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Dallin sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and let it drop.
For now. "I'm not surprised," he said, reached out. "Here, let
me " He paused when Calder flinched back, softened his
voice. "I'm going to help you up," Dallin told him calmly, "and
then I'm going to help you inside. I can almost feel your
friend Miri burning me in effigy already, and we'd best let her
see to you, if their healer hasn't shown up yet."
Calder shook his head. "I don't want her to see to me," he
whispered, small and humiliated, arms working behind him in
what Dallin was fairly sure was unconscious denial of his
current defeated state.
"Well, I've been thinking," Dallin replied, kept his voice low
and near-affable as he leaned to the side, retrieved his
sidearm, checked the safety and deliberately holstered it,
secured it in its straps. "Your right hand needs setting and
wrapping, and we can't very well have you shackled for that,
can we?" He set his jaw a little when Calder shot a hopeful
glance from beneath tangled fringe. "I'm not letting you go,"
Dallin warned, "and if you make me go through this sort of
set-to again, you'll be a lot worse off than you are now, I
promise you. If you try to run, I will catch you and make you
regret it." He shrugged, opened a hand. "But I need my right
hand free and can't have you attached to it " He patted the
holster. " and your right hand needs seeing to, so I can't cuff
myself to you. If you can behave yourself until I can get us
safely upstairs, we'll take those shackles off."
Calder's face fell, but he didn't protest, only dropped his
gaze, nodded. "I'll... behave," he said quietly. Dallin didn't
miss how he'd spoken that last word as though it tasted sour.
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It was only the work of a few seconds to get Calder on his
feet amazing how light and thin he felt when he wasn't
trying to kill a person. He turned with no resistance when
Dallin prodded him, stood still and quiet, waiting patiently for
Dallin to fish out the key. Dallin had seen this slumped
posture before, this submissive-seeming compliance, so he
remained chary as the shackles came off, one hand clamped
to Calder's left elbow as he re-secured them on the back of
his belt. But Calder only swayed a little on his feet, didn't
tense or try to jerk out of Dallin's grip, only brought his right
arm around, cradled it to his chest, and waited for Dallin to
turn him again.
"All right," Dallin said, "calm and quiet, now. Lean into me
if you have to, but if you try to get away from me, I'm going
to have to hurt you."
Calder's jaw twitched. "I said I wouldn't." Tight and
resentful.
It confirmed Dallin's initial assessment: Calder was never
going to admit defeat, no matter what the situation. He'd
mimic defeat, say all the right words to convince his
antagonist, but underneath it all, Dallin had no doubt there
was scheming and calculation and the patience to wait for the
next opening. He'd cooperate meekly and politely, right up
until he was cutting your throat. Or his own. And Dallin was a
little pissed off to realize he was grudgingly impressed; if
nothing else, Calder had stones of pure, solid brass... or
maybe it was more like a head full of rocks. Unfortunately,
Dallin would likely get several more opportunities to decide
which.
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by Carole Cummings
Calder did lean into him as they made their slow way
around to the back porch, and Dallin didn't think there was
any sham in the unsteady gait or the occasional stumble. The
man had been through the wringer several wringers, by the
look of him and it wasn't a wonder the effects were catching
up with him. Nonetheless, Dallin kept a good hold on Calder's
arm, alert for a sudden move toward any of the weapons
secured about Dallin's person. There were many dangers
involved in his line of work, but the most embarrassing
among them was getting shot with one's own sidearm. Dallin
had no intention of finding out how that one felt.
The small crowd Dallin had ordered away before had
merely migrated around the corner and to the porch. And
grown. Likely bollixing and skewing any evidence he'd hoped
to find once Calder was seen to. Who knew what sort of mess
they'd made out of the scene in the common room? Damn it,
he needed a bloody regiment to wring some order out of this
cock-up, and he was only one person.
Calder shrank back a little, made himself smaller, as he
caught sight of everyone staring at him, some of them almost
hostile, some of them merely curious only one of them
willing to break from the security of the crowd and approach
them. Dallin was not in the least surprised when Miri strode
over to them with shoulders thrown back, Tom, as always, a
half-step behind her, at her back, a frustrated scowl of
reprimand and resignation both darkening his thin features.
"Are you all right?" Miri asked Calder, shot an accusing
glance up at Dallin; again, Dallin only just kept from snorting.
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Aisling Book One: Guardian
by Carole Cummings
"My head hurts," was all Calder said, eyes nailed to the
ground and hair hanging to cover his face.
It seemed Miri couldn't decide between sympathy for
Calder and irritation with Dallin. She settled for grudging
practicality.
"The Sheriff's arrived," she told Dallin, maneuvering
herself over to Calder's right side and gingerly taking his
other elbow. "And she en't happy."
Dallin couldn't imagine she would be.
"We found the others," Tom offered from behind. "I
thought you said you'd only done away with two of 'em?"
Dallin paused with his foot on the bottom step of the
porch. He'd actually forgotten about the men out in the yard.
He turned to look at Tom. "What d'you mean?"
"They were all dead," Tom answered warily, eyeing Dallin
with more suspicion than he'd done before. "One of 'em had
his throat cut, and the other three "
"Poisoned," Dallin cut in, shook his head and clenched his
teeth. "Damn it." He should damn well have gone back and
checked the first two, once he'd seen what the last had done.
Still, who would have guessed...? "What the deuce are these
people?"
"True Believers," Calder muttered, blinked up at Dallin as
though he'd had no intention of speaking and was worried
about the repercussions now that he had. His mouth worked
for a moment then he shut it, looked down.
"Mm," Dallin grunted, glared at the people blocking the
porch. "Come on then, out of the way." He didn't wait for
them to move, merely began shoving his way through them
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by Carole Cummings
and dragging Calder and, perforce, Miri along with him.
"Clear out, I tell you, move along." He peered over Calder's
head at Miri. "Where is this sheriff of yours, then?"
"Right behind you," came the laconic response. "Come on,
then, you heard the man, out of the way."
The crowd parted this time, making way for a woman,
broad and tall and keen-edged, sharp eyes set wide in a face
ruddied with sun and wind; a spider-work of smile lines
stretched from the corners of her eyes and swept up toward
graying temples, an otherwise deep-chestnut mane tied back
in a tail at her nape. More than just fit the woman was the
very definition of 'rough and ready' and could probably give
Dallin a run for his money, should she so choose. She could
have been anywhere between thirty-five and seventy. Dallin
had no intention of having a guess, at least no out loud.
Women had some sort of... thing about their age.
The sheriff took her time mounting the steps, moving
slowly, for no other purpose, Dallin guessed, than to have
herself a good, long look. She said nothing yet, but tipped
Dallin a business-like nod in greeting then peered down at
Calder, stared for so long he started to twitch; she took pity
and turned her gaze back to Dallin, lifted one expressive
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