Foolishly Falling for You

10

Lance

"They say Spain will wage a hard war against us, I'm not looking forward to it," Michael grumbles. "They are savages. Just look what they did in the colonies. Conquistadors they call themselves." He shuddered. "And the Englishman are worse yet."

The carriage shakes, as Michael prattles on about which sort of man he'd rather not have to kill, about how they are all fraught with sins of the flesh, and how, oh do I think his children will remember him if he perished, and will I adopt them?

Adopting a child. I suppose it isn't so terrible. But if I thought my own wife was a nuisance I fear I'd sooner bang myself than deal with this. That woman is...annoying. So very annoying.

"You must return to your wife," I say simply. "I will return to mine."

Micheal sighs heavily, and I think back to my encounter with my wife before I left. She is so removed from now. We are not close, not in body or mind or spirit. But I do have her handkerchief. It still smells like her.

I smile.

"So did you gather whether your wife has abandoned the ploy for your heart?"

I nod. "Indeed she has. A rather ruthless woman she is, when she wants to be."

He hums. "They all are. Angels when they love you. Devils when they don't. Such is the way, I suppose, since most men are devils all the time."

I raise my brow. "You must speak for yourself."

"I speak for myself and the English. I'm afraid you too my friend, to her anyway."

I narrow my eyes. Me? On par with this lunatic. "Michael...do you remember when you took so many drugs that you broke into your family home to steal valuables?"

"We promised never to speak on that," he hisses

I shrug and glance out the window. "It seems a devilish thing to do," I say flippantly.

I lean my cheek in my hand, watching the scenery pass. I doubt we'll see real combat this round.

I close my eyes. It's a long way to the port by carriage a days trip. I can see her, in my mind. The day I realized who she was.

We stood in the field behind her fathers house.

"It seems we will be betrothed," she said gently, standing next to me, her hands behind her back, as she peered up at me expectantly, her dark curls wild and free, framing her face.

I nodded. "So it seems."

She leaned over, reaching on her tippy toes. "I was almost promised to your cousin," she whispered. "But I begged my father to chose you."

Something like annoyance fills my veins. Everyone has control of my life but me, even this waif of a girl.

"And what if I do not want to marry you," I ask.

She blinks, and takes me hand. "But...why wouldn't you? Don't you like me too?"

I pull my hand away harshly. "That's something you ask someone before you force your father to betroth them to you."

She stared at her empty hand. The scenery changes. We are older now, teenagers. Our marriage is no longer an idea, but an event, planned in the coming years.

She stared at her empty hand. "I...just wanted to congratulate you, sir."

I glance away. We are standing in the same field. Having the same conversations every time we meet. "Why did you chose me?" I ask her, my eyes on the sunset.

"You don't remember? We met when we are young. You told me...I made the room brighter."

I scoff. "I don't even remember that. Did you seriously orchestrate all of this over something stupid a child said?"

She steps back, betrayal flashing across her face. She wraps her arms around herself. "Did you not mean it?"

I scoff, and stalk away from her toward the party being held in her home.

"I—I love you," she shouts.

I glance back. She seems so bashful, as if this were some great love confession, as if this is a sentimental moment. All it is, is a noose around my neck.

I narrow my eyes. "Okay." I bow, and keep moving.

"Um...do you have feelings for me at all?" She ventures bashfully.

I do. Feelings of regret. Feelings of disdain. With one kind word, this girl has taken complete control of my life. I am a solider because of her, I am betrothed because of her, I must take the title because of her, everything.

Everything I hate about my life is as a result of a foolish little girls attention.

And worse, there is nothing I can do about it.

Her father is powerful and my father wants to appease him. So here I am, a pawn in my own life. I wish I had never met her. I wish I had never said a kind word to her. Perhaps I could be living the kind of life I wished for.

"No," I say instead. "None at all."

She tears back as if she's been slapped, before looking down at her hands, playing with her fingers. "I see. We're young. Perhaps you will come to love me."

I look away. "Perhaps."

I walk away, and ignore her the tears she sheds. She doesn't do a good job concealing the sobs she tries to swallow.

And for a moment I feel bad.

For a moment.

"Lance?" I open my eyes. Micheal stands in front of me. "Lance. We're here."

I look about the carriage getting my bearings. "Where is my wife? Where is Anita?"

Michael frowns. "Don't you remember? We're alone."

Alone. It's what I've always wanted. To live my own life. To finally begin making my own choices. I clutch the handkerchief in my hand.

Alone.

I haven't been alone since I met her. The last time I was alone, I was a child, neglected by my father. I have forgotten how...unpleasant being alone is.