Blades of Men (on hold - sorry!)

Chapter Three: Conrad

Chapter Three: Conrad

   She was pressed tightly against my chest, her mane of chestnut whipping through the air as though a blanket of cinnamon. With each powerful stride of the horse, she pulled forward and back slightly, her vulnerability acting in perfect balance to strength. Not many women would fight to be kidnapped, but I was slowly getting the feeling that this was no ordinary lady.

   I changed direction, pulling slightly on the animal's reins. He only needed a feather-light touch to be guided in and around trees, easily picking his way through the thick bush which lay heavily on the ground. We needed to find a place to spend the night, and in the morning I would have to write a letter or a note to her father. That would mean travelling some distance to civilisation, since going back would defeat the entire purpose of galloping away. More than likely, I would be hanged if I was caught within ten miles of the town we had just abandoned, if not by law then by the lawful vengeance of an angry knight.

   For the first time, I thought that this escapade might be more trouble than it was worth.

   It was late. Dimming beams of sunshine carried through the woods, and I noticed that the girl's head had started to hang with weariness. I was no monster, no matter what the present situation might infer, and women were a precious commodity. Not just gold and jewels, it was only the most foolish of men who thought that he was worth anything without a woman by his side. Doubtful meetings became business associations, dubious reputations became upstanding citizens, and a lacklustre meal became the finery of taste that only the best chef would engage in.

   Athalia didn't seem like she would be content as a cover for dirty dealings, though, or a premise under which to order the most famous of cooks. Her eyes were too intelligent, too wise and like those of an oracle to be put to the belittling running of a home.      

   The thought of her eyes almost sent me into a poet's rant - how her hair glistened like the waters of the clearest lake and how her porcelain skin was the very stuff of moonshine - but that would have been a foolish mistake. She was my captive (although the term seemed a little loose since she had fought to come with me) and I didn't intend on harming her, but we could hardly be friends or anything else, for that matter.

   I wondered why she had tried so hard to stay with me even after I had held a knife to her throat. That was the only thing she had to go on, hardly an endearing impression, yet she still preferred the danger of the future to the sorrow of her past. There was a story - a secret - to be had. I wasn't the only one running anymore. She had a sordid tale locked away behind her hazel eyes, an angry flash that shivered into being every time I mentioned her father.

   She shimmied further backwards into the muscle of my chest, to a proximity she had probably never felt with anyone outside of her immediate family. She knew it, too. Her cheeks flushed, the creamy skin turning a delicate pink as the last pastel shades of light vanished. She didn't move forward, though, intent on saving face and covering up her mistake.

   I smirked, and then quickly hid the flash of humour that slid onto my lips. Gripping the reins more tightly, I noticed a small burst of pain flaring in my knuckles.  

   "You seem to be a little closer to me than society permits," I whispered gently into her ear. Goosebumps lit softly on her neck, wisps of almond floating into my face. We were going at a steady, almost meandering pace.

   "It's cold tonight. Besides, one can hardly be far from another when sharing a horse." She didn't bother to acknowledge my comment besides justifying her actions, her tone cool and unruffled. I could feel a frown pull at the corners of my forehead.

   I had hoped to unnerve her a little, make her give me some gem of knowledge in actions or words. She hadn't, and that was...different.

   "Maybe you should come a little closer, then. I know you are tired, and there's no use in getting a chill." I guessed I was about five years older than her, twenty-two years to her seventeen. I knew that she had detected the velvet tone of my voice, matured and perfected from my past dealings with women, and felt a little shiver race up her spine. Whether from fear or attraction, I didn't know.

   "Having a knife held to your throat tends to do that to you, along with being attacked by soldiers. As for a chill, I'm no fragile flower, ready to wilt at the slightest breeze." I almost laughed. She looked like the 'fragile flower' she seemed to detest, delicate and easily broken. The best things usually required care, and while she didn't seem like she would burst into tears at the slightest of prods, her beauty was one of perfectly crafted features and deep, soulful eyes.

   "On the contrary," I muttered under my breath. We reached a large clearing, enough room for us to rest in comfortably and with a straggly berry bush perched in the middle like a crone. A stream babbled nearby. I cleared my throat, and started to speak more loudly. "I think we should stay here for the night."

   She glanced around, and after it had seemingly met with her approval, she slid off our mount before I could help her, patting him absentmindedly on his neck and running a hand through his mane. Lucky bugger. I reached the brook, and quickly filled up the skins from the saddlebags, and by chance found some salted meat. The joys of stolen horses.

   "I never asked. What is your name?" Athalia's voice echoed through the stillness, clear and crisp. I smiled at her bluntness. The straightforward words were a relief in a time when everything seemed to be the embodiment of golden-painted paper - looking as fine as a sheet of metal but as worthless as soured milk. Even she seemed slightly surprised by her lack of manners for not asking sooner, but mine own had been appalling during our brief acquaintance.

   "Conrad," I said, turning my back on her. I quickly scooped up a few stones, hopeful that they would come in useful whenever I was hunting later.

   I glanced at her for a final time, my mouth open in an attempt to tell her I was going to find some food, and immediately dropped the few pebbles I had gathered.

   She stood there, as white as a sheet with tears glistening wetly in her eyes, her legs afflicted with the faintest tremble. She stared at me in a terrified manner - like a doe in the clutches of a wolf - and with a quick, despairing glance, promptly fainted.