Gideon's hand had been reaching to his hip, he withdrew it with a blush. Pulling it out would have been akin to threatening his own grandmother. “What is this place? It's like nothing I've seen outside of a bubble.”
The old lady picked a berry out of her dress and plopped it into Rolanda's open mouth. “We call it Meadowood, because we have meadows, and we have woods. Would you like a blackberry? They're fresh.”
Gideon stepped closer. “This is all so strange.” He opened his mouth and the woman plopped a berry on his tongue. A flash of sweet and tart caused him to pucker and chew with relish, a drip of juice dribbling down his chin.
“What are you children doing out traveling between bubbles? It's not safe out there.”
Gideon reached into her skirt for another berry. The taste was like nothing he had experienced before. “It's a long story.”
“Well in that case you best be coming to my home, we'll get you set up with a nice meal and a place to rest for the night.” She turned and led them over the hill.
“Wait,” Leanin said, “we don't even know your name.”
The woman turned and smiled at them. “My name's Rheannon, you can call me Rhea.”
...
Rhea moved with surprising agility over the uneven ground, skipping over exposed roots and walking solidly where Gideon tripped. They went back into the forest, there was no path that they followed but Rhea seemed to know exactly what trees to turn at. Gideon was soon completely lost, every tree and bush looked the same. Soon they heard the bleating of goats and sheep and the forest thinned again.
A little stone cottage was built into the side of a hill; goats ran up to greet them as they approached. Rhea stopped and scratched the goats under the chin, inviting the others to do the same. A wisp of black smoke trailed lazily out the top of the chimney and the smell of burning oak filled the air. It was a small house, but intricately built, each stone different but fitting together to form the whole front, a small door arched at the front and a few windows were the only places where the stone stopped.
A grassy hill seemed to grow around the cottage, hugging it like an overthrown blanket on a cold day, cuddling around the top. An old man was chopping wood in the front yard without a shirt on, his skin leathery and tough and his chest hair as white as the tip of his bushy beard. There was more hair on his face and his chest than he had on the top of his head, and the tips of each strand glistened with sweat. He stopped chopping and raised his ax in greeting.
“Harold,” Rhea called out, “we have guests, put a shirt on.”
Harold grinned as they approached. He was a big barrel-chested man, his shoulders broad and his forearms thick, but the grin he wore on his face was one of childish joy. “Ain't nothing they haven't seen before. Name's Harold,” he said, sticking out his hand to be shook. It was a well worn hand, firm and rough and warm. “You guys coming for some dinner? We should have more than enough to go around.”
“Harold,” Rhea said, “They're traveling. We're setting them up for the night.”
Harold eyed the three. “Oh, are we? Well, I guess I should stop pretending I have a say in any of this.”
Rhea stuck her chin out at him. “You don't. These are children who need a little touch of home right now, and I plan on giving it to them.”
He grinned again and playfully pinched at her backside. She giggled and danced away. “I'll be in in a bit, I'm going to take a dip in the lake to get some of this sweat off me. Rhea'll mother you to death in the meantime.”
“Oh, I will not,” Rhea said as she brushed past him and into the cottage.
When they entered the home they were greeted with the warm and sweet smell of freshly baking bread and cooking meat. It was a small place, but comfortable. There was a simple wooden table and some chairs, a few deerskin rugs on the ground. The ceiling curved in an arch and hallways tunneled back away from the main room. A fire burned low in a furnace in the corner, a big black pot bubbling over top. Rhea gave them each a chair and told them to sit down.
“We've got some stew that should be ready soon, it's nothing fancy but it'll stick to you, and I have a loaf of bread that should be cool by now.”
The door opened and Harold entered, his beard dripping with water. “Harold,” Rhea said, “get a towel, you're dripping in front of the children.”
Harold grinned mischievously at Gideon and bear hugged Rheannon, lifting her up off the floor and shaking his wet beard in her face. They both laughed and she fought him off her.
“You big lummox. And to think, I let that animal sleep in my bed.”
“I thought you liked my animal nature in bed,” he said. Rheannon turned bright purple and Harold walked off into another room in the house.
Rhea brought a thick loaf of bread out and set it before them before busying herself filling up bowls with steaming stew. “So what brings you to Meadowood? Not many can find us here, we're not on many maps.”
Rolanda was looking all around the house, her curious eye touching on everything. The dishes were carved of wood, two sets sat on a shelf. There were a few paintings hung up with Rhea's signature in the corner. A pair of baby shoes caught her eye, tacked up on the wall, made of deerskin. “Where is the baby that belongs in those shoes?” Rolanda asked.
Rhea's smile faltered and her eyes became glassy. “You're very perceptive. We were going to have a baby, but something went wrong with the pregnancy. Never did end up needing those shoes. Harold thinks it's morbid, keeping them up there. I just like to look at them every once and a while, think about what he or she might have been like.”
Gideon cleared his throat. “Rolanda doesn't mean to offend, she's been through a bit of an ordeal and isn't quite thinking clearly these days.”
“I see things just fine, Gideon,” Rolanda said.
“Seeing things isn't your problem, thinking things is,” Gideon replied before turning to Rhea. “Anyway, we're not really sure where we're headed to. Maybe back home, maybe somewhere else. We're still trying to figure that out.”
“Well, why not Meadowood? You can stay here for a few nights and rest, there are far worse places to end up.”
Harold came back into the room with a fresh pair of clothes on, homespun wool that was the same color as the sheep outside, his beard neatly combed. “We got a few extra rooms, made an addition onto the house a while ago when we thought there might be more of us, you all are more than welcome to stay here as long as you need to. We don't get people through here, it'd be nice to have the company and some help with the chores and such.”
Rheannon set down two bowls in front of Rolanda and Leanin, and cups in front of Harold, Gideon, and her own place. “We only have the two bowls, but we have plenty of cups.”
Conversation stopped while they were eating the stew. Gideon ladled the heaping piles of vegetables and mutton into his mouth, barely controlling his desire to moan with happiness. The stew sent waves of warmth through his body and filled him completely. The chunks of lamb were loaded with juices and chock full of flavor, the rich taste oozing onto his tongue with every bite.
Harold opened a cask of a golden frothy liquid and set it before them. “Honey ale,” he said. “It took me a few years to learn how to harvest the honey without getting stung all over the place. Turns out if you blow smoke up their asses, they'll let you take all the honey you want,” Harold laughed.
The beer was sweet and rich, the honey taste sharp but pleasant, the alcohol warm all the way down. After two mugs apiece the world was beginning to look quite tolerable for Gideon. He was flush in the face and couldn't help his eyes from wandering over Leanin and Rolanda, they were so different but each was quite lovely in their own way. Rolanda had a full breasted beauty, her hair cascading down her curves, soft and silky. She may have looked t
hin then, with her ribs poking through, but she would bounce back soon enough. She sat crouched, her arms at her sides, saying nothing but watching everyone. Her face was slight, her cheekbones high, her eyes full and deep blue. She was smiling, it was slight, only a small curve at the corners of her mouth, but it was there. Her smile could be so captivating.
Leanin was as different from Rolanda as was possible, but Gideon still found her lovely. She had a slight form, scars running along her well toned arms that ran deep and purple. Her body was strong, capable, she stood straight with her shoulders back and her chin jutting out. Her face was hard set, her eyes a fiery and vibrant green, her hair short. Her breasts were small, barely pushing out the shirt that she wore, but Gideon wondered what they would feel like against his palm. The beer was getting to him, he shook his head and forced himself to look away from either of them.
“Are you the only people who live here?” he asked.
Harold and Rheannon laughed to each other. “No,” Harold said. “Far from it. There's around thirty families here, but we're all pretty spread out. We see each other occasionally to trade, I get good bargaining rates because of my honey beer, everybody loves the stuff.”
Rheannon poked him in the side. “Harold, you're so proud.”
He stood and poured himself another draft. “Damn right I am. This stuff's wonderful.”
“How'd you guys find this place? Or were you born here?” Leanin asked.
“We moved here from Lisbeth,” Harold said. “We hated the city, too many people, too many unpleasant smells. We were originally trying to get to Algernia, but we came upon Meadowood and walked around in it, talked to some of the locals and just fell in love.”
“Sorry if this is disrespectful, but how does this place even exist? There's no bubble to keep out the toxins, why doesn't the rain whither the plants like it does everywhere else?” Gideon said.
Harold scratched at his beard. “You're hitting on the crux of many a late night conversation. Truth is we don't know exactly, though I have a notion or two. I think that because it's all surrounded by mountains the bad air can't get in and the good air can't get out. We've got our own little bloody ecosystem here, never needed a bubble, never wanted one.”
“So the house was just here?” Leanin asked, gulping the last bit of her honey ale.
Without being asked, Harold gave her a refill. “Not at all,” he said. “Took a lot of work for us to get to this point. We built the house, took a good two years to do it. Lot of digging and cutting down trees. Beamer did us a solid there, he's the neighbor on the other side of the pond. Let us camp in his backyard while we were making it, even stayed in his house on the colder nights. Hell of a guy, I still give him a free cask now and again.”
Gideon yawned. His eyelids were beginning to droop and the sounds of conversation becoming a far off buzz. A rough hand shook him as his head nodded forward.
“Beer and stew taking their toll on you?” Harold said. “It's pretty strong for those who aren't used to it. Why don't I get you guys set up to where you can sleep for the night?” He paused and motioned between them. “Are you all...together? Do you want to share a big room?”
Rolanda grabbed Gideon's arm. “We're together,” she said.
“I'll take a separate room,” Leanin said, “I can sleep on the floor in the living room here.”
“Nonsense, dear,” Rhea said. “We've got another room. It's not much, but it has a bed in it. Not a very big bed, but it should work just fine.”
They took Leanin down to her room first. The back hallways made the house much larger than Gideon originally would have assumed, branching off in several directions. The walls felt warm to the touch.
“Natural heat,” Harold said, motioning to the wall. “We're underground, the earth's heating the place. Neat, huh?”
They had to duck to get in the door to Leanin's bedroom. The walls were decorated with painted animals, a hand-carved rocking horse was in one corner and a rag doll placed upon it. Harold cleared his throat. “Sorry about the toys. Waiting on someone else in Meadowood to have a kid so we can give them to 'em.”
Leanin stood tall and placed a hand on Harold's shoulder. The gruff man looked away. “Harold,” she said, “I'd be honored if you let me sleep here.”
They left Leanin in the room and continued down the tunnel, showing Rolanda and Gideon their room next. It was plain, simply having a bed with a sewn together deerskin comforter lying on top and a slanted wooden desk in the corner.
“If you guys need anything, we'll be right down the hall,” Rheannon said.
Harold hesitated a moment. “Just so you guys know, the walls here are very thick. I know there's not always the most privacy when you're out traveling, but there's no need to restrain yourselves here.”
“Harold!” Rhea said. “Would you stop embarrassing me?” She bade them goodnight and walked out into the hallway.
“What? There's nothing embarrassing about the physical act of love.” Harold followed her out into the hallway, Gideon could hear their voices echoing back to them. “You remember when we were young? We'd take any moment of privacy and...”
Gideon shut the door and the noise stopped. He smiled at Rolanda. She was sitting at the edge of the bed, her head cocked to one side, hair hanging off her. He sat beside her and tugged at his boots.
“Gideon?” Rolanda asked.
“Yes Rolanda?”
She bit at her bottom lip as he took off his gear making no move to take off her own. “You know that I still love you, right?”
Gideon paused, his boot halfway off. The silence hung between them, stagnant. “I know,” he said after a moment. “How are you feeling? We've been in such a mad rush to get somewhere safe, I haven't really had time to talk to you.”
Rolanda pushed her hair behind her ear. It was simply a small, feminine gesture, but it brought with it a wave of emotion from Gideon. He had seen her do that so many times, a simple brush behind the ear, it bridged the gap between the Rolanda that was taken from him and the Rolanda he took back. It caused a moment of introspection. How had he been viewing her these last few days? This was Rolanda, not a thing to be coddled and cared for like some broken little dish.
“Things still get fuzzy, from time to time. I sort of slip around.” Rolanda tried to smile at him, the corners of her lips tilted up slightly, but that was all. “I want to thank you for being so patient with me. I know it can't be easy.”
He finished pulling his boots off and went to work on his socks. They were wet and sticky, the smell of sweat strong on them as he peeled them off and flung them in the corner. “It hasn't been,” he said.
Rolanda took off her riding jacket and knelt before him. She was still wearing the ratty clothes they had stolen for her, they hung loosely on her body. “I know that men have certain needs,” she said. Leaning forward, the large shirt hung low, showing the top curves of her breasts. Gideon's heart began to beat faster as she moved closer to him. “I understand that there are things that you want that I can do, and I can't think of a better place than this for them to happen.” Taking a deep breath, she paused for a moment. “I'm nervous that it'll bring out the spiders, but I want to try.” She worked the belt off his trousers slowly, swallowing hard.
“Rolanda, this is such a new side to you,” Gideon said. The rush of blood in his ears deafened him with the rhythmic thumping of his own heart. She slid his pants down around his ankles, his skin raised in little goose bumps in the cool air. Kissing him on the lips softly, her hands explored his body.
“I want to try...” she said again as her kisses moved down his stomach. She took him into her mouth, Gideon had never experienced such a hot and wet feeling like that. His hands worked themselves greedily down the front of her shirt, grasping at h
er swollen breasts. He stood and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her onto the bed and tearing at her pants.
Something changed in her. Rolanda's eyes got wide and she pressed him gently away. “Wait, Gideon,” Rolanda said, holding on to the tops of her stolen jeans. “Slow down, give me a little time.”
He ignored her as he broke the top button of her jeans in his haste. Every inch of fabric frustrated his efforts, soon he was tearing madly at her shirt, her pants. Once exposed she crossed her legs, stopping him once more.
“Gideon, give me a little time,” she said. She had a scared look on her face. "I want to try, just be patient."
But he was beyond patience. His blood was up and desire was the only emotion he felt. He forced her legs apart, feeling strong and large as every boundary that had frustrated him, every obstacle in his path, finally gave way. Hooking his legs under hers he leveraged her wider, forcing himself up on her. Her nails dug painfully into his skin, each gouge heightening his need.
“Gideon, wait, not like this,” she said. Turning her head to the side her features suddenly went slack, her pupils dilating. Every muscle of hers relaxed and she went limp.
He thrust himself up inside her, desperate to feel her heat, to be close, connected to her. With every thrust his madness increased, the itch finally being scratched. A shiver ran through his entire body and his toes curled as he felt himself clench and a thunderous orgasm crashed through him. The strength left him in waves, and with weakness came clarity.
“Rolanda, are you okay?” He asked, pulling himself from inside her and laying down on the bed. "What's wrong?"
For a moment she didn't respond, her breathing shallow, her eyes unblinking and unfocused. Then she took a deep breath, coming back from wherever she was. “I thought I could, and I couldn't, but you did anyway,” she said. Weeping softly, she turned her back to him. “I'm so sorry, Gideon. I'm so sorry.”
The Woman They Kept Page 14