Chapter 3
Ariella awoke groggy and aching, her head heavy against the pillow. Moaning, she swung her feet over the side of the bed, the cool stone of the floor soothing against her rough skin. She padded barefoot over to her wash stand, where she poured water into her ewer and splashed it on her face. She wiped at her mouth vigorously, trying to rid herself of the vomit aftertaste. It was a shame about last night, how embarrassing to have said those things, to puke in his lap! And on velvet breeches to make it worse. Oy! She reached into the clothes press and uncovered a pale green smock, simple and airy. Slipping it on and matching it with the appropriate slippers, she walked down to the great hall to break her fast.
As she neared the hall there was the distinct sound of shouting. Father's voice, she could hear, and another, familiar and deep. Erik. She ran the rest of the way, then paused outside of the large doors, now securely closed against intruders. About five or so women were gathered around them, eavesdropping as they awaited the argument to end so they could breakfast. Ari noticed her mother, Jocelyn, her aunts, Ingrid and Gerda, as well as a few servants. She joined the crowd, inquiring about the cause of the altercation.
"Lord Dowelle believes that there will be raiding from those regions not loyal to the new king and his decisions. Findlay, however, doesn't believe his neighboring vassals and lords would turn on lifelong alliances with him," her mother answered. She looked pale and probably hadn't gotten much sleep the night before.
"Will Father declare war upon Er- Lord Dowelle?"
"Most likely not, but we must be prepared for anything." Ari nodded, understanding this all too well.
"Are William and Russell in there as well?" Now was Jocelyn's turn to nod, a grim smile on her face.
"I just want my food. Can't they finish this elsewhere?" Ingrid asked, the larger of the two sisters.
"What, you're appetite can't wait until they resolve this? Or don't you realize that this is war they're talking about?" Ariella growled at her.
"War doesn't concern women, and they could just as easily yell at each other in the library or on the battlements or in the courtyard."
"How can you say that war doesn't concern women? It affects us the most! We're the ones who become widows, or fatherless, brother less, son less, we're the ones who are taken for prizes, raped and enslaved. This makes or breaks our lives!" Ari was nearly screaming now, but she didn't care. Jocelyn put her hand on Ari's arm, trying her best to soothe the girl. The yelling from the hall suddenly grew louder, and there was a crash, possibly a chair being thrown. All of the women quieted, no longer needing to strain to hear what was being said.
"I give you my hospitality and this is what I get in return? Lies about my closest friends and allies? I will not hear this, Lord Dowelle. You may be a lord, but you have no tact whatsoever, nor do you have war skills or the army to back you. You are nothing and should be ashamed of yourself."
"Believe what you will, but it will not be my fault when you lose your manor and your keep to foes you once thought friends." It grew eerily silent in the hall. The doors flew open, startling the women gathered behind them. Erik looked up, muttered a humble apology. His eyes lit up when he saw Ari among them, yet he still wore a long face.
"Has Father sent you away then?" she asked, not bothering to hide her disappointment.
"No, but he will, if I speak too much of matters he does not like, or wish to acknowledge." He smiled sadly, adding, " I just hope that if, no, when, when he does know that what I speak is truth that it is not too late for Nottinghadahm." He bowed slightly and disappeared out the side door. Ingrid waited hardly a minute before she and Gerda rushed into the hall. Jocelyn and Ariella had a bit more decency. They knew their place in the house, as much as they may dislike it. The two stood quietly at the foot of the dais until Lord Fortingard noticed them, motioning for them to sit and eat with a simple flick of his wrist. When Ariella sat, trying to call as little attention to herself as possible, her father singled her out with a glare of ice. Pointing a grease covered finger her way, he said,
"You, daughter, are a disobedient and ungrateful girl. You show no respect for your father and disregard common courtesy and manners. If you ever, Ever, do that again in my house, you will be sent to the capitol to live with your uncle, who will see that you are taught the proper way a young lady must behave. And, for what you did to me in front of all of my people, you will receive a severe whipping. Is all I have said clear to you?"
"Crystalline, Father," she said, her head bowed so she would not seem defiant.
"Good. Report to Christopher for your punishment after you eat," he commanded, returning his attention to his food. She ate an apple, a piece of coarse bread, and a mug of water, then asked to be excused. Lord Fortingard shooed her away using the same gesture he had ushered her in with. Cursing the man in her head, Ariella slowly made her way to the armoury, where the damnable steward certainly awaited her. Aye, there he was, whip in hand and a wicked grin on his face. Oh, how she hated him, the evil little man.
"Well, my dear, come to visit me so soon?" he taunted.
"Oh, just shut up and get it over with. I have business to attend to," she snapped back, not in the mood for his snide remarks. She knew that if he had his way that she would be married to him and bearing his brats. She offered up a prayer that such a fate would never befall her, or any woman for that matter.
"Very well then, follow me." He started down the steps to the courtyard, and she went along behind him, her eyes throwing daggers at his back. Then the realization hit her; her father meant to make this beating public! Damn him for making her pay for his lost dignity with hers. Damn him! She should fight them, tooth and nail, but she still wished to stay here. As much as she hated the people, this was her home, and she didn't want to be forced out of it to a foreign place with no one she loved or trusted. So she fought the natural urge to fight against punishment and confinement and did what she'd done so many times before, gritted her teeth and bore it. Christopher motioned to the pole by the well and produced a coil of rope. She walked over and pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her dress, pulling the soft cotton open at the back so it would not be torn with the whip. She put her arms up around the pole, letting Christopher secure them there with the rope and a solid knot. He grabbed her gown and nearly ripped it opening it wider until she was showing more skin than she should. She bellowed at him, kicking out at his shin. He snickered and ran his fingers along the scars that littered her back from beatings before.
"Such soft skin, so pale and delicate," he whispered, tracing a particularly nasty one that went to the small of her back. Then, without even so much as a warning, he swung the whip and let it lash out against her back hard. She buckled and screamed at him. Yet the whip fell again, and again, and again. Ariella winced, feeling an old scar rip open with the force of the blows he delivered. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from thinking of the blood trickling down her thighs and stomach. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. . . The pain was intense, her strength dwindling as Christopher reached and exceeded the limits her father had set. He was on twenty one when someone forced him to stop. Ari was on her knees, her head dipped against her chest in defeat. She was being untied, now someone was lifting her. Opening her eyes, she found herself cradled in Erik's arms, pulled in against his chest. His tunic was already soaked with her blood but he didn't seem to notice. The worry was eminent in his gaze.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice quivering.
"I am now. Thank you Erik," she said, sliding her arms around his neck in an effort to hold on as he began to walk towards the door leading inside. "Oh, no, please. Can you carry me to the stables?"
"Yes, but I don't think now is the time for a ride." He turned around and carefully shifted her weight against him, trying not to touch the open gashes in her skin.
"Last stall on the right please. Put me down in the straw and saddle her up for me, if you don't mind."
He kicked open the door softly and entered the stall. The white mare in the corner looked up from her feedbox for just a moment, seeing her mistress and judging this male intrusion alright. Erik placed Ari down on the pile of fresh straw and reached for the saddle and bridle. They were of well-oiled leather, the bit of solid silver. Wonder how much this set the lord back, he thought. He took but a few minutes saddling the horse, then turned to find Ariella staring at him.
"What?"
"My uncle gave me the bridle and bit, straight from the capitol." How had she known? "I saw you eyeing them, and I know how cheap our manor looks. Father would never spend money on my horse, or my sword, just the whip he has Christopher use." The anger was back in her eyes.
"What did you do to deserve that? It's evil to whip a horse, let alone a woman. That is just inhumane."
"Get me up on Silverstreak and I'll tell you about it."
"You seriously don't intend to ride in this condition."
"Why do you think I had you saddle her? Do you think she likes having that thing on? I'd prefer to ride bareback, but I wasn't sure if you needed a saddle or not. Now cup a hold and help me up!" He gave her his hand and pulled her upright, then picked her up and sat her side-saddle on the mare's back. She swung her leg over to the other side and let him climb up in front of her. He took the reins in his hands and said,
"Where to, my lady blue?"
"Go out this door here and ride straight until I tell you to stop." He kicked Silverstreak into a walk, then a canter, and finally a gallop as they left the confinement of the walls. Ari leaned back, letting the wind blow her hair out behind her. They were flying across the plains, and she could hear the shouts of the soldiers atop the battlements. She grinned and waved to them, their whistles and cat-calls nothing new to her. Smile still on her face, she leaned into Erik, wrapping her arms around him. He stiffened slightly at her touch, but relaxed as she rested her head against his shoulder. She was just so soft and delicate looking, fire and ice inside, with a beauty surpassed by no other. It hurt him so much that Lord Fortingard would have her whipped, and to the point where it left scars! Ariella reached over and pulled on the reins, ever so slightly, and Silverstreak slowed her gallop to an easy trot, both of which jerked Erik out of his thoughts.
"Here?" he asked, looking at the forest that loomed ahead of them.
"No, there's a clearing about a mile in," she said, clucking to the mare, who trotted into the trees as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
"There could be enemies hiding in here. Aren't you afraid of that?"
"No one would dare to enter these woods unaided. I am one of the few who know every path and hiding place, every den of every bear, the holes of all the creatures that dwell here. They are my only friends in all of this place. And I fear nothing, Lord Dowelle, except for my father."
"Why do you fear him? I mean, other than his ignorance and masculinity-"
"You have seen my back. What man beats his own daughter with a whip purely because she is strong-willed and stubborn?" she asked. "He didn't want me, he had his son already, a daughter was of little asset to him in these parts. Just another mouth to feed, another excuse for his wife to not share his bed. He has hated me from the day I was born, and I feel his wrath on a regular basis."
"That is so horribly evil, to not love your own flesh and blood simply because they are not what you wish them to be."
"Yet it happens, m'lord, and there is nothing any of us can do about it." By now they were deep into the woods and Erik saw no signs of a clearing. The trees were so thick here that no sunlight filtered through their heavy branches. But beyond all reason, Silverstreak walked sedately through the limbs and into an open, bright clearing, with high wheat colored grass and wildflowers. In the very center there ran a bubbling brook which pooled into a small pond. It was splashed with color; reds and greens, purples and blues, yellows and whites. He paused in his dismount, shocked by the simplistic beauty of it all, his breath stilled in his chest.
"I-, it's, it's- when did you find this? I, it's magnificent," he stuttered, still lost in awe.
"I was six of seven when I first rode Silverstreak. She was wild and unbroken, just as free a spirit as me. I lost control of her, and she took me here. It's our secret hideaway, whenever something bad happens, I take her from the stables and we ride, free and unchallenged. This is my real home." He watched the emotions struggling just under her surface, watched her fight to keep them under control. He slid to the ground, reaching up to lift her off the horse. She cried out when he accidentally touched one of the open wounds. He mumbled his apologies and held her against him carefully. She let him carry her over to the pond and set her down in the deep grass. He sat beside her and reached out to her.
"Come, let me see them." She looked up at him, wondering how he could be so kind to her. She scooted across the foot of grass that separated them and sat directly in front of him. He gathered her hair in his hands, letting it fall over her shoulder. Trying to keep his anger in check, he examined the bloody mess that was her back. The skin was torn and ragged, but the blood flow seemed to have stopped, courtesy of his once white shirt. Scars covered her back, in such odd shapes and lengths and sizes that he wondered just how badly she was treated. He ripped a clean piece of his shirt off and dipped it in the water. He brought it over to her back and pressed it to the worst of the gashes. He felt her tense and heard the gasp that escaped her lips as the cold water seeped into the wound. Carefully, with strong and learn-ed motions, he placed a clean, damp piece of his tunic onto her bloodied back until he had no shirt left. She sat there, enclosed in his arms, for a few moments more, savoring the feeling inside of her that his touch evoked. His skin was so warm, his muscles hard beneath the softness of his epidermis. Yet the moment had to end, this she knew from past experiences.
Groaning softly, she pulled herself up and away from him. She refused to look up at him, focusing her eyes on her hands, or the hem of her gown. The silence between them was awkward and oh so loud to her ears, echoing in her skull. She cleared her throat.
"Thank you m'lord. I regret to say, sir, that now you have no shirt to wear," she said, nodding her head towards his bare chest. He grinned, stretching his arms over his head and lying back in the grass.
"Oh, I've others. It's a warm day anyhow, I can go without." He grinned at her, all teeth. My, how white they were.
"Yes, but things will be assumed when we ride back and you are seen half-naked. I would prefer if that did not happen." That was all she needed, the soldiers would be breaking down her bedroom door tonight, trying to add another notch to their bedposts. She shuddered at the thought; there was more than enough trouble with Christopher and him, no more was needed.
"Well then, what shall we do, my dear lady?" he said in jest.
"Drown you in this pool? Or perhaps. . . no, it would never work." He sat up slightly, his interest sparked.
"What? Tell me."
"I, well, you could wear the bloodied part, and we could say the rest was torn off when you fell from the horse."
"No! My men would know better- I sit a horse better than any of them can ever dream to."
"Have you any other suggestions?"she inquired, raising her eyebrows at him.
"Well, no, but still."
"Put it on and then help me with my gown please." Muttering under his breath the entire time, he obliged her, slipping on the ruined garment. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he buttoned her gown up for modesty's sake. Then he climbed back into the saddle, reaching down with one hand to pull her behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist tightly, feeling heat rush through her when she touched the hardness of his body. He sucked his teeth and kicked the mare into a gallop. He hoped to make it out of the forest before dusk fell; it had been almost noon when they'd set out, and he'd not eaten much this morning. But Silverstreak ran hard and made the ride in half the time it had taken earlier They were through the stables and heading towards the stairs before they were noticed. Ingrid, Ariella thought, her anger steaming once more. That one would tell the entire manor before they even made it to the safety of their own rooms. She couldn't let Erik be embarrassed again.
"Lord Dowelle, really, you must not ride so hard through the forests here. The tree limbs are hungry for an over-zealous rider, and already you have fallen victim to their clawing branches! I do say, sir, nearly the whole back of your shirt has been torn off!" He almost turned to look at her, the question written all over his face. She rushed to his side and guided him up the steps, making certain that his back was always towards that magpie of a woman.
"You just come along to your chamber and I'll call the servants in to take care of you. Tsk, tsk, tsk." By that time they were in the hallway and out of Ingrid's sight and hearing.
"What was that?"
"My cousin. She's got a mouth on her, and if she had any clue what happened this afternoon, or was left to create her own lie, it would be the death of us both." He opened the door to his room, letting her close and lock it as he sank down into the bed.
"And what happened this afternoon, pretty lady?"
"You know very well. We rode out to my clearing, you treated my wounds, we rode back. No more, no less."
"I thought there was a little more than that, but I was raised better than to argue with a lady."
"I am no lady. All you need to do is listen to the guards' gossip to learn that. I am the maiden in all of their dreams, wet and dry. You've seen the way they look at me. It's a wonder I still am a maiden, what living in this place." She looked him dead in the eye as she said that, watching his expression.
"Perhaps I can change that," he said softly.
"Nay, I don't think you can change any of it Erik. It's already been done."
She turned to undo the latch and go, but in two strides he was at her side, his hand on her arm. She looked up at his face, afraid at the hardness she found there. He cupped her chin in his hand, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw. The coldness in his black eyes frightened her, and she struggled to get away. But he pulled her close, ever conscious of her lashings, and pinned her body against the door with his. Just as she began to squirm he brought his face close in to hers, letting his lips touch hers softly. He felt her begin to melt and caught her behind the knees, dumping her on the bed. They met each other for the kiss this time, his lips demanding and rough. His tongue forced her lips open for him, and he let her fall back against the pillows as he ravished her mouth. The kiss was hot and ragged, her tongue timidly meeting his, the two of them tasting each other. His hand moved from her hip to her thigh, and she slid away from him.
"No. Erik, please. Not now, not, no." Her breath was coming in short gasps, her heart beating too quickly in her chest. He sat back on his haunches, licking his lips and watching her.
"You don't kiss like a maiden, but you shy away like one. It doesn't make sense."
"Nothing ever does when it comes to me, or have you noticed that already?"
"Who was it? Who took you?"
"It wasn't my choice, I didn't want it any more than I want that damn whip. But it doesn't matter what I want, I'm a woman."
"Who?" His tone was harsh, although he didn't mean it to be.
"Take your pick; one of the guards, a servant, Christopher, a guest at the manor, a villager. They all have the same look in their eye when I pass them in the hall or the streets. I don't even look at their faces anymore; they're all the same." Her defiance was fading, the tears welling up in her eyes. He opened his arms to her, and she sank into his open embrace. Her beauty was her downfall, was used against her to the worst extent. Rocking her body back and forth, he held her while she cried, the anger festering up inside of him like the puss in an infected wound. A bell sounded from far off and she pulled herself back to the present.
"I have to go get ready for dinner. We don't want any repeat performances, eh?"
"No, we don't. Will you be alright?" he asked, the worry eminent in his gaze.
"Yes, I'll be fine, really. Thank you." She smoothed her skirt, then leaned towards him for a moment. Her lips brushed against his cheek as she whispered in his ear,
"You don't kiss like a maiden either."
Ariella awoke groggy and aching, her head heavy against the pillow. Moaning, she swung her feet over the side of the bed, the cool stone of the floor soothing against her rough skin. She padded barefoot over to her wash stand, where she poured water into her ewer and splashed it on her face. She wiped at her mouth vigorously, trying to rid herself of the vomit aftertaste. It was a shame about last night, how embarrassing to have said those things, to puke in his lap! And on velvet breeches to make it worse. Oy! She reached into the clothes press and uncovered a pale green smock, simple and airy. Slipping it on and matching it with the appropriate slippers, she walked down to the great hall to break her fast.
As she neared the hall there was the distinct sound of shouting. Father's voice, she could hear, and another, familiar and deep. Erik. She ran the rest of the way, then paused outside of the large doors, now securely closed against intruders. About five or so women were gathered around them, eavesdropping as they awaited the argument to end so they could breakfast. Ari noticed her mother, Jocelyn, her aunts, Ingrid and Gerda, as well as a few servants. She joined the crowd, inquiring about the cause of the altercation.
"Lord Dowelle believes that there will be raiding from those regions not loyal to the new king and his decisions. Findlay, however, doesn't believe his neighboring vassals and lords would turn on lifelong alliances with him," her mother answered. She looked pale and probably hadn't gotten much sleep the night before.
"Will Father declare war upon Er- Lord Dowelle?"
"Most likely not, but we must be prepared for anything." Ari nodded, understanding this all too well.
"Are William and Russell in there as well?" Now was Jocelyn's turn to nod, a grim smile on her face.
"I just want my food. Can't they finish this elsewhere?" Ingrid asked, the larger of the two sisters.
"What, you're appetite can't wait until they resolve this? Or don't you realize that this is war they're talking about?" Ariella growled at her.
"War doesn't concern women, and they could just as easily yell at each other in the library or on the battlements or in the courtyard."
"How can you say that war doesn't concern women? It affects us the most! We're the ones who become widows, or fatherless, brother less, son less, we're the ones who are taken for prizes, raped and enslaved. This makes or breaks our lives!" Ari was nearly screaming now, but she didn't care. Jocelyn put her hand on Ari's arm, trying her best to soothe the girl. The yelling from the hall suddenly grew louder, and there was a crash, possibly a chair being thrown. All of the women quieted, no longer needing to strain to hear what was being said.
"I give you my hospitality and this is what I get in return? Lies about my closest friends and allies? I will not hear this, Lord Dowelle. You may be a lord, but you have no tact whatsoever, nor do you have war skills or the army to back you. You are nothing and should be ashamed of yourself."
"Believe what you will, but it will not be my fault when you lose your manor and your keep to foes you once thought friends." It grew eerily silent in the hall. The doors flew open, startling the women gathered behind them. Erik looked up, muttered a humble apology. His eyes lit up when he saw Ari among them, yet he still wore a long face.
"Has Father sent you away then?" she asked, not bothering to hide her disappointment.
"No, but he will, if I speak too much of matters he does not like, or wish to acknowledge." He smiled sadly, adding, " I just hope that if, no, when, when he does know that what I speak is truth that it is not too late for Nottinghadahm." He bowed slightly and disappeared out the side door. Ingrid waited hardly a minute before she and Gerda rushed into the hall. Jocelyn and Ariella had a bit more decency. They knew their place in the house, as much as they may dislike it. The two stood quietly at the foot of the dais until Lord Fortingard noticed them, motioning for them to sit and eat with a simple flick of his wrist. When Ariella sat, trying to call as little attention to herself as possible, her father singled her out with a glare of ice. Pointing a grease covered finger her way, he said,
"You, daughter, are a disobedient and ungrateful girl. You show no respect for your father and disregard common courtesy and manners. If you ever, Ever, do that again in my house, you will be sent to the capitol to live with your uncle, who will see that you are taught the proper way a young lady must behave. And, for what you did to me in front of all of my people, you will receive a severe whipping. Is all I have said clear to you?"
"Crystalline, Father," she said, her head bowed so she would not seem defiant.
"Good. Report to Christopher for your punishment after you eat," he commanded, returning his attention to his food. She ate an apple, a piece of coarse bread, and a mug of water, then asked to be excused. Lord Fortingard shooed her away using the same gesture he had ushered her in with. Cursing the man in her head, Ariella slowly made her way to the armoury, where the damnable steward certainly awaited her. Aye, there he was, whip in hand and a wicked grin on his face. Oh, how she hated him, the evil little man.
"Well, my dear, come to visit me so soon?" he taunted.
"Oh, just shut up and get it over with. I have business to attend to," she snapped back, not in the mood for his snide remarks. She knew that if he had his way that she would be married to him and bearing his brats. She offered up a prayer that such a fate would never befall her, or any woman for that matter.
"Very well then, follow me." He started down the steps to the courtyard, and she went along behind him, her eyes throwing daggers at his back. Then the realization hit her; her father meant to make this beating public! Damn him for making her pay for his lost dignity with hers. Damn him! She should fight them, tooth and nail, but she still wished to stay here. As much as she hated the people, this was her home, and she didn't want to be forced out of it to a foreign place with no one she loved or trusted. So she fought the natural urge to fight against punishment and confinement and did what she'd done so many times before, gritted her teeth and bore it. Christopher motioned to the pole by the well and produced a coil of rope. She walked over and pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her dress, pulling the soft cotton open at the back so it would not be torn with the whip. She put her arms up around the pole, letting Christopher secure them there with the rope and a solid knot. He grabbed her gown and nearly ripped it opening it wider until she was showing more skin than she should. She bellowed at him, kicking out at his shin. He snickered and ran his fingers along the scars that littered her back from beatings before.
"Such soft skin, so pale and delicate," he whispered, tracing a particularly nasty one that went to the small of her back. Then, without even so much as a warning, he swung the whip and let it lash out against her back hard. She buckled and screamed at him. Yet the whip fell again, and again, and again. Ariella winced, feeling an old scar rip open with the force of the blows he delivered. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from thinking of the blood trickling down her thighs and stomach. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. . . The pain was intense, her strength dwindling as Christopher reached and exceeded the limits her father had set. He was on twenty one when someone forced him to stop. Ari was on her knees, her head dipped against her chest in defeat. She was being untied, now someone was lifting her. Opening her eyes, she found herself cradled in Erik's arms, pulled in against his chest. His tunic was already soaked with her blood but he didn't seem to notice. The worry was eminent in his gaze.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice quivering.
"I am now. Thank you Erik," she said, sliding her arms around his neck in an effort to hold on as he began to walk towards the door leading inside. "Oh, no, please. Can you carry me to the stables?"
"Yes, but I don't think now is the time for a ride." He turned around and carefully shifted her weight against him, trying not to touch the open gashes in her skin.
"Last stall on the right please. Put me down in the straw and saddle her up for me, if you don't mind."
He kicked open the door softly and entered the stall. The white mare in the corner looked up from her feedbox for just a moment, seeing her mistress and judging this male intrusion alright. Erik placed Ari down on the pile of fresh straw and reached for the saddle and bridle. They were of well-oiled leather, the bit of solid silver. Wonder how much this set the lord back, he thought. He took but a few minutes saddling the horse, then turned to find Ariella staring at him.
"What?"
"My uncle gave me the bridle and bit, straight from the capitol." How had she known? "I saw you eyeing them, and I know how cheap our manor looks. Father would never spend money on my horse, or my sword, just the whip he has Christopher use." The anger was back in her eyes.
"What did you do to deserve that? It's evil to whip a horse, let alone a woman. That is just inhumane."
"Get me up on Silverstreak and I'll tell you about it."
"You seriously don't intend to ride in this condition."
"Why do you think I had you saddle her? Do you think she likes having that thing on? I'd prefer to ride bareback, but I wasn't sure if you needed a saddle or not. Now cup a hold and help me up!" He gave her his hand and pulled her upright, then picked her up and sat her side-saddle on the mare's back. She swung her leg over to the other side and let him climb up in front of her. He took the reins in his hands and said,
"Where to, my lady blue?"
"Go out this door here and ride straight until I tell you to stop." He kicked Silverstreak into a walk, then a canter, and finally a gallop as they left the confinement of the walls. Ari leaned back, letting the wind blow her hair out behind her. They were flying across the plains, and she could hear the shouts of the soldiers atop the battlements. She grinned and waved to them, their whistles and cat-calls nothing new to her. Smile still on her face, she leaned into Erik, wrapping her arms around him. He stiffened slightly at her touch, but relaxed as she rested her head against his shoulder. She was just so soft and delicate looking, fire and ice inside, with a beauty surpassed by no other. It hurt him so much that Lord Fortingard would have her whipped, and to the point where it left scars! Ariella reached over and pulled on the reins, ever so slightly, and Silverstreak slowed her gallop to an easy trot, both of which jerked Erik out of his thoughts.
"Here?" he asked, looking at the forest that loomed ahead of them.
"No, there's a clearing about a mile in," she said, clucking to the mare, who trotted into the trees as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
"There could be enemies hiding in here. Aren't you afraid of that?"
"No one would dare to enter these woods unaided. I am one of the few who know every path and hiding place, every den of every bear, the holes of all the creatures that dwell here. They are my only friends in all of this place. And I fear nothing, Lord Dowelle, except for my father."
"Why do you fear him? I mean, other than his ignorance and masculinity-"
"You have seen my back. What man beats his own daughter with a whip purely because she is strong-willed and stubborn?" she asked. "He didn't want me, he had his son already, a daughter was of little asset to him in these parts. Just another mouth to feed, another excuse for his wife to not share his bed. He has hated me from the day I was born, and I feel his wrath on a regular basis."
"That is so horribly evil, to not love your own flesh and blood simply because they are not what you wish them to be."
"Yet it happens, m'lord, and there is nothing any of us can do about it." By now they were deep into the woods and Erik saw no signs of a clearing. The trees were so thick here that no sunlight filtered through their heavy branches. But beyond all reason, Silverstreak walked sedately through the limbs and into an open, bright clearing, with high wheat colored grass and wildflowers. In the very center there ran a bubbling brook which pooled into a small pond. It was splashed with color; reds and greens, purples and blues, yellows and whites. He paused in his dismount, shocked by the simplistic beauty of it all, his breath stilled in his chest.
"I-, it's, it's- when did you find this? I, it's magnificent," he stuttered, still lost in awe.
"I was six of seven when I first rode Silverstreak. She was wild and unbroken, just as free a spirit as me. I lost control of her, and she took me here. It's our secret hideaway, whenever something bad happens, I take her from the stables and we ride, free and unchallenged. This is my real home." He watched the emotions struggling just under her surface, watched her fight to keep them under control. He slid to the ground, reaching up to lift her off the horse. She cried out when he accidentally touched one of the open wounds. He mumbled his apologies and held her against him carefully. She let him carry her over to the pond and set her down in the deep grass. He sat beside her and reached out to her.
"Come, let me see them." She looked up at him, wondering how he could be so kind to her. She scooted across the foot of grass that separated them and sat directly in front of him. He gathered her hair in his hands, letting it fall over her shoulder. Trying to keep his anger in check, he examined the bloody mess that was her back. The skin was torn and ragged, but the blood flow seemed to have stopped, courtesy of his once white shirt. Scars covered her back, in such odd shapes and lengths and sizes that he wondered just how badly she was treated. He ripped a clean piece of his shirt off and dipped it in the water. He brought it over to her back and pressed it to the worst of the gashes. He felt her tense and heard the gasp that escaped her lips as the cold water seeped into the wound. Carefully, with strong and learn-ed motions, he placed a clean, damp piece of his tunic onto her bloodied back until he had no shirt left. She sat there, enclosed in his arms, for a few moments more, savoring the feeling inside of her that his touch evoked. His skin was so warm, his muscles hard beneath the softness of his epidermis. Yet the moment had to end, this she knew from past experiences.
Groaning softly, she pulled herself up and away from him. She refused to look up at him, focusing her eyes on her hands, or the hem of her gown. The silence between them was awkward and oh so loud to her ears, echoing in her skull. She cleared her throat.
"Thank you m'lord. I regret to say, sir, that now you have no shirt to wear," she said, nodding her head towards his bare chest. He grinned, stretching his arms over his head and lying back in the grass.
"Oh, I've others. It's a warm day anyhow, I can go without." He grinned at her, all teeth. My, how white they were.
"Yes, but things will be assumed when we ride back and you are seen half-naked. I would prefer if that did not happen." That was all she needed, the soldiers would be breaking down her bedroom door tonight, trying to add another notch to their bedposts. She shuddered at the thought; there was more than enough trouble with Christopher and him, no more was needed.
"Well then, what shall we do, my dear lady?" he said in jest.
"Drown you in this pool? Or perhaps. . . no, it would never work." He sat up slightly, his interest sparked.
"What? Tell me."
"I, well, you could wear the bloodied part, and we could say the rest was torn off when you fell from the horse."
"No! My men would know better- I sit a horse better than any of them can ever dream to."
"Have you any other suggestions?"she inquired, raising her eyebrows at him.
"Well, no, but still."
"Put it on and then help me with my gown please." Muttering under his breath the entire time, he obliged her, slipping on the ruined garment. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he buttoned her gown up for modesty's sake. Then he climbed back into the saddle, reaching down with one hand to pull her behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist tightly, feeling heat rush through her when she touched the hardness of his body. He sucked his teeth and kicked the mare into a gallop. He hoped to make it out of the forest before dusk fell; it had been almost noon when they'd set out, and he'd not eaten much this morning. But Silverstreak ran hard and made the ride in half the time it had taken earlier They were through the stables and heading towards the stairs before they were noticed. Ingrid, Ariella thought, her anger steaming once more. That one would tell the entire manor before they even made it to the safety of their own rooms. She couldn't let Erik be embarrassed again.
"Lord Dowelle, really, you must not ride so hard through the forests here. The tree limbs are hungry for an over-zealous rider, and already you have fallen victim to their clawing branches! I do say, sir, nearly the whole back of your shirt has been torn off!" He almost turned to look at her, the question written all over his face. She rushed to his side and guided him up the steps, making certain that his back was always towards that magpie of a woman.
"You just come along to your chamber and I'll call the servants in to take care of you. Tsk, tsk, tsk." By that time they were in the hallway and out of Ingrid's sight and hearing.
"What was that?"
"My cousin. She's got a mouth on her, and if she had any clue what happened this afternoon, or was left to create her own lie, it would be the death of us both." He opened the door to his room, letting her close and lock it as he sank down into the bed.
"And what happened this afternoon, pretty lady?"
"You know very well. We rode out to my clearing, you treated my wounds, we rode back. No more, no less."
"I thought there was a little more than that, but I was raised better than to argue with a lady."
"I am no lady. All you need to do is listen to the guards' gossip to learn that. I am the maiden in all of their dreams, wet and dry. You've seen the way they look at me. It's a wonder I still am a maiden, what living in this place." She looked him dead in the eye as she said that, watching his expression.
"Perhaps I can change that," he said softly.
"Nay, I don't think you can change any of it Erik. It's already been done."
She turned to undo the latch and go, but in two strides he was at her side, his hand on her arm. She looked up at his face, afraid at the hardness she found there. He cupped her chin in his hand, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw. The coldness in his black eyes frightened her, and she struggled to get away. But he pulled her close, ever conscious of her lashings, and pinned her body against the door with his. Just as she began to squirm he brought his face close in to hers, letting his lips touch hers softly. He felt her begin to melt and caught her behind the knees, dumping her on the bed. They met each other for the kiss this time, his lips demanding and rough. His tongue forced her lips open for him, and he let her fall back against the pillows as he ravished her mouth. The kiss was hot and ragged, her tongue timidly meeting his, the two of them tasting each other. His hand moved from her hip to her thigh, and she slid away from him.
"No. Erik, please. Not now, not, no." Her breath was coming in short gasps, her heart beating too quickly in her chest. He sat back on his haunches, licking his lips and watching her.
"You don't kiss like a maiden, but you shy away like one. It doesn't make sense."
"Nothing ever does when it comes to me, or have you noticed that already?"
"Who was it? Who took you?"
"It wasn't my choice, I didn't want it any more than I want that damn whip. But it doesn't matter what I want, I'm a woman."
"Who?" His tone was harsh, although he didn't mean it to be.
"Take your pick; one of the guards, a servant, Christopher, a guest at the manor, a villager. They all have the same look in their eye when I pass them in the hall or the streets. I don't even look at their faces anymore; they're all the same." Her defiance was fading, the tears welling up in her eyes. He opened his arms to her, and she sank into his open embrace. Her beauty was her downfall, was used against her to the worst extent. Rocking her body back and forth, he held her while she cried, the anger festering up inside of him like the puss in an infected wound. A bell sounded from far off and she pulled herself back to the present.
"I have to go get ready for dinner. We don't want any repeat performances, eh?"
"No, we don't. Will you be alright?" he asked, the worry eminent in his gaze.
"Yes, I'll be fine, really. Thank you." She smoothed her skirt, then leaned towards him for a moment. Her lips brushed against his cheek as she whispered in his ear,
"You don't kiss like a maiden either."