Blades of Men (on hold - sorry!)

Chapter Sixteen: Athalia

All I can really say is that I'm sorry for the late upload.

XOXO

SleepyBug

P.S. AAAAAH! After moving the rating up on the last chapter, now I can't select PG. Great. Doesn't encourage compliance with the rules...

Chapter Sixteen: Athalia

   Albert angrily stomped a hoof as we approached, as if to vent his unrest and his disapproval of the recent turn of events. I was filled with paranoia that the horse knew exactly what had transpired between Conrad and I, and was now doing his best to become the chaperone society demanded we had.

   Ignoring the sense of guilt that permeated the very air I breathed, I quickly brushed my hand across my cheekbones in order to eradicate any hint of my previous weakness. Everything was in turmoil around me, and I felt as if the only thing I could do was hold on tight to my beliefs and hope that everything else would work out for the best. It would definitely help my sense of normality if I could look Conrad in the eye, but my cheeks flamed from even the slightest brush of my dress against his trousers.

   I didn’t wait for Conrad to assist me as I quickly swung onto Albert’s back and resumed the spot in the saddle that I had come to hate over the past few days. In my peripheral vision I could see Conrad raise an eyebrow at the careless gesture. But then I could suddenly feel him settle into the seat behind me, the warmth of his body brushing against the form of my back. I heard my breathing pick up, squeezed my eyes tightly shut as I remembered the way his lips had brushed mine.

   “You shouldn’t do that,” he said, his voice terse and hard. I felt his breath on my ear, the slow, steady rush of warm air hitting the delicate skin of my earlobe. I paused – how on earth did he know? – and proceeded to claim no knowledge of what he was talking about.

   “What?” I asked. I winced as I realised my tone was too prickly to be casual.

   “Be so reckless. The way you won’t let anyone help you. It isn’t a sign of weakness if you need a hand on occasion.” The steel of his voice thawed slightly, allowing the melodic tones to drip languidly through the ether –velvet smothered in honey. I felt the tension between us evaporate.

   “Of course, you ask for help all the time,” I replied, each word coated heavily in sarcasm. He didn’t answer, merely spurred the horse into a gallop that sent my heart racing.

   Sights blurred into a mess of half-images and phantoms – each scene snapping into focus for a second before once more melting into the melee. The delicate thuds of hooves on well-trampled earth accompanied the bounce of the horse, the jerking, rocking motion that rolled on into the horizon; that became more than simply movement and suddenly turned into the thick taste of horse on my tongue and the gentle smell of hay.  

***

   We arrived much later at a small fishing town, my stiff limbs protesting loudly as I wrenched myself to the ground. Conrad didn’t offer to help this time – perhaps sensing that the only thanks he would get would be a sullen glare aimed at the back of his head. He walked towards the docks, not bothering to tell me that he was going to try and secure some type of passage to London, or even just England in general.

   With a sigh, I pulled at the horse’s reins, managing to cajole Albert into movement with a few hushed promises of a carrot. I felt awful. My leg still wasn’t completely healed from the attack and the long ride hadn’t exactly helped matters. I groaned at the thought of trying to ride the waves in a glorified barrel. The sky was ominous above me, as if it held a barely-contained promise of the crack of thunder and the electric streak of lightning. Only Conrad was mad enough to make the crossing in this weather – and therefore, I supposed, myself.

   We caught a few wary looks from various inhabitants – the sly glances that clearly valued how much we were worth, whether we were English gentry that would take more food from their mouths in tax, whether or not we were carrying any gold. It was unsurprising, really. I would have done the same if I’d had the misfortune, or maybe fortune, to find myself born into such a minute speck on a map.

   Conrad seemed surprised to find me behind him. I raised an eyebrow.

   “You should have stayed where I left you,” he said, his eyes carefully dissecting the shoreline and scanning the array of buildings before us. The docks reeked of fish, ale and sinful doings. It seemed treacherous, unwelcoming. Albert’s ears flattened, listening for movement just as Conrad and I tried to sift sounds of footsteps from the roll of the sea.

   “And have the skin robbed off my back?” I replied, allowing a touch of incredulity to seep into my tone. “Have you truly gone mad this time?”

   “The part we’re headed is much rougher,” he said calmly. His voice was low and even, but his eyes darted from shadow to shadow and his back was stiff. “This feels wrong.”

   “I know.” There was no other answer.

   “God, I hate this,” he snapped suddenly. “I should be a spoiled pansy with nothing more important to do than count money and make prolonged trips to the Ton for the Season – not in some pickled, backwater town complete with a kidnapped girl and waiting for a knife to be jammed in between my ribs.”     

   I looked at him sharply. This was the first time he had really mentioned anything that pertained to his past. His sense of entitlement and indignity couldn’t have come from traipsing around woods. So he had once had an estate at his disposal. I wondered what had happened – for I had no knowledge more substantial than whispers on a summer breeze and wisps of smoke but no fire.