Scene X
Once again, sleep has evaded her.
Isabella groaned, rolling over in her bed and facing her thrown-open window. The stars are awfully bright tonight, she remarked with a lazy sigh, her folded hands cushioning her head below her pillow. It was too happy, too peaceful for a night that the Royals and the visitors had just experienced, though the uproar did put a sly smirk on her face at the time.
It was much more of a flurry once word of Vladimir's death had reached the castle. The King was much more enraged than before the ball was merely interrupted; his face reddening and his breaths coming out short. He called Edward, Emmett and Jasper to his side and they all left the Great Hall along with the courier and a band of knights scampering after them, unquestionably to press more information from the poor boy that looked like he was ready to collapse.
The ball was never the same after the event that just occurred to Isabella, but the masquerade was never of interest to her. Isabella had to endure the relentless gossip of James' mother in her ear and her husband's stewing of him not being invited along with the King to investigate the death. James was still unrelenting with his impropriety soaring to new levels; his hand sneaking much too close to her bosom and his lips touching her neck. His ministrations were stopped when Isabella stabbed her knife into his chair, right by his thigh and slicing open his breeches.
Even though his presence was severely unwanted, a sliver of sadistic pleasure rushed through her at the thought of Vladimir's death. It was a pleasurable time; just simpler than the life she was living now of nobles, knights and drama.
The announcement of Vladimir's death evoked another round of questions for herself in her mind. Why did it take so many days for it to reach Castle Forks and the King? Protocol called for a messenger to immediately be dispatched to notify the King the moment a body of a noble, especially one part of his court, was found. News of Vladimir's death should've come days ago.
Her mind would not shut down after that. Vanessa went to bed without much prodding, the masquerade having drained a great deal of energy from her young body. As Jessica and a new handmaid Millicent tucked the princess into bed, the young girl was prattling into Isabella's ear about the young boy who had initially brought her to the dance floor. Alice and Rosalie however commanded her presence while they undressed.
"I cannot believe what the courier announced." Alice said, shrugging out of her dress.
"What I do not understand is why Vladimir's death is of any importance. He was an old fool anyways. Perhaps time and his age have simply caught up to him." Rosalie speculated from behind her changing screen. "He was simply a baron; nothing like a duke or an earl."
If Isabella could see Alice, she would be rolling her eyes. "I wonder how you survive in this court without knowing the basic gossip, Rose." The soft swish of fabric fell to the floor. "Vladimir is close to Carlisle. He was close to Carlisle; I believe I should say, in both his court and personal affairs. His death would certainly strike close to father. If it was merely how the Lord deemed it is, by old age and his will, then he would be simply mourning. If it were by someone's hand… he would certainly be plotting their demise." Alice explained. "He was much protected, though. I doubt it was murder. Most likely bad shrimp," she drawled with the wave of a dismissive hand.
Isabella felt the thrill of the chain reaction her actions caused and another person nonbeliever of her abilities. The King would most likely never catch her; she left nearly no evidence of her arrival and she would be able to anticipate his actions by being within the walls. The game of cat and mouse… it was her favourite of them all.
"Your father certainly does not have a good taste in barons. Every time I saw the man, I had shivers up my spine. There was something off about the man, don't you think?" Rosalie said, emerging from behind her curtain in her thick shift.
Alice stepped out as well, donning a much more ornate shift than Rosalie because of her higher station. The three took their respective seats in the seating area, the fireplace crackling with a warm and cozy fire. Alice's handmaid took a pot out of the fire and poured the three women a cup of tea.
"I agree. The man had a pair of beady eyes that seemed much too observing. It was as if he were leering through the layers of my dress and into my skin." Alice shuddered behind her teacup. She took a comforting sip and sighed. "I am apologetic that my father will be missing a close accomplice, but I am grateful that I will not have to feel his glare no longer."
"Now his spirit shall haunt you for your words," Isabella joked, chugging her tea and pouring another serving before the maid could.
The rest of the night was filled with playful jesting between Alice and Rose, Isabella smiling slightly while sipping on her tea. It was as if it was the calm before the inevitable storm. As she lay in her bed, the corner of her lips quirked at the memories she learned to cherish.
Isabella pulled herself up into a sitting position in the bed, one strap of her shift slightly slipping down her shoulder and her sheets gathered at her lap. For what must have been the millionth time, she glanced at the water clock and hissed. Minutes had only passed from when she last checked the time and it was still only an hour past midnight. The day would drag torturously the next day if she could not shut her mind and she would need every drop of concentration for her planned tasks.
Instead of laying down for another fruitless attempt at capturing sleep, Isabella slid out of her bed and slipped on a simple cotton green gown. She fitted some light slippers on her tiny feet and took her dagger, strapping it around her waist. She tied her cape around her shoulders, picked up her bow and slid a quiver of arrows on her back.
She padded out of the room, closing her door behind her and engaging the lock. Sir Eric was stationed outside Vanessa's door and raised an eyebrow when he saw her emerge from her chambers. "Where are you going, Miss Jones?"
Isabella sighed and rubbed her face tiredly. "Sleep eludes me, Sir Eric. I figured I should tire my mind at the archery range."
He nodded. "Aye, but make sure that would have enough sleep to not doze beside the Princess in the morn."
She tipped her head, not bothering to correct the young guard that she would not be in the Princess's attendance the nest day. "I will. Sorry for the interruption."
Sir Eric resumed his apathetic expression as he stood stiffly at Vanessa's door. Isabella turned on her heel and strode down the halls and staircases with ease. The whole castle was silent with an air of tension; the guests knew that there was something amiss with the arrival of the courier if they hadn't heard his initial exclamation and the serfs were delirious with keeping the castle in order and the food flowing.
Isabella emerged onto the castle grounds, the grass swaying languidly with the breeze. She tied her hair with a leather piece and pulled her hood up so her hair would not impede her vision. The moon was full, the livestock were peacefully asleep and only the slight howling of a wolf in the distance was heard. If only there weren't the tall castle walls enclosing her as if she were a caged lioness, she would've almost deluded herself to believing she was back home in her cabin in the far woods.
Even if, it was the sense of peace was what she lived for.
Isabella stood in the middle of the field, two hundred metres from her target. She held her bow with an arrow perched on the string and closed her eyes, taking a second to savour the moment. Ever since she arrived at Castle Forks, life has been a riot of the unknown events and emotions. She missed her past life of living day to day, not attached in any form. Now there was Vanessa to think about. Perhaps Alice and Rosalie, if she were so inclined to think of them as friends.
A flash of bronze hair instead of the coal locks passed through her eyelids. Green eyes instead of brown appeared before her.
What of Edward? What was he?
Her memories flew to another time, when her fate at the castle was in her own hands rather than anyone else's. She remembered the angry man before her who absolutely exuded raw power yet elegance in his movements. She recalled the flex of his muscles as the swung, the lock of his jaw as he made a decision. Blazing emerald orbs and copper bright tresses would be forever burned in her eyes.
But alas, that was nothing something she did not wish to think about that night.
Instead, she let go of the arrow and watched it fly. The thought of it missing its mark did not worry her at all; it did not miss nor would it ever miss on purpose. It sunk cleanly into the red bull's-eye in the middle of the target. The lack of interest in the shot, the missing adrenaline pump of the lethality that was delivered by her hands was what worried her. She used to revel in the feeling, craved the pump of the consequences it brought.
Now what did she desire?
Perhaps it was what happened next that answered her question.
"It's awfully late to be practicing such activities."
Isabella paused in her movements, the bow still held upright. She closed her eyes and breathed in heavily. If she concentrated enough, she could smell his distinct scent of leather and just his unique fragrance blowing in her direction. Slowly, she lowered her bow and hunched her head slightly.
"I may say the same." Isabella mumbled under her breath and turned with a tired exhale. "What brings you here so early, Sir Edward? It is an hour past midnight. I would imagine you enjoying the presence of a warm body, presumably Lady Victoria. But of course, none will be the wiser if it is another." Isabella tried to quip lightly, but the pang in her chest quickly ruined the joke.
Edward was still clad in the clothes from the ball but was slightly wrinkled from time's wear. He brushed his hand through his hair, the substance holding the tresses together already gone, most likely because of his disruptive fingers. "My father demanded our presence because of Vladimir's death. I did not realize he would keep us until after midnight."
Isabella rolled her eyes. "I figured as much, as well as Lady Rosalie and Lady Alice. I believe everyone at the ball knows as well. Why don't you tell me something I don't know, Sir Edward?" She spat. Inside, she was surprised at the irritability laced in her voice.
He glared at her. "So you may share gossip with the other nobles?"
She whirled back around and angrily snatched an arrow out from her quiver. Just as she was about to let it fly, she closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. The smell of dew on the grass and the aroma of bread from the kitchens that lingered from supper infiltrated her nose as she tried to filter out the scent of the man behind her.
"Forget it then if you do not wish to tell me. It's of no matter." She grinded her teeth and heard only the thrum of the string as the arrow slid from her fingers and into a target. What she didn't notice was his change in position and possessions until another arrow besides hers sailed through the air and missed the target. She frowned. "And what are you doing?"
"Practicing," he said, loading another arrow.
She watched his shot and snickered as it missed as well. "It looks more like you're missing to me."
His face took on an annoyed look. "And you could do better?"
Isabella feigned shock. "Why, Sir Edward, I believe you were present when I proved Grandmaster wrong and bested him in an area of expertise that he was supposed to be efficient in. Yes, I can do better than you. I believe I have been; doing better than you at archery, that is, and everything else."
He smirked, placing a string on his bow. "I do not believe you taught me how to shoot an arrow properly as you promised, Miss Jones."
She forced away the urge to roll her eyes. "I make plenty of empty promises, Sir Edward. Many I have forgotten." Edward scowled, which made her laugh. "Oh, that face reminds me of an angry bitch, Sir Edward! Rest easy; I have not forgotten this agreement. There was simply no time to follow through." She held up her bow, placing an arrow on the string. "What and learn, Sir Edward."
Sir Edward smirked and leered at her body. Isabella would rather forget the involuntary shudder that racked her body that admit it. "Frankly, I believe this is the first time I have seen you in a dress, Jones. Finally come to your senses?"
"Oh, sod off, Sir Edward." She snapped.
The two continued, Isabella only speaking to offer tips on how to improve. She laughed when he missed the target and an adorable pinch of the eyebrows graced his face in frustration. Then he would snap at her half-heartedly, Isabella shrugging it off like water off a duck's bill.
If they had been paying attention, they would've noticed the gaze of a blue-eyed man.
He was watching. He was waiting.
~.~
Isabella couldn't believe it was already a week since her employment at the castle. Time had flown by so quickly, her first assessments as she first passed through the castle gates fresh in her mind. Honest to God, it felt like she had been living at the castle since she was younger, much like most of the serfs working under the King directly. There was a difference, though.
She had luxuries, such as a day to herself.
She should have been ashamed, really. After the midnight activities with Sir Edward, she had fallen victim to sleep as soon as she changed into her shift and fell into her bed, her mind finally satisfied for reasons she couldn't comprehend. She woke early to the chirping of birds on the tree outside her window, having left the shudders open during the night. There was a slight chill to the chambers, not having a fireplace to warm the small space in between four, cold stone walls.
"Good morn, Marie!" Angela called from their usual table in the serf's dining area. Her plate was already filled with her usual fare and ale. Even though Isabella had shared her meal with the serf every morning without fail during the week, the girl still didn't expect to get anything from Isabella the next day.
Isabella nodded her head passing by. Angela didn't mind the lack of communication from her newfound friend. The serf made up for the silence in spades, chattering about the castle gossip that Isabella didn't care for, indulging her with a small smile. She grabbed her plate and made her way over to Daniel. "Good morn, Daniel." Isabella greeted quietly.
Daniel laughed at something another serf said before turning to her, his boyish smile and dimples ever-present. The man was simply never unhappy or not laughing about something or another. "Good morn to you, Marie!" He slapped some bacon, ham and chicken onto her plate.
She raised her eyebrow. "Remember what I asked to do for me yesterday morn?" She prompted.
He rolled his eyes and rubbed his brow. "Of course! What do you take me for? Some buffoon?" He guffawed again and pointed his fork at Isabella. "Do not answer that question. Borin! Bring me the sack of smoked meat!"
A young boy (assumingly Borin) ran up to Daniel. He was no older than eight summers, yet he was already working the fiery chamber of the serfs. Soot was mottled on his face yet his sharp grey eyes and pale skin peeked out from under the black. Isabella recognized him as "Boring Borin"; a boy who was constantly picked on because of his unfortunate name and lack of education.
Daniel took a sack out of the boy's hands, patting him heartily on the back. "Thanks, boy. Go back to the stables now, you hear?" He instructed.
Borin bowed his head, chewing on his lip. "Ye sure ye don' have any more work for me?"
Daniel scowled. "When I say go back to the stables, I bloody mean it!" The boy scampered off at his annoyed voice, dust left in his wake. Daniel sighed tiredly. "The boy will be the death of me. Constantly fearing the other boys. If he does not stand up to the lot, he'll never be a man." His frown faded as he lost himself in cooking the meats.
Isabella stayed silent for a moment before shaking off her thoughts. "Thank you anyways, Daniel."
He raised an eyebrow. "May I ask about the need of smoked meat? Plan on being away for a while?" He drawled, flipping pieces of ham and adding slivers of bacon to the mix.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Isabella threw over her shoulder as she peeked over a serf stuffing preserved fruits and vegetables in packs for the knight's away-for-duty rations. "Hello there, Mary." She swiped one packet up. "I'll be taking one of those."
"Hey!" She shouted indigently, swiping for the packet. "That's for the knights!"
Isabella held the packet above her head. She was short, but Mary was much, much shorter; bent with age yet springy with energy. Isabella smirked. "Exactly; I am classified as a knight. So I am entitled to a packet." She swooped down to press a light peck on the elderly woman's face. "Thank you, Mary."
"Humph," she pouted, going back to sorting food into portions. "You're lucky that you're a pretty face. It wouldn't have swung with Geoffrey or Ulrich."
"No, you just love me more than them." Isabella said, smirking. She finished collecting her rations for the day and a warm meal for the morn before joining Angela at her table. Even though they had only been friends for a short week, Angela knew more about Isabella than most.
"Planning on going somewhere, Marie?" Angela questioned, pointing a look at Isabella's bag hanging from her shoulder. Isabella settled herself in her seat and began splitting her food with Angel. The serf frowned. "You really shouldn't -"
Isabella rolled her eyes. "Every morn, without fail, you attempt to fight me about his matter. Let's avoid the grey hairs it will cause and just accept it, alright?"
Angela smiled wryly. "I know. I just feel awful for taking your food, even if you are wilful."
"You just made your argument invalid with that last tidbit." Isabella noted, spearing a piece of ham and shovelling it into her mouth with gusto. A couple of trees of broccoli and carrots followed with a chunk of white bread. She chewed all but three times and gulped down a swig of milk to wash down the large glop of un-chewed food in her mouth. She noticed Angela's astonished look and she responded with a glare. "What?"
"Good God, Marie! You're eating like you haven't had a lick of food in years! What's gone about you?" She exclaimed with her fork raised mid-air.
She shrugged, shoving more food into her mouth. She swallowed it hastily and chugged down the rest of her milk, gasping for breath. "I have things to do today, and I am burning daylight with every second I spend here." Isabella responded with a lavish wipe of her mouth with the back of her hand.
Angela - the epitome of propriety (despite her station) - shuddered at Isabella's manners. She ground her teeth. "You cannot slow down your eating? You are unable to speak after chewing and swallowing your food?"
Isabella frowned. "I don't remember being born from your womb. I swallowed my food." A crumb of her bread flew out of her mouth and landed on the table. Angela cringed back and Isabella shrugged indifferently.
"All of your food, I meant." Angela corrected with a wary glance to the regurgitated crumb, watching it as if it would sprout legs and attack her.
Isabella took a couple more bites before pushing her plate towards the serf. At the withering glare of her friend, Isabella made sure she swallowed all her food before opening her mouth. "Manners are hardly something that crosses your mind when you have nine other brothers and one sister. I shall be taking my leave. Please finish the rest of my food."
"Already? You left quite a bit here." Angela noted, gulping back the drool at the pieces of bacon and white bread she left.
Isabella shouldered her quiver and bag before snatching up her bow. "Yes. I must be leaving. Like I said; I'm burning daylight."
"It's only six in the morn, Marie. Surely you can spare some time." Angela said, transferring Isabella's left-overs to her own plate and beginning to eat it daintily.
"Yes, but my employment here was very impulsive and quick. Most of my possessions are back at my previous residence, and I would like to collect them and bring them to my chambers here so I do not have to return later. That place happens to be quite the distance from here." She fibbed.
They parted easily, Angela shouting cautions as Isabella left her to finished breaking her fast. As she strode down the halls, she exchanged polite greetings to the serfs she had the "pleasure" of meeting, some genuine and others not. She even spared a satisfied glare at Lauren, who was pitching hay to the horses.
Isabella made her way to the stables, quickly finding Burnside's stall. As she went by, she ran her fingers along the fencing. The scent of dung was very prominent but she – unfortunately – has experienced worse conditions. She rounded the corner. The boy who personally tended to her horse was brushing Burnside's mane with care, his large green eyes squinting with concentration. She perched herself on the fence, watching the boy use gentle strokes on the same spot three times in a row.
"You know, Burnside isn't a mare. He wouldn't care much if his coat was not glistening. Nor do I care," Isabella piped up from behind the boy. The lad jumped in shock, not noticing Isabella creep up behind him.
He blushed. "Yes, ma'am, but I just didn't want to make any mistakes, you know?"
Isabella let a little smile spread her lips. "Yes, I do." She hopped down from her spot and circled her horse. She whistled. "I must commend you, lad. I apologize for not asking earlier, but what is your name?"
"Henry Baker, ma'am," Henry beamed with contentment at receiving positive acknowledgement.
She clapped him on the back. "I thank you, Henry Baker. When you do something, you put everything you have into it. I would bet fifty pounds that you are meant to be more than a simple horse keeper." She flipped him another pence. "Remember to save these, okay?"
Henry stared at another piece of pence in his palm, the glint of the metal catching sunlight making his smile stretch even bigger and wider. He looked up at Isabella with the happiest face she had ever seen. He nodded. "Thank you!"
Isabella smiled and ruffled his hair. "You're welcome, Henry. I'll take it from here. Go tend to the other horses."
Henry scampered off in the other direction, rounding the corner and out of her view. Isabella smiled whimsically at the sight before shaking herself out of a stupor. She patted her horse's flank. "Nice to see you again, you fat ruffian."
Burnside huffed and threw his head haughtily. "I would tell you that I am not fat again, but it seems that nothing gets through that thick piece of wood you call a skull."
Isabella frowned. "I resent that, you cur." She began to saddle up her steed and packing her things to the side. Isabella swung up onto his saddle with ease, settling her bow on her lap. She pulled her long tresses into a braid as she pressed her heels into Burnside's side and trotted languidly out of the stables. When the morning light hit her face, she pulled up her cowl to cover her eyes.
Henry tipped his head as she passed. Isabella spared him no smile but let her eyes dance goofily as Burnside huffed arrogantly and threw his head. Isabella frowned and gently slapped his mane. "Don't be like that, you dolt. Egotism is not attractive. At this rate, you won't be getting any pretty mares."
Burnside snorted and tossed his head in the other direction, towards a group of mares grazing in the field. One in particular - a white Arabian horse that, ironically, Isabella knew belonged to the Queen - was staring at Burnside intently.
Isabella rolled her eyes. "You always get ahead of yourself, bud. Are you sure you do not have any dung on your face? Perhaps she is staring at the deformation of a muzzle you call eye-catching." She jested with a snip.
She was almost out the castle gates when she heard a high-pitched grunt and several boys laughing maniacally. Isabella frowned and turned to the tumult, out of place with the other sounds of clashing metal and hard-working serfs.
The sight of four boys towering over one huddled on the ground made her blood boil.
Isabella made her way over to the group of boys. She clenched her jaw as the eldest was flogging the boy on the ground with a wiry branch, not quite causing the boy to bleed but creating angry red marks over his skin. The three other boys, who were most likely the eldest boy's lackeys, laughed at their victim while kicking dirt and grass onto the quiver body.
"Would someone care to tell me what is going on here?" Isabella said lazily as if she were initiating a casual conversation with an acquaintance.
The three boys' head immediately flicked over to Isabella, panic and worry at being caught evident in their eyes. The oldest – probable to be the leader of the group – stopped his punishments to the young target on the ground but did not turn to her, instead sneering to the sobbing boy.
One of the boys nudged the leader with his elbow. "Barda," he hissed.
Barda – the leader – finally turned his attention to Isabella after kicking the boy in the ribs. Isabella's eyes narrowed at the act and her heart clenched at the broken sob that escaped the victim's throat. "What?" He snapped disrespectfully.
Her eyes remained unresponsive but her anger was still existent, her only indication of her fury present in the twitch of her mouth. "How old are you?"
Barda was surprised by her question; he was expecting reprimanding he would ignore, beatings he could evade and punishments he could survive. Flogging or any damaging to the body was unacceptable as he was of noble blood, which was also the reason why he could exert enough power over the younger, naïve sons of servants. Whilst the other serfs thought that he favoured his minions and used them as his whipping boys, he could care less about their well-being.
"What's it to you?" He demanded proudly. Burnside bristled under her with the need to knock some sense into the boy's head with his hooves, but Isabella calmed his muscles with a pat to his side.
Isabella scanned his frame; slightly tall and wiry, his face starting to mature with defining cheek bones. Meat was beginning to pack onto his arms and legs but he lacked the muscle and sharp angles of an adolescent or young adult. "Fine then, here is another question; what's eleven multiplied by four?"
Again, Barda was confused. "What's with your stupid questions? What's going on?"
She rolled her eyes. "Now, why would I answer your questions if you don't answer mine?" She offered him a grin known to dazzle, but felt disgusted for giving it to him in the first place. "I'll tell you what; you answer my question and I'll answer yours." She turned her head with a shrug. "Unless you don't know the answer of something so simple…"
"Forty-four," he boy immediately responded, eyes blazing at his intelligence being questioned. "Now tell me what this is about."
Isabella exhaled deeply, a hint of frustration obvious in her voice. "So demanding," she commented to no one in particular. "It's of no matter though. I was asking about how many lashes each of you ill-nurtured hellions will receive with the birch. I assume your age to be eleven and multiplied that by how many are present to torture the lad."
The boys were taken aback. Stones dropped from their small fingers and the youngest, no older than five summers, began to cry as though she had stricken him. Barda kept his steeled and defiant stance, but worry spilled into his eyes and his eyes were frantically searching for a loophole.
"Do you know who my father is? My father is -"
Isabella waved her hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, your father is Grandmaster Harrison. I recognize the dark hair and beady eyes anywhere. He is of no aid to you," the sadistic pleasure she was use to crept into her bloodstream as alarm filled his eyes. "He's currently under retraining since an unfortunate instance where he was bested in his profession he was supposedly a master in. He's under enough fire as it is and I doubt he would care for your impudence." Her eyes flashed to his neck and forearms. "I can tell he has beaten you, so he obviously does not care much for your well-being, only that your reputation reflects his own as a father. His behaviour has influenced your own, I can tell. May I go on or would you like me to double the lashes?"
The three boys were still as stone as they pleaded silently with Barda to say something. Isabella could see tears welling in his eyes but felt no remorse. It was time someone other than a harsh father put him in his place.
Barda opened his mouth and closed it several times, resembling a fish before he spoke. "You – you – you're a wench! A serf! You – you have no power over me! You're simply an ill-bred hag! Your father is most likely a commoner farmer and your mother is mangy bitch!" He spat.
Isabella's face remained stoic through his outburst. "You may say what you wish for now, young Barda, but my patience wears thin and I will not hesitate to strike an insolent child." She threatened lowly. However, she would only react if the bloke had truly pushed her past her limits; he was far from it. She had dealt with worse. "I am stationed as a knight, ranking the same as your father. I am the personal guard of Princess Vanessa. I have enough pull to punish you for petty bullying of your peers."
"You – you…" Barda seethed.
While the young boy was simmering in his spot and the other three boys were still as statues, their victim was beginning to stir. He pulled himself off the ground, his face beginning to bruise and his arms bleeding slightly and skin broken. She looked down to the dirt covered boy and recognized him as Borin.
"Are you well?" Isabella asked him.
He sat on the grass, dazed. "What's going on?"
"I was just asking you about your well-being. Do you have enough strength to hold a bushel?" Isabella inquired.
Borin glanced down to his clasped hands in his lap, shoulders sagged. He felt as if a dozen stallions had stampeded over his prone body. His head was pounding and his vision was slightly blurry, but he knew he would recover. "I believe so." He muttered.
Isabella instantly understood his melancholy and softened. "Do not worry, young Borin. I will not be putting you to work. I was just wondering if you had enough strength to deal forty-four lashes to each of the boys with the birch for their actions, but you do not look well. I will see to it that you are cared for." She hopped down from Burnside's back and scooped the boy easily into her arms and helped him onto the saddle. Isabella pulled herself back up, the lad behind her. She turned to the four boys. "This evening, you will report to the stables for your lashes, your faces buried in horse dung."
The youngest broke out into sobs of what was to come. "No! P-please!"
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, what was that? 'Please' what?" She prompted.
The youngest cried even harder. "P-please do not give us the birch! Or spare me! I did not wish to, but they made me!"
Despite the crying child, Isabella chuckled. "Oh, naïve child, they do not make you do anything. You have a choice, and you decided to follow in their footsteps. I saw you throw stones at poor Borin. You will get the exact same lashes." She pretended to think for a moment, tapping her forefinger against her chin. "Although, you did say please," their faces light with hope, Barda included.
Isabella jumped down from Burnside again, talking a piece of rope hanging from the fence and tying it around their wrists and capturing their thumbs so they could not escape. They were all attached to each other so none could decide to make a runner and tied the end to the stirrup of the saddle. She heaved herself back up onto the saddle, settling in front of the battered Borin.
"You better keep up, because we are not stopping!" Isabella shouted as she pressed her heels into Burnside's sides and set off on an easy jog.
A/N: Sorry for the filler chapter, guys, though it does kind of move up the plot a tad bit. I could make up a whole bunch of shitty excuses why I'm so late (school, family, life) but I'm an honest person (bullshit). Seriously though, I just suck. A lot.
To anon Guest: You're very welcome! Sorry for the delay!
To tina (Guest): I'm glad you're hooked! The good kind of hooked, not the kind where your dad caught your finger on the back hand of casting a lure. Not fun. I'll try to update again as soon as the elusive Inspiration fairy makes a stop by my house.
To everyone else: Thanks for reading! I know it's a lot to ask (and I won't hate you all for it if not), but can we get to 25 reviews on by chapter 11 or chapter 12? :3
Love in the club,
- A