Sorry for the wait guys! This one'z a bit longer and ive had some help with a beta. Pls review!
Chapter Two
The girl felt something cold on her cheek. It was icy, and too sudden for her liking. She tried to move but her limbs felt as heavy as lead. She wanted to jump and run, hide away, but all she could muster was weakly mumble her protest.
"No …"
"I have to do this," another voice said softly.
"No …"
She opened her eyes and came face to face with a tall man. His large stature was quite alarming at first but his face held no trace of menace.
"Welcome back," he grinned, "I need you to lie still whilst I wipe your head. You're burning up."
"Wha - ?" the girl said dumbly, watching as the man dabbed her forehead with a cloth. She suddenly realised that fresh bandages were tied beneath her tunic and her cloak lay on a hook above her head. She realised she was tucked warmly beneath layers of blankets and inside a small wagon.
"Who did my bandages?" she asked feebly. The man sensed her alarm. He smiled understandingly.
"Fulcinia, Marius' wife," he said, "You've been asleep for 3 hours, but have come up with a fever. How are you feeling?"
The girl smiled dryly. "Dead."
She sighed and looked at the wall of the wagon.
The tall man was still observing her. She glanced up at him and frowned slightly.
"What?"
"You have a name, girl?" he said to her, "My comrade, Lancelot found you in the woods."
The girl suddenly felt her cheeks go pink. "Torne. Yours?"
"Dagonet," he said gently. He paused for a moment, and his eyes discreetly eyed her chest, a strange glimmer reflecting in them. He caught site of Torne watching him closely, and he looked away. His face was very similar to the other man's, Lancelot when he rescued her in the woods.
"Is there something you want to say?" she said quietly, each word bordering suspicion.
"I –" the giant man faltered.
"Yes?"
For a moment, Dagonet stood and moistened his upper lip in thought, but then shook his head.
"Nay, girl" he said. "I will let Arthur know you have awoken. Take some rest."
Torne watched him take his hasty leave. When he had bowed himself out the wagon, she unconsciously pulled her blankets up to her neck, obscuring her bandaged chest out of sight. She guessed what bothered him – he had seen what lay beneath the strips of cloth. Marks that should not be seen on any creature's body. But surely, he could withstand that the cruelty of men was of the norm in these times? He looked a warrior, used to bloodshed and mutilation.
Oh well, even though she had no idea who she was with, they were helping her and for now, that was good enough.
- - - - -
"Jump, Torne …"
"I won't."
"Do it. Would you defy the gods?"
"This is not their way."
"Only a heathen speaks of such things. Jump, or be burnt."
A large rock … protruding above a lake …hundreds of feet down to a rocky and icy grave … Torne stood at the edge of it, unrobed and naked at the brink of it's crude tip. Wind whipped at her golden hair, and her lily white skin was a pallid yellow. Behind her, five men stood, hooded and cloaked. One stepped forth …
"JUMP!"
"NO!"
Torne bolted up and banged her head on a person's arm. Fleetingly, she glimpsed a tall woman, as the bowl she was holding crashed to the floor. A small boy's head appeared, and began to hoarsely exclaim a ghost had entered the wagon.
"Hush, Lucan!" hissed the woman. The boy called Lucan silenced. She turned to Torne, who was breathing deeply. The dream had been so real …
"Torne, lay down," instructed the woman. She had a soft but authoritative voice. Torne sank back down, shaking all over and accepting the drink from the woman.
"You know my name," she murmured, "Dagonet, told you?"
The woman smiled slightly. "Yes, I am Fulcinia, and I bid you get some sleep."
Sleep … the one place that she had just been, the one place where her nightmares of the past lingered.
"I cannot," said Torne forcefully, "I wish to go outside."
She glanced up at Fulcinia – the woman had a carved quality to her face, with kindly dark eyes, very much like her own. She shook her head.
"You will die of cold, you fool," she said, pulling the woollen blankets up to Torne's chin. But she felt suffocated. She needed space to breath. Ignoring the fact that she was causing offence, Torne gathered the woollen shawls around her white shoulders and slipped into her dog-eared sandals. Slowly, she stood on her feet and looked up into Fulcinia's deeply disapproving face. T
"I am well enough to stand," said Torne with a smile.
Fulcinia rolled her eyes.
"Don't wander far," she said, turning her attention to Lucan, who had started to sing. "I may not be your mother, but Arthur will have my head if you fall ill again."
Torne nodded and descended out of the carriage. She looked rather funny with the giant shawls of wool on fur surmounted highly on her shoulders. The wind was icy but groups of people sat around fires, roasting conies and absorbed in conversation.
She sat at an ailing fire, just outside the camp and lazily piled wood on top of it. The heat warmed her feet as the flames rose.
"Hello pretty maiden. You are that stranger girl?"
Torne turned and saw an unfamiliar man behind her. He was swathed in a thick brown cloak, with a strange helmet on his head. His skin was swarthier than the others, and he looked at her with wicked blue eyes.
Torne looked away from him, praying he would disappear. She didn't like his presence.
"Well?"
She didn't answer.
"Answer me, bitch!"
He swooped down and suddenly grabbed her throat, pinning her to the ground. She felt him hitch up her tunic as he started to straddle her.
"No-one to hear you scream!"
He clamped one hairy hand to Torne's mouth, and she stared terrified at the camp. Not one figure had moved. Desperate to escape him, she managed to sink her teeth into the hilt of his hand. The soldier screamed with agony, and Torne seized the chance to bite his cheek. Blood poured from the wound, dripping onto her own face.
"SLUT!" he screamed, sitting up and striking her. He then bent down and started licking her neck; his hands travelling down her chest –
THUNK.
Next thing Torne knew, the soldier was been flung off her and there was a sound of a scream, then a thud. She looked up and saw the curly-haired form of Lancelot, standing above her.
He crouched down at her side.
"Are you hurt?"
Torne sat up shakily, and saw the body of the swarthy soldier lying dead on the floor.
She shook her head, unaware that other people were striding over to where she sat beside Lancelot, pulling on the woollen shawls. Their many heads obscured the distant fires, their murmurings like the sound of angry hornets.
"What is going on?"
Arthur appeared, sword drawn and angry. Lancelot stood, his face equally as furious as his friend's.
"That scum," he said, in a voice of cold fury, pointing at the dead soldier, "paid for what he did."
Arthur glanced at the soldier and then at Torne who was crouched pitifully on the ground, silent tears sliding down her face.
After some silence, Arthur spoke. "The same applies to the rest of you," he glared at the congregation, "I have had enough of people taking what is not there's." He turned on his heel, back to camp with the rest of his Knights. The few villagers that had gathered also dispersed from the scene, talking frantically about what they had witnessed.
All that remained was Torne, sobbing in the snow. Lancelot bent down and helped her up.
"What are you doing out here?" he said to her, almost crossly, brushing away blood from her cheek. Torne flushed furiously.
"For some fresh air," she mumbled.
"You got more than fresh air," said Lancelot, shaking her arms and forcing her to look at him. "Why did you not listen to, Dagonet?"
"I cannot go back to my bed, I have slept and rested, Lancelot!" said Torne defiantly, covering her chest as a gust of wind lifted up an untied bandage. Lancelot fleetingly saw a long, deep gash. Torne, whose temper was starting to simmer, glared up at him.
"They're old wounds," she snapped.
"I would think so," he said heatedly. He released her. "Now, go back to the wagon!"
Torne felt too emotionally drained to argue back. She knew he was only trying to protect her, but after an attempted rape and the feverish state she was in, the last thing she needed was to be felt like a misbehaved child.
She shot him a nasty look and stalked away.