Lair of Beasts [Book I in the Curse Of Blood Saga]

Chapter XII - Redweld Forest

I did not attempt to slip away, into the Redweld forest, until three days later. Anne had mysteriously taken to her apartments, with much excitement and animation, to embroider in secret. Wherefore, I know not, but she punctuated my dismissal with a mischievous wink and a sphinx-like smile ere she barred the door to my inquisitive eyes.

She had enlisted the help of three other ladies, the wives of household knights, as well as the five ladies' maids; in short, she had cloistered every single one of Nørrdragor's female inmates, herself included, into her solar. I knew only that they were thus sequestered and accoutered with needles, thread, yards of fine silks and sundry damask swaths. I knew not what her motives were or why she prevented my inclusion, but Christmas was not so far off that I discounted the thought that she might be embroidering gifts for us all.

I abandoned my useless conjecture and decided rather to take advantage of her distraction by bolting into woods at the earliest chance. I covertly snuck into the courtyard after donning a dull brown working gown, the better to discourage attention and thwart prying eyes, but the long sleeves of my kirtle did very little to mitigate the bone-jarring cold, therefore I marched back upstairs, with disgruntled strides, to retrieve my thick cloak.

It was a beautiful, russet, woolen cape with an oversized hood that was lined with luxurious, vermillion fox fur and trimmed in lush, almost black, sable. It had been a gift from Anne and I treasured it dearly for the remarkable warmth it afforded in the most inclement of weather. I had also grabbed my herb basket in the event that I was stopped and subjected to an inquisition. My ready answer would be that I intended to collect greens and herbs or, supposing I was waylaid on my return, had already done so and was now returning, by which point I would display a full basket.

Upon reaching the bailey again, I heard the distinct clamor of swords and raised voices coming from the direction of the tilting yard and headed thither to investigate. I rounded the corner of the knights' quarters and observed a group of men, mostly knights and men at arms, gathered around a dueling pair and laughing boisterously while some placed bets — including, by the look of it, the little castle cleric.

My eyes sought Lucian out almost immediately. He stood out singularly like a magnificent destrier amongst a pack of mules. Ha! I giggled, realizing that Caine and Carac too were amongst the group and that I had just as much as compared them to mules. I found the analogy befitting, Lucian's that is, for he was both frightening and beautiful. I could therefore appreciate his allure in the same moment I detested it, and myself for finding him thus.

"Move your feet wider apart and turn your right foot out a little more, Frederick!" Lucian was barking orders at Godwin's squire who was, I now noticed, sparring with Carac: a veritable giant in comparison.

Poor Frederick, I mused. I bethought myself almost empathetic to the poor little devil, but since he liked nothing more than to lord it over Thomas and I, I shrugged and decided to enjoy his discomfort.

My gaze was soon drawn back to Lucian who now stood lazily to the side; he was near enough to issue instructions to Frederick, but still maintained sufficient space betwixt himself and his pupil so that he was no hindrance to the pair of duelers. He wore only a linen shirt, as per usual unaware of the cold, that laced a little at his chest but concealed none of his granite-hewn physique. I stood transfixed — like one of the giggling, silly milksop maids. The thought irritated me.

Aye, he is pretty enough, I conceded. But he is still no less a surly arse!

"Adjust your sword! Protect your hand, lest you want it sliced from your wrist," Lucian snarled in annoyance.