Sara settled him into a nest of blankets at the side of her bed. She
almost teased him about sleepovers but figured he wouldn't understand. It
was probably better that he was there anyway. They would both probably
sleep better without the tension between them. But it had felt good to
wake up with him this morning, so close to her. And that kiss.But until he
was ready it wouldn't be fair to him. She was not going to replace Kenneth
Irons, making him a servant, manipulating him into doing everything her way
as Irons had done. What could make a man do that to his only child? She
supposed he could have just been a sick bastard, but somehow that didn't
seem right, or at least not the only reason. She finished off her last few
tasks and settled into bed.
"Night, Ian." She said, a little sleepily.
"Goodnight, Sara."
Ian lay in his quilt looking up at the ceiling. She was so close now, but not close enough to completely disturb him. She had kissed him. The thought of that kiss filled him with longing. If he went to her, just reached up, she would accept him. But he was not willing to risk it. To have her with him, he had to know that it was safe. He wanted her to be sure, anyway. To throw away her acceptance for a night of physical passion was not worth the risk of losing her forever. He was still not sure what to do, what to think. His father had always told him that such things were not for him, and now. It had once been easy to put away his feelings, but that was changing. He understood that on a physical level, some women found him attractive, but this was different, Sara wanted him. He had never been attracted to anyone the way he was to Sara, never really though about that at all to be honest. They had no place in the life he was raised and trained to lead. He only knew Sara and that he loved her, needed to protect her, it was enough, at least it always had been. Now Ian wanted more, he wanted a life with Sara in it, not just as an abstract figure of adoration but as a real flesh and blood woman. The problem remained though, he really wasn't sure how to go about it, how to be with her and not hurt her or embarrass either of them. He thought about his father, the easy grace with which he dealt with the women who threw themselves at him so eagerly. While he could, if necessary, ape the mannerisms, it would not be the same thing. Besides, it struck him as wrong, unclean somehow, to compare the two. He loved Sara and Irons, well he hadn't loved any of them. He settled in, pushing the thoughts away from him. Forcing himself to relax his breathing, let his muscles loosen, and fell asleep.
She was on a battlefield fighting for her life, trying to rally her troops. Her leg ached from the crossbow bolt in her thigh and the blood running down her leg and into her boot was distracting. Suddenly she was grabbed and pulled from her horse. She turned to attack but saw Ian pulling her away with him. No not Ian, Jean and she was not Sara, not at the moment. He grabbed her and dragged her onto his horse and rode off while she tried to make him understand that she had to stay, they needed her. But he would not listen. The intensity of the pain finally made her black out and she woke in a strange room, a strange bed. She looked down and realized she was out of her armor and dressed only in a shirt, the bedclothes pulled right up to her chin for modesty's sake. Her leg felt heavy and when she tried to move, she found that she was too weak.
"Where.I."
"Shhh, you are still to weak, try to rest." Jean rose from the chair that he had been dosing in and came and knelt by her bedside, reaching out for her hand. "The surgeon said you will be all right, but you need to rest." The look in his brown-gold eyes was sweet and intense, full of love and hope.
"I need to get up, I cannot follow my vision from this bed," she snapped. That seemed to please him and he reached out and stroked her face, but she flinched away from his touch. Jean rose abruptly and left the room, the pain clear on his face. When he had gone the tears started, slowly. It was of no consequence, she told herself, he was a noble man, and she was nothing, just the messenger, and when she was done she would return to her life, her family and the farm. They could not change the world, if it were not for the war they never would have met, she never would have felt this, fallen in love with him, or him with her. Sometimes she longed for a simple life, the farm, a husband, children. But that was before the gauntlet, before God had chosen her, before the visions came. Now she was a warrior, fighting for her country, her King and her God. And a peasant girl who fell in love with a Duke, not just any noble but the best of them, a man of honor and faith. Suddenly the vision came, Jean being dragged away from her, beaten down and killed. The future, her future was clear before her, the betrayal, the stake, and cleansing fire. She knew she could not save herself, she had to do as God commanded, and so she would die, become a martyr this was her fate. But she could not allow him to die for her. She shifted, started to try and sit up as she worked on her plan. She only hoped that he was unaware of the vision, or at least what it contained.
Jean returned, he could never remain upset with her for long. She drank in the sight of him, the dark hair, deep brown eyes and the beard that had grown when they first began to make him look older than his twenty-one years. She smiled at him and he returned it, secure in the knowledge that her mood had passed. It was reassuring, giving her the knowledge that she needed, he had not seen her vision, he would go along with her plan and live.
"Jean, I need you to take a few men south and check out the lay of the land. We will have to move on soon and I need to know what we will find there."
"Anything, does this mean you have had a vision? Have you seen our next move?" he asked eagerly, although he had felt nothing himself.
"Yes, I have, and I need you to do this for me."
"But what about you? I cannot leave you alone." He moved closer and knelt on the floor near her. "Jeanne, you know how I feel about you. When this has ended, I would like."
"Shhh, yes I know, but what you want is impossible, no matter what else, I am still a peasant."
"You are worth more than all the noble women in France," he said passionately. "And I love you. Nothing else matters." He leaned forward and took her hand. "I will find a way, please. Promise me that you will at least consider." She looked into his eyes and felt the pain welling up inside her. She knew that when he returned for her she would already be cold ash, her spirit gone to join the God she served. She choked back the lump in her throat. If he saw how upset she was, he would never leave her and he would die too, she could not allow that to happen.
"There is only you, I promise that we will have our time, the day will come when we will be together." She smiled as a look of pure happiness passed his face. She sat up a little more to be closer, ran her hand through his loose hair and pushed back the tears. There was no way to tell him that the day would not come in this lifetime, that soon she would leave him alone here. "My soul belongs to God, but my heart belongs only to you. Now go, you should be gone before morning." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently as she laid back against the pillows.
"I will return to you as soon as I may." He started to go, but she pulled him gently to her and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.
Sara woke up from the very intense dream alone, to find herself face down on the far side of the bed, next to where Ian slept. A tear was sliding down her face and she brushed it away impatiently, not wanting him to see or to have to explain. She turned the dream over a little in her mind, she had sent him away so that he would not die, promised him a lifetime. She looked down at the Witchblade, a dull red glow swirling lazily in the heart of the stone. Now she had the chance to make it right, for the past and the future. Sara was a little puzzled, frightened of what was happening to her. The emotions were real though, not just what was happening with the damn bracelet. She really was starting to care about him in the here and now, at least she thought she was. The vision seemed to be pushing her, trying to make things happen faster. What was the rush? Damn she was confused. She looked down at him, his eyes still closed. He looked so innocent with those damn beautiful confused, confusing eyes hidden. Her alarm had not yet gone off so she had a few minutes. "Wake up, Bright Eyes," she whispered to him. "I'm already awake, Sara," he said, looking up at her.
"Damn, you startled me."
"You have frequently startled me recently. It is only fair." He smiled up at her. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, before slipping out of bed and heading off for a shower.
Safely alone in the bathroom, Sara stood under the warm water and tried to make sense of what she had seen. The faith, the love that had lead Jeanne to follow her vision to her death was completely foreign to her. The only thing she was sure she believed in was the law; it had always been her cause, bringing criminals to justice. Now she had committed herself to a relationship with a man who had in all probability broken more laws than she could imagine. That was another thing, Jeanne had loved him so much, how many other Wielders had loved him, had he loved? How deeply where they connected? She had seen some of it in the vision, it made her uncomfortable that all this might have been decided for her, that she had not been given a choice. Jeanne had loved him so much that she sent him away, done everything she could to prevent his death. But Ian had knelt before her and offered her his life. I doubt anyone ever understood her, how could they? Ultimately she was abandoned. Ian had, that was the sadness in his voice, counting himself as one of them, blaming himself for not being there, not saving her. That explained the warnings, the reason that he had been so determined, why he had dragged himself to her the other night, to try one last time to make her understand. But that was the past, she needed to concentrate on the future, her future and his, when did he become a part of her future, her life? She felt a little shiver in her heart, he had been willing to put himself in her hands and if she rejected him. Once again she remembered her vision, Ian knelt with the katana held before him. But she could not be responsible for his life, or his death. Still she was becoming more and more comfortable with him, she let him stay in her apartment, sleep by her bed and arouse emotions in her that she had tried so hard to bury beneath work and duty. How much different really was that from what he had done? He had devoted himself to his father, to Kenneth Irons' dream and for his trouble he had gotten abused and abandoned. They were both alone. When it came right down to it, it wasn't just the Witchblade; they were more alike than she was really comfortable admitting. Great, she thought to herself, he doesn't know how to live for himself and I don't know how to give enough of myself to live for someone else. We must be nuts.
"Night, Ian." She said, a little sleepily.
"Goodnight, Sara."
Ian lay in his quilt looking up at the ceiling. She was so close now, but not close enough to completely disturb him. She had kissed him. The thought of that kiss filled him with longing. If he went to her, just reached up, she would accept him. But he was not willing to risk it. To have her with him, he had to know that it was safe. He wanted her to be sure, anyway. To throw away her acceptance for a night of physical passion was not worth the risk of losing her forever. He was still not sure what to do, what to think. His father had always told him that such things were not for him, and now. It had once been easy to put away his feelings, but that was changing. He understood that on a physical level, some women found him attractive, but this was different, Sara wanted him. He had never been attracted to anyone the way he was to Sara, never really though about that at all to be honest. They had no place in the life he was raised and trained to lead. He only knew Sara and that he loved her, needed to protect her, it was enough, at least it always had been. Now Ian wanted more, he wanted a life with Sara in it, not just as an abstract figure of adoration but as a real flesh and blood woman. The problem remained though, he really wasn't sure how to go about it, how to be with her and not hurt her or embarrass either of them. He thought about his father, the easy grace with which he dealt with the women who threw themselves at him so eagerly. While he could, if necessary, ape the mannerisms, it would not be the same thing. Besides, it struck him as wrong, unclean somehow, to compare the two. He loved Sara and Irons, well he hadn't loved any of them. He settled in, pushing the thoughts away from him. Forcing himself to relax his breathing, let his muscles loosen, and fell asleep.
She was on a battlefield fighting for her life, trying to rally her troops. Her leg ached from the crossbow bolt in her thigh and the blood running down her leg and into her boot was distracting. Suddenly she was grabbed and pulled from her horse. She turned to attack but saw Ian pulling her away with him. No not Ian, Jean and she was not Sara, not at the moment. He grabbed her and dragged her onto his horse and rode off while she tried to make him understand that she had to stay, they needed her. But he would not listen. The intensity of the pain finally made her black out and she woke in a strange room, a strange bed. She looked down and realized she was out of her armor and dressed only in a shirt, the bedclothes pulled right up to her chin for modesty's sake. Her leg felt heavy and when she tried to move, she found that she was too weak.
"Where.I."
"Shhh, you are still to weak, try to rest." Jean rose from the chair that he had been dosing in and came and knelt by her bedside, reaching out for her hand. "The surgeon said you will be all right, but you need to rest." The look in his brown-gold eyes was sweet and intense, full of love and hope.
"I need to get up, I cannot follow my vision from this bed," she snapped. That seemed to please him and he reached out and stroked her face, but she flinched away from his touch. Jean rose abruptly and left the room, the pain clear on his face. When he had gone the tears started, slowly. It was of no consequence, she told herself, he was a noble man, and she was nothing, just the messenger, and when she was done she would return to her life, her family and the farm. They could not change the world, if it were not for the war they never would have met, she never would have felt this, fallen in love with him, or him with her. Sometimes she longed for a simple life, the farm, a husband, children. But that was before the gauntlet, before God had chosen her, before the visions came. Now she was a warrior, fighting for her country, her King and her God. And a peasant girl who fell in love with a Duke, not just any noble but the best of them, a man of honor and faith. Suddenly the vision came, Jean being dragged away from her, beaten down and killed. The future, her future was clear before her, the betrayal, the stake, and cleansing fire. She knew she could not save herself, she had to do as God commanded, and so she would die, become a martyr this was her fate. But she could not allow him to die for her. She shifted, started to try and sit up as she worked on her plan. She only hoped that he was unaware of the vision, or at least what it contained.
Jean returned, he could never remain upset with her for long. She drank in the sight of him, the dark hair, deep brown eyes and the beard that had grown when they first began to make him look older than his twenty-one years. She smiled at him and he returned it, secure in the knowledge that her mood had passed. It was reassuring, giving her the knowledge that she needed, he had not seen her vision, he would go along with her plan and live.
"Jean, I need you to take a few men south and check out the lay of the land. We will have to move on soon and I need to know what we will find there."
"Anything, does this mean you have had a vision? Have you seen our next move?" he asked eagerly, although he had felt nothing himself.
"Yes, I have, and I need you to do this for me."
"But what about you? I cannot leave you alone." He moved closer and knelt on the floor near her. "Jeanne, you know how I feel about you. When this has ended, I would like."
"Shhh, yes I know, but what you want is impossible, no matter what else, I am still a peasant."
"You are worth more than all the noble women in France," he said passionately. "And I love you. Nothing else matters." He leaned forward and took her hand. "I will find a way, please. Promise me that you will at least consider." She looked into his eyes and felt the pain welling up inside her. She knew that when he returned for her she would already be cold ash, her spirit gone to join the God she served. She choked back the lump in her throat. If he saw how upset she was, he would never leave her and he would die too, she could not allow that to happen.
"There is only you, I promise that we will have our time, the day will come when we will be together." She smiled as a look of pure happiness passed his face. She sat up a little more to be closer, ran her hand through his loose hair and pushed back the tears. There was no way to tell him that the day would not come in this lifetime, that soon she would leave him alone here. "My soul belongs to God, but my heart belongs only to you. Now go, you should be gone before morning." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently as she laid back against the pillows.
"I will return to you as soon as I may." He started to go, but she pulled him gently to her and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.
Sara woke up from the very intense dream alone, to find herself face down on the far side of the bed, next to where Ian slept. A tear was sliding down her face and she brushed it away impatiently, not wanting him to see or to have to explain. She turned the dream over a little in her mind, she had sent him away so that he would not die, promised him a lifetime. She looked down at the Witchblade, a dull red glow swirling lazily in the heart of the stone. Now she had the chance to make it right, for the past and the future. Sara was a little puzzled, frightened of what was happening to her. The emotions were real though, not just what was happening with the damn bracelet. She really was starting to care about him in the here and now, at least she thought she was. The vision seemed to be pushing her, trying to make things happen faster. What was the rush? Damn she was confused. She looked down at him, his eyes still closed. He looked so innocent with those damn beautiful confused, confusing eyes hidden. Her alarm had not yet gone off so she had a few minutes. "Wake up, Bright Eyes," she whispered to him. "I'm already awake, Sara," he said, looking up at her.
"Damn, you startled me."
"You have frequently startled me recently. It is only fair." He smiled up at her. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, before slipping out of bed and heading off for a shower.
Safely alone in the bathroom, Sara stood under the warm water and tried to make sense of what she had seen. The faith, the love that had lead Jeanne to follow her vision to her death was completely foreign to her. The only thing she was sure she believed in was the law; it had always been her cause, bringing criminals to justice. Now she had committed herself to a relationship with a man who had in all probability broken more laws than she could imagine. That was another thing, Jeanne had loved him so much, how many other Wielders had loved him, had he loved? How deeply where they connected? She had seen some of it in the vision, it made her uncomfortable that all this might have been decided for her, that she had not been given a choice. Jeanne had loved him so much that she sent him away, done everything she could to prevent his death. But Ian had knelt before her and offered her his life. I doubt anyone ever understood her, how could they? Ultimately she was abandoned. Ian had, that was the sadness in his voice, counting himself as one of them, blaming himself for not being there, not saving her. That explained the warnings, the reason that he had been so determined, why he had dragged himself to her the other night, to try one last time to make her understand. But that was the past, she needed to concentrate on the future, her future and his, when did he become a part of her future, her life? She felt a little shiver in her heart, he had been willing to put himself in her hands and if she rejected him. Once again she remembered her vision, Ian knelt with the katana held before him. But she could not be responsible for his life, or his death. Still she was becoming more and more comfortable with him, she let him stay in her apartment, sleep by her bed and arouse emotions in her that she had tried so hard to bury beneath work and duty. How much different really was that from what he had done? He had devoted himself to his father, to Kenneth Irons' dream and for his trouble he had gotten abused and abandoned. They were both alone. When it came right down to it, it wasn't just the Witchblade; they were more alike than she was really comfortable admitting. Great, she thought to herself, he doesn't know how to live for himself and I don't know how to give enough of myself to live for someone else. We must be nuts.