by Luke, Monica
Gently, she scrubbed his muscled chest, then his firm stomach.
“Battle has made you fit and strong,” she whispered. Her hand now, not torn strips touching his neck, arms, and stomach before she looked at his face again, “And I confess you are more than handsome.”
His crest medallion still securely around his neck, she lifted it and rested it across her fingers as she studied it. An image of a hawk in its center, he was willing to use his last dying strength to keep it with him.
Nothing covering his manhood, she dared venture further to wash it while letting her head fill with thoughts of, if compared to the virile look of his body would indeed be nothing less than astonishing.
“Such is my deed that I long to know your name,” she whispered now slowly caressing him before she leaned close to his face, and unable to resist kissed him.
**
The blood trail leading to a small village, Belon and Tohlor hid from sight. “All this land is made up of small villages like these.” Belon noticed.
Without a sound both remained well hidden, accustomed to watching, waiting; before they whispered their plans.
“Most fighting men have left their homes to go into the field to fight against us.” Belon reasoned, “We should come back; then invade the village and search for Lord Baric.”
“We are still at their mercy,” Tohlor said shrewdly. Not wanting to risk his life and hoping one day to rise in place pass Belon, “They have the stronger hand.”
“If Lord Baric is here and we leave him,” Belon said wisely, as he thought of King Rone, Bayl and Baric’s father, “Should the king find out I shudder to reason our fate.”
As both men whispered, stunned at the sight of Baric’s knife in the hands of a man outside a hut, Belon wanted to charge in slaying all in sight; but decided against it.
“They have him,” Belon said now sure of it before both hurried away to inform Bayl.
Swiftly, Belon and Tohlor rode to rejoin the men and the thought of Lord Baric possibly still alive pushed them to ride hard back.
“We believe he lives,” Tohlor blurted just as they reached the dead trees, causing Bayl suddenly to rise to his feet so quickly he almost stumbled.
“If you are wrong,” Bayl’s unspoken words to both assuring his crushed hope would bring his severe wrath.
“We followed a blood trail,” Belon added quickly, “Someone in the village nearby we are sure took him.”
Always prepared at a moment’s notice to fight or flee, the men grabbed their armor, packed up and mounted their horses.
“Lead me to this village, “Bayl spoke with renewed hope; then followed Belon.
After battle, only forty-three mounted high guild warriors who were the best fighters, along with a handful of gruels, who were men of labor and also fought, and footmen left in all, certain their enemy’s strongest men were away, Bayl had them surround the village.
“We will not lay waste to this place, “Bayl said, but stipulated, “Unless they attack us first.”
Grabbing the first man he came across, an old one, Bayl put his sword’s edge close to his face. “We are looking for someone.”
“I gathered such.” The man, remembering the glimpse of a man he saw sideways on a horse earlier suspected, pointed.
Bayl looked towards the hut he pointed to spurring his horse forward; then after ordering the men, other than Belon to stay back, he dismounted his horse and with his sword still drawn cautiously entered.
His crouch set to encounter trouble. His eyes seeking enemies; they fixed upon a bed next to a fire. Under furs a large male’s frame possibly his brother, and beside him a smaller frame as that of a woman.
The hut empty other than whoever was on the bed, he straightened and quietly walked to it careful not to awaken them before hastily pulling the furs back causing a surprised woman to gasp softly.
When she looked up and saw a tower of a man looking menacingly down at her. Her first instinct fear, from the look on his face, she knew he had a greater purpose than to be bothered with her.
Considering her no real threat, and more curious and hopeful the man next to her was his brother, Bayl turned the man’s head discovering it was indeed Baric.
He appeared to be in a deep sleep, and although his heart lifted, he said nothing for several seconds while he stared at him.
“I did not harm him,” Ecia, although in no fear for her life was no fool either, quickly said.
Bayl stepped back only slightly, his attention now on the woman, he noticed her apprehension and obvious beauty.
“…your name?”
“I am Ecia daughter of Lerd who was slain long ago in battle.”
“Slain by what king?”
“It was a battle that waged when I was a child before I could even walk, I do not know.”
The openness of her nightdress allowing him to see her breasts move as she breathed heavily. Had he looked harder he could have easily seen her perky nipples as they molded to the cloth. Yet, he turned his head and she immediately sought cover for herself.
“Dress him!” he ordered.
“But, my lord,” she instinctively knew to call him. The same earring as that of the one she took from the man in his ear, “He is badly wounded.”
“We are surrounded by men who want to kill him and us, “Bayl said tersely, “I would rather carry him away wounded than dead.”
“Someone took his underclothes and clothing,” she said. Fearful he would suspect her the thief.
Bayl’s brows furrowed. Her words angered him, yet he contained his anger. “His crest?”
“Still around his neck,” she blurted, hoping to lessen his anger.
“Belon,” Bayl quietly ordered, “Clothing.”
Quickly, Belon got Baric a tunic and wool pants; then tossed them into the hut.
“Dress him,” Bayl ordered; then tossed the clothes to Ecia.
Forced to move him to dress him, Baric groaned yet did not wake; then as Belon lifted him onto his shoulders to carry him out, Ecia moved forward.
“Wait,” she said; then approached when he turned to face her. A heavy fur in her hand, she draped it around his body, “It is to warm him in this night air.”
Carefully, Belon laid Lord Baric sideways onto Lord Bayl’s horse.
“Will he make the journey?” Belon asked concerned.
“He must,” Bayl answered, then grabbed his horse’s reins and mounted it.
“Hold,” Belon said, as he turned Baric’s head to one side now noticing his braided lock completely gone, “The woman?”
“For her kindness,” Bayl said, spurring his horse, “Let her keep it.”
**
Back at WorrlgenHall, King Rone woke suddenly. His dream still vivid in his mind, he gasped as he forced his lungs to take in air. The chill of his bedchamber, as well as believed age, causing him to shiver, unable to get warm he called for his chamber servant who came quickly.
“My king,” he said, as he hurried to him, “Shall I call for Orhan the healer?”
“No,” King Rone said quickly, “Stoke the fire and bring someone to warm me.”
Not long afterwards, meekly a young woman quietly entered his bedchamber; then made her way to his bed.
Although, her expression showed her fear, she knew what he often expected of bellers, so she obediently got under the furs and pressed her body to his.
“I am old and broken from past battles,” King Rone said, as she lay close to him to ease her mind, but her youthful beauty did cause him to consider it, “And to worn for frolic. I seek warmth and an ear.”
Long since he placed his thoughts in the ears of a woman, the passing years had softened him and he longed to speak his mind, yet he was still king and cautioned the young woman of repeating anything he said.
“What is your name?” he asked, as his body slowly warmed.
“Seda,” she meekly answered.
The king sighed, as he stared at the timbers and stone above his hea
d. His spacious once vibrantly furnished bedchamber, now a place covered in drab and colorless wood and faded cloth, other than the hearths fire bringing the only light to the place even during the day was a chamber of gloom to him.
No longer joy or passionate nights within it, when his queen died he sought no one to replace her, and as the seasons passed, he did nothing to improve it.
“Though I am king, I have not made use of many bellers.”
Seda remained quiet. But, if her heartbeat could have been heard pounding by others, its fast rhythmic thud could be dance to.
“Where are you from?”
“The dry lands of Kem.”
“And your family?”
“My mother died when I came out of her womb and my father from sickness when forced to this land.”
Her words bringing to mind his younger son; then of his dream, again he sighed.
“Bayl is a child of sorrow,” King Rone revealed, “Queen Nohla died not long after she bore him.”
Before he summoned her to him, the king’s presence as he sat in his large wooden chair in the gathering hall an intimating sight, now laying so close to him, she perceived him as just a simple man.
His openness unexpected, without his consent and at the risk of her own life, she gazed upon his face.
In his chamber, his dark brown and gray colored hair unbound, she looked at him expecting to look into a tired face and aged eyes, but she did not. His skin firm, his eyes green and clear, she knew a man wanting happiness again were behind them
“You looked into my eyes,” he said, as he looked back at her, certain she knew it forbidden, yet his voice held no anger.
“Forgive me, my king.” She quickly averted her eyes, fearing his wrath.
“How did you come to WorrlgenHall?” King Rone asked.
“I had no one and one day, as I stood hungry at the gates, someone in WorrlgenHall had pity and made me a servant,” she answered from now lowered eyes
“As a beller?”
“In the meal house first,” she continued, “Until a guard saw me and gathered I could one day suit one of your inner guards or perhaps a guild.”
King Rone raised himself in bed. Some of his strongest men away at battle; he wondered who had already cast his eyes upon her with want.
As a brief tinge of jealously possessed him, he wondered also if she had found one that suited her.
“Do any of my inner guards or guilds suit you?” he asked, finding it troubling that he dreaded her answer.
“My eyes have seen no one,” her lips lied. She had looked into the eyes and closely at the face of the one she wanted, “Yet, I have no choice who will take me for their own.”
His talk with Seda soothing it made him sleepy, and as he again rested his head, he quickly fell into sleep. But when he awoke and discovered she was not in bed it troubled him because he had actually reached for her.
The day’s dealings long, as he sat in the court hall, King Rone heard the accounts of tolls and lands, and the concerns of his people; then appeasing some, incensing others, he sent them away.
“Any word of battle?” he asked one of those in his quorum. His mind filled with thoughts of his sons whom he had heard nothing from, he feared for their well-being.
“No messenger again this day, my king.”
His mind troubled. He thought of one who he felt now seemed to soothe him. “I will be in my chamber,” he said while standing.
“My king, will you eat in the gathering hall later?”
“This night, I will eat in my chamber.”
As he walked away, heads bowing when he passed, he retired to his chamber, but before he entered through the door, looked over at the guard who knew to come to him.
“Bring her to me,” he said, knowing the guard already knew of whom he spoke.
While the king waited, after what seemed longer now than the night before, again quietly Seda entered his chamber. The squeak of the door announcing her informal presence, she stood before him; then formally announced herself.
“My king” she softly said, her voice sending gladness through him, “You sent for me.”
“Yes, sit.”
Obeying, she sat across from him diverting her eyes to his feet, then when she saw his head turn to the fire, she looked up and back down.
“The night before, I had a dream. Two hawks landed on a perch to small to hold them, but instead of one flying off to keep the perch from breaking, both held steady and struggled to keep it. In the end both fell to the ground and were devoured by a vulture.”
Seda pondered his dream for only a moment, as she too stared into the fire, and again risking her life, looked at him.
“You have two sons great king,” she spoke very soothingly, “That all know you hold dear to your heart, yet WorrlgenHall holds your heart too.”
“I fear my sons will not hold WorrlgenHall built by my father’s, father’s great father,” he sighed, “And that it will fall.”
“Then you have reasoned your own dream my king,” Seda said and added, “A kingdom must be far more than only large stones and wood, and reach beyond its walls to the people.”
“A kingdom built from a small hall where men gathered to plan battles and as more land became won grew to what it is now,” he added.
“And held true by a line of strong kings,” Seda humbly said.
Her words striking him deep, he looked at her. “Who was your father?”
“He served as one of the council to our king.”
“He has given you his mind,” King Rone gave her a slight praise.
“Then I worry,” she added, “Our king’s head sat on pole when the council unwisely agreed to fight before we were defeated and marched away.”
Her comment made him burst into laughter, not behind their defeat, but from the boldness of her words. “Draw nearer to me.”
Seda moved closer, keeping her head low, and kneeled right at his knees.
“How long have been in my land?”
“The full seasons have gone just past six.”
“What was your when you were brought here?”
“Twelve springs.”
Gently, he placed his strong hand upon her head; then put it under her chin.
“Twice you boldly looked upon my face,” his voice strong like that of how he speaks in the gathering hall, “Look upon it now.”
Slowly, she raised her head. The firelight gleaming in his green eyes, she took his hand and kissed it.
“Do any in my kingdom suit you?” he asked, as his voice changed from strong to deep.
“Yes, my lord,” she answered, “There is one…”
“Reveal his name,” he said suppressing again his tinge of jealousy, but knew he would seek him out once he knew who he was.
“I cannot,” she said honestly, “My boldness could be the death of me.”
“His name,” the king ordered,
“Rone Ev Worrlgen. The King of Worrlgen.”
Not expecting his name to be the one revealed, he looked at her suspiciously while his mind pondered what plan she had devised to win his graces.
His years of occasionally indulging himself with young bellers now boring to him, he had settled into complacent old age, yet at times secretly he longed for genuine companionship.
“Is it your desire to bed a king and hope to become queen?” he questioned suspiciously, “Or bed the king to become with child and assure a fate.”
“As with any woman with mind for reason, my desire should be for the king to desire me,” she answered, “Yet if he has no desire for me; then to pleasure him well as is my place.”
“And if I have no want for you and send you away, never to call for you again, what would you do?”
“Desire the king.”
“And if I were not king?”
“Whether the gold and bronze rings are resting on your head or not, you are the man I desire.”
“You speak as if this feeling has been inside you for awh
ile.”
“For as long as I have served your united men in the gathering hall and watched you at the table’s head before them; it has been inside me.”
“Why?” he asked.
“As I watched you and heard your words, always my father came to mind.”
“You desire a man like your father?” he asked, feeling that was an honor.
“Next to you, my king, there is no love I feel greater.”
Slowly, his hand still under her chin, he made her rise; then stood himself.
Tall like his sons. He looked down into her long brown hair, then when she looked up at him, into her doe eyes.
Without speaking, he lifted her as if she were a feather; then carried her from his outer chamber into his bedchamber.
Gentle, where the strong hands that carried her and removed her beller’s silk gown, and no words between the two, she softly panted as he touched her fearing she was dreaming, yet the desire for him burning deep within made her certain she was not.
His soft bed furs upon her back, she arched when his large hand gently touched and followed the roundness of her breasts.
“Desire,” he whispered, as his mind recalled her words, “It is desire.”
Patiently, she waited when he stood to remove his long linen sleep gown, and his chest bare, his healed wounds brought immediately to mind one word – warrior.
She recalled his words to her, thinking himself as old, yet nothing about him showed signs of age.
“I fear I will crush you,” he said, as he looked into her eyes before he slowly put his body on hers.
His weight upon her, the feel of her skin soft to his hand, as she parted her legs, he caressed her and parted them more to get better between them.
Only virgin bellers sent to the king, his sons, or visiting nobles, he knew she would hurt from him and took effort to lessen the pain.
As she shrieked from his first thrust, his gentleness exceeding his strong desire, which she knew was in him from the first, he did not try to pierce her right away.
“Perhaps the king’s passionate kisses will help,” she said, hoping his desire for her remained as her fortressed walls kept at bay its invader.
“Perhaps,” he agreed; then moved his lips upon her breasts.
