Rylene was aching all over.
The sigil of three hedgehogs on yellow was in the dirt, and the earth and timber walls were burnt. There was naught to be found, and the men-at-arms she had taken, furious.
What else am I to do? At least I cannot die the way my brother did. There is no food to choke on…
The cellar, buried in the undergrowth creaked. The man-at-arms, swords already drawn, whirled. Rylene knew, hooded and smelling, that upon the goosebumps on her skin, she could not fight.
My brother could, though…
The men who charged forward, outlaws by the number of their teeth and the look in their eyes, and then she was knocked to the ground, and she was surprised, for did the men-at-arms not fight for her brother, if not her?
She could see her men dying before her eyes, and when she glimpsed the outlaw atop her, and the dirk in his breeches did all but kill her, a galloping and a whinnying could not rouse her, her hands crimson from between her legs, and then she smiled.
It is my Andrew to save me, like in the tales.
The man removed his helm, and he offered his only hand.
"Lady Hogg?"
Rylene blessed all that she knew of Andrew, that could fight the battle squirming in her loins, the freezing of every piece of body that would make each visit to the chamber pot a difficulty. She smiled, because she had known better , and that worked for now .
"But their words are Touch Me Not ," Rylene smiled, knowing in the years to come, even she would forget Andrew, for this .