Flashback
It started with a rip in my apron. A rip that led me to make an unexpected trip into town to spend my wages on an unnecessary expense: thread, a needle, and extra fabric in case it tore again.
Getting into town is mostly done on foot if you are of lower status, such as myself, which proves to be a two-day journey.
So, you have to hope the weather is in your favor.
I work for the lord of a castle that sits just behind the English border in Scotland. Although poor, I have more than many. So, I find myself in no position to complain.
The first day of travel is near perfect weather, but that doesn’t last. As my luck has it, the next day changes into a torrential downpour.
Rain comes out of nowhere, so I take cover under a large hickory tree to wait it out.
While I sit there, I collect some of its nuts that have fallen to the ground, knowing I will need more nourishment on the rest of my journey that may turn longer due to the given circumstances.
A lone thistle plant sits in the nook of a protruding root of this old hickory, and I can’t help but examine its purple flower. The petals themselves are a drastic contrast to the rest. Thistle is bountiful here, and mostly used by the locals to ward off evil around one’s home.
My mother thought otherwise. She warned me of the so-called devil’s plant that lured one in with its bright purple bud, only to pierce your skin if you got too close. She said that if it did happen to make you bleed, the devil would have ownership over your soul.
My mother was full of these tales, handed down through centuries of tradition and religion. I didn’t believe in such things, but I didn’t let her know. To appease her, I told her I would never touch one.
My mother wasn’t here now though, and curiosity does always have a way of getting the best of me, especially within the boredom of the monsoon coming down everywhere except my protected canopy. I carefully go to stroke one of the thorny leaves and am poked almost instantly. Sharp little buggers.
A drop of blood falls down my finger, and I wipe it away on the grass at the base of the tree. It barely hurts, and the clouds didn’t darken over me, which I’ll take as a good sign. Just as I suspected, my mother’s tales were a bunch of rubbish.
I wait under the tree for what seems like half the day when finally, a carriage comes by. It stops before me, a hand reaching out its window to wave me over. With my bonnet tight around my face, I make my way over to the carriage and the mysterious hand that beckoned me.
The door opens as an invitation. I step inside, thankful to get out of the rain. You can never not heed someone of higher ranking, so it wasn’t much of a question of what my next steps would be when invited into such a blessed opportunity like this.
Once I wipe the rain from my lashes, I glance up to show my good graces to the person extending their kindness to me, but I am left without words.
Before me is the most bonnie lad with dark brown hair.
Two faint scars mark his forehead, but they don’t distract from his beauty in the least. He doesn’t look much older than me, so I can not believe my luck.
I finally get my words about me, and thank the man who reaches his hand out to me. This is an unexpected action, because a man of his status would never acknowledge a lowly servant girl like me. But I oblige, and the moment I do, I never look back as he places a soft kiss against my knuckles.
“What is your name, sir?” I fumble out. It is the only thing I can think to ask.
“Carya, although some call me Hickory. You, my little succulent, can call me Ry.” You would think his nickname referring to my name would make me uneasy, but it does the opposite.
It feels undeniably natural. The only unnerving part about it is how he knows my name to make a nickname of it? Maybe it is merely a coincidence.
“My name is Jade.” I announce, even though he shows no signs of asking.
“I know,” is all he says after. I should be unsettled, but that reaction doesn’t reach me. Instead, I stare unapologetically the entire way to town. Quiet and unassuming in our study of each other. A reciprocation I feel in every part of my being.
I do not know many in town apart from the shop owners I visit when I come here every other month for supplies. However, it seems as if all eyes are on me today. Or maybe not me, but focusing on the man who takes my hand, directing me through town as if he were my own personal escort.
I stop into the seamstress shop and grab what I need, while the gentleman waits outside for me. Why he waits for me I cannot fathom, but I am not about to object to his forward attention. That is until I hear the whispers of the women in the shop. Something about the Englishman.
English. His accent. I should’ve known. I didn’t even think to ask what he is doing here, but I see now the crest he wears. The crest that shows his loyalty to King Henry.
My lord would fire me immediately if he found out I was conversing with an Englishman. I decide to let him know we will have to part ways when I leave the shop. I look at him directly as people passing by still look at us in disgust, so I bring him into an alley.
“I greatly appreciate your gesture towards me, but I must be on my own now.” I say in the most respectable manner I can muster up.
“Is that so?” he smirks. Oh, those lips. I blush at my meddlesome thought. My gaze trails to his neck, mostly hidden beneath his coat. Strange markings just barely showing under his buttoned collar.
“It wouldn’t be because of the crest I bear on my jacket, would it? Oh, Jade, I thought you would be a little more rebellious this time around, not care about what a few townspeople thought.” He looks disappointed and seems to mock me. And this time around? What could he mean by that?
“Well, I’m afraid my job is at stake here, and the good name of my family, so I must bid you farewell.
” I say and go to leave. Having already gotten what I need in town, I am about to find a place to stay for the night before my journey back to the castle.
But before I can leave, I am pulled back into the alley.
Eyes matching the color of the loch waters bore into my soul. They almost seem full of panic and pleading. Asking me a question. They invoke a sense of instinct. An instinct to give everything to the man in front of me.
He places a small object into my palm at that moment. A ring.
“Please remember, Jade. Here. I made this for you. I need you to remember us.” He pleads and then adds, “I didn’t go all this way across the realms to get here, just for you to walk through this world blindly.
Please put this on.” His sadness confuses me, and it confuses me even more when I look up to ask him what this is, but he is gone.
I feel floaty after that interaction and promptly go find a room, needing to avoid the onlookers from earlier today and to be alone with my thoughts. How dare I be so dense not to notice the crest he wore?
Was I really so enamored with the way he looked that I would overlook such an important detail?
Of course, I was. I am only twenty, and I despise saying it, but the thought of such a beautiful man showing me any ounce of attention should not be my fault.
Although there are names for women who disgrace their purity in such a way.
The sun fades in the room I bought with the only coin left to my name. My mind won’t rest as the man from today consumes my every thought. I pretend we didn’t have to say farewell that night, and give in to desires that would make most girls blush.
I am no longer in control. Only the man with the angst in his eyes has control over me now. His invisible claim on my body, quietly guiding my thistle-pricked fingers, bringing myself to bliss. The devil’s plant she warned. I’m glad I didn’t listen.
I imagine it now. His lips on my neck, soft but urgent.
I dip my hand lower, grazing my belly, and follow the path to my most delicate parts.
He is there now, licking and sucking until I’m sure he is in this very room with me.
I open my eyes for just a moment. Shadows twirl about me.
Surely stars brought on for what comes next.
Two fingers find their way inside me. They are mine, but they don’t feel that way. Who truly guides me to this point? The smell of woody earth and burning hickory envelops me. I did not make a fire, but there is one starting within.
I choke on the dense earthy smell as I hit the spot that ached so deeply for the English soldier. My insides pulse, and I ride the soft waves surrounding my fingers as I make a wet mess of them. A proper woman would be ashamed, but it is not my fault—for the devil took over tonight.
When I am done, I think about the devil’s plant beneath that old hickory. I wonder if perhaps there was something to my mother’s warnings after all. The tiny prick throbs more intensely as I think of it now.
I am rather not myself since meeting the man in the carriage.
The one who showed up just moments after a pinpoint of blood appeared on my finger.
But a mere coincidence is no reason to believe in superstitions now.
I believe only in what I experienced today, which was cut short by the sad reality of political disputes.
The ring stays snugly in my pocket until I finally make my way back to the castle.
There isn’t much time to think about it once I get back.
I work all day, and only rest when the sun goes down.
The downside of being of inferior status.
My tired feet hold a constant ache that shouldn’t belong at my young age.
I have a small and dark dirt room in the castle.
A basic servant’s quarters, and that is where I go to mend the hole in my apron.
I pull out the needle and thread, and with it comes the ring.
It is quite a lovely ring, one made of metal and stone I have never seen before.
One that speaks of wealth and power, and I know nothing of that.
Against my better judgement, I place the ring upon my finger. A perfect fit. The walls close in around me as I am pulled into memories. But my heart can’t take what I see.
I see a young Romanian woman being swallowed by the earth as a dark male figure greets her.
It is me. Branches grow out of his head.
His lips taste of victory and remorse as he lays a kiss against me.
And then, his hand is against my throat as roots impale my skin and my blood drains beneath the base of an old hickory.
My soul cannot do this again. I cry through the night, and by dawn, I find release the only way I can—looping the leftover fabric into a noose, and I let myself fall off the banister of the castle’s main entry. Whoever finds me, the Gods bless them.