Chapter 8:
When Sansa awoke, he was no longer in the bed. She sat up with an almost crushing disappointment only to find him standing at the foot of it, putting on his sword belt.
"Thought you would want to sleep a little longer," His voice was a low rasp as it had always been, and yet it was different. He left her to bring up breakfast while she dressed, bringing the fabric up her back and around her shoulders. She did this slowly, all the while clinging to the caress of his hands last night, at the same time going crimson with the memory. Surely I cannot call myself a lady now… a part of her whined. The child inside. Shut up. Last night was mine. Married or not, it belongs to me. No one can take it from me. I'll go to my grave with the feel of it still.
When Sandor returned and they left to begin another day of relentless riding, Sansa felt her confidence disappear. He had not said a word to her about last night or anything else, his eyes constantly fixed on the road. He did not even turn his head her way. She found herself hurt incredibly deep, and glared at him whenever she saw fit. When she didn't, she was wrestling with her conscience, scolding herself for letting this push Winterfell to the back of her mind. What was she doing worrying like an air-headed maiden in a song about what a man thought of her when her very home was hanging by a thread? She not only felt angry with herself but also with Sandor. Yes, she had sought out his lips in the dark but he had not resisted. Suddenly a small surge of excitement came upon her. Has he wanted to kiss me again all this time?
"I said stay behind me." She heard his warning rasp, barely above a whisper as she came to her senses, and saw a group of ten men, each one more filthy than the last, stood before them, blocking their path. Some of them wore armour, most wore swords, all stared hungrily at her. She felt her throat seize up in fear. Then she remembered Sandor's words. She had to pull her horse back behind Stranger.
"No good doin' that," One spoke as she began to pull on her reigns. His voice was gnarled and his bald head caked in dirt.
"Leave her be," Sandor snarled, "Let us pass."
"What does a man with half a face and a precious little lady want so far out here?" The speaker persisted.
"It is none of your concern," Sansa was amazed and frightened to hear her own voice rise up. "My companion was named the hound by his previous employers. Unless you want to find out the reason why I suggest you let us pass in peace."
She felt Sandor's look of anger flash towards her. What is wrong with threatening them? She thought, annoyed. He would kill them, anyway.
"Hold on…" Another was speaking, "That's King Joffrey's dog. The Hound. That's Sandor Clegane."
Sansa nearly felt her stomach tear in two. So unbelievably stupid. He'll never forgive me for this. He'll never want to kiss me again after this… concentrate!
"Let us pass and I'll forget you said that." Sandor's voice was raw and hard.
"And who's this?" A third voice came into the fray, directed at her. She saw Sandor draw his sword. Then the flash of the enemy steel. Stranger charged with his teeth bared, a truly ferocious beast. They all leapt aside but came back at Sandor and eight of them went to drag him from the horse. The other two came for her. All Sansa could see suddenly was the blaring sun in her eyes and the walls of the Red Keep in the distance and with a scream saw the mob around her, only this time they had a hold on her that couldn't be broken. The one who had come back for her would think her too stupid to be worth helping. No. He is trying to get to me. I have to help him.
Kicking her heels in her horse's sides she tried to dash away from the two who were coming for her. But a grappling nasty arm was around her waist before she could reach Sandor. A hard blow came at the back of her head and pain exploded. She saw red. Next thing she knew she was lying on the cold ground, and a shadow was standing over her. A voice came to her and told her how pretty she was. Then another warning that Greyjoy would have his head on a spit if he raped her. She tried to shout. One for hearing the name. I'm looking for Asha Greyjoy! I must speak with her! Another for mercy. I beg you, leave me be. Don't soil me! A final for the one she knew could save her. If you ever want to kiss me again, save me. Please. She heard that roar, sharper than Valryian steel, calling her little bird.
And then darkness.