Okay, I wrote a different story. It's called Vashti, and yes it's in the bible section. It isn't actually a religious work, and deals mostly with abuse. It is rated R, so it is rather disturbing. I would like to know how it is, however, so if you could let me know, that would be awesome. Also, if you would review this story, that would be cool.
HgandRHrforever- I'm so happy you liked it! Yey, a new MRC devote! I feel so loved! Hope you like this chapter.
Dazzler420- Yes, I don't think many of us would be entirely pleased about being drugged and kidnapped. Though, I might not mind it as much if it were Papay...
Candice- Yes, it certainly will be interesting to see Tristan and Rebekah get married. They are quite a pair.
ElvenStar5- It's been a while! Thanks for reviewing! If Papay ever wants to father children, he knows where to come...(ME!!!)
Mustang Gal- Cookies are yummy.
Galasriniel- I don't know if I've said this yet, but I love your name! I'm sorry you've been grounded, you have my sympathy. Chocolate!
Habren was feeling a bit groggy. She really shouldn't have taken that nap. What if she had missed the feast? Lancelot would not be pleased. Yet, her fingers were entwined in something silky, something was resting on her chest. What was going on? She opened her eyes, and nearly shrieked. This was a bad dream. She was really in her own tent, in her own bed, very much alone, and would awaken soon. Papay had not drugged and kidnapped her. It was so easy to lie to one's self, but Habren was forced to admit the truth. She was seriously angry right now.
She disentangled her fingers from his hair, and pushed his head off her chest. His eyes snapped open, fixing on her glowering ones. This was not going according to plan. He was supposed to be the first one conscious. She was supposed to be happy to see him. She did not look particularly pleased.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice edged with menace.
"Why did you leave?" he countered, not impressed by her attempt at intimidation.
"I asked you first." It was a rather juvenile reply, but it suited Habren's purposes nicely.
"I followed you to find out why you left. No warning, no good-bye... you didn't really expect me to simply let you go, did you?" he said, moving his face closer to hers.
"Did you really expect me to appreciate you drugging and kidnapping me?" she asked, dangerously.
"No. I want to know why you left. The actual reason, not another question." He replied calmly. Why did she have to look so beautiful when she was angry? It was rather distracting.
He did deserve an explanation, even if he had been completely out of line, as of late.
"You would have been caught eventually. I couldn't let that happen. You were supposed to move on." Her irritation was apparent. Why couldn't he have just simply forgotten her? It would have made life so much simpler.
"You know what I am?" he asked, quietly.
"I figured it out, and what has just occurred confirms it. Why?"
Papay told her of their return to their village, the rejection. They had made new lives after that, finding ways to feed and clothe themselves. Life had been very simple until a few months ago, when they arrived at Habren's village.
"We stayed. We didn't really need anything else, and I couldn't stop watching you."
"Why?"
"Because I love you." He said simply.
She was a bit taken aback by this. She had assumed that she was simply the wench of the hour, and he really didn't care about her all that much. While she didn't appreciate his methods, she was glad he was there. It was very hard to deny emotion when he was right in front of her. She couldn't pretend that he meant nothing to her anymore.
She pressed her lips to his, not caring about the consequences any longer. The more she worried about it, the more things went wrong. He returned the kiss and pinned her to the cot. Her hands ran down his back, and she pulled her lips away.
"Next time, don't drug me. It just makes me mad."
He nodded, and captured her mouth again. He would have agreed to anything at that point. He hadn't had her in a week. A week seemed like a very long time. Clothes fell to the floor, and their bodies were one. They knew each others' bodies better now, and this time there was no pain, only pleasure for Habren. There was no blood this time.
Sometime later, Habren sat up quickly. Lancelot! He would be looking for her! She reached for her dress, but Papay caught her hand, looking at her questioningly. They were together again, what could she possibly be worried about?
"My brother will be looking for me." She said, urgently.
She had no discipline where he was concerned. When his hands were on her, all logic fled. She knew she had to go, and could only hope he would let her before he overcame her with his touch.
"The feast isn't over, we can still hear them. We have a bit of time left, there's no rush." He said, and she relaxed.
"All right, but I have to leave when it finishes. I'll tell him I was ill. It's partially true." She said, accusingly.
He felt slightly guilty at that. "It was the only way..." he said, rather lamely.
"Don't do it again." She said, firmly.
She leaned over him, curly hair spilling over her shoulder, brushing his face. He wrapped his fingers in the curls, and gently pulled her head down, meeting her lips with his. It was good to be back.
Papay helped Habren get back into her dress. It took quite a bit longer than usual, and by the time it was finally on properly, Habren's lips were swollen.
"I have to go."
He nodded, and kissed her again.
"Come back when you can. Make it soon. You won't be leaving without telling me again, will you?"
"I'll come." She said, deliberately not answering the question.
Papay let it go, knowing he could follow her if he needed to. He managed to keep his hands to himself, though it was a hard battle.
Habren made it back to her tent just in time. She had just settled down on her cot, when Lancelot strode in.
"Where were you?" he asked, looking about the tent, as if he expected to see signs of an illicit tryst.
"I'm not feeling well." Said Habren, smiling feebly.
Lancelot didn't believe her, but could find no proof of anything else occurring. He was also forced to admit that he really shouldn't be so obsessive about all of this. Habren was a big girl. She could look after herself. If she was having a bit of fun, could he really blame her? He wasn't exactly chaste. He bid her goodnight, and went to his own tent. Sera was there, in the process of removing her wedding garb. Lancelot, fulfilling his vow as husband, gamely assisted her in her endeavor. He whispered suggestively in her ear, and Sera's eyes widened. She allowed herself to be carried over to the cot, and decided that this wife business wasn't so bad.
As Tristan helped Rebekah out of her outfit, he saw the tension in her muscles that seemed ever present nowadays. He could feel something wasn't right, too.
"Relax. When it comes, it will come. We can't do anything about it now." He said, smoothing his hands over her back. Rebekah took a deep breath, and tried to smile. He smothered her effort, kissing her. She really shouldn't try to pretend for him. He could always tell when she was hiding something.
He took her hand, pulling her over to the cot. He eased her onto her back, kissing all the places she liked best. He succeeded in distracting her, and for a while, her muscles slackened in exhaustion. Living on the edge took lots of energy. She let her eyes close. Tristan lay awake, stroking her back. He had learned how to control his anxiety over the years, she was still searching for techniques. He would show her some.
Deirdre blew out a sigh of relief when she and Galahad finally made it back to their tent. Galahad's family was very much like him, but more outgoing. They were happy to have a new daughter; they simply couldn't stop expressing their emotions. Galahad grinned, glad to know that he wasn't the only one who could be so overwhelmed by his family. They were a lovely group, to be sure, but they could be rather tiring after a while. Deirdre grinned back, and kissed him. Yes, the real Deirdre was back!
Wacilla observed the carnage in front of him. He didn't flinch at the sight of the grass drenched in blood, the children's toys given a new coat of red paint. He was immune to feelings now. He had been for some time. People could hurt you; you had to shield yourself from them. He made his living off of the bloodstained gold, possessions. He made them pay for what they did to him. Made them pay every time. See how they liked the pain, liked the fear.
He sneered at the other groups of bandits. They had gone soft. Not even lifting a sword, leaving money for people who needed it. What did they know of loss? Nothing. But they would. That idiot, Papay, hadn't attacked a village in months. He was a shame to bandits everywhere, and would be dealt with soon enough. Wacilla heard a great many things. He had spies everywhere, villagers he had spared. Word had it that Papay had found himself a mistress. A pretty little thing at that. He would have to pay her a visit. It was only proper, after all, that he should come to pay his respects.
Wacilla, knelt next to a young woman, throat slashed. In her hand, she clutched an amulet. From a sweetheart, from the looks of it, he thought smirking. He took the amulet from her dead hand, and tucked it into his pocket. Papay's woman would like the gift.
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