"Conor?"
Again, it was morning. He had tried not to sleep that night, but he had succumbed to his fatigue. Catlin could not hide her worried expression, but pretended she hadn't noticed anything was wrong. Conor's heart was racing, he felt as if it would break through his chest. Death and the smell of smoke still pricked his nose.
"I made you some breakfast, but don't get used to it," she smiled.
A half-grin played on his face and he felt slightly better.
"Thank you."
It was a statement with a great deal of meaning. He wasn't used to keeping secrets from her. She wasn't used to it either. However, she understood that he needed to keep this to himself. Catlin thought that he was reliving guilt of Claire's death. It made sense that he would keep that private. She'd never really known Claire. To Catlin, Claire had always been a princess. A princess whose father had owned Catlin. Conor winced. He hoped that someday, when this was all behind them, he could make it up to Cat.
"We'll have plenty of time, if you'd like to stop for a short rest midday," she suggested.
"Good," he said standing up.
She awoke early. She had never needed much sleep. Thinking of Longinus, she smiled. Power had always been attractive to her, and what was more powerful than immortality? She had taken the first step, and she knew that her task would be fulfilled. She had convinced one person, he was the easy one. However, the others would be more difficult. Smiling in the morning darkness, she prepared her role for the day: demure, smiling, gracious. Why was it men always seemed to fall for that? The anticipation was palpable. She was indeed her Master's servant.
The last day of their journey was under a mournful sky. It seemed as if there was something gloomy in the air. A light drizzle continued on. Even Catlin was tired.
"Conor, do you want to stop?" she yawned.
He had been silent and moody all day. Catlin wanted nothing more than to shake him and scream at him, What is wrong! Why won't you tell me! Yet, she restrained herself and tried to concentrate on other things.
"Yes. If we stop now, we'll still be able to approach the village before nightfall."
They settled on a secluded spot with a small hill that provided a good lookout point. No words were exchanged by the two, they simply took their places. Conor rested by the horses and Catlin took watch.
Within moments, deep exhalations emerged from his slumber. It was a peaceful, relaxed sound. The sound of someone who was not dreaming - for now. Catlin tried not to think about the content of his dreams, but she couldn't help it. Watching his face she tried to rid her mind of what she knew she could not. It had always been Claire, and it would always be so. She remembered the princess. She was never mean or rude to the slaves in Gar's fortress. Catlin could sense the unease whenever the girl would have need of help. The day before Catlin escaped, Claire found her washing Diana's clothing.
"Excuse me," Claire asked shyly.
Catlin had practically knocked over the wash bucket she was using. For a moment she was silent, then paid the girl her mandatory respect.
"Yes?" she said, curtsying low and nodding her head.
Claire looked to her and away from her uneasily.
"Could you help me wash this?"
The princess produced a beautiful white gown from her sack. The gown was simple, yet elegant. It was obviously the girl's favorite.
"It's dirty and I must wear it tomorrow night... it's a special night."
She was taken aback by the way the girl had requested the dress washed. Usually, some other slave or servant would bring the garment from inside the living quarters. Princesses usually didn't carry their own laundry.
"Here," Catlin reached out for the sack. "I will have it ready for you."
"No, no..." she stammered back, "I don't want to be any trouble. I can see you have much to do..." she gestured with obvious disgust at Diana's many garments which were strewn about the little room.
Smiling at Catlin she leaned close, like a child with a secret.
"I will do it myself... I just need you to show me how!"
Uneasiness spread across Catlin's face.
"If someone were to see you... I... I would get in trouble. It is better if I do it for you."
Disappointment and a melancholy look came into the girl's eyes.
"Of course... of course."
Sighing, she handed the bag over to Catlin. Walking out of the room, Claire called back softly,
"Thank you..." She hesitated for a moment then asked, "What's your name?"
"Catlin."
It sounded almost more of a question. Who ever asked a slave-girl's name?
"Are you sure?" Claire chuckled good-naturedly.
"Yes," Catlin smiled.
"Good... it's a very pretty name, it suits you."
In a moment of self-doubt she compared herself to Claire. Conor had loved her so dearly that he was ready to die for her. And Claire had loved him enough to die to protect him. It was tragic. Both were born to privilege and should have had every opportunity to be happy. Now, she was gone and Conor could not rid himself of the guilt of her death.
A slight rustling of trees rushed her out of her thoughts. Grabbing her bow and slipping an arrow to the ready her eyes peered in the direction of the disturbance. Silently, she side stepped over to Conor's sleeping form and crouched down beside him. Lowering her defenses for a moment, she shook him and quickly placed a hand over his mouth. Stunned eyes looked up at her, then realization took hold as she gestured towards the woods with a nod of her head. Regaining her stance she waited for another sign of movement.
Conor was alert in a single moment. Noiselessly he stood and quietly withdrew his sword, the metallic slither a quiet whisper in the trees. Back to back the friends stood, waiting for the attack.
When it came, it was not so much an attack, as a warning. Ten men stood facing Catlin's side of the clearing. All were armed and had their swords ready. In the midst of them stood a striking man with black hair and green eyes. Smiling at them his voice filled the air with authority.
"And what do we have here?"
There was no mistaking the fact that he was in charge.
"Just passing through," Catlin responded as nonchalantly as she could, considering the circumstances.
Her bow was still taunt and ready to strike. Protectively, Conor stepped out in front of her, putting himself between her and the small group. Tentative aggression hung in the air.
"Just passing through, are you?" the leader asked, a hint of sarcasm tainting his voice.
His men laughed.
"Is there a problem?" Conor's voice said evenly.
He held one arm out behind him, trying to hold Catlin behind him.
"Tell the girl to drop her weapon," he said simply.
Catlin stepped out from behind Conor, placing herself between him and the soldiers.
"Forgive me, but I won't do that until you lower your weapons. As you can plainly see, we're outnumbered, so there's no need for you to fear us... however, we have considerable reason to be wary of you."
"Perhaps you should tell that girl not to play with toys," one of the rougher men laughed. An ugly scar ran from his left temple to his chin. "She may end up hurting someone..."
Conor watched as Catlin's muscles tensed. This time he lowered his sword long enough to grab Catlin around the waist. In one swift movement he pulled her back and gently pushed her behind himself. Surprised, she lost her footing and unceremoniously fell down.
"You'll have to excuse her, she can be a bit headstrong," Conor chuckled.
The men, except for the leader, laughed heartily. White-hot rage was rising off Catlin, and Conor knew he would have some explaining to do.
The dark haired leader spoke, "Now may I ask you what you are doing here? These are Ian's lands."
A lecherous gaze came from the rough man as Catlin got up. Without stopping to brush herself off, Catlin again held her bow poised to strike. She stepped away from Conor.
"Like the girl said. We're just passing through," Conor emulated Catlin's easy tone.
The man with the scar smiled and started toward Catlin. "Would you like some help there, girl?"
Catlin loosed the arrow. It hit a tree no more than a finger's width from the man's face. He stopped dead in his tracks. In a swift movement, Catlin carefully readied another arrow.
"I said, stay back. Next time I'll pierce your feeble brain...or maybe something else," she glowered lowering her aim quite a bit.
"Why you little..."
"Colin!" the leader ordered, "That's enough!"
Like a scolded dog, Colin retreated to where the other men stood, but his eyes never left Catlin.
The leader continued, "Be careful of the Romans. We've caught word they may be entering these lands."
"Thank you for the warning," Conor nodded.
"Safe journey," the leader smiled, "though it looks like you have all the protection you need," he nodded respectfully to Catlin.
The band of men retreated into the woods. Catlin kept them in her sights for several minutes before lowering her guard. Conor watched her from a distance, he was angry with her for taking such a stance, for putting herself at risk. However, he knew she was probably angrier than he was.
Lowering her weapon, Catlin turned to Conor. Calmly dusting herself off, her voice was extremely quiet.
"What were you doing?" her jaw set stubbornly and her eyes were wide and questioning.
"Catlin," Conor started, equally angry, "you had no right to attack that man. If we are going to try to get these people to join the Confederation-"
"Those were Ian's men? Why didn't you tell me!"
"There wasn't an opportunity," he smiled sarcastically. "And while we're on the subject, why did you have to put yourself at risk and make me look like a coward?"
"My job is to protect you... Let's not even get on the subject how you made me look." Her voice was no longer quiet. She was yelling at him.
"Ian's tribe is a bit more..." he searched for the word. "They just don't treat women the same way we do. The women in their tribe do not fight... I was only trying to get them to accept us."
"By making me seem like your slave?"
Conor winced as if the word had slapped him. His time in the Sanctuary had taught him that others must always be treated as equals. In his new home there were no princes and slaves. There were only people. Sometimes he forgot how close those times were for Catlin. She had spent the majority of her life as the property of others. She had only recently been able to see the kindness in people, which she now embraced so freely.
A heavy silence hung in the air between them. Even saying the word 'slave' had hurt Catlin. Even in her rage she knew that Conor never saw her as that. However, she had been a slave in Claire's house. While Claire never treated the slaves in her father's house poorly, it didn't negate the fact that Catlin had been her property. Catlin didn't blame her for it, after all, the girl had been raised a princess. But somehow, even now, it still pained her. The woman Conor had loved; still loved, had owned her. As it so often did, her pain turned to anger. Rage filled her. She was so angry she couldn't say anything. Reaching back, she punched Conor in the chin. Reeling from the blow, Conor staggered backward and rubbed his jaw with his hand.
"What did you do that for?"
Without saying a word she turned on her heel and walked toward the horses. Conor grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
"Catlin, I'm just concerned with your safety. Why can't you see that?" he said an inch away from her face. He had rarely seen her stare so intense.
"Let go of me." It was a quiet demand.
"Not until you agree to be more careful."
"Damn it, Conor!" she broke free of his grasp and pushed him away, solidly in the chest.
Turning away from him she started back to the horses. Again, his hands were at her arms, restraining her.
"Catlin, no! You can't go off alone!"
Wrenching her right arm free she spun around and punched him again, landing another solid hit in jaw. Caught off guard, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. Catlin stood above him for a moment shaking her head.
"I can take care of myself," she said in a low voice.
In a swift movement, he tripped her. She fell to the ground, and in an instant he was atop her, pining her arms at either side of her head.
"I know you can take care of yourself," he said slowly, deliberately. "But there's no need for you to be taking foolish risks."
He stared at her in silence, their faces no more than an inch apart. Catlin's eyes were alight with defiance and anger. Conor had never seen her so upset.
"Conor," she said with a heavy sigh. "Why don't you realize that I am just trying to do what's right. You are the leader. I'm just another fighter... If I were Fergus or Tully, this wouldn't even be an issue."
As she spoke, she could feel her heart beating wildly. Feeling the weight of his body against her's was too difficult. He was so close to her, yet, she knew that they were miles apart. She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her lips together. The leather from his tunic and the raw smell of him mingled in her nose. When she opened her eyes again, it seemed as if he was impossibly closer than before. She felt lost in his gaze.
"I know you feel obligated to protect me. I know you have from the beginning... But I don't need you to save me anymore."
The words pierced his soul. It was so obvious to him now that she did not feel the love he felt for her. His eyes darkened as his whole being cried out. She was warm, beneath his skin, and she felt nothing but contempt for him. He so wanted to kiss her. He wanted to taste her lips- to feel her breath against his ear. He wanted to always protect her, to love her, to save her.
"I'm sorry, Cat. I really am... I'll... give you a little distance."
Taking one last lingering gaze into her eyes, he let go of her wrists and rolled off of her. Without a word he walked toward the horses and began to get them ready for the final part of the trip.
Pulling herself up, Catlin could sense the wall that now separated them. Nothing, nothing could ever be the same between them again. She now knew how he had always seen her: as someone to be rescued. Small glimpses into his eyes had once told her that he may have loved her. Now she knew those small signs to be traitors. What she had mistaken for love was duty, pity. Tears tried to form, but she had no emotion left for them. Silently, she walked towards her horse.
