by Liz K. Lorde
When we made our way several strides further, the thought of turning back pounded into my skull and chest. I turned my head to see Michael making his way towards me.
That was when the horse buckled.
Immediately I held on for dear life, and I cursed beneath my breath.
The horse had caught itself on a large root, and in the span of a heartbeat, she steadied herself and continued her pace, taking a turn to the right and moving down an incline in the ground. Hooves snapping branches, I tried once more to settle down the horse, but she wasn’t listening without the company of Michael and his steed.
We hurried along, swerving past rocks and the occasional tree. It was hard to appreciate the natural beauties of the place while trying to regain control of the chaos.
“Come on,” I whispered harshly to her, “we need to turn back.” As if to point out how much it was ignoring me, the horse jumped over a mossy fallen log that had been in our path. The mere motion of this nearly knocked me off the saddle, and a deadly fire filled up in my chest.
Sometimes it felt like the rush was the only thing keeping me going.
With another couple of strides, I noticed something that I’d seen on the drive over here. Could hear it as we approached. The rushing of water as it fell and sped through the wide mouthed river.
We were barreling right towards it.
Yanking on the reigns as hard as I was able, Silver came to a sudden halt. The dirt kicked up and she neighed and I screamed; it felt like someone had plucked me from the air, weightlessly plummeting me into the rushing river.
Crashing into the water, I splashed the surrounding liquid and it felt like I couldn’t remember how to breathe. Everything was cold and pushing against me, and I sank, I sank down and deep hitting the soft bed below.
Seconds past, but as I was roiling through the waters, it felt endless. My heart pounded hot in my chest, so bad that I could feel it tapping against my bones - so bad that it was all I could think of.
I have to get up for air.
I have to.
I swam up towards the shimmering light above, still being tossed around like nature’s play-thing. Even in my moments of dying I couldn’t help but be embarrassed. Death by stupidity, here lies Jane Chatworth.
Not caring for the ring of that.
Emerging forcefully, I sucked in a breath of air - needles pricking at my lungs and throat with murderous intent. I looked frantically for Michael, catching a glimpse of him dismounting from his Horse.
“Jane!” He boomed with a steely, concerned conviction. “I’m coming for you,” he promised, dashing between the trees, but not yet coming towards the bank of the river.
Helplessness started to become me, but I was determined to do something, anything, to get out of this mess. I tried to make my way towards the bank, seeing Silver getting further and further away, but the current wouldn’t let me grab for anything.
Being turned around by the treacherous waters, I slammed into a jagged rock, feeling it pound into my ribs and chest. Agony bloomed where it touched, and I knew that I would at least be bruised there. I tried to cling onto the rock instinctively, but narrowly missed my opportunity.
Falling back under the water, I groaned from the pain of it, sending a hand to my ribs. Heartbeats later, I forced myself back up from the water and spotted another rock jutting from the bed of the river.
I couldn’t focus on what Michael was doing, but I was praying between gasps that he would reach me. Guiding myself towards the stone as best I could, I was thrown into it once more, feeling another shock-wave of pain.
This time, I was ready for it. I wrapped my arms around the rugged structure, then my legs, holding for dear life as the waters threatened to whisk me away.
I turned my head, looking for Michael, calling out his name, telling him that I wouldn’t be able to hang on for long. Soon my muscles would be sore and weakened, and if I lost my strength... well, I couldn’t think about that.
Michael came out from the woods, a thin sheet of sweat appearing on his skin as he man-handled a long, heavy branch in his arms. “Just hang on,” he insisted.
Not like I have many more choices. “You say that like it’s easy,” I replied in a high pitched voice.
“You're a pain even when I’m trying to save you,” he called out, closing the distance between the bank of the river.
Oh I’m so sorry for inconveniencing you my personal superman. “More saving, less complaining!” I pleaded, gritting my teeth and losing some footing on the rock. In that moment, I swore that if I ever made it big, I’d devote a house of worship to this damn rock.
Certainly not to Michael. That man didn’t need his ego stroked even another inch.
Maybe I should drown.
Getting my footing back on the rock, my hand slipped while repositioning, and I yelped something from my mouth. I cursed as I slipped away from my rock, scraping my arms along it’s rough surface.
Turning myself as best as I could, I saw the thick branch that Michael had gotten. He was leaning out as far as he was able beyond the bank of the river, using both hands to extend the piece of wood towards me.
I shot out an arm for the stick, narrowly clutching it. It was coarse against my hand, and the force of the rushing water made me tug hard; Michael didn’t budge, but I could see the subtle lines of strain on his face, his eyes filled with concern and steely resolve.
Sending another arm to the branch as the currents whipped at me, I grabbed onto it tight.
Michael began to move backwards, reeling me towards the bank of the river; meanwhile Silver trotted her way towards us. “Don’t let go,” he instructed. “I’ve got you.”
When he got me to the river’s bank, he made good on that promise, and I picked myself up from the currents clutch. Before I even had time to think or feel, my head was buried in his powerful chest. My arms were tied around him, hands grabbing at his back, feeling all the bones and pristine muscle beneath his outfit.
When he hugged me back, I felt a thorn of joy worm it’s way into my heart; safety and warmth bled from that place in my chest, and it radiated to every part of my body. I whispered to him that I was sorry. Pleaded with him that I only meant for us to have a brief, exciting chase. But he calmed me, told me that I was okay, that he wouldn’t let me get hurt again.
We returned to his manor not much later, when I felt well enough to ride back. We brought the horse’s back to their stables, and in a secluded guest room, Magdalene and Michael tended to my minor wounds, the both of them giving me a stern lecture.
Not my best day. But definitely not my most boring.
Chapter 14
Jane
After an embarrassing recovery, having Mags and Michael bicker in which way best to treat me, the sun had finally set. This was, according to Michael’s authority, the best time to go out for a romantic evening picnic. I’d told him that we wouldn’t have need for things like those, seeing as how this was all one big, clinical business transaction to him.
That part wasn’t supposed to irritate me as much as it did.
Almost equally irritating was Michael’s response to that: ‘Then don’t think of it as a romantic picnic. Think of it as an exercise in bonding, synchronizing our brains to really put my father in his place.’
Admittedly, that had made me smile from ear to ear before. To wit I had replied: ‘You just described a date.’
‘No, you’re just seeing it as one.’ I couldn’t even handle a fake marriage from this man. He’s absolutely impossible. But even still, I agreed to his terms. Mostly because my stomach was growling at me at the time, and because it did sound particularly romantic... something I’d never been so lucky to experience.
He led me blindfolded down to the Wester Woods, which seemed redundant, but he assured me that it would build the suspense of it all.
Twigs snapped beneath my bare feet, and the cool soil of the floor pressed up against my toes. Michael’s hands were on my hips, leaving kiss
es of fire where they touched me, sending a pulse between my legs and forming a pebble in my throat. He whispered coolly in my ear: “Are you still hurting?”
“That half of a painkiller really helped. So will a glass of wine,” I replied.
“You’re a red girl,” he concluded.
“And how would you know that?” It was much more difficult to be sassy while blindfolded and led around.
“Because I can see you blushing right now.”
Dammit. Now I could feel the heat on my cheeks. “Uh-huh.”
“I wonder if you’d blush more if I moved my hands elsewhere,” he purred in a dark, enchanting seduction. “Of course,” he continued, “I could just make you red elsewhere. But you’re painfully stubborn on that.”
That made my insides crawl with excitement and fear. “I am,” I asserted in more of a no-nonsense tone than intended.
“We’ll see,” he said, hurrying me at more of a brisk pace through the woods, the wind sweeping through the trees. The branches around me rustled, dancing to nature’s inflexible grace; I could feel every pebble, and all the grasping roots. Michael signaled for me by tapping my hips when I needed to lift a foot.
Before long, after my muscles were good and ready for another leisurely rest, we came to a stop.
“This took me some time,” he explained in a low, amused voice, “so at least try and act impressed.”
“Okay,” I giggled, uncertain of what to expect.
I felt his hand on the black fold over my eyes. “Ready?”
“After earlier, I believe I am.” The fold slipped away, and a massive, sprawling tree rose up from the floor of the woods; it sat there in silent majesty, looking down on us with it’s seemingly thousand branches and gold-spun leaves. All around the tree were sage green bushes, filled with deep, blood red roses that were in full bloom, tucked neatly away inside of the green blades. The thorns couldn’t be seen through the thickness, but I knew that they were hiding within.
I felt my jaw drop a little at it all, and I drank in the sight of a dozen glass candles encircling us; lighting up the darkness like our own constellation of grounded stars.
Sprawled out on the dirt was a white and black blanket. Amidst it was a large wicker basket, two glasses of red wine, and a rose from the bushes.
Feeling the pressure of Michael’s eyes watching my face light up in surprise and delight, I remembered to breathe, and I turned to look at him. Even if it was all just a charade, it was the sweetest thing I’d ever had someone do for me. “Thanks,” I choked out awkwardly, inwardly hitting my head against a wall; what was I supposed to even say?
Michael gave me a devious smirk, “I didn’t mean to offend you with my efforts.”
“No, no,” I told him, laughing and trying to push the tightness from my throat. “It’s great.”
“Good,” he whispered darkly, grabbing my hand and pulling me over towards the picnic blanket; we sat down, resting close to the massive tree, and he opened up the basket. “You scared me today, you know.”
“I know,” I replied, grabbing the glass of red wine, letting the smoky sweet notes fill my nose. “Sometimes I just--”
“Do whatever the hell you want?”
I narrowed my eyes and raised my lips into a half curl. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Uhh-huh,” Michael responded, sipping on his wine. “The next time we go out I expect you to follow my lead.”
“You’d enjoy that too much,” I replied blithely.
“Not nearly as much as getting to look at you in candlelight,” he countered, his eyes pinioning me to the floor, making me forget how to move.
I cleared my throat nervously and darted my eyes towards the Heart Tree. “Is there a story behind this thing?” I motioned towards it with my head.
Michael’s mood darkened, his face becoming a somber mask. “There is,” he admitted with a bitter sweetness. “For hundreds of years couples would carve their names on this natural beauty,” Michael explained, placing his glass down, my eyes struggling to peel from his form. Sure enough there were many names carved on the bark; Sarah, Hannah, Jackson, Kennedy, Cameron, Andrew, Corey, Travis, Sabrina, Emily. A whole slew. Of them. “To the people that did, it was considered a promise to come back one day. To propose.” Michael pushed out a long breath, reaching through the basket and producing a juicy looking Anjou pear. “But that’s not the only history surrounding it,” he took a casual bite, sinking his white teeth into the fruit, the juices covering his mouth, only to later languidly drip down his chin.
I had a feeling there was something dark that happened here. His grim demeanor gave it all away, but just what exactly was beyond me. “Those are Blood Roses,” he pointed to the rose on the picnic blanket. “They were written as a fable that people started to believe, for a time at least, by Frederik L’Mercille.”
“I see,” I said softly, taking the rose into my fingers, avoiding the unusually large thorns. The petals were a deep red, looking like they had gorged themselves long and deep on the wildlife that had perished here.
“They’re beautiful,” Michael murmured, nostalgia flickering in his green eyes. “Frederik and... others, believed that the Roses would fulfill the deepest desires of those with true love in their hearts.” His eyes looked away from me then, seemingly moving upwards to spy one particularly low hanging branch. There was a curious ring around it, like something had been attached to it for a long, long time. More so, the branch appeared like over time, it had been close to snapping from some unknown weight.
Michael continued in his melancholy tone, leaning closer towards me, making my heart skip a literal beat. “So, once a year, fools would take a rose and prick themselves with it. If their love was true...”
“So what did you wish for?” I asked slyly, trying to read the lines of his smolderingly handsome face.
“For something that I couldn’t have,” he clipped. “Same as everyone else.” That something must have meant more than I could ever imagine.
Someone.
I reached into the basket, pulling out a Rye bread sandwich. It was filled with delicious apple, Brie cheese, and succulent black forest ham. “Very mysterious,” I bit into the sandwich, chewing briefly. “You don’t have any interest in telling me more, do you?”
Michael looked at me once more, “Some things are better left not talking of.” His eyes trailed downward towards the ground, “I don’t want to give the past any more power over me.”
I felt my throat choke up at my own demons, my own skeletons still scratching at the door that I kept locked. “Talking about it might help,” I said quietly.
Michael grunted, then bit off another piece of his pear, the juices continuing to lazily drip down, down, down. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to look away. Couldn’t ignore the arousing tightness that was forming between my legs; like a long lost desire freshly stoked, it roared through my body, burning me up inside. In the space between my thoughts, I dreamed of licking those drops of juice clean off of Michael’s five’o’clock shadow, trailing further down his chin and neck. The heat sank into me long and deep, and I wanted to think about that morning in the bath. Wanted to think of how it might feel… no. No.
Mischief flickered in his eyes then, as if he could sense just what I was thinking, choosing not to comment on my spark of lust. “Talking about that is off limits for me,” he finally announced, his chest expanding gloriously in a breath. “Just like touching you is a hard no,” he added, “that is still off the table, I’m presuming.”
Pleasure blossomed through me, making me a garden of earthly desires. “I’m, yeah, I’m not comfortable with that,” I bit down on my lip, trying to stem the flowing hunger through my warm blood. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. But I couldn’t bring myself to stop feeling this way. Couldn’t stop the pressure that was building in my sex.
Everything about me was ruined, or it felt that way at least. But Michael made me feel in ways that I never thought I co
uld.
I’m not supposed to feel this way towards someone.
Michael’s salacious words invaded my mind then, reminding me dirtily of two simple words: Your pussy. He moved in closer to me, keeping our gaze locked, an invisible tempest forming in the space between.
If I didn’t stop him right now. Right this second.
He’d kiss me.
God help me I wanted him to. To stop him, I blurted: “Those scars,” he was only inches away from me now, and the thought of pressing my lips against him was making me feel light headed. “H-how did you get them? Underneath your forearm.”
“Yearly ritual,” he explained in a low, husky voice, as if to discard the fact I was trying to kill our mood. “When I look into your eyes, Jane, I can’t look away,” he whispered in that smoky, regal voice. He started to lean in closer again, and for as much as I wanted to taste him, the urge to run filled me. “I don’t know why I said that,” he added beneath his breath, his lips parting ever so slightly, inviting me to drink them in. Inviting me for more.
When his lips were so close to me that I could feel his breath upon me, I swallowed hard.
“I’m starting to get cold,” I told him, “let’s go back inside.”
The hunger in his eyes was so raw that it made my insides tense up. After what felt like an eternity, Michael relented, picked himself up, and gave me a reassuring hand. “Alright...”
Chapter 15
Jane
Stepping inside of Michael’s home, I was greeted by the head butler. It had been two days since we last met; since we almost kissed. Bethany and Sayla were getting anxious for details, but I couldn’t find the courage to divulge any more than I had. Joshua nodded at me and gestured for me to follow him; we moved up the stairs and walked down a long corridor.
“So what’s he got planned for me now?” I asked, curious about the excitement from Michael’s texts. He had left an elegant green sun dress at my door this morning, and with the way it hugged my body, I had to admit that it made me feel sexy.
