The Warrior

Chapter three

I would like to apologize in advance for the crappiness of this chapter! It will be severely edited, I just needed to get it over and done with so I can move on with the story.


         Chapter three



         “Good morning.” Her voice was groggy from sleep, but she looked at him with carefree acceptance in her eyes, and a small smile playing on her lips. “Where are we going?”
         Once again his little vixen surprised him. He expected rejection, fear and anger, all of which he would understand, but this trusting acceptance was beyond his realm of comprehension. With a frown he nodded toward the bath barrel.
         “Bath.”
         “Why Olaf, you talk!” She sounded absolutely delighted, and the smile she sent him dazzled him so it took almost a full minute before the significance of her words sunk in. She called him “Olaf”! He almost dropped her to the floor as disappointment and another unfamiliar feeling flooded him. She thought his name was Olaf. Her smiles and acceptance; her sensuality and delight were not for him. They were for another man. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he dropped her none too gently into the barrel. Water splashed onto the ground, and the woman looked up at his dark face with confusion.
         “I think you have me confused with someone else, my name is not Olaf.” He forced the words out between gritted teeth, his mind already picturing ways of killing this unknown man whose name his vixen dared speak in his presence. He was acting like an idiot, but seemed unable to stop it. The thought of another man touching, kissing, tasting her, was unacceptable to him. He needed time and distance to try and sort out these unfamiliar emotions raging in him, and watching her bathe was not likely to help. With a growl of frustration, he turned on his heel and walked out, throwing an order over his shoulder as he exited, “Stay in the tent, I will be back later with food.”


         Marissa watched the man leave with a silent giggle. Who knew it was so much fun to tease a man? She could have tried to explain that she had named him “Olaf” from lack of a real name to call him, but his eyes distracted her. They turned almost black when he was angry, and his jaw clenched in the most fascinating way. It wasn’t smart to bait him, he radiated danger and violence, yet she couldn’t bring herself to fear him. Why would Lagoe cause her to react so strongly to a man who might hurt her? And the way he reacted to her, with confusion and frustration mixed with need, was almost cute, though she would never tell him that. She might not fear him, but she wasn’t completely without sense.
         She leaned back in the bath barrel, stretching her limbs in the cooling water. The barrel was huge, a testament to the size of the man who had used it before her. There was sand and dirt gathered at the bottom, and the water was not warm enough to tempt her to linger long, so she quickly washed, scrubbing her skin with the salt she found next to the barrel, and then stepped out. The only towel was the one left behind after “Olaf”, so she used it to dry off, the scent of him clinging to the coarse linen cloth. How odd that she would find his scent so familiar after knowing him so short a time.
         Her dress lay rumpled on the bed, torn to pieces and hardly fit to wear. With a sigh she looked around for her travel bag. Perhaps she could repair it, but in the meantime she would need to find something else to wear. The page that received her the earlier in the day took her bag, but she didn’t know where it was now. “Olaf” had told her to stay in the tent, and the tone of his voice left no room for objection, but she would not wait idly by for his return. In any case she needed the missive from her father to explain her presence in the camp.
         Further snooping led her to find a tunic, which she pulled over her head. Clearly it belonged to “Olaf”, as she almost drowned in it. It was black, a color she was not strictly speaking allowed to wear, with beautiful silver embroidery lining the neck and wrists. At least it covered her so she didn’t have to wander around the camp naked. She slipped on her soft leather shoes, and with a deep breath for courage, she walked out of the tent.


         It was a beautiful autumn evening; a slight chill in the air hinting that winter was just around the corner. Darkness slowly crept over the campsite, enveloping it in the warm light of several large bonfires and strategically placed torches. There was life and movement everywhere, clashing of steel rang from the training grounds and the scent of food drifted temptingly from the mess area. Soldiers talked and laughed, somewhere out of sight someone played a fiddle, and pages were walking huge steeds, and rubbing them down with hay. So much life, yet around the tent Marissa just emerged from was a cocoon of absolute silence. Nobody came near it, nobody even looked at her when she appeared. She didn’t exactly expect applause and a parade, but as the only woman in a camp full of men, she was surprised to be studiously ignored.
         Deciding to approach the pages first, she walked toward the enclosed area where the horses were tended to.  Strangely, as she walked toward them, the pages disappeared. It wasn’t obvious in any way, they all simply seemed to remember other things they needed to do, somewhere else. By the time she reached the enclosure, only the horses were left. She waited for a few moments in case someone came back, but the enclosure remained deserted. Confused, she turned to the mess area. An open tent was erected, and in it several soldiers prepared food in huge cauldrons. The smell made her stomach rumble, and she realized that it had been many hours since she ate anything. Resolutely, she started walking toward the area.
         As she approached, a veritable stampede commenced. Men scrambled to finish eating and be on their way. Some cast fearful glances at her before they hurried on their way. She took a minute to regard this curious behavior before turning to the food tent. However, she found the flap closed, and no sound from within. Completely puzzled, she decided to try the training ground. The sound of metal clashing against metal rang loudly through the evening air, and the grunts and cries of arduous exercise grew in volume as she came closer. The few spectators scattered when she approached, but she barely noticed, her eyes were glued to the tableau before her.
         “Olaf” was alone in a field of logs and shallow holes dug in the dirt covering the training ground. Naked from the waist up, he ran in random patterns between several armor-covered dolls hoisted up on poles. He attacked the dolls with fierce determination, his sword a blur of precise, rapid movements. There were soldiers lined up around the edge of the field, carrying handfuls of canes, hard sticks the length of an arm. Should “Olaf” come near, they attacked him with brutal glee, while he dodged and ducked, never letting up on his own attack on the dolls. Once in a while one of the soldiers would throw a cane toward him, the heavy missile invariably aimed at his vulnerable back. Except it wasn’t vulnerable. The man moved with a grace and elegance Marissa had never seen before. Somehow he always knew when a missile came toward him, and he danced away while never easing up his ruthless swordplay.
         A thin layer of sweat coated his hard body as he repeated the assault on the dolls, again and again he attacked them, until nothing but rags was left, hanging in tatters on the beaten poles. Satisfied, “Olaf” stopped and yelled “Seize attack!” in his deep baritone voice. Immediately canes were lowered, except by one soldier directly behind “Olaf”. Lost in a haze of bloodlust, he raised the cane with both hands, aiming it toward “Olaf’s” head.
         “Behind you!” The words burst from Marissa’s lips before she could give conscious thought to the warning. “Olaf” spun about and grabbed the cane just before it made impact with his skull. He tore it from the hands of the soldier, and at the same time one of his feet hooked behind the soldier’s legs, knocking him off balance and swept him to the ground.  “Olaf” followed him down, kneeling next to the fallen man, the cane still in his hand. He raised it high and brought it down in a crushing blow aimed directly at the man’s upturned face. The man screamed in terror, but just before the cane connected, “Olaf” stopped the motion. The cane hovered for a few seconds, then “Olaf” threw it away. He leaned down to the man and spoke in a voice so soft, Marissa could only just make out the words. “Be thankful the lady is here, or the cane would have ruined your pretty little face forever. The next time you decide to attack me from behind, you better make damned sure you kill me, for if I’m not dead, you will be!” He rose and started walking toward Marissa without a backward glance. He did not look happy to see her. Without a word he grabbed her arm and started hauling her back to the tent. She tried protesting, but his grip was unbreakable, and he didn’t even seem to notice her struggles.
         Back in the tent he pushed her down onto the bed, and began pacing back and fourth. He was clearly angry, so she expected him to start yelling at her any minute. Instead he surprised her by asking in a calm and rational voice: “Why did you leave the tent after I specifically told you to stay put?”
         Determined to remain equally calm, Marissa straightened her back and folded her hands in her lap. She wanted to make a good impression on this man, it seemed especially important after her shameless behavior earlier in the day. “I needed to find the page who greeted me when I first arrived. He took care of my things for me and showed me to this tent, but my things are not here, and there are several items there I have need of.” “What tings?” His tone was abrupt, but not unfriendly, so Marissa saw no reason not to answer. “Some clothes, for one thing. And a missive to the commander of the camp, explaining my presence here.”
         The man seemed to accept this explanation. He nodded curtly, then stepped outside the tent for a moment and signaled to someone out of Marissa’s view. It took only a few seconds, and then he was back. He nodded toward the tunic she was wearing. “I see you found something to wear.” It was not a question, but Marissa decided to expand on her explanation anyway. “My dress was not suitable to wear, and it did not seem a good idea to leave the tent naked.” She lifted her chin in defiance, confident that she had done the right thing. The man nodded, absently rubbing his jaw, seeming to think about what she said. She was pleasantly surprised by his calm, she had half expected him to throw a violent fit by now. “Well, I certainly appreciate your common sense. The men are disciplined and respectful toward women, but it would be hard to maintain this attitude in them had you paraded around naked.” Happy to have his approval, though uncertain why it meant so much to her, she jumped up and kissed his cheek.
         For once her exuberance did not confuse him, he simply smiled grimly at her before continuing: “There is no need to worry about that now, of course. You can wander around naked if that is your preference. Nobody in this camp will as much as look at you in a disrespectful manner, you are quite safe.”
         It was her turn to be confused, and he took a grim satisfaction in the small frown creasing her forehead.
         “Why on earth would that be?”
         “Because I am Kay Hir, commander of this army, and you have just walked around the entire camp wearing a tunic with my symbols and colors. You have, in effect, declared yourself my fiancée.” He delivered the shocking comment with studied courtesy, and then turned toward the tent opening just before a trembling boy appeared, carrying her saddlebags. “Ah, here is my page with your things. Perhaps you would be so kind as to let me see this missive you have brought with you?” He dismissed the boy with a casual wave of his hand, and handed her the bags. She was too numb to take them, so they fell to the ground between them.


         The girl looked so shaken, Kay almost felt sorry for the girl, but considering the position she had put him in, he wasn’t about to make things easy on her. The entire camp had seen her walking around in his tunic. He received the privilege of wearing silver on black when he took command of this very army, the King himself had designed the pattern reflected in the embroidery, a great honor bestowed on only a few. To wear the color black without permission was a serious crime. To wear silver on black was worse. To casually wear a black tunic with silver pattern designed by the King himself… Only his wife would have that privilege. If she was his fiancée she could get away with it, but word would soon get around. If he refused to acknowledge her as his, she would be punished. 25 Lashes if she was lucky, death if she was not. With his influence at Court and with a word in the right ear she should avoid the death penalty. He understood her reasons for donning the tunic, but it had been a thoughtless act, and much as he disliked the thought of her skin covered in welts and wounds from a whip, he disliked the thought of being married even more!


         Pale and trembling, Marissa tried to gather herself enough to address the issue at hand. This man, her “Olaf”, was Kay Hir, the man her father told her to contact. She had contacted him all right! The enormity of the situation was still sinking in, it was simply too much to deal with right now.
         Desperate for a distraction, she kneeled by the saddlebags, rummaging through them until she found the missive from the father. Without meeting his eyes, she handed it to Kay. He didn’t comment, simply broke the seal and started reading.

         Kay read the missive with a disbelieving frown! The situation seemed to be getting more complicated by the minute. The girl was Lady Marissa Weyland, daughter of Lord Weyland, one of the most prominent men in the country. The missive was a request for him to escort the Lady Marissa to the Capitol of Albion. She was an Apprentice to Lagoe, on her way to spend her Year of Silence at King Richard’s Court. She was under the protection of Lord Weyland, King Richard and the Temple’s of Lagoe, and he had already slept with her! Not only that, but she had flaunted this fact to an entire camp full of soldiers who now believed her to be his fiancée. If word got around that she was not, she would be treated as his mistress, little better than a whore. And the issue with his tunic would still stand. Lady or not, Apprentice or not, she was not above the law and would be severely punished for the crime. Yet from the moment she arrived in his camp, carrying this missive, she was under his protection, whether he had seen the missive or not.
         Disgusted with himself and the whole situation, he gave a deeply sardonic bow. “Congratulations Lady Marissa, it would seem we are to be married.”



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