Chapter Nine #3
With that, he stood up and began yelling at the nearest serving wench, who came to a startled halt as she listened to him yell.
He wanted the ól and he wanted it at that very moment, and the woman went running for it.
He was a big man with a big voice, so much so that a man came out from the kitchens in the rear to find out why he was yelling.
He didn’t seem to have a reason other than they’d not brought him the drink he wanted fast enough, so when the wench came running for him from the rear of the establishment, holding a sealed bladder for him, he grabbed it from her, gave her a coin, and headed for the door.
“Come,” he barked at Anaxandra. “We’re leaving.”
Anaxandra grabbed the necklace and jumped up, following him out into the rain, which was starting to let up a little.
The sun was beginning to peek out from behind the clouds.
But Estevan didn’t notice. He was marching across the road, back to the livery where their horses were standing just inside the shelter. Their fat horse arses were facing him.
The livery man was nearby and, seeing them return, went to meet them with the basket of medicines that Estevan had given him for safekeeping.
Estevan swung himself onto his horse first, tied off the bladder of drink, and then took the basket.
Then he reined his horse out of the livery.
He didn’t even look to see if Anaxandra was with him. At that moment, he didn’t much care.
He wasn’t exactly sure why he was so angry at her, to be honest. He’d never met anyone like her, so perhaps there was part of him that wanted to break through that shell she seemed to keep around herself.
She was humorless and stiff in everything she did, but she was also focused and, he suspected, deadly in any given situation.
In a sense, she behaved like a woman who had never been trusted and had never possessed a reason to trust. There was something so guarded about her, and he realized there was part of him that wanted to know why.
Why was she so guarded?
Had she suffered a trauma that made her the way she was?
Or was it something that had been taught to her?
Ever since he’d come to St. Margaret’s, he knew there was something odd about the place.
He knew there was something odd about the women there.
They were all guarded, just like Anaxandra was, with all of them having the same suspicious expression and the same unfriendly attitude.
He didn’t know why he had expected more from her.
She’d tried to kill him once, after all.
Perhaps this was just a situation that he was going to have to give up on.
He wasn’t exactly trying to make a friend out of her, but he would have at least liked to have made a pleasant acquaintance.
Truth be told, he forgave her for shooting at him.
Given the situation, he understood. But he was rather sad that he couldn’t break through whatever walls she had.
She didn’t seem to want him to break through.
He thought he had seen signs that told him differently.
But he hadn’t.
That woman who seemed so bewildered by the outside world, yet so fascinated by it, didn’t want, or need, his help.
Maybe he had hoped to open up that world to her so she could understand something beyond the walls of St. Margaret’s.
Perhaps it all boiled down to the fact that he was simply offended that she hadn’t fallen for his manly charms. He’d used a technique on her that he’d used on other women, and they’d been slaves to his allure. But not Anaxandra.
She was too smart for him.
Lost in thought, he headed for the road south, out of town.
It was the same road they had used before.
More of the sun was peeking out now from behind the clouds, illuminating the sodden landscape.
Gulls were flying overhead, riding the drafts as the sunrays warmed the earth and the heat began to rise.
Estevan could feel that warmth on his face, and for a moment, he turned his face upward and closed his eyes, taking a minute to enjoy it.
He’d spent the past night in the cold damp, so the rays of the sun were most delightful.
But he caught sight of Anaxandra riding beside him, and that took him back to the subject at hand, which was his failure to captivate her.
Perhaps he was simply losing his touch.
Just as they reached the road, they could see a man running toward them.
He was beaten and bloodied, enough so that Estevan looked at the man with concern.
He appeared positively battered. The man was crying and gasping, staggering as he reached Estevan and Anaxandra, who had to stop their horses so they wouldn’t run him over.
As they watched, the man collapsed in the mud in front of them.
“Help me,” he gasped. “Please! Help me!”
Estevan looked down at the man. “What ails ye?” he said. “Do ye need a physic?”
The man sobbed. “They’re dead.” He began to weep. “All of them, dead.”
Estevan handed the basket over to Anaxandra so he could dismount. Holding his reins, he pulled the man to his feet. “Who is dead?” he asked. “Do ye need a physic, man?”
The traumatized man clung to Estevan. “They killed my wife,” he wept. “My son. They killed my chickens and bit their heads off, eating them. They ate their heads!”
Estevan wasn’t getting anything useful out of the man, so he gave him a good shake. “I canna help ye if ye dunna start making sense,” he said sternly. “Who killed yer family? Tell me what happened so I can understand.”
The shake had startled the man, bringing him around a little. He stared at Estevan as if seeing him for the first time. He blinked, forcing himself to form a coherent thought.
“They came from the river,” he said, his swollen face full of terror. “There were many of them. They spoke a language I dinna understand. I dunna know what they wanted because I couldna understand, and when I dinna do as they wanted, they took a dagger and cut my wife’s throat.”
By this time, Anaxandra was off her horse, listening to the man’s tale. “Where do you live?” she asked.
The man pointed south. “Whinny,” he said. “I have a farm.”
“Whinny?” Anaxandra repeated, looking at Estevan. “Where is that?”
He was still looking at the man. “It’s a settlement near the sea,” he said. “We passed it on our journey north, before we found the woman on the banks.”
“Raiders, then?”
Estevan suddenly had a bad feeling about the situation.
It was something the man had said that had his attention.
They were attracting a bit of a crowd as people saw him supporting a bloodied, beaten man.
People were starting to stand around, asking questions.
But Estevan was focused on the man in his grip.
“Ye said they spoke a language ye dinna understand?” he asked the farmer.
“Aye,” the man said. “I’ve not heard it before.”
“And they came from the sea?”
The farmer shook his head. “I dunna know.”
“Did they speak something like this—Mitt namn ?r Estevan. En kvinna?”
The man nearly panicked. “Aye!” he cried. “It sounds like that!”
He started weeping again, terrified, and Estevan let him go. As the man began to wander away, into the crowd that had gathered, Estevan turned to Anaxandra.
“We must return tae St. Margaret’s,” he muttered grimly. “Now.”
She could sense the apprehension. It was bleeding from him like a geyser. “Why?” she said. “What has happened?”
He looked at her, knowing she hadn’t been privy to the conversations he’d had with Titan and his brother about the Ormsfolk coming after Leonore. He didn’t want to frighten her, but something told him she wasn’t easily frightened when it came to danger. She was a trained warrior, after all.
For her own safety, she had to know.
“The woman we found on the riverbank,” he said. “Did ye hear us speaking of her?”
Anaxandra shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I was not close enough last night or this morning to hear what you were saying. I just know that Mother Michael needed help translating the woman’s language.”
That was probably true. She hadn’t really involved herself in his interactions with Mother Michael, but rather stayed by the door as a guard.
“Then I’ll make this brief,” he said. “The woman we brought tae St. Margaret’s escaped from a clan known as Ormsfolk.
They’re also called the Serpent People. They’re not like normal men, Anaxandra.
Ye heard the farmer describe his attackers as killing his chickens by biting their heads off and eating them. ”
Her brow was furrowed with concern. “Ormsfolk,” she repeated. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Because ye dunna want tae meet them in battle. We suspected they might be following the woman we brought tae St. Margaret’s, but I fear that farmer may have confirmed our suspicions.
We must return tae the abbey before the Ormsfolk figure out that their captive is within the walls. ”
He was already mounting up. Anaxandra followed after him, still holding the basket of medicines, which she handed to him once he was in the saddle. “But why should we worry so much?” she asked. “Mother Michael will not admit them. We can defend ourselves.”
Estevan took the basket from her. “That is what Mother Michael said,” he muttered. “I dunna have time tae tell ye the terrible tales of these men, so ye simply must trust me. Ye think ye can defend yerselves because ye’ve never faced them in battle.”
He seemed edgy and brusque. That wasn’t something Anaxandra had ever seen from him since they’d met, so she simply mounted her horse and began to follow him down the road.
He’d moved on without her, so she had to pick up the pace to catch up with him.
Mud splattered on her feet from the horse, but she wasn’t paying attention to that.
She was watching Estevan as he surveyed the countryside like a cat surveying a mouse.
When he finally headed off the road and into the trees because he didn’t want to run into the Serpent People if they were taking the road north, she followed.
By the time they reached St. Margaret’s some time later, he was in already in battle mode.
A storm was coming.
She could feel it.