A Walk in the Black Forest

by K. A. M'Lady

  Just when I was considering staying in this godforsaken back hills of a country, she thought vehemently. How could I even consider staying with him when he reverts into the egotistical, barbaric lunatic that he is? Aggravation flowed through her in a rush, all but turning her veins to ice and flashing like lightning in the solid green of her eyes.

  She stepped into him, their bodies touching in a single line, causing him to abruptly release her. Gabriella was invading the hell out of his space, but she didn’t care. Desire coursed through them both, but was quickly replaced by their anger, rippling in the air like a living thing. She looked up into his eyes and asked fiercely, “Are you calling me a whore?”

  “Aye, lady, a whore. A treacherous whore, at that. I will have my answers, lady, now.” His ‘now’ had a ring of finality to it, a certainty as to the outcome. He crossed his arms and glared down at her as if his height and width could intimidate her as he waited for her response.

  Her eyes narrowed in raw fury. It was only seconds before she gave into her rage. “Whore,” she bellowed. “How dare you call me a whore?” She was so angry that she had stepped into him completely, poking him in the chest. “If I recall, oh great knight, it was you who tried to kiss me, you who brought me to this wretched bit of forest, and you who ordered your men to take me from where you found me.”

  She took a deep breath and continued her tirade. “If I had any idea where I was, how I got here or knew who the hell those men were that were shooting arrows at us, and yes, I said us. I highly doubt that I would even consider telling you, since you have such a high opinion of me. But since I don’t know the answers to any of it, you, sir, can go to hell!”

  She stepped back away from him and turned sharply to walk away, her hair flinging into his face.

  She got two steps before he stopped her with a hand clasped firmly to her shoulder. He spun her back around so that she faced him once again. The wrath emanating from his narrowed eyes stopped any words she considered from leaving her mouth. Harshly, he pulled her into him and slammed his mouth over hers, kissing away any response from her lips. Then he hefted her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and strode briskly through the forest, back towards the camp.

  Rolling his eyes to the heavens, a smile on his lips, Tanak whispered, “May Allah preserve us from the wiles of beautiful women.” Sheathing his sword, he silently followed in Damon’s wake.

  Chapter Nine

  Damon deposited her none too gently on the ground by the fire that still burned at his campsite. Gabriella could only glare up at him as he stomped off to give his men their evening duties. Tanak then joined her by the fire, unrolling his pallet and settling in for the night.

  The rabbit still cooked over the slowly smoldering flames, and Gabriella’s stomach grumbled loudly as the scent of roasting meat permeated the air. It seemed like days since she’d last eaten, and she was famished. She took in the sight of the succulent fare as it popped and snapped above the flames.

  “You should eat now,” Tanak told her when her stomach began to grumble again.

  Gabriella just glared at him, too angry at Damon to even want to consider eating his food, despite her hunger. The emotional rollercoaster of the day was catching up with her, and she was functioning on fumes.

  “So be it,” he said, smiling at her willfulness. “But you will miss out on this tasty morsel of rabbit that I have prepared,” he said, carving off a golden piece of meat and making a show of biting into it.

  Gabriella’s stomach grumbled in agitation. Defiantly folding her arms across her belly, she slouched down. Wretched oaf of a man. Kidnap me and haul me through the woods like some sack of wheat. Who the hell does he think he is?

  “You should really try to eat something. It is a very long journey to Blackmoor and Lord Damon is a hard master. There will not be many stops where we will get warm food such as this,” Tanak said, cutting off another chunk of meat and offering it to her.

  She eyed it cautiously, wanting to take it. She was so hungry, but so mad she wanted to skip it altogether. Hunger finally won. “Thank you. I am rather hungry,” she said, reaching for the piece of rabbit he offered.

  “So I heard,” he laughed.

  Gabriella smiled.

  Tanak froze in mid-slice of the rabbit.

  “What?”

  “Do not smile at others. Damon will not like it.”

  “Your friend does not own me, you know,” she replied tartly.

  “You see, that is where you are wrong. You now belong to him. He decides your fate. Therefore, you are his,” Tanak told her matter-of-factly.

  Gabriella just stared at him as he handed her a haunch of rabbit. Taking it from him, her hunger overrode her willingness to argue the point. Damon would return to his camp, and she’d spell it out to him that he did not own her. If he wanted to argue with her, so be it. They could have another knock-down-drag-out fight.

  Time ticked by slowly in her anticipation to get their confrontation over with. It seemed like hours before Damon returned to his campsite. Gabriella sat leaning against the fallen log, slipping in and out of sleep. She was completely exhausted, and her head was still killing her. She’d kill for an aspirin right about now.

  Opening her eyes, she saw him watching her from across the campfire. His silver eyes, reflecting off the golden flames, sent jolts of electricity through her in a rush, instantly making her blood warm. She sat up and brushed her hair from her eyes, wincing as she came in contact with the matted blood that still clung in spots.

  “Hello.” She snapped her fingers in the air to get his attention.

  “Do you not cease your rambling?” he asked.

  “No, not when I want something,” Gabriella replied, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” she accused, caught in this situation numerous times before. And, since he continued to stare unabashedly at her without even realizing he was doing it—she smiled inwardly at the thought of distracting him.

  “Of course I heard you, woman. As well as half of the countryside,” he replied hotly.

  “Then what did I say?”

  Damon sat and looked at her across the flames, unsure how to respond. He glanced at Tanak for help, but by the smirk that appeared on his friend’s face, he would find no assistance there. He turned back to Gabriella and glared at her.

  She smiled. “I asked if you could take me to the stream to wash some of this blood out of my hair.”

  He stood abruptly and crossed the distance between them in three swift strides, pulling her to her feet without saying a word.

  The man truly has an effect on a woman’s senses, Gabriella thought wistfully as she followed him the short distance to a small stream in the forest near their campsite. The woods were eerily silent except for the small creatures stirring in their nests at their passing. The moon shone in soft shards of silver light through the ceiling of the forest, dancing on the top of the slow-moving stream.

  Reaching the water’s edge, Gabriella knelt down and trailed her fingers through the water’s surface. “Well, this is going to be a cold scrub.” she said, trying to lighten the moment. It had grown so quiet since they had left the others.

  * * * * * *

  Damon stood back from her and leaned against a tree. He watched, trying to calculate her next move as though he were planning another battle.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any soap with you, would you?” she asked, looking over to where he stood by the tree.

  “How did you come to be in the forest?” he asked. No preamble, just a simple straight on attack.

  And so the interrogation begins. He left the tree, retrieved something from his saddlebags and approach where she was kneeling.

  Pausing in front of her, he handed her a small bar of soap and a cloth with which to scrub her hair. Then he just stood over her. Menacingly. Hands upon his hips. Waiting for a response.

  Gabriella turned her back on him and set about trying to get the blood out of her hair. A mi
llion thoughts roamed through her mind. What the hell am I supposed to tell him? What the hell am I supposed to do? She knew that if she told him the truth, it could be very, very bad.

  He’ll never believe me. Burn me as a witch, that’s what he’ll do. Slit my throat, or find some other wretched way for me to die. Her mind began to wander with ways that he could torture the information out of her.

  Damon knelt down beside her. “What thoughts take you so far, lady?” he asked but a whisper away from her. His voice was so deep she could feel it in the pit of her stomach.

  Gabriella turned and was staring into the pooling silver of his eyes. Her lips parted on a breath.

  Damon was lost as soon as her deep green eyes met his. His lips reached hers, and his hands found themselves in the mass of her curls. He was a drowning man, stealing her final breath in the soft sigh of her kiss.

  She was kissing a god, and she never wanted it to end. Gabriella didn’t care if this was a dream or a nightmare. Just as long as it never stopped. His was the kiss of a master, and as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, nipping and stroking and tasting her as if she were a delectable wine. Desire rushed through her. She wanted him to drink his fill.

  She was on her back beneath him by the creek, lost in sensation and need, when a grunting, roaring sound broke through her mind. Trying to catch her breath, she pulled her lips from his and looked up. “Damon,” she whispered.

  “Shush, woman. We can speak later,” he told her, kissing a line of fire up the side of her neck.

  The grunting noise continued, quickly followed by a, “Milord.”

  Damon paused. “Bloody hell,” he groaned. He looked down at Gabriella’s face, taking in her swollen lips, her glazed eyes. “Merde,” he swore. Looking down into her eyes, he asked, “How did you come to be in the field?”

  Gabriella stared blankly up at Damon. A moment passed, and she realized what he had said. Glaring at him, she shoved him off her, dumping him on his backside. Standing up, she turned on him, saying, “You are an ass of extreme proportion, Damon DeGracey.” She stomped back towards the campsite. She was completely irate with Damon, and even more so with herself for being so stupid as to let him kiss her like that.

  What the hell were you doing, Gab? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Do not get involved with this man. You cannot stay here. You don’t belong here. You have got to find a way home. Before you do anything else just as stupid. Or get yourself killed. With her firm talk and herself under control, she made her way back to Damon’s campsite to find Tanak waiting. Damon was right behind her.

  “Do not think to leave this camp,” he told her sternly as he firmly guided her by the arm towards a pallet that had been made near the fire.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied sharply.

  “Good,” he told her.

  “Good,” she replied.

  Tanak smiled as he sat at his pallet, sharpening his sword.

  Damon pushed Gabriella down so that she was sitting on the pallet.

  “Go to sleep,” he ordered.

  “Fine. Gladly.” Then I won’t have to look at you anymore today. Or your tantalizing lips. Damn it!

  “Damn women and their endless trouble,” Damon growled, settling himself across the fire from Tanak.

  Gabriella lay down for the night on the surprisingly soft blankets of what had to be Damon’s own bedroll, listening to him mutter from across the fire. As she laid her head down, she watched him pull his sword from its scabbard to sharpen it. In the dying light of the fire, she could just make out the winged etching of the dragon, the crimson of its magnificent eye.

  Gabriella groaned inwardly. Damn it! How could I forget about the sword? That damn sword is going to be the death of me yet! She cringed. Closing her eyes, it was the last thing she saw as sleep finally overtook her.

  Chapter Ten

  Peacefulness surrounded her. Beneath her cloak, she was dry, warm, and felt completely safe for the first time in days, maybe even weeks. Her foggy mind floated in and out of reality until she woke with a start. The rain had finally dissipated to a slow drizzle, its scent washing the land clean, the dirt turning up with each trot of the horses, but it did not penetrate the layers of warmth that enveloped her.

  She blinked several times to clear the sleep from her eyes. She didn’t remember dozing off, and it took her a few moments to realize where she was. She was wrapped tenderly in the thick folds of Damon’s cloak, the fur lining keeping the rain from soaking through. The sway of his horse and the bone weariness from unrelenting travel had finally caught up to her. With the support of his arms wrapped around her, she had fallen asleep, tucked safely in the nook of his shoulder, her head resting against his heart.

  Gabriella stiffly sat up and put as much distance between their bodies as she could. The cloak had provided a barrier between her head and his armor. He had kindly tried to consider her comfort. It was unsettling—his kindness. What motive could he have?

  They had not spoken since she had slept the night on the ground near the fire in the pallet he provided her. It had smelled of sandalwood mixed with leather and the rich scent of his skin—male and earthy; it clung to the thick woven fibers, filling her senses.

  It was there now, mixed in the folds of his cloak. She had wrapped herself each night in his bedding in a futile attempt to stay warm. The cold ground had provided little comfort and she had slept fitfully each night of this journey, one dream chasing another. Days had passed that way. At least three that she could remember. It felt like weeks. How these men could stand this constant traveling, she did not understand.

  Every night, her dreams continued. Warriors chasing her on great dark steeds, rebels shooting arrows from the depth of the darkness...one nightmare carried her to the next throughout the fitful nights. Surprisingly, Damon had not tied her like she thought he would. He simply stated that she would be harmed severely if she tried to escape again. The certainty of this laced his threat with malevolence before he strode through the camp away from her. He kept as much distance between them as possible.

  By the time the first light of dawn merged across the darkened skies each morn, they broke camp. The skies remained cloud-filled and the countryside gray as the days brought no release from the continuous rain. Damon had allowed them to stop once during the endless days of travel and only then so that the horses could rest. A light repast of dry bread, cheese and the remaining meat from their small hunt the previous nights was quickly consumed before they were once more on their way. Three days had passed this way and the fourth was becoming just as tedious until the rain began to dissipate, making the travel go more quickly.

  Gabriella looked around in wonder as Damon led his horse, a great black beast matching the strength and beauty of his master, with easy skill through the craggy foothills they had entered. The great warhorse treaded gracefully over the uneven, rocky ground, his muscled form moving rhythmically despite bearing the weight of two riders.

  When darkness finally fell around them, Damon drew a halt to the day. He dismounted on sturdy legs that showed no weakness from the weight of his armor and the hours spent in the saddle. Gabriella looked at the ground and grudgingly wished she did not have to move in order to set her feet upon it.

  “Do you intend to stay there all night, demoiselle?” he asked, his voice flat, reflecting no emotion. He kept the horse’s reins in his hand, waiting for her to dismount.

  Sighing, she looked from the ground to his slate gray eyes, and back. Determined not to show any weakness, she braced her hands against the saddle and slid to the ground. As soon as her feet touched the muddy earth, her legs buckled. She would have fallen had he not reached forward and held her up. His hands were a warm, strong contrast to the weakness she felt flow through her, causing her to tremble.

  Damon said nothing to her, but stared into her eyes. She trembled beneath his touch. His hands spanned the width of her small waist; softness personified in the gentle curves beneath his fingers.


  No matter how strong their desire for each other, he would not succumb to his baser needs. His loyalty to his men and his King would come before any of his own yearnings.

  Moments passed before he set her from him, only then reluctantly taking his gaze from her face. “Do not stray from the camp, milady. My men may not be as gentle in their return of you as would I or Tanak.” His whispered words were a subtle command.

  He led his horse away to be tethered with the others. He removed the saddle himself and wiped down the horse’s sides with a gentle touch and soothing words of appreciation. Man and beast were much alike.

  Twigs and branches were gathered for fires and weary horses tended to. Gabriella watched while Damon set about issuing his orders for the night. Staying near the fire that Tanak had quickly built, she watched as the many warriors went about their business of settling the camp.

  The night passed, and the warriors settled into their pallets. Damon neared the fire, his massive sword held loosely in his hand where it gleamed in the firelight. He sat by Tanak, who seemed to never be far from Gabriella’s side as though his one task was to guard her. Damon sat and silently began sharpening his sword.

  Gabriella stared in awe. He slid his sword against the whetstone, it sharpness gleaming through the flames. She had seen many swords in her studies. Had held ancient weapons from different cultures all around the world. She had held this sword in her own hands, studied the etchings under close scrutiny. She knew that even her father had done his own research, or as much as time had allowed him, of the exact sword that Damon now methodically sharpened.

  The authenticity of his weapon was stamped into her consciousness. There was no way a man play-acting this time period could afford a weapon such as this. There was no way to re-create a weapon to this perfection. The steel was clearly folded and hand beaten. The etchings swirled down its length and a ruby bigger than her thumb was encased in the hilt of the massive sword. Just as it had been when she had held it in her hands in her hotel room.