Blades of Men (on hold - sorry!)

Chapter Six: Athalia

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SleepyBug 

Chapter Six: Athalia

   A barely heard the twig snapping behind me, too engrossed in the feeling of being clean and being alone to pay any attention to the echoing sounds of nature. Water was lapping gently against my body, cold but blissfully refreshing, like a cool breeze on a hot day. It felt good to rid myself of the grime and dust of a day on horseback.

   Another crunch of dry wood. This time, I felt I prickle on the back of my neck, turning what had seemed innocent into a cause for worry. I whirled around. Ripples of water shot in all directions.

   I quickly turned back again, sinking deeper into the water with a light slosh, until only my shoulders and head stretched above the surface. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a scream, or of anything else. My tone matched the frigid water around me.

   “What are you doing here?” I asked, forcing the words out in a reasonable tone. The tips of my hair were soaked, sticking to length of my back – the very same one that was turned to Conrad. So much for innocence and privacy and the beauty in being alone.

   For a second, I thought I had actually managed to render this perfect stranger speechless. Then another cutting remark fell from his tongue, and the sense of satisfaction I had felt was crushed like spring daisies.

   “Just watching.” He said with the slightest hint of a leer in his tone and a smirk in his voice. I could feel my cheeks heating up, the previously smooth, pale skin flushing an angry shade of scarlet. The first telltale sign of embarrassment that I couldn’t quite manage to cover up. The first in a very long list, I supposed.

   Wind cut through the air, adding more of a chill to the air. I felt goose bumps light on my skin. I really needed to find a hot meal and a hotter fire, but I could hardly lift my eyes an inch above the water in front on me.   

   “I don’t suppose you would mind watching somewhere else?”  Why wouldn’t he leave? He had already embarrassed me to the extent where I doubted I would ever be able to look him in the eye again. Was his work not done?

    “I would, actually. Then again, my love, perhaps there would be a better vantage point from in the water.”  I felt rage bubble up, barely contained beneath the surface of my skin and lending me courage and words that I hardly owned or comprehended. With one quick flurry of motion, I was facing him, even with the fire in my cheeks and the lack of anything else. All I owned was righteous passion and a hellish fury.

   “I do proclaim that if you take one more step in my direction, you would find yourself quite incapable of taking another due to the loss of the lower half of your body.” His eyes sparkled like liquid silver and scarcely suppressed mirth filled his expression. Some other emotion was lying in wait under his carefully guarded amusement, though. Something deeper, and most definitely darker. It only added fuel to the flames. “Frankly, my dear,” I said, mocking his familiar use of endearing terms. “I would quite enjoy the actions on my part that would put you in such a horrendous position. It would be worth the executioner earning another pair of boots.”

   He never lost the laughter in his eyes.

   “I don’t believe that you are in any situation in which to make threats, since you are a lady travelling on your own with a man whom you believe to be a murderer. However, I will spare you the logistics for now. Dinner is, no doubt, served. Don’t be too long.” With one last, lazy perusal of my body, he strode into the distance without a backward glance. I was alone in the half-light and water, each eerily blending into each other.

   I would be as long as I liked. I didn’t care whether or not it inconvenienced his precious schedule.

   After ten minutes, my body was wracked with shivers and the last lingering drops of sunshine winked out of existence. I ushered myself out of the water, thanking God that I had thought to pick a think woollen blanket from the saddlebag. Quickly towelling my skin dry with the harsh fabric, I hurried to the clearing.

   All the energy had left me. I didn’t have any of the angry passion for my plight that I had felt before. There were far worse things that could have happened, I knew. Whispers and secrets had told me that. Yet that stubborn grain of embarrassment refused to shift or even grow into something useful that I could use against him. It was like a splinter obstinately refusing to come out of my heart, painful despite its size and annoying enough to make you want to tear off your skin.  

   I could smell meat, oozing with grease and fat and a hit of some herb or spice that pricked my nose. Conrad was lovingly tending the pot on the hearth, no doubt attempting to fill his own stomach and leaving mine bare and grumbling. A little voice whispered that then he wouldn’t have told me that there was anything to eat at all. I ruthlessly crushed it. I didn’t want to believe he had honour, because then he had a conscience and emotions that bound him to it.

   He was certainly not a gentleman. Not whenever he had left without an apology, and not whenever he had ever been there at all. Why hadn’t he slipped away, unnoticed and unseen? Surely that would have been easier for both of us?

   Conrad gave me an amused nod as I reluctantly gathered the energy to storm into the clearing. My hair was still soaked and hanging down my back like twined seaweed. I had no brush or combs, and I had run from the cluster of houses that I had called home without a thought for practicality or necessity. Not even how far I would get before the horses would hound me home. Not even what I was fleeing from.   

   I shuddered at the thought of what – or rather, whom – I had left behind. I barely heard Conrad’s approach, just like last time.

   “Here,” he said. His voice still held an undercurrent of danger and laughter. There was a proffered bowl in his hand, the crudely made wooden hollow filled with a generous portion of the sweet smelling meat, a few herbs identifiable in the juices. Somehow I knew that if I took this with nothing more aggressive than a thank-you, it would be like calling a ceasefire – and I could never hurl accusations at him again, no matter what they might be. It was a trade-off. He would look after me, and I would...stay.  

   I smiled without any conscious thought, and then ate gratefully.