Avarice Desperation Valley Book 1

Golden Goddess

Knowing all this she took her time, working deftly, cursing the lack of medical supplies, and improvising where she could to achieve the desired result. During her ministrations he sometimes regained partial consciousness, though she was not sure he recognized her. Then just as suddenly he would pass out again as she continued with her task. 

The young woman was indeed skilled in the healing arts, despite having no formal training her inquiring mind and sensitive hands often worked healing wonders. There were scores of souls who owed their fortunate recoveries from the bane of sickness or injury to Raissa's abundant knowledge.

Though she was only a slave every man in this camp valued her usefulness, her skills being in constant demand, despite her tender age of seventeen years. At last she seemed satisfied that she had done all she could, finishing by bandaging his torso tightly, that being all she could do for his possibly fractured ribs, and suturing the worst of his cuts. Requesting the men to then move him onto the mattress, overseeing that he was at last comfortable.

Taking one final, loving, look at the forbidden object of her desire so peaceful in his sleep, she turned then to leave. Horrified as she almost collided with the solid form of Bennett who she had no idea had positioned himself directly behind her, avidly scrutinizing her every action. The ever present fear of this great man paralyzed the young woman in her tracks. His magnificent stature and dark presence never ceased to enhance Raissa's sense of unease. 

It did not help either that perhaps she was seen by him as competing for what was plainly his. She squirmed, too afraid to look up, not risking meeting the penetrating, icy gaze now leveled at her. So she stood there dumbly, eyes submissively downcast, waiting for him to react. She felt the heavy hand on her shoulder, impossibly big, still she could not steel herself to look up. 

"Will he fully recover?" He inquired, his bland tone revealing nothing of his inner feelings to her.

"Y...y...yes." She quavered.

"He'd better." Came the menacing reply, chilling her blood. 

She felt the powerful hand guiding her out the door, and she took the hint and left quickly. Almost running now to seek the comfort of the other slaves, eager to busy herself with the day's chores.

*****

When Carlos finally awoke that day, it was deep dusk. Just the faintest hue of rose coloring the west. There was not the slightest whisper of wind, and it was as though the rain had awakened the sleeping land. Loud was the cacophony of a million insects filling the usually subdued desert nights with vibrant chorus. For a time he lay unmoving, sensing acutely his surroundings and his bruised body. Thankfully he was alone, gingerly he surveyed his bandaged ribs, finding that movement caused him intense pain. Still he did feel marginally better than he had that morning. Reveling in the knowledge that at least his hands were now free, plus he was clean and almost comfortable.

Abruptly he remembered the ring. Did he still have it? His fingers sought its comforting familiarity, thankfully still suspended about his neck. As he did so he encountered more than he had bargained for, a length of sturdy, welded link chain fastened around his throat with a padlock. A despairing sigh escaped him then as he eased his tortured body back down into the comfort of the furs. Realizing then he was too weak to attempt anything else.

Even with the rapidly failing light, and his reduced vision, a cursory observation revealed a mass of ugly bruises and cuts. Never had Bennett done anything like this to him in all his long captivity. However his resolve of non compliance to the brute's sick wishes would stand. Presuming he would either be killed or survive to escape, praying that it would be the latter of these two options.