There's a chill in the air as you begin the trek into the village. Sam's pace is nearly twice yours and you scramble to keep up with him. The sun is rising just above the rolling hills and you can discern the silhouette of structures in the distance.

In the light of day you have the chance to examine him. There's no denying he's handsome, with a strong jaw and features that are quite pleasant to look upon. With his good looks and board shoulders you wonder how it is that an Alpha of his composition hasn't claimed some young peasant girl. Surely there must be many young women that would be willing to overlook his gruff disposition for a woodsman who's able to provide a house and home, and literate to boot!

"Try to keep up." He glances down at you, pursing his lips.

His plan was to ride into town, making the trip quick and easy, but your injuries and aching hips couldn't handle it. He had you on the back of his horse, trotting along, before you had to tap his shoulder with tears in your eyes.

"Where are we going?" You inquire, scampering up beside him.

"To the village, to speak with Martha. If there's any news she'll know about."

"Thank you for the cloak." Pulling the material tight you trot to keep up, already short of breath. "It's warm, even if it is a bit dusty and rather old."

"It belonged to my mother, it hasn't been worn in years." He quips, looking forward with stealy intention.

"I imagine she's upgraded to an attire that is a bit less threadbare." You laugh.

"She's dead." His breath puffs hot into the cold air.

"Oh." Oh no, not again. " I'm sorry, I didn't intend to sound ungrateful."

"It's been nearly ten years." He shrugs.

"Samuel, may I asked you something?" You just can't help yourself.

"If I say no, will you refrain?

"Most likely not," you nearly trip over a root but sidestep just in time. "Why is that a man, an Alpha, of your age hasn't taken a mate?"

Sam slows down, starting to turn toward you, but thinks better of it and picks up his pace. "I've yet to find a women I enjoy the company of for more than a night. If we're asking such personal questions, don't you think you're a little old to be a princess?"

"Well," you gasp indignantly, "There is no age limitation on my title."

"I thought princesses were supposed to be young and nubile." His words are playful but there's an underlying poke to your pride.

"I am not that old, and while I may not be a blushing young maiden there's certainly never been a shortage of men eager to be at my side."

"I can only imagine the virile quality of gentlemen that a women such as yourself attracts. The fanciest squires in all the land." He's making fun, but you're determined to show him a thick skin.

"I'll have you know I was married, for many years, to a very fine man." You confess.

Sam turns to you, his eyes darting to your neck as they narrow. "If you were married, how is that you're unclaimed?"

"He was a Beta, but we had many wonderful years of-"

"A Beta?" Sam laughs, big and wide, with amusement the likes of which you've never seen before. "An Omega married to a Beta! I've never heard of such a thing…no wonder you're so uptight."

"I beg your pardon," you blush at his implication, but keep your chin high. "I am not uptight."

"You're wound tighter than a nun on her wedding night." He's still amused but you're done with the conversation.

"I think I'll walk a little behind you and enjoy the silence for the rest of our trip." Slowing down you fall behind, staring daggers into the back of his head.

"I would love that." Sam just raises a hand to waive you off, "just be sure to stay within sight."

-.-

Before your walk to town you impressed upon Sam the importance of keeping the ordeal between yourselves. When he asked why you surreptitiously changed the subject to his dairy cow and her value if brought to market. While you're not entirely convinced he won't broach the topic again later, you trust that he'll honor your request.

He leads the way along the busy path, winding through sparse cottages that pepper the roadside. The buildings become closer and closer together as you approach the beating heart of the small town. The village center bustles with life, men hauling their wares and mothers dragging stubborn children. It's the sort of scene you know to be a normal part of life for most people, but you're suddenly overcome with a sense of dread. It's an itch in the back of your brain that you're not able to scratch, and the lack of relief only exacerbates the feeling.

Up until this point you've lived a cushioned existence. It's not just having servants that tended to your every need, but the comfort of ultimate security. When inside the castle you were assigned a single knight by the name of Godfrey who stood outside your chambers while you slept and escorted you to parties. When you ventured out into the city you found yourself flanked by any number of bodyguards who provided the illusion of independence, but they were ready to step in at a moments notice should any man, woman or child come too close or speak too loud. Even when you fled France you felt, perhaps falsely, a sense of security while accompanied by Peter and Luther, men who you naively believed would protect you at their own peril.

Now you're really out in the world for the first time, with no security detail to ensure safe passage. Sam, this grump of a giant, is your only lifeline, and you can't be sure of his allegiance. You can't be sure of anything anymore. If the men you paid to bring you to Scotland turned on your after such a generous sum, what's to keep this man from doing the same?

"Is there something wrong?" Sam asks, his hand briefly on your arm, pulling you from your thoughts. He's not known you long but you're clearly fixated on some distressing thought, frozen in the middle of the busy thoroughfare.

"I am fine." You blink, staring blankly.

A man tumbles out of the tavern, whooping and hollering with a jug of mead sloshing in his hand. It would be comical if you weren't so on edge.

"What do we have here?" The drunk hones in on you, stepping forward and listing to one side as if he were on the deck of a ship keeling on the open seas. He sniffs the air obscenely, his mouth hanging open as his head tilts from side to side. "I can smell your cunt from here. Delicious little bitch, aren't you."

Heat rises from your belly to your cheeks, fanning a flame of embarrassment and utter shock. No man in all your years had ever said anything so vulgar or disgusting. He steps even closer, and you back up in turn. "I beg your pardon, sir."

He bobs his head when you call him sir, smelling the air again. "I bet you'd taste like-"

"Enough," Sam intervenes. You feel him behind you, one hand on your lower back and the other at your hip, guiding you away from him. "You're drunk Aldis. Stop heckling women and go home to your wife."

"Sam," his face lights up when he recognizes your escort, a smile pulling from ear to ear. You're immediately forgotten as he careens forward, slapping Sam on the shoulder and chuckling. "Are you taller than the last time I saw you?"

"Only if you squint," Sam laughs, lighthearted and sweet. If you hadn't seen it yourself you never would have imagined such a happy expression would sit so well on his features, but it does. "Have you seen Martha?"

"Not today," he shrugs. His eyes dart from Sam to you, and a grimace forms on his mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't know she was yours. I would never have…"

"It's alright," Sam nods, disregarding the implications of this man's statement. "Get yourself home."

Taking you by the arm, Sam pulls you down the adjacent road. You scuttle beside him before wrenching yourself from his grasp. "That man was…" you sputter, searching for an accurate word to encompass how offended you are, "indecent!"

"That man is a fool who forgets his own name after enough libation."

"He could have…what if he had tried to…" You're not entirely sure what's upset you this much. Yes, he was offensive, his words lewd and crude. But you find yourself shaken, truly upended by the fact that he felt so entitled to speak to you in such a way, and by Sam's indifference to it. Your ears go hot, chest tight with a tidal wave of swelling emotion. Don't you dare cry.

Sam tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he examines your expression, your eyes are watery and cheeks red with distress. Perhaps your reaction is genuine, and not the production he assumed it to be.

His face softens and he steps close to you, looking down as you look up. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Swallowing, you close your eyes for a moment. Maybe Sam will turn on you, just as everyone else has, but perhaps he means what he says, it certainly seems like he does. His eyes are fixed on yours, his surprisingly pleasing eyes, that don't shift away from you no matter how long you hold his stare. Taking a breath you smooth your skirt and lift your chin,. "I was not scared, just taken of guard."

"My mistake." Sam nods.

-.-

Martha is a bright, bubbly whirlwind of a woman who's nearly as round as she is tall. When she opens the door she giggles in delight as Sam stoops down to embrace her, fussing over him like a proud mother, cupping his face in her hands and placing a kiss at his cheek.

"Come in, come in," she beams stepping aside, welcoming the two of you into her home. "Are you hungry? Of course you are, I'll come up with something."

"Don't go to the trouble," Sam catches her by the arm. It's interesting to watch him interact on this level, he's almost docile in her presence. "We're fine."

"Let me at least warm some water," she taps him on the chest.

"Please, just sit." He insists, motioning for you both to take a seat at her small table.

For the first time her eyes flicker to you, looking you from top to bottom. "The last I saw you, Dean had you over his shoulder like sack of potatoes. I wouldn't even recognize you as the same person." She pats your hand and turns to Sam. "You brought her back to life."

"I did what I could." He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable being the center of discussion.

"She's beautiful too." Martha winks at you.

"She knows it." He comments, deadpan. You glare.

"I'm very grateful." You let his comment slide. "Samuel has been incredibly kind to me."

"Oh, I bet he has, a woman like you…" She chatters and Sam clears his throat.

"We came to find out if you've heard any news of the bandits, or anything else of interest." He inquires.

"Nary a peep about anyone involved in the attack. I suspect the bastards are long gone by now. But she's the talk of the village, this one. Your brother had a few too many drinks and told anyone who would listen about the Omega he found in the forest."

"Excuse me," you feel ill. "Are you implying that everyone is aware of…that I'm…"

"She's worried about her reputation." Sam interjects.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with it sweetheart. Alpha and Omega is the most natural pairing in the world."

"Oh my goodness," You wring your hands together, you may just wilt to the floor. "Why would people just assume something so…so… lurid?"

"Well," Martha just stares at you as if you're a strange creature of some sort, unable to understand your apprehension. She leans toward Sam, whistling before she adds "she's a bit of a prude isn't she?"

"You've no idea." Sam responds.

You'd like to kill them.

"Look here, both of you," you protest, "I do not think that it's prudish to be concerned about the commonly held opinion of one's character. I happen to believe that the reputation of a women is a reflection of her moral and social standing. I have no intention of being talked about as if I'm a common trollop."

You're so mad you could spit. How could anyone be so settled with the idea of you, an unclaimed, presumably unmarried, Omega, taking up with an Alpha you hardly know. You can just imagine Aldis, the town drunk, picturing you in heat and begging for Sam's - No, you won't even dignify the idea. All this is enough to make your blood boil.

"Calm down, Princess." Sam retorts, "Your face is turning red."

"Princess?" Martha looks up, her eyes widening. Damn him, you told him to watch his tongue.

"She likes it when I call her that." Sam doesn't skip a beat at his slip up, staring you dead on.

Several different waves of realization fall over Martha's face, understanding his insinuation before you do. Lifting her eyebrows she smirks. "Pet names already, then?"

"No-" Your attempt to control the situation slips completely

"You should hear what she calls me."

"Oh my!" Martha chuckles, clasping her hands together in delight.

-.-

You're tucked into bed, sleeping soundly when a terrifying howl pierces the night. Bolting up out of a dead sleep you clutch the blanket, listening in the dark. There's a high pitched squeal from the direction of the barn and then all the animals seen to wake up, a cacophony of screams rising from the shadows.

"Sam?" you call out.

"They're in the barn," He answers from below. You hear rustling as you look down from the loft.

"What's in the barn?" You descend the ladder as he pulls a shirt over his head, the muscles of his back flexing in the dim light of the hearth.

"The wolves," he glances at you clad in a thin nightgown, his gaze lingering just a breath too long before reaching for his axe.

"Wolves." You repeat, eyes the size of saucers. You've been lucky throughout your travels not to have dealt with such terrifying creatures, but the very notion of the beasts scares you half to death. Your father told you tales as a girl of wolves that sharpened their teeth before hunting, primal violent creatures that could turn one to stone with a stare and could hypnotize young, vulnerable women before devouring them whole. While you know these stories are not grounded in reality, there is still a sickening fear in your throat at the mention of such a monster.

Suddenly that fear is shifted to Sam as he pulls his boots on, tossing hair out of his face. The mere notion of some gory, fanged fate sours the terror into something all too real. This isn't a cautionary tale, this is raw and dangerous.

You step toward him, intending to tell him to be careful, to guard himself the best he can. You mean to offer your services if needed, not that you have any real skills, but you'd head out into the black beside him if he told you it would help. But instead your mouth opens and closes without any sound escaping.

Sam stalks toward the door, turning to you as an afterthought. Your face is ashen, mouth agape as if you're trying to force out muted words. Flexing the axe, he starts toward you but thinks better of it. "Stay here, shut the door behind me."

"Samuel" you start, unreasonably breathless, hands shaking as they reach forward.

"I'll return." He nods.

Scampering to the door, you shut it with a resounding thud, pushing your whole body, back first, against the wood. You hold your breath, listening intently but only hearing your own heart thumping at a stallion's pace in your chest.

There's a horrid squawking. You're not certain, but if you had to venture a guess you'd say it was the chickens. It's followed by a snarl and then a distinctly human yelp. Sam. It's his voice howling in pain, then deafening silence.

Your body springs into action without a second thought, grabbing a lantern from the table and moving to the fire to light it. As soon as the flame sparks to life your feet are moving, racing into the night.

You whip back to secure the door. By the time you turn around the first of them emerges out of the shadows, its body hunkered low to the ground. You want to run, want to sprint back inside but your limbs are frozen, lantern held out in front of you like a statuesque tribute to some bygone explorer. The wolf takes a step forward, its paw silent as it moves with such stealth that it would be beautiful, if it weren't so deadly. The animal's lips pull back, muzzle opening to reveal yellowing teeth far larger than any domestic dog you've ever seen.

Then, like a waking nightmare two more wolves appear, seemingly out of thin air, each flanking the first. In the half-light they could easily be dogs, but dogs don't move the way wolves do, in choreographed motions, as if controlled by one brain. You suppose they are, in a way, controlled by their alpha, as if reading his mind before making the next move. This stake out must be the closest a non-human gets to playing chess, each movement thought out carefully in anticipation of what the other will do.

Of all the scenarios that you've imagined, dying by wolf attack in Scotland was never how you pictured it, yet you find yourself moments away from certain death. You want to close your eyes, but you find they're just as imbole as the rest of you, watching in sheer horror as the three predators surround you with bone chilling precision.

You take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable attack, but instead two hands curl around your waist as your feet leave the earth. Sam snatches you off the ground and the wolves growl as the door to the cottage slams shut and he drops you like a bail of hay. You land on your rear, barking in pain when your tailbone hits the dirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" He shouts. "Do you not have a lick of sense?"

"I was just, just" the tears come fast, and this time there's no stopping them.

"You just what?" Sam doesn't ease up. His nostrils flare as he stoops down, grasping your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look at him. There's blood dripping from his arm onto your nightgown, thick red drops soaking through to skin. "Are you determined to get us both killed? What were you doing out there?"

Sputtering like an idiot you heave, wiping at your cheeks before yanking your jaw from his grasp. "I heard you call out, I thought you'd been hurt and I…I was trying…"

"To save me?" He finishes your statement, his voice softening, as does his face. He lets out a exasperated laugh, shaking his head. "You came to save me from a pack of wolves in a nightdress, and armed with nothing but a lantern?"

"I didn't stop to think, I am sorry." You look to him, expecting a further reprimand but he just stares at you. Sam's not sure if he wants to slap some sense into you or take you in his arms and hold you tight. What a ridiculous woman you are, nothing but careless action and unrestrained impulses. For a fleeting moment you seem to calm down, but then your small shoulders start shaking, whole body trembling as fat, wide tears start falling from your eyes. "I thought they were going to tear me apart." The confession only makes you cry harder.

"Don't be upset," Sam places a hand at your shoulder, patting stiffly. "Come on now, we're both going to live."

Once you manage to compose yourself he lets you dress his wound. It's clear you've no idea what you're doing, but want desperately to be useful. The wolf he killed in the chicken coup bit him deep before he was able to put it down. He walks you through the steps, explaining how to clean the wound, then wrap him with a clean bandage. You wrap the cloth around his arm loosely, he'll have to do it himself once you go back to sleep, but he doesn't correct you. Instead, he allows you to apply possibly the worst dressing he's ever seen.

"Is that acceptable?" You ask politely.

Sam stifles a smirk, clearing his throat. "Perfect."

"Good," you smile, touching his fingers lightly before sitting back in your chair and running both hands down your face. "I don't think I've ever been that scared before. I feel exhausted."

"You were overtaken by thieves in the woods, you lived through worse than a few stray dogs." Sam's mind wanders as a tendril of hair curls around you face. Questionable temperament aside, he can't deny you're beautiful, almost bewitching in the dying light of the fire. You're a rare creature. An Omega, especially one that looks like you, belongs in a castle. Life tucked you away into the appropriate corner of the world. Had you grown up among the plebs an Alpha would have claimed you, by marriage or force, at a young age. Perhaps he's been too hard on you, you're not meant for this world.

"Thieves are men, wolves are something else altogether." You puff. His hand is on the table, outstretched where you were tending to him. Absentmindedly, you take his hand between both of your own, the way your mother did for you when you were ill. Sam's breath hitches as you turn it over, your two small hands cradling his larger one, thumbs running up the center of his palm. "Have you ever heard the story of the Beast of Gévaudan?"

"No, I haven't." He gulps when your fingers rub into his skin, massaging pressure points that seem to make every inch him relax.

"There is a region in the south of France, Gévaudan, where it's been killing for years. Some say it's a wolf, others a man. Once in a while you speak to someone who thinks it's both, a supernatural being with deadly desire." You press down hard with both thumbs, apply pressure as his fingers curl around your slender wrist. "My father would tell stories of the beast coming to devour young women and children. He took a personal interest, sending experts to investigate. They all had wild theories, but one thing was for sure, La Bête exists, it's not a myth. I think is there is nothing more terrifying than the idea of the beast being a simple wolf, a blood hungry animal that has a taste for killing and craves more. I would lay awake at night imagining two orange eyes glowing in the dark, waiting for me to round a corner…"

What are you doing? You're stroking his hands like some kind of harlot, if only Martha could see you now. Have you lost your mind? You pull away as if he's burned you.

"Is something wrong?" He asks, awaking from a daze.

"I'm babbling, and very tired. We should both try to sleep, the sun will be up soon."

Two Weeks Later

The two of you walk in silence through the village. The avenue is lined with baskets containing apples and loaves of bread. Across the way the butcher displays his bloody lumps of meat, naked chickens hanging from rafters.

Sam's been in what can only be described as a ghastly mood since last night. It seems, despite your best efforts, nothing you do is satisfactory. You offered to clean the cooking pots only to have him scrubbing them himself as soon as you were done. Then, after a rather involved argument about your inability to pick up after yourself, you managed to ruin one of shirts, staining it with juice of the red berries he'd told you not to touch. It's not that you're specifically trying to antagonize him, but there's something about the way he orders you around that makes you want to usurp him like a petulant child.

A young boy approaches, runs up and stops short of colliding with Sam's legs. "There's someone looking for you!" He exclaims, out of breath and tugging on Sam's hand.

"Who's looking for me, Michael ?" Sam inquires, mussing the child's hair with his fingers.

"He's a knight, a real one, Sam!" He shouts with delight.

Your heart drops out the bottom of your stomach.

"Why would a knight be asking about me?" Sam's eyes slide to the side, landing on you.

"I don't know. He was asking if you had an Omega. Tom the builder told him you did." Michael shrugs.

"Anything else?"

"No," the child shakes his head emphatically. "But he's headed this way."

"Get out of here." Sam grabs you by the arm and pulls behind one of the stalls "Tell me, and be honest, is this knight looking for you?"

"Samuel," you exhale as your voice cracks. Sam can feel you shaking, vibrating with fear as you look at him with wide eyes. Whatever you're running from, you're terrified. He softens his approach placing a hand on each shoulder.

"Just tell me, we might not have much time. What happens if he finds you?"

"He'll kill us both." You utter.

Not only have you been on the run but you've been keeping house with Sam. It won't matter that nothing happened, no one will believe that he hasn't been between your legs. You've been so stupid trying to keep up appearances that you hadn't thought of the consequences for Sam if you're found. You're an unclaimed Omega who was given an order by her king, and instead chose to flee. You've been living with an Alpha. A common street whore would be shown more mercy.

"Listen to me," he shakes you out of your internal monologue. "For once you need to do as I say."

He takes you by the hand and drags you down the street to the small booth where Edmund and his wife, Ingrid, are selling their pelts. Edmund starts greets you, but Sam stops him cold.

"I need your help."

"Of course." Edmund nods, "What can we-"

"I need Ingrid." Sam explains, shoving you toward Edmund. "And I need you to hide her. Do it now."

"What are you playing at?" Edmund hestistates.

"You owe me. Your children would have starved to death if I hadn't brought you meat last winter. I've never asked for anything in return until now. We have to hurry."

"Alright," Edmund affirms, placing a hand a your back and ushering you toward their booth. There's a large basket on the ground and he pats the edge, "get in."

You look to Sam for a sliver of comfort but he's got Ingrid by the arm, whispering something in her ear. You lay down in the basket, pulling your knees to your chest as Edmund covers you with furs, one on top of the next until you're buried.

"Be still," Edmund instructs.

You can see through the weaving of the basket, and suck in a pregnant breath as the knight comes into view. You recognize him instantly, your handmaidens called him "The Wall". He's half a foot taller than Sam and twice as wide. You knew someone might come looking for you, but you didn't imagine it would be him. He would know you on sight as he had on many occasions been your personal guard.

"You," The Wall calls out, his voice so deep you swear the earth shakes with his words. "Are you Samuel the woodsman?"

"What if I am?" Sam retorts standing his ground. He takes Ingrid by the hand and pulls her behind him.

"You'd be smart to answer me. I'm a knight of the inner council to King William of France."

"I am the person you're looking for." Sam confirms.

"I'm told that you found a woman in the woods before the spring. An Omega that you kept for yourself."

"What business is that of yours?"

"One of the King's personal maids absconded with valuables that belonged to the crown. I am not looking to retrieve the jewels, just the handmaid."

"I did come across an Omega, but she's not the one you're looking for."

"I need to be the judge of that. Is this her?" The Wall tried to step around Sam to get a good look at Ingrid.

"I told you already, she's not the woman you're looking for."

"I can't leave until I'm sure. You can appreciate that your word means nothing to me."

Sam is still for a moment and then pulls Ingrid from behind his back. She looks to the larger man in front of her, cowering in fear before burying her head in Sam's chest.

It's brilliant.

If he's going off nothing more than a description of a woman who was discovered in the wood, the two of your are close enough in looks that the details are interchangeable. You're the same same height and weight, same hair color and features. And while anyone would agree that your beauty dwarfs hers, she's not unpleasing to the eyes.

"What is your name girl?" He asks, tipping his head to inspect her.

"Y/N." Ingrid squeeks.

"And you're the one who was injured?"

"I was," she sutters. "My father and brother were killed by thieves. I almost perished myself."

"Satisfied?" Sam questions, stepping in front of Ingrid.

The Wall takes in a deep breath, his cheeks hollowing as it releases. He chuckles goodnaturaly and pats Sam in the shoulder. "Yes, woodsman. France appreciate your cooperation."

Sam drags you home in formidable combination of silence and utter rage. He doesn't speak until you've reached the yard of his cottage, "Are you even who you say your are? Or are you a servant and a thief?"

"I am! William would never want people to know I've run from him." You try to explain. "I wouldn't lie-"

"How would I know that?" Sam shouts, pounding his fist against the side of the barn. You jump at the outburst, suddenly unsure of his composure, you don't think he would ever hurt you, but you've been wrong before.

"I swear to you, Samuel. I know I've put you in such a horrible position but I have always been honest."

You seem earnest in your plea, desperate for him to believe you, and to his own surprise finds that he wants to, but he needs more. "It's time you tell me what you were running from."

"I do not want to." You hang your head, pressing your palms together.

"Why?"

"I'm ashamed." You feel the tears threatening to spill, but you swallow the emotion.

Are you a child? Have you always cried this much, been so emotional? You're no better than your three year old nephew who pitches his small body to the ground everytime the wind blows the wrong direction. You won't let anyone have the satisfaction of seeing you broken, especially him.

"Too bad." Sam presses. "I want to know what I've gotten myself into. I need to know if someone else is going to come looking for you. I can't protect either of us if you don't tell me the truth."