Curse

Vyktor Morte · Jun 25, 2006, 02:52 AM // 02:52

Green Hills County, Pre-Searing Ascalon:

Pre-dawn mists smothered the valley below, casting grayish shadows that swirled with each caress of the early autumn breeze. Well-tended vineyards and orchards ripe for the harvest nestled like prized jewels amidst a crown of rich, rolling hills. Dense forests teeming with wild game added to the richness of the scene below. A lark trilled a cheerful call to its mate as the earth began to stir from slumber. Modest cottages with sturdy, thatched rooftops, dotted the landscape, their windows aglow with the warmth of firelight. The denizens of Avare were rising, and soon the wind would carry with it the jovial voices of loyal servants.

A single rider surveyed his holdings in Green Hills County, from atop a windswept hillside. Hair black as mid-night and dampened by the mists whipped about chiseled features and broad shoulders. Heavily muscled thighs flexed around the sides of his mount as he maneuvered the animal with a steady hand. Sharp eyes as blue as a summer sky missed nothing as he gazed upon Avare’s village. The hard set of his jaw coupled with a narrowed gaze betrayed little of his thoughts to the outside world. But within, Sir Gareth Avare, Knight of Ascalon and Lord over the lands below, was deeply troubled. The familiar, peaceful scene lain before him was one he savored every morn. It was the only part of his day when he could be completely alone with his thoughts. Once the sun was up, he slipped with ease, into the flurry of activity that was sure to come, but it was these precious hours before sunrise that Gareth enjoyed most.

Gareth shifted slightly in his saddle, taking comfort in the familiar sound of creaking leather. He was not looking forward to what he must do today. Sentencing a man to death was never a pleasant task, but one that must be done if he were to maintain firm control over his lands. Guiding his mount down the gently rolling incline toward the village, Gareth’s only thought was dealing justice to those who had threatened the lively hood of his people.

A month ago, several of his farmers had come to him voicing concerns about the safety of this year’s harvest. Several incidents had occurred that were far too suspicious to be mere coincidence. First, there had been damages to the hog pens, which led to an entire morning wasted on chasing down the errant, squealing livestock. After they had been captured once more and the fences mended, it was discovered that half a dozen sows had gone missing. Next had been the fire in the apple orchard at the far end of Avare’s boundaries. It had not been a dry season therefore, a fire in the orchard was not something they had anticipated. Thanks to quick thinking, and the newly built irrigation system, only a few trees had been lost. Still, this had frustrated the villagers a great deal, as the contents of those trees would have fed half the village for several months.

After ensuring his servants that they would be well cared for through out the winter, Gareth had ordered guards posted around the village and orchards during the night. Though every estate had its share of accidents through out the year, he was not willing to risk the safety of his people. The farmers rarely complained, as they were paid well and lived comfortable, happy lives. So when they did bring something to his attention, it was not in his best interest to ignore their concerns.

Gareth knew almost every family personally, as Avare had been their home since the time when his Father was Lord of the Estate. Many of the men in his employ had been his boyhood playmates. Occasionally a strange face would find its way to the village seeking work or shelter. In some cases, these new comers found themselves making Avare their home and became reliable contributors in the village. Gareth had no cause to suspect any of the people in his employ of sabotage. He saw to it that he kept their loyalty by making sure they continued to live comfortably. But following the fire in the orchard came a string of minor, yet troublesome incidents. There was a brief and mysterious infestation in the vegetable gardens, livestock pens were opened in the middle of the night, horses disappeared, remnants of stray cattle bearing the Avare brand were found butchered in the hills. These things had him wondering if perhaps he should take a closer look at the people living in his village.

Naturally, Gareth chose several of his trusted Knights to join him on secret, roving patrols to watch over Avare. Not only was he concerned about the crops that would provide for Avare, he wanted to keep safe, the people who labored so diligently to ensure its prosperity. In less than a week’s time, they had discovered the source of Avare’s troubles. Now Gareth found himself riding into the village to deal with the man who was responsible.

Jarvis McTavish, a hulking brute of a man with shaggy hair, hawk-like features, and shifty eyes, would soon find himself a doomed man. He had come to Avare shortly before the trouble had begun, seeking a new start. He had claimed his home in Lakeside County had been razed by the Charr. According to McTavish, his wife and two sons had been slain, his crops destroyed, and his home burned to the ground. Lacking the will to start anew where he’d be haunted by ghosts of the past, he had decided to hire himself out to any estate seeking an extra hand in the fields. When Gareth’s foreman had brought McTavish to him, he had been reluctant to hire the man. There was something familiar about that beady gaze that did not sit well with Gareth. But Gareth pitied the man for his recent loss, and not being one to turn a hopeless man away in such a dire state, he gave his consent for McTavish to make Avare his new home. It had been a mistake, one that Gareth must now correct.

Last night, Gareth had summoned the men who had come to him with news of the troubles Avare was suffering. In the presence of his Knights, he informed them that they had discovered who was responsible for the vandalism that had taken place. To their distress, he would not give the name of the man responsible, for fear they would issue their own brand of justice before they could discover his reasons for such behavior. So he ordered them to go about their business as if nothing were amiss, and commanded them to have the villagers gathered in the square at sunrise the next morn. He would call forth the man who so blatantly insulted his generosity, with the entire village to bear witness. He assured his men that after the culprit was revealed, he would turn the man over to them for interrogation, after which, they could do as they saw fit. As a man of honor, he knew all to well, that his men possessed a level of honor and pride of their own. To deny them the right of satisfaction would be an insult to them, and one he was not about to make.

The sun had risen and now cast its glow of re-birth upon Avare. Warmth bathed the land, burning away the cloying mists that lingered. Bright eyed villagers had already begun to emerge from their homes and were swiftly making their way to the square. When their master summoned them, they made haste, for it was not wise to disobey the man who held their fate in the palm of his hand. Gareth did not have a reputation as a cruel man, but he did rule with a firm hand. Justice prevailed under Gareth’s rule because of this. Curious murmurs could be heard as Gareth brought his mount to a halt and dismounted. The steed gave a toss of his massive head as Gareth handed the reigns to his squire. The boy gave a jaunty salute and led the animal away.

Gareth’s gaze traveled steadily over the crowd milling about the square. To his right stood the men he had met with the night before, each of them armed with the every day tools of their trades. They appeared not the least bit suspicious to their fellow villagers. To the center, women, children, and the elderly mingled together, their expressions both curious and concerned. McTavish stood near the center of the crowd, hands shoved deeply into his pockets, his hat pushed down slightly so that the brim hid his eyes from view. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other as he watched Gareth’s movements. Unbeknownst to the crowd before him, Gareth’s Knights slipped silently from their hiding places and took up positions behind his audience. Should Jarvis attempt to escape, he would not get far.

Gareth raised his hands, signaling for silence. The low murmurs ceased and all was quiet save for the early morning song of nature. Gareth let his gaze travel over the audience one more time before he spoke.

“Not long ago, some of you came to me with concerns regarding the mishaps taking place in Avare.” Slight murmurs of agreement rose from the crowd as heads nodded. McTavish shuffled farther into the mass of bodies around him. Gareth placed his booted foot upon a large rock, resting his elbow upon his knee, before he continued.

“Several of my men and I took your concerns to heart and took action.” Murmurs of approval rose as Gareth paused. “You may take comfort in knowing that we have discovered the source of these mishaps, which is why you are gathered here today.” Voices rose as suspicious glances were cast about. Mothers drew their children closer to them and families clustered together, as if to separate themselves from the guilty.

Gareth’s gaze rested upon Jarvis and the crowd fell silent. “Jarvis McTavish, he called, his voice rising above the gasps from the crowd. “You have been observed performing deeds detrimental to the livelihood of Avare’s people. What have you to say for yourself?”

McTavish jerked his hands from his pockets and began to back away from the crowd. “I’ve done nothing of the sort!” he cried. “’Tis a lie!” The crowd moved itself away from McTavish as if being too close to him would make them guilty as well. Gareth drew his sword, his searing gaze full of carefully contained rage.

“You dare to deny that which has been seen with mine own eyes?” he roared. “You insult the hospitality of Avare and her people!” The guards behind the crowd drew their swords as well, the hiss of steal leaving scabbards drew the attention of the villagers and cries of distress rang out.

“Fear not,” Gareth spoke to the crowd. “McTavish is the only guilty man here. The rest of you have done no wrong, therefore have no cause to fear my men.” This seemed to comfort the crowd as their voices fell to a low murmur once more.

“Jarvis McTavish, you have been found guilty of treason against Avare and her people. Your fate now lies in their hands.” Gareth spat upon the ground and sheathed his sword. The men of the village moved toward McTavish as he turned to run, only to discover armed Knights and Archers at his back. Gareth nodded consent to his Forman, signaling that they had his leave to meet justice upon the man who had threatened their livelihood. He would seek out his Captain later to hear the results of McTavish’s interrogation.

A cry for justice rang out above the crowd as Gareth turned his back and summoned for his mount. The village erupted in a flurry of activity as Gareth mounted and rode back up the hill toward his keep. Jarvis McTavish’s screams of agony and the enraged shouts of the villagers were carried to him on the morning breeze. Avare was now free to prosper once more.

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Vyktor Morte - Guild Leader of Crimson Lukoi
Sir Gareth of Tyria - Officer of The Brotherhood of the Fallen Ones

storm of daeth · Jun 26, 2006, 01:59 AM // 01:59

i like it u gonna keep writing more?

Vyktor Morte · Jun 26, 2006, 05:48 AM // 05:48

Thank you, and yes, I most certainly am going to write more

Vyktor Morte · Jun 28, 2006, 06:43 AM // 06:43

The unyielding, afternoon sun beat down upon Avare, causing many villagers to pause and send a prayer to Dwayna for even the slightest breeze to grant them a moment’s respite. The weather was oddly out of sorts for the harvest season, bringing little rain and relentless heat. Some of the villagers swore the Charr and their dark magic were responsible. Others believed the Gods were punishing them for some unknown slight. Despite the strangeness of it all, many were grateful for what would surely be a bountiful harvest, for inclement weather was a hinderance they could not afford.

Gareth straightened after placing the last bushel of corn on his Foreman’s cart, dusting his hands upon his breeches as he reached for a near by water jug. Sweat trickled in rivulets down his bare back, his bronzed skin glistening with the proof of his labors. He drank deeply of the crisp, chilled water within the jug, before overturning it upon his sweat-drenched brow. The chill that shot through his body was a welcome reprieve against the autumn rays of the sun.

Gareth enjoyed a hard day’s work toiling in the fields beside his people. It gave him a sense of pride to know they thought better of him for it. No one could ever claim Avare’s Master felt himself above honest labor. Many of Gareth’s Knights followed his example, and set aside their sparring in the training yard to help with the harvest. Gareth’s peers thought him mad for willingly dirtying his hands like that of a common laborer. But Gareth’s forefathers had built Avare with their own hands. Generation after Generation of Avare men had put their blood and sweat into ensuring Avare would grow to be a strong, highly respected holding. Not to mention that Avare was always the first holding to have its crops stored for the winter before that of her neighbors. Indeed, ‘tis amazing what a difference a few extra hands in the fields can make.

A fortnight had passed since the incident in the village with Jarvis McTavish. Little information had been gleaned through his interrogation. Gareth was not pleased to know so little about the cause behind McTavish’s betrayal. It was apparent that he feared the wrath of whom ever hired him, more than that of the villagers. His interrogation had lasted for two whole days and the man had refused to utter a single name to aid in an investigation. The frustrated villagers grew tired of McTavish’s stilled tongue, so they removed it. What had become of him after his silencing, was known only to the villagers. Gareth chose not to interfere in determining his punishment. To do so, would have denied the villagers their right to justice, a slight he was not about to make.

Now Avare prospered once more, free of the fear and uncertainty that had gripped the citizens in its vice-like grip. Gareth’s crops were being harvested, and the villagers were busily preparing Avare for the coming winter. Gareth’s Foreman anticipated the harvest would be complete within the week. This pleased him, for once the harvest was finished, he and his men had much to tend to.

Even now, fortifications were being made to the manor house. An extra wing was being built, and a sturdy wall was being erected around the keep and the village. Gareth had ordered these modifications after his last visit to Ascalon City. Once a month, he and his neighboring landholders were summoned to the King’s Court to discuss the war against the Charr. Unfortunately, every month, news of an increased number of skirmishes befell their ears from yet another Baron whose lands had been lost to the enemy. The Charr forces grew greater by the day, and soon, the enemy was sporadically attacking the great wall surrounding the city of Ascalon. Gareth knew that it would not be long before he and most of his men were called upon to serve their King. It was because of this, that he was fortifying Avare. He wanted his people and holdings protected in his absence, for the number of men protecting Avare would diminish greatly once his summons came. He took comfort in knowing that should Avare be attacked in his absence, a sturdy wall would stand between the enemy and his people.

A shout brought Gareth out of his reverie and he instinctively reached for his sword, only to recall it was back at the Manor house with his armor. Instead, his hand moved to rest upon the hilt of the dagger tucked in his waistband.

“M’lord!” came the call once more. “Riders approach!”

Gareth shaded his eyes against the sun to peer up at the archer who stood poised in a nearby watchtower. His gaze slid to the direction in which the man pointed. Indeed, riders approached at a steady pace. Gareth’s frown turned into a smile at the sight of familiar banners floating brightly amidst the caravan of riders. The Bouchard coat of arms was a welcome sight, and one Gareth had been anticipating for three months. The impressive number of Knights surrounding the caravan meant that Baron Bouchard of Shing Jea had received his letters, and had chosen to respond to them in person.

Gareth’s smile widened and his pace quickened as he made his way up the hill to the manor house. Baron Bouchard’s visit was one of great importance, and ‘twould not do to greet him coated in dust and sweat. He was certain the main hall would be abuzz with activity by the time he arrived, and looked forward to the hot bath that would surely be waiting for him in his chambers. It was imperative he make a good impression upon Bouchard. Not only was Bouchard a respected emissary from Shing Jea, he was a good friend of Gareth’s late Father. They had fought side by side in many wars and saved each other’s lives countless times. Bouchard’s presence in Avare meant that he was prepared to discuss negotiations on an arrangement that had been made years ago. All of Avare was aware of the seriousness of Bouchard’s arrival. Gareth’s future depended upon it.

Vyktor Morte · Jul 06, 2006, 04:16 AM // 04:16

Avare Manor was bustling with activity. Not a single servant milled about with idle hands. When word of Baron Bouchard’s approach reached the keep, Gareth’s housekeeper Sophie, took on the countenance of an Army General, issuing orders with an air of authority that would impress even Gareth. In a matter of moments, the Cook was preparing a succulent feast for the evening meal. Fresh rushes were strewn about the foyer, the sweet scent of sun-kissed straw mingling with the soft perfume of heather. Giggling chambermaids were sent to the soldier’s barracks to air out sleeping quarters that had been closed off through out the summer.

The noontime meal was approaching, so the massive, oaken table in the grand hall was being set for an extra thirty men. Trenchers of freshly baked bread with thick, golden crusts were set at each place, in addition to frothing tankards of Avare’s finest apple cider. The afternoon meal would be simple fare, consisting of a hearty stew and creamy slices of cheese. Sophie knew the Baron and his men would not be expecting a lavish dinner until later in the evening, so she was confident the fare lain out was sufficient. It was customary to eat little in the afternoon, for full bellies brought on the desire for sleep, and this time of year no estate could afford to have its men lounging about.

Gareth entered the grand hall just as Sophie set the last place at the table. He nodded his approval as their gazes met across the room. She broke into a warm, motherly grin at the sight of his dusty hair and sweat-streaked skin. With a wave of her hand she dismissed him in the direction of his chambers, indicating that his bath was ready. She allowed herself to enjoy the sight of his muscular back as he passed. She may have raised him from the time he was a boy of thirteen summers, but she wasn’t so old that she could not appreciate the fine figure he possessed. She chuckled to herself and shook her head as she set her mind once more upon their anticipated guests.

At the foot of the winding stone staircase, Gareth paused to issue instructions to a stable hand before continuing toward his chambers. He did not notice the willowy figure hiding in the alcove across from his room. Nor did he sense the dark eyes that observed him from beneath the brim of a dusty cap as he entered and closed the door behind him.

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Releasing a breath she was not aware she had been holding, Evengaline was relived that Gareth had not spotted her hiding place. Her brother would not be pleased to discover she had pilfered yet another pair of his breeches. Nor would he be pleased to see that she was wearing them…..again. She gulped back the lump of fear that had risen in her throat when she’d heard his voice at the foot of the stairs. She’d had just enough time to close his chamber door and dart into the alcove before he reached the top step.

“By Dwayna!”, she thought to herself as her heart raced, “He must have a lot on his mind for him not to notice my presence. He usually senses when I am near!”.

What Evengaline didn’t know, was that Gareth’s thoughts were occupied by the Baron and his entourage. She had been so busy sneaking about his chamber in search of garments, that she had not heard the news of the Baron’s arrival. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evengaline tugged on her cap once more, tucking errant strands of her shoulder-length, chestnut tresses back inside. She peered up and down the corridor once more before slipping silently from her hiding place. No one gave a second thought to what appeared to be a lanky young man moving quickly through the servant’s wing. Keeping her head down, Evengaline made a beeline for the back door, palms sweating, heart racing. Once out in the courtyard, she went directly to the stables, relieved to see her horse unattended. Not a single stable hand was in sight. Of course, she was not aware that they were busily preparing the other stable for the Baron’s horses.

Evengaline’s thoughts turned once more to her brother as she began to gently brush her mount so he could be saddled. Her heart felt heavy knowing she was deceiving him. For years Gareth had been trying to tame her rebellious spirit. When she was a child, he had indulged her willful behavior and allowed her to trail after him about the Estate dressed as a boy. It had kept her out of trouble because he always had an eye on her, so he hadn’t complained. He used to tell her that she would grow tired of boyish pursuits and would act like a proper lady when she was older. However, by her twelfth summer, she still favored small weapons over dolls and boy’s clothes over the pretty dresses their Father purchased for her in Ascalon City. She supposed that she would be more interested in lady like things if their mother had not died when she was barely out of swaddling.

Shortly after Evengaline’s fourteenth birthday, their Father passed away. It had been his dieing wish that Gareth see her transformed into a proper Lady and wed to a worthy Knight. Being a man of his word, Gareth took his vow to fulfill this wish seriously. He had confiscated all of Evengaline’s boyish things. Much as it pained him to hear her pleas and cries of dismay, he had ordered them burned. He then informed her that she would no longer roam about the estate without an escort, for she was the daughter of a nobleman with a reputation to protect. This hadn’t gone over well with her, for she was accustomed to her freedom and felt herself far too old to be chaperoned. Since that day, Evengaline had often pilfered articles of male clothing so that she could sneak about the Estate unattended. She loved riding around Avare’s borders, hunting in its forests, swimming in its streams, then napping in sweetly scented meadows as the sun kissed her skin.

She had successfully hidden her ruse from Gareth for several years, acting the proper lady in his presence, but taking up her old habits when he left Avare or grew too busy to pay heed to her activities. However, two weeks ago he had caught her red handed. She shivered as a sense of dread filled the pit of her stomach recalling that day, fearful of what would happen if he were to catch her today.

It had been a busy day for Gareth and his men in the fields. The harvest had begun and Evengaline believed herself to be forgotten for the time being. But Gareth had come out of the field early that afternoon. He discovered her sneaking out of the stable with her horse in tow. Believing her to be a young man, and a thief, he had snuck up behind her so silently, her heart had nearly stopped when he’d grabbed her tunic and shoved her against the stable wall. With one hand he gripped a fistful of her tunic. With the other he held a dagger to her throat.

“You dare to steal one of my horses in broad daylight?” His voice had been low and menacing. “You realize that I have every right to hang you without a trial, as I’ve caught you in the act of thievery…..” his voice trailed off, expecting an answer from his captive.

She didn’t speak at first, and Gareth’s dagger bit into her flesh just enough to draw blood. She yelped and grasped his wrist in both her hands, gasping his name as she did so. The sound of such a feminine cry startled Gareth and he sheathed his blade instantly. Still holding the front of her tunic, he yanked the cap from her head with the other. His bronzed face went pale at the sight of her hair spilling from the cap. His mouth fell agape as he looked her up and down, taking in first her shabby garb, then her stricken expression. He released his grip on her horrified that he’d brought her harm, yet furious that she had deceived him. He had then ordered her to return to the keep to change her clothes before anyone saw her dressed as she was. She’d hurried to do his bidding, taking care to hide her precious garments, only to find them missing later that evening. Gareth had been absent at dinner that night for he had ransacked her chamber himself and found everything she’d so carefully concealed. He had been furious with her so much that his final threat had been to send her to Ashford Abbey where she’d spend her days in the confines of a convent, should she disobey him again.
Evengaline shook her head, attempting to clear her mind of such unpleasant memories. She was determined to be happy in life, and if enjoying these simple pleasures meant deceiving her brother or forgoing marriage against her Father’s wishes, then so be it! She had no desire to marry a man who would perceive her as nothing more than a possession, to be ordered about as though her own desires mattered naught.

Evengaline hoisted the saddle over her mount’s back, her nimble fingers buckling the stays with practiced ease. Satisfied that she’d fastened the saddle securely, she bent to retrieve the curry comb lying on the stable floor. So engrossed in her task she was, that she hadn’t heard the silent figure enter the stable, nor had she noticed its menacing shadow fall over her. Oblivious to the fact that her stealthy movements had been observed for the past several minutes, she wasn’t aware that danger was near until it was already upon her.

She gasped as a hand clamped over her mouth and a hard, muscled arm snaked around her waist in a vice-like grip. She was pulled roughly into an upright position, her back pressed firmly against the solid wall of an armor-clad chest. Panic gripped her as she realized it could not be Gareth, for she had seen him enter his chamber and knew he would not venture out until he had thoroughly cleansed himself of the grime that had covered him from head to toe. Self-preservation took over, and she began to struggle against the relentless embrace of her captor. She felt a fleeting moment of satisfaction as her heel came in contact with her assailant’s shin, rewarding her with a grunt of discomfort. But her hopes fell once more as her captor spoke.

“Stop struggling or I’ll slit your throat, Thief”, came the gruff command.

Irritated to be mistaken for a thief for the second time in just a few weeks, anger over rode caution. She lowered her voice, attempting to sound like a boy. “Unhand me you pervert, not every squire welcomes the attentions of men!” She threw her head back, hoping to connect with a nose or chin, but her captor had anticipated her move, dodging her blow. He was silent for a moment, then he chuckled as his hold on her tightened.

“Those breeches fit far too snuggly for these hips to belong to a lad….” , the voice purred in her ear. She could feel his breath upon her neck, and though she was terrified, she could not help the shiver of awareness that shuddered through her at the husky timbre of his voice.

“It appears I’ve caught myself a would-be-horse thief, he continued, as a hand snatched her cap off her head, spilling her hair around her shoulders in a cloud of frothy curls. The scent of honeysuckle filled the air as she shook her head to remove the hair from her eyes. “Lets see if you are as pretty from the front as you are from the back”, he continued as his hand slid from her hair to her bottom, giving it a suggestive squeeze.

She gasped in utter shock, having never been handled so freely before. Her captor grabbed both of her wrists in one hand and spun her around. Her gaze met with a chest and shoulders so wide, they blocked the sun shining through the open stable door. She was rendered speechless for a moment, her eyes snapping fire as they met with those of the warrior before her. His deep, brown eyes assessed her appreciatively. His firm mouth mocked her with a cynical smirk at her display of defiant fury.

“Unhand me you fiend or my brother will have your head for taking such liberties!” , she spat with rage. The man laughed, throwing his head back, hair as rich and brown as his eyes caught the sun’s rays in the dimly lit stable.

“And who might your brother be little one? Is he a horse thief as well? Does he cower in this very stable, too cowardly to confront a man who would take such liberties with his sister?” His tone mocked her as well, fueling her ire.

“Nay,” she ground between her teeth. “I am Evengaline Avare, my brother is Lord Avare, and ‘twould be in your best interest to release me, lest you find yourself at the mercy of his blade.” This last part, she attempted with an air of authority, hoping it would gain her some hold over her captor. She prayed her voice did not quake as much as her insides did. The man met her gaze with steely resolve until she was forced to look away, shifting from one foot to the other in nervous discomfort.

“We shall see if you speak the truth when I bring you before Lord Avare,” he stated, waiting for her reaction.

Fear gripped her once more, for she knew not what Gareth’s reaction would be should he discover she had disobeyed him again. She shrugged her shoulders, not meeting his gaze.

“This has been a mere misunderstanding. I see no need to trouble him with such things for he is a very busy man.” She hoped she did not sound as desperate as she felt. “Twould not sit well with me to have your blood on my hands when he kills you for fondling a maiden in his care, especially when said maiden is his sister.” She met his gaze again, raising an inquisitive brow as she tugged once more at her wrists, which were still firmly in his grasp. The Knight assessed her for a moment longer before a slow smile crossed his rugged features once more.

“Indeed, if Lord Avare truly is your brother, perhaps we should not tell him of this. “ Evengaline’s eyes lit with hope. “But my silence comes with a price,” he said as he pulled her even closer. Her heart faltered as the meaning of his words sunk in. His smoldering gaze rested upon her lips as he lowered his head. Her spine stiffened and her voice took on a cool, detached air.

“I would have the name of the man who will violate me Sir,” she said between gritted teeth, “So that when my brother asks for the name of the man who ruined me, I have one to give.” He paused, his mouth hovering over hers so that she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her cheek. She stiffened her spine as the hair on the back of her neck rose.
“I’ve no intention of violating a filthy urchin on a stable floor,” he murmured softly. With that his lips came down upon hers with such force, it took her breath away. The kiss was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, full of possession and a fire that seared her clear to her soul. He took his time exploring her lips, teasing the corners of her mouth with his tongue until her lips parted in a sigh that escaped before she could stop it. Her head began to spin as his exploration continued, and when he finally pulled away, they were both breathless.

He released her then, bending to retrieve her cap from the stable floor, as she stood there stunned into silence. He placed it upon her head once more before turning his back to her and walking to the stable door. He stood in the doorway, bathed in the warmth of the late afternoon sun as dust motes danced about, giving the scene an almost magical appearance. His gaze surveyed the people milling about the courtyard as he donned an intricately molded helm.

“Ulfricc,” he said without looking at her. “My name is Sir Ulfricc Wolfmoon.” With that, he left the stable, leaving a deeply disturbed Evengaline trembling in the darkness.