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Chapter 3

"He was a dangerous sin,

wrapped in angelic eyes;

it made my heart pound with

distrust and my mind cloud

with bewilderment."

-A.L. Nash

I check my bundles one last time, making certain I have everything I need. Poe, Finn and Celia departed before the first light of the sun hit the sky.

They will make better time if the children are fast asleep than brimming with energy.

Of course what I had seen of the children, 'brimming' might be far fetched. The hollow gauntness of their cheeks, the welts on their hands, tell an entirely different story. I pray whatever home they return to is a happy one.

I pray they do not come to regret the life which fate has dealt them.

Enough, I close the flap on my satchel, at this pace I will be lucky if I reach Leese by mid daybreak tomorrow.

I could not chance going to Aldea, the capital city. The same for Juranno where the summer palace resides. The coastal city of Sanctuary is too far to travel in a handful of days. Leese is the best option. The small village sits closer to the outermost edge of the desert kingdom but I can make the ride within a day.

If I remember correctly, the festival of Boannich should be happening this time of year. Boannich is the Goddess of Gentle Rains. A springtide ritual, for now, King Hux has allowed to continue.

Strange how only the celebrations directly related to the Way of the Force are considered 'treasonous' and therefore banned.

I have often wondered what lies behind his obvious hatred of the Force. Another mystery for another time.

"You look to be in a hurry," I turn awkwardly, unnerved to hear Beaumont's soft voice directly behind, "yet if memory serves rightly, I believe your brothers made mention of you staying in camp."

I brush an errant strand away from my eyes and sigh. I had hoped to be gone before anyone realized I was missing. Of course I would have left a missive with Rose, but still.

This is what I get for becoming distracted.

"Then your memory is faulty, Sir Beaumont." He grimaces at the title and I have made my point. Beaumont was from a prominent family before the war. If anyone is in fear of discovery, it would be him.

I fasten my last satchel to one of the spare horses. I have my own, a lovely dappled mare whom I have named Willow. But only the Maiden rides her and I cannot take her along, her coloring is far too discernible.

She is wroth with me, despite the apples I have left as an apology.

"I think not," He leans against the post, arms crossed and I swear he has been taking lessons from Poe. Who would have thought a scholar from the halls of the academy would have such a stern countenance. "Poe warned you to keep your activities quiet. Yet here you are, already packed and ready for another adventure."

The roam snorts softly, nuzzling my hair and I pat his velvet nose absently. "Adventure perhaps," I acknowledge, my restlessness well known, "but not as the 'Maiden' or have you forgotten another role I play in our great rebellion?"

Beaumont sighs, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "I curse the day I ever suggested this singular idea."

I shrug, unperturbed by his grousing. He says this every time and I have grown used to it. "But I am effective. This is why you hide it from my brothers."

Our bargain has been going nigh unto a year with none of them the wiser.

"Rey," he puts a hand on the stallion's neck, forestalling my departure, "be wary. If the King or one of his knights should discover you..."

"Then I shall be yet another merchant's daughter in a tiny village. Who would pay me a second glance other than to see if I sell anything proscribed?"

"You could stop a parade with a sweep of your lashes."

His words are softly spoken, nothing more than a murmur on the breeze and I must have imagined them.

Beaumont is...Beaumont. I have known him since I was a girl of ten, when Master Kenobi gathered up the orphans of war and banded us together for survival. He is a dear friend and a great help against the tyranny of King Hux with his ability to decipher ancient Alderaan and speak the different tongues of our neighboring kingdoms.

No...I must have misinterpreted his earlier words. Or perhaps spoken in jest and a bad one. Again, he is taking far too many lessons from Poe.

I shall ignore his remark and pretend ignorance.

"Well," I flash him a smile, "I am off." I use the shortened post to swing myself up onto the roam and look down at the blue-eyed man. He grabs hold of the reins and I bite back an impatient sigh.

"Tell me at least where you are headed, should I need to send out a search party."

It is a reasonable request and yet for some odd reason, I resent it. As if he were trying to keep tabs on my whereabouts.

Ridiculous. He is a scholar, his mind too well organized to give into the whims of his emotions.

"I am going to Leese," I hold up a hand, forestalling him, "and before you ask, I will return before my brothers do. No more than four days gone."

"Leese. So you intend to use the festival of Boannich to your advantage? A clever plan."

I grin and tug the reins out of his hands. "I knew you would understand. Wish me luck."

He puts his hand to his heart and gives me a slight bow. "Luck."

I cannot help but roll my eyes at his antics. I have seen him do the same to Rose in her leather aprons and Danae with wheat in her hair and stinking of horse sweat as she practices her archery skills.

I never took quiet, dependable Beaumont for a flirt. Unbelievable.

"Yah!"

I snap the reins and kick my heels lightly into the gelding's sides. We leave a trail of dust in our wake as I escape the confines of our camp.

A few miles into the woods, I let loose my hood and the cool morning breeze on my face is a welcome one. I take in a deep breath, birdsong a sweet serenade on my path to Leese.

At this rate, I should reach my destination by mid afternoon. A fine day for traveling and spying alike.

"Mmm this is nice."

I splash water on my face, letting the coolness trickle beneath the edge of my tunic. It's supposed to be spring and yet I swear the sun has forgotten and thinks we're in mid summer.

Already I've had to stow away my cloak, the weight of it stifling with the sun beating down on me.

No one is about, I should be safe enough.

I do a quick glance before rolling up the sleeves of my tunic, plunging my arms up to the elbows in the river.

I close my eyes in sweet bliss, wishing I could strip completely and dive headfirst in.

My gelding gulps water next to me, seeming to enjoy the relief as much as I. I pull my arms out of the water after a few moments have passed, feeling refreshed enough to move onward.

However my horse is guzzling water so quickly I fear he may make himself sick. He must sense my impatience and I pat his girth fondly.

"Go, drink you fill. We still have time."

His liquid brown eyes give me all the thanks I need and I laugh, checking my packs as I wait for him to finish.

Should I eat now or wait until I reach Leese to break my fast?

"Oh ho, I thought I heard the sweet sound of a woman's laughter. Looks like me ears have'na failed me yet. A pretty fish we've caught today."

The coarse, male voice chortling sends my heart crashing against my ribs.

I turn so quickly my boot heel sinks half an inch into the muddy bank. Four men emerge from the undergrowth and the wind shift, bringing with it their putrid stink.

If I had been a little more downwind and not so close to the water, I could have smelled them at least fifty paces away.

The one leering at me I take for the leader of this ragtag band. He has a scar twisting his upper lip into a permanent sneer and I see a gap where he is missing several teeth. His face is sallow and pockmarked, eyes a rheumy green. His tunic has seen better times. Patched and faded, it might have been velvet in another life. Now the stains of tobacco and his last meal act as decoration.

His leggings are just as mottled and his boots nearly as threadbare as my own. But the steel at his hip gives me pause. As does his bulk. Brawny arms and legs to match. His companions do not wear swords, at least none I can see but one of them carries a bow in hand and quivers on his back. The other holds a curved dagger with a jagged edge. The last to emerge carries no weapon.

Not the king's men, but brigands or poachers.

I reach for the dagger at my hip only to remember I left it behind during my duel with the Crimson Knight. In all the excitement I never went back to retrieve it and I regret it now more than ever.

My bow and quiver are strapped on the other side of my horse, useless to me. I left my Force blade behind at camp. I wanted nothing to tie me to the Maiden, and the rumors of my glowing blade are too well known now.

My quick stop at the river is starting to become the sorriest decision of my life.

"Be on your way, knave, there is nothing here for you."

He chortles at my scorn, spitting a wad of black tobacco into the leaves and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. I would burn all the tobacco fields if I thought it wouldn't destroy the livelihoods of the farmers.

"Oh but you are mistaken my fine lass. Why a beauty such as yourself will keep us company for a long time to come."

My vision washes red, my stomach clenched tight to think of this man with his foul odor and pockmarked face anywhere near me.

I snatch up a fallen tree branch, slick in my hands from the muck but sturdy. Or so I hope.

"If you think you'll take me so easily, then you are mistaken. I am not so alone as you may believe."

If I can bluff my way out of this, make them believe I have companions elsewhere...

"You are a feisty lass, I will give you credit. But me and my boys will have our fun with you before anyone the wiser. Take her!"

Lady Lamisu, I could use your assistance!

It seems my prayers to the luck goddess are unheeded as two of the brigands try to trap me. The bowman and the one with no weapon.

"Here my pretty...come to me..."

I snarl at the bare handed one as he tries to call me like some alley cat looking for a meal. I move past his guard and slam the branch against his unprotected head.

It shatters in my grip, spraying him with river mud and he howls as he drops his knees, clawing at his eyes. I plant my boot against his unprotected chest and he topples backward, striking his head hard against the ground.

He groans but does not stir.

One down, three to go. If only I had my sword or could call upon the vines...

Neither was an option. One was back in camp and the second would leave me drained of strength, making me vulnerable should I fail.

"Oh ho, she has some fight in her. Yngvi step aside," The one with the curved dagger licks his lips and my gorge rises, "I like to break girls like you and when I'm done-"

Blood bubbles from his lips, shock on his face as a steel arrowhead protrudes from his chest. He is dead before I think he realizes it. The curved blade falls as he crumples to the ground. Blood is already soaking the grass beneath him.

"Einric! The devil take you lad I-aah!"

The leader claps his left ear, blood squirting between his fingers as an arrow strikes the ground at his feet, the shaft still quivering.

"You have good instincts, brigand, I merely clipped your ear instead of putting it through your eye."

Words delivered on the honed edge of blade, a touch of silken malice in the unseen archer's voice and my heart trembles deep within my breast.

A devil indeed but it seems Lady Lamisu has sent him to my aid.

The men attacking me look around in bewilderment and I take the opportunity to retrieve my dagger strapped beneath the cuff of my boot. The touch of cool steel in my palm settles my nerves.

"Show yourself, cowardly dog!"

The leader is working himself up into a fine fury, blood covering his fingers as his sword rings free. The heft of the blade takes me by surprise. I've seen similar blades before, from the northern kingdom of Hoth. Their broadswords are unmistakable.

What are brigands from Hoth doing in Alderaan?

The leaves rustle and my attackers turn as I do towards the sound. A figure steps between shadows just as the sun's light pierces the gloom.

"You are the only cur I see. A rutting beast with no honor to attack in a group. Though, with your visage, I doubt even a paid courtesan would take your coin willingly."

He looks as if he stepped out of the pages of a storybook and my breath catches. A face to make the gods weep in jealousy. Dark, winged brow lifted in haughty derision over eyes of drowning midnight. The sharp cut of his cheekbones and the cruel, half smile on his lips sets an ache in me I don't understand.

His longbow is drawn with a steel arrow trained on the leader and yet his stance tells me he is aware of the others. As he moves closer I understand how they could have missed him in the forest.

His clothing is nigh perfect for moving unseen in the woods. His tunic is the color of moss-in-shadow, the high collar bound at his neck in black leather cord, the same for the leather cuffs at his wrist. Leggings and boots are a sable so dark it appears black in the gloom. Neither conceal the breadth of his shoulders or the lean strength in hips and legs.

"A pox on your glib tongue, you maiden-faced whelp! Teach him a lesson my lads on the folly of a boy acting the man. Bring me his heart and I will eat it raw."

The leader has his back to me, his attention on the stranger and so to his companions.

They believe I am no threat. Their mistake and the last one they will ever make.

The man who I thought knocked unconscious is back on one knee and I can feel his murderous rage from where I stand. I strike hard and fast, plunging my dagger into his back through sinew and muscle to reach his heart.

His screams attract the attention of everyone present. I pull my dagger free and shove the dead man face first into the mud.

The scarred faced brigand stares at me as if beholding a monster. His rheumy eyes wide with disbelief, his mouth agape and once more I am treated to the sight of his missing, rotting teeth.

"You...bitch! How dare you lift your hand to a man!"

I pull the dagger up in front of my body, taking a stronger stance to brace my weight and give him a wolf-head grin. Blood drips down the curve, staining the grass ruby as the rich scent of iron teases my nose.

"I will show you how I dare."

I shift my gaze past my would-be rapist and meet the dark gaze of my unknown companion. A slight nod of his head and in this moment, he and I are in perfect communion.

I pivot left and hear the whistle of an arrow, the twang from a bowstring vibrating the air. The other brigand who didn't have the forethought to nock his own bow falls to my dagger as I come in hard and fast, slicing his throat before he can lift his arm to defend himself.

His blood rushes hotly down the handle of my blade, coating my hands. My gorge rises at the sight but I do not disgrace myself by retching into the mud.

I turn in time to see the leader with the shaft of an arrow protruding from his eye socket, his great broadsword on the ground as he falls over, the look of stunned horror fading from his gaze.

Blood leaks from his eyes, mouth and nose and I quickly glance away from the body. I think I shall have nightmares for a fortnight after today.

"You handle a dagger well, I am surprised."

The silken malice is gone but the shadows remain, a haunting tone wrapping around the hidden recess of my soul. The trembling of my heart beats like frantic wings against my ribs and I neither like nor desire this unwanted response to a man I have known for mere minutes.

"Your skill with a bow was timely but unnecessary. I could have handled them on my own."

I turn my back on him and head directly for the river. The blood on my hands feels sticky and warm, the scent of iron is nauseating. The intense desire to be clean is all I can think about and I plunge my hands, still clutching the dagger, straight into the shallow.

Cool water rushes over my skin, quickly turning murky as the blood disappears.

"I believe the proper response when someone comes to your rescue is 'thank you'."

His voice is much closer and despite my intention, I lift my head to glance up. His shadow falls over me and I can see his face much more clearly.

He is Erralius, truly.

Surely the god of war must look like this man, fair of face with eyes of dark flame. He lifts a dark brow in inquiry and I turn back to my task, feeling my cheeks heat beneath his stare.

Idiot,I beret myself as I scrub harder, since when did you shy away from a man's gaze.

I was no blushing noblewoman to swoon over a man. So why did this one unsettle me?

"I had no need of rescue," I mutter with ill grace, "but I suppose your help was...not entirely unappreciative."

"Your praise will go to my head."

The dryness of his tone almost makes me smile.

He moves like a warrior yet speaks with a courtier's glib tongue.

This man is a mystery and I find my curiosity stirring. Questions dance on the tip of my tongue and yet I hold my silence.

I sense this curiosity he rouses could lead to danger.

He crouches just a bit further from where I sit to refill his water skin. I note the traces of scars marring his pale hands.

His head lifts and our eyes meet. He is close enough I could count each lash and my fingers itch to brush the raven strands from his forehead.

Madness. He is a stranger, someone who chanced upon me and yet I find myself wanting...

I jump to my feet and take back what I thought seconds ago, this man is dangerous all on his own.

"My lady? What ails you?"

He is on his feet, a lithe grace for one so tall, his hand reaching to steady me as my boot once more sinks into the muck.

His words distract me, for there is no mockery in his tone. Unlike my brothers and the men of the rebellion when addressing me with such a title.

"I," you ail me sir, for you are dangerous and yet I do not understand how, "need not your assistance!"

I hold up my hands, forestalling his help before he can touch me.

"Yes, so you have insisted. Repeatedly."

His hand drops to his side, eyes flashing as silken malice returns in his softened tone.

I angered him. He is only trying to be courteous and yet I keep treating him like a villain.

Guilt, an unfamiliar feeling, seeps in and I bite my lip. I am used to living like a man, fighting like one for survival. I have forgotten what it feels like to be treated like a woman.

I am not the Maiden of the Moor right now.

I am a female merchant alone on the road. I must play the part completely or stand no chance of convincing the people of Leese I am harmless. Such a woman would not snap like a fishmonger's wife at the man who came to her rescue.

She would be grateful, not wary like…like a soldier facing down an enemy.

Damn.

"I am sorry," I sigh and retrieve my fallen dagger from the grass I dropped in my haste to avoid his touch, "you are not like those brigands and I-"

"Should not have pushed so hard," I blink at the chastised look crossing his face, "of course you are wary. My...apologies."

A tickle in the back of my throat, it feels suspiciously like laughter. Why do I sense he does not often apologize. It brings a smile to my lips to see this man who walked into an unknown fight with such confidence now stumbling over his words.

Perhaps I am not the only feeling at odds here.

"I will accept your apology, sir, on one condition."

A wary light enters his dark gaze and I wonder at it. "What condition?"

"I learn the name of my rescuer."

A slight tug on his lips and now I am distracted to see a hint of a smile playing about his mouth. A fluttering low in my body and it feel as if I have stumbled onto uneven ground.

"Your rescuer am I?"

The heat of his gaze causes the fluttering to intensify and yet I do not wish to break contact, bewildering as it is.

"You are," I step closer to him, "will you not honor me with your name?"

Bemused pleasure fills me when he bows and offers me his hand.

"I am called...Kylo. Pray tell, my lady, what is yours?"

Kylo, an exotic name and I wonder if he might not be from Alderaan but one of the allied kingdoms. Perhaps Naboo.

"I," the words seem to stick and I clear my throat, "am only a simple merchant. My name is Rey."

I don't remember lifting my hand yet somehow my fingertips are sliding against his palm. The feel of his rough calluses is an intimacy I am not prepared for.

"Rey." He murmurs my name just before I feel the press of his lips to my skin and I swear I have never been so tormented as I am now.

Who is this man?