Never Kiss A Stranger by Heather Grothaus

Author:Heather Grothaus [Grothaus, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4201-2246-6
Publisher: Zebra
Published: 2011-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Alys was not coming back.

Even in his state of near delirium—which he knew could be the only explanation for what he was seeing and hearing—Piers recognized Alys’s vulnerability. She knew nothing of survival, had no supplies, knew not that each step she took south carried her farther and farther from the road she sought. It had to be freezing because it was still snowing, and it was sometime during the night because it was still dark.

She was likely dead already.

Piers tried to raise his head to look at the fire—he barely caught a glimpse of tiny licking flames before his head fell back against the tree. The fire was dying, too. Fitting. He rolled his head to the left. At least his father was still there to keep him company.

Warin Mallory sat near the weakening fire, one knee bent to his chest, his other leg crooked under him for support. His gray hair was untied, swooping away from his forehead and falling over both shoulders. His beard and mustache were full and neat. His gaze was icy, but merry, as if death had been so startlingly bright as to have bleached his eyes, but he had enjoyed the experience. He was dressed in his typical dark green tunic, and was shelling what looked to Piers to be hazelnuts by hand, and feeding them one at a time to Layla.

Layla crouched at Warin’s knee, her little hands clasped patiently before her mouth, nibbling and watching as each shell piece fell onto the pile growing on the ground. Lord Mallory never spoke, but he did keep a gentle smile on his face. Every now and then he would look up at Piers and nod encouragingly, or hold a nut toward him as if offering it to him to eat.

Piers had managed to barely shake his head no the first time. Now he just looked away. He had tried speaking to his father when Warin had simply walked from the snowstorm and toward the fire, but his words had been garbled and unintelligible to his own ears, even knowing what he was trying to say.

Why do you haunt me?

Is it your wish to see me die?

Was it not enough to torment me with your uncaring the whole of my life?

Can you not rest until you are certain I have died a death as lonely as my life?

But his questions had only come out as pathetic sobs, and so Piers had held his swollen and dry tongue out of pride. With Warin keeping the death vigil over him, both Judith Angwedd’s and Bevan’s cruel words had ceased, and that at least was a blessing.

Piers was sorry. Sorry that he had ever met Alys Foxe and unwillingly brought her into the misery that was his mission. Had he simply abandoned her, she would have eventually returned to Fallstowe, and would not be now wandering a desolate wood populated only with myths in search of nonexistent aid for him. She deserved to live her fortunate life. Everyone deserved that, Piers thought.

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