by A. Rosaria
“What do you want, maid?” James said.
“I… I…” Fear knotted her gut and she swallowed her words. No matter how many times she had fantasized about it and practiced it, it was difficult to voice them.
“Come on, out with it,” James said.
She blurted it out. “I love you.” She could feel her face warm and she wanted the ground to swallow her up because that was something she didn‘t want to say, like she wanted to say but certainly not love, true as that may be.
He cupped her chin in his big hand and raised her head. Her eyes swept from one corner to the other, but he held her chin until their eyes met, only then he let go. He smiled. “I expected such.”
She looked at him in question.
“I‘m sorry, I don‘t love you. I don‘t even know who you are to love you,” he said.
Christine frowned. “You are making fun of me?”
He laughed and shook his head.
Her eyes blazed fire. “Yes you are. You are making fun of me. I‘m not to be made fun of,” she yelled.
James took a step back, not having expected an outburst. He looked at her warily. “Look, I know you‘re serious about this—you and every other girl it seems—but I have made myself clear many times already. I‘m not interested in any one of you, only in my betrothed.”
Christine‘s eyes grew wide and moist, and her lips formed a thin line. She held the tears back, punched his chest, and ran away. His laughter was a knife in her back that kept stabbing her as long she heard him. The hurt she felt sucked out the last bit of remaining warmth from her heart. Christine kept running, holding it all in. Even after she couldn‘t hear him she kept running, intent on not stopping until she reached the castle, but her body gave way before she remotely got close. She threw herself in the tall grass next to the dirt road and cried.
Not long after a shadow crept over her and with it the sound of clanking armor.
“So why does the little servant wench cry?” Eadric said. “Does she need a knight to help her out of her sorrows?”
Her body grew rigid at the sound of his voice. Christine swallowed a sob. Of all people it was him that found her in her most vulnerable moment. She wished she could just disappear, but knew she was not that lucky, not with him around.
“Cat got your tongue?”
She dared not look up or say a word and risk him knowing who she was. Her father might not care much about her, but he cared very much about orders being followed above all.
“Don‘t you feel hot? I do.”
She heard Eadric rummage about with his armor; his chest piece fell to the ground.
“Come to me, wench; I got something for you.”
Christine scrambled up, but before she could flee, Eadric kicked her butt, sending her sprawling to the ground. Spitting out grass straws, she quickly turned around and kicked for his knees. He easily avoided her and quickly moved in on her. He had only his flannel shirt on, his lean and trained body was naked under it, and below she could see his cock fully erect. She kicked the ground to get away, but he soon was on her, holding her down.
“Don‘t you dare run from me, wench.”
He pushed her down flat on her back and held her there with one hand. He sat just on her knees, pinning her legs from moving. With his free hand he pulled her dress up, baring her body. She squirmed to get out from under him, but he just pressed harder on her.
“Young and supple, just the way I like it.”
He grabbed the dress by the collar and tore it open. He squeezed her right breast hard. She clenched her teeth together to keep her cry in. He chuckled. “Don‘t worry, I‘ll be gentle if you don‘t resist.”
“Eadric,” she cried out.
He tore his eyes from her breast and squinted at her face. He smiled. “My, my, and I thought I got lucky with a mere wench; never thought the gods would smile on me and offer you to me. Lady Christine, guess it will be very rough indeed.”
“No,” she said. He lowered his head; it was then she realized he wasn‘t about to stop. “No, you can‘t.”
He smiled wickedly at her and bit her breast. She screamed out. She pushed her hand down between her body, groping with her fingers and grabbing his fully erected cock. Her skin crawled with disgust, but she resisted withdrawing her hand. She moved lower, cupped his balls. He moaned in delight.
“See I knew you were a wicked little girl.”
Christine squeezed, twisting it sideways, and pulled hard. Eadric screamed in pain and surprise. She pushed him off her, jumped up, and ran, leaving him behind on the ground clutching his balls.
She had put some distance between her and Eadric when the adrenaline coursing through her body abided. She slowed down to a walk. Christine snorted back the snot drooping from her nose, while tears streamed from her eyes, over her cheeks, and down to the ground. She hated to cry, but could anyone blame her? Twice today they humiliated her, one by having her love tarnished and the other by having her maidenhood assaulted. Out of breath she dropped down, sitting. She held her torn dress together and looked back. Eadric had not followed her, but he didn‘t have to. He knew where she was going. She had to tell Lyna about this, about what kind of man her suitor really was.
Christine dried her tears. It was unforgivable what he had done to her. She shook her head vigorously as if she could get rid of the memory. Despite her bones and muscles aching and each step being a strain, she stood and hurried to the castle. She had burned most of her energy in her struggle and flight and couldn‘t push herself to go faster, while she had a long road to go. Christine hoped that Eadric would stay in agony for a long time and give her a much-needed head start.
Every few paces Christine looked over her shoulder, thinking she heard the wagon or horse, ready to jump into a bush and hide, but neither came. What she did see was a shadow move from tree to tree to her left. She froze, standing still and watching. She thought she saw something or someone hiding behind a thick tree with withered branches—the only dead tree among lush green trees. She must have been seeing things. She glanced back at the road behind her. At least no Eadric, she thought.
“Have you seen a young man,” a man with a deep voice said from within the forest. “He‘s tall, has wild hair, and most likely is running around naked? He may or may not be on a horse, not that he needs one, but he seems to be traditional like that.”
She jerked her head back in the direction the voice came from, the dead tree. Leaning against it was a tall man with muscular shoulders. She couldn‘t see much of his face from under his hood, but that it was long, gaunt, and pale. He was a fitting description for the man he gave but then older looking and he had a dark robe on instead of being naked. Christine backed away, looking around her and calculating her chances of getting away.
“Please, don‘t run. I won‘t hurt you. I have already had my fill in maidens.”
Christine laughed nervously; she didn‘t understand what he was saying. For all she knew the man could be one of the many crazy men wandering the countryside and sleeping under hedges.
“Have you seen him?”
He approached her. She wrinkled her nose as he came closer. He must have shied the soap for years, she thought. There was some iron in his odor and a bittersweet foul smell she couldn‘t place. By all means she should be wary of him. However, by the way he moved carelessly about, stopped a distance away, and watched her with his dark, calm eyes, she felt no threat from him.
“Pardon me, my fine lady,” he said in his deep, low voice, “maybe you failed to hear me the first time, but have you seen a young man about my age, wild looking and probably running around naked? He has a fresh scar running from above to below his left eye.”
She huffed. “Show your face so I can see for myself how young you would be.”
The man pulled his hood back, revealing a long, gaunt face, with a strong jaw, a brow that gave him a certain seriousness that was rendered invalid by his mischievous smile, and he had long black hair caked with dirt. No
t an ugly face but also not a young one.
“You‘re an old man.”
“Old?” he said. “Yes, maybe I am, but time seemed to stop for me at twenty summers. I‘m young by all means.”
Christine laughed. “Must have been very long summers then.”
“Very long, but please tell me, have you seen him?”
“No, I‘ve not,” she said, smiling.
“That‘s too bad.” He turned back to the forest to leave her be.
She heard far away the sound of stone crushed under wheels and the bristle of a horse. Eadric, she thought. She dreaded what would come, the burning sensation of her bite wound a reminder. She didn‘t want to be alone and didn‘t want the stranger to leave. The young knight would not try to her harm with someone else watching.
“Stop,” she called out after the stranger.
“Please, kind sir, stay.”
Christine glanced over her shoulder. The man followed her stare and smiled, not the mischievous smile he had shown her before but more like the snarl of a hungry dog about to let loose in a chicken den.
The wagon driver held the rein loosely in his hand, his eyes ahead and not paying mind to Christine or the tall stranger. Eadric rode a few feet behind the wagon. He glared at her. He locked his eyes on her as he rode past, and those eyes told her enough about what would be waiting for her if he got his hands on her. Christine pressed her torn dress closer together.
She heard the stranger standing beside her mutter, “Now that was disappointing.”
He followed the wagon and the knight. Christine‘s hand shot out, but her fingers only brushed his robe.
“Sir, knight, armored man, or whatever you are, hear me out,” the stranger said.
Eadric slowed his horse and turned, the horse bristling furiously. Eadric‘s eyes burned on the man; his contained contempt poured visibly out of them, yet he held his face composed.
“Have you seen a man about my age, running wild around this area? He may or may not have his shirt off, well maybe, most likely he will be—”
“I‘ve seen such a man,” Eadric said, “tall, barrel-chested, and he had a wild look on him.”
“That‘s him. Where have you seen him?”
Eadric stretched his arm out, pointing the way he came from. “At the first village following that road; you can‘t miss him. He‘s the tallest man walking around.”
He sneered at Christine, turned his horse, and followed the wagon.
The stranger silently watched them go. Once out of sight he faced Christine. “I guess this is our farewell.”
Christine grabbed his hand, stopping him. “Don‘t. Instead take me back to the castle.”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“A man can‘t leave a woman to walk the road alone so close to dark.”
“I‘m not any man and you are a girl, not a woman yet. Though you will become one, there are ways to do that, but not for you and not by me.”
“I‘m a maiden,” she said. “The roads are dangerous at night. Please don‘t leave me.”
The stranger chuckled. “The roads will never be as dangerous as they are now.”
He swiped her hand off him and walked away.
“I‘m not just any girl; I‘m a lady,” she yelled.
He kept walking.
“I‘m Christine D‘Ang, daughter of Lord Robert.”
The man stopped and turned around slowly. “Robert? Robert D‘Ang?” He showed her a broad smile. “Why didn‘t you tell me sooner that you are Robert‘s daughter?”
“You know my father?”
“Of course I know young Robert. It‘s been a while since I saw him and his brother, Richard.”
Christine jaw slacked. “My father has a brother?”
He put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, questioning.
“Don‘t mind that. Let us go,” he said.
The sun was kissing the horizon. One more hour and darkness would fall over the land; however if all went well they would make it in time. Christine glanced at the tall man walking next to her. Who was he? she thought. He walked without a care, without fear, while he whistled a happy tune she had never heard before. It sounded like the old tunes that the bards sometimes played, but she had never heard this one.
They walked for a while when they turned a bend in the road. Christine gasped for air. A wagon blocked the road in front of them. Eadric stood in front of it with a burly man at each side, one holding a big battle-axe and the other an iron mace. Men from a nearby inn most likely, not the sort of inn decent folks frequented. She didn‘t see the driver. This is bad, Christine thought. The soldier who drove the wagon would at least have interfered if she revealed herself, better the scorn of her father than what was about to happen now. Eadric must have sent him away or worse.
“Why the pale face?” Eadric said. “Are you getting ill, my lady?”
Christine grabbed the stranger‘s arm.
“I see, you‘ve got a protector now,” Eadric said.
The stranger looked baffled at the young knight and his henchmen. He brought a trembling finger up, pointing at himself and stuttered. “Me? A protector?”
“Yes, you,” Eadric said, “and a foolish one at that. Gorn, cleave him in two.”
Gorn, the brute with the battle-axe, stepped forward and grunted. “As long you don‘t forget the gold.”
He approached the tall stranger who lowered his hand. A vile smile crept up the stranger‘s face and he rushed forward. Too late Gorn raised his axe for the stranger was already upon him. He grabbed Gorn‘s throat and in one swift, smooth motion, he lifted him in the air and smashed him on the ground. The axe flew out of Gorn‘s hand. Christine heard a loud crack followed by a sickening squishing sound. The stranger stood up, patting the dust off his robe. Gorn lay at the stranger‘s feet, clawing his throat with both his hands and thrashing with his legs. Soon his face turned bluish-purple and he stopped thrashing. Frozen in place, Eadric and the other brute watched the scene.
“Who is next?” said the stranger.
Eadric unsheathed his sword. “Get him.”
The brute eyed the young knight. “Are you stupid?”
“I‘ll double the gold.”
The brute shook his head.
“Bring me his head and I‘ll pay you tenfold what I owe you.”
The brute nodded, gripped his mace with two hands, held it high and ready to swing it, and slowly approached the stranger, careful not to make the same mistake Gorn did in underestimating the man.
The stranger laughed. “You forfeit your life for gold?”
The brute jumped forward, swinging his mace down. The stranger stepped back, a bored smile etched on his face. The man stepped in and bashed his shoulder against the stranger‘s chest, sending him staggering back. He swung his mace and buried it into the stranger‘s right arm. Christine flinched at the sound of cracking bone. With his broken arm, the man grabbed the brute‘s head and started squeezing. He grabbed the stranger‘s wrist, twisting, pulling, and trying to get free and failing. The brute started swinging the mace, hitting the stranger‘s side to no effect. Christine saw blood seep out of the ears, nose, and eyes of the man. The brute started screaming. The stranger gave one more hard squeeze, silencing the brute, and let go of him. The man dropped dead on the ground. The stranger grinned at the body, shaking his head.
“He‘s done for. I guess you‘re next, little knight.” The stranger looked up. Eadric was gone. “He‘s gone? But he‘s supposed to be a knight and die honorably.”
“He‘s not a nobleman,” Christine said.
“Come,” the stranger said, “we‘ll make better time now.”
He fastened the horse in front of the wagon and climbed into the driver seat. He offered his hand to Christine to help her up. She hesitated.
“I won‘t bite you,” said the man.
She laughed nervously. “Won‘t it hurt?
“Me biting you? I guess it would.”
“No,
your broken arm, helping me up, I mean.”
He flexed his arm and turned it here and about. “Don‘t worry, it‘s not broken.”
He offered her his hand, she accepted, and he pulled her onto the wagon.
They stayed silent on their way to the castle. This was fine with her. She first had to digest what had happened; it was incredulous and it all seemed to have gone from bad to worse. Above the tree line she saw the castle towers rise up. This would be the last time she ever gave in to any ridiculous whims she might have. Time had come for her to swallow her pride and own up to her responsibilities. She would start by telling Lyna everything that had happened. The sooner she knew about Eadric the better.
The stranger reined in the horse and pulled the wagon to the side of the road. She looked wary at him. “Why did you stop? The castle is only a short distance away.”
He followed her pointing finger. “I know, but before we go there I have to ask you something.”
Christine frowned, not sure what he wanted. His demeanor had changed, and his normal mischievous smile had changed to a frown.
“I once made a promise and I forgot about it, but you made me remember it. How many children does Robert have?”
“Four.” Christine felt her throat dry up, not sure where this was going.
“Are you the eldest or the youngest?”
She shook her head. “Neither. Claudette is the eldest, and then Lyna, followed by me, and Aaron is the youngest.”
“Do you love your sister?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Sister? What is the meaning of this?”
He met her gaze. For a moment, she thought his eyes glowed. “Answer my question first, and then I will explain the why of it.”
“Yes, I love them very much—Lyna the most.”
“That‘s bad. Does he have any bastards you know of? I mean, did your father dip himself in another woman than your mother?”
Aghast, she vehemently shook her head. Of all the possible faults her father had, infidelity was not one of them, or bedding woman out-of-wedlock. “Never.”
“Too bad he‘s still straight as an arrow; however I expected nothing less from that bastard.”
