I haven't updated because I had four tests to study for and a Jack the Ripper speech to finish. NO SLEEP...Okay, this is a weird chapter. Enjoy.
Mac-c- Thanks! I love reviews! They are so helpful!
Mustang Gal- Thanks!
The Lycanthrope- Okay, I'll try to retain my sanity. That is so nice!
A.K. Anomynous- Oh, well. I have come to the conclusion that it is my duty in life to spread the gospel of the pumpkin bars. Make them and enjoy!
Camreyn- I hope you get time soon, but you are still my longest reviewer. Yey! People react differently to dangerous situations, and I really wanted Habren to be like this. I'm glad you liked it!
Tomb Raider X- A Mary Sue, from what I can gather is a beautiful, flawless character who always does everything perfectly. You have some rather nasty reviewers. Don't worry about them and focus on your story. It is good to give your characters flaws, however. So many excellent plot lines come out of character flaws. I love your story, and I really want to know what happens. Post soon!
When Fire Meets Ice- PUMPKIN BARS ALL THE WAY! I hope you liked them.
HgandRHrforever- Indeed I did. I hope you find this chapter interesting.
Deirdre looked desperately about the tent, looking for an escape, but finding none. She had seen Habren transform from "woman of the shadows" to "woman of the frost." It had been a fascinating yet utterly disturbing process to watch. She had started to protest at Habren's methods, but Radha had stopped her, wordlessly. Deirdre had remembered the child growing within her. Radha couldn't forget. All of the women formed an invisible wall around the child, ready to defend it at all cost. Habren would be bearing most of the weight, though that could not be helped. Life did not always hand you the most convenient opportunities.
Deirdre looked to Radha, defeat etched in her features. Radha began to speak in the old tongue of their land, that hadn't been used for practical purposes since the arrival of the Romans. Now, it was simply used in Woad ceremonies, rather than for everyday use. Their conversation was therefore, a bit rusty, neither having much cause for fluency in the ancient language.
"Habren will be fine." Assured Radha, soothingly, though she didn't hold on to much hope herself.
Deirdre sighed, wrapping her arms protectively around her stomach. Radha's tone hadn't fooled her. She prayed to every god she knew that Habren would live.
They had a counsel of nine. It was an awkward situation only made worse with thoughts of their lovers and friends in mortal peril. Lancelot was not willing to trust this newcomer, as he had thus far refused to identify himself.
Rebekah was becoming tired of dancing. She had never enjoyed dancing around a question, and she was loosing patience with this man. She strode over to him, clapping her hands on either side of his face, forcing to look her in the eye.
"You are Habren's lover. I have seen your mark on her body, and right now, that doesn't interest me at all. At the moment, what I am most concerned about is getting my friends back. You will tell me who you are, and who has taken them. You will do this because it is the only way to get Habren back. You can't do it on your own." She said, clearly having lost most of her tolerance.
Papay knew she spoke the truth, though it was not a truth he wished to face. Lancelot did not look like the kind of fellow to mess with. Messing around with his sister would not have brightened his mood. Nor would his choice of profession. He had no other choice.
"My name is Papay. I am a bandit, and before you kill me, think of Habren. Do you think she would love someone who killed people on a regular basis? No. She would not. We don't kill people. She was taken by a rival bandit leader. I was part of his band for a time, though we did not have a fond farewell. He is unbalanced. We should leave, I will get my men, and meet you back here." He said, and turned sharply back in the direction of his tents. He was not usually eloquent, but that little speech had been in his head for quite some time. Now, however, he had more pressing matters on his mind. Like how Habren was currently at the mercy of his least favorite person in the known world. It was not a cheery thought. He sprinted the remaining distance. Time was of the essence. It would be too dark to travel soon. It wasn't safe for humans or horses to travel in the dark. They wouldn't be able to follow a trail that they could not see.
Afsati was cleaning up the mess that Magovey and Angi had made of their meals. They needed a nursemaid. It was pathetic, really. Papay came running towards him. That could not be a good thing. He had been acting strangely, and he only acted strangely when something was wrong with Habren.
"We have to go. Now. Wacilla has Habren." He gasped, his breath slowly returning to normal. He knew that this was all that he needed to say. He could fill them in on the details as they rode.
Afsati stared at him in horror. How had he found them? He quickly snapped back to reality, and nodded. He didn't know what to say to Papay, didn't know if he could really say anything that would help. He could, however, get Magovey and Angi's lazy backsides moving.
Galahad was in a state of shock. His wife and his unborn child were currently in the hands of crazed maniacal bandits. Deirdre had fragile emotions at the moment, not to mention the physical damage that could be done to her. Galahad realized something. Deirdre was his center. She was always there for him. Now, she was not. Now, she needed him. It was a dramatic role reversal, and Galahad vowed to live up to her standards. He would kill the bastards if they caused her harm. He would kill the bastards if they hadn't. The moment they had taken his wife was the moment they had signed their own death warrant.
Gawain was usually seen an easygoing sort of fellow. He didn't like to make a scene, unless it was at the expense of Lancelot. Now, however was not the time to sit back and watch life. Now, as had happened in the past, was time for action. His entire demeanor changed at these crucial points in time. They called Tristan cold. Tristan was nothing compared to Gawain in a fit of frosty rage. Gawain did not have a fiery temper. He possessed a more calculating, more tactical fury. Radha was his woman. They had taken her, and they would die. It was quite simple. If he didn't do it, Radha would. Radha possessed a calm nature, and he hoped that that would pull her through.
Tristan was simply going to kill them all. Deirdre, Radha, and Habren had become sisters to him. Deirdre in particular worried him the most. He was frightened of parenthood. Yet, sweet Deirdre had the courage to embrace it with open arms. As far as he was concerned, that made her his superior ten times over. He glanced over at Rebekah, who was strapping every weapon she owned to her body. Her face was set, and Tristan knew her thoughts. If a single bandit escaped her, it would only be in the event of her own fall from this world.
Aine had only seen Sebbi look like this once before. At their first meeting, when he had saved her life. It had confused her at the time, but she understood it now. It was a reflex for him to protect women after his wife fell. And now, three women, one of them pregnant, and all being his friends were in danger. Sebbi the fun loving scholar was gone. In his place resided a focused and deadly warrior. Aine almost felt sorry for the bandits...except for the fact that she did not.
They set out, riding in silence. The bandits and the Woads/Sarmatians/Saxons eyed each other in mistrust, though made no comment. They rode until the path was obscured from their vision, though they all longed to go further. They knew the bandits would need to stop for the night as well, though this did nothing to quash their nerves.
Lancelot was extremely confused. He didn't know if he should hug this Papay, or gut him. He was the reason that his sister had been taken, but he was so anxious and concerned about her fate that Lancelot couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Papay kept fingering a ratty pink ribbon tied around his wrist. Lancelot didn't know how, but he knew it was Habren's. This man didn't simply want her in his bed; he wanted her in his arms. Perhaps he wasn't such a scoundrel after all. Though, there was that minor detail of his profession. Though, he had told the truth, he didn't kill people, Lancelot had never had a particular love of thieves. Tristan only took a trinket here or there, this man made his living taking things from others.
Lancelot held Sera tightly through the night, assuring himself that she was still there. He had lost his sister; he would not lose his wife. He buried his face in her neck, and if Sera noticed the tears against her skin, she said nothing of it. She held him, stroking his hair, trying to tell him that everything would be fine. They both knew it was a lie, but it was a comforting lie.
Tristan was finding it hard to sleep. He didn't want to appear needy, but he was. He tried to keep his hands off of her, but they wound their way around her waist all the same. Rebekah knew that he didn't like people seeing this side of him. She let him think her asleep, and enjoyed the warmth his body offered.
Papay woke up periodically in the night, smelling her scent in the air. But hen he opened his eyes, and he knew it had been a dream. It was all a dream.
Habren hated herself. She had let this man remove her dress. She had let this man set her down on his bedding. His hands were not as unpleasant as she had expected. He had coarse, rough hands just like Papay's; the memory was comforting. As his hands traveled over her body, his mouth followed, warm breath making her skin ache. Her breath was coming in short gasps now, and he delighted in the ability to make her respond to his touch. Her mind whirled; the only logical thought in her mind was that she didn't even know this man's name. He was obviously a bandit leader like Papay, though she doubted that they shared tactics. She was torn away from these scanty thoughts by his mouth on her neck again. He appeared to have a fascination with the love bites that she had acquired over her three weeks as Papay's woman.
Papay. He had been her first, and she had fantasized in her more whimsical moments of him being her last. As the man situated himself between her legs, she knew that those thoughts had been not but an idle dream. He drew her arms over her head, pinning her down. Her eyes were suddenly focused.
"What is your name?" she asked.
What could it hurt? After all, she would be screaming soon, and he wanted his name on her lips when she did.
"Wacilla." He whispered in her ear, nearly smirking when she inhaled sharply as his lips brushed her skin.
Such a pretty face. She was rather inexperienced, though Papay had obviously given her the abridged version. He would show her the full heights of pleasure. He kept his hands locked around her wrists, watching her eyes glaze over, feeling her pulse spike, her body quiver. She did not cry out, though. No matter what he did, she remained silent. Her hips rose to meet his, but it was more a reaction than actual passion. She retained her secrets, her mysteries. It angered him as it thrilled him. He wouldn't want it all to be over so soon.
Wacilla was growing weary, though he would never have admitted it to anyone. It took an extraordinary amount of energy to make love to a woman. Though, it was not a term that Wacilla approved of. Wacilla did not make love. He slept with women, he bedded women, he never loved any woman. He pulled Habren's thoroughly used body toward him, feeling their sweet mingling on their skin. He wrapped a territorial arm around her, holding her to his body.
His dagger was not in it's sheathe.
Habren hated herself. She felt empty, hollow. She was nothing but a dirty whore.
I know it's slightly depressing, but please review anyway. I'll love you forever.