She did it again. She left him.
Ronen stared at Jayne’s empty bed in disbelief. He’d awoken rested and ready to make good on his promise to give her pleasure. Almost eagerly he went to her chambers, hoping to slip into her bed and pull her from sleep with his kisses. But she wasn’t there. The bed was made, untouched.
Outside, the telltale streaks of evening encroached upon the land. How long had she been gone? How did she sneak past him without rousing him? He was a trained knight. No one was supposed to enter his sleeping quarters without him knowing. Men could tiptoe across the dirt outside his tent and he would notice. But somehow his wife went right by him and he didn’t know it.
She left him.
Ronen felt a panic rise inside him causing his hands to shake. How could she do it? Here? The same day Ronen assured the king he’d make his marriage work.
Maybe she didn’t leave. Maybe she went below stairs and even now sat with the queen, dining and talking of the secret things women discussed.
Going to the trunk in his room, he found a loose tunic and breeches. The soft linen material wasn’t cut to fit him but, considering he didn’t have his own clothes, he couldn’t complain. He grabbed his boots, tugging them on before hurrying toward the main hall.
Be there, Jayne. Be in the main hall. Do not leave me.
He paused, hidden around the corner as he tried to center himself. His hands still shook and his heart pounded hard. Anxiety gripped him, tightening his chest and throat.
Be there, Jayne.
He strode into the hall, seeking the head table. Queen Patricia sat by herself, her hands folded in her lap, her chin lifted regally as she watched the hall. Occasionally, she would motion a silent command to a servant. Much of the evidence of the eve meal had been removed from the tables, but knights still sat, drinking and talking. King Wilhelm joined his men at a lower table, drawing his finger over the wood to illustrate his point. The knights around him laughed, pounding their fists on the tabletop.
Seeing Ronen, the king’s expression dropped and he stood, leaving his companions to watch after him. When he was within speaking range, he said, “Is there news from the forest?”
“No, Majesty,” Ronen answered. “It is my wife.”
“Is she injured? Did the Caniba violate her?” The king took his arm, leading him to the privacy of the passageway beyond the main hall.
“Methinks she has run off again. I woke up and she was gone.” Admitting as much pained him, but he would not dishonor himself more by lying to the king. “Has she been to the hall?”
“No,” the king shook his head in denial. “The queen would have demanded her presence at the head table had she arrived.”
“I will ask about the encampment and see if any have seen her pass. With your permission, I ride at once.”
“Yea, in a moment.” The king made a low noise of irritation. “You are right, Lord Ronen. If a bride of Firewall, with all its power and glory, cannot be convinced to stay, then we cannot risk others coming here under the present agreement. I will suspend trade with Divinity, but we will keep this between us. I have no wish to dampen the spirits of the men with Sorceress Magda threatening our borders. The knights need a reason to fight, and the hope of a lady always seems to be the best motivation. Moreover, I am not ready to give up on this alliance. I will not have the trade agreement tarnished by rumors of the gods being angered with us for trying to take more brides than they readily bestow.”
“Agreed.” Ronen itched to be dismissed so he could run for his horse. Hopefully someone in the encampment stopped her. Surely news of her first attempt to escape him had made the rounds amongst the men. Just the thought made him tense. The embarrassment to his honor was unbearable. First, she chose him for all to see, and then she ran from him—twice. Any way a man analyzed the situation, it looked bad for Ronen.
Then there was his private torment, the insecurities he’d never felt before. Ronen had no instinct as to how to deal with them. Show him a battle and his instinct was to fight. Show him a sword and his instinct was to swing. Show him a wife and his instinct was to make love to her and protect her from all harm. Jayne didn’t want him to protect her.
Why did she run? He didn’t mistreat her. He had money and power. She would never want for anything. What more could she want from him? Was facing the Caniba in the forest so much better than staying as his wife? What had he done? And the most humiliating question of all, was he a bad lover? The women in his past never complained, though he knew he wasn’t as experienced as a man who’d been wed for several years. It’s not like women lined every street yearning for a man to take them. When women of trade were available, he had to wait his turn like everyone else.
“When you find her, Lord Ronen, the queen would like to speak with Lady Jayne. She will ensure the new bride knows her place.” The king motioned that Ronen should go.
As he hurried through the passageway, avoiding those gathered in the main hall, his irritation only deepened. Now the queen wished to interfere in his marriage?
Ronen’s fists tightened and he fought the urge to scream. This was too much. It was beyond anything a knight of his station and training should have to deal with. Jayne embarrassed him in front of his king and his people. She humiliated him, tormented him and worried him. All he wanted was a wife he could take care of and do his duty by. He wanted ease in his home and happiness.
Why did the gods curse him?
Jayne stretched her arms over her head and yawned. The fur pelt beneath her naked body tickled her flesh, padding it from the cool stone floor. She felt as if she’d slept for a year, glad for a bed that wasn’t a pile of dirt beneath a shrub.
Grabbing the side of the bed, she pulled herself up from the floor. On the opposite side of the thick mattress, the door to Ronen’s room was closed. The fire that burned when she walked into the room had died down to a soft glow. Combined with the darkened skies outside her windows, it made for heavy shadows. Jayne crossed to the fireplace and tossed in a log. The wood had been soaked in a sticky substance that instantly ignited but apparently caused the wood to burn slower and last longer.
Light crept brighter over the walls. The room was smaller than the one originally provided for her at Battlewar Castle. Two windows dominated one wall on either side of a thick chair. A small table, trunk and the box of firewood took up the other. The centerpiece of the room was the large bed whose thick mattress forced Jayne to sleep on the floor atop the fur rug.
A basin of water had been left on the small table and Jayne washed her hands. Next to it, she found a white, shapeless gown and a red corset top. A pair of short boots had been placed nearby on the floor. She’d seen how the women of this dimension dressed but refused to wear a corset tightened to the point she couldn’t breathe for the sake of her cleavage. Before putting the clothes on, she tiptoed to the door leading to Ronen’s room. He had promised to make her come, what was it? Fifteen times? Her rested body eagerly wanted to make good on the claim. Cracking open the door, she found the bedcovers messed up and the room empty.
She sighed in disappointment. So much for the idea of a quick romp before searching for food. Her stomach growled loudly. The maid who’d shown her to the guest chambers when they first arrived had offered to bring her food. Jayne should have said yes but, at the time, conceding she needed anything from Ronen or his people had been too much of a sting to her pride.
Slipping into her clothes, she left the corset loose and headed toward the passageways outside the chamber door. The castle was quiet. Each step sounded on the floor with a decisive hit. Jayne itched at her arm, pulling up her sleeve to check the wound. It had healed to a light pink, the skin only slightly textured.
The castle’s layout was relatively simple compared to the maze of Battlewar. All passageways seemed to converge on one center spot—the main hall. Thick tapestries lined the walls, covering the stone with bright blues, reds and golds. They depicted bloody battles against legions of hairy Caniba warriors. From what she could decipher of the stories, they rarely ended happily for the hero.
Jayne understood fighting and the images didn’t bother her as it might a more delicate lady. She might not go into battle, but each time she went into the ring she risked her life. Matches where death was a possibility paid more. Sure, she never actually killed someone in the ring, and the thought of killing for sport made her stomach curl, but she would if she had to. That’s what some people didn’t seem to get. Life wasn’t some pretty day at the park, picnicking and laughing. Life was dirty and raw and filled with things she’d rather not think of. Jayne touched a tapestry, running her finger over a thick Starian hero marred with the horrors of war. The Starians seemed to have the concept down, though. Maybe she and Ronen were more alike than she first imagined.
What was she thinking? Ronen was her captor and every good prisoner knew there were only two options—live and die under the will of another or escape. It wasn’t in her nature not to fight and, if she died, it would be her own doing.
“I must be delirious. I need food,” she mumbled to herself, swatting aimlessly at the embroidered hero before walking toward a narrow patch of light coming from the direction of the main hall.
Though remnants of a crowd remained, giving evidence through scattered goblets and pitchers of liquor, the hall was nearly empty. A few servants cleared the remaining trenchers of mostly eaten food. Jayne’s gaze swept over the hall, landing on a long table set high above the others on a stone platform. For a moment she thought the lady staring back at her was a statue. The woman didn’t move, merely sitting with her chin imperially in the air and eyes narrowed in irritation.
“Lady Jayne, I presume,” the woman said, coming slowly to her feet. Each movement was slow and steady. Her red gown and perfectly matched corset contrasted the drab color of the stone behind her and the muted brown and cream of her tablecloth. It set her apart from the hall. Her hair had been pulled up high on her head, piled in curls, and she wore a thick band of gold around the base of her throat. “You may approach.”
Jayne arched a brow but stepped forward. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that this was the queen. Only royalty would carry such a self-deserving, pompous look on their face. Stopping below the table, she stood, staring up as the other woman stared down.
“We are displeased with you,” the queen said.
“Uh, thanks?” Jayne drawled, giving minimal effort to keep the dryness from her tone. She didn’t think it possible, but the queen’s face tightened even more.
“We would like an explanation.” The woman walked very slowly around the table, not taking her eyes off the new “subject”.
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jayne mocked. This woman didn’t scare her. If Bossman Bishop and his goons couldn’t make her throw a fight with intimidation, this slender thing hardly inspired alarm. Besides, Lady of Red here might be a queen, but she wasn’t Jayne’s queen—despite the royal’s supposed assumptions otherwise. The woman’s lip curled slightly, and Jayne found some amusement in watching her try to retain her composure. As she stepped onto the lower floor, the queen made a wide arch around Jayne, studying her.
“Margaret,” the queen ordered, “send someone to find Lord Ronen. Tell him I’ve taken his wife to my chambers. And tell Renell she is needed.”
“Yea, Queen Patricia,” the servant said, putting a trencher back down on the table. She curtsied before rushing out the door.
“Huh, I wouldn’t have taken you for a Patricia,” Jayne mumbled. Okay, so now she was just finding an excuse to be insolent. But really, the woman made it too easy. “You seem much too fun for such a serious name. How about we call you Patry? Or Trix?”
More like Prunella or Prudence. Jayne tried her best not to smirk. Hair of the smelly dog, she hated women like this! They were always so haughty and condescending. She bet the queen didn’t know the first thing about taking care of herself.
“I do not like your tone.” The words were low and hard.
“What happened to we? Did your other personality leave? Couldn’t take your attitude either?”
“We is myself and my husband, King Wilhelm, but I am sure he wouldn’t appreciate how you speak to me.” Patricia gave Jayne a displeased once-over with her eyes, before ordering, “Follow me.”
“No.” Jayne didn’t move.
“Follow me,” the queen turned to stare Jayne down, “or I will have you paraded naked through the encampment below before being drawn and quartered. The knights have been a long time without an entertainment.”
Jayne couldn’t help herself, she smiled. Maybe this woman wasn’t so bad after all.
“You don’t believe me?” Patricia stiffened, appearing inches away from issuing the threat.
“No, I believe you,” Jayne said, giving a small laugh. “Actually, I’m impressed. I have no idea what drawn and quartered means, but you made it sound very terrifying. Let me guess? You have an artist sew the event of my naked parade into a tapestry and lock me in my quarters?”
“You are tied to horses and your limbs pulled from your body.”
That gave Jayne pause and she didn’t relish the prospect. “So, your chamber is where, your, ah, queen?”
“Your Majesty will do,” Patricia corrected. “This way.”
Jayne followed the woman from the hall. When they were alone in the passageway, she said, “Uh, I feel I should tell you. I’m not really ‘into’ women. I mean, I’m flattered you’d like some alone time with me, but—”
“And if I was,” the queen interrupted, “a disrespectful, unkempt, dishonorable woman who does not deserve the title of lady would be my last choice. In this dimension, women know how to look like women.”
Jayne looked down the front of her dress and pulled at her corset, twisting the loose garment back into place. For some reason she couldn’t explain, the words hurt. She knew she wasn’t exactly the most feminine woman in all the dimensions, but in her world—the underground fighting world—she was Jayne “The Sweet” Hart, lady of boxing.
“Are you coming?” The queen’s words broke into her thoughts and Jayne realized she’d stopped walking.
“What exactly are we doing?” Jayne asked. “If you just wanted to speak to me, we could have spoken in the hall.”
“You might be accustomed to talking in front of gossiping servants, not caring about the uneducated impression you make upon others, but I know my place in society. With my station comes obligation and I take my honor and that of my husband very seriously.”
Now I’m uneducated? Ouch. The queen really knows how to throw a punch.
The queen opened a door, leading the way into a room. The lavish bedchamber was clearly decorated for a woman. Delicate gold flowers embroidered the thick red curtains hanging over the bed and windows, matching the cushioned chairs. A small sword and an assortment of knives dominated one wall. Jayne closed the door, but stood near the doorway, not stepping too deeply into the luxurious chamber.
“It is apparent to me that you are a woman well used to control, and you gain that control by either fighting, arguing or acting contrary to expectations.” The queen took a seat on one of the chairs, not once losing her solid composure. She gestured that Jayne should sit. “You ran from a Starian nobleman. Not just any nobleman but a brother of Firewall. You braved an unknown forest in an unknown land. You were kidnapped by the Caniba and kept yourself well. And, you stood up to me. Foolish, all these things, but brave.”
Jayne sat but didn’t relax. The queen appeared very reasonable, and she felt a little bad for her initial reaction to the woman in the hall. Patricia was right. Jayne’s first instinct in any situation was to either antagonize or fight. It’s what her childhood had trained her to do. When you lived in an orphanage or out on the streets, you learned to keep your emotions buried until they became habit to ignore.
“Did I leave anything out?”
“Only that Divinity more or less kidnapped me first and abandoned me here without my knowledge,” Jayne answered. “Oh, and I was chased by a pack of wild boars.”
“Lord Ronen spoke of Divinity to the king,” Patricia acknowledged. “It is not in the Starian nature to rethink any decision once it’s made. To do so negates the fact you made a decision in the first place. Indecisiveness is looked at as weak, and we are well used to making decisions at a moment’s notice. But rest assured, we will be negotiating with Divinity again. They clearly do not understand the terms we set.”
“Oh, I’m sure they understood,” Jayne said. “The others that came with me didn’t know what they were in for either.”
“This is distressing information.” The queen frowned. “Our ancestors would raid villages and claim the women they wanted with force. Centuries of war breeds such actions out of necessity, but we have progressed since then. The breeding ceremonies are an evolution of those raids, symbolizing the old ways and showing how we’ve changed as a people. But the women know why they are there and participate out of willingness or necessity—like those the gods send through the fairy rings. Like you, such women have no family or home in Staria and must seek protection.”
“But I have a life off this dimension.” Jayne felt a ray of hope. The queen appeared very astute. Maybe she would help her. “I have means to protect and take care of myself. I don’t need or want a husband. All I want is an inter-dimensional jump home.”
The queen nodded, but didn’t speak.
“Will you help me?”
“You showed honor in coming back here after running a second time. That gives me hope,” the queen answered.
A second time?
“So you will help me?” Jayne implored.
“Yea, I will help you.” The queen paused and Jayne almost broke into a grin, only the next words stopped her. “I will help you adjust to your new station as Lord Ronen’s wife and a noblewoman of Firewall.”
“But…” Jayne jumped up from her chair. “You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you,” the queen said, not getting up from her chair, “but there is nothing to be done for it. You are Lord Ronen’s bride. It is done and cannot be undone. All I can do is to ensure your situation does not happen to others in the future. We will speak to Divinity and try to come to a better arrangement. Unfortunately, women are a scarce resource and Divinity gives us what our men so desperately need.”
“What if I dishonor my husband?” Jayne asked, feeling trapped and desperate. “What if I keep running? Or cheat on him? Or, or…”
“I think you bluff. You must feel something for him. You came back this second time, why?”
“Second time?” Jayne threw her hands into the air. Had the whole universe gone mad? “What are you talking about?”
“Lord Ronen searches the forest for you even now. I sent a man to bring him back so he could call off the search.” A knock sounded on the door, light and fast. The queen stood to answer.
“But, why? I was sleeping in my chambers. Is he blind? I was right there on the floor in front of the fire.”
Pausing at the door, Patricia gave a slight frown. “The floor? Hm, this is unfortunate. If you didn’t run, then Ronen’s humiliation will be twofold. He will be seen as insecure in his marriage and rash in his actions. Perhaps we should say you ran and came back to him. The fact you tried to escape once is bad enough.” Before Jayne could answer, the queen let in a servant. “Renell, attend to the lady’s clothes and hair. We do not wish for her to look like she crawled from the forest. When you are finished, send for the seamstress so gowns may be fitted immediately for Lady Jayne. She will also need a lady’s maid assigned to her. Pick one from the staff until the lady finds another more suited to her tastes.”
“Yea, my queen.” Renell, a short, squat redhead with pale skin and a smattering of freckles, curtsied.
“Lady Jayne, I look forward to helping you understand the Starian ways.” The queen left Jayne and Renell alone.
“Ach, my lady, let’s get a comb through that wild hair of yours. Come, sit, Renell will take good care of you.”