Winter Wildflowers

Chapter 5

Day 16

If Ofelia had ever longed to sit upon Knightley's horse, her thoughts had bitterly imploded. No matter her exhaustion, no matter her fatigue, never again would she dream of gracing that steed. Let alone with him behind her. Knightley, as always, rode along in complete composure, an absolute void of emotion and it angered her, it was frustrating to know that he cared so little of her being that he wasn't even proud to have bested her spirit. And did he really expect to wife her? He really expected her to go along? Where she came from, she got to choose, and her father had to approve. Knightley had neither of those provisions and therefore would not be receiving Ofelia as a raider's reward. He was revolting. Putrid. Fearsome and Cruel. How could Ofelia, the great lover of life, ever give her own life to such a murderous beast. It was ironic. Prickles shot up her skin and she shook her head, glancing to his armoured back, his blue cape draping behind him. Dread. Horror. Sickness. Sir Knightley was infected, she decided, infected with a sickness of the mind. A mad sickness that thirsted for blood and violence. Sir Knightley, through and through, was a monster of war.

The more Ofelia thought about her supposed 'worthiness', the more she grew tense. Was it the moment she ran into battle that sparked his interest? Or maybe it was when she cradled her father. Or maybe, it was even when she cried under his knee in the forest that he decided to steal her away from the world. To think that after all that Knightley had forced her to endure, he would finalise it with sealing her to him sent shivers down her spine.

Evil. Evil. Evil.

The landscape had changed over the last week from dense woodland, to rolling pastures of hills, all adorned in white snow. No longer did the trees shield her from the cold, Ofelia was left to fend for herself in the wind. Ofelia wondered what kind of husband Sir Knightley thought himself of. He left his supposed bride-to-be out to the elements, freezing, injured, and starved as he slept warm, safe, and full bellied. Ofelia shook her head. Every new discovery of the man left her more disturbed than the before. His men seemed well taken care of though, a truth that was sour on Ofelia's tongue.
When had she gotten so bitter?
She sighed and tucked further into herself, being at her current weight it was no doubt that she was chilled. At home, with her mother and father, she was soft and healthy, as a woman of her build should be. She was well cared for, rosy cheeked and warm. Out here she had shrunken, her limbs were no longer the soft shape she recognised, nor were her hands warm. At home she was full bodied and joyous, curved like her mother. Out here in the wilderness she was wiry and hollow. Her wrists ever reminding her of the change.

Four nights she bore the cold, four nights she shivered cold and hungry, four nights she tried to dig herself into the earth. It was the morning she didn't rise that rose alarm.
"Sir Knightley,", George called, stalking over to the girl. He broke his stride into a run and pressed his hands to her arms, "Lady!", He hissed, "Get up!"
The girl mumbled nonsense but was slack against his arms.
"Sir Knightley!", George called again. Sir Knightley made no effort to move, he simply stacked his horse before mounting it. Watching from his distance away. George frowned at him before turning to the girl again. Sir Knightley might lack any human compassion, but at his heart, George did not. It was his youth, he told himself. It would pass. But for now, he pressed his ear to her heart, and he found himself relieved to hear a faint beat. He released a breath and placed a hand under her neck, ready to heave her up.
"Halt!", Sir Knightley suddenly boomed, making no effort to move from his distance.
George dropped her and looked out to him, confused.
Sir Knightley ground his teeth and his horse grew restless. He held George's eye, "You dare lift her, you imbecile.", He spat to him.
George recoiled, drawing his hands to his chest.
Sir Knightley glanced between the two. George's heart thundered in his throat. He could feel the sizzle of anger in the air. Sir Knightley's fury was not one to be messed with.
Of a sudden he cleared his throat and turned his horse, beginning to lead his men away, "None of you are to touch her... If she dies, she dies."