7. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
I clung to Sainte, my arms tight around him, resting my forehead between his shoulders. My body shook with a wet cough, rattling my lungs. As it faded, I rested more of my weight against him, seeking support.
“She’d do better in an inn,” a soldier suggested. Otto?
I hadn’t a clue what half their names were, and my exhaustion made it so I couldn’t care less.
“Dare we risk it?” another said. “We’re too far from a city for my liking.”
“That, or risk her in the open air with water in her lungs.”
Oi, I got most of it out.
“It’s not Winter’s Bite. She looks strong enough to handle it.”
“She’d be more suited to handle the Bite. I say we push on to an inn. Captain?”
Sainte remained silent, and the gentle sway of the horse nearly lulled me into sleep before he spoke.
“No—the next hut we see.”
A chorus of disappointed groans rolled through the group.
As I cracked my eyes open, the fading sun painted the overgrown road in hues of gold and shadow. I wasn’t too concerned about finding a roof over my head—exhaustion lured me into its embrace, and all I craved was rest.
Our little crew pressed on, slowing as the moons rose. The night’s chill bit at my fingers, and at one point, Sainte cupped his hand over mine, pinning them to his abdomen. I grabbed fistfuls of his tunic, trying to stay coherent enough to keep my seat.
He jerked on the reins. “Hold.”
Startled, I broke into a fit of coughs, my throat sore and raw.
“Urien– ”
“Aye.”
Quiet creaks of leather and the snap of small twigs disturbed the night’s silence. I straightened, examining the crowded road. Twin moons mirrored each other above, both full, lending ample light despite the shroud of trees. A dim, flickering candle cast a soft glow through the carved window of a shack nestled along the path ahead. The structure, akin to a horse stall at a typical inn, offered enough space to shield from the cold, but lacked the roominess to be comfortable during warmer seasons.
I rested my temple against Sainte’s shoulder as Urien approached the small door hanging precariously on a single hinge.
“Hail.” His call was soft, yet carried through the night, barely audible above the nocturnal creatures.
A muffled response came from inside, and at Sainte’s nod, Urien approached, gently pushing the door open. He paused, surveying the shack’s interior before returning to the group.
“It’s a witch, but she’s alone.”
“Do you trust it?” Sainte asked quietly.
The moonlight illuminated a figure in a long dress with a shawl over her head, standing at the threshold.
“‘Tis my principle never to trust a witch,” Urien scoffed, then shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll be wandering upon any better tonight, though.”
“Bring her in,” her dry voice rasped from her hovel.
The ambient sounds around us dwindled into silence. Crickets ceased chirping, owls silenced their hooting, rodents halted their scurrying—everything fell quiet.
Sainte grunted, shifting in his seat. “Where there’s a witch, there’s a town.”
Witches were familiar territory. They spoke in riddles and claimed to have visions within their dreams. Still, their usefulness usually ended with potions, and even then, few concoctions actually worked for me.
And they all had something to prophesy about my ‘heritage.’
Sainte clicked his tongue, urging his horse to walk. “Move on.”
Urien mounted, and we rode past the witch’s shack. Her skin resembled an aged grape, wrinkled, dry, and sagging. A long, crooked nose adorned her face, while her jowls hung low, revealing the redness of her eye sockets. Her dark, mysterious leer followed me, glittering in the dim light.
“Peace, Princess ,” she hissed.
I huddled into Sainte’s back, a shiver of fear shooting down my spine.
The witches I’d encountered before were unsettling with their potions and cryptic words, but this one exuded raw power. Her dark gaze held a knowing, haunting intensity.
“Steady.” Sainte spoke low and placed his hand over mine, holding me against him.
Maybe it was the eerie glow of the twin moons that heightened my unease, but encountering a witch lurking in wait as we passed didn’t bode well for my nerves.
Sainte’s earlier assessment proved true when, moments later, the dense forest gave way to a village nestled among the trees. The cozy homes, clustered together, appeared inviting yet secluded. We approached the first house. Its quaint fenced-in yard and small stable added to the rustic charm. As we neared, Urien dismounted and started for the door.
A man draped in a fur cloak answered. He eyed our group warily, speaking in low tones. Coin exchanged hands, and we secured refuge for the night. A bed—even a simple mattress on the floor would be welcome. It wasn’t like I was accustomed to much, princess or not.
I stumbled behind Sainte as he walked inside. A candle cast flickering light across the modest room, its warm glow dancing on the walls. I coughed, the air heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and dried herbs. My eyes roamed the shadows, wondering where everyone would sleep.
The stranger folded his beefy arms across his chest, lifting his chin. “If ye’r carryin’ the plague–”
“A tumble in the river,” Sainte interrupted, speaking Muik. “A single night under a roof is all we ask.”
The man grabbed the candle, lifting it to peer at me. He was in his middle years, eyes weary, dark hair mussed with sleep. Satisfied with what he saw, he huffed and walked to a corner where a blanket was nailed to the ceiling. He pushed it aside to reveal a small mat stuffed with straw.
“‘Tis the best ye’ll find ‘round these parts.”
I blinked, waiting. When Sainte gave his nod of approval, I needed no further encouragement. I flopped ungracefully, pulling the worn blanket to my chin. My heavy eyes fluttered shut, and exhaustion dragged me into a glorious sleep.
We traveled hard the next few days, resulting in sore legs and nether regions, but the ache in my heart worried me the most.
When I stirred from my slumber, unease weighed heavy on my chest. The men bustled about the campsite. Their hushed conversations and movements held their focus elsewhere, oblivious to my presence. I frowned, burrowing deeper into the blanket, then slid my fingers between my legs. At the feel of dampness, my jaw clenched, and I brought my hand into the sunlight—a sheen of crimson.
“You’re hurt?” Sainte’s voice was rough with sleep.
I yelped, shoving my arm beneath the fabric, then scrunched my eyes shut. Maybe I could ignore him. Perhaps this was simply a terrible dream.
One could wish.
I grimaced as Sainte crouched beside me, his hand gently tugging at the blanket.
“No,” I grumbled, holding it tight.
“Are you hurt?” he repeated.
“No,” I snapped again, burying my head as if I could hide from all my problems.
After a moment of silence, the sound of his retreating footsteps signaled his departure.
I sighed with relief and scowled at the morning sky. This was miserable. At least I had Kelsie when I first started bleeding. When I fled, Lyana taught me how to care for it on the streets. Now, I had to figure out how to cope surrounded by a group of men who wouldn’t understand. Chances were, my trousers needed a good wash, as well as the blanket. Though my pants weren’t high on my priority list, they were already being stained beyond repair.
Ethyan avoided Lyana and me when we bled, treating us as if we had some contagious disease. We used that time to enjoy each other’s company, free of his incessant nagging.
Funny how he would exhale in relief upon learning he hadn’t fathered a babe, yet was repelled by the physical signs of a woman’s body showing it was without child.
Men were so double-minded.
As footsteps approached, I twisted to see Sainte. With a swift tug, he stretched a tunic to its limits before it tore. Each rip drew a wince for the wasted cloth. He moved closer, gaze fixed on his task, and I frowned, curiosity piqued. When he dropped into a crouch beside me, holding out the strips and a waterskin, I froze.
“Go, clean up,” he said.
I stared at his offering with narrowed eyes. He didn’t appear disgusted or appalled, and spoke as if this were a common occurrence. It certainly was for me , but I wasn’t accustomed to men treating it so casually.
“You don’t happen to have a spare pair of trousers?” I shoved myself upright, accepted the items, then sipped from the waterskin.
“None that would fit.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I muttered. “I’ll be riding a horse, Sainte. I want clean pants. ”
He pulled his lips to the side thoughtfully, watching as Urien finished saddling his stallion. He eyed our scrutiny with a raised brow, then headed our way.
“Good morn, Princess,” he called with a cheerful cadence, though his smile wavered as I shifted with discomfort under his gaze.
Sainte pushed himself to stand. “Your trousers, Urien.”
“Eh?” He peered at his pants, then up at Sainte with a confused wrinkle on his brow. “What about them?”
“I need your spare—”
Urien blinked, looking between us.
“—Now.”
The soldier turned on his heel, rubbing the nape of his neck as he trudged back to his horse.
Men lingered near their mounts, now watching our exchange.
“Is it safe to assume your soldiers won’t shy away from a bit of blood?” I asked, mortified that a group of strangers would witness this.
His blue eyes darted over his group, and he pressed his lips. “I’ll saddle your horse.”
My face brightened as I gazed up at him. The situation wasn’t nearly as bad if it meant I’d finally ride on my own. My poor muscles were exhausted from riding double with Sainte, balancing behind him. And my crotch ached from pressing against the lip of the saddle, a discomfort I was sure he was aware of.
Also… that chestnut mare had long legs—perfect for outpacing the men’s sturdier drafts.
Urien retrieved a pair of trousers and headed back our way with a frown. When he handed it to Sainte, who then passed it to me, recognition lit his features.
“Ah, she bleeds!” he said, dipping his chin.
I glared, though it wasn’t like I’d be able to hide it. Still, his blunt voice was far more uncomfortable than Sainte’s subtle nature of addressing it.
He waggled his brow with a jeering smirk. “At least there’s not a bastard on the way.”
There it was. The relief that a woman wasn’t with child.
“Not that it’s your business, Urien, but I could have told you that,” I grumbled.
Sainte jerked his head toward the others. “Clear the men out, but leave the chestnut. Wait for us on the road.”
I scowled, waiting for him to turn his lanky arse around. He shot me an obliging grin, then nodded. On his way back, he barked orders to mount up. The men shared a few confused glances and half-hearted shrugs, and soon, they disappeared beyond the treeline.
“Clean up.” Sainte stalked over to the mare to finish readying her tack .
After a deep breath, I detached myself from the blanket and stood. Bright red blood stained the inside of my thighs, but the bedroll was a dark brown, proving my pants saw the worst of it. After I gathered the fabric strips and waterskin, I hurried into the trees opposite of the men.
I washed up, folding my torn, withered pants. I wasn’t one to waste and planned to clean them at the next water source. Urien’s trousers were too big, hanging loose around my waist. I rolled the hems, then secured the waistline with Ethyan’s belt, cinching it tight.
When I returned, Sainte watched as I approached, holding his hand out for my trousers and waterskin.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely, surprised by his reaction and assistance.
I expected to be treated as a burden as I always had by men. When I looked at the mare, thinking of how fast she might outpace the others, my heart felt heavy.
Curse this guilt.
Without a word, Sainte packed the items away, then knelt near the chestnut, knitting his fingers. No time to dwell on the fact that I’d never ridden a horse by myself.
It couldn’t be too hard, could it?
I cleared my throat, stepped into his hands, and pulled myself into the saddle. As the mare shifted beneath me, I grabbed her red mane and reached down to Sainte, who stood holding the reins.
He arched a single brow. “I’m not that stupid.”
While I cursed under my breath, he mounted, and we rode to meet the others. Most avoided eye contact, behaving as I anticipated. It was as if I carried some dark curse, and they feared that by staring too long, I might cast it upon them with a mere flick of my fingers.
The group paused often, allowing me to wash and bury the bloody rags. Riding was uncomfortable, but it was a far cry from having to share horseback with Sainte. We maintained a steady pace despite the frequent breaks.
A few days and ripped tunics later, my bleeding stopped, and I was permitted to continue riding alone. Of course, I was ponied along, never allowed to have the reins.
Regret burdened me as time passed. Did Lyana and Ethyan miss me? Were they convinced I’d seize any chance to return? My heart ached for them, but unlike the people of Landing’s End, Sainte extended a rare courtesy. He took care of me, treating me as his equal.
He was such a polite abductor.
The next city we rode into was small compared to those along the coast. The dirt-packed streets housed a few shops, homes, and a well-established inn with a large tavern and clean stable. A rickety sign on the post near the entrance read, ‘Wandering Wolf.’ A fitting name considering the nightly howls.
We enjoyed our first warm meal in weeks, and I devoured it. With Urien seated on my left, and Sainte on my right, my eyes scanned every exit and hiding place, even as guilt ate me inside out. The plan was to wait until nightfall, sneak out to my horse, then push south. There were busier roads than the one we traveled, allowing more opportunity to profit off passing travelers.
“There’s nothing like hot food to warm the bones after a long journey!” Grimm bellowed with a bright smile as he patted his belly.
Urien laughed, then smirked at my plate. “Better than most fare you ate, I’d wager.”
“Aye, though I always had fresh fruit,” I said, poking at the dried apples in my pork pie.
“Stolen, no doubt.”
“But just as sweet.”
He rested his elbows on the table, clasping his fingers below his chin. “Stolen goods leave a sour taste.”
“Perhaps in the vendor’s mouth,” I shrugged, “but not in mine.”
Once I finished my meal, I stretched my hands overhead, forcing out a yawn, then stood. “Well, I should probably head to bed.”
Sainte watched me out of the corner of his eye, nudging his empty bowl away. “Watch Grimm,” he said to Urien as he pushed to his feet.
The man in question had migrated to a game table where he slowly edged his great frame onto a bench. The others in our troupe gathered around as he palmed a hand of cards.
“Might win some coin tonight,” Urien mused.
“Don’t let him make a scene.”
I gave Sainte a sidelong glance. Surely he would let me have my own room. He respected my privacy thus far. I just needed one more night, one more lapse in his judgment.
With an outstretched arm, he herded me between the crowded tables to the small staircase tucked between the dining hall and bustling kitchen. As he led the way, ascending the stairs, I tried my hardest not to watch his strong legs move beneath his trousers as a sense of disappointment nipped at my resolve.
No.
I would not feel bad about leaving him.
He drugged me, kidnapped me. If I thought too long about it, I could still taste that vile potion on my lips. And, to top it off, he nearly killed me by tossing me into the river. Not to mention he threw away my shirt.
I glanced down at his tunic that I wore.
Curse it all, he’d stick in my memory for weeks unless I ditched it for another .
Down the hall, he held open the door like a proper nobleman, allowing me to pass through first. I stepped inside the cramped space, noticing a bed so small I doubted I’d fit on it. He started to follow me in, but I pivoted, halting his entry.
“Oh, no,” I said, placing a hand on the doorframe. “Not tonight. I want privacy.”
He stopped short with a furrowed brow. His mouth was pressed in a firm line, and I tore my gaze away from his lips. Something low in my belly fluttered at his proximity, and I cleared my throat, trying to hide the blush that crept to my cheeks.
“Why?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
I heaved a dramatic sigh and braced my weight against the door. “I’ve been plastered to your side for weeks, sleeping among your men under the moons. My only privacy has been a blanket between us and trips to relieve myself. Please, just this once, give me space.”
My stomach clenched as I erased all sign of nervousness from my face and lifted my eyebrows in a pleading gaze.
I hoped it worked.
He took a deep breath, and I grinned, knowing I had won.
“I’ll be right outside your door. Urien will be at the window.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and lunged, grabbing him in an embrace. He grunted as I squeezed my arms around his middle, pressing my cheek against his chest. It would be the first and last time I held him—I would allow myself this moment.
Sainte didn’t move, his muscles clenched and tense. When I backed away, his eyes were wide and somewhat horrified. My heart twisted, and I ignored the stab of betrayal.
“Thank you.”
“Elspeth—”
I backed into the room.
“—don’t run.”
“I won’t.”
I shut the door on my lie, chewing my lip. I hated this. Why did he have to make this so hard? Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? Or at the least act like a bad guy so that I could actually be mad at him?
Rubbing my chest to ease the deep ache, I approached the window—a mere hole covered with thin fabric to keep bugs out. The road below was empty, save for a few patrons meandering about. Urien wouldn’t be down there yet, likely engrossed in watching Grimm.
With another glance at the door, I sucked in a steadying breath. This was it. I was done playing his game. It was time to make my move, not follow his lead.
I turned back to the window and slowly ripped the edge of the fabric.