Romancing the Rogue

by Kim Bowman

  “What happens tomorrow, Abigail?” asked Brynn as she climbed into a straw-filled bed, trying not to disturb the girl she was to share it with.

  “Just call me Abby. Your new life begins tomorrow, and I shall answer any questions you may have while we are in the fields in the morn. Now go to sleep.” Abby blew out the lamp and all was quiet.

  Brynn found sleeping on a straw bed quite uncomfortable. The sharp needle-like twigs poked her through both the blanket and her chemise. Sighing, she wrapped her thin blanket around her shoulders and crept to the fireplace where a few coals still glowed and twisted in their fire dance with one another. They brought her back to the cave where Marek first kissed her. How she wished he was still with her to rock her to sleep on the back of his horse. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes, welcoming a bit of restless sleep.

  But it didn’t last. It seemed mere moments passed before she was disturbed.

  “Quickly now, ’tis almost daybreak. You don’t want to keep him waiting.” The words, sounding strangely familiar, coaxed her to further wakefulness. The fire had long since died, and her blanket hung loose around her shoulders. Abby was dressed and ready for the day’s work. A hand on her hip, she tapped her booted foot impatiently. “He will want to see you in the light. Now don’t worry, I will not let him touch you.”

  “Who?” For a brief moment, Brynn forgot she was locked in the tiny, stuffy underground room.

  “Daman, of course. Here, put these on. They should fit.” Tucked under one arm, Abby held several articles of clothing. “They were Nel’s, but she… is not with us any longer. She was about your size — these shall do just fine.” Abby plopped them in Brynn’s lap and continued to wake the others.

  Brynn held up the long pieces of fabric, not quite sure what to do. Everything was so unfamiliar and strange. Even though Abby spoke Engel words, her voice was still thick with that of the Archaean brogue. And the clothing… she missed Marek’s tunic. That little piece of him close to her body was gone — his woodsy, smoky scent — nevermore. As she eyed the pieces, a pair of worn leather ankle boots fell to the floor. Shoes. Brynn smiled, slipping them over her chilly toes and latched the toggles tight. They were a bit snug, but they were warm. Rising from the floor, she pulled off the nightgown and slipped on the chemise from the pile. It felt heavy and awkward with its billowy sleeves and immodest, low-cut neckline. She felt as though her breasts would spill out if she bent over. She cinched the strings tighter around her neck. It would have to do.

  “What are you waiting for — me to die? Come on, now.” Abby took up the overgarments and dark blue skirt from the remaining pile and slipped them over Brynn’s head. She pulled the drawstrings tight then tied them. Next, she grabbed a black bodice, slipped Brynn’s arms though each arm hole, and jerked the laces taught in the front. Brynn gasped at its secure grip on her ribcage. “My, one would think you have never seen clothes before.”

  “Not like this,” she replied, sucking in a breath. The bodice was tight — annoyingly so — and Brynn fiddled with it, seeking a more comfortable position for the boning.

  “Do not worry — you are only putting it on for him. It must to come off before work or you’ll keel over on me.” Abby laughed while tending to the rest of the garments. “You are a pretty one, you are. You will fit it just fine.”

  “What is this?” Brynn questioned as Abby draped a long, green fabric about her shoulders. It was a pattern she had never seen before. It was quite beautiful — the color of the rolling hills in spring with a bit of blue added to match the summer sky.

  “An arisaidh. It took me awhile to get used to it at first, but it comes in handy during the cold weather we’ve been having. You will learn to like it. Here, put it over your head. Like this.” Abby took a piece from the back and draped it over Brynn like a hooded cape. “I was not as lucky as you to have someone show me how to wear the latest in Archaean fashion,” Abby teased. “Stay close to me and I will keep you safe. I know how to handle that poor excuse of a man.”

  Brynn smiled. Abby was a lovely woman. Brynn followed close behind as they made their way up the steep set of wooden stairs. The room above reeked of stale ale and smoke, but was not a tavern. The building was a one-room house, much like the ones she had seen in villages in Galhaven. It was empty of drunken men now, leaving only traces of their festivities from the night before.

  The morning air left a sharp chill on Brynn’s bones as they rounded the building. The other girls were busy eating a bit of bread and sipping from a bowl of water when she approached. A large man on horseback eyed them as they ate.

  “Abby!”

  “Daman, here she is. Take a good look — we have work to do.” Abby puffed out her chest and stood her ground, looking the man square in the eye.

  Daman circled Brynn, taking in every inch of her frame as she stood awkwardly before him. She could feel his eyes burning over the exposed skin around her chest, but she kept her chin down and waited for it to end.

  Grunting, he gave Brynn’s chin a little push with his finger. He muttered words briefly to Abby then stomped his way back into the shack.

  After eating, Brynn followed Abby. “Where are we going?” Brynn asked, walking beside her newest friend. Brynn carried a large woven basket, keeping a sharp eye open for any Archaeans she happened to know.

  “To the fields. We harvest Daman’s crops so he can sell them for ale.”

  “Every day?”

  “Shh… do not speak so loud. Engel is not a very favorable language to be speaking around this village.”

  “But I know nothing else.”

  “I will teach you.”

  Upon reaching the field, Abby turned sharply to the right, hastening her pace. “We will be picking the rest of the beans. You shall come with me.”

  Brynn removed the restrictive bodice shortly after they started picking the bean plants. Abby proved amazing with her speed and steady hands, while Brynn fumbled about with very few beans actually reaching the basket without first falling to the dirt. She could sense how frustrated Abby was growing when she nearly ripped a plant from the soil. “I’m sorry, Abby, I must tell you that I’m not used to doing this work.”

  “Well, what sort of work are you used to doing, then?” Abby stood, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her chemise.

  Brynn hung her head. “Well… none.”

  Abby scoffed. “You have never done a day’s work?”

  “No, I have not.”

  “What kind of parents raised a child who does not do work?” Abby kicked her basket to the side as she moved on to the next bean plant.

  “Well, my father is Bertram, Earl of Galhaven. I am… was, his only daughter.”

  Abby’s eyes widened. “What a little liar you are.”

  “I assure you, madam, I am no liar.”

  “Heh. Madam…”

  “My father was trying to marry me off when a group of Archaeans ended up in our entrance hall. A misunderstanding ensued and so here I am, picking beans in a land I have no familiarity with, alongside another Engel, who I would never have guessed it so if it were not for that dark hair on top of her head.” Brynn tossed a handful of beans into her basket and returned to find the ones that had fallen.

  “How could you be the daughter of an earl? Look at you! If you are Engel, you look far from it.”

  “Perhaps I look like my mother? I never knew her — she died shortly after I was born. My brothers, they all have the dark hair.”

  “You poor thing. You are Archaean and do not even know it. At least you will not have any trouble blending in like this old goat does.”

  “I am not Archaean.”

  “Where else would that hair come from? Perhaps your dear mother dabbled a bit with the locals.” Abby chuckled.

  “Do not say such things.” Brynn sat on a patch of browning grass. “My mother was an honest woman.” The thought of her precious mother carrying on affairs while married made her heart pound with grief. Al
though, her father did leave much to be desired. “So how did you come to be here?”

  “That is a long story I do not like telling.”

  “We have the time,” urged Brynn as she shelled a bean and popped it in her mouth.

  “You best be careful. You could lose an arm for that.”

  Brynn quickly spit out the bean and covered it with loose soil.

  Abby let out a hearty laugh and shook her head. “Oh, to be young again.”

  “Please tell me. It is nice to have someone to talk to.”

  “Well, if you come over here and help me with some beans, I shall tell you.”

  Brynn reluctantly returned to bean picking.

  “Well, when I was young — about your age, maybe a bit older — I fell in love with a traveler before the Great Wars. He was the most handsome golden-haired man I ever set eyes on and we made our home in Dunlogh, a village deep in the highlands. It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen, with rolling hills and a view of the sea with rich soil and plenty of food. Oh, how lovely life was.” She sighed. “When the Engels invaded, our village was pillaged, the men killed, and the women and children were taken and sold as slaves here in the Crossroads. My husband, bless his soul, tried to stop them from taking me, but…” Abby’s eyes grew wet with tears. “It has been quite some time since I thought of him, and I have been here ever since. Daman has never been able to get rid of me.”

  “Why did not you just escape and go back home?”

  “There was nothing left for me there.”

  “I mean to Kirkwood, back to your home!”

  “My home was Dunlogh. I left Kirkwood long ago. I gave up that life. Being an Engel is a far worse life than this. You will see. ’Tis not all that bad. We are not always locked in that awful room, only when Daman does his bartering in the house. He doesn’t want the men getting too friendly — or the other way around.” Abby winked at Brynn. “Come, we are finished with the beans. We need to move on to the herbs. Daman needs them to sell in the market tomorrow.”

  “After you,” Brynn teased, lifting her basket in the same manner as Abby. She struggled to balance it on her hip, and the extra bulk from the unfamiliar clothing made her steps a bit awkward. But after a few stumbles and only one big spill of harvested beans, she caught up.

  “Oh, sedge weed and blessed thistle!” Brynn grew excited when she spied a few herbs she recognized and had used readily in her stables. She dropped to her knees to thoroughly inspect them.

  “Aye, start pickin’ it. There are gloves in my basket.”

  “I had such a hard time finding it at the manor. It didn’t grow well.” Brynn couldn’t believe its abundance in just one little spot. “I once read that blessed thistle mixed with calendula and ancient water can bring a man back from the dead. I’m certain it included a few other things, but I do not recall them. I am going to make it one day, though, and it is going to work. I just need to find the book.”

  “Are you an herbalist as well as a lady, then?”

  “I’m not trained in it, but I can cure most wounds and poisons.”

  “I suppose you can read and write, being a lady and all?”

  Brynn laughed. “Of course.”

  “I noticed those lashes on your back — they look fresh. What would the daughter of an earl be doing with lashes across her back?”

  “My punishment for disobeying my father.” Brynn uprooted a sedge weed instead of breaking it off at its stem. She buried the root, hoping Abby didn’t see the mutilation.

  The guard on horseback kept his distance as the women ate bread and rested under the unusually warm autumn sun. Brynn was very thankful the day brought with it warmth instead of rain. She had seen her fair share of water as of late and welcomed the dryness as she stretched herself on a patch of grass. Abby had taken on the task of translator for the women, who asked question after question. Brynn made many of them laugh and smile as she excitedly chatted to Abby, who tried to keep up in Engel and in Archaean. She finally had gotten herself so flustered that she picked up her half full basket and headed back to the fields, mumbling something about overeducated nobles.

  There was still much work to be done after the women made the trek back to Daman’s home. The remains of the crops needed to be divided, the herbs sorted, and the loot made ready to sell in the morning. That evening, Brynn settled down next to the fire to stare at its entwining flames, imagining herself elsewhere. She envisioned playing a game with sticks with Michael in the courtyard, a treat they’d loved as children. How simple life had been.

  “Would you like to go to the village market with me in the morn?” Abby, who must have spotted Brynn’s longing look into the fire, knelt beside her.

  “Oh, that would be lovely,” Brynn replied, turning her attention to the flames hungrily licking a chunk of wood.

  “People will speak with you, and you must know what they are saying.”

  “But—”

  “Just sit with me and we will go over some names of the herbs and of some coins. You will understand soon enough. I learned fairly quickly. Now, let us go over the herbs. You already know those, so I will tell you what they are in Archaean.”

  Soon Brynn was calling out items in Archaean as easily as she could in Engel. The lilt gave her a bit of trouble — Brynn’s sounded more as though she was losing her dinner than the lyrical brogue of Abby. Brynn giggled, covering a hiccup. “I’m afraid I’m terrible at this.”

  “You are doing fine. We will practice more tomorrow.”

  Exhausted, Brynn fell fast asleep in her bed. Dreams brought with them visions of blood and knives, of rain, hot skin, and lustful kisses, awakening her startled and in a cold sweat. He had called out her name, his voice lingering in her sleep. Not able to shake the dream, Brynn rose from bed to ready for the day. She wanted to master the clothing for herself this time. She stoked the coals for light then placed each article of clothing out on the floor separately so she could see them all at once. The dark blue skirt was the first to go on over her chemise, followed by the bodice. After much resisting, it finally allowed her to tighten the laces. Lastly, Brynn strapped the leather belt around the large amounts of fabric making the arisaidh.

  Brynn recovered her hidden boot knife and secured it under her skirt.

  Abby joined her up the stairs. Outside sat a plain wooden wagon with several baskets of goods being loaded onto its flat bed.

  “Do you remember the words?”

  “Oh, yes,” Brynn replied, pulling her arisaidh around her shoulders and neck to block the frigid morning air. “Most of them.” The day was dreary and dark; winter was fast approaching.

  The center of the village was noisy and busy with passersby and Brynn looked about for a familiar face. Every head looked the same. How was she to spot the difference between one yellow head and another?

  “What do you keep looking for?” Abby asked Brynn.

  “No one,” she quickly answered.

  “I did not say who, I said what.” Abby grinned. “Come, here we are.”

  For the rest of the afternoon, Abby and Brynn peddled their herbs and autumn vegetables. Brynn, finding it very difficult to keep up with the language, flustered easily and cursed several times before kicking the small table they stood behind in frustration, jamming her toe against a table leg.

  Abby laughed aloud with her big, boisterous laugh, commenting on Brynn’s entertainment value. Before packing up the remains of the day’s sale, Abby disappeared, leaving Brynn to fend for herself before returning with a package hidden under her arisaidh.

  “Here, hide these well. Don’t let Daman find them, or he’ll have your hide for sure. These should occupy that head of yours for a while.” Abby passed Brynn a few small, tattered books and parchments when the guard wasn’t looking.

  “Oh, Abby, thank you,” Brynn whispered, hopping on the tips of her toes, eager to see what each contained. She couldn’t walk fast enough. The wagon she trotted beside seemed to crawl the short distance back
to Daman’s. Safe in the depths of the underground room, Brynn ran to rekindle the fireplace.

  After adding a log, she sat cross-legged in the corner with her books, eager to feel the pages between her fingers. One was written in Engel, seemingly a translation of words into Archaean. The writing was strange, but within time she would have it mastered. Another book was written entirely in Archaean, but drawings next to the words told Brynn it was a book of herbs. The third book was also in Archaean, and Brynn had yet to reveal its secrets. There were no pictures to give her clues so she set it aside. She would have to wait until her skills had improved to read it. She read late into the night until she could keep her eyes open no longer, excited to tell Abby what she had learned.

  Chapter Ten

  The Barmaid

  The Crossroads

  Archaean Highlands

  Winter

  Hours turned into days, days were followed by weeks, weeks blurred into hopelessness. Brynn was finally able to exchange words with the women and tried to be friendly, but many of them simply ignored her. Her newness had long worn off, and she supposed Abby’s particular fondness for her sparked a tinge of resentment. Abigail, however, had taken Brynn under her wing during her transition from Lady Brynn of Galhaven to nonexistence. Nights were spent next to the fire reading her books and staring into the flames, envisioning Marek. Her warrior hadn’t returned for her. He only appeared in dreams now, haunting every thought and moment of quietness. Often she replayed their time spent together, wondering if she had only done something different — said the right words — she might not be banished as a slave.

  No news of a family taking her in as a nursemaid had come to fruition, but she still clung to hope, despite Abby’s gloomy truths. Damon breathed lies.

  Some nights Brynn would forgo her studies and meticulous note taking and sing a few childhood lullabies in that sweet, soothing voice everyone hushed to hear.

  The room seemed extra quiet at present, as Brigid, the youngest of the group, had been sold and torn from the clutches of her friends earlier in the evening. Their numbers grew fewer as the ground froze over, the snow piling higher around the doorframes and fences. The women took to baking breads and making stews to sell at market now that the crops had long passed.