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His pain cuts through me worse than my own. I want to comfort him, and tell him that I forgive him, and his God does too. He was not thinking for himself. He was following orders that he cannot refuse. It will not matter. My words cannot lessen what he has done. The Prince is a marauder. No matter how long he lives or how much he changes, he will always be the Butcher. He cannot undo his wrongs. His evil deeds are something that he must answer for when he meets our creator. But it does not mean that he should not change. It does not mean that he does not deserve love if he has earned it. He can point me out for healing him. The Butcher can be riding off into battle with his men, but instead he chose to stay here and help me escape his people. He is rescuing me again.
“Highness!” A woman cries, rushing to the bedside with two more women dressed in somber gray identical to hers. “We are here, my lord. We will make you comfortable.”
“I tend to Highness and his... ward.” The big man stops her when she prepares to pull back the bed covers. “He is in pain, but I gave him a draught that should start working at any moment.”
“This person must be removed from his bed at once. We are ladies of delicate disposition. This is sinful and slows his recovery.”
“She stays.” The man says. “He is her guardian and Highness wants her close to him. This way we know she will come to no harm. He but opened his eyes a few moments ago when the pain came down on him. The woman gives him comfort.”
“We will take the woman to the abbey where she will also be safe.” The nun decides. “Highness should not be concerned with the safety of a common woman when he lays near-death. He should be resting alone.”
“I thank you for your offer, but neither are to be moved by Highness Ezra’s orders. You ladies may say a prayer, but then you must be on your way.”
“We will say our prayers for Highness and go. However, this matter will be brought to father Sheldon upon our return to the abbey. This woman is a murderess.”
“That is a matter of opinion, sister.”
Christian jumps up when they leave and retrieves our bags. “We have to leave now. The priests will come for me in the morning and we cannot be here when they do. You are coming with us, Thomas. They need to think she had help carrying my body. Search out a safe passage and tie my horse in the forest. I will be waiting here for you.”
Thomas is back not long after and they duck out of the rear of the tent and sprint into the trees. Christian carries me with ease even with two satchels on his arm. Thomas ties our things to a black horse and holds me while Christian mounts the shiny stallion. He hands me up to my Prince and mounts his own horse. We ride out at full speed once we are clear of the abbey. He is heading west, toward the mountains and my home. There is a weeks’ time and an army between us and our freedom. We will never make it with me as dead weight. That is what I am right now, dead weight that he is clutching in one arm and holding the reigns with his free hand. No one rides like Christian Beaumont. No one does anything like Christian. He is the youngest son, but he is the one who we all look to and favor. My mother found the most unlikely hero in our greatest enemy. A Christian who knows us in a crowd and listens to our thoughts.
Everyone knows of the Beaumonts. The family name puts fear in the biggest of men. The noblest of families kneel to them in reverence. The name warms women’s cheeks and feeds their hopeless romantic notions of handsome Princes and palace weddings. I had never seen a Beaumont close-up until I was snatched from a crowd by one. Their servants strut proudly in their colors. Their war-hardened soldiers are loyal to the death. I had heard the rumors of their wealth and handsome looks long before I had ever laid eyes on Christian. The tales were true. The mother was beyond beautiful, and the sons handsome. Although the father is yet unseen, I believe he is handsome too, wherever he is. Of all the stories I have heard about the Butcher of Beaumont, I never heard a whisper of Christian’s curse. His family keeps his secret safe the way mine did for me. They use him to hunt rebels for the church. He hunts his own kind. The Prince is one of us. Only, he does not know it. Christian slows his horse when it begins to rain to wrap me in the oil cloth and pushes on.
“You can turn back, Thomas. The road gets rough from here.”
“I will ride with you for a while more if I might, Highness.”
His loyalty is unfaltering. He will die for Christian if it comes to it. I cannot make the same sacrifice. He has brothers and a sister. His bloodline is set in stone. Mine is not. That is more important than love, even his. As a Prince, Christian knows the importance of bloodlines. So much so, that he gave me a child. My mother is weeping with joy wherever she is. Mother told me to find a husband and have babies. I did better than that. I found a Beaumont with a fondness for plain-looking witches. Most importantly of all, he loves me.
Christian stops to hold a water bag to my lips and to help me relieve myself. I am so ashamed that I could cry. I do not get time to be embarrassed as we are back on his horse and riding again within minutes. He holds me fast and shows no signs of letting up as he pounds across the landscape. It is unclear to me why this favored child would risk his life for me? Why would he give me his seed when I am the enemy? Why did he turn his back on his family and his faith for a witch?
I doze in and out through the night. My fingers are moving, so I try to turn my head. He is watching me with his emerald eyes. I smile. The Prince smiles in return. The men stop again deeper into the forest to feed and water their mounts. I drink greedily and chew a few bits of bread that he pushes between my lips.
“You are regaining your strength.” He is pleased. “I need a few hours of sleep before we continue on.”
He lays the big oil cloth on the ground and settles me in the middle directly in the sun. I sigh with pleasure when he lies down behind me and pulls me against him. Christian sleeps with one arm around me and his sword in the other hand. The Butcher kills in his sleep. I would heal his tiredness if I had any energy to spare. If I give him anymore, I could die.
“Do not dare, Maeve. I am tired, love, not dying. Save your strength.” He grumbles into my hair. “We have our child to think about.”
His hand covers my womb.
How does he know? Is it his gift? How can he be certain?
“You have been in my bed for weeks and you have not bled since I first took you. I am no midwife, but I know how it works. Now, let me sleep.”
I find the news wonderous. However, the church will—
“Go to sleep, my sweet.” Christian whispers patiently. “They will do naught.”
I close my mind and I keep it closed. He needs rest and peace. I lay awake listening to the sound of his breathing and the sounds of the forest as I bathe in the sun. Its warmth covers my wasted body and feels soft like my lover’s skin when we are gripped in the throes of lust. My nipples get hard and I am throbbing between my legs. Making love with the Beaumont is better than music and reading. Or, they come pretty-damn close. In this weakened state, I am ashamed to lust for him. If I could raise my arms, I would touch myself. Two fingers would be deep inside me taking this pain away. I am a prisoner in my own body when I yearn to be touched.
“This is probably wrong as hell.” Christian says sleepily as he pushes my bare legs apart and pushes a finger inside me. “You are so wet.” He groans raising up to look down at me. “Do you want me, my love? Is that why you are so wet?”
Yes, please. I want you. I know what I am doing. I know what I want. He frees his cock and fucks me with his hand still on his sword.
“I feel ashamed for being turned on right now, but your muscles inside are as strong as ever.” He admits when I gasp helplessly.
He fucks me harder because he knows I am ready to... Yes! Christian. Oh, Christian. The hand on my breast squeezes hard as I weep silently. Christian speaks soft words to me when his body stiffens, and he pours his life into me. I turn my face to his wishing he would kiss me.
“Maeve...” He whispers before kissing me.
“Christian.”
My heart cries out to him. My enemy and my love. He is well-rested and stronger. I draw strength from him and feed my soul. He pulls down my dress and leaves me in the last minutes of sunlight to go in search of his man. It is time to move. Christian returns alone.
“I sent him back. We are on our own now.”
It sounds like a warning. I am not dead-weight anymore, I can hold myself erect once I am settled in front of him. I cannot walk, and I am still too weak to defend myself, but this is better than yesterday.
“We rest during the day and travel by night when we are less-likely to be seen. In a few hours we cross the border and will be beyond my fathers rule. I take relief in that.”
“You are not wearing your colors.” I notice.
“And neither are you. I am not a Beaumont out here, Maeve. Keep your eyes and ears open. I want your face covered always. People will remember seeing a woman with dark skin.”
The sound of the horse’s hooves on the fragrant earth, the wind on my face, and Christian’s warm body put me in high spirits. He gives off an energy more powerful than any other. I let it inside me everywhere and hold tight. We are not on Christian land anymore. We have crossed over into the land of witchcraft and sorcery. I relax for the first time in weeks. I am home. My house is far away yet, but I am among my own kind. These people care not about names or politics, they care only about money.
We get three days of peace before we are set upon by thieves. I am stretching in the early morning light, breathing steadily, and at one with the forest around me. My keen hearing makes it hard to sneak up on us and I am ready. An arm comes around me and a hand covers my mouth.
“I want you to stand back and let me take care of this. Do not go against me.” Christian warns. I nod my head in understanding. I am to follow his lead.
“I know you are there!” He calls into the trees. “Show yourselves and you might live to see another day. I will trade gold coin for room and board for myself and my wife.”
“What if we take your gold?” A man calls. “And your wife?”
His jeers elicit a chorus of chuckles from his men. Why does his voice sound familiar?
“Unless her face is covered to hide her ugliness?”
Wait a minute. I know that voice. It has been a long time since I have heard it, but it is one that I am not likely to forget.
“Neo Salim?” I call cautiously. “Is that you still bullying people all these years later?”
The banter ceases immediately.
“Who goes there?” He shouts back. “Speak up!” He is just as cautious.
“It is I.”
I step out into the clear before Christian can stop me. A pack of dog’s snarl and snap behind the trees. They are hunting dogs and always in search of their next meal.
“Well, I will be damned.” A grin splits his dark face. “It’s our lost brat come back from the dead. Who is this rich man you bring here?”
“His name is Myles Smith. He is my...”
“Husband.” Christian cuts me off. “I am her husband.”
“Smith, you say?” Neo repeats suspiciously. “That is a fairly, common name, would you not agree? One easily stolen.”
“As common as it is, Smith is my name.” Christian says defensively. “Are you saying that it is not? Do you know me so well, thief?”
He is daring Neo to call him a liar right out.
“You carry the taint of a Christian, Smith.” Neither one is going to back down. “We heard what the church did to her family. They were good people only wanting to help. How do we know you are not a Christian spy come here to kill off the last of the Payne women?”
“Myles is not a Christian.” I cut in. “He is a half-caste from the... uh... far-east.”
“With a name like Smith?” Neo laughs. “This man has fair hair and green eyes. Surely you are smarter than this, Mae Payne? We need to get you somewhere safe. You have free passage, but not him. He even smells like a Christian.”
Neo spits on the ground in outright disrespect. I feel the urge to fight stewing within the Beaumont. He does not take insults lightly. Especially when they are directed at me.
“I smell like a Christian because I bathe?” The Prince calls. “You should try it sometime. I smell you and your men from here. The dogs smell better than you do.”
I elbow him. Stop it! We need him to pass through this land safely.
“And you smell like a woman.” Neo calls back. “I do not trust you.”
“Give off, Nicodemus. He is my husband. I refuse to let you kill him.”
“I refuse to let him kill me.” The Prince says arrogantly before he laughs aloud.
“Beau... Myles.” I catch myself before I can give him away. “Let me talk to him.”
“I will let him pass, for a kiss.” Neo calls, smiling disrespectfully.
“From him?”
I make a face. Neo is not kissing my Prince. The men chuckle.
“From you, my bonny lass. I always did have an eye for you.”
“Hell no.” The Butcher pulls me closer. “The only thing you will be kissing over here is my ass. I offered gold before, but now that I know you are old friends, we expect your hospitality.” The Christian tells Neo. “She has been on the road for days and is in need of a bath and food, not to be molested by you.”
“I was flirting with her, not molesting her.”
Neo steps out of the tree line and comes towards us followed by a few other dirty men. They are surrounded by the biggest wolves that they could find. Wolves that sit quietly on their haunches like tamed pups. He is still the same handsome baker’s son that I remember. I smile when he takes my hand.
“Mae, the years have treated you well. You are still the same beautiful girl who broke my heart.”
“It was your nose, Neo, not your heart.” I laugh at his teasing. “You tried to kiss me.”
“Because I was smitten with you, lass.”
I scoff and put my hands on my hips. “You kissed all the girls.”
“They were all practice for you.” He says so sweetly that I laugh louder. Nicodemus is still the same skirt chaser that he was when we were children. “Come, we have a camp not far from here. You can rest, and we will discuss a plan for you.” My childhood mate turns to the scowling Beaumont. “I am Nicodemus Salim, son of the honored Nicodemus Salim.”
“Myles... er... Smith.”
Christian stumbles over his fictitious name. I shake my head in disappointment. It is a good, random name. Neo notices too and he frowns.
“We are on foot, follow us.”
