had recently experienced. “You seem distracted, my Raina. What absorbs you so?”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Why not? “I have seen so many things. I want to share them all with Roy and Cynthia, but I am afraid I will forget. If there were only some way to record it all.” “Tell it to the scribe. He will write it down for you.” “I…I wanted to write it down myself.” She held her breath, waiting for some lecture about nobility not indulging in such pursuits, or astonishment that a women could write. Instead, he smiled and astonishment was hers. “Of course. I shall have one of the servants fetch all you need immediately.” Before he could get the words out, the deed was done, and by the time they had finished their meal a servant humbly delivered a pot of ink, stiff horsehair brushes, and a stack of bark paper. Raina fingered the thin bark in awe. There wasn’t much. She would have to write small and conserve her words as much as possible. She could almost hear Cynthia clucking in the background over what she was about to do. Al-Mon stretched upon their bed and laced his fingers behind his head to watch. The adoring audience left Raina nervous. How was she to explain her script? Another lesson from the gods? It was a needless worry, for by the time she was ready to begin, sleep closed his eyes. Alone with her thoughts, she dipped the brush and set it to her makeshift journal. But the first words came from her heart and brought tears to her eyes. I want to have Al-Mon’s baby and it can never happen.

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Chapter 13

It would be the simple pleasures Al-Mon would remember in the far distant future when his life’s force ebbed, and most of them would be centered around Raina. He watched her from a distance as he had for the last several mornings. Her footprints followed her along the stretch of beach, just out of reach of the waves. From time to time she would pause to pick up a seashell that caught her eye only to return it to its place once her curiosity was satisfied. At a small outcropping of rock she sat to watch the fishermen cast out their nets and pull in the morning catch. Her first appearance had been greeted with awe. Cordial as always, she put them at ease and from that point on, they looked for her each day and would not cast until she sat. Rumor abounded that she was their good luck charm, for with her arrival the nets burst with sea life. Al-Mon kept it to himself, knowing telling her would only embarrass her. But he did not dispute the fact that luck seemed to travel with Raina. He watched a little awestruck himself while the fishermen offered her the pick of the catch. Her selections were cautious—not necessarily the best of what was there, but also not the worst. She refused to take advantage of them, yet would not insult them by refusing. Her choices were tossed in a basket, and a young boy, anxious to do her bidding, delivered it to their servants for cooking. Raina would bid them good day and continue her tour of the beach. Now was Al-Mon’s time with her. He followed her path, purposefully shortening his stride to cover her footprints with his own as if by doing so they would be further joined. Before he reached the end she would have turned and together their paths would merge as they walked hand-in-hand back to the house. Sometimes she would share her feelings, sometimes she would not, always her mood was private. Al-Mon refused to intrude on that. It was pleasure enough to be allowed in her physical space, her mind was her own. She crowded her day with joys and new experiences, giving new meaning to living. It was a lesson well gleaned by Al-Mon and others who came within her sphere. At night she set her day to memory in tiny figures that were a mystery to him, yet he did not disturb her train of thought by questioning her about them. And she offered no clue, even though he hovered over her shoulder while she wrote. Raina turned and waved. The gesture was as delicate as a palm frond in the wind. With a smile she slowly started back his way. When they neared, she slipped her fingers through his and hugged his arm. “It is such a beautiful morning.” “Yes. I am sure the fishermen are saying the same thing … and blessing their luck once more.” “The fishing has been good lately.” He tucked her arm closer around his own. “Most say it is due to you.” Raina laughed. “Goodness, a compliment and a burden all in one. It is merely a coincidence.” “As you wish.” He pulled up her hand to kiss her knuckles. He was about to break his own rule, but under the circumstances there was little else he could do. “Some do not agree. Some bless the day you arrived. Many tout your healing abilities. News has spread throughout the land about you.” - 113 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Legends based on rumor. I am nothing special. I am only a woman.” She looked up at him. “You know that.” What he knew was that he was as securely ensnared in her web of mystery as everyone else. He adored her. He worshiped the very ground upon which she stepped. “Yes, I know,” he replied. “But superstition is hard to tamp down.” He hesitated, to gather his thoughts before continuing. “There is word of other cities stricken by the sickness. People have begun to die.” He felt her tense and shot a glance her way, hoping her alarm would work to his advantage. “I have been asked to approach you. Your healing knowledge is required.” Raina stared at the damp sand to avoid his eyes and any pleading that might exist in them. The errant prostitute had left her mark—an eighth century Typhoid Mary. The beginning of the end of the Mayan people had started. The future would enshroud the event in mystery. Raina was painfully aware of the truth. She should have realized she couldn’t change the future. It seemed it was irretrievably woven with the past—an esoteric concept she didn’t have the energy to decipher. Salvation had been placed in her inept hands. To refuse, besides being rude, would bring shame and dishonor to the royal family. To agree … would it be tampering with history again or merely taking part as was intended in the same manner Roy did with the carving? Raina was quiet for so long Al-Mon was afraid she would not answer. Despite the precious time wasted, he would not press her for a reply—yet. The nearer they came to the dwellinghouse, the more his impatience grew. He would like for the choice to be hers, but with the welfare of an entire nation at stake he was prepared to debate their fate until she yielded. He drew breath to present his case once more. Before he could speak, she did the same. “Quite a dilemma,” she quietly replied, amazed at the irony of those words. “We must find a way to educate the people without endangering those who have not fallen ill.” “Each city could send an emissary.” “No … no,” she mused, “that would take too long.” She sighed. “No, we need something quicker. See if we can gather the scribes, messengers, and anyone else who wishes in the meeting hall. I will tell them what needs to be done and answer questions. The scribes will write it down and give instructions to the messengers to deliver to the other cities.” “There will be no need for the scribes. The messengers can pass the word.” She pulled him to a stop and for the first time since they began the discussion, stared into his eyes. “No. Words can be jumbled. This is too important. If you want me to help, it must be my way.” “But, Raina…” She placed her fingertips over his lips. “Al-Mon…I have spoken.” It was a risky declaration—she had made it once before and he had mocked her. Al-Mon circled her wrist and pressed a kiss into her fingers before gently pulling her hand away. “Then so it shall be.” They finished their walk in silence, and upon their return, Raina waited in the anteroom of the hall to gather her thoughts. She was interrupted once by Ta-li who was insistent that she dress the part for the meeting. Raina steadfastly refused. She wanted nothing to distract from the importance of what she had to say. It took Lord Jaguar Sun to remove his determined wife. He did so with an indulgent smile to her and a wink to Raina. The unexpected endearment warmed Raina’s heart and gave her much-needed courage to carry out the task before her. Within the hour, all was ready. On Al-Mon’s arm, she entered the crowded assembly area. The only space remaining was the dais from which she would give her lecture. The room was

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass quiet. All faces turned expectantly her way. The first medical convention, she thought with irony, and took her place. Just the basics, she reminded herself. She waited until Al-Mon stepped back, and then, after a deep breath to steady her nerves and order her thoughts, she began. Al-Mon decided she had more grace and patience than he could ever muster. What started as a brief meeting quickly escalated into detailed explanations. Each question put to her was answered in so calm and precise a manner one would think it was merely asked in passing. Knowing Raina as he did, he was not surprised at the effect she had upon these people, and he enjoyed the time spent watching those around him. It was his parents who captured most of his attention. Pride lit their eyes, and they used every opportunity to boast to the local royals about their newly acquired daughter. If there were any doubts remaining about her, she had dispelled them this day. From time to time a servant would offer her food and drink. Each time it was politely refused, except for an occasional cup of water. When shadows in the room lengthened and candles were set to life, Al-Mon gently pushed Raina in the chair behind her. She thanked him with a smile, but weariness circled her eyes. It was all the incentive he needed to call a halt to further questions. He danced his thumbs over the back of her neck. “Enough.” With an imperceptible sigh she closed her eyes and leaned in to him. Her agreement was silent but unquestionable. “Lady Sky Silk, what do you—” “I said enough,” Al-Mon quietly replied. “She is weary and must rest.” The crowd eased back, and from its depths a woman stepped forward with her baby and knelt at Raina’s feet. “Please, I would ask the lady to bless my baby.” Raina leaned forward and caressed the infant’s head. “I am a person, just as you are. I have no wish to anger any gods. Special blessing should come from your priest. Please take the child to him.” She waited until the woman moved away, then stood and slipped her arm through Al-Mon’s. “Our rooms?” he asked softly. “Please. I am so tired I can barely walk.” “Shall I carry you?” The mischievous light in his eyes brought laughter bubbling from her throat. “My dignity, please. Do not embarrass me in front of all these people.” He waited until they reached the corridor before lifting her in his arms. “You were wonderful, my Raina. You have done a great service.” Raina rested her head against his shoulder, wishing she could accept the praise he offered. She was to have kept it simple—given them a few bits of information on how they could battle this influenza. Soon she was handing out advice about sanitation procedures and cleanliness at childbirth. That information begot more questions, and there was no hesitation in her answering. She blessed Al-Mon for ending a session she couldn’t. “You are going to spoil me with all this toting around.” “Since it seems your job is to care for others, I have made it my job to care for you.” “I see…That is quite a task you have assigned yourself.” “Not nearly as grand as the one you have given yourself. In caring for others, you seriously neglect yourself. I intend to see that deficit corrected.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “You make me feel like a treasure,” she said with a sigh. “No treasure could match you.” To be so loved. It made her heart soar and sink at the same time. She tried not to think about how much she was going to miss him when she left. Tried not to flirt with the temptation of staying. Tried not to imagine the lonely days and nights stretched out before both of them, for she knew the parting would be as devastating to him as it would be to her. “Hold, there, my son.” At Lord Jaguar Sun’s command, Al-Mon turned, but didn’t relinquish Raina. This perspective put her almost at eye level with the king—a position she found she preferred to that of looking up at him. “Daughter.” He wrapped her hand in both of his. “You truly deserve the name. The honor you have given this family is beyond words. Know that we shall always treasure you. You shall never want for anything. And, I vow this to you, should the unthinkable happen and we would find Al-Mon taken from us prematurely, you will always have a home with us. You will never be set aside and shall know only the best.” He kissed her fingers and tightened his hold. The king’s praise was another poignant reminder of the loss to come. Never again would she be this revered. At home, back in her own place, mundane chores and responsibilities would take over—that and loneliness. She doubted even her own family would be able to fill the void. With a soft laugh, Ta-li pulled Raina’s hand free. “Ka-tan, enough. If you set her mind at ease any further, you will have her needlessly worrying over Al-Mon. We shall all have a long lifetime together. Can you not see they wish to be alone?” He chuckled. “Yes, I see they do … and who can blame them when they are as much in love as we are?” “At least that much,” Al-Mon replied, and bid them good night. Raina nuzzled into his shoulder. It was true, there was no denying that, and this would be the only time she would ever be able to share that feeling. Once home, the specifics of her one great love would have to remain a secret. In the privacy of their rooms, Al-Mon set her down and Raina curled herself around him. “Love me,” she whispered. His body replied before his lips. It was a chance to lose her worries in the pleasures his loving gave, a chance to forget this couldn’t be forever. Again, he lifted her in the cradle of his arms to bear her effortlessly to their bed. *** The last week of their visit passed in a flurry of activity. From sunup to well after sundown, a stream of people surrounded Raina, seeking advice or simply a chance to be near her. Gone were her quiet morning walks along the beach, her peaceful moments over meals, the times she devoted exclusively to Al-Mon. Even the nights were stolen, for she was too weary from her day to do more than fall asleep. Although Al-Mon could appreciate the good will she was generating for his family, he also resented the intrusion into their lives. It was for this reason he took a personal interest in their departure. While his parents and Raina slept, he roused their troupe to action. By the time the sun was barely an inch high, all was ready. Raina woke enough to leave bed, toss on a caftan and crawl into her palanquin, where she drifted back to sleep.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “I do not blame her,” his father said. “I feel as though I could do the same. But Raina does not seem well this morning. Is there perhaps some special news you would like to share with your mother and me?” “Special news?” “Well,” he scratched his ear and looked away, “you have known her for quite some time. We were hoping …” Al-Mon smiled. He had been hoping, too. “No, Father, she is not with child. Her monthly time has begun and she is feeling peaked.” “Then would it not be better to delay our trip in order for her to rest?” “Rest? Here? I would have to construct a stone wall ten foot high around her to see she was not disturbed. No, we are leaving today.” “I cannot say that I blame you. I, too, feel she has been greatly exerted. Once we reach home, we must set specific rules so this does not happen again. We cannot expect her to beget and deliver a healthy child if she is overrun with the needs and demands of others. And I would bet there has not been much chance for begetting since this business started.” “An oversight I intend to correct in full once we reach our home,” Al-Mon firmly replied, then called to the others. “Come. Say your farewells. The morning grows late.” Despite the early hour, the city’s residents were there to see them off. They strained on tiptoe for a glimpse of Raina, in some instances pushing through the line of guards for a better look or a chance to speak to her one last time. None seemed to care that she was under the weather. Their only concern was for themselves and what she could do for them. The press of bodies alarmed Al-Mon, for he could not say what would happen if they could not be restrained. He snapped the shades down on all sides of her palanquin, enclosing Raina in the little privacy he could provide. From within, a mumbled “thank you” reached him. “Rest, love. No one will disturb you.” To make sure of that, Al-Mon waved his litter on and took a place beside hers, adding his protection to that of her bearers. The frenzy built as the procession started to move. Al-Mon hoped it was a farewell cheer and with it they would be gone. Instead, the dubious well-wishers fell in step with them, crowding around until their sheer momentum carried all forward. At the edge of the city Al-Mon thought they would turn back, but if any did, it was an indiscernible amount. From the corner of his eye he saw a surge, a giant wave of people, speeding toward them. A bearer teetered under the onslaught. Raina’s palanquin listed toward the mob, and Al-Mon feared she would be dumped into their clutches. It happened so quickly he could not prevent it. The bearer fell and with him the litter. Raina tumbled out and into the arms of two muscle-bound men. Al-Mon pushed his way forward, but the crowd pulled him back. Her abductors had planned well. No sooner had she reached them, than they bound a tapestry around her, sealing her from head to toe. Her cry of help was muffled by the crowd as they hoisted her overhead and bore her away like goods destined for market. Her adoring public was too absorbed with her palanquin to notice she was no longer there. He shouldered through the crowd, yanking people aside, jabbing fists and elbows into all who impeded his progress while trying to keep watch on the bobbing roll of fabric. A shout behind him alerted the guards, but he would not, could not, wait for them. He broke clear of the gaggle in time to see the men, now a congregation of six, dip into the jungle with their prey. “RAINA!” She called back, giving him a muffled beacon to follow in the dense foliage.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon plunged ahead, knowing to do so unarmed was the equivalent of flirting with disaster or, worse yet, death. He sensed the danger the instant the greenery absorbed him, and shoved the feeling aside to reach her. A step later he realized the foolishness of putting his concern before his judgment. With a whoosh and a jerk he was airborne, dangling from an animal net in helpless fury. The jungle taunted him with a fleeting glimpse of Raina and her captors before swallowing them from view. His rage was like that of the jaguar for whom the trap had been designed, and all of his struggles to be free ensnared him more. By the time his father arrived with the guards, he had tangled the net so tightly it cut into his skin. “Cut him down,” his father said. “Fan out and find which way they went.” “There is no need,” Al-Mon said. “They went that way.” When he discovered he could not raise an arm to point, he growled a protest. “Get me down from this! They took a path away from the city. To the west.” With a wave of his spear his father motioned the trackers in that direction while one of the guards shimmied up the tree to cut Al-Mon down. Unable to use his body to bounce with impact, Al-Mon landed hard. An “oof” burst out, followed by a string of curses. By the time the netting was cut away, the trackers had returned. He flexed the feeling back into his muscles. “Well?” “It is as you said, my lord. They are moving on a definite course away from this city, but it is difficult to say where they are going or what their intent may be. At times they were careful with their tracks—at others they were not.” Al-Mon turned to his father. “I will go ahead with the trackers and six good men. Send a few more after us with weapons and provisions—and fresh clothing for Raina. You and mother return home and await word there.” “No,” the king replied. “She is my daughter. I have sworn to protect her. I will go with you.” Bound by a common goal, they gathered their forces to search for Raina. *** Weary from a week of counseling, tired from little sleep and consumed with cramps and a pounding headache, this was the last thing Raina needed. Whatever these men intended, they were going to discover she wouldn’t give in without one hell of a fight. She wondered when fear would set in to chase her anger away and hoped never. The loss of that edge would make her more of a victim. Being trussed up like game taken on a hunt might have eliminated any physical damage she could impose for now, but she still had her lungs and used them. That advantage was soon dampened. In a small clearing, they paused long enough to tie a gag around her mouth, then wrapped her up once more and continued their trek. The one saving grace in her new predicament was that she was no longer slung over the man’s shoulder but cradled in his arms. Their pace slowed yet was no less urgent. It was then Raina realized Al-Mon was no longer behind them. The fact that she was gagged put to rest any concerns he had been harmed. His delay was a temporary measure while they put distance and confusion between themselves and him. She strained her ears for some familiar sounds that would guide her back if given the chance. Nothing out of the ordinary touched her. From time to time she was passed off between the men with such care she might have been made of porcelain. Once transferred, she heard the men split off in different directions only to

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass converge and divide later on—a diversionary tactic she hoped wouldn’t be too misleading. They could have been traveling in circles for all she knew, then cast that notion aside—such a course would have sealed their fate by now. Raina longed for some concept of the time that had passed. The metronomic beat of foot upon dirt tapped her frazzled nerves. If the plan was to slowly drive her insane, it was working. She needed a glimpse of the sun, the scent of something other than this musty tapestry, the chance to walk on her own to whatever the destination—something to put her welfare and peace of mind back in her own hands. She calmed herself by getting through one more minute then another until the minutes turned to hours. They stopped, and she prepared herself to be traded once more. The trickle of water pierced her cocoon, and Al-Mon’s bathing pool sprung to mind. Had they been closer at the onset of the kidnapping, Raina would have sworn that was where they were. To her surprise, her handler placed her on the ground. A welcome patch of dirt cooled her through the tapestry. “Is she well and unharmed?” a woman asked. “Like a babe just delivered,” one of her captors replied. “Then release her.” Raina steeled herself for the brightness of day then discovered it wasn’t necessary. The canopy of trees obscured the small enclave from the sun. Despite the daylight, torches were set at the periphery of the clearing and at intervals throughout. Raina flexed her jaw back to life, but said nothing and made no demands—the fury in her eyes spoke for her. Everywhere she looked she saw red—literally. The buildings, the stone paths, the columns marking the boundaries were all a deep red. So prevalent was the color, she halfexpected the rocks in the brook that flowed before her to be painted in that color. The vein of water separated Raina from the woman who had spoken. She stood at the base of a steep flight of stairs that kissed the water, and was draped in a flowing red caftan to match her surroundings. Her long gray hair drifted to her waist, no headdress adorned her. Raina let her gaze wander past her and to the steps. A deep groove worn down the center stretched from the water’s edge upward. The fact that it was more than twice the depth of the one in Al-Mon’s city set off her first bout of fear. It was a good indication that these people practiced human sacrifice heavily. Her fear doubled when she spied the creature at the top of the staircase. At first glance she thought it was a hideous gargoyle set in place to warn others away. Then it moved, making the spectacle more ghastly. By the lines and angles of the figure, Raina guessed the creature to be a man. The gray body was draped with black feathers and straw and dwarfed by a squared head. Dozens of red snakes weaved through a hooked nose, around the neck, down the body and back again, caressing the grotesque creature with slow precision. “What do you want with me?” Raina tried to sound calm, but the tremor in her voice gave her away. The old woman smiled. “We only wish to honor you.” “And how do you intend to do so?” she asked. “The ultimate honor. Tonight you will join with the embodiment of the Snake God, and afterward join his holiness in the eternal ever-after.” A polite way of telling her she was to be sacrificed. Raina took a step back and collided with one of the guards who had brought her.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass The woman stepped down from her perch and over the brook. “There is no need to fear. There will be no pain, only pleasure. You cannot reject this honor—you have been chosen. Flight is impossible. Our men would hunt you down and bring you back, hopefully before the jungle’s dangers caused you harm. There is no escape from that which is ordained. Come, my golden one, we must prepare you.” Having little other choice, Raina let the woman lead her to one of the side buildings. For now escape was impossible, she was too heavily guarded, but that would change once Al-Mon arrived. And he would arrive—he had never failed her. With nightfall Raina’s confidence in her hero was beginning to wane. Bathed, oiled, and dressed in a diaphanous white caftan, she was paraded before the assembly in preparation for her ultimate honor. The women who attended her seemed to not care that she was on her monthly course. They merely provided her with protection and escorted her out. The torchlight was doubled, making it impossible for her to see beyond the clearing. If AlMon were out there, he would have rescued her by now. Salvation, it seemed, was in her hands. The jungle or sacrifice—both meant death, but with the jungle she would gain herself a little extra time. *** Al-Mon watched the gathering from the brush at the edge of the clearing. The rest of his party stretched out on either side, waiting for some sign, some word to attack. The site had not been difficult to locate, despite attempts to lead him astray. Its torches shone like beacons on a stormy night. He could not say what drew him forward—instinct, curiosity, or a little of both— but there seemed no other logical place for Raina to be. Seeing her now set his heart to racing, yet he cautioned himself against a premature strike for they were too heavily outnumbered. The cult was a surprise. Rumors persisted through the years of such an organization of people, but verification of this was mind-boggling. Stories of people lost in the jungle or mutilated by jaguar attacks were now recognized for the lies they represented. For whatever reason or twisted religion, the sacrifices would end tonight. Al-Mon lifted his lance to signal the others. Before he could do so, Raina jumped forward and snatched a torch from its holder. It was the distraction they had been waiting for. “Get back, all of you!” Raina jabbed at one of the men foolish enough not to obey, setting his loincloth on fire. He howled away in pain and fright, and she grabbed a second torch. Using both as fiery swords, Raina fought her way to the jungle. The gathering erupted into a panic, scattering for safety amid screams and shouts. At the touch upon her arm she spun around, ready to ignite whoever attempted to prevent her flight. Al-Mon caught her wrist and seized the torch, but he had not counted upon her fury. Before she could realize it was him, her free arm swung around in attack. Flame grazed Al-Mon’s chest as he leaped back. She reared back for a second attempt. “Raina, no!” Her eyes widened in recognition, but she spared no words. Instead, she took a stance beside him and continued her fight to freedom. From the corner of her eye she watched her rescue party take duplicate positions, dodging rocks, fists, and spears. At the jungle’s edge they bent in unison and laid a wall of fire between them and her captors.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Catching her hand in his, Al-Mon darted into the brush. The danger behind them was all the prompting she needed to keep up the pace. With a skill like that of the creatures whose habitat they invaded, they raced through the foliage until her lungs threatened to burst from the exertion. A river crossing offered a welcome respite and, once on the other side, they paused to watch the effects of their handiwork. The fire, though small, encompassed enough of the forest to ensure their safety. “Are you all right?” Al-Mon asked. Raina pushed out a deep breath. “Yes … but what took you so long?” Winded, Al-Mon still managed to chuckle. “You are right—I have spoiled you.” “Yes, well, now is not the time to stop,” she replied. “You seemed to be managing quite well on your own.” “That she was,” Lord Jaguar Sun said. The strain in his voice pulled attention his way. Raina crawled closer. Al-Mon followed. “You are hurt.” She gently pulled his hand away from his side. A dark splotch of blood oozed up. “Good God! Someone get me some light. A campfire. Something.” She ripped off the bottom of her gown and pressed it in place. “It seems I was skewered,” he said with a light laugh. “At least … Some water, please!” Lord Jaguar Sun caught her hand. “The wound is deep, young Raina. Get me to my queen. Do not let me die unless it is in her arms.” “Nonsense. You are not going to die.” He gave a weak smile. “As you command, daughter. My queen, please.” “Our party is not far from here, Raina,” Al-Mon whispered. “I will have a few of the men fetch his litter.” “No, that would take too long. Have them fashion a small one from the vines and limbs and we will carry him there.” By the light of a small campfire, Raina cleansed and bandaged the gaping wound as best she could. There was little else to be done—the wound sliced deeply into his side. It was Al-Mon who lifted his father onto the makeshift litter, and he who took the forefront to carry it. Raina stayed by his side, bathing his wan features, ensuring the bleeding did not increase. He said nothing until they reached sight of their entourage, then a smile lit his face. “She will be here soon.” The words had barely left his lips when Ta-li broke from the crowd and raced toward them. “Ka-tan!” “Put me down, my son, and see to your mother. Have the others leave us. Raina, stay. Kneel beside me.” She did as he asked, but when she reached to mop his brow, he pulled her hand away. “Enough of that. There is nothing else you can do.” “Please do not speak of such things,” she said, blinking back tears. “But I must, for they are true.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “You will make an excellent queen, Raina. You will rule wisely with my son. Your marriage is one thing I do not regret, but I do wish—” “What? What do you wish, my lord?”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “That I could have seen your children and gotten to know them. I seemed to have missed my chance to do so with Al-Mon. We have always been at opposite corners, always at odds. No, not always … there was a time when his whole world was me. The joy on his face when he would see me … but it all changed. Overnight it seems. From the time he became a man. Just a pain. Just a shame. I do love him.” “And he loves you.” He opened his eyes and smiled. “And I love him. You will let him know that, will you not?” “Yes, of course, but you can tell him now.” “Before it is too late?” Raina bit her lip to keep from replying. “Ah, Ta-li, my love, my only love.” Tears drifted down Ta-li’s face as she knelt beside her husband and cradled his head upon her lap. The king looked up at Al-Mon. “I love you, my son. The words were never said and need to be. Rule wisely.” Al-Mon slipped his fingers through Raina’s arm to pull her to her feet. “I love you, Father. How can I help but rule wisely with your good counsel?” He smiled up at Ta-li and cupped her cheek. “I will love you for all eternity, Ta-li. Never doubt that.” “And I you,” she cried, and buried her face against his neck. “Please, do not leave me. I could not bear life without you.” “But you must, my love. You must.”

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Chapter 14

Raina stretched upon her pallet with a sigh. Their last night on the road—tomorrow this journey that had started out with such hope and ended in such tragedy would be over. The trip back had taken half the time, yet seemed twice as long. Gone was the merriment and joy of their journey. Any pleasure gleaned was shoved aside. No one laughed. Words spoken were done so quietly. This was a death watch. The onus of rule fell to Al-Mon and Raina, and the traumatized people obeyed without question. Al-Mon sent runners ahead to warn the city of the injury that had befallen their king, but he refused to send any word of imminent death. Raina couldn’t fault him. As long as Lord Jaguar Sun breathed there was always hope, and she intended to hang on to that as she knew Al-Mon did. The king survived by sheer will—Raina was certain of that. There could be no other explanation. After he was made comfortable on his palanquin, she tended him as best she could. Using the skin from the inside of eggshells and strips of cloth, she was able to seal the wound. But the slightest movement set it oozing again. It was a futile attempt, she knew. Even if she had needle and silk to stitch him, the damage was too far within for her to repair. Still, she forced him to drink teas made from wild geraniums in the hope that the tannin they contained would stop any internal bleeding. Now that he was reunited with his queen, the goal was to get him home so he might die in his own bed. Al-Mon set a grueling pace, marching them from the first pink of sunrise until the last light was gone at nightfall. No one complained. Not even the bearers whose load was doubled when Ta-li refused to leave her husband’s side, and sometimes tripled when Raina needed to care for him. Each time she apologized for burdening them, and each time one would help her inside while the others added their strength to carry the three of them. Raina ordered the vacant palanquins to be packed away to eliminate the burden of toting them. At night, the one she shared with Al-Mon was hastily reconstructed and placed adjacent to the king’s where worry kept them on alert. The privacy of those cloth walls gave them much needed respite from the demands of the people. True, there were no disputes, but they looked to the young couple for emotional reassurance. Nightfall gave Al-Mon and Raina a chance to rebuild their own energies and soothe their own feelings, for there was no one else they could depend upon. They were truly alone, united against all odds and troubles—the true burden of leadership. Once she was gone, it was a burden he would have to deal with on his own. It wasn’t fair. Al-Mon deserved better. A slight breeze drifted in with his entrance, cooling her weary body. “Shall I leave it open?” he asked. “No.” Better to be hot and private than cool and open to a constant stream of visitors. He let the curtain fall and stretched out beside her, draping one arm over his eyes. “I have just come from Father. There is no change.” “No, there is not.” What more could she say? “If he makes it, it will be a miracle. I know it is impossible, but I have prayed and prayed that the gods will help him. I cannot imagine a life without him … or my mother.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Hot as it was, Raina snuggled against him. “I wish there was something I could do. I do not want this to happen.” He dropped his free arm around her, but said nothing. He was quiet for so long, Raina thought he might have drifted to sleep. Just as her eyelids began to droop, he spoke. “Raina, I have no wish to be king.” She pulled back to stare at him. He peeked at her from under his arm. “If I have shamed you, I am sorry, but there is no one else to tell … you are my wife.” “I am not shamed—only surprised.” Al-Mon shielded his eyes once more. “Good, because I am ashamed enough for both of us. I know it is my duty. I have known that all my life. I have known I would have to take my rightful place one day. But, Raina, I resent it—all of it. The rules, the protocol, the constant intrusion into my life—our lives. I smile and nod and give wise counsel to the people and secretly boil with resentment each time.” “Each time?” He sighed. “No … but most of the time. And I especially resent the time they take from you. It will worsen once we ascend to the throne.” “I am sure your mother would wish to continue in some capacity. It would be unfair to shove her aside. She will need something to do to ease her grief.” “If she chooses to remain after my father passes on.” “Where would she go? Surely she could not think herself happy living in Tat-na’s house.” Al-Mon dropped his arm, and for the first time Raina saw the pain of loss in his eyes. She wanted to hug him close and chase the hurt away, to tell him all would be well. He laced his fingers through hers and caressed her knuckles. “Raina, love, I keep forgetting you are foreign to our culture … Once my father passes on, my mother … well, there have been women who were so grief-stricken they chose to join their husbands in death.” “You mean …” Unbidden, tears flooded her vision, choking off anything else she might have said. Ta-li’s words to Ka-tan now held different meaning. “I cannot live without you.” And his reply, “You must.” She wanted to end her life with his, and he was asking her not to. The thought that Ta-li would consider such an act frightened Raina in a way she didn’t expect. She tried to tell herself it was because she didn’t wish to leave Al-Mon with no one when the time came to go, but the fact was she didn’t want to face the reality of losing someone close. It was odd in a way. In normal circumstances she wouldn’t have thought she and Ta-li had much of a relationship beyond that of mutual tolerance. Still, the older woman’s guidance and tutelage over the course of Raina’s stay had struck a cord deep in her heart, as had the king with his impassioned speech of devotion to Raina. There was no way she could avoid the grief that would come with death, and while the passing of one seemed inevitable, the loss of the other was nonsensical. Raina sucked in a breath to steel herself. “I will speak with Ta-li and see she does not take her own life.” “You cannot interfere,” Al-Mon quietly replied. “The hell I can’t. If I am going to be queen, I can do any damn thing I want.” Her sassy attitude lifted his gloom, and he settled back down with a smirk upon his lips. “No doubt you can. With all the liabilities we face, we ought to be allowed a few advantages. But I

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass caution you—when you square off against my mother, you will find a formidable opponent. You cannot win.” “If she has enough fight in her to oppose me, she has spirit to keep on beyond her grief.” He rolled his back to her and stifled a yawn. “Get some sleep, Raina. You will be fighting your battle soon enough. There is no need to prepare now.” She curled her body around his, but sleep wouldn’t come. The king’s life could come to an end at any time and with it Ta-li’s. If she were that determined to go with him to the other world, nothing would prevent her from doing so immediately upon his passing. Al-Mon was wrong. Her battle began the moment he told her of Ta-li’s intent. Careful not to disturb the little rest Al-Mon would get that night, Raina slipped from their tent and into Ta-li and Ka-tan’s. Ta-li stood watch by the light of a candle. Relief oozed into Raina’s taut muscles. “He rests.” “And you should, too,” Raina replied. “I am afraid I will not be there when the time comes.” “Do not worry. Rest. I promise I will wake you at the first sign of … anything.” The vow was good enough. Ta-li sagged with the weight of her exhaustion and stretched out upon her pallet. Within minutes she slept. Alone and on watch, Raina retrieved her writing materials. Days had gone by without her setting down the events of her day. Now, with time to spare, she could indulge her need to ease her troubled mind behind the written word and still keep watch over her charges. By the time she brushed the last stroke, the candle was no longer necessary. She looked up from her writing to find the couple just waking. By rote they reached for each other then opened their eyes. It was a private moment she had no wish to intrude upon. “Call if you need something. We should be on our way soon. Tonight you shall sleep in your own beds.” They acknowledged her with a smile and she ducked out and into her own tent. “How is he?” Al-Mon asked as he stretched to life. “Awake,” she absentmindedly replied. “I cannot be certain but I believe he has some of his color back.” She smiled. “He just might make it after all.” “I hope you are right … Come, we must be on our way.” After a peek at his father, Al-Mon had to agree that there was some improvement. His parents lay side by side, fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed together in quiet conversation. He left them uninterrupted and roused the camp to action—most had already risen. The prospect of home moved feet at a pace that needed no encouragement and lightened heavy hearts. In anticipation of their arrival, his father asked for help sitting, then ordered the sides of the palanquin rolled up. Raina’s care was gently refused with a fatherly smile, a smile that grew with each step that brought them closer to home. Al-Mon tried to believe he would make it, but his heart was not convinced no matter how many positive signs indicated otherwise. An occasional glance toward the frown permanently furrowed between Raina’s eyebrows confirmed his feeling, and built on his fears. He did not want this to happen … and there was nothing he could do to control it. The white top of the temple peered over the treetops, offering a beacon of hope. It was then Al-Mon realized that it was not salvation that lay ahead, but the end of an era. He wanted to halt the procession, as if by doing so he could stop time and the events to come. A look at the joy on his father’s face drove them forward. He would not take this final pleasure from him.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass The line of citizens waiting to greet their return stood ahead, decorating both sides of the road in solemn silence. At first sight that their king was still alive, a ripple shuddered down the rows, exploding into a raucous cheer by the time the procession reached them. Lord Jaguar Sun lifted a hand in a lazy wave with his broad smile. Raina slipped her hand through Al-Mon’s. “I am afraid.” He squeezed tight. “It is always difficult to watch a loved one’s last moments.” She rubbed her cheek against his biceps as they walked. “I did not want to believe it would happen, but …” He looked down and cupped her cheek. “Shh … there will be time for tears later. We must be as brave as he is.” He repeated those words over and over to himself. Into the city and before their loyal, cheering subjects. When Caan-tu joined their ranks. Up the stairs of the dwelling-house, while the bearers struggled to keep the palanquin level. At the entryway where his father paused to lift his hand once more. Down the hall dark as death itself after the bright day. And finally to his parents’ rooms where Al-Mon refused all assistance and helped his father to the comfort his bed offered. “Ah, a most blessed moment I have never realized,” Lord Jaguar Sun said, and reached for his wife’s hand. “Except for your smile and your touch, my love.” She hid her tears by pressing her cheek against his knuckles. “Leave us. All of you, please, leave us.” “But, Mother—” “Go, now!” The servants skittered off. Caan-tu bowed and took his leave. When Al-Mon and Raina made no move to depart, Ta-li flashed them an accusing glare. Al-Mon’s reply was laden with sadness. “You would deny me my right to see my father on?” With a pride that was uniquely hers, she lifted her chin. “He is going nowhere.” The king spoke. “Ah, but I am, my love. And it is a lovely place. I have no fear now that I see.” With a sigh he closed his eyes and was gone. His mother’s scream of denial was one Al-Mon knew would be permanently etched in his heart and mind. She lay prostrate across her husband’s body while sob after sob overcame her. Al-Mon let her grieve and gave in to his own pain while he and Raina held each other. He could not say how much time had passed before he was recovered enough to do what had to be done. The moment came at the time he and Raina finally released one another. One look at her tearstained face was almost enough to pull him back under, and it took all the willpower he possessed to put himself in order. “You care for Mother. I will tell Caan-tu.” Ta-li jerked around. The agony branded on her features tripled anything he or Raina could have shown. “No! You will not tell Caan-tu! Go! Leave us! They can come in the morning when our bodies have grown cold together!” Al-Mon didn’t know what to say. It was her right. He had known from the outset what she would do. Raina dusted her fingers across his back. “Go. Do what you must. I will handle things here.” Before he could accede to her wishes, Raina sat beside the older woman and wrapped her in a smothering embrace. Ta-li fought the affection before collapsing in another storm of grief. AlMon hurried away before he was drawn in.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Raina tried not to think past this instant. To do so was to see a picture of the grief she would know when the vernal equinox came. She didn’t blame Ta-li for wanting to follow her love, but knew death wasn’t the answer. “You cannot leave us, Ta-li.” Her body jerked in a convulsion of sobs. “You do not know. I cannot go on. What shall I do without him?” “But we need you. We need you here. We are young. Your experience is necessary to guide us.” “How can you be so selfish?” she screamed, yet held on to the comfort Raina gave. “It pains me to be so, but we cannot bear the thought of losing you, too. Would you not be selfish to cause us double grief?” She sagged in defeat, but Raina couldn’t count the battle won. “What if something happened to me? Al-Mon would have no one. He would need you to guide him. To help him rule.” She pulled back and wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “He would have your heirs.” “But what if they were not born? He would have no one. And if they were born, think of the joy you would be missing at their birth and their growing. Remember the joy when Tat-na’s daughter arrived?” She watched as Ta-li’s thoughts drifted along those lines. She hated to give the woman false hope, but there was nothing else to grasp if she were to keep Ta-li here with Al-Mon. His future was paramount. He needed something, someone to keep him alive when the time came for her to go. She had her family; he needed his. Ta-li gave a slow nod and closed her eyes. “Yes. It is what Ka-tan would have wished.” “I have your word?” She glanced at her husband, pushed back a fresh sob, closed her eyes and nodded again. Raina held her until she cried herself to exhaustion then tucked her into a bed in Al-Mon’s quarters, far away from any preparations Caan-tu would need to make. “All is well?” Al-Mon whispered when she joined him in the outer room. She stepped into the circle of his arms. “Yes. She has given her word.” Relief eased the tension in his muscles. Raina felt exhaustion creep in and knew he had to feel it, too. “Come, love. We need the rest.” “I fear I have no energy to spoil you with toting tonight.” “Then I will carry you.” She pulled his arm over her shoulder and tucked hers around his waist. “As best I can, anyway.” “I love you, Raina.” It was an endearment she wished she hadn’t heard. Not now, not when the pain of parting was so fresh. “I love you, too. Always remember that. Never forget it.” How can I when you will always be there to remind me? Al-Mon thought to himself. Reality proved “always” did not exist. Someday one of them would be left behind to pick up the shattered remnants of a soul torn asunder. “I will remember…as long as you promise to do the same.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and let her lead him on to their bedroom. They made love that night with an urgency borne from the day’s events, and afterward lay in each other’s arms too exhausted for sleep, too burdened with emotion to speak. By the time weariness caved them in, morning had arrived and with it the first of the servants, but not their usual servants.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “What are you doing here?” Al-Mon demanded to know of a man and woman Raina didn’t recognize. The couple bowed deep at the waist and remained at right angle. “We are here to serve you,” the man replied. “Tor-sa is my servant,” retorted Al-Mon. “Yes, my lord, but we serve the king and queen. We have always served the king and queen.” Change had begun. Though he maintained an outward appearance of calm, Raina sensed AlMon’s struggle for a diplomatic approach to the situation. “I understand well and appreciate your concern,” he finally replied. “But I will not have my mother stripped of her servants and her way of life. You will continue to serve her. I will retain the servants I have always had.” “Yes, my lord.” They bobbed and rose slowly. Raina thought she detected a note of relief as they backed out the door. Tor-sa and Raina’s servant, Mai-ru, rushed in to replace them, then jerked to a stop, suddenly remembering their new station in life. Al-Mon stopped them in mid-bow. “Enough of that. We have enough to worry about without the two of you tiptoeing around us. You will behave as always.” “But, my lord, you are the king. Respect must…” Al-Mon held up a hand, effectively silencing Tor-sa. “You have never been disrespectful. Things will remain as they have been…A light breakfast will do for this morning.” “Then will you wish to see the mourners, my lord?” When Al-Mon didn’t answer, Raina took that responsibility from him. “A few at a time, Torsa. We do not wish to have Lady Evening Star’s rest disturbed. If the Osbornes are here, please bring them in. Anyone else may wait.” On the heels of her words, Mai-ru delivered chocolate, juice, fruit, and porridge along with Cynthia and Roy. The couple’s sympathy was sincere and not overly done, and over breakfast Al-Mon and Raina gave them a full account of the trip and its aftermath. When the last bite was gone, and they could linger no longer over their meal, they turned back to dealing with a city’s grief. Condolence calls were the same, no matter what the century. A constant stream of tearful people, reaching out for comfort. Repetitious words of regret—of how the deceased was loved and would be missed, of how wonderful he was, of how grateful they were to have his son to follow his footsteps. Each person had a story to tell of their private experience with Lord Jaguar Sun, and with each tale, Raina watched Al-Mon sag just a little bit more. His grief was of no consequence. He existed solely for the welfare of the people. Raina was glad for the Osbornes’s presence. They said little, but the quiet support strengthened them when others drained. She was surprised to find Burke among the mourners. His words to Al-Mon were a brief, “Sorry,” before he moved aside to allow the next in line access. “You amaze me,” she said softly as he passed. He paused. “How is that?” “I didn’t think you cared about anyone but yourself.” “I might not like the guy … in fact, I pretty much hate him, but I still remember when I lost my dad. I was just a kid, but it hurt all the same. It still hurts. Seeing this brings it all back. How could I possibly turn my back on this grief around me? This place, these people ... feel like

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass home.” He ruined the insight to his heart with a cocky smirk. “Just goes to show even I can have a heart. See ya.” Raina shook her head as he sauntered away. He would never change. “What was that all about?” Cynthia whispered. “Oh … he’s just being himself.” Cynthia’s gaze followed his exit. “I have to say I’m surprised. This last month with you gone, he’s been a different person. Very pleasant … likable, in fact. Very involved with the people and his surroundings. Ka-la is never far from his side. To look at them...,” she shrugged. “I really think he loves her.” Raina shrugged a shoulder, dismissing the subject from her mind. “See if you can’t do something to end this line. Al-Mon needs a break and we still have the burial to get through. Tali should awaken soon and I don’t want her burdened with these people.” Tossing on her mother hen persona, Cynthia cleared the room. Their first duty of office was ended—for now. *** This was to be Ta-li’s night—her last official act as queen. After the internment, Al-Mon would be officially vested as king, and Raina his queen. Dressed in an ankle-length caftan of white edged in gold, Ta-li was the perfect model of composure—clear-eyed, stone-faced, and standing erect. She took her place in the funeral procession behind Caan-tu. With a slow shake of her head, refused the arm Al-Mon offered for support. Raina doubted she could have been as stalwart in such a situation, especially when the wrapped remains of her husband lay a few feet before her. They matched their gait to that of the men bearing Lord Jaguar Sun to his final resting place. Their destination was a mausoleum previously erected under his direction on the far side of the temple. Servants, bearing all the king would need in his life beyond, took up the rear of the royal procession, followed by friends and lesser nobles. Those of the city who wished to observe the internment would fall in place last. Despite the distance, it seemed no time had passed until they reached the pyramidal crypt. Raina took her place beside Al-Mon. Ta-li stepped to the forefront. While the sun dipped closer to the horizon, Al-Mon’s father was laid to rest. The servants hurried forward with the trays of fruit, adornments, tools, and jars of chocolate, fermented juice and water. The workmen were next—packing stone upon stone over the entrance with such tight precision a mouse couldn’t breach it. Then, with the last rays of sunlight, the final rock was seated. Ta-li lifted face and arms heavenward. Raina held her breath, afraid the woman was going to break down. Instead, a melodic note left her lips, hesitant at first, followed by a strong, confident lilt. The chant reminded Raina of Native American demonstrations she had seen, but in these settings the haunting tune had much more impact. She sang for her loss, her love, the pain in her heart, the loneliness to follow, and by the time the last word reverberated through the buildings, Raina’s cheeks were awash with tears. Al-Mon replaced his mother, and the assemblage turned as one to the temple. He gave no indication of his reluctance to assume the throne. He was regal and stoic as one would expect from a ruler. Pride swelled Raina’s chest as she took her place behind him. Although he didn’t wish to be king, he would bring continued honor to the title.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Minutes later, atop the temple, Caan-tu draped the jaguar cape over Al-Mon’s shoulders and seated the king’s headdress firmly in place, then walked into the interior. Raina and Al-Mon followed. It was to be a repeat of the bloodletting ceremony Raina and her friends had come upon when they first arrived. The difference now was that she was an active participant. She knelt across from Al-Mon on the grass mat and tried not to let her nervousness show. After all, it wasn’t she who was to let blood. Still, the effort to keep from trembling when she received the bowl of fig bark strips from Caan-tu was monumental. Without a word and without breaking eye contact with Al-Mon, she placed the bowl between his parted knees. She hadn’t asked what part of his anatomy had to be pierced. Considering the holiness of the ceremony, he had no alternative but to draw blood from his penis. It was painful enough to pierce a foreskin. Since Al-Mon lacked that protection, the penis itself would have to be attacked. The only indication he had completed the task was in the slight twitch at the corner of his lip. After a deep breath exhaled, he took the bowl from Raina and stood. The contents were splattered with his blood. Blood covered his hands, stained the jaguar loincloth and smeared his legs and thighs. Distress screwed her face into a mask of worry. Al-Mon longed to reassure her all was well, but he could not. The truth was, the slice at the tip of his penis throbbed so painfully he was afraid he might pass out. All he wanted was to be finished with the ritual and return to his rooms. He prayed his shaky legs would keep him upright until he could complete the requirements of his new office. “It is nearly done.” The words were meant to bolster Raina, but they also served to spur him on. With renewed strength, he strode to the exit and onto the altar where he placed his offering to the gods. Yanking a nearby torch from its bracket, he set fire to the blood-soaked contents, then passed the torch to a servant. The smoke rose to the darkening sky and with it Al-Mon’s arms. He sang to the gods a chant of praise and thankfulness, of joy at their blessing, and at the end spread his arms wide to encompass the people below him. Cheers bounced up to him. From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother’s silent pride and Raina’s relief that the ritual was nearly over. He concentrated on that vision of her, using it to calm the effects of bloodletting. “People of the City of the Sun!” They quieted, waiting for their king’s next words. “I am both proud and pained at this moment, for how can I truly enjoy the fruits of leadership when my father, my king, was so cruelly taken from us. I vow those responsible will be brought to justice. The Cult of the Red Snake will pay for the death of Lord Jaguar Sun. Return to your homes. Spread the word. I, Lord Night Jaguar, have spoken!” Shouts of joy and determination dispersed them. It was over. With a sigh Al-Mon turned to the women. “The day has been long. It is time for us to retire to our rooms.” Neither argued, and quickly fell in step on either side of him. “Are you well?” Ta-li asked. “Your father was not after his crowning ceremony.” The news soothed feelings of inadequacy and brought out a smile. “I am better with each passing moment, but the privacy of my room is more inviting than I can possibly convey.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass To keep from drawing attention to Al-Mon’s plight, they negotiated the staircases slowly. The Osbornes and Burke waited at the entrance to the house—the Osbornes to offer support. Burke…only the gods knew. “Ready to call it a day?” Roy asked with a sympathetic smile. “Most certainly,” Al-Mon replied. “I can just about bet there won’t be any loving for Queen Raina for awhile,” Burke said with his ever-present smirk. Before Al-Mon could make an appropriate response, Raina jumped forward. “You bastard!” She swung a tight fist at his chin. Burke jerked back, throwing her equilibrium off. She teetered at the head of the stairs, arms flailing for balance. Five hands snatched to pull her back from danger and caught air. With a single squeal of fright, she plummeted downward, her body bouncing off the steep stone steps. They raced after her while the guards below ran up. Halfway down a guard halted her descent, and rolled her limp body into his arms. “Give her to me!” Al-Mon demanded, his voice shrill with panic. “No,” Roy said. “Too much moving might hurt her more. Have him take her to your rooms.” Al-Mon jerked his head in that direction. “Go.” Cynthia and Ta-li ran behind. Al-Mon snapped his fingers around Burke’s throat and squeezed until he gasped for air, then shoved him back. “You will pay for this…I have spoken.” Roy tugged on his arm. “Not now, my friend. Raina needs you.” Al-Mon allowed himself to be led away. At the top of the stairs he looked down. Burke sat where he had been left, caressing his neck while he rested his head on the pedestal of his other arm. His shoulders shook, and Al-Mon realized the man was crying. Ka-la ran to his side and draped her arms around him to cloak him in comfort. Cry for your life. Then Al-Mon silently vowed that this man, his enemy, would die.

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Chapter 15

The pulsing ache thrumming in her head was Raina’s first awareness. It tripled any hangover she had ever had. She drifted up from a well of darkness, confused at the pain and wondering how it could hurt when she had done nothing to cause it. Then the clouds in her mind faded and she recalled the fall. Idiot, you just had to take a swing at him, didn’t you? Just like any lady would. The shame made her want to pull the covers over her head and go back to sleep. But when she tried to move her arms, she discovered she couldn’t. With a grumbled complaint, she opened her eyes to see why. “Well, hello there.” Cynthia greeted her with a cheerfulness that made Raina blanch. “Why can’t I move?” Her answer came out of a scratchy throat. “Get me some water, would you?” “In a minute…You can’t move because Roy and I immobilized you until we could determine if anything was broken. Want to give it a try?” Raina tried to nod, but the bolts of cloth holding her head in place prevented it. One by one, Cynthia untied the splits holding Raina’s arms and legs in place. Raina flexed each, wary of injury. “Well?” Cynthia asked, freeing her head. “Feels okay. Sore.” “I don’t doubt that. You’ve got more bruises than I can count, but at least you’re alive. I’ve got to tell you, we’ve been worried out of our minds the last three days.” Raina sat up and rubbed the ache from her neck. “Where is Al-Mon?” “I’ve never seen a man as frantic with worry as he has been and, believe it or not, Burke, too.” She gulped down the water Cynthia gave her and held out her cup for more. “Where?” “After he and Roy argued over using leeches on your bruises, Al-Mon went to the temple to pray. He’s been there ever since, letting blood. Roy’s been checking on him off and on. I don’t think he could stand to lose much more. Burke, on the other hand, has passed his time in an alcoholic stupor. He broke into Caan-tu’s rooms and took all of the liquor the old man had stashed. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was trying to drink himself to death.” “Better let them know I’m all right.” She sunk back into the nest of linen she made into a pillow. “Are you?” “I’d kill for an aspirin right now, but, yes, I’m all right.” “Good…because I have a few choice words to say to you.” With hands braced on hips, her demeanor changed from nursemaid to nag. “Have you lost your mind? I found your little diary.” Raina groaned and ducked under her cover. “Al-Mon’s baby? Raina, where is your head? And where was it when you decided to start your little travel journal? What did he say about that? How did you explain it? What if you’d lost it and it was dug up eons from now?” “I take it you destroyed it?” she mumbled. “It made a lovely fire.” - 132 -

Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Oh, Cynthia, just go away and quit lecturing. You just don’t understand.” “That’s just it, Raina. I do understand—more than you realize. But you can’t take risks like that. And you certainly have no business thinking of trying to get pregnant. I’ll have word passed that you’re conscious.” Raina waited until she was sure Cynthia was gone before she peeked from the covers. She should have guarded her writings with more care. Now her private confidant was gone and the peace of mind she received with it. Knowing Cynthia was right did nothing to assuage her feelings. Although it did ease her resentment that Cynthia wasn’t more sensitive and sympathetic about the whole thing. How could she expect Cynthia to understand? She and Roy were in a conventional relationship—no holds barred. They could spend an eternity together, languishing in their love. Raina was willing to bet money that if either of them knew the other was going to be taken away, they’d cling to the hope of a tiny replica to remind them of their lost love. She had every right to want to take a part of Al-Mon with her. When he stumbled into the room a few minutes later, her determination was doubled. He was pale and drawn from having let blood, and it was a wonder he still stood. Sheer will kept him upright. That he would take such risks for her only confirmed her right—her need—to bear his child. Raina pushed herself to a sitting position and reached for him. “Oh, love, you look as if you were the one who fell down the stairs instead of me.” “I bless the gods you survived.” He crawled into her embrace, fearful of causing her harm, longing to crush her tightly to confirm she was really alive. Joy and relief conspired to dissolve him to tears. Weakened from the strain of the past three days, Al-Mon longed to let the emotions have their way. Cynthia’s hovering presence, though kept at a considerate distance, kept him stalwart. Later, when it was just the two of them in their own private world—that would be when he would pour his heart out to her. “You look worse than I do,” Raina said. Al-Mon pulled back to look at her and brushed shaking fingers across her cheek. “I do not know if that is possible.” “Well, you both look pretty bad,” Roy said as he walked in. “I cannot be sure who I am more surprised to see alive. Raina, this man of yours has been out of his mind with worry. We all have been…all of us. In fact, there is someone in the hallway who needs to see that you are all right. With Al-Mon’s permission, of course.” It was Burke. Al-Mon knew that without asking. There was no one else Roy would have had to speak for. He was inclined to deny the request. Burke did not give him the chance. He staggered in under the weight of whatever substance had inebriated him. “Aw, Roy, you know the bastard would never let me near her. Why the hell did you bother to ask?” At the sight of Raina, his face screwed into a mask of agony. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I shoulda let ya slug me.” Al-Mon watched him weave an uneven path toward her, and took a stand between him and his goal. “Get out. You will not see Raina today. You will never see Raina again.” “Why you son of a…” Burke drew back a fist and lost his equilibrium. “Since you are determined to seal your fate, let me help you.” Al-Mon bent down to haul him to his feet and felt his vision blacken. With a groan he sank back to his haunches, a near mirror image of the man before him.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Will the two of you stop it?” Roy helped each to his feet. Raina’s opinion of the display was a bit more sarcastic. “Neither of you is in any condition to fight. If you really feel the need to settle your differences, save it for a time when you can really beat each other senseless.” Al-Mon shrugged Roy’s arm aside and sat on the edge of Raina’s bed. “You can be sure this will be settled. Fairly and permanently…by his death.” Raina sucked in a breath to argue, and he whipped his head around her way. “I said fairly, did I not? I knew you would oppose the action. Therefore, a ball game will determine his fate. If he wins, he wins his life. If he loses, his life is mine to do with as I please. And, believe me, it pleases me to end it. His actions against you are constant and growing more dangerous each time there is a confrontation. I cannot allow that to happen again.” She clutched his arm and shook it. “But, Al-Mon, it was an accident. This was all my fault. If I had not tried to hit him…” Al-Mon peeled her fingers away and stood. “You might be my queen, but there will be no discussion. I am king. I have spoken!” To punctuate his decree, he marched from the room, whipping the door shut behind him. Burke laughed. “Oooo, I’m shaking now.” He tossed back his head to revel in his foolish mirth, and passed out. Roy nudged him with his foot. “Idiot.” “Add fool.” Cynthia tsked. “So what do we do now?” Raina asked them. “Pray he wins?” Roy suggested. “Is there a chance of that? “A snowball’s chance in hell.” *** Once sobered, Burke had the sense to realize the seriousness of the situation and sought to extricate himself from his predicament. Al-Mon denied him an audience and refused to let anyone speak on his behalf when the Osbornes, Ka-la, and even Caan-tu tried to plead his case. Each request added to Al-Mon’s anger and widened the growing gap between him and Raina. The atmosphere crackled with the animosity created by her defense of Burke. Al-Mon couldn’t understand why she would take sides against him, and Raina could think of nothing, save the truth, to enlighten him. The problem spilled into their lives, encompassing all action and thought. Nights once spent curled in each other’s arms were passed at opposite ends of the bed. No matter how temporary their marriage, the distance hurt. Still Raina refused to give in, hoping Al-Mon would realize he was wrong. When that didn’t happen, she tried to tip the odds in Burke’s favor by finding someone to teach him the game. It was Ta-li who told on her—an innocent comment over dinner brought the news to light. Al-Mon greeted the information in what Raina considered typical male fashion—he hurled his cup against the wall, shattering it into fragments so tiny an archaeologist would have trouble piecing it together. “Why do you continue to defy me on this, woman!” he thundered. She shoved her face to within inches of his. “I thought it was to be a fair fight! Yet how can it be when he knows nothing of the game? Do you not want a challenging match? Do you simply

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass want to go out there and win in a few minutes? I thought sweating for your victory would make you savor it all the more. If it is a slaughter you want, why not just slit his throat now?” One of his malevolent smiles spread across his face. “Do not tempt me or I might just do so and end my misery now.” “And if you do, it will be the last you see of me!” “I am tired of this constant war. I am fit. I do not care if he is or not. The game will commence tomorrow!” He shoved past her to walk away and Raina spun around. “I suppose you have spoken,” she sassed. Mimicking her twentieth-century speech, he shouted over his shoulder, “You’re damn right I have.” That night they slept in separate rooms. In the morning they took their meal from opposite sides of the table, then departed for the ball court still under the cloak of silence. Al-Mon was dressed in what Raina liked to think of as his sumo wrestler outfit. His raven hair was swooped to the crown and secured with a leather cord. The white loincloth was his only clothing. They paused at the exit to survey the city. A crowd had already begun to gather at the edges of the ball court and dotted the staircases of the surrounding buildings. The court itself wasn’t unlike a narrow tennis court, the exception was the sloped sides that began at the edges of the court and led up to small buildings on either side. Friends and relatives were given the honor of a viewing seat on the terrace there. “It appears as though we are the last to arrive,” Al-Mon said without looking at her. Raina could see the others were waiting, but said nothing in reply. Al-Mon tucked his hands behind his back. “And tell me, wife, who do you champion this morning?” “I champion an end to this foolishness.” “I promise you there will be an end tonight.” “I cannot watch this…this idiotic display of manhood.” “You can and you will…even if I have to drag you by the hair, screaming, and tie you in place.” He cocked his head toward her. “Which shall it be?” Without a word, she hiked her chin and walked to the bamboo chair placed for her honor and comfort, beside Ta-li. No one greeted her arrival—everyone was too busy watching Al-Mon take his place on the court. Burke waited, a mirror image with shaggy hair. He scanned the group above until he found the one he sought. Ka-la lifted her hand in response, then tossed a kiss to him on the tips of her fingers. He pretended to catch it on his index finger and pressed it to his lips. It was touching, endearing and totally unlike the Burke Raina was used to. Looked like Cynthia was right—Burke truly did love Ka-la. “Amazing what love can do to people, isn’t it?” Cynthia whispered in her ear, confirming her thoughts. “A miracle,” Raina mumbled back as one of the lesser priests called for the game to begin. They would play ten ten-point games, the winner being the one who won the most matches. If there was a tie, there would be no tie breaker. No winner would be declared. They would be called equal and Burke would be free. The game itself was like a cross between volleyball and soccer. Players weren’t allowed to touch the rubber ball with their hands. It was bounced back and forth off of hips, knees, feet and

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass had to be kept airborne. A shot missed within the court boundaries was a point for the man propelling the ball. A ball volleyed outside the boundaries was a point against that man. Play began. As the challenged man, Burke was granted first serve. It was high, clean. AlMon returned it with ease. Raina couldn’t watch. She focused on Roy’s stone carving of Al-Mon. Halfway to completion, it had already taken on those remarkable characteristics that would make it such a superb find twelve centuries later. It was unfortunate that the kindness hinted at in those eyes didn’t currently exist in the live model. The first game went to Al-Mon by a point. Burke had given a good showing of himself, whether from skill or the will to survive, Raina didn’t know or care as long as he won. The second game was his. The third, Al-Mon’s. Raina gripped the arms of the chair until the bamboo pressed indentations into her palms. The tension was too much. The men flip-flopped games won, and by the sixth game she realized it had nothing to do with Burke’s prowess on the court—Al-Mon was letting him win every other game. There was nothing kind about it. He was toying with him as a cat would a mouse. Setting him up for the kill. The massacre occurred in the last set with Al-Mon one game ahead of Burke. A win for Burke would tie them. He never got the chance. Time after time the ball whizzed his way, and each time he misjudged direction. It was a humiliating defeat, for when Al-Mon scored the final, winning point, Burke knew his previous four wins had been give-aways. The brief silence was broken by the crowd’s victory cheer for their king, and a wailing cry from Ka-la. She ran down the slope and hurled herself into Burke’s arms. He cast his friends a hopeless look then buried his face in Ka-la’s neck. Guards hovered nearby to take him away. Raina looked from the couple to Al-Mon. His cold gaze dared her to defy him, but she wouldn’t be intimidated. With a haughty sneer, he turned his back to her and walked away. Ta-li placed her hand on Raina’s arm as she moved to leave. “When you argue with him, do so privately. I cannot say it will make him more reasonable, but it will make him less…kingly.” Raina gave a quick nod and hurried after him, with Cynthia and Roy close behind. She didn’t question their presence. She knew what they would have to do. It was a risky venture, and by nightfall they might all find themselves on the sacrificial altar, but it was the only alternative left to save Burke. Al-Mon had to know the truth. They found him at his pool, swimming off the sweat of the games. He acknowledged them with no more than a lift of his brow. Before Raina could utter a word, Ka-la rushed in and skidded to her knees at the edge of the pool. Thus prone in humility, she clutched her hands beneath her chin. “My lord, please, I beg you,” she sobbed. Al-Mon hauled himself to the edge farthest from her. “I have no patience for hysterics, Kala.” “Please, please spare him!” “I can think of no reason why I should. The man is brutal.” “No, not always. He can be kind, humorous, thoughtful...loving.” “He hides those qualities well.” “Please, my lord, please!” she wailed. “I can think of no good reason why I should.” She chewed on her lower lip, while tears flowed in a steady stream down to her fingers. “I am carrying his child,” she squeaked out.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Holy shit…” Roy bit off the rest of his response and worried his fingers through his hair to keep from saying anything more. Al-Mon’s answer was less than kind. “I am afraid that is your problem. You knew the consequences of sharing yourself with a man to whom you were not wed, now you shall suffer them. Remove yourself before you find yourself facing a fate similar to that of your lover.” “I would rather die by his side than to face a life without him!” she shouted through her tears. “How could I have ever imagined life with you. You speak of his cruelty. Yours is threefold. King or not, I spit on you and yours.” She did so, then scurried from the room. “I shall have you caned for that!” he shouted. His regal snobbishness snapped the tether Raina had on her temper. “Stop it! What is the matter with you? For someone who had no wish to be king, you have taken to the task with an arrogance that would make your father roll in his grave.” In an attempt to ignore her reprimand, Al-Mon swiped the water from his body. “I suppose you have come to plead for his worthless life also.” “Yes.” “The answer is no. I have spoken.” “And so have I,” she quietly replied. “You will listen to me. You must listen to me. As your wife … as your queen … I demand it. I deserve that much respect from you.” He looked her up and down, then inclined a nod her way. “Very well, but it will not change my mind.” It will have to. Raina took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Tears she swore she wouldn’t shed pooled in her eyes. She refused to blink them away. The words, so carefully rehearsed in her mind, wouldn’t come. She stood on the opposite side of the pool from him and wrung her hands. It took a nudge from Cynthia, and a nod from Roy to get her started. “I love you, Al-Mon. Please do not doubt that. Not now. Not ever. What I have to tell you is not easy. It will be harder for you to understand. Please try to.” Al-Mon felt a catch in his heart. The look on her face, the pain in her eyes, something was wrong—something more than his desire to bring Burke to justice. He wanted to run to her and beg her to keep silent. Instead, he clutched the edges of the linen around his neck while he waited for her to continue. “When we told you we come from a different world than you, we meant it. We did not come from the gods. We came from a different place, a different time. We came from the future. Twelve centuries in the future. Burke and I are archaeologists. Cynthia is an anthropologist. Roy is an artist working to capture all we discover. Now I know those terms are hard for you to understand and I will explain them later. For now it doesn’t matter. “I discovered a corridor which led to the past. To here. I insisted we explore it, and we arrived here at the ceremony. It can only be traveled during the equinox. That is why we could not go back. We were stuck here until the next equinox. We all have to go back—all of us. If we don’t, the rest of us will be in serious trouble. That’s why Burke must live.” It was an impossible tale, a fantasy born of desire to help a friend. He gave her credit for the seriousness in which it was delivered, but the truth still remained. “I am impressed by the lengths you would go to help him, but I never imagined you would lie to me.” “I never have. I never will. It’s the truth. Think of our speech, our dress, the objects we carried.” Al-Mon snorted with suppressed laughter. “If this is true, why have others not come to us?”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “Because Caan-tu has closely guarded the secret,” Roy replied. This new puzzle drew his eyebrows together. “Caan-tu knows of this?” “Yes.” He stretched to his feet, ready to call their bluff. “Then you will not mind if we ask him.” “Not at all.” Their acquiescence unsettled him. Surely it was a test to make him give in. They would not carry it through. Minutes later, standing in the middle of Caan-tu’s rooms with the old priest staring at them, he felt his panic return. “Caan-tu, tell Al-Mon the truth,” Roy asked. “Tell him everything about us. Help us prove to him. You know Burke has to go back with us. You know that.” The old man sighed and motioned to his chairs. “Sit. I would offer you some of that Napoleon brandy, but I seem to have run out.” With slow precision Caan-tu repeated all Raina had told him, then added to it with embellished tales of his travels through the years. As verification, he pulled out his treasures from their hiding place: strange clothing, coins, objects that boggled Al-Mon’s mind. And in the midst of the drone of his words, one painful thought pounded through Al-Mon—he was going to lose Raina. “So now you see why Burke must not die,” Caan-tu said as he finished. “Yes,” Al-Mon mumbled. “Now I see.” In a daze of confusion and anguish, he struggled to his feet and stumbled from the room. “That is why I was against this marriage to Raina,” Caan-tu called to his back. Al-Mon kept going. “I should go to him,” Raina said. When she tried to follow, Caan-tu held her back. “It’s over. The break comes now. Let him find his own way.” She yanked free. “It’ll come soon enough. We deserve what little time we have left.” It took her awhile to find him. He wasn’t in his normal brooding spots. Instead she found him sitting on their bed, fingering a red feather. At her approach he looked up. Unshed tears glistened in his eyes. “You must leave me?” He blinked to clear his vision and stiffened his jaw against the emotion. “I thought you loved me. That there was a special bond between us. And all this time it was merely an act of survival on your part.” Raina fell to the floor and rested her head upon his knees. Where he shut out his tears, she let hers fall freely. “No, Al-Mon. I do love you—with all my heart and soul. I have never loved and will never love another man as much as I love you. There is a bond. I felt it the moment I saw your sculpture—the one Roy is working on now. It called to me. Then I met you and I knew … I knew. I fought it knowing that I would have to leave, knowing it would kill me to do so. But I lost. I lost because I had to know your love. I had to know what it was like to have one great love.” He caught her elbows and pulled her upright. Her sobs were contagious, her words arrows that pierced the armor he had erected around his feelings. The tears he fought to hide joined hers. Love, in all its agony. “Then how can you go?” She cupped her hands around his face. “I have to. If I don’t return, Burke and the Osbornes will be in serious trouble. No one would believe they knew nothing of my disappearance. Especially my family. My parents, my sister, my little brother. My not returning would devastate them.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “The family you refused to speak of to me.” Guilt overwhelmed her. She pressed her forehead to his. “You understand now, don’t you? I wanted to, but how could I?” He wrapped his arms around her and brushed a wispy kiss to her brow. “I cannot bear this, Raina. I simply cannot.” “It would be so much easier if I could take a part of you with me. If I could bear your child.” “Not for me, Raina. It is hard enough to lose you. I will not lose my child, too. There will be no children. Even if I have to sleep apart from you for the remainder of your stay. I will not have it.” He set her on her feet so fast she nearly lost her balance, then stormed out the door. Staying any longer would threaten the very edict he had just laid out. He had to think, had to get control of his emotions before a servant saw his devastation. In his need, there was only one person to whom he could turn. At first glimpse of her son, Ta-li chased her servants away. Al-Mon fell into her open arms as if he were a small boy again. She cradled his head while he poured out his despair, telling her everything. He doubted she could understand such a fanciful story, and by the time he finished and calmed once more, he regretted his indiscretion. “Forgive me, Mother. I do not know what came over me,” he said as he awkwardly pulled from her embrace. She would not let the matter be so easily dismissed. “Caan-tu says all of this is true?” He nodded. “You would not believe the things he has in his rooms—strange treasures from his travels to the future.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I have never known a pain this great.” “And what will you do about it?” “What can I do? What would you do?” She leaned back. A dreamlike smile lifted her lips. “Nothing would keep me from the one I love. Nothing.” “How unfortunate Raina does not feel that way.” His sarcasm garnered no sympathy. Instead, Ta-li came back with a bit of her own. “How unfortunate that you do not. From what you have told me, Raina’s motives for returning are purely unselfish. She seeks to protect her friends and save her family pain. It is a sacrifice she must make for their welfare, not her own.” “Are you saying I should go with her?” “I said that nothing would keep me from the one I love. You must decide what is best for you.” What was best for him. The phrase stuck in his mind as he made his way to the tiny cell where Burke was sequestered. The answer was simple, yet impossible to seriously consider. How could he make a change like that? He knew nothing of her world. The wonders Caan-tu had displayed boggled the wildest of imaginations, even their written word was alien. How could he manage? His love for Raina was strong, but strong enough to overcome this obstacle? Al-Mon motioned the guards away. “There will be no need of you. I have decided to spare him. He fought a noble battle on the ball court.” Inside, he caught a glimpse of Burke and Ka-la, in an embrace as tearful as his and Raina’s had been. They looked up when he entered but did not move. “You will not be sacrificed. You will be spared.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Ka-la leaped up and threw herself around Al-Mon. “Thank you, my lord. May the gods bless you.” In a whisper she added, “Please do not speak of the child. I want his love freely.” Al-Mon gently pushed her back. “Go on. I will accompany him back to his rooms. I want a few words with him.” He waited until he was certain she had gone, then offered Burke a hand up. It was hesitantly accepted and the two fell into step down the corridor. “Raina and the Osbornes told me everything. Caan-tu verified it.” Burke nodded. “I told Raina not to go exploring that corridor, but she wouldn’t listen.” “That does not matter. It is in the past … or in the future.” He shrugged and gave a mirthless chuckle over the pun. “What matters now is keeping all of you safe so that you may return.” “So, you’re all right with this?” “No, but there is little I can do … Tell me, how do you feel about leaving Ka-la?” Burke heaved a sigh. “I love her. I hadn’t intended to, but I do.” “And how do you feel about leaving her?” “I don’t like it, but there’s nothing else I can do. Just like you. It’s killing me to have to leave her, but...” He shrugged a shoulder. No, not just like me. And in that instant Al-Mon knew what he had to do, or at least try to do. “You could take her with you.” Burke gave a humorless snort. “That would never work. For one thing, Ka-la would hate it. She would never understand the culture. She would be miserable. For another thing, there would be no way I could explain her presence, not to mention her sloped head. In our world, a person has to have all kinds of documents to prove he is who he says he is.” “Caan-tu has those documents. He manages.” “Those are forged, phony, fake. They might be good for his purposes—a quick trip—but they would never do for a long time. Eventually someone would discover the lie. The consequences…” he shrugged again, “…who can say how bad it would be? I don’t want to put Ka-la through that. I don’t want to have to worry about it.” That made it more difficult for Al-Mon’s fledgling plan. He quietly picked his brain for a solution. “You could stay here.” “Here?” He paused, as if considering it. “No…no. I couldn’t do that.” “Your family?” “I have no family. My father died when I was fifteen. My mother died four years ago.” “Your friends then?” “Don’t have any close ones to speak of.” “Then what pulls you back?” Al-Mon asked. “Why go back if leaving would cause you to never see Ka-la again?” He shrugged again. “Beats me. Home, I guess. It’s where I belong. Besides, there would be problems for Raina, Roy and Cynthia if I didn’t go back with them.” Al-Mon cleared his throat. He wanted no misunderstandings about what he was to say. “I could go in your place. No one would know the difference.” Burke tossed back a hearty laugh. “No way. You would never fit in. It would never work. Never. You can’t read. You can’t write. You can’t do simple arithmetic.” “I see your point. It was a foolish notion.” But he still had three months to change Burke’s mind. “Tell me, Burke, I am curious. Tell me all about your world. I want to know everything.”

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Chapter 16 Al-Mon paced the corridors outside his room. There wasn’t a day that passed that he didn’t question the success of his plan. So much depended upon it. His ability to learn about Raina’s culture. Burke’s willingness to let him take his place. He had been secretive about his quest, unobtrusively gleaning all he could from Burke, Raina, the Osbornes, and even Caan-tu. His first act was to get them to speak as they would in their own time. Within a week he had most of the patterns and nuances deciphered and integrated into his own vocabulary. Getting them to tell of their world was also not much of a problem, though Cynthia was more reluctant than the others. But, the one obstacle that proved most difficult was learning to read. Once he’d glimpsed those precious volumes Caan-tu had stashed, nothing was more important than decoding their contents. The pictures added to his driving need, his curiosity. Caan-tu adamantly refused to assist him, as did Cynthia. When Raina was pressed, Cynthia tugged from the other side to keep her from giving in. Finally, seeing his determination and perhaps guessing at its cause, Roy agreed and the sessions began. He was a voracious learner, quickly caught up in the magic, the cadence, the rhythm, the life of the printed words. That he learned so fast was a miracle by itself, like a preordained gift from the gods. Once on the path of knowledge, he only craved more. Writing followed, and in this Raina was his welcome tutor. It brought about his one failure, not his determination to master the skills of lettering, but in his resolve to keep from making love to Raina. Al-Mon should have known that decision was doomed from the start. The attraction was too great, the pleasure too wondrous. Her nearness as she showed him the techniques of printing and script crumbled what little will he possessed. Each time he gave in, his fear of creating a child he might never see spoiled the union for him. Each time he swore he wouldn’t touch her again, and each time he caved in. It was a war no man should have to endure, and finally he was left with no alternative but to come up with inventive ways of satisfying their needs. Physical satisfaction was all it provided—their spirits demanded more. Now on this day of the vernal equinox, it was doubtful those demands would ever be met. Raina had spent the night in tears over her impending departure. Burke was no more approachable about a switch than he had been the three months previous. Still, Al-Mon refused to give up hope—Raina wasn’t the only woman who had spent the night crying. He wasn’t certain to what extent Ka-la had been told about their leaving, but he did know the news devastated her. Her secret remained hers alone, despite the growing swell. Others voiced their suspicions, but Burke seemed blind to the obvious. “I thought you’d be with Raina,” Roy said as he walked up behind him. “Too many tears. I couldn’t take it any more.” “It’s just about time for us to meet with Caan-tu. Did you want to be there?” “Yes … Mother also.” Roy scuffed the floor with his toe. “I haven’t asked before … I guess I was afraid to … but I have to know now. You aren’t going to do anything to Burke, are you? For all his ways, it would be wrong.” Al-Mon sighed. “I know that. Believe me, no matter how badly I want to go with Raina, I wouldn’t do so without his consent.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Roy nodded, but didn’t look up, as if the very nature of his question had embarrassed him. “I’m curious to see how you intend to convince him to stay. Frankly, I don’t think anything will change his mind...no matter how many times he says this place feels like home.” “We’ll see. Saying a final good-bye can do a lot to a man.” “Well, Caan-tu is waiting. Burke should have the women corralled by now. We’ll meet them there.” Al-Mon half-expected Ka-la to be there too, then decided it was just as well. Raina had begun a fresh spurt of tears and adding Ka-la’s would have been too much to bear. He longed to rush forward, enfold her in his arms, and tell her all would be well. He steeled himself against the act. How could he promise all would be well when it might not? By tomorrow this same time it could very well be he who was a wreck of tears. “What do you intend to do about your hair?” The question came from Caan-tu to Burke, whose hair was nearly as long as Al-Mon’s. “I’m going to shove it under my ball cap. Roy will cut it once we get there.” “There is no reason why it cannot be done before you go as your friends have done these past months.” “Ka-la is upset enough. I don’t want do upset her any more. She likes it this way. Let her remember it this way.” “Very well … The equinox has arrived. The corridors are already activated. I trust you remember which one is yours?” The four nodded in unison. “Good. The temple is heavily guarded as it always is during this season, but the men know to let you pass. You arrived shortly before midnight, about a half hour I would say, and that should be the time you would leave. It will put you at the time you left there or close to it.” “What if we run into ourselves?” Cynthia asked. “I have never had that occur. Be dressed and ready to leave at the appointed time. There can be no delays. Until then, I recommend you stay close.” “We understand. Let’s go.” Roy motioned them to the door, Burke held back. “I want to talk to Al-Mon. You go on … Raina, Ka-la is in the garden outside my rooms, about in the same state as you are. Would you please talk to her, try to make her understand what is going on?” She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a sodden piece of linen. “I’ll try. I might make things worse, but I’ll try.” He offered a weak smile. “Thanks.” Once they were out of hearing range, he turned to Al-Mon. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but I need a favor.” “Which is?” Al-Mon raised a brow with his response. “Would you look after Ka-la once I’m gone?” “Why not stay and look after her yourself?” “I can’t. I have to go back. Will you take care of Ka-la?” “Yes, I will see she is protected and cared for.” “Thanks. I appreciate it.” His slumped shoulders as he walked away told his true feelings, but Al-Mon cautioned against hope that Burke was softening in his desire to leave. His mother dusted her hand across his back. “It does not look well for you, my son.” Al-Mon hugged her shoulders, but didn’t look down. “I still have the day and part of the night to get him to change his mind.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “And if he does not, what then? What will you do?” “He will change his mind once he learns Ka-la carries his child. What man would want to be parted from his child?” His mother leaned in to him with a sigh. “More men than you realize.” Caan-tu cleared his throat to remind them of his presence. When they looked his way, he jutted his chin up. “What is all this talk? Surely you are not planning to have him stay?” “I am. And I will go with Raina.” His features contorted in a grimace of rage that turned his face from red to purple. “I will not have it! You are king! You were raised to be king! You are behaving like a love-struck fool!” Al-Mon’s jaw ticked with the effort to remain calm, but his carefully measured words left no doubt of his anger at being addressed in this manner. “While I remain here I am still king and you will not speak to me in that tone. You will not dictate to me. High priest you may be, but you would not be the first to fall from grace.” Caan-tu clenched his fists by his side until his arms shook. After an eternity of seconds passed, he dropped into a bow. “Forgive me, my lord. The loss of your father still weighs heavy upon me.” When he righted himself, all evidence of fury was gone. “Grief affects us all in different ways,” Al-Mon said. “Put the incident from your mind, but have a care it does not occur again.” “Yes, my lord.” After a quick bow, he skittered away. “Odd behavior,” Al-Mon said. His mother smoothed the worry crease from his forehead. “He does not wish to lose you. Do not cast blame his way. He has never loved. You cannot expect him to understand.” “I want him to cause no problems for you once I leave.” “I can handle Caan-tu. Now come sit with me for awhile. I wish to treasure what time we have left.” Al-Mon forced a smile. “That could be an eternity, Mother.” “Not if you leave. And if you do not, it will be a long time before your mind and your heart have healed enough to concentrate on anything else.” He wanted to vow that would never happen, but the words failed to come, and yet he knew it was a prospect he had to come to terms with. Burke had never done anything for anyone but himself. To expect he would reverse that behavior at the last moment was like reaching for the moon. *** Raina blotted her tears for what seemed that the millionth time that day. Never had she cried so much. It was a wonder she had any tears left. What was done was done. There could be no happy ending, no happily ever after. This was life. The mental scolding did little to help her—the mission of talking with Ka-la did. Knowing she could offer no support to the other woman if she was crying her eyes out, Raina stiffened her will, washed her face, and swore she had shed her last tear. Finding Ka-la prostrate on a patch of grass in Burke’s tiny garden was like seeing a reflection of herself and the pain she was causing Al-Mon by living in a flood of emotion. The last moments should have been happy ones, not minutes spent drenched in emotion. She knelt beside the other woman and pulled her upright. “Don’t cry so, Ka-la. I know it does not seem so, but all will be well.”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Ka-la burst into sobs and collapsed into Raina’s arms. “When you arrived, I hated you and wanted you gone. Now I curse that you have to leave. I have no one to turn to in this grief. Only you understand.” “Wrong…Al-Mon will understand. He will help you once we have left.” “And you will help Burke?” When Raina didn’t answer, Ka-la jerked back and clutched Raina’s shoulders. “Please, you must! He is not the cruel man you paint him to be. He is kind, thoughtful, strong, full of humor, loving. You cannot fault him for what he was when you arrived. You cannot fault him for being foolish. Whatever he was then, that man no longer exists. You must believe me and help him when this parting comes.” Like the flick of a switch, Caan-tu’s prophetic words so long ago now made sense. The revelation hurt. Ka-la would be tied to Al-Mon for the rest of their days—out of duty, obligation, compassion for another human being. And she would be just as irrefutably linked to Burke by their shared experience. Raina leaned back onto the grass, resigned to fate and the irony behind it. Cynthia would be amused when she discovered that all her worries about them causing the future to change were for nothing. Once events were set in place there was no changing them. Any actions they might have created were merely a part of the grand scheme of the entire event. “Ladies?” She and Ka-la looked up. Caan-tu’s approach had been so quiet neither had heard him. “I overheard your distress. If you will come with me, there might be a solution which will benefit us all.” “There can be no solution,” Raina told him. “You know that. Events set in motion must stay in motion.” He smiled. “That is not so, my young friend. They can be changed. I know. I have changed them. Come … I will show both of you.” He took a step toward the gate leading to the jungle and beckoned them forward with a wave of his arm. Hope, desperation and curiosity pulled Raina to her feet. A tinge of suspicion held her in place. If such a solution existed, why were they not told of it earlier? Why were they allowed to suffer? Ka-la held no such reservations, and it was her willingness to trust that spurred Raina on. Like childhood conspirators on Christmas morning, Caan-tu pressed a finger to his lips for silence as he led them through the gate and down a slightly overgrown path cut in the foliage. The urgency of their quest sparked the atmosphere as they hurried along in his wake. The trees were denser, swallowing the view of sky, casting them in shadows that Raina swore were only seconds away from coming to life. With an imagination Cynthia would have been proud to own up to, Raina conjured up monstrous creatures behind each tree and bend in the twisting path they traveled. Caan-tu glanced over his shoulder at the women and smiled. “We are almost there.” “And where is that?” Ka-la asked. “You will see.” He steered them down a side path. “I hope you know the way,” Raina said. “I swear we have taken so many turns I don’t have any idea where we are.” Caan-tu chuckled. “I assure you … I know the way very well. It is a path I have walked many times … just like the path in the corridor. It is a privilege, a power, you see.” Raina nodded, even though she hadn’t a clue what he meant.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “I traveled all the time, to all times, and yet I arranged it so it seemed as though I had never left home. No one realized I had been gone. I have seen much, some good, some bad. Some things I liked, some I did not. It was a power you cannot imagine—to see the future and return to the past…any part of the past and plan for it. Power. Wealth. In many lands, in many times. It was important to keep it. It is still important to keep it. I can live for many, many more years. Hundreds if I choose. Simply by returning to the future for the medical aid required to live on and on and on.” “If you love the future so much, why not stay there?” Raina asked. Caan-tu jerked to a stop and spun around to face them. Gone was any hint of kindliness. In its place was the face of a man possessed by demons. “I told you,” he said through clenched teeth. “This is my home.” Raina took a step back and pulled Ka-la with her. “No. This is where you have your power. This is the only place you have power. In the future you are nothing. You return because they have the technology to keep you alive forever. True?” Caan-tu sneered. “Clever. Yes … true. I’m glad you understand how things are—how they have to be.” She slowly shook her head. “I don’t understand a thing.” “I saw the future. My future. Here. Under the rule of the son of Lord Jaguar Sun and Lady Evening Star.” “And you didn’t like what you saw?” “Let’s just say he was not content to let me run things as I have been doing.” “That will not change. Al-Mon is still the same man he always was … unless you plan to get him to switch places with Burke.” Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. That was it! He wanted Burke to remain. Caan-tu would have his power. Al-Mon and Raina would have each other. Ka-la would have Burke. No one would oppose that—except Burke. Caan-tu tossed his head back in a body-shaking laugh. “How very ironic! No, my dear, Burke is the last person I want to remain here. You can’t imagine my horror at having seen the four of you arrive. If it hadn’t been so public an event, I would have dispatched you immediately instead of waiting. I knew it would cause problems, but I had no idea things would get this botched up. The four of you have caused me many sleepless nights these last six months.” “Then let us go,” Raina said. “It’s what we planned. It’s what we agreed.” He held up a finger. “Ah, but one of you is hedging on the deal. One of you is trying to coerce another into trading places. He will do anything to have his way.” Together Raina and Ka-la shouted out their man’s name. Caan-tu shook his head. “Fools, both of them. I have never known Al-Mon to be so pigheaded. And once Burke discovers he is to be a father, I fear the deed will be done. I can’t allow that to happen. I’ve worked too hard. I’ve made too many plans. I’ve taken too many risks. You have no idea how difficult it was to switch them in the first place.” Raina’s heart raced in double-time. He was crazy. He had to be. “Switch them?” “I had discovered a look-alike in the future shortly after I learned of the events to occur. The plan was easy. Waiting to execute it was not. I had to wait for the baby to be born in my real time. Ta-li’s birth of twin boys was a temporary problem. The first was sickly and passed on within seconds. The second child was more robust. I took him into the temple and made the switch and I brought him back.” “That explains the circumcision,” Raina said. Caan-tu nodded. “A good ruse, don’t you think?”

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass “As you said of me—clever. I suppose that also explains why Burke contracts so many illnesses and Al-Mon does not.” Again he nodded. “A certain immunity, I believe. In any event, I have planned and worked for this and if you think I’m going to allow them to switch back now at will, well, ladies, you are mistaken. Unfortunately, there is only one way to ensure they will return to the places I have chosen for them.” With a snap of his fingers, two men stepped from the shadows. “I regret this, ladies, I truly do. Raina, you garnered too much admiration when you visited the coast. I tried then to eliminate the problem, but I failed. Now, because of that, I am afraid both of you must be sacrificed for the good of the future.” “You mean your future … Run, Ka-la!” Raina shouted. The woman darted down the path. Raina rammed head first into the belly of the closest man. He fell, taking Raina with him. As he gasped for air, she scrambled to her feet. The second man rushed forward and met a hail of dirt. He screamed in agony and clutched his eyes. Raina took a step and felt the first guard’s hand snap around her ankle. A kick freed her, but gave the second man time to recover. She dashed for the safety she hoped Ka-la had found and was trapped by the steel band of his arm. “Pin her down!” Caan-tu ordered. “We’ll do it now! We must do it now!” Raina’s struggles were useless against the strength of two men. Forced to her knees by one, the other yanked her head back until her neck was exposed and arched. Caan-tu hovered above, flint blade raised high to cut a deep slit in her throat. She squeezed back a cry and tried to turn away. Her captors held her firmly in place. Caan-tu sucked in a breath to strike. She scrunched her eyes closed as tight as she could and waited for death. There was a choking sound and a sharp cry and suddenly she was free. Daring to open her eyes, she saw a spear still vibrating in the chest of one man. In the other, a knife blade pierced his throat. Caan-tu dashed into the trees, a troop of royal guards close behind. “Catch him. And any other members of his cult you can find. I want them stopped,” Al-Mon ordered as he knelt to scoop Raina into his arms. She clutched trembling arms around his neck and buried her face on his shoulder. “I should have known you would come. I never should have doubted it. What am I going to do without you?” “Hush, love, hush.” He brushed a kiss on her forehead and carried her back toward the house. “It’s a long walk for carrying.” “It’s a loving burden.” “Spoiling me again.” “Always.” “Al-Mon, there is something you must know.” As carefully as possible she told him of Caantu’s deception. Afterward she held her breath while she waited for his reaction. “Odd. So I am really Burke O’Neill and he is Al-Mon, Lord Night Jaguar?” “Yes, that is who you were both born to be.” “But not how we were raised.” That simple sentence dashed the last of Raina’s hopes that Al-Mon would return with her. Whatever Caan-tu had believed was not possible. Al-Mon would not force Burke to trade places. And she was equally certain Burke would never do so of his own free will. He might have been born a Mayan prince, but he was twentieth-century male through and through. Nothing would be tempting enough to convince him to leave that.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass It made their parting hours later bittersweet. She would not cry. She refused to cry. Enough of her tears had been shed. Let Ka-la cry for them all. A lingering kiss was the last touch she had of Al-Mon. “Come on, Raina, we have to go.” Cynthia gently tugged her into the corridor. For support, Roy looped his hand through her other arm. They paused one last time to wave good-bye to AlMon and Ta-li, then stepped into the future. Burke gave Ka-la a parting kiss and moved toward the corridor. With a smothered cry, she ran from the temple. Al-Mon held his breath. This was his last chance. If it didn’t work … “Burke, can you really turn your back on Ka-la? It does not bother you that you will never see her, hold her, love her again?” “We’ve been through all that. It’s killing me, but I have no choice. I have to go back. No matter what Caan-tu did when we were children. I have a life back there.” “And someone to share it with?” No answer. “I guess that’s the real difference between us. It’s killing me that I shall never see Raina again. If it were possible to be with her, nothing would stop me…especially if I discovered she were carrying my child.” “Raina is pregnant?” “No … Ka-la is.” He pulled in a deep breath. “Maybe it’s time true justice was served and we each took our rightful place—our true places in the universe.” Burke squared his shoulders and faced him. “I couldn’t agree more.” *** Morning. In the camp. Her tent was straight ahead just as she’d left it. The Osbornes’s right beside it. But which morning? “Hey, where have you guys been?” one of the early risers called out. “You missed a hell of an equinox party last night.” “Amazing,” Cynthia mumbled. Raina stared across the compound at the carving of Al-Mon which Roy had labored on for six months, and that time had erased. Those eyes. Al-Mon’s eyes. The pain. The loss. The love. She let them pull her closer, up the steps until she was parallel. Tears she swore she wouldn’t shed choked her. Grief. As great as if she had lost him to death. In fact, she had. Grief as great as Ta-li’s. She lifted her arms to the heavens and sang Ta-li’s chant of lost love while tears drifted like the rivers of time. Her voice was clear and strong even if her heart was ripped to shreds. One by one the camp awoke. Confused by her actions. Raina kept on. Hear me, my love. Through time and space. Hear me. To her surprise, there was an answering call. The chant of joy. Her imagination in full force. She kept on. It answered. It was no illusion. It came from the corridor. At first she thought it was a rip in time. Then with the glimpse of her replying caller, she thought it was a cruel joke Burke played. She passed a scathing glance over him, from the top of his ugly baseball cap to the tips of his worn tennis shoes. How dare he mock her? How dare he tease her over her pain? Ka-la was wrong—he hadn’t changed.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass He raised his arms and called again. Raina’s breath left her. The ring was gone! The ring Burke couldn’t remove! “Oh my God, you did it!” It was Roy who spoke, but Raina couldn’t have said it better. Wind and wings carried her forward. Seconds laughter she flung herself into his arms. Al-Mon laughed and swung her around. “Ah, love,” he whispered. “You didn’t think I would really leave you. There is that matter of a child you requested. Haven’t I always given you what you asked?” She pulled back with a laugh between her tears. “Why didn’t you say something?” “I couldn’t force him. The decision had to be his.” “You mean you didn’t kill him?” Roy asked with a laugh as he hugged a tearful Cynthia. “Fatherhood, a woman who loves him, and the throne beckoned. He has taken his rightful place. Now I will take mine. As soon as you can give me a haircut.” Raina clutched at his shirt, afraid that if she let go he would disappear. “But the ring, Burke’s ring.” “We have a lot of work to do. We will have to uncover his crypt and get it. It should be somewhere over there.” He pointed to a space behind them. “The corridors will also have to be destroyed. We decided it was best for all concerned…Everything is so different. So changed. I have a lot to learn.” “We’ll help,” Cynthia said between sobs of emotion. “Bless you for that. Books. A lot of them. I crave the knowledge they possess.” “Then let’s get started with a haircut,” Roy said. “And while we do that we can also come up with an explanation of why Raina and Burke are suddenly so much in love when only yesterday she couldn’t bear the sight of him.” Raina caressed Al-Mon’s cheek. “You’ve given up so much to be with me. So very much. I hope you won’t be disappointed.” “How can I be disappointed when I am with you? I have spent a lifetime waiting for you. You are my life, my love, my future, my past. You are my world, my existence, my breath. Without you I have nothing, I am nothing. Raina, I love you with all my heart and soul.” Raina smiled up at him. “I never thought I’d say this, but I love you Burke O’Neill…with all my heart and soul. Now, let’s get that haircut and I’ll start teaching you about the complicated twentieth century.” “Books, Raina. A lot of them.”

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Epilogue

Raina mopped the sweat from her neck as she smiled. He’d fallen asleep in a makeshift hammock strung between two trees. A book was turned facedown on his chest—he was always reading. Their ten-year-old daughter, their youngest, was tucked under one arm. After twentyfive years of marriage and five children, Raina loved him more today than each day that had passed before. She took a moment to scan the jungle surrounding them and the excavation of the city he had known so very long ago. A lifetime of work, literally. And in all of the time that had passed neither they nor the Osbornes told the true story. Who would believe them anyway? Still, as each equinox unfolded, none of them could help but wonder how the other Burke had faired. With any luck, that answer would come soon. “Dad!” Al-Mon jerked up, startling Katie. Raina laughed and met their oldest halfway. He was the image of his father through and through. Quick of wit and handsome enough to turn the head of every woman he passed. He cared about only one—his bride, Vickie Osborne. “David, I swear you’re loud enough to wake the dead.” “We found it, Mom!” He motioned her to follow him. “The last ruler’s tomb.” Roy trudged up the path behind him. “This is it. Get Allan.” Allan…Al-Mon so hated the name Burke he had changed it to the closest name he could find to match his own. Raina glanced his way. He nodded, kissed Katie on the head, set her on her feet, then crawled from the hammock. “Make sure no one goes in before me.” She reached for his hand. “No one would dare. They’ve too much respect for you.” With her free hand she smoothed his graying hair. They walked in silence, praying this would be it. Never mind the archaeological considerations, there was something more at stake here. Katie raced ahead to where the rest of their team stood in a circle before the capstone. Cynthia looked as nervous as Raina felt. Their children beamed with delight that they were about to uncover what everyone hoped would be a great discovery. Al-Mon nodded to Roy. With David’s help, they levered crowbars under the capstone. The earth sighed. A chill ran up Raina’s spine as Al-Mon poked his upper body into the opening. Seconds later he pulled back. “This is it. Someone get me a ladder.” Al-Mon’s heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation. There was something eerie about uncovering a tomb that was supposed to have been his. This would have been his fate had he and Burke not switched places. Al-Mon knew he had used the years wisely. Had Burke? Or had Burke taken his place and his name and ruined their people? Roy eased the ladder into the tomb, then flicked on a spotlight to guide Al-Mon’s way. Taking a deep breath, Al-Mon stepped in. Here was the last ruler of the City of the Sun—in all his regal glory and splendor.

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Feather on the Wind by Catherine Snodgrass Al-Mon reached down and slipped the college football ring off Burke’s finger and stuffed it into his pocket. Glyphs on the walls told his tale. A brave man. Loving husband and father of many. Dedicated ruler who fought a high priest to save his people. A decent man who died a very old age. His love, his wife of many years, lay in a tomb adjacent to his. Al-Mon smiled. It was fitting. He crawled back into the light, wrapped an arm around Raina and kissed her cheek. “All is well, my love,” he whispered. Then to the others he said, “Let’s start cataloging. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

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About the Author

Anything Is Possible! That’s Catherine Snodgrass’s motto. Blessed (or cursed) with a vivid imagination, Catherine has learned to turn that “talent” inward. She grew up reading Victoria Holt, Phyllis Whitney and others, and loves to “go places” in her writing. Readers should expect different locales and deep emotions in Catherine’s books. She also believes that life is to be lived not watched, and has done some inner exploring of her own—hiking a new path, learning a new skill and even conquering a life-long fear of singing in public to take a turn or two on the stage of the local community theater. Her work as a paralegal in family and tax law has helped her tune in to the emotions of others and further deepen that aspect of her writing. Having set her children off in the world to explore their own paths, Catherine lives in the beautiful desert of Southern California with her husband (a genealogist) and the animals she loves.

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We hope you enjoyed reading Feather on the Wind. Now, read on for excerpts from two more great novels by Catherine Snodgrass and LTDBooks…

SEVEN RINGS BINDING Catherine Snodgrass

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Seven Rings Binding by Catherine Snodgrass ISBN 1-55316-115-7 Published by LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com Copyright © 2003 Catherine Snodgrass Artwork copyright © 2002 Trace Edward Zaber Previously published by RFI West. Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1 All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law. National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data Snodgrass, Catherine, 1953Seven rings binding [electronic resource] / Catherine Snodgrass ISBN 1-55316-115-7 I.

Title.

PS3569.N62S43 2003

813’.6

C2003-901346-4

Chapter 1 1875 New York City Libby Claiborne paused, her cup of tea poised halfway to her lips. Odd, this feeling that persisted. She had spent the day trying to shake it, yet it came back in full force the minute Clayton left her alone. She felt as if she was on the brink of some great event and that each step she took brought her closer and closer to it. She had no idea whether that something was rainbows or a giant chasm. She slipped her cup onto its saucer with nary a sound and folded her hands beneath the linen napkin on her lap. Where was Clayton? He had excused himself ten minutes before after spotting what he called a business acquaintance, then darted away, leaving her alone in the crowded restaurant. Every fiber of Libby’s being told her he lied, of course, even though her heart begged it not to be so. Yet, she had known her stepbrother all her life. When had she ever been wrong about him? Tonight, no matter how cleverly disguised, the signs were all there, even if she tried to deny them. Clayton was plotting. Perhaps that was the reason for the strange feelings. It made sense when she dared consider it. Clayton knew how much she detested these displays. Yet, nothing she said seemed to make a difference to him. She should have seen it coming. He had been far too complacent these last few months, far too willing to let her do things her way. It was she who had been lulled into complacency—so much so she didn’t hesitate to accept his invitation. Over dinner his charm was impeccable. She should have known it was a ruse. Why was she so blind to that which she could easily spot in others? At one time, she had adored him. Then Libby would have done anything he asked. She did do anything he asked. That was before she discovered his true nature. No more. Clayton could plan to his heart’s content. She would have no part in it no matter what threats he hurled her way. Libby tossed her napkin on the table and snatched up her reticule. Enough was enough. They had been under his thumb too long. She was a woman now and it was time she took an open stand against him, time to stop being afraid, time to free her mother, grandmother, and herself from his prison. A waiter rushed over to pull out her chair when he saw she meant to depart. She spared a hastily uttered word of thanks, then jumped up...and crashed into the most solid bodied male she had ever encountered. Fingers of steel grasped her upper arms to keep her from teetering into the dumbstruck waiter. Libby thought for a moment that the waiter’s concern was for her until she watched his widened gaze drift over her to the man who held her. “Mr. Blackburn, sir. Please forgive...” A voice rich with humor replied as he brushed the waiter’s apologies away, “My fault entirely. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with my own thoughts, I never would have run into this lovely young lady.” Libby dared a glance upward, slowly, her breath suspended with her heart as she did so.

Her gaze drifted over the cream-colored silk shirt to the Adam’s apple perched above a diamondstudded cravat. His lips twitched with the effort to keep laughter at bay. And finally, her gaze locked onto olive green eyes, earthy eyes that sparkled with the same humor that laced his words. Their gazes locked in silent communion and in that moment, Libby felt a recognition she could not explain—two ancient souls greeting each other after a long absence. She forced herself to focus outward on the man, not inward, and in doing so, the feeling faded. The mischievous glint she first saw was gone now—replaced by that odd look most people gave when they first met her. Her eyes, a vivid shade of violet, never failed to enthrall male and female alike. Had she been of a more flirtatious nature, she could have left a string of broken hearts and jealous enemies in her wake. Instead, Libby viewed her physical oddity with disdain for the awkwardness it created. She braced herself against the invariable comments he would make. His hold on her loosened as his smile returned. “I seem to have made a tumbled mess of you.” He motioned to her hat, and for the first time Libby realized it had been knocked askew, along with her hair. One tendril of her black curls drooped over her eye while her emerald colored hat pulled the rest of it to the opposite side. Libby dusted her fingers over the hat, afraid to touch it for fear her hair would come tumbling down. The gentleman reached out to help, then pulled back. His bewildered expression brought a giggle to her throat. “You look as if I’ve been trampled and dragged through the mud. Is it all that bad?” “No, not at all,” he was quick to reply. “It’s just that I want to help, but...” With palms up, he shrugged. “If there is a ladies sitting room, I can make a few quick repairs, Mr.—” “Blackburn. Nathaniel Blackburn. And you are?” “Libby Claiborne.” His smile broadened. “This way, Miss Claiborne.” He reached to cup her elbow, then pulled back and motioned her forward with a sweeping gesture of his arm. Anxious to keep the favor of both patrons, the waiter scurried ahead, leading them through the dining area at the back of the hotel where the private meeting rooms were located. The attention made Libby feel princess-like—the loyal servant clearing the path before her, the handsome prince faithfully escorting her. It was only after she settled her skirts enough to sit comfortably on the padded bench in the ladies sitting room that she realized—Mr. Blackburn had not uttered a word about her eyes. Another plus in his favor. “Goodness gracious. What happened to you?” Libby glanced in the mirror to the small blonde woman seated on the padded stool next to her. An attendant smoothed the woman’s hair while she studied Libby. Remembering her purpose in being here, Libby focused on her image in the mirror. She did look a sight, but it was not as bad as she feared. “I had a minor collision with a gentleman.” She pulled the remaining pins from her hat. The woman waved the attendant away. “Do quit fussing and help her. She needs it more than I.” “I can manage...thank you.” But her quivering fingers belied those words. “Must have been quite a gentleman,” the woman replied.

He was quite something, that much was certain. Why else would she feel her skin prickle with heat then awash with chill bumps? At that thought, the sensation overtook her once more. She brushed away goose flesh and gave herself over to the determined attention of the attendant. It was ridiculous, of course. The man was a stranger. It was his looks that mesmerized her—nothing more. What healthy young woman would not be affected? Still, those olive colored eyes of his held a mystery she could not fathom. It intrigued her more than his handsome features. If she let her mind fold in upon itself, she could return to that instant when gaze met gaze. At that second, she gained entry to the portal of his soul and he hers. “There you are, miss.” The attendant slid the last hatpin into place and stepped back. “All put to rights.” Still transfixed by her reverie, Libby muttered her thanks while she fumbled in her reticule for a coin. The blonde woman laughed. “Go. I’ll tip her. If you hurry, you might just run into your gentleman again.” Well, naturally, he would wait to check on her welfare—manners decreed it. Libby glanced at the woman. What business was it of hers? Her fine-boned structure was enhanced by the stylish cut of the yards of royal blue silk embracing her. A smile, which had not faded since Libby’s arrival, bore no animosity, yet her overt friendliness warned Libby something was not as it seemed. She curled her fingers around her coin. “Thank you, but I have it.” She pressed the money into the young girl’s hand, tilted a parting nod to the other patron, and left. Even though she knew to expect Nathaniel Blackburn, Libby was quite unprepared for the sight of him lounging against the wall opposite the sitting room. He smiled when she appeared, bringing a tingling feeling of anticipation that started at the tips of her toes and shimmered upward until her entire body was encompassed. He pushed away from the wall, a motion so fluid Libby likened it to a bird in flight. “Ah, none the worse for my clumsiness, I’m relieved to see.” “It was I who was at fault,” she said. “I was in such a hurry I simply failed to watch where I was going.” “We should not call fault or blame, but instead bless fate which placed each of us in the other’s path.” He caught her hand in a gentle hold and drew her knuckles to his lips. Libby held her breath with the kiss he bestowed while the heat from that brand seared her heart. “Libby...what the devil?” She started at her brother’s sudden arrival and slowly extricated her hand from under Nathaniel’s lips. A glower clouded Clayton’s dark eyes, but the bluster seemed to have little effect on Nathaniel. He righted himself with no urgency and, in fact, matched the smaller man with a sour look of his own. “There is no cause for alarm. Miss Claiborne and I collided in the dining room. I was merely apologizing.” “You are unhurt?” Clayton asked. “Of course.” Suspicion still hovered in his eyes, and for a moment Libby feared he would make a scene. “You must forgive my brother,” she told Nathaniel. “He has a tendency toward over-

protectiveness.” A mild word to describe Clayton, but she could hardly go into details. “As any brother should,” Nathaniel replied. Clayton’s scowl deepened. Libby laughed nervously, praying this would not turn into a physical altercation. “Oh, do stop, Clayton. You look positively simian.” The light-hearted insult brought him around, as she knew it would. Much as she disliked him, she linked her arm through his and gave it a gentle tug. “Come. It’s time we went home.” “That’s what I was coming to tell you, Libby.” He covered her hand with his, holding her in place. Dread seeped into her stomach, nauseating her. “I’ve arranged a séance for tonight. A private room on the second floor.” “No.” Had Nathaniel not been there she might had screamed the word, despite the possible consequences. Clayton knew how she hated these gatherings. They were false, not what she was about, not who she was, and certainly nothing she liked participating in. Yet, he continued to persist, despite her protests. Her earlier suspicions were correct. The door to the sitting room swung open. “Did I hear someone mention a séance?” Nathaniel gave a slight bow to the nosy blonde from the ladies sitting room. “Lady Raventree...a pleasure to see you again. Your ears are as sharp as ever.” He motioned to Libby and Clayton. “This gentleman has arranged it.” Lady Raventree clapped her hands. “How delightful. I should love to join you. May I?” Libby jerked free of Clayton’s hold. “Why not? The more, the merrier.” “Splendid. I’ll fetch my husband and be right back.” In the wake of her rustling skirts, Libby sliced a glare her brother’s way. “For whom am I contacting the spirit world tonight?” “Mrs. Jimson.” “Clayton, no. I’ve already explained to her—” “Tut, tut.” He wagged a finger at her as if she were nothing more than a naughty child. “The lady insists on it. Come along now. Time’s wasting.” He stepped away expecting her to follow. Libby held her ground. She had spent a month with the woman, trying to ease her through her grief. There was nothing more she could do. It was wrong. All of this was wrong. Clayton spun around to face her, eyes blazing with anger that she should defy him. Libby felt her resolve crumbling. Too much was at stake—the welfare, the very existence of those she loved. Resigned, beaten by a pattern she had known too long, she took a step toward him. Strong fingers curled around her arm, holding her back. She looked up into Nathaniel’s olive green eyes. Was that a hint of compassion she saw in those solemn depths? “Mind if I go along?” Strangely enough, she did not. She needed strength to get through the next few hours— something she instinctively knew she would receive from Nathaniel. His would be a calming presence in the turmoil to come. “I would like that,” she replied. “You will sit at my right.” Clayton stomped forward. “That’s my place.” “Then sit at my left.” “I’ve promised that place to Mrs. Jimson.” “Then sit to her left or don’t sit at all. You fidget too much as it is. If you don’t like it,

you can cancel the entire thing as far as I’m concerned.” Libby had him cornered. Either way she would win. Clayton sliced another hateful glare to the man beside her. “He’s Nedra Jimson’s son.” She searched Nathaniel’s face for confirmation or denial. His expression was unreadable, an indication by itself. “Of course,” she said with a smile. “Nathaniel...Nate...from her first marriage. You have a younger sister as well.” Nate answered her smile with one of his own. “Amanda.” “Newly wed and off on a wedding trip,” she murmured. “Your mother speaks of you both with such pride.” “Then she, of all people, would not mind my presence.” “And it’s fitting you should be there.” She turned back to Clayton. “Let’s get this over with.” Clayton’s face tightened with the effort to keep quiet, an odd reaction considering how he normally loved to pack as many people as possible into these ridiculous séances. She glanced from him to Nate, whose gaze had not faltered from that of the other man. Animosity crackled in the atmosphere between them. Had they been a lower species Libby had no doubt they’d be circling one another. A challenge was issued and accepted, unspoken yet nonetheless there. Each man drew in a breath simultaneously, nostrils flaring as they did so. Then, each shifted their gaze to her. “Everything’s ready,” Clayton said. “We shouldn’t keep the others waiting.” Nate cupped her elbow to offer escort. Clayton yanked her away. “Keep your hands off my sister.” With calm, deadly precision Nate measured off his reply. “They are my hands and it is her body. Only the lady has the right to say where I put them.” It was uncalled for and much too familiar, yet the image evoked sent a chorus of shivers trembling through her. While the two challenged each other once more, Libby closed her eyes to ease the sensations that overwhelmed her. Images leaped to mind—his fingers curled with hers, his lips pressed to hers, their bodies twined together. She opened her eyes and gasped, finding the men staring at her. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks. Had she said something while her mind wandered in sinful pursuit of pleasure? A glance at Nate renewed the feeling. Her heart beat in breathless anticipation. Who was this man to her? An ancient friend from long ago? A future love? How she hated not knowing for herself what she so easily discerned for others. One thing was certain—her attraction to this handsome stranger was overwhelming. She could succumb to his charm in less time than it took to think about it. Once spellbound, she could deny him nothing. His hands would be free to roam her body wherever and however he chose. Libby fanned herself in an effort to cool her flushed face. “For goodness sake, can we get on with it? The two of you are giving me a pounding headache.” They reached for her at the same time. To avoid another confrontation, she took a step back, pivoted on the ball of her foot, and headed for the staircase. Footsteps padded on the carpet runner behind her. At least the men had the sense to keep a respectful distance. A footman bowed as they approached the bottom of the stairs. The black marble steps swept upward like the wings of a giant raven. Libby shivered, but any attempts to analyze her impressions were squelched by Lady Raventree’s return with a gentleman introduced as her

husband. Libby longed to brand the woman a liar, so intent was her impression of subterfuge. That, coupled with the fact that the resemblance between the couple was striking enough to call them siblings left no doubt in her mind that they were frauds. She paused with her foot on the bottom stair. Where did that place Nate, since he was acquainted with them? A glance his way did nothing but jumble her thoughts. “Libby?” There was more warning against hesitancy than concern in Clayton’s voice, but then there always had been. “I’m all right, Clayton. Lead the way.” She lifted her skirts, preparing to continue. Behind her, Lord Raventree snickered. “If she’s a psychic, you’d think she would know the way.” Libby whirled around. It was bad enough that Clayton had coerced her into this—now she was dealing with detractors before she started. She shot her arm forward, nailing the couple with one point of her index finger. “You are no longer welcome.” Raventree’s jaw worked, yet words escaped him. His shock was feigned. He no more wished to participate than Libby did. It made her decree even more satisfying. Libby gathered her skirts once more and continued her ascent. “Oh, please,” Lady Raventree called out. “Do reconsider. My husband’s views are not mine. I’m a believer. Had I known who you were in the lounge, I would have begged a private audience.” It was all too much—the swirl of emotions, the veil of lies. Libby balled her skirts beneath tight fists. From the top of the staircase, she watched Clayton soothe Lady Raventree while off to the side the woman’s husband smirked. At this distance their mannerisms appeared genuine—the lady desperate for communication from the other side, the gentleman wanting no part of it. Yet, Libby knew differently. The aura of their deceit surrounded her whenever she was near them. Nate stood beside her, surveying the scene below. She turned to him when she heard him sigh, a slow inhale and exhale which bespoke a heavy burden upon his wide shoulders. “And what about you, Mr. Blackburn? Are you a non-believer as well?” “Yes, I am a non-believer, but,” he turned on a bright smile, “I am willing to be convinced.” She cocked her head to one side. “A challenge, Mr. Blackburn?” He gave her a slight bow. “My mother is not the only one who grieves. She values your gift. I value her opinion. You’ll find me open-minded enough to view your work objectively. As for my friends, I must apologize. They have been at odds since losing a child in birth.” The pain of loss pierced Libby’s breastbone, washing away all other sensation. Her attention drawn again to the trio below, she studied Lady Raventree’s expressions for validation. Desperation accentuated every move. But how could Libby offer reassurance in the forum tonight? Why breed false hope? “I’ll see you tomorrow...alone,” she called down. Lady Raventree’s crystal blue eyes focused upon her, the gratitude and relief there saying what she could not. Clayton pressed a calling card into Lady Raventree’s shaking hands, then trotted up the stairs. The image of her fingering the raised lettering followed Libby down the hallway to the room arranged for tonight’s showing. One peek at its interior washed all other thought away. Depression pulled her into a pit as

dark as the room itself. She crossed the threshold from all the hope the cream and gold corridor presented to a place which echoed her mood. This was no spur of the moment gathering. Clayton had planned this—from the yards of black muslin draping every inch of the walls to the black cloth covering the small round table in the center of the room, and black rug stretched across the floor. Black to absorb all light and sound. Black to call the spirits. Black as Clayton’s miserable heart. It had probably been an easy task for him to bring his stage earlier in the day. His worry would have been how to convince Libby without creating a scene in the restaurant. She should have realized, should have listened to her own heart as she told others to do. Instead, she failed herself once more, shoving aside the instincts she freely used to help others. “Libby, dear.” Libby jerked herself from her thoughts to accept the outstretched hands of Nedra Jimson. She passed a glance over her son. “This is a surprise.” “I simply wanted to see what this was all about, Mother.” “I was referring to the fact that you managed to tear yourself from your busy work schedule long enough to be here.” The undercurrent between them set Libby’s nerves on edge. More tension—the last thing she needed. With a forced smile, she squeezed the woman’s hands. “Nedra, what’s this about? I thought we discussed this.” She leaned closer, her light blue eyes alive with excitement. “Dear, you need not be so humble. Your brother explained the full extent of your abilities. How could I pass this up?” She waved a slender hand toward the table and tugged Libby to it. “Come...let’s do get started.” A woman of Nedra Jimson’s bearing should use her elegance and personality in far better pursuits than trying to reconnect with a dead husband. A fact Libby had tried to impress upon her since their meeting a month before. She thought she had finally succeeded; yet here they were back to the beginning. Libby paid scant attention as Clayton introduced her to the other four parties in the room. If pressed to close her eyes and name their gender, she could not do so. Her thoughts were turned inside herself. She slipped into the seat at the head of the table. Each motion felt weighted as if she existed in a dream and those around her were part of the misty periphery of that unreality. Palms up on the table, she offered her hands to Nate and his mother. And as everyone took their places, she steeled herself for the impact of that first physical contact. Libby knew Nedra’s heart, her pain, her hope. But Nate? True there was the earlier instance, but then she was not aware, not as in tune as now. She stared into the dancing flame of the lamp perched in the center of the table. Only motion told her Nate had pulled out the chair beside her, for the black draperies surrounding them sucked in all other sound just as it did the light. Her heartbeat quickened, then he slid his palm smoothly into hers. Warmth, comfort, reassurance. He did not press her knuckles into the wooden surface, but cradled her hand in his. Protective. Clayton turned the wick down until it was the barest of flickers. “We will begin. Everyone close your eyes.” Libby did so. The image of Nate drawing her hand to his lips drifted through her head. If she concentrated hard enough she could feel again the heat of that touch drifting up her arm.

“Silence, everyone,” Clayton said. “Libby needs silence to reach from this world to the next.” Ridiculous, Libby told herself. Any impressions she received were from those living, not those departed. Why did people need the farce of a séance for her to tell them what they wanted to know, when she could easily do so without it? She released a long sigh in the hope of easing her tension. With the following intake of breath came another more horrifying feeling. Knife-like pain stabbed deep into the pit of her stomach. Libby jerked free of Nate’s and Nedra’s hands. Nate sucked in a breath. Her fingernails had gouged his palm. An apology lodged in her throat. She curled her fists into her midsection. Too late. It was too late. Panic squeezed an ugly grip around her heart, making each quickening beat a thump against her breastbone. “No...dear God, no,” she whispered through gasps of air. She was vaguely conscious of Nate’s presence by her side, of Clayton’s cranking up the lamp, of the fear paling the guests’ faces. “I...I have to go.” She stood so fast she toppled the chair. The door. Where was the door? All around was black. “I need out now!” “Libby, stop it! She ducked Clayton’s reach and butted against Nate’s hard body. At the touch of his gentle hands upon her shoulders, she spun around. “Help me. I need to leave now. Before it’s too late.” If he hesitated, it was so brief she could not notice. With her tucked protectively under his arm, he strode to the far wall and yanked open the door behind the black sheeting. A cool rush of air washed over her, yet the call that etched deep into her soul grew stronger. Stifling a muffled cry, she broke free of Nate and ran for the hotel exit.

Chapter 2 Nate had to be out of his mind to chase a young woman down the streets of New York. All it would take was one overly ambitious policeman to see them and he would be locked up quicker than he could bat an eye. And then she would be gone, swallowed by the crowd that wandered along Fifth Avenue. In her current state, anything could happen to her. Why the devil wasn’t her brother concerned? A more troubling question—why was he? He found it disconcerting to have so many emotions at play—emotions that surfaced unbidden. Libby Claiborne elicited strange responses from him—passion one minute, protectiveness the next. And now fear—fear for her, for her safety, her well-being. It made the task he’d set before himself doubly hard to carry out. If only she wasn’t so beautiful. One look into her eyes and he was smitten. Yet, there was supposed to be deceit behind her innocent smile. How many had fallen victim to her and her brother’s schemes? How many well-to-do widows found themselves suddenly destitute because of this pair? This time they’d chosen the wrong widow to bilk. He and his sister would do anything and everything to keep his mother’s inheritance in the correct hands—his mother’s. That left him with only one unsettling question. Why was he chasing after Libby Claiborne when he should be cheering her flight? The answer was just as disturbing. It was those eyes of hers—violets in a snow bank—wide and fearful. There could be no feigning the panic he saw in her face. It instinctively called to him to pull her close and protect her from whatever had frightened her so. She was always just ahead of him, ducking around passersby, before she stopped to scan the busy street. Not finding whatever it was she sought, she hurried on, her features frozen with that mask of panic. Nate pressed on, despite frowns from those around him. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before someone challenged him. He was surprised the chase had gone on as long as it had. If it were he watching the scene from the sidelines... “Libby, wait!” To his amazement, she spun around. Relief crept through her panic-stricken features. Her shimmering eyes reached out to him, pleading for help. This was no game. Her fear was real. His step faltered. The truth was what he sought. Why hesitate now? He vowed to protect his mother at any cost. Little did he realize payment would begin so soon. Libby’s trust was his entry into her world. All he had to do now was take it. Nate raced forward before his prey could slip away. She reached out to him as he neared, her slender fingers quivering. “A cab. I need a cab.” With a casual lift of his arm, Nate motioned to one across the street. The driver acknowledged him with a nod and maneuvered horse and conveyance toward them. He stopped with such precision all Nate need do was reach for the handle. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.” Clayton swooped down upon them with the silence of an owl. Issuing a curt “get in” to Libby, he shoved her into the cab then slammed the door in Nate’s face and ordered the driver on.

Nate watched the coach disappear, the horse’s steps on the paved street swallowed by those that surrounded it. His hand stung. Glancing into his palm, he saw the neat slice left by Libby’s fingernail. It wasn’t large, hardly bigger than a paper cut. Nate rubbed it with his thumb. She’d gotten to him, deep beneath his skin. They were part of each other now. He snapped his attention back where it belonged. Ridiculous notions, that’s all it was. He had let himself be carried away with the moment, that was all. He shook his head over how easily he’d been duped. Violet eyes had nearly turned him from his objective. He mustn’t let it happen again. Nate tucked his hands in his pockets to warm them against the November chill. A raindrop splattered against his shoulder, then another until the sky opened up to drench him. Of course, it would start raining—his overcoat and hat were back at the hotel. Thankfully, it was only three blocks away. He flipped up his collar and trudged on while the downpour made puddles around him. By the time he reached his destination, he was chilled to the bone and twice as damp. His disposition had soured with each step, bringing his tolerance to an end. At this point, he couldn’t say which was worse—his mother’s obsession with spiritualism or Amanda’s equal obsession to stop it. His sister and her husband waited for him in the foyer, their facade of Lord and Lady Raventree tucked away for use another time. Amanda paced a slow circuit while Andrew rocked precariously on the back legs of his chair. The coal brazier between them beckoned Nate with its warmth. He stepped forward, hands before him to catch that first wave of heat. A footman barred his progress long enough to shove a hot toddy into his icy fingers, then slipped back unnoticed to the nether regions of the hotel. “You look half drowned,” Amanda told him. “I feel half drowned,” he replied. “The weather turned quick out there. Is Mother gone?” “Left with her friends right after Clayton Ashby took off,” Andrew told him. “Did she see you?” “No. She was too busy talking.” “Good. Everything went better than I expected.” “Except for the fact that our prey took off like bats from hell,” Amanda said. “They’re suspicious.” Nate stared at the cut on his palm, his gaze focused inward, remembering. “I don’t know...Did you see the look in her eyes? She was genuinely afraid. She ran down those stairs like the devil was after her.” Andrew snorted. “Of course she did. You were right behind her. What happened up there?” Nate sipped his toddy and closed his eyes as the liquid warmth slithered down his throat. Violet eyes, wide and fearful, appeared. He felt the panic, the desperation. It was no act. He opened his eyes and slugged down the rest of his drink, unconsciously shivering against the onslaught of brandy. “I don’t know what happened.” Amanda cast her gaze to the ceiling. “Good heavens, you sound as in awe of her as Mother. I never thought I’d be seeing your head turned by a pretty smile.” “My head isn’t turned.” Nate squared his shoulders, physically and mentally affirming his position. For extra measure, he tightened his jaw. “My course is true. Nothing will cause me to lose direction. Those two have bilked their last.”

Andrew’s gaze flitted across his features. “Personally...I think you’ve met your match. Let the authorities handle it.” Amanda looked at her husband from under a scowl. “Fat lot of good that will do when the likes of Horace Greeley touts their cause and sings their praises. We’re handling this ourselves. No one is stealing my mother’s inheritance. I will exhaust every effort to protect what my father left to her. Continue with me or step aside.” Andrew gave a slow shake of his head, as if conceding to a stubborn child. “Oh, you can expect me to continue. Someone has to act as the voice of reason—since the two of you have none. I swear, if I had known I was marrying into such a stubborn family—” “You would have done so all the same,” Nate finished for him. A smile cut Andrew’s frown. A chuckle followed. “That I would. I’ll call for the carriage. I think we could all do with a warm bed.” Nate watched Amanda watch her husband walk away. A myriad of tender emotions danced in her blue eyes while envy stirred Nate’s heart. Theirs was a definite match, born of love and lust and destined to last beyond eternity. “You made an excellent match there, Amanda. Why not let this business with Mother go and concentrate on your own life and happiness.” She tore her gaze from Andrew and directed it upon her brother. “How can you say that? How can you so casually toss this problem aside? By your words you vowed to the only father you have ever known to take care of Mother when he passed. You would break that word?” “I am not tossing Mother to the streets. If she’s happy, if it takes her mind off her grief, why not let her be?” “And fritter away all Papa left to her?” Nate winced from the shrillness in her voice, and suddenly discovered that although he loved his sister very much, at that moment there wasn’t much to like. “I will care for her,” he said. “If she should spend down to her last or even before, Mother will always have a home with me.” Amanda laughed, a caustic sound with no humor in its intent. “In that draughty old house? The place is falling down around your ears. Chester and Mrs. Knott are old. And you would add Mother? Who would care for her? You are never there. You are too buried in business. You don’t have a wife nor any prospects for one.” Nate felt a tick in his temple—the beginning of another of those horrid headaches that plagued him of late. He was tired of all this. Tired of Amanda’s screeching. Tired of chasing villains who may or may not exist. All he wanted was to reach the comfort of his bed before the aching began. With a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth, he stared down at Amanda. “I might have more prospects than you realize. I’m certain I could find a wife if I cared to look. Perhaps I could even convince Libby Claiborne to marry me.” Amanda sucked in a gasp. “You can’t be serious.” Nate fought the laughter that threatened over her indignation. This was the most fun he’d had in a long time. Playing through the game, he stretched his hands toward the brazier, letting the warmth strip away the last vestiges of chill from his fingers. Amanda grabbed his sleeve, crushing the wet wool in her grip. “My God, Nathaniel, you’re not planning to marry her are you?” Nate swiveled his head her way. He focused on the bridge of her nose lest her piercing blue eyes distract him.

“It’s perfect, don’t you think? Married to me she will be under my control. All she possesses will be mine. Should she take from Mother, all I need do is return it. Really, Amanda, we should have thought of it sooner. It’s decided. I’ll marry Libby Claiborne.” She shoved his arm from her grasp. “How can you mock the sanctity of marriage? Nate, it is forever! Don’t be a fool! I won’t let you ruin your life, not even for Mother.” Nate squared his shoulders. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for games. And so, little sister, there is nothing you can do to stop me.” She raised her chin to a haughty tilt. “Would you care to bet on that? We may have different fathers, but I can be just as determined as Mother and you. By my word, I’ll see your farce of a marriage never occurs.” “I’ve made up my mind. As you pointed out, I did vow to take care of Mother. This is the perfect way to do so.” “I’m quite certain that when Papa made the request he did not intend for you to take it to this extent.” “Well, he isn’t around to clarify, now is he? I know...Perhaps we could get the great and wondrous Libby Claiborne to contact him.” She snapped her skirts back and stomped toward the exit where Andrew motioned for them to come. Nate chuckled in her wake. This should keep her going for a few days. He waited for her to make some mention of their discussion to her husband. The footman’s reappearance with their coats and wraps kept her silent. The short ride to his home was also quiet, Amanda’s frosty demeanor equal to that of the weather. He pressed into the worn leather, hoping to generate some warmth to chase the chill from his bones and ease the ache building in his head. It was a futile effort at best, and by the time the driver pulled to a stop in front of the twin light posts marking the walkway to Nate’s front door, he was shivering. The rain had lessened to an annoying drizzle, but the biting cold doubled. Amanda slipped her arm through his and tugged him toward the house while Andrew paid the fare. “You look frozen. We need to get you inside so Chester and Mrs. Knott can warm us all up.” Nate suppressed the urge to groan. They’d be warmed all right, and coddled and fussed over. It was more like having an extra set of parents than having servants. The couple was an institution in their own right—firmly established before he was born. They remained after his father’s death, through his mother’s very successful second marriage, and when Nate reached manhood, they followed him to the Blackburn house that was his birthright. The door opened before they could reach it. Chester peeled off their coats once they crossed the threshold, then scooted them into the drawing room where Mrs. Knott waited with steaming mugs of apple cider and a warm plate of shortbread cookies. Nate was ten years old again, wrapped in loving warmth after a day’s play in the snow. “You spoil us, Mrs. Knott,” Amanda said with a smile that the old lady readily returned. “Then my job is done,” she replied. “Now you finish up while Chester stokes a fire in your rooms and I put in the bed warmers.” “Good heavens, man, when are you going to hire some help for that poor old couple,” Andrew asked when she left. “They are positively ancient.” Nate frowned and stared into the fire. Odd how another’s perspective could change one’s

own. Chester and Mrs. Knott were old, but then they had always been so. That they would be incapable or overburdened by the duties they thrust upon themselves had never occurred to him. His gaze fell to the threadbare carpet at his toes—another ancient item, one of which he was all too aware. It could be lumped into the moth-eaten drapes and peeling wallpaper. Nate had spent so much of his time ensuring the Blackburn shipbuilding business thrived that he’d seriously neglected the rest of his inheritance—a legacy his stepfather had kept intact for him. It was a matter of priorities, Nate told himself. He simply chose to invest his funds in his business instead of his home. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if he did any entertaining, not that he had time to do so if he wanted. The business was his life. Most of his time was spent at the shipyard. Still, the place was huge. Chester and Mrs. Knott could probably do with a little help maintaining it from time to time. “Perhaps Nate intends to leave the hiring of servants to his wife,” Amanda said. “Wife!” Nate gulped down his cider and set the cup aside with a thud as he stretched to his feet. “I don’t really care to hash this scene out again, so I’ll leave the two of you to gossip.” He let long strides put much needed distance between himself and the couple, but once he reached the foot of the staircase, his energy waned. Lately it seemed he was constantly battling dragons with a toothpick. A business struggling for survival against rival companies, a house falling in more disrepair each day, the death of his stepfather, his mother’s grief pushing her into spiritualism. The only bright spot this past few months had been Amanda’s marriage to Andrew. But that too reminded him of the emptiness in his heart. Weary with his role, Nate trudged to his room. The railing’s dark wood gleamed from polish, a startling contrast to the gray-green carpet beneath his feet. “The place really doesn’t look all that bad,” he muttered to himself, and lightly caressed the railing. Reaching the top, he grabbed hold of the post. The ball came off in his hand. Who was he kidding? The place was falling down around his ears. He seated the ball once more and walked on. Even if he were serious about marrying Libby Claiborne, one look at this house and she would run the other way. The thought of her raised the tingling in his hand. He curled his fingers into his palm and forced the sensation away. As it subsided, his headache grew. “Ah, there you are,” Mrs. Knott said with a broad smile. “Everything’s all ready. You tuck yourself in and get a good night’s rest. Lord knows you could use one.” Finally...an ally in his quest for bed. Rest was definitely what he needed. He hoped it did not elude him as it was prone to do. “What would I do without you and Chester?” She chuckled merrily. “Oh, young sir, I expect you’d manage. You’ve always managed. Stalwart as a rock, with a heart of gold, I’ve always said. Now off to bed with you.” Orders issued, she darted away to prepare Amanda and Andrew’s room. Heart of gold. Nate shook his head. It wasn’t a trait he would associate with himself. Workhorse was more appropriate. There had to be more to life than this. A cheery fire greeted him as he stepped across the threshold. His bed was turned down, beckoning him to lose his troubles in sleep. He stripped his clothing away and slipped into downy comfort. At least here, the signs of a threadbare home were nonexistent. The wooden floors shone around the perimeter of a plush evergreen carpet. The drapes were fresh and sturdy, joining with the solid windows to hold back the elements. All the furnishings from bed to wardrobe to night and washstands were dust free and without mars. It was a start. He’d worry

about the rest of the place later. Nate yanked the feather quilt to his chin and plopped to his side. The mattress sagged, curling around him on both sides until he was sandwiched. He struggled to regain his position. The bed ropes snapped and a half heartbeat later he, mattress, and bedcovers were on the floor. “I give up.” He closed his eyes and made a mental note to start investing in his home first thing in the morning. “At least the place is clean.” He popped open one eye and glanced around as far as the firelight would allow, then settled down to sleep once more. Despite his exhaustion, worries, responsibilities, and his pounding head made for a fitful night. It was one of the worst headaches he could recall. As if something inside was trying to get out. Caught in the wedge of his bed, he didn’t even have the luxury of tossing and turning. When he did close his eyes, violet eyes haunted him. “Help me.” Nate jerked up. He scanned the darkest corners of the room. It had seemed so real, that gentle voice of hers, like a whisper, not against his ear, but against his soul. He snuggled back down, praying sleep would obliterate his unease. No sooner had he closed his eyes than he heard it again—that pleading for help that caressed his subconscious. “Help me, someone, please.” “This is ridiculous.” He snapped the covers and crawled out of bed. He dressed in the warmest clothing he possessed, grumbling as he did so, then layered himself with overcoat and two pair of woolen mittens. “You’ve lost your mind, Blackburn. Gone downright daft.” He wrapped a muffler around his neck, plopped on a hat, then trotted downstairs and back into a night gone frigid. The drizzle was constant, slicking the sidewalks in a dangerous sheen of water as he trudged down the street. If the temperature continued to drop, snow would layer the city by morning. Except for a few souls trying to make their way home, Nate was alone—even the cabbies had tucked away. Rivers raced down flooded gutters. Ice began to nestle along the edges. Only signposts warned Nate when he neared a curb. He approached with caution; afraid he might step wrongly and twist an ankle in the process. He was a fool to be out here. No one need tell him that, and he cursed his own stupidity in marching in such a determined line to...where? Nate pulled up short. Just where the devil was he going? He glanced down the street and discovered he was already six blocks from home. Where was his destination? Her house? He had no earthly idea where Libby Claiborne lived. The hotel? She and her brother had already left. It was crazy...pure insanity. Then he saw her—a huddled black-bundled figure trudging a path perpendicular to his. As he watched her determined march, she tripped and fell, struggled to her feet, then fell again. She lay there unmoving—a black speck sprawled in the gutter. With each second he delayed, the icy water rose to obliterate her face. Nate ran toward her. She did not acknowledge his approach. For a moment he thought she might be dead. He yanked her face from the puddle, relieved when she gasped for air. Her eyes fluttered open. “Nate,” she whispered. “Please. Help m...” The words faded as she lost consciousness once more. “Come on, little one. Let’s get you out of this storm and warmed up.”

He rolled her into his arms and started down the street. Nate had gone no farther than one block before he asked himself how he could have assigned her the tag of “little one.” He’d met women twice her height who weighed less than she. Despite her curves, she was as solidly built as he, and after two blocks he began to wonder if she might not be just as heavy. By the time he reached his front door, pain stabbed between his shoulder blades and his arms shook from the effort of having to bear her all that distance. Fearing he would be unable to pick her up again once he put her down, Nate took the stairs two at a time. Then, before the cheery fire in his bedroom, he sank to the floor and relinquished his burden to the warmth. A muffled sound escaped her. Nate fell back on his haunches and flexed his aching shoulders. Sweat soaked the underside of his clothing while the first sprinklings of snow dappled the outer. He stripped off gloves and coat and draped them over a chair near the hearth, then did the same for Libby. She stirred, fighting to rouse herself. Nate helped her sit. She slumped against him. With icy fingers, he felt for a pulse. It was slow and steady. So, what kept her from awakening? Had she hit her head when she fell? Nate scanned her hairline—nothing. The hat, which caused her so much annoyance in the restaurant, was gone. Lost in her tumble or discarded in order for her to use the hooded cloak? He shrugged aside the question and leaned forward to pull the pins from her hair. The ravencolored mass fell to his fingers, draping them in satin. For a moment he was held spellbound until he recalled his purpose. Gently, carefully, he furrowed his fingers along her scalp, searching for evidence of injury. Finding none left him both relieved and concerned. Something kept her out, but what? A contented sigh heaved her shoulders. “Feels nice. I’m so cold.” He’d heard of individuals who died from exposure and she was cold...and damp. So was he for that matter. He could roll her from side to side before the fire until she warmed up, or... He glanced toward the bed. Cuddled together in the valley of the feather bed, they would both be toasty in no time. Trouble was, what would she say when she finally woke? Would she scream foul or bless his ingenuity? What did it matter now? If he didn’t do something soon, they’d both wind up freezing. “Come on, Libby. Try to stay awake. We need to get these wet clothes off you so you can warm up. I’m going to put you in my bed with me. I promise I won’t—” “I know. Trust you. Hurry. Have to hurry.” She fumbled for her bodice buttons and fell back. “Help me...” He knelt before her feet and pulled the laces free from her kid boots. The soft leather was soaked through, ruined. A night before the fire would harden them to clay. Nevertheless, he placed them there, then added his own boots beside hers. Nate glanced at her stocking-covered toes. How many had he rolled from the calves of woman? How many times had he dropped kisses and nips to the creamy flesh uncovered? It was his favorite pleasure, his greatest excitement. Those limbs pressed to his lips. The contour mapped by his tongue. The strength wrapped around his waist. “I can’t fight this much longer. So cold. Damn Clayton.” “Hush now. I’ll help you.” Again, the sluggish nod. Nate shook away his lustful wanderings and reached for her waistcoat. It was like undressing a doll, despite her help—the waistcoat, her skirt, the layers of petticoats, the corset— until she slumped before the fire in chemise, pantalettes, and those damnable stockings. The

mere thought of them, of her here before him, like an ivory sacrifice, brought forth a primal response he found embarrassing in its intensity. Not daring to look, Nate peeled the cotton from her legs and tossed them aside. Only then did he dare to release the breath he had been holding. He stripped down to skin, then lifted her into his arms and placed her in the center of the bed. After retrieving the feathered quilt and other bed coverings from where they had slipped to the floor, Nate crawled into the niche beside her. She curled her arms around him and nestled her head against his chest. “Thank you. Just for a few minutes. Have to get to Mama and Grandma Rose. Need me.” As if by habit, he dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Not tonight, Libby. The weather has turned. It isn’t safe. And you are in no condition to go anywhere.” “Damn Clayton. Thought I could make it.” “Hush now. Rest. All will be well with morning.” With a sigh, she wiggled into their nest. Warmth enveloped them both, but comfort did not. The ache of her presence nagged at him below his waist, straining for the feminine form while his heart raced in anticipation of her nearness. The valley of the mattress left no room to distance himself from her. What would she say come morning when she came to find herself in his bed? He would have to talk fast to explain his motives were true, and not to take advantage of her. He rolled his back to her and tucked his pillow under his head. All he could do was hope she would remember before demanding his head on a platter. But if she behaved like most women, he would probably awaken with a scream, then find her clutching the bedcovers to her chin. Her reputation besmirched, her brother would immediately call for Nate to... Nate pulled himself to one elbow. A plan tossed to Amanda in jest now seemed plausible. It would certainly solve their immediate problem of keeping their mother’s fortune safe. He turned his body back to hers. So beautiful. So soft. So very inviting. And so very wrong. No matter what her profession, he was supposed to be a gentleman. To take what was not willingly offered lumped him in with the dregs of society. He wanted her—that much was obvious from the minute they had met. Being with her would be a pleasure he would love to experience—if she were willing. To take advantage of her, no matter how much it might help his mother, was too heinous an act to consider. His body strained toward her. Afraid his resolve would crumble if he stayed beside her much longer, Nate eased from the bed. “Where are you going?” “To sleep in the chair by the fire.” Libby struggled to one elbow. “Stay...please. You’ll be cold. You’ll...you’re in pain. Your head.” “Yes.” “It happens often.” “Yes.” She lay down and lifted the cover. “Come. Keep warm.” With a resigned sigh, he joined her once more. If he couldn’t have her one way, this would suffice. She drew him into her embrace and gently massaged his temples. Her movements were sluggish yet the caress chased the pain away. “You keep damning Clayton. Why?”

“Put laudanum in my drink tonight. Wanted to keep me home.” “Why?” “Bad...controlling...afraid.” Was Clayton afraid of her or she afraid of Clayton? The question was left unasked as peace surrounded him and a deep sleep pulled him under. Through bleary eyes, Libby watched Nate fall asleep. She wasn’t far behind him. Clayton’s dose of laudanum had dulled her feeling of urgency to reach her mother and grandmother. But it also cleared the way for other emotions. Who was this man who swooped down from the night to rescue her? Of course, she knew it was Nate Blackburn, but there was a deeper something here. She lay in his bed nearly nude. That alone should frighten her beyond her wits. Yet, she felt safe, protected. And she was not unaffected by the sight of him unclothed. Even in a druglaced fog, she longed to dust her fingers across his broad shoulders. To trace the molded angles shadowed in his chest. To pull him atop her and revel in his weight pressing down...into hers. If she closed her eyes, Libby could see them together. Could feel them together. Loving, touching, moving as one. If she closed her eyes...

Another Chance, Another Time By Catherine Snodgrass

Chapter One Alec Edwards stared into the blinding rain. Traffic crawled along Interstate 10. Typical Los Angeles traffic. At this rate he’d never make it to the fund-raising dinner, and that was fine with him. As Alec had left the hospital that evening, Walt Rushmore had let it slip that his daughter Andrea would be joining them. Somehow Alec had managed to keep from wincing. The Rushmores were playing matchmaker. As far as Alec was concerned, it would be a match made in hell. An abortive relationship with Andrea four months ago proved that. For some reason, the Rushmores and Andrea couldn’t understand Alec just wasn’t interested. Tonight was going to be pure agony. The weather seemed to agree. Traffic slowed, cars wedged bumper to bumper, horns blared from all directions to no avail—nothing was going to move this traffic along. They were stuck here for God knew how long. Alec smiled. Maybe there was justice in the world after all. The hospital already had his money for the benefit tonight and now he wouldn’t have to bear Andrea’s company. As he thought that, the crawl of cars ground to a halt. Headlights from oncoming cars zoomed by and bathed him in eerie yellow light. They moved a little too quickly for Alec’s comfort. He blessed the concrete divider that stood between him and the eastbound lane. Still, his gaze remained riveted to those mesmerizing lights. Through a sheet of rain, Alec watched in horror as a car broke free from those coming in the opposite direction. It careened off the center divider and sailed through the air. Alec snapped open his seat belt and dove for the passenger side. It was silent except for the beating rain, and then came the explosion of metal and glass. When silence descended once more, Alec eased up, looking for damage. He was safe. The car behind him was a shambles. He shoved his shoulder against the door and sprinted to the wreckage. Others did the same. A patrolman from the eastbound lane squealed to a stop, leaped the divider, and ran to the wreckage. “There’s a medical bag in my car! Get it!” Alec pointed to his car. Relief washed over the young officer’s face. Alec stared at the tangled heap of vehicles and wondered if there was any hope someone was still alive. The first car, a beat up Colt, had plowed headlong into the windshield of the second, a late model Cougar. Crawling up, Alec wrenched open the door of the Colt. The stench of liquor took his breath away. A pair of gaping, vacant eyes stared back at him. Nevertheless, Alec felt for the man’s pulse. Nothing. He jumped down, expecting the same from the Cougar. The door groaned in protest as he forced it open. A woman was behind the wheel, her face, neck, and chest sliced by shards of metal and glass. The Colt’s bumper missed decapitating her by mere inches. He gingerly felt for a pulse and then sighed in relief. She was still alive.

Her eyes fluttered open and focused on him. There was a catch in her breath, an awareness in those deep brown eyes of hers. She grappled for his hand and then curled her bloodied fingers around it. “It’s...you.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. “God, how I have missed you.” She braced her cheek against the seat and drifted off, a touch of a smile on her lips. Alec stared at her hand still nestled in his. Warmth radiated up his arm until his body was engulfed. Not even the chilling rain could diminish the heat pulsing through him. Who was she? He racked his brain trying to place her. They had never met, had they? “Here’s your bag.” The policeman set the black satchel near the open door. Alec turned to thank him. Shock paralyzed the other man. “She’s going to make it.” His tone warned the officer to say nothing to the contrary. Finally, the man forced himself to nod. “And the other one?” “He’s already gone.” The officer glanced around. “The paramedics are on the way, but with this rain and traffic it might take a while.” “Some butterfly kisses will hold her in place until—” “Kisses?” Alec blinked. Where was his head? “Sorry, I meant stitches.” When he tried to extricate his hand, her hold tightened. He leaned closer, cupping his free hand over both of theirs. “It’s all right. I need to help you. I’m right here. I won’t leave.” “Yes, you will. You are never there when I need you most.” A sigh heaved her chest and her hand slipped free. “Not this time.” Alec had no idea who she thought he was, but he knew whoever it was, she had to have faith that person would help. It was up to him. He pulled off the paper strips on the stitches and used them to hold her skin together until he could get her to a hospital. With all the blood, it was hard to tell the extent of her wounds. Around him he was conscious of the officer directing traffic and the pounding rain, but that was all. Every sense was focused on the woman before him. It was only the two of them, as if the world around them had ceased to exist. Each time he recalled those brown eyes upon him, Alec shivered. She knew him, trusted him. And he would swear he had never met her in his life. Now he was her lifeline, and although Alec had never been one to assign himself God-like qualities, he knew in his heart he was the only person who could save her now. Another patrol car pulled up. Minutes later, the officer sidled up to him. “How is she?” “Fine. She’s going to be just fine.” “Paramedics are almost here.” He ducked away. Alec bent over his patient once more to examine his handiwork. He smoothed back her blood-matted brown hair and felt a bump just above her forehead. A possible concussion was added to the list of injuries. That would explain her confusion when she saw him and her unconsciousness now. There was little more he could do for now. Reaching over to the other seat, he snagged her purse. Her driver’s license listed her as Danielle Morgan, age thirty, height five-three, weight one-twenty. In the photo, she was smiling. Her hair brushed her shoulders in a feather-like embrace. A pink dot on the

license indicated she was an organ donor. Alec gritted his teeth. He refused to allow it to come to that. He shifted through the contents of her purse once more and found a passport where another bright smile shined from her photograph. A plane ticket with itinerary was nestled inside the passport. Alec took a peek and didn’t know whether to smile or cry for her. She had been on her way to LAX to catch a flight to Europe. That would be his vacation of choice. Trouble was, he had never taken the time to do it, and never found anyone he wanted to go with. Whoever was waiting for her at the airport was probably frantic. He waved one of the officers over and shoved the ticket into his hand. “Better call the airline and let them know what happened. They can notify anyone waiting for her there. Any word on that rescue unit?” “They’re about a mile away. I can see the lights from here.” Alec looked in the direction he pointed. Flashing red lights wove along the median toward them. He squatted down and picked up the woman’s limp hand. This time, she didn’t stir. Her pulse was thready. They were running out of time. “Hang on, Danielle.” No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t care what her driver’s license said. “Dani, hang on.” Alec thought he felt the slightest pressure as she squeezed his hand in response. Impossible. It was his imagination wanting her to be all right. The sirens ground to a halt in front of the cars. Footsteps beat a hasty path to reach the victim. For now, Alec was in the way. His job would begin again once they got her to the hospital. He watched the firefighters cut her out of the car with the Jaws of Life. Then the paramedics eased her onto the gurney. “Coming, Doc?” one asked. “We’ll get your car to you,” the officer said as he gathered Dani’s possessions. They didn’t have to ask him twice. He slipped the officer his keys. Then, with the right afforded his occupation, he crawled into the rescue squad beside her. “Radio ahead. I’m going to need x-rays, blood typing, and a surgical team.” “Got it.” The paramedic radioed the instructions to the hospital. *** For Alec, everything was in place by the time the ambulance reached the emergency room doors. The hospital staff wheeled Dani Morgan away to prep her for surgery, x-ray for broken bones, and run necessary blood work. Then it would be up to Alec, and he was going to be good to no one unless he calmed down. He stopped long enough to slug down a cup of water before marching off to scrub up. Dr. Kevin Samuels was already there, stripping from his street clothes into surgical scrubs. The rain had tightened his red hair to clumps of curls. His blue eyes danced with mischief when he saw Alec. “If I’d known this was a formal occasion, I would have dressed in something better than jeans.” Normally Alec would have come back with a jibe of his own. Tonight he just wasn’t in the mood. He threw his damp suit into a wad at the bottom of the locker. Kevin

had the good sense to let it go. “I was on my way home when you arrived. Thought I’d stay and help.” He jerked his head toward the operating room. “She’s a mess. Damn fine thing you were there. I understand it was over an hour before the paramedics could get to the scene.” An hour? Had they really been there that long? “The other driver died on impact. Frankly, I was surprised to find her still alive. You know, she was on her way to the airport. Going to Europe.” Kevin looked up. “So she was conscious during all this.” Alex slipped his blue scrubs on. “No. I was searching for identification and found the tickets.” “So she never spoke at all.” He straightened. Two strides took him to the sink. “I never said that either.” Kevin was on his heels and nearly bumped into him when Alec started to scrub up. “What did she say?” “What does it matter?” He shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t if she didn’t say anything about any medical conditions.” Alec drew in air to steady his nerves. “She didn’t. She just mistook me for someone else.” “Is that what has you rattled?” Yes. That was it. The whole thing spooked him. Dani Morgan hadn’t just thought he was someone else, but she knew him, and Alec couldn’t for the life of himself understand how. “I guess so.” Kevin’s gaze was sharp, appraising. “Are you going to be all right to do this?” He had to be. She was depending on him. By some instinct he couldn’t explain, he had to help her. He was the only one who could save her. “I’m fine. Let’s do it.” Together they pushed into the operating room. Dani looked pale next to the white sheets that draped her. Shock and blood loss had taken their toll. The rest of the team surrounded her. The anesthesiologist was at her head. “Is she out?” Alec studied her face, deciding where to start first. “Almost.” “Let me know when, Joe. Anything else?” “No broken bones, Dr. Edwards,” the nurse said. “No hepatitis. No drugs or alcohol in her blood. But there are more lacerations on her torso.” “Then we’ll start there.” Alec lifted the sheet and blanched. A deep gash followed the curve of her right breast. He tried not to reprimand himself. From the position of the other vehicle, there had been no way to check for other injuries. That’s no excuse, logic argued. You should have checked her again in the ambulance. “Ready, Doc.” “Thanks, Joe. Okay, people. Let’s get to work.” ***

Dani Morgan felt herself slip further into that dark place in her mind. She was aware of where she was, what had happened, and that she was very badly hurt. None of that mattered. They couldn’t put her under. They just couldn’t. No one understood what it would mean. She had gone there once before when she had her tonsils out as a child. It had terrified her ever since, yet she could speak of it to no one. Now she had to. But the words wouldn’t come. Dani couldn’t make them understand. And slowly she went back to that place. That place where she had died.