An Outlaw's Word by Aileen Adams

Author:Aileen Adams [Adams, Aileen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2018-04-26T16:00:00+00:00

17

She had dreamed so many things. Strange things, wondrous things, memories which had twisted themselves in her fever-laden mind until they’d become something else entirely.

She’d dreamed that it was her mother who smoothed the hair from her brow, who crooned soft, calming words to her which had somehow cut through the pain and confusion and the certainty that she was dying.

That her father had sworn vengeance on the man who’d hurt her. That he had promised to kill the bastard.

He had looked the same as she remembered him from her youth, young, vibrant, as large as a house, his red hair flaming around his head, looking like nothing so much as it did a burning crown. The scar which ran from his forehead down to his cheekbone had even been there. Every little detail.

And Mother. Her kind, sweet smile. The loving blue eyes which had crinkled up at the corners, the dimples in her cheeks. She’d been so clear, so real. As though the last few years hadn’t passed at all, as though Ysmaine had merely fallen asleep one day and dreamed of losing them both.

As though she were finally waking up to real life once again, and Mother might prepare a bowl of soup for her as had always been the case whenever Ysmaine was ill.

All had been peaceful, calm, leaving Ysmaine joyful beyond words at the unexpected return of the life she’d thought was over forever.

Until Father had returned, nearly tearing the door from the wall in his excitement. He had caught the rabid dog who’d hurt her and would bring him to justice with the blade of his sword. His eyes had blazed furious fire as he’d raged in the old way, bellowing at the top of his powerful lungs and unleashing epithets she had only heard him use in the direst of situations.

And then, he’d dragged in a man with dark hair which hung in his eyes as he lowered his head.

A man wearing a red tunic, torn and splattered with drying blood which Ysmaine had somehow known was his own. At whose side hung a sword with a jeweled hilt.

“This is the man,” Father had snarled, spitting upon Quinn’s bowed head. “He’s the one who dared place his hands upon my daughter and brought her to this state!”

She’d tried to sit up, though Mother’s hands had pressed against her shoulders to hold her down.

“No, no! It wasn’t his fault! He is not the man who wounded me!” she’d protested, nearly wild with fear for what might happen if her father had his way.

“I’ll hear nothing of it!” he had bellowed, taking Quinn by the back of the neck and jerking his head up so that she might see his face—what was left of it, rather, since it appeared as though one entire side had been kicked in. Blood obscured one swollen eye, his nose was a misshapen mess, his lovely mouth was split open and had probably borne the loss of several teeth.

“Why did you do this?” she’d demanded in a choked whisper.

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