A Walk in the Black Forest

by K. A. M'Lady

  Glancing around the silent forest, she quickly finished untangling the last of the branches, jerking it loose from her sweater, snagging the soft yarn. Her only thoughts were of getting as far from the dark knight and this wretched consuming darkness as soon as possible. She needed a clear head and a plan to find a way back to civilization.

  Picking up her pace, she started to jog through the woods, the path below her feet quickly becoming obscured as the forest floor became a blur of weeds and roots. Apprehension flowed through her with each breath she took, causing her to go faster.

  Glancing wildly into the darkness, the shadows grew more menacing. Her jog quickly turned to a run. She couldn’t escape the feeling of danger enveloping her. Every scary movie she had ever watched whipped her mind into a frenzy, her fear spurring her on. She dodged and jumped limbs and roots as she sped further away from the camp. She ran deeper into the forest, deeper into the darkness that was settling in the arms of the trees like the outstretched hands of evil.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. A tattoo-like thunder pounded in her ears. Her lungs were straining as she slowed her pace, unable to catch her breath quickly enough to keep the stitch from forming in her side. Gabriella stopped beside a large tree, her hand clutched to her aching body, the bark rough beneath her fingers. She leaned over to inhale much-needed breaths. A large hand clamped over her mouth, hauling her against a hard chest, holding her tightly in place. She started to struggle and scream, but couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. Panic followed, her pulse throbbing more profoundly in her chest as if it would force itself from her body.

  Her attacker pulled her tightly against him, muffling the sounds of her protest beneath his hand. He whispered softly in her ear, “Are you this wild amidst the bedding, demoiselle,” a hint of devilry in his voice. Her form instantly stilled.

  His breath swept softly across her senses. Gabriella tilted her head back and glanced up into the swirling gray of his eyes. She could see the humor etched on his brow as he looked down at her. Her heart pounded in her ears and she swore she could feel the blood flowing through her every vein. He slowly moved his hand from her mouth and cradled her face in his large thick fingers. His touch was soft, gentle as he caressed her cheek. Her breath caught as he slowly leaned forward, a fraction of an inch, the merest whisper separating them, his eyes upon her lips. His intent was clearly marked; hunger gleamed in his eyes as time stood still.

  Gazing down at her, his eyes setting her soul on fire, her lips parted hesitantly, spellbound by his need as well as her own. God help her, she wanted him to kiss her. Wanted it more than she’d wanted anything in her life. His silvery eyes were mesmerizing, his dark hair glimmering in shards of moonlight through the openings of the trees. Desire raced through her.

  * * * * * *

  Her lithe, sleek form molded against him, his own desire threatening to send him up in flames as he turned her in his arms, his hands spanning the width of her small waist. Damon knew he toyed with danger, but could not bring himself to release her. Her soft, trim body beckoned a man’s caress, her lush full lips begged to be tasted. Madness, his conscience whispered. Yet he could not deny himself her bounty. He didn’t know where it was she came from, nor, at this moment, did he truly care. The fact was that she was here, now, in his arms, and like a starving man, he needed sustenance.

  His head slowly lowered. Her eyes glistened like the green of woodlands. Her fingers clutched his forearms. His fingers clung to her waist, clutching then unclenching, his lips but a mere breath from hers. He halted in mid-intention. Aye, he wanted her. But again, his conscience warned that he did not know enough about her. He could not afford to end with a knife in his back because he let his desire control him. Gradually, almost methodically, the sounds of the forest cascaded over them. With great resignation, he slowly slid Gabriella’s body down his own before her feet landed on solid ground.

  She was slightly stunned as she looked up into his eyes, a question clearly marking her brow. She was plainly confused as to why he had retreated, for clearly it was a retreat. Each of them knew if he had wanted her, there was no one to keep him from taking what he had so obviously craved.

  * * * * * *

  She watched his jaw clench as he fought to bring himself back under control. Her own pulse still raced and disappointment clung in the air between them like some silent specter of need. Fleetingly her thoughts of escape drifted back into her memory as the moment faded like the last tiny granule of sand in glass measuring the time. The air around them hummed with need, an unslakable need, reminding her why she had to get away from him.

  The rationalization was stronger now than ever as she glanced from his eyes to his mouth, then back to his eyes. Softly, like the flutter of the wind on butterfly wings, she whispered the one thought that still lingered. “Who are you?”

  He smiled wryly.

  It transformed his face into the unrelenting beauty that would be the envy of any mythological god.

  He stepped back and gracefully bowed. “My apologies, demoiselle,” he stated, his voice once again gruff, his demeanor that of the warrior. “Lord Damon DeGracey, The Dragon of Blackmoor.”

  Gabriella stood slack-jawed, openly gaping. Her thin veil of reality had lost a few more strands as memories from her time at the inn came crashing back over her like waves upon the rocks. Her wits scattered and she closed her mouth with a snap. For the first time that she could remember, she was utterly and entirely speechless.

  With an arched brow, he quizzically gazed down into her stunned eyes, the silence stretching between them.

  Moments passed, both viewing each other in silent contemplation. The surrealism was broken as an arrow whirled past Damon and landed in the tree just above Gabriella’s head, just beyond his shoulder. The thwack vibrated between them with a force like thunder, the insanity of the moment lost. Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled her to the opposite side of the tree and pulled his sword silently from its sheath.

  Gabriella stared in amazement at the massive sword gripped tightly in his hand. It didn’t appear quite as huge as it did before, now that he held it in his capable hands. The blade still glowed in the moonlight, and the symbols were easily discernible.

  * * * * * *

  Attuning his warrior senses, Damon scanned the forest just past the tree line. He could see nothing beyond the unrelenting darkness. The forest grew quiet, danger resonating from deep within its dark recesses. Then he heard the familiar sound of a night owl echoing through the night. With his own three-note reply resounding through the silence, he turned to Gabriella. “Stay here and do not move,” he ordered, knowing his rough warning skated along her nerves.

  He could feel her pulse racing where his fingers were wrapped around her wrist. When she continued to look up at him, barely registering his command, Damon titled her chin and peered into the confusion of her eyes. “We will finish this conversation when I return,” he whispered, and then he was gone, vanishing into the darkness like a ghost of the night.

  * * * * * *

  She stood with her back rigid and palms pressed flat against the tree, her thoughts tumbling relentlessly. She was in shock. Plain and simple. But it’s not simple at all, her befuddled mind chided. It was too unbelievable for words. Lord Damon DeGracey. She was thoroughly beginning to question her sanity. The Dragon of Blackmoor…If he is here, then that would mean that…and the sword…

  Madness. Pure madness. How can I be in eleventh century England? More importantly, why? Does it really matter? She had always wondered what it would be like to live in this time. Knights and ladies, Kings and maidens. Her heart fluttered at the fancy of her thoughts. All she needed to complete this incredible day was a real live dragon. A big ferocious man-eating dragon. Gabriella snorted at the ridiculousness of it all. Wasn’t he that very dragon? And yet, haven’t I always wanted my very own knight-errant? It seemed she now had the opportunity for both, and she vaguely wondered if the hows and whys were all that important.
>
  Now that he wasn’t in her immediate vision, she could try to sort out her thoughts. Logical decisions with logical plans. She knew that without help she wouldn’t last a day alone in the woods. She didn’t know how to hunt and she would definitely need food and shelter. Not to mention that she had no idea where she was or in which direction she needed to be going.

  Besides, this was her true chance to study this time period. To study these people and their way of life. To know their survival.

  If he could assist her in these areas, who was she to argue? Fate obviously had other plans for her, and until those plans were revealed, she was stuck– stuck in the backcountry of ancient Britannia. Whether or not she was truly in the past, she could not sort out at this time. The fatality of it all was too immense. And, with so much danger and uncertainty, it wouldn’t do her any good to continue wandering about the countryside alone. Arrows flying through the air and people trying to kill her certainly proved that point.

  Although, if this is a reenactment of some type, why then are people shooting arrows at us? Don’t they know someone could get hurt, or killed even? However, the probability of the alternative was not something she wanted to continue to consider.

  Chapter Eight

  Damon silently crept through the underbrush, searching for the arrow’s owner. He was unprepared for the feeling of worry that overwhelmed him when he thought about any harm coming to Gabriella. It had been a long time since he felt anything other than the basest of needs for a woman. Maybe I’ve gone too long without one. Daft, I’ve surely grown daft.

  Shaking his head as if he could throw off his needs and worries, he continued his silent conversation. I will have no choice but to set her from me or at least keep her at a distance until I learn more about her. Aye, I want her. A saint would want her, and I am surely no saint. But if this need becomes too strong, I will take what is mine and she will have no choice but to tell me all of her secrets. I will find out where it is she is from and what her loyalties are, and this worry be damned!

  Was she to be caught and then later escape? Was she to entice him enough that he would follow where she led him? Perhaps straight into an ambush? If this was the plan, it seemed to be working. Annoyance quickly infused his mind, his every muscle clenching. Damn women! Always the cause of folly. He crept further into the forest.

  To be certain, he had been witness to much treachery and death in his lifetime. He had seen the bodies that littered the ground. Smelled the fester and rot related with death. Felt the blackness pour into his lungs like a plague as it marred every man’s soul that had witnessed any type of destruction. These were treacherous times. But Damon refused to succumb to a mere slip of a woman and her treachery. This was the only course that he could follow if he wished to keep his wits and quite possibly, his life. I am The Dragon, and I can and will control my baser needs. With this decision firmly made, he crept to the base of an adjacent tree.

  The night had come to life around him. Dark shadows pooled around every tree. He could feel the earth’s energy just below the quiet settling of squirrels and crickets, birds and snakes, as if all the forest knew that darkness was waiting. His hand curved around the handle of his sword. With eyes like the wolf, piercing and knowing, he scanned the forest.

  He took a small comfort knowing that for now, Gabriella was safe where he’d left her. Where he’d almost kissed her. His brain seized on that moment as he looked out into the forest. “God help her if she’s led me into a trap,” he growled, watching the shadows dance in the underbrush.

  He heard the call of a night owl, then two quick notes following, which meant the enemy was near. He and Tanak had perfected this communication over the years of warring. There were many times they had used it, and were able to rout out their enemy from the deep hidden burrows.

  Scanning the deep pockets of shadows near him, Damon noticed a bedraggled individual in rough-worn leathers crouching near a tree just a few yards away. His face was dirty and his clothing showed signs of the darker hues of old dried blood. Spittle clung to his lips and madness gleamed in his eyes.

  Where there is one enemy, there was always another, Damon thought peevishly, his instincts too honed to ignore the warning. He tossed a stone into the bushes near the man’s feet, causing him to look up wildly, his gaze darting here and there, searching the surrounding foliage, his hands white-knuckled gripping his sword.

  Damon stood slowly and moved to the front of the tree. Startled at the appearance of the black demon, the man flew at Damon in a mad-capped rage, bellowing a crazed battle cry, the sound of caged lunacy echoing in the darkness. Damon stood solidly, like a huge, immovable mountain, his own sword held loosely in his hand, waiting for the attack. Their swords clashed as Damon shoved him, slamming him back into a gnarled tree.

  The man’s yell had brought two more rebels out of the brush, forming a semi-circle around Damon, each one thinking they would kill their foe. Tanak had flushed his own band of scum from the forest to join with the others. They now stood back to back, their swords held firmly before them.

  “‘Tis like old times, my friend,” Tanak said, a smile on his lips and a gleam in his opaque eyes.

  “Aye,” Damon replied, the remembrance of several tavern skirmishes and chance rebel meetings across the great realm had put them in similar situations before. “Shall we cleanse this forest of vermin?” he asked dangerously. With a curt nod to the nearest rebel Damon beckoned him forward. Their swords clashed in the stillness, causing the birds to take flight from the trees.

  Methodically, he and Tanak fought off the attacks, quickly striking down each man in turn as it were no great feat to battle with three to one odds. Bodies littered the ground, and blood pooled at their feet.

  “We seem to be leaving an endless supply of dead men in our wake,” Tanak stated, casually scanning the rebels.

  Damon merely grunted and knelt to search the bodies, hopeful that one would have something useful on him that might lead them to their leader.

  “Tell me,” Tanak quizzed, “did she lead them to us, or did they merely follow our trail?”

  Damon simply stared at the dead rebels while pondering Tanak’s question, hanging heavy like a great black storm in the making. His jaw ticked in aggravation. “I know not,” he replied gruffly, his eyes narrowing. “It appears the lady has many questions to answer.” He gave the dead men a final glance as he moved to return to where he had left her.

  * * * * * *

  Gabriella crouched down behind the tree for what seemed like an eternity. Surely I’ve sat here for at least an hour, she thought, twinges in her muscled beginning to spike up her limbs. Her legs were starting to go numb and she was sure that when she stood, she would no longer be able to feel her feet. Cautiously, she peered around the side of the tree. From what she could see in the darkness, Damon was nowhere in sight.

  The forest held an eerie silence. There was no chirping of crickets or any other creatures. The birds did not sing, and she couldn’t hear the flap of any tiny wings. Slowly she stood and leaned against the tree, waiting for her blood to continue its journey in a rush down her legs as it gave her feeling back to her toes. She was stiff, worried and, she realized, alone. Again.

  Peering around the tree one more time, in hopes of catching sight of Damon, she still couldn’t see anything but the greens and browns of forest, the leaves stretching endlessly before her. She wondered if she should return to the camp, or go in search of him. He had told her to stay where she was, but the suspense was getting old, and if he was injured, then maybe she could help him.

  Quickly making a decision to find him, she turned one last time to glance around and see if she could see him returning through the darkness. Confirming there was no sight of him in the immediate area, she turned to go in the direction she thought he had gone and slammed into a wall of muscle and leather.

  Her breath left her in a whoosh, causing her to stagger backward a step. A large, callused hand grabbed her arm to ste
ady her. She looked up into Damon’s storm-gray eyes. He glared down at her in silent fury, his strength burning through her arm where he tightly held her in his grasp. Confusion and fear washed over her. Dumbfounded by his accusing eyes and glancing frantically around the clearing, Gabriella tried to pull free of his hold.

  “Searching for someone, milady?” he asked callously, his voice reflecting the contempt in his eyes.

  “What is wrong with you?” Her brows bunched in confused agitation. “Let go,” she demanded, pulling away. The pressure increased on her arm, his anger vibrating through his hand and into her limbs. She knew that if he did not loosen his grasp that she was sure to be bruised.

  “Wrong, she asks? Let me see,” he said, gripping her arm tighter as he pulled her closer to him. “Should I begin with the fact that in the last fortnight I have killed more men than I did during the entire battle at Hastings? Or, the wee fact that I’ve stumbled upon a woman, who has somehow appeared out of nowhere like a pixie in a glen? A woman whom I’ve now spent the last hour traipsing through the forest after in her attempt to escape from me?” His voice growled low in aggravation. “Let me not forget the small detail of an ambush in said forest. And she questions what is wrong?” His voice echoed with barely contained restraint. Its thrum coursed through the forest causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end.

  “Tell me, milady,” he continued, “who paid you to lure me into this forest? Who paid you to try to seduce me, then lead me to my death?” He stood before her, one hand wrapped firmly around her arm, the other wrapped tightly in the front of her shirt. His hips and spine were rigid with his annoyance, a mere breath separating them.

  She stared at the hard edge of his jaw, watched it begin to tick in rhythm with the pulsing of her heart. Gabrielle watched the play of emotions roll across his features, his lips a thin line of fury. She wondered how the lips that she had so recently wanted to kiss, that had held her enthralled but moments before, could now spew such accusations at her.