by Sable Grey
“Give us a demonstration,” Tibor called.
“My sword,” Viktor called to one of his men, who tossed him the sheath after he urged Jolan to step aside. He gave Alger a nod who in turned grinned.
“At last, after all these years, I shall show you once and for all which of us is the better swordsman.”
Viktor laughed. “You are so certain?”
“You’re not as young as I, and women and mead make you soft,” Alger jabbed as he raised his sword and began stepping in a circle. “I shall lay you upon the flat of your back.”
Viktor grinned when his brothers and men cheered. “Do so and I shall give you whatever you wish.”
Alger’s brows rose high before he turned and faced the maid servant who had just brought refreshment to the family. “A kiss from the beauty for the winner, what say you?” The woman looked up and, while she blushed prettily, she nodded. “Then you shall not only find yourself bested, but robbed of the affection of a pretty.”
Viktor said nothing, waiting for his brother to advance. When he did, he blocked every swing, turning after the last to slap the flat of the sword against Alger’s shoulder. Their audience cheered and Viktor glanced at Jolan as he backed away to find her watching, transfixed. Behind her the crone watched with a scowl.
Alger advanced again, this time his strikes quicker, stronger, but Viktor moved just as quickly and avoided injury. Once again the flat of his sword hit, this time the back of his brother’s thigh.
“At this rate, you will have no limbs with which to use to fight me,” Viktor taunted but he could not deny that Alger’s attack did bring a sweat and he was breathing more heavily than before. Rather than wait, and knowing that he would have to strike quickly to save himself from being made a fool, he advanced. His brother blocked, blocked again, and when he turned to deliver a strike of his own, Viktor stuck his foot out, tripping Alger so that he went stumbling backwards. As his brother sprawled on the ground, Viktor levelled his sword beneath Alger’s chin, smiling.
“I believe you lose.”
“You needn’t be a smug bastard about it,” Alger growled taking Viktor’s outstretched hand and using it to pull himself to his feet. Alger glanced at the maid when she stepped forward, her gaze glittering.
“Your prize,” she said coyly and rose on her toes, pressing her mouth to Viktor’s momentarily. “You are most obviously the best swordsman.” She winked and turned to hurry away and back to her chores. The audience applauded and Viktor turned to find Jolan shaking her head at something Cloelia was saying to her.
“Your turn, come along now.” He walked forward and took her by her arm, leading her away from the crone. “While he’s cocky and too sure of himself, you can learn from him.”
“I am not built like a man,” Jolan shook her head. “I am not made like you to be a warrior.”
“Indeed. Battle is a man’s business,” Cloelia chimed.
Viktor didn’t look back at her. “And when her husband is struck down, who shall defend his lands that you feel are worthy enough for him to defend? It should be his woman who leads those that were so devoted to him to avenge his death. It is what I would wish if it was me and I know of no other who lifts a sword to want less.”
“You would wish a woman to raise a sword for you?” Jolan looked back at him.
“For her to pluck it from my bloodied hands and drive it into the heart of our enemies, I would.” He inclined his head. For a moment, she only looked at him, then turned and faced Alger. When he swung his weapon in a slow strike she blocked it as he’d told her to do then surprised him by retaliating with an attempted strike of her own. He backed away from the pair, allowing Alger to instruct her, and moved to stand next to Tibor as he watched.
“You should check your bedding for vipers before you sleep,” Tibor warned in a low voice.
“I care not what that witch thinks to try with me. I have no fear of her.”
Tibor leaned closer, “Perhaps not, but Jolan will be the one that suffers the most. She was already punished this morning for not returning before dark yesterday.”
Viktor frowned, head snapping around so he could stare at Tibor. “Punished?”
“The baths. Cloelia insists that Jolan is given one each morning and night. It is a time when they are alone but the maid that just kissed you told me that this morning she added more heat to the water than necessary and that Jolan was reddened from her abusive scrub.” Tibor shook his head. “It is not you I worry of, Raban. It is Jolan.”
“If that were truth, then why do you not stand on her behalf and change her father’s mind about marrying her to a man she is terrified of?” Viktor asked pointedly. He saw the colour rise in Tibor’s face.
“I have protected her from her uncle these many years, saved her from his indecent lust. When she marries she will at last be safe from him. You will remember your place and not question my love for her ever again.” Tibor’s voice was harder than Viktor had heard it before and he heard the man’s devotion ring true in his tone. “Do it not and no sword your men could make could stop me from burying my own weapon in your throat while you sleep.”
Viktor looked at the man. He was aged, lean, and his hands were smooth from work. But there in those deep set eyes, he saw the threat was truly meant. Respect filled him. Jolan was not as alone as she suspected. Tibor’s affection was equal to that of a father.
“I believe I underestimated you, Tibor.”
“You most certainly have.” Tibor moved away from him to clap and call out a cheer for Jolan.
Viktor frowned. The witch had punished Jolan after he’d promised her she’d never be harmed by the crone. He’d make certain that wouldn’t happen again. Glancing at Adalbern then his wife, he found Linza watching him closely. He inclined his head only a bit and she returned the gesture before looking away.
The next morning, Viktor visited the maids’ quarters before he planted himself outside Jolan’s door. With only three days before their departure to Drago, and no time for Lovasz to find a new guard, Viktor had decided it was time for things to change for Jolan. He would put an end to the witch’s control swiftly. It was the best way to deal with her, he decided.
He wasn’t made to wait long. A few moments later Viktor scowled at Cloelia’s determined step in the corridor. He regarded her with distaste. She was tall, too bony to be considered thin, and draped in drab grey. Her greying black hair was pulled tightly back into a knot, just as it was the day before, making her face appear more narrow and pointed than it might seem otherwise. Her lips dropped deep lines from their corners that reached down the sides of her chin, matching the crevice that stretched from lower forehead down between her eyes. Her mouth was pressed into a tight line but it was the dark, black gaze which glittered with unpleasantness.
“She has not risen yet?” Cloelia snapped as she neared him. Viktor refrained from responding and the line of her mouth pressed firmer, indicating she did not like being ignored. He lifted a hand, without facing the door and thumped a knuckle softly against the wood behind him.
“I am awake,” Jolan called impatiently before swinging the door open.
“It should have been a task already performed.” Cloelia folded her arms. “I have been waiting for you. Did you think you did not have to bathe today?” Before Jolan could answer, Viktor finally spoke.
“She has no time for your obsession with cleanliness today.” He didn’t blink when Cloelia’s gaze swung up with surprise to his face, before narrowing.
“She bathes every morning,” Cloelia snapped.
Viktor shrugged. “And afternoon and evening, as I’ve discovered. It shall not throw this castle or the village into turmoil if she misses doing so this morning.” His attention slanted at Jolan and he found her staring at him with disbelief and fear. “Finish dressing, Prinţesă, so that we may start the day.”
“You forget your place, guard, and speak too familiarly to her,” Cloelia warned but turned her attention to Jolan when he
didn’t answer. “Come. I do not wish to be kept waiting longer.”
“And we all tire of your barking, woman. I said she will not go with you this morning and she will not.” Viktor did not budge when her eyes went wide. “Be gone, witch, lest you try what little patience with you I have left.”
“I warn you, only once, oaf. It is not wise to cross me.” Cloelia lifted a bony finger and wagged it at him.
“Do not threaten me, old woman. I do not believe in your smoke and illusion. Take your spells somewhere else for I’ve not the time or patience this morning to listen to them.”
Cloelia’s jaw clenched and she looked as if she might say something at first. Instead she regarded him for several moments in silence, then pivoted on her heel and marched back the way she came.
“You are as mad as they say I am,” Jolan whispered. “I told you she knows things…”
Viktor glanced at her, his gaze lowering to the sleeping shift she wore. “The maids will prepare your bath in your room from this day on. My sister has reached but her thirteenth year and has no one assisting her when she bathes. You are a woman grown and can bathe yourself.”
“She will not stand for it,” Jolan whispered but Viktor didn’t care at the moment if the woman came back with a basket of vipers. He took a step forward and Jolan instantly backed into her room. He nearly smiled at the way her breath quickened and those large, dark eyes shone with her reaction to him. She was more dangerous than she knew, he thought to himself. Her desire for him made him want to face an army of gypsy witches on her behalf.
“I shall make this door secure for you. While you may be made to remain in your room, you will have control of who enters.” He turned when he heard a gasp and found the maid he’d spoken to earlier standing behind him. He stepped aside so she could enter and six servant men followed, one carrying a large wooden tub, two carrying buckets of hot stones, and the rest bringing in the water. Once the men filled the tub with water and stones they left quickly.
“Take your time. Though I know you will not admit it, I suspect your muscles are sore from your training yesterday.” He saw her eyes widen and smiled. “I remember well the soreness when I first learned to lift a sword.”
“Shall I remain and assist you?” The maid asked but Jolan shook her head. The maid stepped from the room but Viktor remained.
“Will…will you stay?” Those large eyes beckoned him.
Before he could answer, Alger arrived with three other men. “Quickly,” he told them and stood back watching them secure the wooden brackets on either side of the door and one in the middle of the door. Alger set a long, thick piece of wood to the side, winked at Viktor and they left as quickly as they’d entered.
“What is that?” Jolan asked stepping to his side.
“I told you your door would be secure.” He walked forward, pulled the door closed, and slid the wood into the brackets. “Even if the door is unlocked, no one will be able to enter without an army.” He faced her to find her smiling, clearly happy with the new addition.
“You needn’t have your men go through so much trouble. We only have three days before I will depart from here.” She glanced at the steaming bath, then back at him. After a moment of obvious consideration, she reached down and lifted the shift over her head. Viktor’s gaze dropped instantly to her body and he swallowed loudly as she lifted a leg and tested the heat of the water with her toe. Seemingly satisfied, she stepped into the wooden basin and eased down into the steaming water.
Viktor felt rooted. He could only stand and stare as she leant back and the long tendrils of her hair floated atop the surface. Her knees parted the water as she sank lower and he had the urge to crawl between them. Instead he remained where he was, in front of the door, cock painfully erect, watching her as she bathed.
Chapter Five
Jolan’s heart pounded. She’d expect Raban to come to her after the first time they’d joined. But he hadn’t. It was as if he wouldn’t approach her unless she bid him to her. Even her father’s servants made her do as they wished. Her guard however had only commanded her once—when he’d been angry at being used.
Every night since that first, she’d dreamt of him, of his mouth and hands. He’d been dominating yet gentle. She suspected she would not find such consideration from the count. Pushing Dragomir from her mind, she returned her thoughts to Raban.
“Tell me a story like the one you told before, a story of love worth fighting for.”
“Love?” His voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat. “Truthfully, I know very little about love, Prinţesă, outside of familial love or friendship.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. He still stood at the door, his blue eyes darkened as he watched her. Why had this man never known love? Even she, in a life of few freedoms, had found love once.
“I know very little of love myself. The boy that I’d given myself to, Leobwin, he was poor. It was his pride in his work that first drew me to him.” She closed her eyes again. “Leo had many siblings and told me that he worked hard to help feed them. I admired him for that.”
“He sounds like he was a good boy.”
Jolan smiled. “He caught me watching him one day when he was grooming the horses. Like you, he was not afraid of Cloelia. He called her the evil eye of ugly.” Jolan giggled. “When he kissed me he was so gentle. It made me feel delicate and feminine.”
“You fell in love with him at that moment?”
“It might not have been love as deep as that between Ilona and Dieter but it was love enough for me, and he was my friend. I’ve had very few friends outside of Tibor.” Jolan sat up, and reached for the bathing brush that had been left. “Tibor knew of our affection. He pretended he did not but stood in defence of Leo when he was to be beaten. He could do nothing to stop it, though he did try. Cloelia had convinced my father that Leo would destroy the fate of our family if he remained alive. I imagine she was right about that. I would have married him.”
“Even though he was poor?” Raban moved closer and this time when she looked at him, she found his gaze on her face.
“I cared of coin before I had Leo’s kiss.” She smiled. “But once I’d tasted his gentleness, his kindness, and friendship, I cared not of my father’s wealth. I know now that Leo would have made a good husband. He was brave when he was whipped. He tried not to scream out but when he was too weakened not to, he screamed my name. I was locked in my room and could not go to him.” Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered his screams.
“Then your story is far more noble than the one I told.”
She looked up when he knelt beside her and touched her cheek. “A man, even a boy, who would love you till his death is one with the heart of a warrior.” Raban’s voice was soft, gentle.
“I would have a husband like that. A man like Leo would have become, like Dieter who would not part with one he loved for horses or gold, brave and strong of heart.” Jolan smiled, brushing away tears. “What kind of woman would you have for a wife, guard?”
“In my youth I imagined myself with a woman like my mother, gentle, kind, patient, and obedient.” She watched him rock back on his heels, arms resting on his knees. “I sought women like her.”
Jolan tilted her head. “Yet you found none to marry?”
He chuckled. “I found many that I could have married but I grew bored with their soft voices and compliant natures. I was twenty when I realised what kind of woman better suited me. I was in battle against the Mongols and I saw her in the midst of the fighting. Her man had been struck down outside of his home, his family inside the cottage he was defending. His wife rushed from the cottage when he fell and as she kissed him, she took up his sword. I could see her children fearful inside through the windows as the Mongols set fire to the roof.”
Jolan leant forward, resting her arm on the side of the basin, eyes wide. She’d heard stories of battle from Tibor but he never spoke of the true horror that happened. She knew that women and children per
ished but had never heard it actually told.
“I called to my brother to help her.” He lifted his gaze, “I would have myself had I not been in the midst of swords. He went to her, taking up her fight but she would not go inside. She stood at my brother’s side, over her husband’s body, fighting like a warrior. And when the cottage burned bright, her children were made to join her, the smallest, a boy, armed with a broken chair leg.”
“What happened to them?” Jolan whispered.
“I found her and her family once the fighting ceased. Her arm was ruined but she tended her husband with the other. Her eldest son had been killed, but the others were at her side.” He nodded. “She is the woman I would have at my side.”
“Did her husband perish?”
“I would have married her that day if he had.” Raban smiled.
Jolan shook her head. “I cannot imagine being so brave.”
“Were you not locked in your room, wouldn’t you have gone to your stable boy’s side to defend him?” he argued. “That was bravery for one so young, wouldn’t you agree?”
Jolan met his gaze. “I was punished soundly for it.”
“Yet you survived and have a story of bravery and love that could not be made untrue.” He stood and set his sword aside. She stared at him as he lifted his tunic over his head then removed his shift. He turned, displaying the rough but healed skin of his back.
Jolan gasped. “You’ve been beaten.” Not just beaten. Severely beaten so that his entire back bore scar tissue that would never be smooth again.
“I was taken prisoner and the attempt was to whip me into servitude.” He turned and knelt again next to her. “I was beaten every day for longer than a week. The pain was so great I could barely move but I did not submit. When my men stormed the place and came for me, I was near death.”
