Whispers of the Night by Lydia Joyce

Author:Lydia Joyce
Language: eng
Format: epub

the sidesaddle and thought, I can do this. I can make it.

But she did not know whether that made her want to laugh, weep, or scream.

Chapter Thirteen

"We're not going to find her before nightfall," Volynroskyj predicted, eyeing the sun where it squatted, briefly visible, upon a ridge of mountains.

"I know," Dumitru said. Much of his anger had worn off during the long ride, for it was hard to maintain a hot fury through hours of tedium. His determination, however, never wavered. He was going to find his wife, and he was going to bring her home again, though he wasn't certain in his own mind why it was so important for him to do this. His head throbbed with too little sleep. He didn't want to think about it now, and so he shut those thoughts away and focused upon riding.

"The men only brought enough food for two days," Volynroskyj added. They were riding slightly behind the rest of the group as they followed the dogs through the underbrush. In daylight, Dumitru could see the deer paths and rabbit trails Alcyone was following, though the only pattern to her choice seemed to be that they always led west.

"I know," Dumitru repeated. He frowned, an expression that was beginning to come to him as naturally as his smile once had. "I will send them—and you—back in the morning. You can watch after Severinor while I am gone, and Bogdan and I will take extra supplies and go on alone." Bogdan was Dumitru's best tracker, skilled at reporting the movements of groups of men, whether single bandits, entire caravans, or small armies.

He had been able to follow Alcy's trail easily even when the dogs had dissolved into a milling mass of confusion.

"If that is what you wish," Volynroskyj said. "The Ottomans will roar with laughter when they hear of this."

"Well, then, don't tell them," Dumitru snapped.

Volynroskyj shrugged, and they rode on in silence.

On the afternoon of the third day, Alcy reached the Danube. A great, muddy river hundreds of yards across, it slid placidly through the wilderness on its journey to the distant Black Sea. When Raisin pushed through the surrounding brush and emerged upon the bank, her stomach sank a little, for she had hoped against reason that she would reach the river at Orŝova. She had no way now of knowing whether she might be upstream or down from the little town, nor could she clearly recall how far the next settlement was from it upriver.

She led Raisin onto a protruding sandbar and dismounted, looping the reins around her wrist before kneeling at the river's side, pulling off her gloves, and splashing the icy water across her face. It numbed her nose and cheeks and smelled of fish and mud, but she didn't care. She was filthy and exhausted, and the cold water revived her slightly and at least gave her the illusion of washing. Her body hurt from the merciless constriction of her corset, which she had worn without respite for three days.

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