Chapter 2:
A/N: Thanks so much to everyone that read this, and especially to those that took the time to review! I love hearing feedback, it's always so inspirational.
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The sharp crack of a branch breaking jolted Mary out of her light slumber. As cold and uncomfortable as she found her situation, eventually exhaustion had taken its toll, her eyes becoming too heavy to keep open. So in the last few hours before dawn, she had drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep. She straightened as she came awake, grimacing at one more new crick in her neck.
Dawn came hazy and gray, the eastern sun soft and muted. The rain had mostly moved on, leaving in its wake a heavy, lingering mist that coated everything in tiny droplets of moisture. It trapped the damp against her skin, and sank the cold into her bones. Swirling tendrils of fog wrapped between the trees. Were she in a different situation she might find it ethereal, but now, as their captors rose and milled around the clearing, she just found it ominous.
At her side Bash stirred for the first time all night. "Bash?" she prompted softly, eyes flicking between him and the others. "Can you hear me?" She worried her teeth across her lower lip. His face was still as gray as this morning. A low groan escaped out of parted lips and a scowl crossed his forehead. Then his eyes fluttered, half open. She waited, watching his face go from disorientation, to confusion, to understanding.
Then his eyes found her, and he offered her a wobbly smile. "I take it this was more adventure than you were counting on your grace?"
Mary allowed herself a glimmer of a smile. Cheeky, even in a situation like this. For some reason, it made her feel better. Then she sighed and closed her eyes, wishing for the first time since she'd arrived from Scotland, that she was back inside the relative safety of the French Court. She wished she'd not even thought to leave...
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The Previous Morning...
"You want to go hunting?" Kenna asked, one eyebrow arching upward on her brow. She popped a grape into her mouth. "And why would I want to go with you?"
Mary's face was alight, and she rose from their breakfast table to stand beside the window, gazing out past the walls of the castle. "It's not about the hunting per say," Mary tried to explain. "Think of it more as an opportunity for adventure. Don't you ever get sick of being here? Sitting around, being drawn into political games of intrigue and deception?"
"To be fair," Greer pointed out as she buttered her bread, "I very much doubt any of us would get sucked into games of intrigue if not for the company we keep." She grinned wryly at her raven haired friend, teasing.
It had been two weeks since the debacle that was Tomas. To think that she had nearly been married off to a man that saw her as no more than a piece of property, a pretty, silent doll meant only to sit at his shoulder. Married to a man who was cruel and cold of heart, willing to hurt and injure another to make a point. He could have killed Bash in the woods, had nearly killed him on the road, with his plan to leave Mart with no other choice than to renege on her commitment to Francis. Only half healed from his wound, Bash had risked his life for her, and for his brother. Francis.
Even thinking the name of her intended made her smile. In the days since the renewal of their alliance, Francis had been positively doting. Remembering the soft touch of his hand on her arm made gooseflesh rise on her skin. She felt her cheeks color pink as she recalled his lips on her own, possessive and tender all at once. He wanted her near to him, cared for her deeply, even if he wasn't ready to marry her. But for now, the wanting was enough. And she appreciated him all the more in comparison to Portugal's bastard.
He allowed her her freedoms, encouraged her ideas. And having faced the possibility of all that going away, she cherished her freedoms, limited as they may be, even more dearly. So when Francis had informed her that he and Bash had plans to go hunting that day, Mary had dropped a few none too subtle hints of her desire to go riding and get out of the castle, and Francis had been quick to invite her and her ladies along. She felt elated, and girlish, in ways she'd never experienced. Was this what it was to be in love?
"Be that as it may," Mary had the good grace to smile. "Are you sure you would not wish to come along? it's not as if you will have to shoot the buck yourself Kenna. We will simply be along for the ride."
"And you simply asked Catherine and King Henry, and they agreed to allow you, Francis and Bash out hunting?" Aylee questioned dubiously.
"Of course not. At least one of you has to go along as my escort." Mary shrugged, "And a half dozen armed guards..."
"Well," Kenna frowned, "isn't that just positively romantic?" She was paying only half attention to Mary. Her mind was elsewhere, more concerned with the interests of a King, than his princeling son. Diana had arrived back in court from their home in Paris three days earlier, and she found she missed Henry's bed, his touch, or really any attention from him at all.
"Oh, don't ruin her mood," Lola chided. "She's practically glowing, and has been all week, though i can't imagine why, being nearly attached to Francis at the hip lately." She smiled at her friends. "Worry not your Grace," she inclined her head to Mary, "I would be happy to accompany you on your ride."
Mary's grin widened. "Why thank you Lola. We shall meet Francis and Bash in the stables in an hour."
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When they arrived at the stable yard later that morning, Lola and Mary found servants waiting in the yard holding Francis' rangy chestnut gelding, and Bash's burly black, tacked and ready, but neither of Henry's sons were in sight. The half dozen guards they had been promised waited, already mounted. Then they heard the sound of hooves reverberating on the stone floor of the stable. Francis came first, leading an tall gray, a wide smile gracing his features, his eyes only for Mary. Bash followed behind, leading a small, compact bay with a wide white blaze running down its face.
"My Lady," Francis greeted her. "I hope this morning finds you well. This will be your mount for the day, if she pleases you." He handed Mary the mare's reins and stepped aside. Mary was indeed pleased. The mare dipped her finely wrought head to nuzzle at Mary's hands, her ears tipped forward with interest. Her darkly dappled coat shone with good health and weight, and her legs were long and clean. She was equally as tall as either Francis or Bash's horses, but finer.
"She does indeed my Lord," Mary answered, maintaining their pretense of formality in front of the servants and guards, stroking the mare's neck.
Francis caught his brother's eye over Mary's shoulder and gave him a small nod. He was grateful to have had Bash's help in selecting the mare. As in many things in their life, Bash's freedom from the weight of an impending crown had afforded him the chance to learn many skills. One such skill was the sword, another horsemanship. It was a thing that Francis had once envied, and had learned to accept. And seeing the pleasure on Mary's face was enough for him to know that it was worth it. "her name is Leste," he told her.
Then Bash presented Lola with her horse, a charitable, if homely fellow. Henry's sons helped the girls mount before turning to their own horses. Francis fixed his quiver to his saddle, while Bash made a quick inventory of his bow, sword, and dagger. Overhead the sun blazed brightly, promising a blessed day. If only the warmth of the sun had been truth, rather than deception...
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Mary's stomach growled, bringing her thoughts from the past into the present. She realized then that she hadn't eaten since yesterday's breakfast, not that she was sure she'd be able to stomach anything now.
Three men approached them, a tall man with a thick waist at their forefront. His face was long and oval, with deep set eyes and thin lips. Lank, oily, brown hair had been tied away from his face at the nape of his neck, though a few strands had pulled loose to cement themselves to his face. A garish white scar ran near the underside of his jawbone on the right side of his face. He had Bash's sword belt fastened around him, his hand resting lightly on the pommel. By the scowl that crossed Bash's face, Mary was fairly certain he had noticed it as well. Though he still had his hands bound behind him, Bash managed to sit up. He would not meet these men a supplicant laid upon his back.
"You would be a wise man to leave us be and go on your way," Bash spoke first, voice low. His eyes, which Mary usually found full of mirth and irreverence, had taken on a deadly serious cast, one she had seen before, on his father. Neither his eyes nor his voice wavered, bespeaking of a confidence Mary could not comprehend.
The man with a scar stooped, his forearms resting lightly across his knees so he could look Bash in the eye. "Then I am lucky," he said slowly, a vile grin pressing at his lips, "that I seek only to be a rich man. Which I will be," he nodded in Mary's direction, "as soon as I deliver her."
"You will not touch her!" Bash spat out, his vehemence turning the words into a snarl.
Their captors closed fist slammed into the side of Bash's head, sending him sprawling onto his side, new blood seeping out from his wound. He tasted dirt on his lips as the world spun crazily before his eyes and he heard Mary gasp beside him. She started to beg for his life. Bash closed his eyes and tried to focus. They had to get out of there, had to escape. He had to get Mary back to the safety of the palace, had to get her back to Francis. He concentrated, and realized with relief that the men had not found it on him, that they still had a chance, if they could luck their way into a moment.
"Please!" Mary shrieked as she saw the scarred man rear back to strike Bash anew. "Please don't hurt him!" Her heart slammed wildly against her ribcage, panic and fear spurring it on.
"You listen to me!" The man crouched again, thrusting his finger in her face. "You try to escape, he dies. You fight us, he dies. You scream, and he dies. Do we have ourselves an understanding?" Mary nodded quickly, lips pressed thin. "Good." He stood abruptly. "Get them on the horses!" he barked. "We ride out!"
The man on his right came forward and stooped, slicing quickly through the bonds on her ankles with a long knife. Saucer plate green eyes roved over her body hungrily before gripping her firmly beneath the arm to help her rise. With her bonds freed blood rushed quickly to her ankles, and the sudden rush of pain made the short walk to Leste seem to go on forever.
The other man, a giant brute with no neck to speak of, went to Bash and cut his ankles loose as well. He brought Bash to his feet as well, though not nearly as gently, hauling him up by the back of his waistcoat. Bash stumbled forward, being half drug, half led to his horse. Mary kept her eyes centered on his back. Whatever was going to happen, they were in this together.
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Chapter 2
I think at least one more chapter is going to piece together the present with a flashback, til we're all caught up. Hope you're still enjoying this. Please let me know what you think!
