* ~*~ *
Bronwyn smiled as he clanked his mug against Breckin’s. She held the drink to her lips and drank down the last of her ale. Bronwyn mimicked her movements, not wanting to feel inferior. Each time he placed his empty mug on the table, one of Breckin’s friends promptly filled it. In the three hours since arriving at Collin’s Recreation and Conference Hall, he felt as though his mug never went empty.
At the start of the evening, Bronwyn enjoyed the banquet-style feast set out for the students and their guests. A little awkward at first, he ate his fill while trying to come up with intelligent lines to say. Breckin always smiled and laughed at his attempts at making jokes, at times placing her hand on his forearm or shoulder. They sat with her friends at a large table near the front. The few times he caught glimpses of Torin his pal was sitting with their friends. Bronwyn smiled and attempted to ease the tension between them, but Torin ignored him. Tomorrow, Bronwyn thought, he would go to Torin’s dwelling and talk with him. Their friendship meant too much to let a girl come between them.
After the food disappeared, the dance began. Bronwyn felt clumsy on his feet, but Breckin didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she giggled and threw her arms around him each time he made a mistake. He enjoyed the contact and after a few drinks of ale anticipated the hugs. Once he thought she leant closer for a kiss, but she only giggled and kept dancing.
Now, looking at the full mug of ale, Bronwyn sighed. More than an hour—or four mugs, however you wanted to measure it—had passed since their last dance. Each time he asked Breckin to dance she giggled and said, ‘Maybe the next one. I’m talking with my friends.’
Trying again, Bronwyn leant into Breckin’s ear and with a twisted tongue whispered, “Would you like to dance?” His head felt light, and he bent too far. She caught him before he slipped from his chair.
“Maybe we should get a little fresh air instead,” she said, smiling back at her friends.
Bronwyn stood and the room swayed in a fluid motion before him. He felt his head drift to one side, and he would have fallen if not for Breckin catching him. She propped him up against her shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist. Popping sounds echoed softly in his ears, and he thought he smelt cinnamon rolls. Mmm, he could dive into a rack of warm dough. The image of his parents’ bakery flashed in his mind, and it was as if he could reach out and touch a steaming hot roll. Movement next to him reminded him he was at the celebrations amongst friends.
“We’ll go for a slow stroll through the garden to walk off the ale,” she said. To her friends, she added, “We need a little quiet time together.”
Bronwyn liked the sound of it. He had wondered how he’d get a moment alone with her and how he’d escape the mug which magically kept refilling with ale. Stumbling his way from the hall, he knew all too well he had drunk far too much for his first time.
With his date’s guidance Bronwyn awkwardly descended the few steps to the ground and entered the lush backyard garden. He had visited the oasis a few times in the past but never with the girl of his dreams. The fresh evening air revived his senses slightly but not to the point where he trusted himself to slice a lemon in half with his sword.
Breckin closed the garden gate behind them and led Bronwyn along the path to the fountain. He watched her as they walked by the flower beds. The warm breeze brushed her hair from her face, allowing the moonlight to twinkle in her eyes. Her lashed were like rose petals and for a moment he thought he saw leaves sprouting from her ears. He shook his head to clear the strange image.
He grinned as he thought about sharing a cookie with his special cookie. A soft giggle erupted from his lips, and she glanced at him with a strange expression. He smiled to hide the silliness racing through his mind and thought of the time they had slid into the muddy river. Reality slapped him. He couldn’t believe he strolled like this, like lovers holding hands and sharing the moment. His legs felt like mush and for a moment he thought he’d lose his balance. Sucking in a deep breath he attempted to clear his head and walk straighter, so she wouldn’t see the effects of too much ale. She appeared to be an experienced drinker, and he didn’t want to look like he couldn’t handle his spirits.
Once they reached the fountain, Breckin plopped down on the garden bench and guided him to her side. He gladly sat, anxious to talk, but his mind emptied as she wrapped her fingers around his hands.
“I’m nervous, too,” she said bashfully.
“Really?” he said, surprised. He assumed she had dated many guys and would be experienced.
She giggled. “I really like you, Bronwyn.” Looking into his eyes, she leant forward and kissed his cheek.
Bronwyn’s heart thumped quickly and his temperature rose dramatically. He endeavoured to return the kiss but instead bumped into her chin. Did the ale make him fumble, or was he truly awkward around girls? “Sorry.” He felt his face flush and thanked the dim evening light for concealing it from her.
She snickered and said, “That’s okay. Let me help.” She gripped his chin firmly and kissed his mouth. Her free hand held the front of his shirt, so he couldn’t pull away.
By the time they separated, Bronwyn was gasping for breath. His first kiss! It had arrived so quickly he hadn’t had time to think about how to hold his lips. She must have enjoyed the kiss, judging from her expression. Feeling more confident, he slid closer and put his arm around her shoulders.
“I was thinking,” he started, “we should meet tomorrow for the mid-day ration. I have a little money saved. We can go the Hot Pot.”
“Sounds great,” she said. “But my mother wants me to help in the garden.”
“I could help too.” His slurred speech sounded too eager. Was it wrong to let his girl know he liked her? His girl. It had a nice ring. “I mean, I would love to help.” He leant forward and smelt her neck. It emitted the aroma of a thousand roses.
“We’ll talk about it later.” She held his lowered head steady. “You’re not falling asleep on me, are you? Maybe you drank too much.”
Bronwyn sat up straight. He would not allow the ale to ruin his first date with his girl. “No,” he said. “I was smelling your neck.” He bit his lip. He didn’t mean to say that.
Breckin giggled and directed his face into her neck. “Smell away then.” She kissed the top of his head as she ran her fingers through his dark blond hair. With the other hand she fumbled with a button on his shirt.
Before Bronwyn realised it the front of his shirt spread open and her hands lay beneath it, caressing his bare chest.
Her soft, warm hands sent tremors through his body and unfamiliar feelings surfaced. Before he could say a word, she closed her mouth over his and kissed his lips hard. He held her tightly, so the ale and the flood of sensations wouldn’t topple him over. When he felt her hand on the button of his trousers, he gasped, but she held him firm.
Finally, she moved her lips to his neck and busied herself with trying to pull down his zipper the full length.
“Maybe we should take this slow,” Bronwyn stammered, feeling unsure if he could do what her hands suggested.
“I’m not slow with anything.” She massaged his chest with her lips, sending messages to forbidden places. “Not with numbers. Not with reading or languages. And certainly not with you, Bronwyn.” She filled his mouth with her hot tongue.
He gasped for air as she roughly explored his mouth in places a tooth brush seldom wandered. Feeling his trousers slip to his thighs, he gathered his courage to be the man she wanted. After all, he was eighteen and had dreamt many times of a night like this with her.
“May I?” she asked, breathing hot breath into his ear as she sensually caressed his bare hips.
Bronwyn’s body trembled as much from the cool night air as at the prospect of joining with Breckin. Normally, the male would request permission, but she was a woman who obviously knew what she wanted: him. “You may,” he whispered, his breath stopping as her hand slipped to the inside of his thigh.
He stood wh
en she gestured for him to do so, and he realised she had already removed his boots. The cool breeze whispered around his bare legs, and he heard his trousers hit the ground. He couldn’t turn back now. His hands awkwardly searched for her dress zipper, but he couldn’t find it. He had undressed girls in his mind, but Breckin was flesh and bone. What would she think if he had to ask her the location of the zipper?
The wood felt cold on his skin as he sat back down on the bench. He allowed her to push his shirt off his shoulders, and then he wrapped one arm around her, pulling her close as he gently cupped her breast. The firm nipple pressed into his palm, surprising him by how much he could feel through her dress. Sliding his hand down to her thigh, he wondered if this was an ‘over the head’ dress. If so, she would be naked in seconds.
As he fumbled with the hem of the dress, Bronwyn heard Breckin giggle. He paused. Was it his imagination or did others chuckle as well?
He pulled away from her, and through hazy eyes stared at the faces surrounding them in the garden. Amongst the shadows and beneath the small lanterns he saw his fellow students watching and laughing. They clapped and hollered, making so much noise and fuss that it drove a sharp pain into Bronwyn’s head. He stared in disbelief at Breckin who slipped from his arms and bowed to the crowd.
Confused and still in an excited daze, he tried to make out what the spectators shouted.
“You’re amazing!” one hollered.
“You’re certainly going to make the theatre when they hear about this piece of acting! Turning a boy into a man before our eyes! And then into a fool!” The crowd roared with laughter.
Bronwyn swallowed hard. What sort of game had he participated in? Did Breckin make him a fool? She couldn’t have. She loved him. Didn’t she?
“Bronwyn, hot out tonight?” a student shouted.
Bronwyn remembered he stood naked before his classmates. The agony of the prank found a home in his heart, and he stumbled about gathering his belongings. The ale made him stagger, and he dropped his boots twice before securing a firm hold on them. Not looking back at Breckin or the once hidden audience, he dashed into the trees behind the fountain. He ran blinding for several minutes before tripping over a large object in the dark and rolling beneath a bush.
Evergreen needles and twigs dug into his bare skin, but he ignored them. Instead, he wallowed in the pain from within and the ache grew until he felt it would crush his ribs. Though he didn’t want them to, tears filled his eyes as the realisation of what happened exploded in his mind. He would never trust another the way he had trusted Breckin. Was every girl ready to betray his trust as easily as she did?
An unexpected surge of energy thrust him to his knees. He would run away, far away. Maybe he’d escape to Ellswire or Wardlow. Anywhere he could lose himself in a sea of strangers and elude those who had witnessed his shame would do. He seized his clothes and forced them over his skin. Next he shoved his feet into his boots and stood to tuck his shirt into his trousers. He would slice off the next hand that tried to unfasten them. Never again he promised himself would he allow a girl to possess him and poyson his mind.
Bronwyn staggered into the darkness, not caring in which direction he fled. After hours of wandering, he collapsed onto a wooden bench near a store front. Exhausted and still suffering from the effects of too much ale, he lay on his back wishing he could erase this night from his memory. He allowed sleep to consume him not giving a damn if he ever woke.
Several hours later his senses returned. The pounding in his head made him fear his skull would explode, and the steady rocking created a nauseous feeling. He then realised someone was shaking his shoulder.
“Hey, you can’t sleep here,” said the distant voice. “Up and outta here.”
Bronwyn forced his eyes open, and the bright sun made him cover them with his hand.
“Hey, kid, you gotta move before the Sarge gets here.”
Bronwyn sat up, shook his head and looked around. “I’m up. I’m up,” he said in a dry voice.
“Good.” The man paused then said, “Kid, you don’t look so good. Maybe you should get along home.”
Bronwyn waved him away. “I’ll be fine. Give me a minute.” He looked up to see a corporal with the Royal Army standing over him. The human wore a flawlessly pressed blue uniform with a small yellow badge on the lapel. A short sword in a scabbard hung at his side.
“I’ll leave you as you are then.” The soldier turned sharply and entered the door next to the bench.
Bronwyn stood and held himself steady as he stared up at the recruiting office sign.
We take only the best. Come on in, it read.
A slight breeze rustled his hair and brought a refreshing breath of air into his lungs. This is where he belonged. Fate had delivered him to the threshold. He need merely walk across it to gain entry.
Blade of Truth Page 2
