Sold Into Marriage

by Sue Lyndon

  As he drifted into unconsciousness, he heard a noise on the other side of the tent. Blinking, he rose up on his elbows, assuming it was probably Norm rekindling the braziers. But the side of the tent glowed with flames. The heat hit him in the next moment, and then the smoke billowed toward him, burning his eyes and his throat.

  Chapter Five

  Meadow blinked, trying to wake up. Her surroundings were a blur of colors. Why were men shouting? Why did her throat burn? Why were her eyes watering so much, making it difficult to see? Perhaps she was dreaming. She stopped trying to wake up and settled into the warmth surrounding her, but the shouts rose in volume and someone started shaking her.

  “Meadow! Meadow! Wake up, damn you!”

  Her eyes shot open, and she found herself staring up at Varron. She was bundled in the fur covering from his bedroll, but they were outside and he was carrying her. She looked up at the moon and stars. Judging from the moon’s position, it was after midnight. Why was everyone shouting? She tried to look around but found it difficult with Varron running so fast.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Several tents were set ablaze, including ours.” He finally put her down on the ground, just on the edge of the forest, amidst a gathering of armed men. She recognized Norm and several of the other young soldiers, as well as some of the men who had captured her during her attempted thievery. “Stay here. My men will keep you safe.”

  “Where are you going?” She clutched the fur around her and stared at the flames rising on the hill. At least a dozen tents had been set on fire. But why? She shuddered to think of the reason. Someone had wanted to hurt, perhaps kill, the soldiers. She knew many of the villagers from Monnaka didn’t care for King Baltus or his soldiers, but no one had ever attempted to harm any of them. The villagers paid their taxes, albeit grudgingly, but had never before challenged the crown beyond a small, peaceful protest during tax collection time.

  “Stay here,” Varron repeated, more firmly this time. “I must help put the flames out and hunt down the scoundrel who set the fires.”

  Norm drew his sword, smaller than the one Varron and the older soldiers carried, and stood bravely next to Meadow. “I will keep the lady safe, sir.”

  “See that you do. I’m leaving half of the soldiers here, just in case.” Varron took off then, running up the hill with half of his troop accompanying him.

  Norm thrust a canteen of water into her hands. Eager to soothe the burning in her throat, she drank the whole thing. Tall shadows moved around the flames as the men quickly put the fires out. She hoped no harm came to Varron. Her heart raced and her anxiety increased.

  She sat down on a blanket Norm had placed upon the ground and prayed for her husband’s safe return. The hours passed far too slowly. Her heart ached at the thought of him getting hurt. Someone wanted him and the other soldiers dead, not just harmed. Setting over a dozen tents aflame wasn’t a prank or a minor protest against the crown, by any means. It was practically an act of war.

  She considered all the villagers she knew and tried to guess the responsible party. Not just one man, she supposed, but several, given the number of fires that had been set. Vaguely, she wondered if her stepfather had any involvement. He’d been more outspoken against the crown than most, though she’d always thought it was because he hated using any money he might spend on mead on taxes.

  “You can sleep if you’d like, milady,” Norm said, clutching his sword. He looked eager for a challenge. The other young soldiers and half of the troop that had been left behind was crowded around her, talking quietly amongst themselves while keeping alert and constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger.

  “I can’t sleep until he returns, but thank you, Norm. Wh-who do you think set the fires?”

  “Likely a few disgruntled villagers from Monnaka. Our scouts would have spotted foreign enemies entering the territory. I suspect Commander Varron will have the group of misfits rounded up and ready to be hanged by the early morning.”

  A chill descended on Meadow. She knew her new husband had probably killed his share of men during battle, but she had never considered him meting out justice in the form of a public hanging. He’d been so gentle and patient with her, it was difficult to reconcile that he would sentence the arsonists to death. She gulped past the lump that had formed in her throat and wished this night nothing but a bad dream.

  The dispatched soldiers began returning one at a time to her group as the sun rose, but still there was no sign of Varron. She wanted to approach one of the returning soldiers and inquire about her husband’s well-being, but she feared the answer too much, so she stayed on her blanket. She clutched the fur around her shoulders and kept her gaze trained on the hill. Praying. Always praying.

  The soldiers brought the horses and what supplies could be salvaged from the camp back with them, as well as a few cargo wagons. She recognized Varron’s trunk, because it had a unique carving on the side. He’d placed the belongings he’d retrieved from her home in the trunk last night, but she didn’t care about her dresses and her other few belongings. She only cared about Varron. What was taking so long?

  A loud drumming noise floated down from the village. She shot Norm a questioning look. The young soldier’s expression grew somber.

  “Just as I suspected. A hanging is taking place. The commander has caught those responsible for the fire.”

  Meadow felt colder and colder as she waited. She’d never known violence herself and had certainly never witnessed a hanging. She hadn’t been happy here in Monnaka, especially under her stepfather’s constant verbal abuses, but she’d been living in virtual ignorance of the evils of men. She’d never witnessed a war or any kind of battle, or a violent protest, only heard the stories. It chilled her to think that the world could be so dangerous.

  Relief filled her when she spotted Varron making his way down the hill, accompanied by the rest of his men. Because of his height—he was taller than any of his soldiers—it was easy to spot him. As he neared, she shuddered at the cold, hard look in his eyes. He glanced at her and then glared at his men. They all fell silent and stood straighter under his watchful eye.

  “Mount your horses. We leave now for Himma,” he shouted.

  Meadow said nothing as Varron helped her onto his horse. He mounted behind her and took the reins.

  She didn’t recognize the man who’d come down the hill. He seemed cold and radiated fury. Fear kept her from asking how many people from her village had been put to death this morning. The memory of the drums pounding at dawn put a knot in her stomach.

  She suddenly wished to be alone to collect her thoughts. An hour to visit her stream one last time would be nice, but she would never see the stream again. The burning in her throat increased. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was there, seated on the moss covered rock with her feet dangling in the cool water. She imagined the white eagle made an appearance too, taking flight from one of the branches above to soar up and beyond the trees.

  The noise of the men and the horses brought her back to reality. Varron’s arms were wrapped tight around her, and the heat from his body emanated against her, keeping her warm despite this chilly spring morning.

  They stopped at midday to water the horses, but other than that they rode straight until nightfall. Varron didn’t utter a word to her as they rode, and she now felt incredibly awkward in his presence and couldn’t stop fretting over the coming night. She stood by while his men erected the tents that hadn’t been burned, wondering if he’d claim her tonight and fearing he might hurt her this time. His black mood had made her increasingly uneasy as the day wore on.

  He guided her into a small tent and stood by the brazier while she got settled on the bedroll. The silence was making her queasy, and she hugged herself and dreaded Varron joining her.

  “Five men,” he finally said. He met her gaze. “Five men from your village were involved. They attempted to steal back the taxes that had been collected and were
caught red-handed.”

  Meadow struggled to think of a proper response. She watched him warily. “I am glad you and all of your men are unharmed, Varron. I still can’t believe someone set all those fires. I’ve lived in Monnaka for five years and never witnessed such unrest among the villagers.”

  “Unrest?” he said, his tone hardening. “Attempting to kill King Baltus’ soldiers goes beyond unrest. Attempting to steal the crown’s money goes beyond unrest. I admit the king spends lavishly and I don’t always agree with his decisions, but he keeps all the lands under his authority safe from all enemies. The regions under his authority are constantly patrolled. We are living in a time of peace right now, but it hasn’t always been this way. You are probably too young to remember the Fifty Year War?”

  Meadow exhaled a shuddering breath. She didn’t want to argue with Varron, but it angered her that he had twisted her words. “If you think I agree with the villagers who set the fires, you are mistaken. Unrest. Violence. Treason. Call it what you will, but I do not condone it, and I meant it when I said I was glad no harm came to you today.”

  She had expected some of the tension to leave him, but it didn’t. He stood rigid, with his nostrils flaring and his shoulders squared. He looked ready for battle.

  “Do you blame me for what happened in some way, just because I am from the village? Do you think I had any knowledge about what was going to happen?” She didn’t understand his darkness. She wanted the kind, patient Varron who’d made love to her last night to return to her.

  “No, Meadow, I don’t blame you for anything that happened in the village.” He paused but held her gaze as he took a deep breath, as if bracing himself to deliver some terrible news.

  She stared at Varron, waiting for him to confirm her suspicions.

  “Your stepfather was among the men who set the fires. He was hanged alongside the other four criminals.”

  *****

  Did she hate him now? Varron studied her from across the small space of the tent, waiting for her to burst into tears or curse him to the depths of hell. Mr. Lansing hadn’t treated her kindly, but perhaps she had cared for him in some small way, or felt sorry for him. She had a sweet nature, and he very much feared her reaction to the news of her stepfather’s hanging.

  “Meadow, say something.”

  She glanced at him, a faraway look in her eyes. He saw no sheen of tears, and her lower lip wasn’t trembling. He took it as a good sign, but he still felt anxious as she sat there, unmoving and not uttering a word.

  “Meadow,” he tried again.

  “I hated him,” she said, her tone as distant as her gaze. “I hated him and often wished him dead myself. I felt guilty about it all the time. A decent person doesn’t wish another person dead.” This time, her lip trembled, and her eyes rapidly filled with tears. She blinked and lowered her head, then wrapped her arms around her center as if she was trying to keep herself from falling apart.

  He removed his sword belt and hurried to her, taking her in his arms and bringing her head to rest beneath his chin. Stroking her back, he held her as a tremor racked her body and allowed her to cry against him.

  “Meadow, my sweet, your stepfather wasn’t a nice man. He thought nothing of selling you into slavery. You mustn’t be so hard on yourself. You aren’t a bad person for wishing his death. Shh, don’t cry, lass.”

  She sniffled and pulled away to peer up at him. “But, I even prayed for his death once.”

  “His death would’ve meant your release from the torment he’s inflicted on you all these years, Meadow. You aren’t responsible for his death in any way. He’s responsible for his death. He helped set the fires.” Varron brushed a kiss upon her cheek and tasted the saltiness of her tears. With his thumbs, he wiped the rest of the moisture away. “I feared you would hate me when I told you I had him hanged.”

  “I don’t hate you, Varron. Not a bit.” She smiled at him through her tears, and he wiped the newly fallen ones away as well. “I was afraid of you today. You seemed so cold and distant, and so angry. I feared the night to come and worried what would happen when you joined me on the bedroll.”

  Keeping her encased in his arms, he rocked her gently until she fell fast asleep. He allowed her to sleep for a little while, but woke her up and made sure she got something to eat and drank enough water. She hadn’t eaten much today when they’d stopped to water the horses, and he wanted to ensure she kept up her strength. Tomorrow they would rise just before the sun peaked over the mountains and ready themselves to ride long into the evening until reaching Himma.

  He didn’t claim her that night, but he instead held her and talked to her until she drifted to sleep again. He told her about the capital city and the small house he kept on the outskirts of it, and he told her of his desire to return to Geshema Providence, where they could live a quiet life far away from any potential wars or violence.

  What he didn’t tell her was that he needed King Baltus’ permission to retire. If not for Lady Emerald’s infatuation with him and constant meddling in his life, he would be confident that the king would grant his request for retirement. But the spoiled lady had had her sights on him for years, even during the years she was briefly married to a lord from Eerat, and Varron hoped there would be no resulting trouble when he returned.

  He held Meadow and wondered what their marriage would be like. She was young and inexperienced, and she hadn’t seen as much of the world as he had. He hoped she didn’t find the capital city overwhelming, however long they had to stay there, and he planned to spend as much time with her as possible. Thank God there wasn’t a war brewing, or any other conflicts in progress that he might be called to fight for, should King Baltus not grant his request to retire.

  They awoke and packed up the camp as the rising sun glowed faintly behind a distant mountain. Birds chirped in the woods nearby, and the chorus of nighttime insects waned under the lightening sky. The last few stars faded overhead, and the horizon became a picturesque swirl of orange and pink. When the sun spilled into the valley where they’d set up camp, Varron welcomed the warmth of the early morning rays.

  “I can’t believe how hot it is here,” Meadow said in amazement as they reached the well worn dirt road that led to the capital city.

  “Himma is on the southern shore and far from the mountains. Our winters are short. Sometimes we’ll go years without seeing a flake of snow. This past winter it flurried once, and that was it.”

  “I’ve always detested the snow,” she said with a smile in her voice. “My cousins used to throw snowballs at me as I went about my chores, feeding the livestock, where I grew up on the mountain. By the time I came back inside, I would be frozen from my head to my toes. Summer is my favorite season by far. I can’t think of anything better than a scorching hot summer day.”

  “I think you will like Geshema then, for it is always warm there. The forests are always green, the beaches around the large island are covered with fine white sand, and the ocean is warm enough to swim in.”

  She leaned back against him as the troop continued down the road to Himma. She was quiet for a while, and he eventually felt her body tense as she drew a quick breath. “Why aren’t you married already, Varron? You’re older than I am, and you own property.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated. The truth was complicated, and though he felt a stab of guilt for not being completely truthful with her, he opted for a simple explanation, leaving all the bad parts out. “I traveled frequently as a soldier. I didn’t wish to take a wife only to leave her for most of the year, especially since I have no family in the capital city. My parents died not long after I left Geshema, so I couldn’t have sent a wife to live with my family there either. Any wife I took would’ve been alone far too much.”

  She made a noise of understanding in her throat and gazed at the multitude of wildflowers along the road.

  “Legend says all these flowers were planted in celebration after the Great Dragon of Mount Heia was destro
yed. After the dragon attacked the castle in Himma, the last knights drove him out and killed him beside Doma Lake, where they tied bricks to his body and pushed him into the water. It’s also said that the reason Doma Lake is so warm, even during the winter months, is because the dragon isn’t actually dead, and his heart is still beating at the floor of the lake, warming the water even when the weather has turned freezing.”

  She laughed. “I’ve heard the story. I’m not sure I believe it, though.”

  “You don’t think dragons were real?”

  “Stories like that are as old as the earth. But if dragons existed once upon a time, wouldn’t someone have stumbled upon dragon bones, or some proof? I’ve never seen a lick of proof or heard of anyone else who has.”

  He found it curious that she was such a skeptic. Most villagers were uneducated and believed all sorts of fanciful stories, and most of them were so superstitious that they would dance naked under a full moon if they thought it would bring good luck. But he thrilled at the possibility of proving to Meadow some of the stories about the old days were true. He imagined the expression of surprise on her visage when she came face-to-face with the intangible proof that dragons had once been very real.

  Putting his mouth to her ear, he said, “What would you say if I told you I’ve seen dragon skulls?”

  She pulled away and turned to peer into his eyes, looking every bit the skeptic. “Well, sir, I would say that you have imbibed in too many spirits. I don’t believe there were ever any dragons, and I find it curious that a worldly man such as yourself would believe in such childish stories,” she said teasingly.