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I wake to the chirping of birds. My skin is wet with blood and morning dew. The wetness catches the pre-dawn breeze making me shiver. My miserable groan breaks the silence. There is not a single part of me that is not in pain, and my head... It is swimming in a loop. I gather up the courage to reach up and touch it, fully expecting the worst. I am not left disappointed. My fingers touch something warm and mushy inside my head. It sends a disgusted shiver through my body. That is not right. I cannot move. Am I dead? How am I alive with my head split open like a melon?
Juniper? Where is Juniper? Was he caught? Is he alive? I do not see his fallen corpse and it gives me hope that he escaped unharmed. There are so many dead men scattered about... They are stacked where they fell atop one another in death. A wailing sound escapes my throat when I realize one of the bodies pinning me to the ground is Wesley Antonov. He died protecting me. The wail grows and grows into animalistic screams. No! It cannot be. His throat is torn open. Something fed on him after he died. There is a dead wolf not far away. I hear footsteps running toward me. My shaky hands tear off the bottom of my dirty dress and use it to cover my head until I can put it back together.
I drag myself to my full height, swaying on my feet as I raise my sword. The man standing before me is wearing unmarked armor and holding a Bloodtaker’s blade. My sword rings against his when he blocks my swing. I fall to my knees. I bend my head to offer up my neck in defeat. Kill me and put an end to my suffering. His sword does not fall. It is his helmet that hits the ground beside me. I look up at the rising sun and into the eyes of my killer. His green, green eyes stare into mine. They sweep over me like a Christian’s prayer and warm the cold. He lifts me to my feet, and I throw myself into his arms. I am too overcome to speak. I am too overcome to cry. So, I hold onto him instead, and pray that it is not a dream. When his arms squeeze me tightly, I hope I never wake up if it is. My Christian.
“Maeve.” His voice is broken when he speaks my name. “My darling Princess.”
I find my tears and they flow hot and bountiful. We are surrounded by death and covered in gore. We are tired from killing, and aching with loss. My head is cracked open and his dirty face is smeared with blood. But we are together again. His lips come down on mine so hard that I am not sure whose blood I am tasting. Mine, his, or the blood of our enemies. I lock my fingers in his bloody hair and I nurse on his tongue. He awakens every part of me and makes me forget the pain. My body is on fire. I moan against his lips. I cannot get enough.
“Christian.” I find his name in the flames. “My Christian.”
We fall to the bloody ground and he lifts my dress without shame. It is when his eyes are drinking in the sight of me that he notices.
“Maeve?” His teary eyes brighten. “My child lives?”
“Yes.” I cry, kissing him again. “Our child lives.”
He needs to be inside me. I need what he needs. I need it now. I cry his name when he fills me on the battlefield. Everything falls into place again when he works his hip between my thighs. His lips cover mine as he fucks me faster and deeper. This is heaven. Heaven is him. Heaven is my love. I tighten my legs around his hips and throw back my aching head when I reach my climax. He kisses my throat and groans when he spills his seed inside me. The sound of approaching men sobers him. He stands up and fixes his strange clothing before pulling me to my feet and tying my torn dress together with a dead man’s sash.
“So many have died.” I sob, when I see my friends littering the ground. “It is my fault.”
“You found her!” A familiar voice says in relief. “Thank God.”
“Ezra.” I hold him tightly. “Where is Marionna? Where is my sister?”
“She is fine, Mae.” He rubs my back. “Please do not cry for her. The Erikson took her with him. She fought like the devil to stay and help search for you.”
“It is too dangerous to keep the two of you together. That is why your mother sent her away.” He explains.
“I will need help getting my brothers into a cart.” Ramsay says brokenly. “I will take them home to receive a proper burial.”
I take Ramsay’s face in my hands-bringing his forehead down to my lips.
“I do not know what to say.” I whisper. “It should have been me.”
We share a look that does not go unnoticed by Christian, who hides his anger well. He shoves me away when I turn back to him.
“Take her with you.” Christian tells him. “The war is not over, and she seems fond of you.”
“Christian—”
“Shut your mouth, Ezra.” He warns. “I said she goes.”
“I do not want to go with Ramsay. I want to be with you.” I plead. “Please, Christian. Do not send me away again.”
I watch his strong back as he and his brother walk toward the fight that is burning in the distance. I call his name when Ramsay takes my arm in his hand.
“Christian!” I struggle and scream his name again. “Christian!”
“Let him go, Mae.” Ramsay pulls me away. “He is not coming back.”
“He has to!” I want to run after him. “Christian!”
Only one of the brothers turns back, but it is not the one that I want. Christian and his men have beaten down the enemy, and they have the rebels on the run. I am taken back to the manor house where the wounded are being treated and the dead loaded into carts. The remaining servants bring me water to wash, and prepare for my journey, while Ramsay sees to his dead. David, Wesley, and Micah were lost in the battle. Only he and Ennis remain. Ramsay fought well and has only minor wounds to show for it. The Butcher fought like the devil and has none. I refuse to leave with Ramsay when he fetches me. Christian expected as much. The monster sent Moses Antonov to evict me from his home and lands. I sit beside Ramsay on the bench seat because I have nowhere else to go and I need a home for my child.
It takes four days to reach the sea and another day for the tide to go out. He and I have not spoken much, as we both sit with our demons and drown in our pain.
“How are you holding up?”
Ramsay sits beside me in the hammock where I sit, staring out to sea.
“Words that I should be asking you.” I sniffle and behind to cry again. “Oh, Ramsay. I do not deserve your kindness.”
“My brothers walked into battle on their own, Mae. It was their choice.”
“I should be the one on ice, not them.” My head rests on his shoulder. “Poor Ennis has locked himself in his cabin and refuses to speak to anyone. He refuses his meals.”
“We all would have died for you and your sister. You and Marionna are gifts to mankind and keeping you safe is our task to share. Ennis is mourning but he will heal in time.”
“All is not lost, Ramsay.” I whisper. “I can give my life to bring one of them back.”
“Close your mouth and do not ever speak those words again.” He snarls at me. “You will not die to bring my brother back. I could not choose among them anyway.”
“But...”
“No buts, Mae.” Ramsay cuts me off standing up. “All has happened as it was supposed to. Get some sleep, you look terrible.”
He returns to his work to keep himself busy. He keeps himself busy to help with the hurt. I watch the sea, wishing I had the courage to throw myself to a watery grave. I do not want to sleep, but my head wound is nasty, and I get headaches if I do not rest. Bash is not waiting for me when I take short naps. It gives me hope that he is dead.
Ramsay and me, fall back into our relationship. How can a man who tried to steal me, be such a pleasure to be around? We take our meals together. We sit and talk for hours to turn our minds away from the emptiness in our lives left by the brothers lying dead in the cargo hold. Ramsay is good at being strong, but he is shaky, and he always looks as though he has tears in his eyes that are begging to fall. Death has killed whatever joy he had inside of him. It has stolen away his peace and burdened him with a guilt that is too heavy for the common man.
I smile for him, when it hurts to do so. I smile in hopes of lifting his spirits, even if it is only the slightest bit. We hold hands when his spirits are down. We hold one another when the quiet is too loud to talk over. We are forced to sit and listen when the silence echoes the ghost voices walking through our heads. The voices are raised in silly arguments and laughing at the insults they are throwing around. It is bitter and a stab to the heart, when I am forced to accept that the voices will never be men again. Not while I walk in the world of the living. This is the worst thing that could have happened.
This time, I am letting Christian go. Being abandoned is small and seems insignificant, compared to Ramsay’s lot. He lost three brothers and life-long friends. In the loud quiet moments, when he misses their absence, he is in his own hell. He must now, take his dead to his mother and father and explain to them how they lost three sons. How he lost three of their beautiful sons rescuing a witch. His tears do not have to fall. My eyes rain for us both.
“Maeve.” Ramsay is smiling over me. “Wake up. There is someone here to see you.”
“Huh?” I groan, rubbing my eyes. “What happened?”
“Nothing has happened.” He helps me sit up. “It is time for you to go home angel.”
I watch him kneel and slide my satin slipper on my foot and then the other.
“I do not understand, Ramsay.” I yawn and stretch my arms over my head. “Are we there so soon?”
He pulls me to my feet, and up the ladder to the deck. My eyes find the blue and gold sails before my head is out of the hatch. They are so wide that they block the sky until I am standing under it. The sails are finer up close with the sun shining on them. Not as fine as its captain who is standing knees apart against the sway of the ship, with his hands clasped behind his back. Christian does not carry himself like a man fresh from battle. He has the bearing of a powerful king in his big hat. His green eyes do not look away when they find me. He is standing at the rail waiting very impatiently. You can always tell when Christian is impatient. His lips tighten just so, and his eyebrows furrow the tiniest bit. I cannot help myself, I am impatient also, and there is an unladylike skip in my step that makes his eyes soften. The hard lines in his face loosen when I reach the rail of Ramsay’s ship. We are so close. My body is reacting to him.
“I need a boat, do I not?” I ask him.
“No, the water is too rough for small boats. You will walk the plank.”
“Walk the plank?” Have you taken leave of your damn senses? “That usually ends in a sailor dying. I am not walking any plank.”
Christian’s lips twitch and his eyes twinkle as his crew pushes a wide plank across the gap between us. Ramsay and his men catch the end and hold it fast. I cannot walk across this. The choppy water is a long way down. What if I fall?
“I will not let you fall.” Christian promises.
He is in my head. The bastard has been there all this time. All the times I cried for you. All the times I begged you to say something.
“You can hate me tonight.” He promises. “Right now, I need you walk to me. Ramsay needs to beat the storm and I need to touch you.”
Did he say he needs to touch me? I need to touch him even more. I need to be naked in his bed and in his arms. I need to taste him.
“Maeve.” Christian’s voice pulls me out of my wicked thoughts. “It cannot hold the weight of two Princess. I need you to try.”
I do not stand. I crawl across, inch by inch, with my head swimming. I get dizzy halfway and lean to the right. Both men call to me in alarm.
“Take your time, my love. You are almost here.”
Christian leans over and grabs for me with his fingertips, when I am close enough. He lifts me into his arms and turns away from Ramsay. He is rude.
“Raise the sails.” He tells his first mate. “Push her north.”
“Aye, Highness!”
