by Amy Boyles
“Damn it to hell,” I swore. A quick inspection revealed one torn skirt and a dirty petticoat, which equaled an hour’s worth of hemming when I got home. Not how I wanted to spend any of my time.
The rest of the way proved clear. The leaves were turning, and as such, many had left their homes among the trees to blanket the ground in gold and orange. Looking at them gave me some peace. With my spirits lifted, something akin to happiness filled my heart.
Then I came to the first snare. Empty. Worse, it had been set off. Argh. I constructed each trap so that behind the noose lay a small wall of sticks. This way, the prey was forced to approach from the front. Rarely had I seen a trap set off without yielding dinner for me. Disappointed but not dejected, I moved on to the next one. There, I had better luck. Caught in the noose of the trap hung a hare. I unhinged it from the snare and traveled on. The next trap sat empty as well. Once again, it had been set off. That raised my hackles. One discharged trap was one thing. Two was something else. Someone had stolen my rabbits. Annoyed and on alert, I still had two more traps to check. Hopefully, whoever the scoundrel, they were long gone. But more importantly I prayed my last two traps were secure.
The fourth lay behind a thicket of cedars whose branches hung low to the ground. I pushed the spiny green arms back only to find a knife blade at my throat. Apparently, not gone.
“Who are you?” came the gruff voice.
Four men stood before me, all the worse for the rags they wore. The voice in question came from the one with the blade. He was older, balding, with a scraggly beard. His government-rationed waistcoat and breeches were muddy and torn, and the linen cravat at his throat held a sweat ring that looked to go clear around his neck. One thing was certain—they were rebels, a group of citizens stuck squarely in the middle, not siding with either the patriots or the original government. When the patriots won, their side lost, making them criminals. These men had probably been in hiding since the end of the war. They definitely smelled like it.
“Who are you?” he repeated.
I saw no reason to lie. “My name's Anna.”
The men looked behind them to a thick cedar. Slowly the branches pushed away and another emerged. Tall with broad shoulders, his every movement embodied the words lithe and muscular, for he moved with the fluidity of water and the strength of a bull. His dark eyes flashed an intelligence that was intimidating. His clothes, government-rationed though they were, accentuated his muscular thighs and forearms, as if forcing me to acknowledge that I stood in the presence of not only a man, but a remarkable creation.
There was no doubt in my mind who he was.
“What are you doing here, Anna?” he asked lightly as if his man wasn't holding a blade to my throat.
Though part of me wanted to stand there for eternity and bathe in the sight of him, I managed to find my tongue. “I'm collecting rabbits from my snares. Rabbits I’m pretty sure you’ve already seen and collected for me. So please release your hound so that I may leave.” I didn’t say I planned to be nice.
He pulled two dead hares from his pouch. “So you’re the one who caught these?”
Extending an open palm, I replied, “I’ll take those and gladly leave you men to your business.”
They laughed. Not the reaction I'd hoped for.
Branthe tossed one of the rabbits to me. “My men are hungry. It wouldn't do me any good to starve them. I hope you don't mind if we keep one of your claims.”
“Thank you.”
“But you realize I can't let you leave.”
I looked into those piercing dark eyes of his. They were mesmerizing, bewitching me so that I couldn't look away. When I finally forced my gaze to the ground, I did so knowing the truth.
He wasn't going to release me.
“And what good would it do you to keep me here?”
He smirked. “It would do a lot of good. I will point out the fact that you’ve seen me and my men. There’s nothing to stop you from telling Colonel Mann about us. Especially since I’m blatantly stealing your dinner.”
Was he joking about this? Jesting about the fact that he was taking me prisoner? Oh no no no. This, I couldn’t have. “My family isn't political. I hold no ambitions of rising through the Patriot Party. I don't have any reason to betray you.”
His smirk transformed into a sad smile. “I can't let you go. Fief, lower your blade and check to make sure she's unarmed. After that, tie her up.” His gaze flickered back to mine. “The rabbit I gave you is your dinner. Be thankful for it. You'll be eating better than the rest of us tonight. I won't be able to promise such luxuries in the future.”
I would not, could not go with them. Besides the fact that my parents would be worried beyond belief, I feared for my safety. I didn’t know these men. I broke free of Fief. What a stupid name. “You saved us once. When I was young, you saved my father from a gang of men who attacked him.” That had to convince him of my loyalty to his cause. I knew him, and I supported him. Surely it was enough for him to let me go.
He paused, taking me in for what seemed forever. “And?” He said it so callously, as if my experience didn’t mean anything to him.
My jaw dropped. For ten years I'd dreamed of this day, and all he had to say when I told him I admired him, no revered him, was And? I collected myself, trying not to look as foolish as I felt for putting so much hope in the actions of a man I didn’t know. “That may not mean anything to you, but it means something to me. I won't betray you, not to anyone. Please. Let me go. My family needs this food.”
I eyed a dagger at the waist of one of the men. If I moved a few more inches to the left, it would be within reach. Then I’d have a dagger and would still be surrounded by five armed men. My goal of gaining the upper hand seemed impossible.
Branthe watched my eyes travel to the weapon and back. “You're going with us, and it's in your best interest not to do anything rash. I can promise you protection. But if you act out, I can promise you nothing. Now, which would you rather have—protection or nothing?”
At first I didn't understand. Then I glanced at his men. Though they didn't accost me with seedy looks, it was obvious what he meant.
There was no other choice. “Protection,” I murmured.
“Then tie her up,” he commanded.
Four
It didn't take long for them to discover the jackrabbit in my pack and confiscate it. Not that it mattered. They would’ve sniffed it out sooner or later, and by that time the meat would’ve turned, making it inedible for all.
We walked south for perhaps a mile or two. The choice of direction was curious as nothing significant lay that way. If anything, our travels only led deeper into the woods. Which, if you were a band of rebels wanting to avoid detection, was the best direction to go.
By late afternoon the men had made a small campfire, just enough to warm us and cook the meat. Branthe positioned himself by me, though he said not a word. The scent of leather and dried leaves wafted off him.
A few times I sneaked side glances at him. He appeared to always be looking forward, scanning the woods as if anticipating that something would jump out and attack. His shoulders were pulled back and tense, always waiting.
He glanced at at his men, who sat smacking on cooked rabbit legs and thighs. “Thank you for sharing your dinner.”
Rubbing my forehead against a shoulder, I attempted to get a piece of rogue hair out of my eyes. It didn’t work. “You’re kidding, right? It’s not like I had a choice.”
He regarded me quietly. His penetrating gaze made me feel unhinged. Enchanted and unnerved, I looked away, knowing that if I spent too much time within the grasp of his glance, I would be seduced. And I refused to be prisoner as well as mistress.
He leaned back, stretching his taut body across a bed of leaves. Propping himself on an elbow, he said, “I’m attempting to be nice, or cordial as the government would have us say. You don’t have to accept my gratitude, but it would be appreciated.”
I tried
blowing the strand from my face. That didn’t work, either. “Well maybe if you let me go, I would accept your thanks.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“No. I know you can, but you won’t.”
“So you won’t accept my thanks.” Those eyes swept over me from head to foot. Whenever Colonel Mann looked at me that way, I felt dirty and needed a bath immediately afterward. This felt different. He sized me up.
“Trying to decide how much of a threat I am?”
“I don’t think you’re a threat.”
I didn’t know if I should be insulted or relieved by his assessment. “Then what are you doing?”
“I was admiring your hair.”
“My hair?” I asked, disbelief evident in my voice.
“The way the light reflects off it gives it a hint of red. It’s lovely.”
“Then you must be blind. Because my hair and my eyes are both the most boring shades of brown imaginable.” Who was this man? I knew his aim wasn’t to charm me. He didn’t seem the type. Besides, there was something honest and reflective in his tone that caused my heart to beat faster.
“No, it really is.”
Instead of taking the compliment like a lady would have, I replied, “You say that to all the girls.”
He waved a hand through the air as if presenting his camp of men. “Do you see any other girls?” He paused and then threw a bored look to his group. “You know, it’s very difficult to have a conversation with someone who can’t accept a compliment.”
This line of conversation needed to stop. He was confident, engaging, mesmerizing—all the things I knew he would be and all the things I wanted. For goodness’ sake, the man was seduction on a stick. For too long I had yearned for Branthe. I wouldn’t be seduced and tossed away like a streetwalker. So instead of replying, I blew on my face, but that damned hair still didn’t move.
“You have a piece of hair stuck to your face.”
“I know that! It’s driving me almost as crazy as you.”
He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in sort of a magical way. It annoyed me.
“If I remove it, will you accept my thanks?”
“I’ll think about it.”
His dark eyes held mine as he lifted a hand. As if applying paint to canvas, he brushed the hair from my face and tucked it behind an ear. The electric touch of his fingers sent a shiver down my spine. I licked my lips in an attempt to distract my thoughts. More nervous habit than anything else, I didn’t expect him to notice, but his gaze followed my tongue. Hot flames licked my cheeks as a blush washed over me.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“No. Thank you,” he said. Without another word, Branthe left my presence to join his men.
He didn’t talk to me again that day, though he made certain his men untied me so I could eat. Once that was done, I found myself bound again for the long night ahead. Worse, they wrapped the rope around a tree, ensuring I couldn't escape. I spent that night waking every few minutes in pain from the ache in my back and shoulders.
The next morning we set out early. Once again I didn’t know our destination, but wherever it resided, we were definitely going in the wrong direction.
“You don't want to go that way,” I said sharply. They spoke little, which made me think my words and tone needed to be dramatic. Other than Branthe, the men didn’t appear very educated. I didn’t even know if most of them spoke English.
The one called Fief snarled at me. “Why not?”
“Because that way the forest gets swampy. Though autumn is coming, the days are still warm, and most likely so is the water.”
“Meaning?” he asked with impatience.
I sighed. Really? Didn't they know where they were? “Meaning—water moccasins. I don't suppose you possess antivenom in those packs of yours, do you? I mean, you had to steal my family's supper, so I seriously doubt it.”
He gave me a dark look. “What do you think, boss?”
Branthe crossed his arms and strode over to me. One, two, three long-legged strides and he stood within six inches of my face. I sucked in my breath. The simple act of him putting one foot in front of the other, otherwise known as walking, took the air from me. This close, I noticed his brown eyes were flecked with gold and green. I swallowed as he studied my face.
“What of that way?” he asked, pointing east.
I shrugged. “That's the way you should go. I don't know where you're headed, but that way is the safer route of the two.”
The men looked back and forth at each other, shifting their weight from hip to hip.
“I say she's lying,” Fief, the apparent second in command, blurted out. “Could be a trap. Send us toward people she knows, hoping we'll be overpowered and taken.”
I felt Branthe's probing eyes once more. I stared defiantly at him, waiting for his grand judgment. “I have no intention of being bitten by a snake. It's not a trap; it's purely self-preservation. But don't listen to me. I only grew up around here.”
His eyes flickered from me to his men. At last he spoke. “We keep moving in the same direction.”
“Then let me tie my skirts. I'm not going to ruin this dress any more than I already have.” I eyed the gash up the side. Plodding through brush and over rocks had made it worse. It now needed at least two hours of mending to redeem it.
I fiddled with my skirt for a lot longer than necessary, annoying them on purpose. Finally I finished and we moved on. It wasn't an hour later that we hit the first stagnant water. No one said anything. They just waded through the murky pools of blackness, staying to the outer edge as much as possible. After we’d been at it for nearly half the day, I said something.
“If you travel west, the water will let up in time to camp for the night.”
This time Branthe didn't stop to study my facial expression. “Do it,” he agreed.
How epic of him to realize I wasn't lying. After schlepping my water-filled boots through the swamp for another hour, we hit dry land. The men looked as tired as I felt. They collapsed on the ground, peeling off boots and wringing out socks.
There was no food that night, and the fire was put out well before dark. I sat, wrists tied, leaning against a tree. The men made no move to talk to me. It was just as well. I didn't have anything to say. As the sun sank toward the horizon, he sat next to me.
“So you didn't lie to us,” Branthe said casually.
“No,” I confirmed.
“Why not?”
I gave him a look that conveyed, do I look stupid? but simply replied, “I told you before, I'm not a patriot any more than you are. All I want is to go home.”
Though he eyed me with skepticism, he only remarked, “Fair enough.”
“So will you let me?”
“No,” he stated. “If you hadn't seen us, we wouldn’t be in this situation. But you did and that changed things.”
“Who are you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. Part of me hoped he would give the answer I knew to be true. “You know my name. It's only fair that I know my captor's.”
“Some names are better left unsaid.”
“Only names that carry great weight can’t be spoken.”
He stared at me in a way that made goose bumps rise on my flesh. “More than you know.”
“And what if I wanted to know?”
“It’s too much responsibility for a girl we kidnapped in the forest.”
I laughed. “Too much responsibility for me, but the actual act of kidnapping isn’t. The emotional ramifications of being stolen from my family I can handle. Knowing who you are—apparently I can’t. It’s much too weighty.”
He frowned.
“See the hypocrisy?” I asked.
“Point taken.”
I tried a different tactic. “What if I want the responsibility? After all, I have pretty hair. Doesn’t that count for something?”
His mouth quirked into a smile. “No need to remind me. Your hair has been blinding me all day.”
“Has it really?”
“No,” he said tersely. But then he smiled. My heart melted, pooling at my feet.
He continued on. “Anyway, no one’s ever wanted that responsibility before.”
“Please. I find that hard to believe.”
“Why? Being a rebel isn’t an easy life.”
“But surely there are plenty of people who want to help you, who’ve given themselves to your cause.” I didn’t want to say what I thought—that there were plenty of women who would gladly give themselves to him in exchange for his heart and his trust.
Picking up a leaf, he twirled it between two fingers. “I have to think about it. I need to know if you’re worthy of the information. What can you offer in exchange?”
“I can offer you trust and loyalty. As I said, you once saved my father’s life and mine. I already owe you. Knowing your name will only mean that my trust rests with the right man.”
“Your wrists are chafed.”
“Two days of binds will do that to you,” I answered drily.
“I may have something for that. Those don’t need to get infected. It wouldn’t do for you to become feverish.”
“Why not? Your men can’t carry the extra weight?”
“No. I can’t. They have enough burdens already.” He grinned.
Branthe pulled a tin from a pack and opened it. The scent of camphor filled my nose. He touched my wrist, pushing away the ropes, and rubbed some of the ointment on the welts. His fingers stroked the burns with gentleness, as if he felt the discomfort they caused me. A wave of energy soared through me. No one’s touch had ever elicited that response from my body. I felt tied to him, tethered by his touch.
He looked up, his doe-bright eyes full of something akin to sadness. “How can you be so sure the person who saved you was me?”
I smiled. “I would know you in my sleep.”
He smiled but said nothing. When he finished rubbing the balm into my wrists, an eerie silence settled between us. I thanked him, but he remained quiet.
