Maud: the Daughter of the Count of Nocturne

Chapter 7: Saxons in Wales

      Margaret paced the room, waiting on Morik. She kicked a pebble and watched it skip across the stone floor of the room. This room is no better than a cell, she thought bitterly. That French girl gets better treatment than I do. It isn't fair! She sat down on the wooden stool in the corner and ran her hand over the three scars on her neck. She had to figure out why her brother was keeping things from her.

      Just then, the door opened and in walked Avery. His light brown hair was combed back and his face was freshly shaved. He wore a red tunic and black trousers, which were tucked into his knee-high brown leather boots. He had his hand resting on his sword and gave Margaret a stern look before speaking. "Grab your things."

      Margaret looked at him, confused. "Why? Are we going somewhere?" She hoped he'd at least answer that question.

      "Just grab your things," Avery growled before turning and walking off. 

       Margaret sighed and did as she was told, packing the few things she had into her bag. While she was doing that, Morik came to stand in the doorway. "You shouldn't question Avery's orders," he said, picking at the wooden door frame.

      Margaret turned to face him. "And why is that? You refuse to tell me anything anymore." She shook her head. "It's as if you aren't my brother anymore but rather a stranger in my brother's skin."

      Morik growled. "My intentions are my own, child. I do not have to justify or explain all my actions to you." He marched across the room and grabbed her pack, yanking it out of her hands and swinging it onto his back. "We are leaving now."

      Margaret glared and stomped past him and out into the hall where everyone else already stood. She glared at Philomena, who stood next to Avery's squire. Her hair was neat and her clothes were new, the gold thread reflecting the small amount of light, making the orange dress glow like the sun. Margaret glanced down at her tattered black tunic and torn leggings, cursing Avery.

      "Let's go Margaret," Avery growled. They stood at the other end of the hall and Margaret had the run to catch up with them. They walked outside into the courtyard where three horses stood. Avery tossed his pack at his squire and mounted the first while Morik tied his pack and Philomena's to his saddle. He turned and tossed Margaret's pack back at her before helping Philomena clamor onto her horse.

      Margaret sighed as she watched her brother swing himself into his saddle. Stuck walking once again. Things never change. She glanced at the squire, who was trying to adjust the packs so that they sat comfortably on his back. He glanced over at her for a second before dropping his gaze, not wanting to stare at her scars for too long.

      Avery barked something at the squire and he stopped fidgeting with the packs and started walking, his steps quick and even. The horses soon started forward, reluctant to move. Margaret followed behind, the way she always had. She looked at the squire, who had now fallen into step beside her then up the line at Avery. She leaned closer to the squire before she spoke.

      "Do you have any idea what they plan on doing? And why are they treating Philomena so kindly?"

      The squire hesitated before answering. "I don't know what Avery and Morik are planning, but what i do know is that Savannah is actually Maxmillian's daughter." He glanced up at the knights before continuing. "Also, if the rumors are true, Guy is Avery's son."

      Margaret shot him a look of disbelief. "How would that even be possible?"

      The squire shrugged. "I don't know, that's just what i heard."

      They continued travelling until they reached a port. Avery paid one of the captains and loaded the horses onto the ship. Margaret looked at Morik. "Where are we going?"

        Morik just ignored her and started to board the ship. When he realized that his sister wasn't behind him he turned back around. "Why aren't you following me?" He stared at Margaret, who stood with her arms crossed at the bottom of the ramp.

       Margaret glared at her brother. "Why won't you answer my questions," she snapped. The wind caught her hair and whipped it around her face.

      Avery came and stood next to Morik. "You will board this ship, now," he growled, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

      Margaret planted her feet firmly on the ground. "Not until my questions are answered. Just because i am a squire it doesn't mean i am to be kept in the dark." She glared at Avery through her hair, the light of dusk illuminating her scars and making her look like the living embodiment of the Morrigan.

      Avery glared down at her, slowly making his way down the ramp towards her. "You will do as I say woman. I don't care what your rank is back in Saxony. Here, you will answer to me and keep your mouth shut." He had drawn his sword about two inches from his sheath and stood about a foot in front of Margaret.

      She stood her ground and spat on his boot. "I answer to no one," she snarled, her green eyes staring directly into Avery's.

Avery hissed and drew his sword, placing the tip of it against her neck. "I said to keep your mouth shut."

"I'd like to see you try to make me."

Avery glared at her for a moment before bringing the hilt of his sword around and against her head. Margaret stumbled back a couple of steps before her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell in a heap on the dock. Morik took a couple of steps towards her but a look from Avery made him stop. "Squire, retrieve Margaret."

The squire ran down the ramp and hauled Margaret onto the deck of the ship, placing a piece of cloth over the bloody wound on her skull. Morik stood, watching them until it was time to cast off. He looked back at the port as they set sail. What if I've joined the wrong side, he thought. What if I’m fighting for the wrong cause?