Beatrice wrapped her leg around William. She silenced her groans by nuzzling her face into the crux of his neck. The sensation of love in its physical form played havoc with her body. Feeling the need to scream, she expressed her love to her man by losing herself in carnal pleasure.
~
Walking hand in hand back to the horse, William and Beatrice barely heard the whistle on the air.
The force of the arrow forced William backwards before dropping onto to his backside. Blinded by pain, he tensed up while screaming in agony among the reeds. Beatrice dropped to the side of her lover. She shook her head in desperation as she noticed the arrow had buried deep into his shoulder. “William, oh William.”
“Get on the horse.”
“Let me help you.”
“Forget me, get on the horse.”
Beatrice burst into tears. “We must escape together.”
“They want me not you. Now stop wasting time and escape.”
As William gingerly climbed to his feet, he spotted a masked bandit running towards him from road. He glanced over his shoulder to see Beatrice climbing on to his horse. Once she sat on the saddle, William slapped the rear of the horse sending the galloping across the shallow river towards the opposite tree line.
William faced his enemy. Despite his bleeding wound he stood his ground. The bandit screamed as he launched his first blow, violently slashing with his sword.
Keeping his elbows close to his body, William parried each glancing slice. He kept his knees bent and feet sturdy making sure not to lose his balance after each defensive parry. Despite his ailing strength William knew he had to bid his time until he could capitalise on the aggressor’s first mistake.
The polished blades cut through the rain as they battled under the angry sky. Thunder from the unsettled heavens interspersed each grunt and clash of steel of the combatants.
The bandit proved too eager and locked swords. He pushed forwards in an effort to overpower the injured William. Shifting his standing feet, William forced the bandit to make a false step. Off balance, the bandit was powerless to stop William gaining leverage with his sword and lost the flow of the fight.
William seized his opportunity. In one strong sapping blow, he swung. But cried out in agonised frustration as the bandit merely blocked it.
Without the strength to carry on, William knew he was done for.
“Leave him... Leave him, I say!” A drenched Beatrice had crossed the river once more brandishing a large branch. “Leave, or you’ll have to fight the both of us.”
The bandit seemed stunned. His attention spilt, he couldn’t focus. William thrust his sword towards the bandit. But the bandit easily sidestepped the blade. However he couldn’t avoid getting clobbered on the face with the Beatrice’s branch.
With the bandit floored, William kicked away the assailant’s sword. Beatrice then kissed Williams cheek. “Are you OK?”
“Fine, but you need to take me to Carlisle once we have dealt with this rat.” William reached down and unmasked the face of his stricken foe, revealing a bloodied face. To Beatrice’s hysterical screams, William could barely mutter, “Peter?”
“My Liege, I had no choice.”
“Why? Oh Why? You foolish wretch.”
“I’m sorry... I.”
“You...” William dropped to his knees. Exhausted, he could hardly speak. “You wanted me dead? You betrayed me.”
“You stole the love I could never have. I couldn’t let you taunt me by making Beatrice happy.”
“You were to be a monk... No?”
Peter could barely speak for the blood pouring from his nose. “I was going to live my life as a monk in hope of cleansing my soul after killing you.”
“But this... it never had to come to this.”
“Kill me, as I no longer wish to live.”
Feeling faint, William could not muster the strength to pick up his broadsword. He instead unsheathed his dagger. As he went to slit Peter’s throat, his hand was met by Beatrice’s.
“No, let him live.”
“Why should I? He will not allow us to live in peace.”
Beatrice did not relinquish her grip. “Knowing that we’re happy while he is shackled in the dungeon will serve him better than the tortures of Hell.”
“You’re wicked, Beatrice.”
“No. I’m just a simple weaver.”
THE END
His Reluctant Heart
by Jane Prescott
Eddie stepped back to admire his handiwork, wondering when the realization of his the end of his bachelor status would set in. His life was about to change so drastically that he may never again have time to leisurely paint his own house. He probably wouldn’t be able to paint anyone else’s house while drunk either, since the beer slowed his speed considerably, and he’d have to keep better hours now. It never affected his precision, but his hand couldn’t keep up with the speed of his thoughts. He set down his empty glass of ale and ran his dark blue pupils over the cream-colored walls again. The windowsills were painted a true blue, smooth and nearly has deep as his eyes, and the steps and railing were the same shade. He hoped his new bride like it; then the next second a voice within him scolded the thought. What are you, a wuss? Who cares if she likes it.
Your uncle probably will, he reminded himself. His Uncle Raymond was counting on him to make this marriage stick, unlike his own father had done with his series of wives. By the time Eddie was four, his mother, Lola, was living with her sister and allowed the confused boy to see his father one day a week, if that, and never while he was drunk (after the first time Eddie came home with singed pants: his father had accidentally lit him on fire with a cigarette). His Uncle never wasted breath tiptoeing around the fact that he feared Eddie would turn into Edward Senior, and this was no different. Raymond reminded Eddie of his father’s last words, spoken before he’d died of a head injury.
“I promised your father I’d take care of you,” Raymond said gruffly a month before Eddie’s bride was due to arrive. “And I’ve done that. I gave you a plot of land, materials for houses, and taught you to build and paint. And you done good in some respects,” Raymond said hurriedly as he saw Eddie’s face grow red. “But you ain’t taking real good care of yourself.”
“I’m fine, Uncle Ray.” Eddie had grown tired of lectures by the time he turned 16. “I work, I rest, I work some more. I don’t need anyone to help, and when I find someone, I’ll settle down. I’m not an old man yet.”
“Moments away,” Raymond answered. “You’re 35. You can’t keep bringing loose women into this pigsty you call a home for a night or two. It’s time to calm down and have a real life. You ain’t gonna live forever.”
“I don’t want to,” Eddie said hotly. He towered over his uncle normally, but now he was sitting on his sofa with his head in his hands while the portly older gentleman stood in front of his hunched body. “I just want to live. How can I do that with some biddy tying me down?”
“Don’t call her that. You’re not a kid anymore, Eddie, you know those ideas don’t fly!” Raymond had lost his patience and was wringing his handkerchief fretfully. “I can’t take this. I’m gonna come over and find you lying on the ground with your head cracked open, just like your father. Except it’ll be you who done it, and not some sap who’s been cuckolded.”
Eddie fell silent then. He remembered the scene clearly because he’d been with Raymond on the day his father died. Raymond traditionally took Eddie to his father’s house---he was the only family member of Eddie Senior’s that Lola still got along with. Eddie recalled Raymond slinging him over his shoulder and backing away hurriedly, depositing him with a neighbor before tearing back down the street. Eddie had time to glimpse his father with his limbs splayed akimbo and a dark red pool surrounding his head like a crimson halo. He saw him again after they transported him to the hospital, one short hour before he died. The horrible memory hung between the two men, and Eddie finally raised his eyes to meet his uncle’s.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll take the bride.”
Now she was finally arriving. Eddie worked thought the month numbly, making alterations and additions to the house without letting himself acknowledge why. He spoke about his bride---Martha Hannigan---with his uncle only when the other man brought it up. For the rest of the time, he simply put his body in motion and didn’t think about the reasoning behind it. He’d meant every word he said to his uncle, but he also acknowledged that something about him wasn’t completely right. Sometimes he broke things simply because rage ballooned in him so hard and fast that he had to let it out some way. He drank until he blacked out and occasionally woke up choking on his own sick. And even though being the best carpenter in a hundred miles meant he often met a pretty young thing who gushed over his craftwork and took him to bed, after she left, he was always overcome with the same feeling: an astounding emptiness, like the woman had simply reached inside him and tore a chunk of his soul away as she walked out the door. It felt hollow and raw and horribly painful all at the same time, and sometimes he’d drink just to black out and wipe the feeling away. He didn’t say anything of this to his Uncle, or even aloud to himself. He didn’t want to make it more real.
Eddie sighed, picked up his glass, and started up the stairs. He’d painted the whole house last night, and it had come out flawless, as usual. Hand-eye coordination was one thing Eddie prided in himself---that and his ability to hold his liquor. In the last month, he’d also worked on the kitchen: new flooring, a brand-new stove, and a wider window. Eddie was the only builder in town, and even though some residents remembered his father’s work ethic and so avoided the younger Edward, most people knew Eddie wasn’t mean or lazy, and he was highly requested. It was one of the reason’s he’d avoided settling down---so many women admired his skilled hands and found excuses to come to his home office that he saw no reason to choose one. It meant that more than a few of the women grew attached to him and caused trouble when they saw him with another one, but after a few years, squeamish or romantic maids learned to steer clear of him, and even warned off some of the more naïve ladies. Eddie had been active since he was 18, and he’d always lived in the same town, so he’d gone from the center of attention to a shunned pariah and back again more times than he could count in the last 17 years. He knew what some of the women thought of him, and he knew he never laid with a woman unless she knew he was a lone wolf, but gossip was more interesting than the truth.
After washing his glass, Eddie walked down the wide hall to his bedroom. The house came with three---he’d built it when he was far younger and optimistic than he was now. The biggest bedroom was his, and the only change he made to it was getting a larger bed. It was perhaps more lavish than he should have sprung for, but being a bachelor meant he had fewer things to spend his wages on than other men, and he knew his finances could take the hit. He did repaint the other bedrooms to a butter yellow hue, just in case they were used to baby’s rooms in the future, but he didn’t honestly think he would ever need it. In fact, Eddie was secretly expecting his bride to be an insane person, or perhaps even made up---an elaborate ruse someone carried to far. Mostly, Eddie imagined her as a spinster, frail and shrill and unsuitable for anyone less broken than he. He knew it was hypocritical, but he assumed any bride willing to marry him was probably damaged goods. He briefly recalled a story Evan told him--- his best friend since childhood whose younger brother received a mail order bride.
“Said she was 22, blonde, slender and talented,” Evan recited. “Parents and grandparents dead, but she said she was fertile and strong. He want to pick her up, and the woman was 400 pounds if she was a stone. Older than sin, dumber than a post. Sat on him and broke both his legs one night They’re still married.”
Eddie imagined waking up to a rotund woman squashing his chest slowly in the darkness of his room. He’d be pressed into his mattress and no one would ever find him. He shook his head roughly to bring himself back into the present, pressing one hand to his broad chest to feel his racing heart. He was far more nervous than he had been a moment ago, and he realized it was because he’d caught sight of Marsha’s last letter. After Uncle Raymond arranged the trip for Martha, he gave Eddie the stack of missives so he could get to know his new bride. She sounded too good to be true: 25, five and a half feet tall, creamy skin and a lovely singing voice. She worked with school children but wouldn’t mind staying home. She liked animals, cooking, and taking walks. She raised her younger sister along with her single father, and wanted children of her own some day. Her words were flowery and tinged with hope: hope ‘for their future’, for the ‘seed of their love’, for her success in the move, and for his ‘eternal happiness’; Eddie hated her already. He took a deep breath as he stared at her letter now---a short one informing him of her arrival date and how much she’d be bringing. Not much; two trunks and one large duffel.
Eddie pulled on a dark blue dress shirt and buttoned it over his hairy chest. It was close to noon, and the train station was around the corner, about three minute’s walk. The location was often noisy, but he loved living in the thriving center of action. He felt safe and complete when he could hear the sharp whistle of a steam engine careening down a track toward the town, or children playing in the streets on the way home from school. The streets were empty of children as he descended the stairs, but a few carriages were trundling to and from the center of town. He hoped he wouldn’t have to hail one for Marsha’s things; he trusted his arms to be able to carry her belongings.
There was one other house between his and the train stations---the house belonging to Evan and his wife Cheryl, who taught at the school. Evan was waiting at his porch with a baby on his hip---Emma or Charles, Eddie couldn’t tell which, they were both so young. The baby was in a long white garment that covered its feet, and it gurgled happily as its father waved cheerily to Eddie. Evan had matured long before Eddie had, and married to high school sweetheart to boot. Cheryl was plain but brilliant, and she’d been a schoolteacher since she was 16. She’d been the brightest in her class from the very start, and was the only woman Eddie ever met who regularly read books that weren’t about prairie life or the like. Cheryl was intimidating, for sure, but she made Evan incredibly happy. This was clear in the way he treated her, and the way he lived since they’d married. Evan hardly saw Eddie anymore, and when he did, he sometimes regaled him with tales of caring for sick infants, cooking disasters, or sleepless nights driven by spats with Cheryl. When Eddie mentioned that it sounded miserable, Evan’s face broke out into a huge smile.
“Only sometimes, but that’s the thing.” He lowered his voice and leaned in as though he was letting Eddie in on a huge secret. “Even when it is, it ain’t. Even when I’m up to my elbows in diapers or sleeping on the floor after Cheryl kicks me out of bed, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”
“You’re crazy,” Eddie said, shaking his head. Evan simply sat back and rested his hands on his round belly.
“Still wouldn’t trade it for nothing.”
As Eddie approached the main platform, Evan’s words rang in his head the clearest. His mind was filled with images of a snaggle-toothed crone limping toward him, or a mean walrus of a woman swatting him when she got angry. He considered the possibility that she might be a drunk like him, which would prove to be so useless that he didn’t think the marriage would weather their shared disease. During the past few days, he even thought about purposely driving her away with invented drama or with his admittedly long list of carnal conquests. What he would not allow himself to imagine--- not even in for a moment---was the woman taking a look at his dark, broken joke of a life and past and walking away in disgust. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone finding him so repulsive that they couldn’t stand to live with him at all, even though it had already happened to him once.
As he neared the crowd, his heartbeat started to pound in her ears. Panic was beginning to slip into his bloodstream as his new impending reality finally
settled around him. Here he was, about to meet the person he would probably spend the rest of his life with, and he didn’t feel anything stronger than the vague interest he felt for passerby. He caught sight of several women in dresses standing near their respective trunks--- most of them younger than he was, but a few were markedly older; one had a hunched back and a long, crooked nose like a witch in a child’s drawing. His heart stopped, and he felt sure that this was Martha--- it had to be. How else would God punish him for not getting his life together? Suddenly, all his fear and self-doubt was fighting to reach his brain, clawing at the soft flesh of his throat like wild animals. He stopped in his tracks, planning to turn and run and measuring the distance to the street in his mind in preparation. None of the women had paid him any mind yet, even though the crowd was starting to dissipate and moved around him like water around a boulder. He took one step back, then another. Eddie thought he could make it in about ten seconds, and he took another step back, then turned on his heel. It was as far as he got; as soon as he started to move forward, he crashed into a teenager holding a parasol and a sack of clothes.
“Sorry!” the young woman squeaked. She had dark red hair in along braid down her back and a dress in nearly the exact shade. She scrambled to her feet and peered down at Eddie with her hands over mouth, dancing from foot to foot in a fit of anxiety. “I’m so sorry, sir!”
Eddie was dusting himself off and standing, his momentary anger already fading as he looked into the girl’s flushed, delicate face. Her green eyes were wide with fear, and he felt pity swell in his heart. “It’s ok,” he said gently. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, that was my fault.”
His words seem to relieve some of the panic in her body. “Absolutely not, but thank you for saying so. I wasn’t in my right mind.” She sounded so formal that Eddie nearly laughed; she was as precocious as any big city youngster he’d ever encountered.
Enchanted by The Lord (Historical Victorian Romance) Page 12
