The Guardian

Chapter Seventeen

Jack gingerly dismounted at the chapel and brought Nora inside laying her down on the old altar.

"Nora," he called frantically. "Speak to me!"

He pulled back and checked the wound. She had been shot in the back and there was an exit wound in her abdomen. Jack took out his knife and cut away the top of the dress she wore, revealing the wound.

"Oh, Nora," he whispered. And ran a hand down his face. "No, no, no, no."

"It's okay, Jack," she said weakly. "It's not mortal."

"Oh, my love," he said.

"Get some water, clean it up, and wrap it with a bandage. I won't be able to ride for a few days."

"Days?" Jack replied. "Nora, this is—"

"Look again, Jack, and be at ease," she smiling faintly.

Jack looked down and gasped at what he saw. The injury already looked better than it had just moments ago. "It's healing already," he said amazed.

"Remember the healing power of the elixir," Nora explained. "Keep it clean and dry. I will be fine in a few days. I promise, Jack. I won't leave you. Go now and get water and something for a bandage. I should have something in my trunk if you have it with you."

"But the pain..."

With trembling fingers, Jack ran his hand through Nora's hair and down her face. "I will bear it. You can leave me for a few moments," she assured him.

Reluctantly, Jack nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead. His only light was that of the moon, but on a cloudless night, it was bright enough. He would start a fire once he tended to Nora.

If his hands stopped shaking long enough for him to get anything accomplished.

He leaned against the cart and ran his hands through his hair, and a sob escape. A moment later, he was down on his knees gulping for air.

Oh, God, he could have lost her. A few inches higher and the bullet would have struck her heart, and it would have been mortal. How did anyone survive this? How did they live with these intense feelings? How did they function knowing their entire world hinged on one person that they could lose in the blink of an eye?

And he had an eternity of this? How many times would he have to live through this over the centuries? Would he get used to it? Would he always feel this gut-wrenching pain when she was hurt?

He took deep breaths to calm his breathing. He could not go back to her like this. He needed to be strong for her, and he needed to do as she had asked of him. He took the time to light a torch and opened her trunk, pulling out one of her nightgowns. He removed the water bottled they traveled with and went back into the chapel.

He drew his breath in when he saw her there laying on the altar, still as death in the moonlight. She faced him, and her beauty overwhelmed him. She was ethereal and she was his.

When he reached her, she drew her hand to his face and smiled, wiping away the remains of his tears. She chuckled when he looked away in embarrassment. "Do not be ashamed of what you feel, Jack. To feel so much is human."

"I love you, Nora," Jack said. He hadn't intended to say it just then, but he couldn't hold it in any more. She needed to hear it, and he needed to tell her.

She smiled, a tear running down her cheek. "I know, Jack. I've known for a while now. I love you, too. I've loved you from the first."

"I've loved you longer."

She laughed then groaned a bit. "Let me take care of this," he said gently and began to wash and dress her quickly healing wound.

"I have failed, Jack," she said. "I lost the stone. I don't know where it is. It was in my cloak and it never made it to my father's."

"We'll get it back. I have much to tell you when you're feeling better. I know when and where we'll find Bridget. We'll find her, Nora. We'll find all of them."

"But without the stone—"

"You are what is important right now," he insisted. "We'll figure out the damn stone when you are well again." He tied off the dressing and pressed a long kiss to her forehead as she drifted off to sleep. When he was assured she was resting comfortably, he went back to the wagon and gathered what he could to make her comfortable while she rested. When he was sure she rested peacefully, he lowered himself to her side and eventually slept.

Lord Rogan plunged his sword into the belly of the errant man and looked down at his screaming, writhing figure in disgust.

"And what was his crime?" His second in command asked as he sauntered into the room.

"Shooting my daughter," Rogan hissed, then waved to the two guards standing nearby to take the man away. "He will be a lesson to the others. When I say she is not to be harmed, she is not to be harmed! How they cannot detain one girl ..."

"They are fearful of what you are," his second in command said. Rogan looked over at the one he trusted more than anyone else.

"How can you be so sure the same fate is not about to befall you?" Rogan said. "You have failed, as well."

"No, I most certainly have not."

"She got away. Even now, she is out there someone hurt and in pain."

"We underestimated her Warrior."

"How is that possible?" Rogan interrogated. "How is it possible you were caught by surprise?"

"He is better than I thought," the soldier shrugged, then sat down and set his boots up on a nearby table. "Besides, I cannot be killed. Your men keep trying to kill her because they are afraid of what you are, of what she is, of what we are."

Rogan narrowed his eyes and studied his son more keenly. Fox had served him well these past decades. Rogan thought his prayers had been answered when his son returned to him. But why couldn't they get Nora? She was in his very grasp tonight and slipped away yet again.

"Did you let your sister go?"

"No, I did not.

"She is gone," Rogan hissed. "How have you not failed?"

"Because, Father," Fox said, reaching into his pocket. Rogan's eyes narrowed as he saw what his son put on the table between them. "I haven't failed because I have the stone."

"Well done, son," Rogan said, taking the stone and holding it up to the light. "We now have one stone, only two more to find."

THE END