Chapter 2:
"Captain Finn! The scouts report sightings of two people and a dog approaching the fort!"
Ben Finn hastily straightened up in the chair he was using as a makeshift bed, trying to look as if he hadn't been sleeping upright for the past few hours.
"Are they wearing any markings to show their allegiance?" he asked the nervous looking private in front of him. He was the youngest in the brigade, far too young to Ben's liking to be stationed in this hell to face certain death each night. And what are you? An old man? he chastised himself.
The boy shook his head. "No sir. The one is wearing mercenary clothes, like the Deserters wear, but otherwise, no. It does seem-"
The private was interrupted by the guardsman. "Cease your movement! Be you men or Hollow Men?" he called to the people outside.
A man's voice replied wearily. "Are you daft, boy? If we we're Hollow Men, we wouldn't announce ourselves, would we?"
A huge smile split over Ben's lips and got to his feet. He knew that grizzled voice anywhere.
Ben stretched out the knots from sleeping in a chair, his joints giving loud pops at each movement and went to welcome his old friend. What they needed now, was a morale booster and Sir Walter Beck would be perfect for the job. Any soldier in the army knew of the legend and even here in the marshes of Mourningwood they'd heard whispers of revolution, under his guidance.
Hell, even I'm feeling less morbid, he though ruefully and headed over to where Swiftie was already welcoming Walter and his companion. He took a moment to appraise Walter's companion and realized with a shock that, despite the men's clothing and thick layer of splattered mud and what seemed to be blood, she was decidedly female.
And what a fine specimen she was. Even through the unflattering clothes, he could see the very defined curves of her thin waist and long legs. She held herself with grace and, even though she was petite, her presence seemed larger than life. Her thick dark brown hair was tied into a bun with a few tendrils framing her gorgeous face, despite the leather strap tied around her head in an obvious effort to keep them out of her eyes. Her full red lips were accentuated by her porcelain skin and he was drawn into the forest pools that were her eyes.
He gave a low, quiet whistle. What was a beauty like that doing with Walter out here? Deciding that Swiftie had talked long enough, he went closer.
"Yes. This is Princess Annabelle. Hero and leader of the revolution," Walter said proudly. "But treat her just like any other pair of hands."
So the rumours were true. Walter and the princess and escaped the castle and were leading a revolution. He could see how the girl could be a princess, but a Hero? How could this little girl be one of the Heroes he'd read about when he was a boy?
The girl, Annabelle, gave a bow and shook Swift's hand. "Please, I'm just Annabelle. It's a pleasure to meet you, Major Swift," she said in a very polite tone. Even her voice was noble.
And, with this, Ben jumped into the conversation. "These are the supposed saviours of Albion? A princess barely out of her teens and an old nut. I'm going to sleep so much better tonight, ignoring the legions of the damned, of course," he said sarcastically.
At his words, the princess turned to face him, her features arranged in a frown and despite that, she was even more beautiful up close. He turned his attention to the old man next to her. "It's good to see you're not dead yet, Wally."
Walter's face brightened in recognition and held out his hand. Ben took it and gave the man a hearty handshake. "Ah, Ben Finn! I'm glad to see you're still alive too, boy." Ben twinged inwardly at the use of Walter's little nickname for him, but shrugged it off. "Still a sarcastic ass, I see?"
Ben let out a laugh. "Yes, well, my devilishly handsome appearance isn't all that attracts the horde of adoring ladies, Wally. You're even older than I remember!"
Walter retorted with his most used saying when he talked to Ben. "Shut up, Ben."
He turned to look at the princess next to Walter, who was clearly studying him, though she tried to hide it. He wondered if she liked what she saw. The girl held out her hand, clearly in an attempt to shake it, but he decided to take his more accustomed route when dealing with the fairer sex.
"And this lovely lady must be the princess. Benjamin Finn, Captain of the Royal Albion Army," he said and took her hand to give it a kiss. Ben felt a charge when his lips touched her hand and, based on her reaction, she felt it too. He wondered what it was, but ignored it, owing it to static in the air. Despite her gentle tugs, he didn't let go of her hand, revelling in the feel of her soft hand. As a self-proclaimed expert on rifles and women, he was trying to determine what the best way was to impress this particularly lady.
He shot her a sly grin and tilted his head down to look her right in her emerald eyes. "Please to meet you, Princess."
The princess seemed unfazed. "It's Annabelle. Please to meet you, as well, Captain Finn," she replied, her icy tone belying the politeness of the statement. "Not to seem rude, but may I have my hand back? I might be ambidextrous, but it will be difficult to fight without my sword arm."
Ben felt his grin widen at her words. She was a feisty one. "As you command, Princess," he said and released her hand, waggling his eyebrows at her. Her reaction was a cold stare.
Ben was astonished. His charms had never failed him when it came to women, but it seemed this one was immune. He grinned inwardly at the challenge she posed and set off to find her chink in her armor.
"Please, call me Annabelle," she insisted and he got an idea.
Shrugging, he shot her another smile. "Sorry Princess."
Direct hit, he thought as he saw her green eyes flash with anger. Not such an ice princess now, are you? Though it wasn't exactly the reaction he was hoping for, seeing her get riled up was almost as satisfying as if she had smiled.
His thoughts were interrupted by Walter's curt interruption. "Ben, cut it out." Ben gave him a noncommittal shrug and was greeted with another scowl.
"I never get to have any fun around here," Ben muttered.
Ben heard Annabelle ask for a bath and a meal. A princess all right. Swift asked him to show her where she could clean up and eat and he brightened at the prospect of getting to know her a bit better. "Sure, Swiftie. If you'll follow me, Princess."
After Walter threatened him with nothing short of certain death, he guided the princess to their bath area. She ignored his questions and he was starting to wonder if royalty had permission to be rude. He was getting the distinct impression that she didn't like him. We'll change that soon enough, he thought to himself.
He had his turn to chew out some rowdy privates and, to his surprise, the princess seemed unfazed by their antics. Could it be? Am I the only one that elicits any emotion from you, Princess? he thought, pleased with himself. When he snapped out of his reverie, she was already gone.
Ignoring the more roguish part of him that was urging him to go to the ledge that would give a perfect view while she bathed without her knowing a thing, he headed to the soup pots.
He listened to the other soldiers gossiping about the beautiful princess and grinned to himself. They haven't seen a woman in a very long time and it showed. He hadn't felt the touch of a woman for the longest time himself. Of course it would make a great tale if he managed to bed the beautiful princess, but there was something that made her stand out against all of the others that caught his eye in the past, ignoring the fact that she obviously couldn't stand him, of course. But that's just because she doesn't' know me yet, he thought with a smirk.
After a while, he saw her approach and he inhaled sharply. It seemed the dirt was enough to blur some of her features because now, clean, she looked even more striking. He noticed her hair, which she'd left loose, fell almost to her waist and curled damply against her face. He sighed inwardly at the sight. He'd always had a thing for brunettes with long hair.
He went to give her a bowl and sat down next to her to eat his own bowl. "Here you go, Princess. Eat up and I'll show you how to use the mortar. I have to say, you look decidedly more beautiful without that layer of mud, Princess. You're even starting to look like a princess, despite your mercenary clothes."
The bath, apparently, had done nothing to dull her tongue. "The mud didn't seem to confuse anyone else about my gender, Captain. You must have terrible eyesight. How do you even use a rifle?" she replied icily and continued eating, but he saw that tantalizing flash of anger in her eyes when he'd called her "Princess".
He burst out laughing. "I wasn't referring to your gender, Princess, but rather your station. And, just so you know, my eyesight and rifle skills are top notch. I'm the best sharpshooter in the army," he boasted proudly. It was a long shot to try and impress her like that, but he had to try. Besides, his shooting was one thing he could boast about. He'd been an excellent shot since he was a child.
"Humble, aren't you?" she retorted coldly. Okay, not the best idea today. She got to her feet and continued. "Nightfall will be here soon. We'd better be on our way."
He led her up to the battlements to show her how to use the mortar. She was clearly not used to Jammy, because she seemed slightly apprehensive when he introduced himself.
"Jammy?" she asked, her tone disbelieving.
"So called because he's the jammiest sod in the whole damn Swift Brigade. He'll be your loader," he said.
"Seven-hundred and twenty-four injuries and still standing!" Jammy added proudly.
Her expression gave him enough reason to lean in and whisper in her ear. "Don't worry, you'll get used to him. After a while he isn't repulsive at all." He noticed she stared at him for a moment before jerking away. And what were you thinking just now, Princess? he thought and his lips split into a grin.
Suddenly, it was back to business, when he realized that she was going to determine how many hollow men make it to the fort. "Well, I assume you've never used a mortar before, Princess, so I'll give you the quick lesson. It's quite simple. You put your hands there, you aim and you shoot. The most important thing is be careful. There is always the risk of maiming and death from using this thing and I'd hate to see anything to that pretty face of yours," he couldn't help but add.
His reward was her narrowing her eyes into slits. She put her hands on the handholds. "Like this?" she asked and he noticed that she didn't look him in the eye. Though she was barely a millimetre off, he couldn't resist.
"Like that if you want aforementioned maiming. Here let me show you," he said and moved behind her. When he placed his hands over hers, he noticed that despite the fact that he had embarrassingly small hands for a man, hers were even smaller and more delicate than a woman who was about to fight a battle against undead horrors should have. He also noticed that she fit perfectly against his body and he felt her inhale sharply. "Don't get excited, Princess. This is just a demonstration," he whispered into her ear and moved her hands to the correct position with his. "There. Less chance of maiming."
She gave him the smallest of nods, but he appreciated the thank you. Before he could hand her a match, she'd already ignited the fuse with her hand. So she really is a Hero, he thought to himself and watched as the scarecrow exploded due to a direct hit. He was pleased when the recoil sent her crashing into his chest and he could smell the soap from her bath, mixed with the smell of wildflowers.
"Just like that. You're a pretty good shot, Princess. I wonder if you're as skilled in close combat," he breathed into her ear and he felt her heat up with a blush. Very pleased, he pulled away and shot her a grin. "Now, try the next one on your own."
Jammy reloaded and she aimed at the other scarecrow. Another direct hit. "All right. One left," Ben said and he watched Jammy's eyes narrowed as he said,
"I don't remember setting that one up."
The princess reacted before any of them. "Hollow Men! To your stations!" Ben pulled out his rifle, praying that she was as good as he thought she would be.