A noise that rustled in the background caused his body to stop and his ears to listen. It was sniffling -light sniffling right across from his bed. Vincent relaxed and opened his eyes to slits as he spied on whom it could be.
Richard was holding Ladislaus's hand in her lap and tracing his palm gently while another hand fed her mouth a bottle of mead. She was watching the occasional teardrop splatter down on her undergarments.
Wait. She was wearing only her undergarments? How unseemly. How unsightly for a lady of her upbringing. It made Vincent smile.
Vincent opened his eyes a little more and focused his hearing on what she was whispering.
"Why…why, why, why? Why you? Why couldin' it ha' been someone elsh? Why not some ooother famlee? Why us? Ladishlaus, if…" Richard swallowed back a lump in her throat that was battling her to reach the surface, "If you c'n hear me, you'rr t'get well. You are not to die, yeh understland me?"
There was no response. Richard gritted her teeth as the room spun for a moment. She had sat there for an hour now, watching over him, drinking her pain away, and there was no way she was going to leave without some sort of response.
"I knooow tha Walter n' the athepothecary ha' been tryin ta stimmmulate some sort o' response out of yu, and yu have beeeen less th'n helpful in givin them wha they waent. So herez yer stimululusss," Richard growled, "If yu doon't make it, I shalls turn inta a droooling lunatic, slaughterrr the erryone in my wake, n' run throuugh the streetz in my small clothes!"
She only had to wait a moment before his hand twitched and almost fell out of her lap. For a split second, she saw his eyebrows knit into a menacing frown, but it vanished all within the blink of an eye.
Richard smiled, though it was distorted from her own mal-intent, "I thought yu'd dislike tha' favorlably over everythin' else I had."
He simply looked like he was in a deep sleep. It reminded her of the times when she would wake before him and her father would make her wake Ladislaus up for breakfast. Richard would enter his room and he'd supposedly be 'asleep', but upon lightly tapping him to wake up and peering into the covers, his eyes would open and his face would liven to a shark as he'd roar to scar her. Richard chuckled dryly at the memory and as she recalled her younger self racing out of the room in tears of frustration and anger.
The levity in the room dimmed back to its dark reality as she sighed once more from his lack of motion, taking another hit to the bottle. His bandaged chest rose and fell with each passing moment, but that was the only sign she could hold on to that proved he still lived -that and his nearly nonexistent pulse. And looking at the ghastly wound as the red, with each hour, still seeped to the surface was almost too much to bear on her conscience without wanting to murder someone deserving. Though she would not admit it, the experience was agonizing. But at least he was alive. He wouldn't be, were it not for…
Her gaze shifted to another bed across from Ladislaus to another soldier who was sleeping. Bringing her brother's hand up to her face, she kissed the palm of it sloppily and returned it into the blankets to keep warm. She then stood up with a wobble and made her way silently over to Vincent. Reaching for a chair, Richard plopped herself in it, nearly missing the seat, and watched the Wallachian's movement. He was more animated than Ladislaus, turning and breathing deeper inhalations.
She sat there for a long while, unsure of what to say to the overexerted and exhausted man whose culminated efforts had brought her brother back to safety. She owed him now. She owed him a great deal.
Instead, she decided to treat herself to his handsome looks. Richard had forgotten how comely he was, her eyes taking their time as they perused his facial features, stopping at his pointed nose, sharp jaw line, and thick eyebrows.
"Harrrsh, yet ruggedly beyutiful," Richard whispered with a slack jaw as her fingers dared to trace his warm cheekbones and wander down to his collarbone. She then pressed her entire hand onto his chest and consequently felt a strong heartbeat answer to her light pressure against it. It soothed her nerves to feel something alive in his chest, much unlike her brother twenty feet away. She could barely feel anything moving underneath his colder skin.
"I…I'm at a loss fer wordz. I s'ppose yu won tha contest, Veladeemer," she wryly grinned. It fell when he did not move.
"I…yu saved mye brother. Yu did not eveeen ha' to. Ya cuda run, like any sane hyuman. In facts," Richard thought about it for a moment, "I'm fairly certain tha' Ladisshhlaus probably did order yu ta leave. Bu' yu derdnott, and I c'n only eeemagine why."
She sniffled again, taking in a shaky breath, "Whedder it wa' stubborn determllination, yer own perssonal gain, or an act o' selfless, puuure care on yer part, I 'm ignorrantly happyy."
He roused for a moment but relaxed back into the pillows.
"Ah know you'll never heer this frem me," Richard gulped and reached for his hand, "Bu' I…I…I am…humbled by wha' you've done. I owe yu that much. If therez ever anythin' yu need thatz attainable, lemme know."
Richard nodded at her piece and went to retract her hand from his chest when she realized that his own hand was atop hers. His left hand lightly squeezed her right hand, and for once she did not resist him. His lips parted and curled upward into a crooked leer as his hazel eyes opened to look upon the fair maiden.
"Touching words with your hand boldly on my chest," he murmured, amused beyond words at his good fortune that she was plastered.
She snorted, "Korrect me if Ahm wrong, bu' I believes yer the one whoz now keepin' me hand on you; not I."
"You're injured," he looked her discolored arms over and gently reached up to the patches of her golden hair that were singed and falling out. He tried desperately to conceal the anger and disappointment in himself within his tone, but thankfully she was not terribly receptive to the environment around her, "I should have been there."
"Itz nawthing. 'sides, me n' Walter epic-battled the Assassin by makin a barrier by flippin o'er the table so it abzorbed the shok wave," Richard made chopping motions with her numb arms at Vincent, who was the 'Assassin'.
Vincent laughed down a deep chuckle and slowly sat up to move her hand into his lap. She felt slightly invasive but made sure to display no outwardly sign of it.
In her impaired state, Vincent could read every emotion on her face, despite her heroic efforts to conceal them. Vincent muffled an otherwise very loud groan in his throat so as to look less hurt than he was feeling. His eyes watched her uneasy transition as she looked at his bruised ribs and bandaged right side. There was no doubt about it: the expression was concern. This pleased him greatly.
"Do you wish to see all of the wounds?" he asked, "You have already helped to heal one of them," he let go of her hand and tore the wrappings off of his chest and torso with ease, unraveling the rest layer by layer.
Richard stifled a gasp as she began to see more and more of his skin, "Holy angelsss...enticing," her eyes hungrily consumed every exposed bit, but she double took, "Oh, did I juss say tha' aloud?"
Though a big portion of it was the fact that he was noticeably tone underneath, it was also from all of the scars she saw. Like white tracer lines of clouds in the clear skies of summer, they were uplifted from his skin along his front and curling around the shoulders to his back to form jagged patterns like a puzzle piece. Fitting, since he was the puzzle of her lifetime.
"Let me show you," he smirked at her crass compliment and lifted the last piece of thick wrapping off of his chest.
She observed the last of a battle wound healing into a new, white scar line that added to his imperfections. And yet, the marking was beautiful on his left pectoral muscle. It was a testament to all of the skirmishes and battles he had lived through, each one of them telling a different tale of close calls and cheating death, of daring moves and miscalculated steps, all of which nearly ended his life but yet saved him as well. Her eyes danced rapidly from one scar to the next, imagining all of the things he had witnessed, fights that had arisen, and words that had provoked those fights
to what are now held as memories within the thin strips of each scar.
Richard then looked up at him with unabashed courage mixed with four bottles of mead. Vincent realized that she was waiting on him to do something, giving him the first taste of what free reign felt like, if only for a moment.
He took her hand out of his lap and pressed her index finger gently on that scar, feeling her trace it with curiosity.
"Tell me ther story o' this here scarr," she breathed, her blue sapphires fixated on its rigid texture.
Vincent chuckled as he un-bandaged his right arm, "It was in hand-to-hand combat while mounted on Hadúr. I was fighting an Assassin when he pulled out a curved knife and plunged it into the depths of my shoulder cap, snapping the leather strap that holds my chest-plate and the cap together as it was ripped open. He then raised his arm again and struck down as I decapitated him with my sword."
Richard's eyes lit up in intrigue, "Impresspive."
He nodded silently -thoughts elsewhere and face pensive- and reached for her hand. It was then that Richard realized he had ceased holding her hand to his chest and that she was voluntarily maintaining contact with him. It was too late for her to register anything else, as Vincent had moved her index finger diagonally down to his right bicep and planted it there for her to explore. The room swirled as her head looked down at the next wound.
Richard traced the scar first, but then she felt the strong muscle underneath it. It was perfectly sculpted, as was the tissue around it as far as she was concerned.
"N' this here one?" she hummed as her thoughts took to a tune.
"This one was on the retreat as I was carrying Ladislaus away from the fray," he watched her body slump at the drop of her brother's name, "I had turned my back and one expertly deft-handed Assassin threw his last dagger at me, clipping my armor in the side and caving it in to scrape along my skin to form this."
Richard traced his arm once more and smiled approvingly. Whether it was from the close call with himself or from the fact that it was in the act of saving Ladislaus, he was unsure. It could have easily been the drink talking as well. All he knew was that Richard, the most beautiful maiden in the entire kingdom, was sharing a smile with him -someone so undeserving of the heavenly sight.
Vincent's grin widened as he watched his world entertain herself simply with his imperfections. She liked them, was fascinated by them, wanted to know of them, and, above all, accepted them. She did not turn away in disgust or fear. She did not recoil in hostile distaste and disfavor. She rather enjoyed them. It was endearing to see and enlightening for him to realize it, even though the cutest bit of drool was accompanied with the spectacle.
Richard looked up to see an expression not easily adapted to his face. For a moment, in his raw emotion, she thought she saw weakness in his strength to resist her, to act as coy as she. Richard witnessed adoration caper across his face at the most likely of moments. But what Richard did not plan for was a similar feeling of affection erupting its way to the surface within her. She battled with it fruitlessly, taking everything that was hitting her in broad strokes. However, it was too much, courtesy of the mead.
He ripped his stare away from her and exhaled slowly, "Your hand…"
Richard felt Vincent's bicep flex in response to her tightened grip along his wound.
"Oh deary," she instantly released and jerked her hands to her sides, where they should have been this entire time and wriggling to keep balance at the sudden motion.
He laughed softly and shook his head, "You surprise me so."
"I dooo?" Richard's disbelief was clear in the inquiring and slurred question.
He nodded, "More than one bottle of hard mead and you still comprehend my information, let alone remain conscious with each swig."
She waited for further explanation, or perhaps she was blanking with that deadpan stare. He continued.
"More importantly…you did not cringe away from me, you gravitated. My scars did not displease you, they enraptured you," he paused to truly look at her, without crimson-tinted glasses, "You are not afraid of me, daunted by me, or intimidated by me. You-"
Richard hushed him with her index finger to his lips, though they slightly missed their mark and hit his scruffy chin, "Shhhhhh…Stop it, youu." The demand was directed more at her mind for wanting him to continue, though he could never know that. She corrected where her finger was supposed to be, "Mah mind secretly wants yu to continyu, but doon't." Damnation…
Vincent paused, grinning at how adorable she was, but he wanted to be heard. He had to let it out of him. He needed her to hear it. He needed her to face it, just as he had.
"Richard," he murmured his liberator's name and touched her finger, feeling it move with his lips as he spoke. His hand trailed down her arm to her elbow and grasped it with a large hand.
She did not fight the touch, but what made her gasp was that he yanked her towards him in one determined pull. The action was so abrupt that she was lifted from her seat and fell halfway onto the bed. She gazed up at his up-right position and slithered away from his domineering stance.
"Weeee," she weakly said and attempted to smile.
"Now listen," his voice changed to hardened assertion.
"No, yu listen. Vincentemeeer, if ther was any shrred o' humanitee in yu, you wud stop this flooishness," she attempted as she sat up as well, falling the first time and righting her undergarments. God, she was wearing her undergarments in front of him.
He paused in shocked irritation, "'Foolishness'? What is foolish about the truth, woman? You said to me not five minutes ago that you would give to me anything that was attainable," he let her piece it together, though it took her alcohol-dampened mind a minute to come to the conclusion.
Richard sensed her erupting drunkard affection morphing into rancorous hatred, "I am no attainable peerson, yu laggard! I. AM. TO. BEE. WED. SOOON. Doon't yu understand the implifcationons o' what being married are?"
"Of course I know what it means and its implications! I care not for rules. All I want to know is if this is what you truly want," his body tensed in anger, revealing more trimmed muscles on his torso, leading all the way up to his neck.
Richard found it difficult to concentrate with such bare skin shown and the hindrance of her drink, "I…It's…What're you on aboout? I'ma woman. I have no choice. I am ta be bawt. I am the propeerty of my father, soon ta be sold to Vickter."
"Victor," Vincent spat, "What a clean-nosed, silver-spooned, complacent little boy! You want him?"
"I-"
"Because I've stepped in things that looked better than him," Vincent continued, body rigid, "He offers you nothing. Riches and wealth. You will be the woman who has everything…and nothing. You will grow bored and restless of your complacency. You will hunger for action, as I do. You will hunger for adventure, as I do. Much blood will be shed in the upcoming years; that much is certain. Do you wish to be that woman in the tower, watching the world as it burns? Would you fling yourself off of the balcony to your death, a coward's death, or would you rush down the staircase, pick up your husband's spare sword, and join the battle?"
"Make no mistakke o' it," Richard bared her teeth at him, clearly insulted that he would juxtapose her next to a coward, "I'am a woman of ackshun, but my gendder dictates tha I cannot be. I don't have th' powerr to belay or countermand wha' mye father wishes. What wud yoo have me doo?" she asked angrily with the intent that he would say nothing in return. Again, her foresight was all but slain, so she did not anticipate any answer, least of all what he stated in response.
Vincent roared in anger, "I would have you take me instead!"
Richard slapped him straight across the face, "Do no EVER yell a' mee again," she watched his chest rise and fall quickly in response to its sting, but he stayed silent, "To do this," she gestured to all of Vincent as she swayed on her spot on the bed, "…ta a young woman, ta taunt her like thisss…it wud tear her down."
He scoffed in disbelief, "What is there to taunt
? To taunt is to wave something that one wants without the intent of giving it to the desiring person. That is the exact opposite of what I intend to do."
"W-wha' didja say?" she sat in front of him with her hands on her hips in skepticism, though her eyes were as wide as dinner platters.
"I am committed to you!" he feverishly spoke and lifted up the blanket on his right side to expose the reddened bandage on his leg, "That wound is testament to how much I care for you. I risked my life to save your brother and bring him back. That was not borne of a desire to please The Regent and remain in his good graces. I did this for YOU!"
It was her pause that dictated the scene was too long as he leaned in and took hold of her shoulders with one good arm. Surprisingly, she resisted only once in one great heave to the side in which she nearly toppled over. That was when Vincent's right arm surged upward and created a barrier for her not to cross. He was pleased that it was healing and responded, though it might have been due to a swell of adrenaline that was now pumping in his veins. The thousands of needles pinching at his nerves subsided for a moment.
She scowled and locked eyes with him, wishing to add more scratches to the patina of scars he already possessed. Somehow, on some level, she knew that would only amuse him. She could do no more physical harm to him, but emotional damage…
Sliding his left arm around her back, Vincent gingerly brought her closer. Richard eventually felt his broad and bare chest caress her as his arms encircled as much of her body as they could. Her forehead was tickled by his scruff since he had not shaved in a few days. Richard felt his form relax and heard him sigh happily, peering down to see her expression.
Richard grumbled, tugging away from him every now and then, but also using his arms as a balancing tool, until she became used to his presence. She hated physical contact…or so she had thought; but his body was like a personal fireplace and warmed her slightly shivering self. Pressing her ear to his heart, she heard its soft and slow beating. She began to count the beats. One two, one two, one two. It was a rhythm that kept her frazzled nerves from bursting in that moment; but every time he moved she became increasingly mentally undone.
Trapped with a Way Out Page 25
