Free Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series) by Jennifer Strong Page A

nudged her wandering mount away from the water-filled ditch that coursed mere feet from the trail. There was something odd about her, some inkling in the back of his mind that a part of her was not right. He noticed that, though clear, the rims not the least bit red, the strange woman’s eyes were abnormally light; seemingly colorless. With a sudden jolt, he thought the woman must be blind. Yet, if she truly were without sight, why did he feel as if she were looking directly at him? He shuddered involuntarily at the thought but the white head had moved, her strange eyes already turned away, giving him the eeriest sense that despite the paleness of the orbs, the complete lack of color, she could clearly see where she was going as she passed by. Unless the horse was simply trustworthy enough that she counted on it to carry her safely? An odd notion, but still... With the slightest shake of his head, Micah pushed his wandering thoughts away. His eye was drawn to the second horse and rider, now lagging quite some distance behind the old woman, the pace halting occasionally as an obvious lack of direction from the rider allowed the equine to graze the sparse, succulent grasses a bite at a time along the way; as if the rider dreaded going home and purposely delayed her arrival.
    Home? No, it couldn’t be , Micah reasoned with cautious practicality even as his heart and mind confirmed the fact. As if by some supernatural force, he was drawn closer, his eyes wide in the shadows. His throat ran dry when he beheld the tiny young woman before him. It could not be her... could it? blinked, uncertain . She looks a ragamuffin, no dream goddess. She was absolutely filthy, so different from the impeccable older woman; her skin was strangely pallid, the blueish color of a corpse, smudged in many places with what looked very much like dried blood; some sort of drawn design, unrecognizable now, had been smeared along her cheeks, down her arms. Her hair looked to be plastered with mud, so much so that, even at the ends near the mare's flanks,  it was impossible to see the true color. He was strangely drawn to her.
    Moving soundlessly, Micah followed her slow ascent up the mountain, staying carefully hidden behind dense foliage a few yards behind. He studied her with intense curiosity. It was at once obvious that she was not very tall; her legs, the same strange bluish shade as her face and arms, mud-spattered up the entire length, barely hung halfway down the withers of the fully grown mare. The well-worn moccasins on her feet were tiny, no bigger in size than any child would wear; these looked to be caked with dried... blood? Must be mud . Jesus, what has she been doing? And where the hell did she come from? His eyes automatically sought the small hands holding the reins in her lap, knowing before he saw them that they would be child-sized as well. She was young, he knew. Her mother had said she was only a couple years younger than he and his twin, that this Ailill had left for the Scottish Highlands when she was four and had been there since, "furthering her education". Watching her lead the mare toward a runoff stream that drained into a small pond at the edge of the tree line, almost too close to the ranch for his own comfort, Micah was struck with a sense of disbelief. Disregarding her small stature, which wouldn’t be unexpected in any case, her own mother was nearly as tiny, Micah could see no trace of childish roundness in the sculpted form of her full, womanly body. No trace of any sign at all to say that the exquisite beauty was merely seventeen years old. And she was beautiful; even with the filth that covered her from head to toe, the questionable rust-colored substance spattered across her upper body, her filthy blouse, Micah could see a natural beauty in the form of her, a sort of grace in the small movements, the subtle shifting of her arms and legs so high up on the mare's back, quite at odds with his initial impression.