Chapter 19 Guillaume
Guillaume
They were insufferable in the morning, all three of them, crowned with smiles and laughter, an easy cadence to their speech, their glances, their small and subtle touches.
Our wing of the inn must have been isolated enough that Benoit and Lucas risked staying in Milord’s room overnight; not that many would talk if they observed a lord frolicking with his men. They could have been up playing cards all night or drinking.
But from the sounds coming through the walls, there had definitely been other activities afoot.
Carnal ones.
Ones that made me burn with desire, even if I were loathe to admit it to myself. But I could not deny the thickening of my cock, the urge to touch myself and pretend it was the lithe hand of Milord on my cock, gripping me as I guided her as though she were handling one of my knives.
I had struggled to find sleep over the moans and whispers, and at one point, I had looked over at Aubert to see how the man with faerie-enhanced hearing was coping. He had stuffed moss in his ears. I would have to ask him for some if this were to become a trend.
Because, of course, there was no way I could participate. My honor, twisted though it might seem to others because I was a killer, would not allow me to sully Milord’s bed under false pretenses, letting her believe I was something other than myself.
Before departing, I climbed to the roof of the inn to scout.
I noticed that there were windmills atop a nearby hill, already bustling and turning merrily.
I was sure if I asked Aubert, he could tell me roughly how much grain was being milled, and perhaps the type of seed, as well.
In this region, we might expect rye, or perhaps barley.
Certainly, the stew last night had had barley in it, along with a stringy meat that had doubtless been last season’s and salted for preservation.
If I looked closely enough, I might perceive the grains myself. But I had no wish to exercise my gift in such a mundane way.
However, something was off.
It took me a moment, scowling as I stared down the windmills (the grains were, indeed, barley). Then I realized: there was no wind to be felt in the air.
The windmills turned themselves, with nary a breeze to stir their tines.
A chill touched my skin, though the sun had already crested and it was nearing mid-morning.
“Damn faerie magic,” I muttered to myself before descending to join the rest of the party.
I drew Benoit aside to inform him of this, and I caught a glance from Aubert, though he stood much farther away, indicating that he had heard me.
Aubert and I seemed to share an understanding, much as we had shared some barley-wine while bunking on our own last night: we were both dangerous men, because of our gifts in addition to skills we had independently cultivated, and thus we belonged together.
And together, perhaps we had a shot at keeping Milord safe.
My sense of foreboding increased as we walked away from the inn and along the path that took us ever nearer the makeshift capital.
The forest had thinned out and we were essentially in a small valley.
The windmills sat on a series of hills bordering one side of the valley, and there were hills on the opposite side as well.
Those hills might have appeared empty to my comrades, but I could see far better than any of them.
I opened my mouth to alert them to the presence of a man, when Comrade circumvented me by telling Milord—as I gathered he had with all of us—that there was a faerie-gifted man there who would be useful to her quest.
Indeed, once we had traveled a bit farther and the sparse tree cover had opened up, we encountered a man standing on a tall hill opposite the peaks housing the windmill. I immediately lifted my blindfold to scrutinize him, hoping to arrive at any important conclusions before Milord got too close.
The man’s skin was coal-black, his bronze hair cropped short, but it showed some waves and curls to it.
His eyes were closed as he gently pursed his lips, as though blowing out a nearby candle, but when he opened his eyes, presumably when he heard Comrade’s hooves drawing near, I saw that they were dark brown.
His eyes were wideset and not particularly large, but they promised to be expressive in the few moments I saw them darting around.
He was youthful, probably around Milord’s age, but I perceived lines around his eyes that could easily frame smiles or sobs, and I gathered that he had experienced tumult in his short life.
Then again, all of us who had been faerie-gifted had seen more than our share of violence and abuse, so I could not be surprised at that.
Comrade finished picking his way up the slope, and I saw Milord speaking to the new man, but could not hear him. Given that I was trained more in the arts of killing than of espionage, I could only read lips semi-proficiently. I looked about and saw Aubert observing their interaction.
“Well?” I said, gesturing impatiently.
If my demand that he relay information bothered him, he did not show it.
“Milord is asking the man what he is doing atop that hill; he says he is blowing ever so gently to make the windmills grind. And he is not, contrary to her observation, too far off to do so, as he too is faerie-gifted. They call him Impetuous, though his name is Matteo.”
Aubert paused, then frowned. “He is certainly talkative, so I’ll have to summarize…
he must be careful with his gift, it has caused numerous evils in the past, for which he has been blamed, he had a very cruel mistress.
Now Milord is making the same offer of accompaniment as she did all of us, with the stipulation that he swear on her horse Comrade to follow her commands when given. That is all.”
I saw that they were descending the hill, and so I kept my blindfold perched atop my forehead and folded my arms across my chest, ready to go for my knives.
Soon enough, even I could hear that the new man was still talking.
“…and then, once the faerie had found me after I’d tried to run away again, she shackled me in one place for a month, and made sure I was facing south so I could still see the strait that led to my homeland.
I could use my breath to blow favorable winds towards ships crossing the sea, and I did that to amuse myself, earning a reputation for being the Ghost of Gibraltar.
After that, I was more obedient, but even then, she thought I might try to either run away or use my powers against her, so eventually… ”
He trailed off upon realizing we four men were staring at him.
My knives were already in my hands.
I did not like people who talked too much.
“Friends, this is Matteo,” Milord said with a welcoming smile. “He was nicknamed Impetuous for his gifts, and Comrade assures me he will be helpful on our journey.”
Benoit stepped forward and introduced the rest of us, including our nicknames, so that the newcomer, quick-witted as he seemed, was likely to guess at our gifts. He smiled broadly, his teeth shining white framed by his ebon skin, as he acknowledged each of us.
Then we resumed our trek. Aubert and I hung back, both annoyed at the newcomer’s propensity towards chatter.
But when I stole glances at Milord, I saw her face alight with amusement and laughter.
I had to struggle to piece together things she had said, supplemented with knowledge from conversations with Benoit and Lucas, to recall that she had grown up without as much love and care as she deserved.
Hence, she was probably enjoying the easy banter with Matteo.
As another smile wreathed her face, making her features practically glow under my enhanced vision, I found myself scowling. She was beautiful, and I wanted her. But she would not do well to take a killer to her bed, especially one such as I.
I returned the blindfold to my eyes, dimming my vision to something approximating that of a normal man. Then I looked to Aubert.
“Where can I get some of that moss?”
He smiled wryly at me and handed some over. Then his expression changed, growing wary. His eyebrows drew together over his forest-green eyes, a foreboding look on his normally serene face.
“I fear we will need our wits about us for what lies ahead on the trail, friend. Perhaps you should save the moss for when our evening lodgings seem to be configured a certain way.”
I removed the strip of cloth from my eyes once more. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, Aubert calling me friend had a warming effect on me; few men would admit to friendship with the Butcher.
I found myself gripping the sheaths of my knives, if only to have something to do with my hands while I awaited whatever horrors Aubert heard ahead. There was no doubt in my mind that I could deal efficiently with many threats…but how would Milord perceive me after?
I had no good answer to that question, even as I yearned for her approval, so it was with a mix of distaste for the new man and disgust with myself that I walked for the next few hours.