Marek and the redheaded woman were floating down the Dordogne River, away from Castelgard and Lord Oliver. Marek had helped her to escape not minutes before and now he was swimming in the water loaded down with medieval garb that had become even heavier, if that was possible, so that he could try to direct their route down the river as best as he could. Meanwhile, the woman was sitting nice and dry in a basket that he pushed along. There was officially something going on here. Why else did he have such a need to keep rescuing this woman? He really needed to learn more about her.
"By the way, my name's Andre Marek," he said. She didn't even acknowledge him. She kept looking behind them at the village and the look on her face was so full of despair it made Marek worried. He realized that she must have lived in Castelgard. "Castelgard was your village wasn't it?" Again he received no response from her. Perhaps she didn't understand him. It was hard to know the exact pronunciation of the Old English after all. "Don't worry, you'll return there soon."
"No," she replied in a charming French accent, "the English will burn it to the ground before they move to La Roque."
"No, no. La Roque will fall too," he reassured her.
"Yes, but it will take many more lives and many months of fighting before it happens," she said this with such certainty, as if she knew this as fact. She had already lived a life too full of war and grief. "The French built that fortress, we know how strong it is."
Marek sidled around the basket until he could look into her eyes. "La Roque will fall tonight," he promised. She looked away.
"Only a prophet or a fool could make such a claim," she looked at Marek out of the corner of her eyes, hiding a smile. Marek laughed and she laughed in return. "In your case it's probably the fool," she teased, grinning at him. Marek grinned back. She had a beautiful smile that lit up her eyes when she used it.
"Whichever makes you smile like that," he said, causing her to blush and look away. "Are you married?" he found the words falling out of his mouth before he could stop them. He had to fight the urge to slap his forehead.
"No," she said, "we've been fighting the English since before I was born. There's no time for marriage."
"Of course." Marek found himself flooded with relief. But then he realized that she could be engaged. "Are you with anyone?" he asked cautiously.
"Am I with anyone?" she asked in confusion. "I am with you." She looked at him as if he had suddenly gone insane.
Marek laughed. "I know," he said, "no, what I mean is, is there someone that you see?"
"Do I see?" she began to frantically scan the riverside. "Nobody. It is possible they are hiding on the shore or in the woods. They could be anywhere."
Marek shook his head. "My God. You know," he said chuckling, "it's funny. We're speaking the same language, but you don't understand anything I'm saying do you?" He smiled at her in bemused silence. Then they heard a scream from the far side of the river. Both of them jumped and began to frantically row to the opposite shore, periodically looking over their shoulders to see if they saw anything. They made it to the opposite bank and were instantly surrounded by French soldiers, ready to attack.
"C'est moi!" the redheaded woman screamed, waving her hands frantically at them.
"C'est mademoiselle Claire," one of the knights said and the rest of them put their weapons away. One of the knights gave her a hand out of the basket onto shore and began leading her up the hill in front of them. "C'est mademoiselle Claire," he shouted again up at some approaching knights and it hit Marek like a ton of bricks. This was no ordinary woman.
"You're Lady Claire!" he said in shock. That this must be how he knew her. He must have known who she was from the moment he first met her.
She turned around and grinned at him. "Lady," she said, "I like that. It's charming. Come on," she motioned for him to follow them up the hill, but just then an arrow from across the river shot into their midst and took out the knight that had helped Claire. Claire started screaming and trying to go back down the hill after him, but some of the other knights held her back. They really were under attack. Marek grabbed the fallen knight and helped him up the hill after Claire as they retreated. He would do anything to keep her safe, even if it meant saving someone else's life to keep her out of harm's way.
Marek was actually going to meet Arnaut de Cervole, the leader of the French revolt against the English. The French knights were taking them back to their base camp. Marek was eager to meet him, but at the same time, he couldn't take his eyes off Claire. He kept looking at her to reassure himself that she was okay. Tonight was the night she was supposed to be hanged. He couldn't let that happen.
Arnaut came running up to meet them and grabbed Claire off her horse like a little girl, spinning her around and hugging her. Although they were speaking in very fast French he couldn't understand, Marek got the gist of it. Arnaut had been worried about Claire, and for good reason. Claire looked at Marek and motioned him over. Marek got off his horse and walked towards them. Claire introduced him to her brother in French, so of course Arnaut also began to speak to him in rapid French as he shook Marek's hand.
Claire translated. "He says he's very grateful to you."
Arnaut started and jumped back in alarm, his hand reaching for his sword. "You're English?"
"No!" Marek exclaimed raising his hands to show he had no weapons. "I'm not English! I'm Scottish."
"Arnaut, he saved the life of one of your men," Claire chided him.
"Scottish?" Arnaut asked hesitantly. "In that case, I don't know how to express my gratitude." Arnaut was once again gratefully shaking his hand.
"Well, you can." Marek decided to take advantage of the situation. "Just keep her close," he motioned to Lady Claire, "and keep her safe." He looked at her longingly. If she were anybody other than Lady Claire, they might have stood a chance.
Claire looked slightly indignant. "I can take care of myself."
"Yes, that's obvious," he grinned at her and she grinned back. "Please," he pleaded with Arnaut again, "do not let her out of your sight, especially tonight."
"Do not worry," Arnaut said quite seriously, "she will be well protected."
Marek felt at ease about Claire's safety. He had changed her fate. She wouldn't die this evening. "I must leave," he said to Claire. "I must return to Castelgard to search for my friends." He turned to Arnaut. "I need to ask you for a horse and a weapon."
"You will not make it back alive through the English lines," Arnaut looked truly alarmed for him. "They are moving from the village to castle La Roque. We attack tonight."
"Marek," Claire pleaded looking worried, "you must not go back there."
"I must at least try to find my friends," he explained, wishing he could tell her more. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Very well," Arnaut declared. "I will give you what you ask for. Thank you again." Arnaut left to find the supplies, as Claire looked very disappointed in the whole affair.
"Lady Claire," Marek said.
"Claire," she insisted.
"I wish we'd met at another time," Marek said as he took her hand and kissed it. She looked as if she would cry. Then he started to walk away from her before his legs failed him. He had to find the others.
"Andre Marek!" she called after him and he turned around. "Are you married?" a soft smile lit her face.
"No," he smiled back. She walked over to him and kissed him quickly. She was not afraid of saying what she wanted. She looked into his eyes for reassurance that he shared the same feelings. And he saw something in her eyes that made him feel as if he truly belonged, even if it was for only this moment. He cupped her face and kissed her tenderly in return before walking away, leaving her crying. She was safe and he could live with that, even if he might never see her again. He had done his best to protect her.
Disclaimer: these characters are not my own. I borrowed them from Michael Crichton. Any dialogue is taken directly from the movie version.