The Nun and King

Chapter 11

Our heads jerk in their direction and we scramble to put on our trousers. I hear a thud as Rory loses his balance and curses under his breath. With nothing on but our bottoms on we sprint the short distance to camp—my bare feet complaining as they catch on stones and thorns. Ignoring the pain, I focus on the band of men that stand by our camp fire encircling the few women and men that have yet gone to bed. This includes Beth Ann, Claire, Alma, Darla, and one by the name of Ruth. Max and Nik have a look on their faces that I expect to be anger and embarrassment—the latter because they allowed these heathens to sneak up on them.

The men have blades and axes pointed at those by the fire while others keep watchful eyes on those that have begun to emerge from their tents.

Judging by the poor craftsmanship of their weapons, my initial reaction is to not take them as much of a threat, but with the lives of the women possible at stake I don't want to take any chances. One move and these men could end any one of their lives in an instant.

Claire's wild blue eyes find mine as our sprint slows before coming to a halt about fifteen feet away. She looks petrified and I want nothing more than to tell her that everything will be okay, but I can't. Now isn't the time.

Instead, I focus my gaze to those that stand around them and my jaw tightens, recognizing one of them from the tavern. Of course.

"Know why we're here, boy?" a burly one asks me, his thick fingers gripping his axe.

"I have a good guess," I retort, folding my arms across my bare chest. The few water droplets that have yet to dry cause goosebumps to scatter across my flesh, but with the adrenaline that trickles through my veins I hardly notice. I silently count sixteen of them and compare them to our own numbers.

"Then you can guess what we want," he replies, mocking my choice of words. His brown hair is greasy and sticks to his forehead in the humid night air.

My men shift around uncomfortably, rightfully uneasy given the situation. Normally when a band of villagers that we've upset want reprisal, we can usually dissuade them with a few coppers and an apology. But something tells me that all the copper in my coin purse wouldn't cause them to back down. They want blood.

Max's eyes flicker to mine as he comes to the same realization and I give him a quick shake of the head, silently telling him not to worry.

"Point the lad out and no one else has to get hurt," the man says. "If not, we'll just have to kill all of you to make sure we got the little shite."

Rory lets out a snort beside me, seeming not to be too worried about the situation. "You and your tooth picks for weapons can go to hell. My hard on in the morning could do more damage than those pitiful things." My men do not care to stifle their laughs in the slightest, and even in their immediate danger Nik and Max join in.

This—rightfully, I'll admit—angers the Ekons and they step closer to the two and the women—one grabbing Beth Ann by the root of her hair. She lets out a yelp causing to Rory stiffen, and in a low voice warns him to let her go.

"We don't want to have to hurt your whores, but we will if we have to. Point out the boy and let us do with him as we please and we'll be on our way," he says, scowling.

Biting the inside of my lip, I uncross my arms and feel my hands ball into fists. "All this because one of us made a few comments about a tavern wench?" I ask. I know that my comment is not helping the situation, but I'm confident in the outcome if it came to a fight—I'd just hate if one of the women got hurt for our foolery.

"You watch how you talk about our sister!" another man calls out. He's smaller than their leader but favors him in the face. A bulbous button nose, thin brown hair, and a weak chin.