“I shall do no such thing,” he said, his eyes ablaze. “And milord should never have asked it, for it is a despicable, unworthy act which he asks.”
Rypon’s eyes lit up, their expression rife with renewed vigor. He was not used to being challenged in his house, and seemed invigorated by the stimulation.
“What is this?” he barked, his tone scandalized. “Refused a request by my own nephew, whom I raised from a wean? Whom I fed from my own table and treated as my own? A request that would surely help all in this great house of my ancestors!”
Ascelin allowed the combination of guilt and intimidation to burn through him, without changing his resolution. The old man’s jaw shook as he spoke again, trembling with rage; clearly furious that his ploy for control wasn’t working.
“You shall do it, boy. I say you shall,” Lord Rypon growled, spittle flying. “You shall bring trouble upon this house otherwise, AND UPON YOURSELF, I daresay! That... girl... shall not escape her fate, no matter what you do! And if you defy me, you shall be leveled along with her! I tell you, if you refuse me, you shall be sorely reviled in this house, and all the country hereabouts. None shall shelter you! Do you understand?! You shall be as the most heinous of outcasts!”
The heat of the fire made Ascelin sweat. It was burning his face, making him hot and dizzy. Though he couldn’t know for sure, it seemed likely that most of this was merely a threat; a bluff to shock him into compliance. For, despite the benefits his uncle purported to gain from the sale, he sensed this plot was a sham, a game; one orchestrated to toy with him more than anything, whispered into Rypon’s ears by his cousin Geoffrey. The old man was growing too senile to have come up with it alone.
“I cannot do it uncle,” he replied gravely, “I shall not. If your sons would hatch heinous, cowardly plots, let them act out the particulars.”
Rouland and Geoffrey perked up at this, their expressions offended, but excited at the opportunity to justifying themselves from behind the wall of their father’s fury. Their mouths fell open, gasping in air to fuel their arguments.
“This is preposterous father,” cried Geoffrey. “The boy won’t do as he’s told! Doesn’t he know what a powerful lord you are?”
“How dare he father,” Rouland whined pitifully at the same time.
But the old man’s countenance had hardened. He glared with a venomous implacability that seemed to know exactly what was needed.
“You’ll do it, boy,” Lord Rypon growled, his tone menacing, “Or someone else will. Perhaps I’ll send the whole company of men along. To... see her off. And what a merry party they shall be.”
Ascelin’s gut clenched, but his brow held firm.
“Milord would act in such a manner,” He asked, his voice hard. “To an innocent girl?”
“Aye,” Lord Rypon growled, his eyes darkening. “And why should I not? I am lord here! I, and no other! I shall please myself and serve my own will! Who shall oppose me?”
Ascelin could see that he was backed into a corner. Resist, and he put the girl at risk. He was an accomplished fighter, but he couldn’t fight off all of his uncle’s men at once while guarding her. He could run, taking the girl with him. But it would be difficult in this country, for Wyndill’s men knew him by sight, and were stationed throughout the roads and forest lands. If Wyndill’s men were against him, and his own uncle as well, what chance would he pose, carrying a wounded girl through the wilderness? Very little chance. And the cruelty of the punishment that would fall on both of them upon their inevitable capture would be merciless, one that neither would recover from.
He stood fevered with anger and the sober choices he must make, knowing what words he must say but loathing to say them. His uncle watched, deteriorated in body but ferocious in spirit, his stubbornness unabated. Just then, two of his uncle’s men stormed into the hall.
“What is this?” Lord Rypon raged, “How dare you interrupt this audience! Go back and wait ‘til you’re called.”
“But milord,” the man protested cautiously, his chest heaving and his clothing splattered with mud. “There’s trouble on milord’s lands. Wyndill’s men attack at the eastern slopes. Word is they come for the girl. They mean to take her by force, rather than pay milord for the exchange.”
Lord Rypon uttered a low moan that sounded more like a growl while Geoffrey circled his father’s chair, swatting furniture with his fists like an angry child.
“They are a vast company milord,” the man continued. “Wyndill sends his full force down through the eastern slope, our weakest point. And he has already killed many of milord’s men. We escaped narrowly,” he gestured back to his companion who was sulking in the doorway. “But Bardick says as we still have a chance, if allowed to act quickly, using milord’s full force.”
“Aye,” Rypon barked. “Tell Bardick to act as his best judgement dictates. Defend us no matter the cost!”
Guy could tell that by “us” his uncle’s meant himself and his sons, not his tenants, soldiers or staff who would likely be killed in the process. Geoffrey and Rouland, in the meantime, were flitting about the room in a panic, striking out at each other like children. Lord Rypon turned expectantly on Ascelin.
“Go and meet Bardick,” he commanded Ascelin.
“And sons!” he growled in an effort to stop their fussing. “Go and make yourselves useful for once!”
~
Maryone awoke from feverish dreams to the sound of men rushing about the lodge. Footsteps tramped heavily in the corridor and down on the main floor. Men shouted in fretful tones, ordering each other; while the crash of men suiting themselves with armor and weaponry interjected among the din. Her jailer was gone and she noticed, to her shock, that the door to the chamber was slightly ajar. Light crept in from outside, a mere sliver showing around the jagged edges of the oak door. Despite the fear of being left alone in an unlocked room where any might molest her person, she could tell the men were preoccupied with other things entirely.
The fire had burned down low. She sat up dizzily on the edge of the bed, holding her head, realizing the pain of her injuries had subsided quite a bit. Standing up, she found her feet a bit wobbly. The hardwood was caked in dust beneath her bare feet. She made her way across the rough surface to the open door, where she peered out. Men passed through the corridor sporadically, fussing and hurrying, decked for battle. They were armed to the teeth, and definitely not to be trifled with. But they passed by indifferently, without noticing her.
The world around her felt painted with a strange, surreal light. She felt as if she was being carried on the wings of something, that something significant was happening. It was as if she was floating, dwelling outside of herself, removed from the concerns of her mind that usually dictated her decisions. Her father was dead. Everything she knew was gone and hundreds of miles away. Nothing felt real anymore. Nothing felt significant. And the beastly men of this house had shown themselves to be no one she wished to dwell with - men who cared nothing for her safety or happiness, who toyed with her life as if it meant nothing. She was an object here, nothing more. There was no purpose in staying any longer, and her strange mood made leaving feel immediately possible. But, only possible if she took this chance, for it seemed it wouldn’t come again.
Whatever lay beyond these walls didn’t matter. Even the savage unknown held more hope for her than a life of imprisonment here, held captive to the indignities these men put her through, living at the mercy of their whims and whatever they might decide to steal from her next. Whatever parts of her sanity, dignity and pride were left, she must steal away with now. For, who knew what they’d turn her into, or force her to do, if she tarried.
She cared little for her survival anymore. There was little chance for it anyway, whether she stayed or not. Like a ghost she walked back into the room, mesmerized by the fire’s flames, watching them for some time, her mind adrift in strange visions. Mechanically, she dressed herself, finding various items about the room to gird herself with. Th
e clothes were simple and rough, but would protect her from the elements. She covered every surface of her skin, including her hair, tucking the small amount of food left in the room inside her clothing. It was little more than stale bread, but it might do her some good. Beyond that, she held no thoughts for the future.
She moved silently into the deserted corridor, slight as a specter. A stillness had come after all the tumult of the riled men, one she hoped to steal away on. She crept down the main stair, watching for stragglers, but none passed by, and so she walked directly out the front door and down the steps, surprised at how easy it was. The courtyard was deserted, except for a few straggling stable boys who were seeing to their duties, indifferent to her passing. The courtyard, too, felt as if a great commotion had just taken place and departed, leaving the space gutted.
She crossed the muddied courtyard, shivering at the sight of the post where she’d been tied and tortured. A shaking took her hands, and her heart beat heavy as she passed it. So she averted her eyes, hoping never to see it again. Before long, she found solace in the cool, still forest. She felt safer here, even if she was not; comforted by the chirping birds and the sound of the wind blowing gently through damp leaves. She was reminded somewhat of home, and could almost pretend she was back there already; safe on her father’s land, soon to see his face by a warm fire. That was what she would do, envision being home until it was so. Or perish on the way.
She wandered south, looking to the position of the sun as her guide. If her studies had taught her anything that could be useful in this situation, it was how to navigate by the sun, moon and stars.
She hobbled on like a beggar, her head covered by a cape. Rain patted down gently upon it as her feet sunk into soft ground, listening carefully for the approach of man or animal. Like a wandering dreamer she drifted across a barren landscape as the light faded.
~
Fumbling through the woods was no longer pleasant, for night had fallen and the cries of wild beasts, including the howl of wolves, could be heard in the distance. Wolves feasted on people, and she would be a most easily acquired snack, being both wounded and unarmed. She’d been reared a lady, and knew little more than what could be learned from her father’s books; none of which included how to find food or water in the wild, save to happen upon someone who might trade with her. So, after hours of wandering travel, she was weary, hungry and feeling quite lost. She crouched at the foot of a particularly inviting tree trunk, hoping her cloak would conceal her from any predators, man or beast. But then, looking up into the silhouetted boughs of the tree against a starry sky, she decided to climb the barked surface and take refuge above ground, realizing she’d be much safer. It was dark and her progress was wet and frustrating, scratching her hands and catching her garments on her boots as she tried to gain footing. The jarring movements provoked her injuries, and her way was painful and vexing. But eventually, she found her way into the thick branches of the tree, where she took awkward respite at an acute angle against the trunk. At least it was safer than the ground, where any roaming beast might happen upon her.
She shivered there in the dark, realizing, rather viscerally, the danger she’d put herself in. All about these woods were drunken soldiers and thieves, brigands who cared nothing for decency. After the barbary she’d experienced in Lord Rypon’s house, she shuddered to think what could happen out here in the wild. Truly, for all the brutality one might find in the south, these northern lands were a wasteland of wretchedness. And a girl on her own, without escort, weapon or shelter - she tried not to think too long on her prospects.
When she’d finally calmed her fears a bit, along with the aching of her muscles, the night held a tantalizing beauty. Owls hooted, crickets sang and the moon came out from behind the clouds, showing it’s crescent against shapely clouds. Once or twice she heard the sound of something fumbling through underbrush. She remained silent and before long the noises faded away, revealing neither man nor beast.
At daybreak she was cold, exhausted and sore; desperate for a warm bed and something to eat. The dew had soaked through her clothing, and she was damp and freezing. But she found some hope in the inherent optimism of the new day, knowing that movement would warm her and the freshness of the forest morning would revive her.
Once on the ground, she crushed through dewy greenery, taking small nibbles of the bread she’d packed, eating very little to conserve her stores. Strange pops and cries sounded far in the distance, as if many people were gathered together. She didn’t know what it was, nor did she care overmuch, but it seemed prudent to stay away. She wasn’t far enough from Rypon’s lands to trust anyone she might fumble upon. She was certainly suspicious of the ease with which she’d escaped. She wondered if at any moment someone might jump out of hiding and attack her. But surely, what reason would any of Rypon’s men have for allowing her to escape and travel so far before doing so? She could think of no logical motive for anyone to act such a fool. For if they wished to do her harm, they didn’t require privacy; that much she’d learned.
She continued on as the light grew brighter, the hunger pangs in her stomach weakening her body and clouding her thoughts. But the forest hereabout was easier to traverse, with little shrubbery over the ground. She moved south, ever watchful for roads or signs of life.
Midday arrived, and she stopped in a hollow to eat, feeling terribly weak. The effects of travel with very little to eat, after spending weeks in bed nursing injuries, were making themselves felt. Even her uninjured muscles weren’t up to the task. But the hollow was very restful, for it was particularly silent, with barely a bird chirping. It gave her confidence to know she’d hear anyone coming from far off. So, she sat down on some soft-looking moss and rested her head against a wall of piled stones, it’s cool dustiness rough beneath her ear as she reeled with fatigue. She stayed for quite awhile, perhaps too long; but her weariness made it absolutely necessary. She simply could not move faster or longer than her body would allow, and knew it wouldn’t do to exhaust herself.
After three quarters of an hour, she felt somewhat rested, so got up and dusted off her garments. They were rough and of a grayish color - hideous to her mind, but serviceable. Hopefully, they’d deflect any unwanted suitors. As she stood, a rook burst from a nearby bush and flew away as if frightened. She looked up and saw Ascelin standing several yards away, on the edge of the hollow, his hand on his sword. She gasped, her body freezing as she took in the large shape of him. She began to shake and panic at the sight, alarmed both by the threat of his wrath and the possibility of being dragged back to that horrible house. She knew she couldn’t bear it, and would prefer a quick death here instead. For a split second, she wondered if he truly did mean to murder her. Though she knew such a fate to be better than torture, her body trembled and her breath came short. He terrified her, but warmed her somehow; like standing too near a fire. This heat pounded within her, making it hard to look into his face, and spurring her on to run in terror.
So, she reacted with flight, a burst of motion carrying her across the hollow in a manic movement. He moved with her, barely trying, making expert chase. With each step he nearly pulled her back by her garments. She ran desperately, harder than she should; wishing above all never to go back to that house that felt, to her, like hell. But his feet were quick, his boots slamming the soft ground skillfully with each stride.
He was faster than she, and before long, had grasped her around the waist with a thick forearm. She fussed and pulled at his grip, trying to shake him off, but to no avail. She was weak, and even at full strength, nowhere near a match for him. She screamed, and he shortly had one of his thick hands covering her mouth. She flailed and protested as violently as she could, but he held her firmly, showing he didn’t mean to let go. She gasped and flailed against his grip, desperate not to go back. Hot tears poured out her eyes and over his hands as the skin of her face heated. She was defeated. After a moment, she lay slack in his arms, splayed over his knees as he knelt on th
e ground. Despite her weariness, her heart beat like a drum and her breath came quick.
“Why,” she gasped, her voice wilted. “Can’t you let me go?”
His heavy eyelids were lowered and his mouth a straight line, holding the trace of a smirk. His eyebrows wished to lift, but held themselves steady, so as not to appear cruel in victory. He seemed certain of something as he looked down at her, a certainty that emanated from his chest. At his silence, she thought she was being mocked, and so fought against him once more, tugging against his grip. But, he was quick and agile, none of her movements seeming to surprise him. They were counteracted with expert moves of his own before she had the chance to make any headway against his tight hold. His jaw hardened as he restrained her, showing the only sign of strain.
His gaze was direct as ever, sharp as a sword’s edge, and set her to trembling. His eyes were so clear, they bore holes through her thoughts. Her struggling was fruitless, though she tried it subtly once more. With his skilled hand he reached down and grasped her jaw. Not soft like a caress, but not quite a threat either. He grasped her possessively. There was no question in it, only a statement. His eyes were steady and sure, without doubt. His thumb fumbled over her mouth roughly, moving her lips and skimming her teeth. Her heart throbbed violently, setting her whole body to shaking like she was surrounded by deep cold; though a burning had taken up residence in her chest and all through her neck like she was choking.
She felt her whole body was swimming, his warm fingers soothed and frightened her at once. His eyes were locked on hers. Before she knew it, he placed a kiss on her open, gasping mouth; and as she sighed, a near-grunt escaped his mouth at the same time. His face contorted as their mouths twisted together in desperate movements, their breath coming in gasps. Her mind gave up trying to understand what was happening. And as they moved, she arched her back to reach up for him, and her heart felt it would beat out of her chest. She trembled violently, so much that she couldn’t control herself. His hand found it’s way to the back of her head, where he grasped her hair in a jumbled bunch and held tightly. He forced her more deeply into the kiss now, and she didn’t hesitate. With his other hand he reached beneath her and lifted her body up to him. He leaned over her farther, his hair falling down around their faces. Their eyes met briefly between gasping kisses, only to lock on the other’s gaze, producing the same choking in their hearts over and over. She found that she was weeping, they both were, and trembling within the strange cloud of their passion.
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