by Rizzo Rosko
Her thumb and finger press just under and over his left eye, and he knew what she prepared to do before she explained it. "When you open your eye, I shall hold it open and pour the water in."
Blaise nodded and opened his eye right away. The pressure of Elizabeth's fingers kept it open when instinct forced him to try and lock it shut as cool water splashed inside and blurred his vision.
Blaise grit his teeth, counted, and could stand no more and forcefully turned his head away.
Elizabeth cursed above him as she stilled the bowl to stop the water flow. "Fool! I have not yet finished!"
"I have!" Blaise hissed back, wiping the water out of his face and keeping his other eye shut while he tried to force vision to come to the one that was open. His eye was clean, he could see perfectly through it without the pain of being stabbed with tiny mud rocks.
Instead of peering at his surroundings, his good eye focused on the woman sitting above him who dared insult him. Blaise's breath caught.
Only at the sight of her did he realize that 'twas no common peasant who rescued him. Her language, while occasionally foul, had no country accent. The fingers that tended to him were not rough with working hard labour. Though her ragged appearance and loose wet hair suggested that what he saw was a common serf, her treatment of him proved otherwise.
"Who are you?"
"I told you, I am Elizabeth Hollow. Ye are in my home."
Blaise looked beyond her, his one hand still pressing against his dirty eye.
What he thought was a chamber in a much larger dwelling was actually a hut that could hardly be considered a home. His bed of hay was at the far corner, in the center sat a small, dying fire that could in no way be responsible for his earlier discomfort.
His hand flew to the back of his head. He winced as the lightning-quick pain struck him. The burning returned.
“A gift from my attackers, no doubt,” he muttered.
The girl said nothing, likely not wishing to anger him with any misplaced comments on his loss, so he returned to inspecting her home.
There were shelves of meagre possessions, pots for cooking and, to his shock, what he was sure was a lady’s gown, folded and stuffed in one of the shelves.
He could hear the rain outside. It had been pouring during his attack, enough to keep him from seeing that there were men surrounding him before it was too late. ‘Twas now at a gentle shower. Though Elizabeth's roof still leaked and dripped in some places.
Elizabeth gripped his chin and forced him to face her again, the bowl of water still in hand. "That is enough of you gaping at my home." She forced his other eye open and poured the water quicker than she had the last time.
Blaise nearly turned away again but fisted his hands into the damp hay and grit his teeth.
"Be still." Elizabeth commanded.
"I am, you wench." Blaise hissed, allowing her to wash the remains of dirt from his eyes.
When the bowl was empty he brought his hand up to wipe away the remaining drops still on his face.
Elizabeth slapped his hand away. "Stop that. Ye're spreading dirt around on your face." She applied a rough bit of cloth to do the job for him, then took his hands and washed them with the damp rag as well.
He kept his eyes on her while she diligently cleaned the mud from his fingers. Her thin brows came together over the largest eyes he had ever seen as her hands gently wiped the filth from him.
His hands heated under her care, and his body tingled. He cleared his throat, reminding himself that she could likely be the enemy. "Thank you."
The movement of her hands against his halted. Her head did not lift but her eyes turned up to look at him beneath thick strands of her dark, wet hair that fell in her face. "I never would have thought that ye should thank anyone for anything, milord."
The muscles in Blaise's body tensed, any warmth he felt over her touch vanished as a chill raced through him. He took his hands from hers and stood up, ignoring his nudity.
Elizabeth scurried to her feet and backed away a step, her eyes wide on him.
"Milord, I—"
"How do ye know me?" He demanded, stepping towards her. She stepped back again. He didn't care. She hadn't outright spoken his name but she knew who he was, at least enough to know that he was a lord despite how she supposedly found him naked in the muck. "How do ye know me, woman?"
She blinked, regaining her composure, though her hands clenched together in fright in front of her. "Your hair."
His—? "What?"
She raised her finger and pointed. "Everyone knows that Lord Blaise Gray has that color hair. 'Tis the only reason I can think of as to why anyone would bother with robbing ye."
He sighed, relief pulsing through him at the obvious answer and hating how true her words rang to his ears. “Ah, I suppose that would have to be the truth.”
Blaise relaxed his body, he did not want to appear threatening to this woman who'd taken him in and, according to her, saved his life. Despite his calm stance, she remained tense and at a distance.
Ah, yes, he was naked and they were alone. Blaise sat back down in her bed of hay and pulled the filthy blanket over his lap, only then did Elizabeth breathe a sigh of relief. She still did not approach him.
"I apologize for my behavior. I had forgotten that I am so easily recognized by my despicable hair.”
Recognizable enough to be made into an easy target by thieves. He thought sourly.
Elizabeth nodded. “It is a despicable color.”
Blaise clenched his hands into her damp, filthy blanket. “Regardless, you have my word that while I am here, I mean you no ill will."
If she made another comment like that, however, he might just take back that promise.
"Do ye behave so rashly with every lady you meet?"
He raised a brow at her and smiled at the obvious jest. "Lady?"
She bristled as his eyes travelled up and down her ragged gown, covered in the same muck she'd washed from his face, hands, and eyes, fraying in all the places he could see, and thin enough for holes to penetrate. "Aye. Lady. My father was a wealthy knight, but my mother decided to raise me in poverty rather than have him know me."
“And, where is your mother now?”
Her eyes did not meet his. “She is dead.”
Blaise's thoughts went away with him again. He would allow himself to feel no pity while in this suspicious state. "I suppose you would prefer some sort of payment for your services then?"
She did not attempt to deny her intent, though there was no malice in her words. "'Tis the least you could do for a woman who saved your life, milord."
His suspicions that she may have had something to do with his situation raised up again. 'Twould not be the first time a member of the lower class had attempted to manipulate him to get what they sought.
Marianne Holton had attempted to kidnap him and force a wedding on him when he denied the proposed agreement of marriage. Instead, through sheer luck, she kidnapped and married his father by mistake, William Gray. Now they were known throughout the land as a couple completely in love and devoted to one another, with one child already and another on the way.
While alone with Elizabeth, nude and not a weapon on him, Blaise did not mention his theory lest she turn into a raving banshee and attack him with a log from the dwindling fire she sat beside. She stirred something that smelled heavenly in the dented pot with a wooden spoon.
"I was not far from Graystone when I was attacked," he said, ignoring the scent. "Why bring me here instead of to my home?"
She looked over her shoulder, the disbelief in her eyes suggesting she thought he might be the crazed one between the two of them. "Do ye take me for a lunatic? Why would I go to yer father's castle, dragging his naked son behind me and demanding entrance from the rain? They would have me locked away until you awoke, and then who would believe that I had nothing to do with your robbery—"
"When you asked for your payment?" He finished.
Elizabeth t
urned her head away, but Blaise glimpsed the rising color in her neck before she did. She poured a thick stew into a crooked bowl and handed it to him with a spoon.
She turned away from him immediately, not waiting to see if he would eat the stew while she stood to face the opposite wall with her arms crossed. "You are not obligated to give me anything, nor am I entitled to anything. I was merely hoping that someone in your position may be able to help me leave this." She waved her hand around, indicating the square hut where she lived.
Blaise thought about it. The scent of the stew called to his nose and his stomach twitched, but he put off eating from it. "You are correct, I do owe you nothing."
Her back cringed at his words.
He sighed. "Yet I am not of the sort to abandon someone who did not abandon me. When the rain stops I will take ye to Graystone and explain yer situation to my father."
Elizabeth spun to stare at him. Her eyes sparkled with tear drops and her jaw trembled at his offer.
Feeling generous, Blaise dug the wooden spoon into the bowl, lifted out a mouthful of the steaming brown stew and took a bite. His eyes slid shut, savouring the taste. "Perhaps since ye are skilled as a cook we can give ye a position."
Elizabeth's face fell. 'Twas obviously not what she had in mind. Blaise chuckled and took another spoonful into his mouth.
If this wench thought he would give her a house and finery before he knew the truth about his robbery, then she was as mad as they came.
***
Elizabeth clenched her teeth, seething as he enjoyed the stew she created with the last of the essentials in her home.
Still, she supposed she should feel grateful, but she suppressed her sigh of relief until later. Whether it had been accidental or not, intended or not, if he suspected that she had anything to do with his attack, he would kill her.
Chapter Two
The walk to Graystone castle took a few hours after the rain stopped. It seemed like days to Blaise, who had nothing to protect his feet against the mud and sharp rocks on the road.
The ragged blanket Elizabeth offered was all he had to spare his dignity. Indeed, the only other option was to wear her cloak, and from the way it draped heavily around her, filthy from overuse and mud, it would have not been any better.
His eyes scanned the trees, his fingers itching to wrap around the handle of a sword he no longer had. A sword he regretted losing above all else. "If we are to be ambushed I would have to defend ye with nothing but my fists."
"'Twas you who did not wish to wait for the roads to dry." Elizabeth replied in an equally sour tone, kicking muck off of her flimsy shoes. “My gown is already filthy, and now being ruined further as I trek in the mud next to you.”
Blaise shook his head. He eyed the gown she wore, which original color he still could not discern, with contempt. She managed to clean some of the muck off it before they started on their journey, but all it did was spread the dirt deeper into the cloth. “As though it makes a difference.” He mumbled.
She looked at him. “What did you say?”
"I spoke of nothing, and I wished for a quick departure because 'twould be best for a helpless woman and her naked companion to travel before the thieves who live in the woods decide the weather is fine enough for them to stalk their prey. They wish to sit in the bushes, not in the muck. Like us."
Elizabeth would not look at him. She adjusted the parcel in her arms and continued to walk, as though hoping he would not see the color climbing her neck. "I had not thought of that."
She had wrapped the gown Blaise had seen in her small hut in a clean skin to protect it against any damage similar to the gown she currently wore. She carried it with her as though it were a precious child.
Blaise couldn't help but remark upon it. "Are ye wishing to look presentable when I introduce ye to my father?"
Her pale cheeks heated again. 'Twas easy making that color appear in her skin, it seemed. The pink color contrasted nicely on her pale cheeks.
She swallowed. "Aye, I am a lady and wish to look as one when I am in good company."
"Ah, then you should be wearing it now as you are in my company." He grinned. He visualised her wearing finery, a clean gown with color, and the dirt washed from her hair and face, but his efforts were constantly stalled as he could only picture her as she was now. Still, even dressed as a filthy serf, she was beautiful.
She looked at him, one dark eyebrow raised, a sardonic smile touching her full lips. "My apologies, milord, but as you are wearing nothing at all beneath my blanket I foolishly assumed that 'twould not be necessary."
Blaise grumbled at her biting reply, eager to get into a pair of leggings, boots, and tunic instead of walking around with the cold breeze tickling his shrivelling manhood.
He needed to take his mind away from the chill that assaulted him. "Where did you come about a fine gown such as that? Considering your situation and all, my lady, I find it unlikely you had the money to have it made."
She glared at him. "'Twas a gift from my father to my mother, before she stole herself away like she did."
"Your mother kept the gown all this time? I thought she despised the man enough to run away?" Even had that not been the case, Blaise would have had trouble believing her simply because of the condition in which she lived.
"She did despise him, and was always seeking to make me despise him with her stories as well.”
She stopped and cleared her throat, as though only now aware of what she had said. “I believe she kept it for something to sell should we ever be in dire need. When I grew old enough, fearing she would soon sell it, I begged her to give it to me instead."
"Hmm," It seemed like a plausible explanation, but her story combined with her current situation and miraculous rescue of him, made him question her true motives, as he'd learned to question everyone's since Robert, a mere groom, used him to try and lift up his social status.
"There, 'tis where I found you."
Blaise pulled himself from his thoughts and stared at the spot where her delicate finger pointed. In the center of the road was a small pond of rainwater. A toad swam frantically inside while a pair of robins harassed it.
Curious as to how deep the puddle ran, Blaise bent down, picked up a fist sized rock, and tossed it in the water. The splash frightened away the birds and saved the toad, but the water was deep enough that when the rock went in he could no longer see it.
Blaise turned to stare at Elizabeth, who met his gaze with no smirk on her face or victory in her eyes. When she claimed to have saved him from drowning in, of all things, a puddle, he assumed she had been making the situation seem worse than it was to claim her reward for his rescue.
However, if this small lake in the middle of the road had been where he lay with his face pointed towards the earth, he no longer had any doubts that he, a grown man and knight, could be killed by it.
'Twas mortifying and surprising, and he thanked the Lord that being killed in such a weak manner had not been his Fate. To be remembered as a man who drowned in a puddle! 'Twas worse than death itself!
"'Twas not so deep when I found ye, but the rain did fall heavily. Had I left you there the water would have filled—”
"And I would have met my end. I see that now." Blaise turned his eyes away from the offending water to continue his walk.
Elizabeth followed at his heels, as he expected she would. "I shall introduce you to my family and explain how I came to know you." He stopped abruptly to glare at her. "I will tell my father the manner in which you saved my life, but no one else is to hear of it, understood?"
As if sensing the threat, she bobbed a minor curtsy. "Aye, milord."
***
Elizabeth could barely contain her excitement as Graystone came into view. A stone fortress of immense length and height that stood proudly on top of a small hill, with powerful cylindrical towers that bolstered its thick walls.
The image before her made Elizabeth feel small, her plan for a better li
fe inside those battlemented barriers foolish. It also made her legs wish to run in the other direction now that she made it so far.
She forced herself to keep moving with Lord Blaise. The young lord she travelled with seemed to become more and more sour every step they took. She knew by his earlier threat that 'twas solely because he did not wish to be seen wearing nothing but the ragged blanket she gave him for cover.
His scowl deepened until crooked hills lined his forehead as they came up the road that led to the gate. Serfs and other men and women who tended the fields halted with their tools in hand as they passed. They stared openly, some pointing their fingers.
Elizabeth waited for Blaise to call out a command for them to return to their duties, but he remained silent and angry. Likely because he wished to draw no further attention to himself.
Elizabeth longed to do something to rescue him from this humiliation, perhaps then he would treat her with a little more gratitude.
No solution came to her. Elizabeth remained silent as they walked until they finally stepped up to the gatehouse. The drawbridge was down, but the portcullis was lowered. It allowed her to see the inside of the courtyard but denied them entrance.
Blaise raised his head and bellowed, "James!"
A knight of a similar age stuck his head between the battlements. His eyes squinted, then widened at the sight of his lord, without a horse, wearing a strange garb, and the woman with him.
"Lord Blaise! What ha—"
"Let us in! I shall explain when I am properly dressed!"
James's head ducked back behind the battlements. He shouted an order, and with the sound of heavy chains clanging, the portcullis was lifted from the ground and Elizabeth and Blaise were allowed entrance.
Elizabeth walked with uncertainty under the holes in the stone above her. Fear embraced her as visions of the men above locking her in the gatehouse, shooting her, then pouring boiling water over her dying body came to her.
No such measures were taken against her. She breathed a heavy sigh when she and Blaise appeared on the other side of the gates unharmed.