Count On Me

by Abigail Graham

  A little stream runs through the trees. It deepens here, forming a pool that gradually fills from one side and empties from the other. When I see it, a strange familiarity settles in, like putting on a well-worn, comfy set of old clothes. As he releases me I stake a few steps toward the stream then stop. Despite the chill, I slip off my boots and leave them standing to walk the rest of the way barefoot. The soft earth and grass clumps between my toes.

  When I reach the stream, I sit down in the grass and slip my feet into the water. It’s ice cold, and I start to shiver. Conrad steps behind me, as quiet as a ghost, watching. Little fish come to my feet, darting in to nip at the blades of grass clinging between my toes.

  Neither one of us says anything.

  Conrad kneels behind me. I feel his hands brush my back and wonder if he means to undress me. Instead he lets my hair down. It falls around my shoulders, tickling my skin. He runs his fingers through it, sending shivers down my spine.

  Very slowly he leans down and sniffs my scalp, then takes a deep breath from my hair.

  “What are you doing?”

  Before he can answer me, something drifts past my eyes. I snap around and would tumble into the stream, except Conrad catches me before I fall.

  Lying back in his arms, I stare past him. Glowing motes, like dust in a sunbeam, drift past his head. They eddy and swirl in the air, gathering around him. If he sees them, he gives no sign of it. I reach past him and curl my hand around one, but it passes through my palm as though it’s not even there…or as though I’m not even there.

  “What do you see?” he asks softly.

  That feeling I had before is coming back. It’s like I’m blinking two sets of eyes at once and when they line up these lights drift past my sight, filling my vision.

  Conrad is wreathed in a silvery glow, alive with light. It flows brightest over the skin of his face, gathers around his eyes, surrounds him in a soft halo like the aftereffect of too much sunlight.

  But there’s something wrong with it. It’s shot through with ropes and spines of dark, burying themselves in his skin, tight around his throat like a noose. I touch where the dark lights are and his eyes go blank for a moment, and he shudders, wincing in pain.

  “What did you do?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  Then it’s gone. He lifts me to my feet and looks down at my muddy toes. I redden from embarrassment, but Conrad laughs softly, caressing my arms as he stares at my wriggling feet.

  “You always hated shoes.”

  “How did you know that?”

  He looks up and turns abruptly back to the horses.

  Conrad throws open his saddlebag and it dawns on me what this is, as he pulls out and throws open a blanket, casting it across the ground. He unpacks a tall bottle and bundles and a basket, arranging it on the blanket.

  He sits down and motions me to sit for a picnic with him.

  I fold my legs under myself and watch him nervously. He pours a cup of reddish, sweet-smelling liquid and offers it to me. I sip it and jerk back.

  “This is good,” I blurt.

  It’s tasty. A little spicy, mostly sweet, and with just enough alcohol that I know I’ll get a little heady if I drink too fast.

  “A sweet wine,” he says, pouring himself a cup.

  He drains half, refills it, and sets it aside. I hold mine in my lap while he produces the rest. Dried meat, bread, and a jug of something thick and vaguely acidic smelling, a kind of yogurt. He pours that in a bowl and I dip my finger in it to taste it.

  It makes me shudder as it goes down, but it’s not bad. There’s cheese, too, of course, and thick, creamy butter.

  Conrad just starts eating. These people don’t speak while they eat, I notice. I join in. I’m hungry enough. My stomach is rumbling.

  “You keep looking at me expectantly,” he says.

  “I’m used to talking while out on…with men,” I say.

  “You’re out with men often.”

  He sounds rather pointedly jealous.

  I should be indignant, but I blush. “Once in a while. Not as often as I’d like. Never anything serious.”

  “Is there anyone at home for you to return to?”

  My home is gone. It turned to poison one day while I wasn’t looking and I can’t stand to even breathe the air in the place, but I don’t tell him that.

  “No, I’m single, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Are you, now.”

  His eyes bore into me and I have to look away from the intensity of his gaze. He shifts closer, stretching out one leg, and yawns.

  “What brought you to such far corners of the Earth?”

  I shift uncomfortably. “I left home about eight months ago. I went to London first then toured Europe a bit. My grandparents left me enough money to get by for a while but it was starting to run low, so I looked for a place where I could stretch it out. I heard there were groups here where I could maybe get a job and some food and a roof over my head.”

  “Here? What sort of groups?”

  “Youth groups, I guess. They travel around doing charity work. Building houses, that sort of thing. I guess you don’t need it here. This place isn’t so bad. I thought everything here was kind of war torn, you know? After the Russians left.”

  “Russians came to my land once,” Conrad says. “I saw them off.”

  I sip sweet wine and chew on that for a moment.

  Russians? He saw them off? That would have had to be the eighties, earlier. Is he that old? When I study him, he doesn’t seem so. I can’t tell if he’s five years older than I am or old enough to be my father. It’s too easy to lose myself in how gorgeous he is. He has the heavy eyes of a man who has seen too much, most of all when I catch him staring at me.

  Like now.

  I’m staring again. I turn away sharply.

  “You excoriate me for lying, but here you lie yourself,” he says.

  I flinch back. “I did not.”

  “I asked you why you came here, not how.”

  “I told you why. I was looking for work.”

  He laughs softly. “That’s not why you came. Why did you leave?”

  I hold my cup in both hands. “It’s a long story.”

  “Tell me.”

  I work my jaw as if chewing on the idea. I haven’t told anyone about this, not a living soul in the whole entire world.

  Conrad shifts closer. I feel pulled into his orbit, drawn to him. We sit hip to hip now. I move to sip from my cup and he gently twists it from my hands and sets it aside.

  “You’re afraid,” he says.

  I tense all over and start to scoot away from him, but stop.

  “I… It’s awful, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He sits back, away from me, and my heart sinks.

  No. It’s mine, my secret, I don’t have to share it if I don’t want to.

  “We all have our demons,” he says. “Some of us wear them on our backs, others must bear them in secret.”

  I swallow and take my cup back, drinking to wet my throat.

  I don’t know how it happens, if I lie against him or if he pulls me, but we end up reclining on the soft ground. I nestle my head into his shoulder, turning to throw my arm across his broad chest.

  “Tell me about the sword,” I say. “That’s why you brought me out here, isn’t it?”

  He looks away and draws breath, as if gathering strength.

  “It’s been mine since I was nineteen years old. It came to me after my father left this world. I feel its weight even when I do not carry it. Even now I can sense it resting on that slab.”

  “What is it?”

  He looks at me.

  “Power,” he says. “Power to keep people safe, power to overthrow my enemies, power to rule my lands and preserve my people. Holding it is like dancing on its very own edge. It’s insidious.”

  Now his hands shake. I rest mine on them, to give back a little of what he offered me.

 
“The night rides are the worst. I pick it up and I cannot put it down. It’s like red-hot wires tearing into my hand, working up my arm until they pulse in my heart. I barely remember the rides. Jumbles of imagery, chaotic sounds, terrors, and the thirst. The thirst burns in my throat like fire, churns holes in my stomach, turns my blood to powder and my veins to glass. The only thing that dulls the agony is hot red blood.”

  “So you—”

  “Never,” he barks out, sharply enough to rattle me. “I do what must be done. I ride far and fast and seek solitude so no one falls under my blade.”

  “Those men—”

  “Men,” he snorts, “they were not men, they’re rats. Poachers and thieves. They’d have…” He he shrugs.

  “You knew I was there.”

  “Yes,” he grunts. “Yes, I knew. I’d hoped I’d frightened you off and you’d cross the border before morning, rather than be trapped in this place. I can’t let it happen.”

  “Let what happen?”

  He kisses me. His arms slip around my waist and he pulls me on top of him and kisses me, warm lips pressed a little too hard against mine, too eager, until he relaxes. I freeze at first but then thaw, softening in his embrace as his arms tighten around me.

  He’s hard. His cock presses into my stomach as I lie on him. It opens up something primal inside me, a deep, instinctive reaction, knowing this man wants me.

  I don’t know whether I pull him down or he lowers me to the blanket but then he’s on top of me, kissing me, tasting me, his lips on mine, his tongue and teeth on my throat. I throw my legs around him and pull him in, throbbing at the thought of him inside me.

  I throw my legs around him, pulling him close, grinding his manhood against me. Riding pants make it easier than a damn dress. I can feel his arousal gliding against my body, shaking as I imagine the feeling of fullness. He’s huge, in every possible way. His arms wrap around me like castle walls and I touch him everywhere I can, relishing the way his muscles clench and quiver when he feels my nails through his shirt. He kisses me too much, and my head spins from his hot breath on my lips, the urgency of him. Like he’s making up for lost time.

  His whole frame shivers when I run my palm up his shaft. The power in his body makes me feel small and vulnerable, and for the first time I like that. I can’t stop thinking about how big he is. He wants to put this inside me.

  I give it a squeeze, as if to prove to myself that this is real. Conrad shudders and his mouth shifts to my throat, lightly nipping my skin between kisses. My top comes open another button or three and I don’t know if he did it or I did, but I moan softly as his rough, strong hand closes lightly around my breast.

  My fingers feel thick and clumsy, but I get my buckle undone. I pop my belt free and run my hands up his sides and down his flanks. I start to pull my pants down, but they’re too tight.

  They’re so tight he has trouble working them down. The air is cooler than I realized, and sends weird shivers through my body when I feel the night chill on my bare ass.

  The pants come down almost to my knees. His tongue is in my mouth when his finger enters my body, slowly at first, gently, then a little rougher, just on the good side of pain. I tighten my legs around his hand and moan into his mouth, shocked even myself at how wet he’s made me.

  This is incredible. I didn’t know it could feel so right. I almost start to cry with joy. I’ve always been scared of this, or aloof, or dismissive, or just disinterested. I hated the way men would look at me…the way he would look at me…

  Conrad makes me feel like a goddess, not some thing to be had.

  I relax into the ground as his finger works and he kisses me until I can barely breathe, lets me gasp for air, and cuts off my moans with more kisses. My hands fumble with him, curling in his hair, pulling at his shirt until I touch bare skin, shoving my arm into his clothes. His free hand works and tugs the laces of my shirt until it spreads open and more cool air floods over me, turned hot by his breath.

  His mouth tightens on my nipple and he sucks hard. I arch under him and my body clenches into a clenching grip around his fingers as I shudder from the tug of his lips. He releases and goes for the other one, tasting as he goes, leaving a warm, wet trail on my skin. He kisses and sucks and bites, little hints of teeth that thrust electric shivers of excitement through my body. My head swims as a second finger enters me, and I let out a long groan.

  He’s moving down. He shoves my top up, so as to kiss between my breasts. He starts there and works down, trailing down my stomach, bring his mouth to join his fingers.

  When he does I cry out and my scream echoes in the night. He holds down my legs with his weight, leaving me free to grip his head by his hair and tug and pull as I squirm.

  I can’t take this. I muffle my moans with my hand but they’re too loud. I hug myself as my body tightens up, scrunching all together as pressure builds and builds, my head spinning. I look down at him and he looks up at me and grabs my hand. My fingers lace through his and I squeeze so hard I almost fear I’ll break something.

  I explode. A ripple of raw energy surges through my body from head to toe, waves crashing first up, then down as I buck and writhe under him, holding on to his hand like a lifeline as I tug at his hair.

  When it starts to fade, he pulls back, slowly drawing his fingers out of my body, and rests on top of me, chest to chest, his arms around me.

  “Roxanne,” he murmurs, kissing me.

  I taste him deeply, even as I fumble for his belt, trying to push his own riding pants down. He twists away, stopping me. I grab his cock through his pants and squeeze, shivering at its hardness, thickness, sheer size. He wants to put that in me. How will it even fit?

  I try to wrap my legs around him but he pulls my belt tight, binding my knees so he has me pinned under him. Cradling my head in his hands he kisses and kisses as my breathing slows to normal.

  “We must return,” he says.

  “I don’t want to.”

  He draws back, onto his side. When I reach for him he catches me and laces up my blouse for me, tucks it into my pants, and guides me to my feet. I lean against him.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his voice tight.

  “I wanted it,” I tell him. “We don’t have to stop, we can…”

  The next thing I know, he’s lifting me up onto my horse. He roughly shoves everything into the blanket, then into his saddlebag.

  “Talk to me,” I say, fighting to keep the pleading out of my voice.

  “I mustn’t do this. You’re leaving when the moon turns.”

  My heart sinks. I droop in the saddle.

  Conrad mounts up and rides. This time I don’t kick in my heels to ride beside him. At least, not at first. When I do, I look over at him.

  “Talk to me. Please.”

  “What is there to say?” he says, eyes doggedly turned from me.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me. I know you like me. I like you. We can work it out.”

  His expression softens. His fingers ghost lightly over my cheek.

  “We can’t,” he says, and spurs forward, leaving me.

  I ride sullenly behind him all the way back to the castle. By the time we arrive it’s full-on dark and the only light is from lamps and candles and torches. I dismount on my own this time. I got the hang of this horse thing fast, like I was born to it. I stalk off before Conrad can say anything, if he meant to say anything at all. I bite back tears as I retreat to my little broom closet room.

  When I arrive, Marta is waiting for me.

  “New quarters for you,” she says. “My lord commands.”

  “Your lord can go piss up a rope,” I snap at her, and slam the door.

  I throw myself on the bed and scream into my pillow.

  I roll onto my back.

  I wish my mom or my grandma were here. I wish I had somebody to talk to about this stuff. I never had, like, boy talks with anyone. Calling Conrad a boy is just ridiculous, but that’s wha
t this is. I don’t get him.

  I mean, if he was just jerking me around for sex, you’d think he would at least expect a blowjob after he went down on me, but he stopped me before I could even return the favor.

  What hurts worst is that he wanted me. If he was disgusted by me or just indifferent, it might be easier, but even if you’re as inexperienced as I am, you know a man doesn’t drive you wild like that unless he’s enjoying it, too. I wanted him so bad, I would have done anything.

  Fucking jerk!

  I pound the mattress with my fist and sit up, and scrub at my eyes. I am not crying; I am not going to weep over this. I scoot up against the wall and doggedly refuse to start sobbing.

  Roxanne, you just met this guy!

  It doesn’t feel like that, though. It feels different. It felt different from the minute I saw him. I admit, he’s kind of a dick… But he keeps looking at me like I’m the most magical thing in the world.

  That place. The stream. The mud between my toes, laughing and rolling together. It all felt so real. Like all my life has been a dream and for a few moments I was awake.

  After a a bit of going back and forth, I start to calm down.

  Can I just use the bath anytime I want? I need a bath, very badly. I need a nice warm soak.

  I’m going for it. I yank these stupid boots off and put on the scuffy leather slippers and march down into the lower level of the keep, following the heat until it’s as warm outside as I am inside. I find the right door and shove it open, and thankfully it’s empty. Warm water trickles into the steaming pool as it slowly drains.

  I set a towel nearby, strip out of my clothes, and neatly fold them. I’m achy and sore from riding, among other things. The water rises as I slip into it, first to my knees, then to my hips. I sit on a low carved bench in the tub so the water is steaming hot up to my chin, ignoring how uncomfortably warm it is. I’ll get used to it.

  I do. I slip in deep and let it warm me to the core, and sigh softly. I feel better now. I’m more collected, even if my whole emotional universe is twisted up into a giant paper ball like a quiz with a bad grade.

  I dip my head under the water and rise up again, and lean back. It feels good in here. The humid air feels perfect on my skin. I start to sweat into the water, a good sweat.