Chase the Dawn Read Online Free Page B

“And they are not what concerns us at present. Does the name Trueman mean anything to you?”
    Bryony was inclined to reply that if he would not answer her questions, she did not see why she should answer his, but common sense told her that she would be merely cutting off her nose to spite her face. She thought, her expression twisted with the effort, but there was nothing there. “No.”
    “Bryony is an unusual name,” he mused, regarding her through narrowed eyes, hoping that the casual comment would trigger an automatic response. “Always assuming that you did not borrow it for some nefarious purpose.”
    She smiled a little at that and wondered if it could possibly be true. Somehow she hoped not. At least having a name that she believed was her own gave her some sense of belonging in the world. “It’s the name of a flower, is it not?”
    “I believe so.” He sighed. “We are not getting anywhere, are we? For the most part, your memory is intact; there is just one large chunk missing.”
    “But it is the most important chunk of all,” she maintained, suddenly desolate. “What am I to do?”
    It was a question exercising her companion considerably, but more along the lines of what was
he
to do. He appeared to be stuck with this stray waif, and from what he had seen of her so far, she did not strike him as a particularly biddable creature. She had a potentially dangerous curiosity that he dared not satisfy.
    A low whistle sounded through the clearing, and hestiffened. He’d told William to come only under cover of darkness. He whistled back, a soft, trilling melody barely distinguishable from a bird call.
    Bryony looked at him in astonishment. “You are signaling to someone?”
    “Yes, someone that you may not meet.” He stood up. “Come into the cabin.”
    “But why may I not?” She found herself being pulled behind him, as she clutched the blanket convulsively, and there was a quality to his hold that sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine. The gentleness had gone, replaced by a taut determination.
    He did not answer her, merely swung her onto the bedstead. As she struggled upright, vociferous protest on her lips, he took a thin strip of rawhide from the shelf. “I am sorry, but this is necessary for your own safety.” The mouth, which she had seen only curved with amusement or softened with compassion, was now a thin line within the neat, rich copper beard, and his eyes no longer glowed; they were hard black stones that glittered without warmth. Even as she cried out in fury and sudden fear of this stranger, he took one of her wrists and bound it with the leather band to one of the forked poles that formed the frame of the bed. “I won’t be gone long.” He ran a finger between the hide and the skin of her wrist. “If you do not pull on it, it will not chafe. Just lie quietly and try to sleep.” Then she was left in the dim light of the cabin, a prisoner tied to the bed, with no identity, no name, no sense of self or of her place in the world.
    When Benedict came out of the cabin, William was waiting at the edge of the clearing. His heavy peasant face was set in an obstinate glower, which causedBenedict to sigh in anticipation of trouble in the offing. William was spokesman for the band, more because of his natural aggression than for any articulate tact.
    Deciding to take the offensive, Benedict strode across the clearing, his face hard. “You were told not to come here in daylight.”
    “The men want to know what ye be goin’ to do with her.” William’s balding head jerked toward the cabin. “Unless she be dead.”
    “No, she is not.” Benedict moved into the trees, gesturing imperatively to William that he follow. Although he knew the girl could not get to the window, he never dropped the habitual caution that had kept him alive for the last five years. “She is my responsibility. You need have no fear that I will allow her to endanger anyone.”
    “Who is she?” demanded