Bitten
1404 Words
*Briony*
Morning brings the glaring sun and a harsh reality. I avoid Wade's gaze as I eat my breakfast. When he begins to pack our belongings into the wagon, I find myself at the stream seeking solace.
It is one thing to meet Wade's gaze by the campfire, with more shadows than light, but when no shadows separate us... I can't meet his gaze, knowing what he has seen, what I have seen.
I issued my challenge last night much as I often dared my sisters, much as they dared me, to step beyond the rigid guidelines our parents set for us. But as imaginative as the dares had been, they were children's dares, designed to make hearts race and giggles erupt, designed to strengthen a bond.
Last night my heart raced, but I felt no desire to giggle, to laugh, or to smile. No bond exists between Wade and me that could be strengthened.
I stare at the small stream and listen to the gurgling water. I feel soiled, inside more than out. I wish Chase had come for me. I wish we would reach the ranch today. I wish I had never seen the firelight skim over Wade's bronzed skin.
I drop to my backside, remove my shoes and stockings, and wiggle my toes in the cold water. It isn't enough to wash away the memories of last night, to make me forget how for one insane moment I envied the firelight.
Lifting my skirt higher, I wade into the stream until the brown water laps at my calves. Almost hazel brown like Wade's gaze, Chase's eyes. Brown like fertile soil.
"Briony?"
Refusing to acknowledge Wade's presence by turning around, I glare at the trees lining the opposite bank. Anger swells anew, anger at myself because I like the way my name sounds coming from his lips, with his deep timbre wrapped around the sounds. I hope Chase's voice will carry the same resonance.
"Do you have any plans to look at me or talk to me today?" he asks.
"Perhaps at nightfall. It's easier with the shadows around us." I mumble.
He sighs. "Then I reckon we'll wait here till nightfall."
I clench my hands. "I thought if I did to you what you had done to me, I would find what you took from me. But trust isn't gained back that easily." I pivot in the water and tilt my face up slightly.
He isn't wearing his hat. No shadows keep his gaze from mine. Within the dark depths, I read sorrow, shame, and a profound apology that almost makes me weep. "I'm sorry," I whisper hoarsely.
"No need to apologize. It was all my doing. I have a habit of taking the easy road. It was easier to watch than it was to turn away." He settles his hat on his head. "The wagon's loaded. We can leave whenever you're ready."
"Just a few… oh!" The sharp pain comes suddenly, without warning. I stumble back, falling into the cold water.
Wade thrashes through the gentle current, lifts me into his arms, and carries me out of the stream. "What happened?"
"My leg. Something bit me. A fish or something." I gasp.
Gingerly he sets me on the grassy bank and kneels beside me.
"Close your eyes," he demands tersely as he tears the hat from his head. "God damn it! Close your eyes!"
He has only sworn at me once… last night… and normally I would obey anyone who yelled at me with such urgency. But I can't bring myself to move, to act, to do anything but stare at the two puncture marks in my calf and the blood trailing toward my ankle.
"What happened?" I ask.
"Snake," he replies as he wraps a strip of leather around my calf before unsheathing the knife he carries at his side. The early morning sunlight glints off the steel.
"It's gonna hurt. I'm sorry," he says quietly as he slices the blade across my calf. I clench my teeth and ball my hands into fists, wishing I could reassure him, but afraid if I open my mouth to speak, I'd scream.
He drops the knife. Wrapping his warm hands around my calf, he lowers his mouth to the wound. His jaws work feverishly as he sucks and spit. Sucks and spit. Over and over.
I touch my finger to the black patch dangling from my calf and shift my gaze. No strip of leather indents his brow as he works. His thick dark hair falls over his face, and I have a strong urge to brush it back.
"Am I going to die?" I ask quietly.
He jerks his head up, apparently forgetting or unaware that he isn't shielding his face from my gaze. Nothing remains of his left eye or cheek. His tangled flesh is stretched taut in places, ridged and heavily scarred in others, as though his ravaged face hadn't quite known how to repair itself. I want to weep for the pain he must have endured, for the wounded child he had once been.
"No," he says with conviction. "No, you're not gonna die."
He scoops me into his arms as though I were little more than a bouquet of flowers, freshly picked. I press my face against his chest as he carries me in long strides back to the camp. I can hear the pounding of his heart, so hard, so fast that I am certain he is in pain. He sets me down near the cold ashes of their campfire.
"I'm still bleeding." I mumble.
"That's all right. Let your leg bleed for a while. I'm going to set the tent back up." He says softly.
"Why?" I ask, the panic knotting my stomach.
Gently, he cradles my cheek. I feel the slight trembling in his fingers and place my hand over his. His Adam's apple slowly slides up and down.
"You're gonna get sick," he says, his voice ragged. "Real sick."
"I didn't see a snake," I say, hopefully.
He looks sad. "He left his mark. Probably a water moccasin, maybe a rattler that close to shore."
He withdraws his fingers, and a coldness seeps through me. A shudder racks my body.
He tears off his duster and gently slips it over my shoulders, tucking it in around me. He pulls his shirt over his head and wads it up. "Here, lie down."
I curl up on the ground. "I'm tired," I say, my tongue feeling thick. "Didn't sleep well last night."
"You'll sleep today. I'll be back for you." He says.
Before I can reply, he races to the wagon and begins searching through its contents, an urgency to his movements. My eyelids grow heavy, but I force them to remain open as I watch him set up the tent beneath the shade of a tree.
His back is lean, tanned, and I wonder if he often works without a shirt. His muscles remind me of a stallion's, sleek but powerful, bunching with an easy grace as he works.
I close my eyes and the dizziness assaults me as the blackness swirls around me. Jerking my eyes open, I fight to ignore the throbbing pain in my calf and concentrate instead on the plainness of the patch that usually covers the harshest of Wade's scars. Perhaps I will decorate it with tiny flowers before I give it back to him.
As I reach for it, to examine it more closely, so do long brown fingers. I watch as Wade removes the strip of leather from my leg and ties it around his head, the patch falling into place to cover his loss.
He wraps a strip of cloth around my wound. Then he lifts me into his arms and carries me into the tent, gingerly setting me on the cot.
"Do you think you can get out of your wet clothes or do you need me to help?" he asks.
I glance at my nightgown waiting on my pillow. I nod lethargically, my tongue struggling to form the words. "I... can."
"Good. I'll be back in a few minutes."
He disappears before I can say more. Sluggishly, I work my way out of my clothes, leaving them heaped on the floor. I slip on my nightgown before curling up on my side and drifting off to sleep, trusting my life to Wade's keeping.
- Writer
