The Nun and King

Chapter 21

A/N: As usual I apologize for the delay in updates. This chapter is more-so a filler but still, I truly hope you enjoy :)

A low bellow from a horn rouses me the following morning, pulling me from sleep. I feel Claire's body shift beneath me as she too is awakened. It's a familiar noise, one I've heard many times over my life in the military. My mind is foggy and a dull headache has found its way into my brain—compliments of the ale and shed tears the night before. It takes the horn sounding a second time for the meaning to register.

My eyes open and I sit up, cursing under my breath. Claire lazily pushes herself up on her elbows as I fumble with my boots. Dawn has arrived, casting a dim light in the tent. "What is it?" she asks in a soft, tired voice.

I give my head a rapid shake, not having the time to explain. The horn sounds a third time and I've yet to even lace up a single boot. Grunting, I toss it off and decide to go barefoot. Turning to Claire—whose hair is a tousled mess from sleep—I place a kiss on her forehead and sprint out of the tent. As I make my way towards the tree line where I believe the horn was originally blown, I see other men have found themselves in the same predicament as I have: some stumble out of their lodgings half-dressed while others seem to search where they had last placed their weapons. Not knowing where my own sword lies, I pick up the nearest one I see resting against a barrel and continue running towards the forest, almost crashing into Morgan. He catches me by the forearm and pulls me to a halt.

"We aren't being raided," he says just as the fourth and final blow sounds. It's then I noticed that he isn't wearing his eye patch, leaving his marred scars on display. Markings from a courtesan's bites are scattered on his neck as well.

"Still, a Bulgin has been sighted have they not?" I ask, pulling my arm from his grasp. "Come," I demand, though I am no longer sprinting. Together we reach the end of the woods and I see Warren leading the search party on horseback—the ram's horn still in hand. A large portion of my men have gathered around forming a semicircle and I have to weave my way through to get to the opening in the center.

Warren and the other men dismount and close the distance between us. Peering around Warren's slender shoulders I see that on the back of one of the horses is a dark skinned man hogtied and gagged. His chin is split open and blood still trickles from the wound. Our eyes make contact and I look away, focusing on Warren. I raise a silent brow, asking him to speak.

"We found where Rory made camp—if you can call it that anyways. He made a fire and fell asleep when a group of scouts came across him in the night. It appears there was a struggle, a good one at that. There was some dried blood but we couldn't tell whose. We assumed they got the upper hand and took him and when we came across this one headed back he confirmed our suspicions," he says, gesturing to the man on the horse behind him with his thumb.

"Is that all?" I ask steadily.

He gives a brief nod. "When we told him who Rory was, he said he would only talk to you."

Biting the inside of my lip, I clap him on the shoulder. "Thank you, friend," I say before turning around to the others. "I want twice as many men on shift on watch," I announce in a loud and clear tone. "No more ale, no more courtesans, no more anything until this war is over—understood?" They all stand a little straighter and offer nods though I do see a young man up front who rolls his eyes, clearly unhappy with my orders. Pressing my lips together, I walk over to him and get satisfaction as he immediately becomes nervous. He has medium length blonde hair that is pulled back into a low bun and stands a few inches shorter than myself. His face is somewhat recognizable, though his name escapes my mind which is expected given the thousands of men that fall under me.