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A Marq's Woman Ch. 01

By: KillerRomance



Kierania, 1824.

His Majesty, King Hermissle Jisisle Ci Yelmbuerg the seventeenth, was not happy.

Strange men were surrounding his lands; strange, dangerous men were surrounding his lands. He knew not how they had managed to discover his well-hidden planet of Kierania, but they had. And now, they stood with their swords drawn, waiting for him to refuse their request so that they would have an excuse to take over the whole of his lands. 

He hated them, these Marqations who had been rumoured to have already conquered Lismus, a star in the east. They had a battalion of fighters at their disposal; they had weapons made of gold just lusting to be wielded.

Jisisle sighed. His men would never be able to take them on, should it be that the Marqs decided to attack. His army was too weak, his soldiers untrained and feeble compared to the Marq's army. 

With resignation etching seams on his forehead, he ordered their leader to enter.

*

The heel of his boots echoed hollowly in the silent halls as Rade strode towards the reclining king. His countenance was steely, mirroring his resolve in taking Kierania under the Marqation name. The Marq King, Dominique Fei Rysle, had entrusted the task of conquering Kierania in Rade's hands and Rade would never break his King's trust.

"Have you decided upon your lands' fate, sir?" Rade questioned brusquely, not bothering to address the lump of a man by his given title. Jisisle was a sluggish ruler, one who cared more about how many women there were in his harem than how many men were in his army. It was a miracle in itself that the Ci Yelmbuerg Empire had lasted sixteen centuries.

Disregarding Rade's question, the old reptile laid there, his eyes scanning the ceiling, saying nothing.

"You do know the consequences of your silence, sir."

After a heartbeat, the fat seal turned, causing the cushioned settee beneath him to creak from the shifting of his immense weight.

"How much do you want?" Jisisle asked irritably. 

"You know bloody well how much we want. We want the eastern and southern parts of Kierania, complete with the Cloud Kingdoms they entail."

The man snorted and struggled to his feet. 

"Very well. If I do give you this land, will you leave the rest of Kierania alone?" he asked, summoning one of the servants with a mere flick of his sausage-like fingers.

"It would appease us," Rade said, his steely black eyes never wavering from the older man's shrewd brown ones.

"But will you leave the western and northern parts of Kierania alone, boy?" Jisisle persisted.

Rade could not answer him without orders from his superiors. Thus, he replied nonchalantly, "For now."

*

Oh Goddess, they were coming!

It had been three days since the Cloud Kingdoms had become a part of the Marq's colony. It had come as such a shock to all Kieranians, for they had thought that their mighty king would protect them from any harm that came their way. And rumours that the king had given up the rights to his lands without any argument, fueled the anger of many in the kingdoms. 

Kistle was one of those who were enraged. She did not understand how her king could betray their trust in naught but a minute. The Kieranians had been so loyal to his family for more than sixteen centuries now! How dare the rat...

"Sister Kistle, are you ready? We have to leave soon. Mother just received news that the Marqs are nearing our quarters," Sister Ginny said, coming up behind Kistle, nibbling on her bottom lip anxiously. 

"What?" Kistle snapped, momentarily incensed by her thoughts. Then, realizing her sinful short-tempered error, she sent up a quick prayer to the ever-forgiving Goddess. 

"Dear me. We have to hurry then. Are our moths ready yet?" Kistle asked, reaching out for the younger girls' hands, clasping them in her own. As Ginny nodded, both ladies immediately made their way downstairs to where the rest of the nuns awaited.

*

The moths sat on their bellies, with their dull, brown wings prominently displayed in the air. Kistle sought out the tamest one of all – Mirille -- and seated herself on the insect's sturdy body. Mirille's large wings cocooned Kistle from being detected by any irreligious snakes and protected her from harsh winds. She cooed to the creature, stroking the length of its wings and heard its soft purr of satisfaction in return. 

"We must hurry, girls. I think they are already here," Mother Agnetta said, her voice naught but a low whisper. The other Sisters hastened to get to their moths. 

Just then, a loud explosion was heard from the very back of the room. 

Every body stilled. 

Shock mirrored on the faces of each woman as men filed into the Goddess's sanctuary. There were fifty of them, maybe more. Kistle breath wheezed out of her lungs as she took in their size. 

Dear Goddess in the Lakes, they were huge. Bigger than any man she'd ever seen. Kieranian men were considerably large, but these giants dwarfed them aplenty! Their bodies were covered with a thick layer of mail and helms covered half their faces, giving them a fearsome appearance. Mere men they might be, but they scared the ladies sevenfold!

As Kistle watched, a single man detached himself from the mass and stepped to the front. He was, like the rest, wearing black breeches with the crest of the Marqs sewn onto his thighs. However, unlike the rest, he had an aura of power and authority about him; every man in the room hushed as he took his place in front of them. His lean fingers threaded through his dark hair as he rid himself of his helm, passing the steely weight to a man behind him. He looked extremely formidable, especially when a malicious smile curled his upper lip.

She shuddered when his voice penetrated the silence.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" 

The men behind him snickered.

Kistle could feel a strange foreboding grip her. She knew, all of a sudden, that these men would bring harm to the Goddess's chapel. They were Marqs, and therefore, only prayed to male gods; they did not believe in dominance of the female species. Kieranians, on the other hand, looked up to the female race, seeking guidance and solace in prayers to the Goddess. The Marqs held little respect for the Kieranians belief, she knew, and that knowledge made her heart tighten in fearful premonition. 

"Running away, Sisters?" the dark man continued.

Kistle swallowed painfully, a need to flee his presence making the blood spurt hotly in her veins; she knew he would bring the chapel naught but doom. 

If she could just reach Mirille's reins, she might be able to make it out of here and get help from the quarter guards. She inched closer to the insect's head, trying desperately not to be noticed. Please Goddess, cast a screen over me as I try to escape the presence of these men. Your loyal servants are in danger, Goddess. Please, help us...Just a little closer. Please, dear Goddess...

She gasped as footsteps sounded behind her. Whirling around, she had no chance to defend herself as she was hauled up into brawny arms.

It was him! 

A scream of pure fear filled her throat as she struggled against him, her small fists flailing, her legs lashing out at him from beneath the voluminous hem of her skirts. Even as she fought him, he held her effortlessly in the air as though she weighed nothing more than a feather, his arms never working to keep her aloft. 

She never had a man touch her before; her own father had died before she'd been born. And as his rough-palmed hands reached out to tilt her chin back to meet his eyes, she was glad that she'd been spared from the bruising intensity of it her whole life. His fingers lingered under her chin, stroking the tender, caramel-coloured flesh as his black eyes bore into hers. 

His eyes. Dear, dear. She had seen them before. But where?

She struggled to breathe as one of his large palms pulled back the hood of her nun's habit so that her glorious golden hair was exposed to the men. Shame like none other filled her, for she knew that she had just breached one of the vital codes of serving the Goddess. To be a servant, no man must ever glimpse her tresses after she had reached maidenhood. The sisters around her gasped, fueling the disgrace in Kistle. How could this lout embarrass her like this?

Tears pricked the back of her eyelids as her small hands reached back in an attempt to shield her hair from his gaze. Whimpers escaped her throat when his arm circled her back and held her to his hard chest. She didn't want him to touch her, didn't want him to shame her in front of all these people who were watching her intently. Kistle became a hellion in his hands, shrill squeals escaping her as her punches found his shoulders and torso.

If the woman didn't stop wriggling against him like that, Rade thought, he might end up taking her on the floor in front of all his men. It would serve her and her comrades right for trying to escape the dominance of his people. But as he looked down into her violet eyes and her futile attempts at escaping him, an amused smile played on his lips. Damn if she wasn't an exotic nymph. He knew that she would be a spitfire in bed – a theory that he would have liked to see confirmed very soon.

He had no qualms in taking a woman of cloth to bed. In fact, the idea was vaguely arousing. She would fight him, he knew, and the thought made him stir in his breeches. He recognized that it was a disrespect to the Goddess that she worshipped – to take her to bed - but he most definitely couldn't have cared less.

Shaking his head to distract himself from his arousal, he turned to the rest of his men. The woman was now secured at his side, her punches on his shoulder unnoticeable in their pressure.

"What say you, men?" he addressed the crowd, "Shall we teach these Sisters a lesson? I think they would make exquisite Marq love slaves, if this one in my arms is any indication."

A hoot of appreciative laughter erupted from the mass. Then, the dark figure of Rade's first-in-command stepped forward, his mahogany skin glowing in the candle light.

"May I have the first pick, my lord?" Tyson asked, his white teeth flashing brightly.

"You may, Ty," Rade said, on a sharply indrawn breath. The little woman by his side had her crotch against nestled against his waistline, her knees digging into his waist and back. She was trying to get close enough to bite his ear. And if they weren't in front of so many people, he would have let her do it gladly – only if he could bite her back. None but the Spirits knew how tortured he was at that moment, as she bucked and moved her sex so tantalizingly and gullibly against him. 

Kistle watched as the black giant who'd been addressed as Ty stepped forward and cupped Ginny in his arms. Shock, fear and anger besieged Kistle at once. How dare he touch her friend! The poor girl was screaming in fear! But as Kistle watched, the giant leaned down to whisper a few words in Ginny's ear and the girl, almost immediately grew silent. Nothing could've blown the wind out of Kistle's sails more. She fell forward against the large man that held her, her mouth slightly parted. What had the giant done to Ginny? Had he put a spell on her?

"The rest are yours, my loyal men. Enjoy them while they last," Rade declared.

The throng of men parted as he passed, making his way toward the back of the quarters with his prize. The woman was still in his arms now-- from shock, he knew, at how well Ty had handled the young girl. He smiled to himself, adjusting her slight weight against him more comfortably, his feet hastening towards his airhorse. He was not sure if he would enlighten her about Ty's situation, but one thing was for sure: he was getting her sweet little body into bed and slaking his lust for her at first chance. 

*

Ginny and Tyson

Ginny felt Tyson's hard cock pressing against the contours of her back. 

Shocked by his state of arousal, she whirled around, her nun's habit flapping about her, stirring the mild layer of dust in the private chamber.

"What are you doing, Tyson? Why are you here?" she questioned, separating herself from him. She was confused and distraught. Why had he come back after all these years? She had thought that she'd forgotten him wholly, buried every evidence of the hold he had on her heart when she'd enrolled herself in the chapel. But now, she knew that she had merely persuaded her mind to forget him – her heart still remembered the gentleness of his touch, the love in his words. 

"I am with the man I serve, Ginny. Half of Kierania is ours now. Just as your people are ours now," Tyson said, wishing that he could replace the befuddled frown on her face with a smile. She was such a beautiful little nut-head; he wanted to run his fingers through her abundant brown hair, smell her skin, taste her lips. It had been nearly eight years since he'd last seen her.

"How can you speak like that, Ty? You belong here; you were born here!" Ginny's hands fidgeted nervously as she nearly shouted the words. Her heart was thudding against her chest, tattooing a steady pace in her breast. Goddess, had it been eight years since she'd last seen him? He looked devastatingly handsome to her, with his dark skin and grey eyes. 

"I serve the Marqs now. I am loyal only to them." His voice was steely, showing her how true his loyalty to the Marqanians was. 

"I find it difficult to comprehend how you can do that, arhan."

"Do not call me by that name, Ginny! I am not your brother. Your mother was merely my father's second wife. You are not of my blood. There is a difference."

"There is no difference," she insisted petulantly, "It is a sin not to address you as arhan."

She was so adorable, Ty thought, when she thrust her chin upwards like that. He gazed down at her, his features softening. He'd wanted this woman for more years than he could count – ever since he'd turned into a man. There'd been a few women in his bed after the time that he'd left her, but even then, none had the effect that she had on him. 

He felt his cock begin to stir and harden anew. It was impossible not to think of taking her tonight when she was so near, her scent enfolding him in its sweetness. He was hard pressed to bear her back against her wall and rut on her like an animal. But he knew that he would take considerable care with Ginny, his shaz'ra, his dove, so as not to hurt her while he took her to heaven. 

His hands reached out and clasped her shoulders, pulling her to him with one quick tug. She landed against his chest with a thud, her mouth parting on a gasp. His lips immediately covered hers, the sight of her parted pink lips pushing him beyond control. 

She fought him. That thought burned holes of pain in his heart. Granted, she was a nun now, but he cared little of that fact. She had been his source of desire for a long time and he intended to find his release in her body tonight. Her fists pounded against his broad chest, her nails scraping against his skin, making an ache tear through his body. How could she deny the desire between them?

Ginny had to fight the desire that rose like a colossal wave within her. His lips were wreaking havoc on her senses, sparking a bonfire between her legs. She would not succumb to him. She would not! It was sacrilegious! 

Tearing her mouth from his, she cried, "Arhan, no! Please!"

Anger bubbled up inside him. His grip on her shoulders became brutal as he gazed into her eyes, his need for her greatly evident. 

"Don't you want this, Ginny? You wanted me eight years ago," he gritted out. 

"Eight years is a long time, arhan. I'd almost forgotten you," she lied breathlessly.

He sighed. The nymph had never been able to lie to him.

"Little liar," he chided quietly. Ginny gasped.

His thumbs traced a path down her arms to her breasts, stroking the sides of them through the cloth. Ginny swatted at his hands, wanting him to let go of her. She knew that if he touched her again, she wouldn't be able to control her reaction to him.

"Why do you fight me, shaz'ra?" he queried sadly.

"I cannot do this, arhan." 

Her calling him brother infuriated him.

"You can, Ginny. And you will." Then he added cruelly, "You don't have a choice."

Ginny's eyes widened with comprehension. Surely, he wouldn't!

"Yes, Ginny, I would." His arms tightened around her as he crushed her small body to his. "You will take me willingly, or I will force you. In the state I am in right now, it does not matter to me. But I'm sure it will to you."

His words made her breath catch. He made it seem as though she had no other way out of his situation. Which, in fact, she did not have. Ginny looked up at the man that she'd loved for half her life, her vision blurring with tears. He was her arhan, and would always be her arhan. 

No, he wouldn't have to force her; she knew how it would break his heart if he had to. And the last thing she wanted to do was cause him pain. She loved him too much to even think of that prospect.

Her arms slipped willingly around his waist as she hugged him close, her one sign of acceptance.

She wanted him. The ecstasy of that thought roared through his veins like a storm. He took her mouth again, and realized that even after eight years apart, she still tasted as sweet, as innocent as dew drops in the morning sun. He enjoyed her mouth thoroughly, his tongue sweeping in to swirl against her own, creating a friction that had her trembling against him. He sighed his pleasure against her lips.

Slipping the hood of the habit away from her head, he entangled his fingers into her copper-coloured hair. She purred pleasurably under his administrations, her back arching against him, pressing the globes of her breasts into his chest. 

She had never been able to deny him. Memories of a stolen kiss drifted to her dazed mind as his tongue sought entrance to her mouth. He had kissed her like this the day before he had left her, riding off to a foreign land at the age of nineteen. She had been so worried for his safety and yet, angry at him for leaving her, even though nothing could have come out of their relationship. In the eyes of the society, they were siblings. But, dear Goddess, she loved him so much as a man.

Her hands went around his neck as she melted against him, his touch on her scalp undeniably sinful in its nature. His fingers fumbled over her habit, looking for buttons to undo, but finding none. Frustrated, he tore his lips from hers and leaned down to unstrap the knife from his boot. Ginny held very still as the blade sliced through the starched cloth, rending it into two. The blade clamoured to floor as his hands slipped through the cut, gliding over downy soft skin. He watched as her eyes slid close, her skin heating up beneath his touch. 

"Ginny, shaz'ra. What you do to me," he whispered against her ear as his hands tore the rest of the habit away so that it pooled at her feet. She shivered against him as the cool air of the room touched her body, igniting her senses. She held on to him as his hands smoothed over her back to cup her chubby bottom, kneading its softness. Never had she felt a wickedness such as this. It made her ache and want – for what, she did not know. All she knew was that it was only Ty who could give it to her. 

He went slowly for her, giving himself time to seduce her into compliance. And when she finally softened into acquiescence under his touch, he took her to his bed.

That night, both lovers took one another beyond pleasure; they took each other to heaven. 

*

Word-Meanings: Arhan – brother

: Shaz'ra – my dove

Pronunciation: Kistle - Kissel 

Author's Note:

This is my first venture into the fantasy (sci-fi) genre. I do hope that you guys didn't find anything too weird or inappropriate popping up in the course of the story. I've tried hard to let things seem...normal :P


A Marq's Woman Ch. 01



Sex between the main characters will come along soon, as the story progresses. If you liked this chapter, I'll be posting the subsequent ones soon.

Before I forget, a big thank-you to every one who has mailed me with one encouragement or another. I really appreciate it!





A Marq's Woman Ch. 02



She was feeling a tad dizzy. 

Kistle clung to the mane of the airhorse that she was seated on, fearing for her safety. They were gliding along the clouds, much too high and much too fast for comfort. She could feel the horses' flanks contracting and relaxing under her, hear its loud snorts. The big beast's satiny black wings flapped about her gloriously, contrasting against its creamy white flesh. She had never seen such a beast before; it was foreign to her world – just like the giant that was seated behind her. 

He hadn't spoken a word to her; she was afraid of his silence, not knowing what to expect from him. In her twenty years on Kierania, she never once had a man touch her or even glance her way. The chapel had shielded her from any encounters with the opposite sex ever since she was naught but a plump pink baby. Her mother had passed on whilst giving birth to her and the chapel had taken her in, raising her to be a servant of the Goddess. 

The Goddess's world had been the only one she'd known, up until that fateful moment the Marqs had taken over Kierania. Now she found herself in a compromised state, riding amongst the clouds with a man who probably had dishonourable intentions. If they weren't at a perilous height so high up in the sky, she would have fought him tooth and nail. As it was, she stayed straight and stiff before him, trying to come to terms with her fate. 

Will he ever send her back to the chapel? It was the only home she'd ever known and she was missing it already…

Kistle jolted as a cloud whizzed by her cheek and weaved its cottony body into her golden curls. She reached back with one hand to disentangle it but found that his fingers were already seeing to the task. She withdrew her hand with haste when she felt his fingers run along her scalp, tugging deliciously at the thick strands.

His large hands were surprisingly gentle as he let the sliver of a cloud extricate itself from her hair and blow away in the wind. And even after that, his fingers lingered in her hair, caressing her leisurely. His thumb ran along the base of her neck where baby soft curls were nestled against smooth, light brown skin. A shiver chased through her as he rubbed the calloused pad of his thumb there, making small goose pimples come alive all over her body. Then, a source of heat was pressed to the sensitive area, causing her to emit a startled gasp. 

She finally found her voice.

"What are you doing?" Oh dear. Her throat was unbelievably dry.

Rade chuckled at her obvious state of arousal. The rumble of his laughter caused the hard wall of his chest to rub against the back of her habit.

"Have you never been touched by a man before?" he asked as he settled her more firmly against him.

He merely sighed when she shook her head.

"You have a lot to learn, freina," he said as his deft hands slid higher up her torso. She squirmed, trying to elevate her body so that his hands wouldn't breach the sanctity of her breasts. It was no use. Her breath caught as his hands slid over the small pert mounds, roughly caressing them, making her slither against him in awkwardness. What should she do? She knew that he shouldn't be touching her like this, but…

Rade let out a loud blasphemy when he felt the familiar jiggle of the Messball in his pocket. He let his arm leave the little one's waist for a moment as he took out the small, round, crystalline globe. It was glowing an urgent red, which meant that he would need to contact King Dominique as soon as possible. There was probably critical news awaiting him. He spurred White, his prized stallion to a faster pace. At the speed that they were traveling, they'd be able to reach the manor by nightfall.

Kistle gasped as the beast under her surged forward in an incredible display of speed. In fear, her fingers instinctively clung to the hard arms that were secured around her waist. Afraid of him, she might be, but she didn't want to die just because she was foolish enough not to hold on to him.

Rade groaned as the small woman wedged herself comfortably between his thighs, her rounded bottom guilelessly stroking his half-ready cock. He had to admit that she was an exquisitely beautiful creature, with her violet eyes, golden tresses and dusky skin… But some things were just more important than women, Rade acknowledged. He would have to see to bedding the girl later. As for now, urgent news from the King awaited him.

*

The airhorse landed on the plot of land effortlessly. Kistle remained seated as the man slid to the ground, then reached up to carry her down as well. His manner was brisk and brusque, as been his handling of the airhorse ever since he'd taken that beautiful red rock out from his pocket. He probably had some urgent matter to attend to, and that rock must've been some sort of messaging system between the Marqs. Kistle could only hope that he would take a while with it, for she had a plan that she wanted to put into action as soon as possible.

A large, dark, brooding, Talem manor rose up in front of them. She had heard of it before, the royal house of Kierania, but had never seen it. It was located on higher air, much higher for mere civilians like her to travel to. It was an honour just to be here and yet, she felt nothing but fear and trepidation that spread through her body from the manacle-like grip that he kept on her arm.

He led her up the steep front steps and through the magnificent house. His hand slid down her arm to cup her small hand as he made his way through the various wood-lined rooms. Kistle grew more nervous as room after room slid by her. Where was he taking her? What was he going to do with her? A myriad of emotions welled within her as the giant's feet started to steal up a dark flight of stairs. She barely managed to keep up with his long, purposeful strides and had to heave a sigh of relief when he stopped at the top of it. 

The sound of keys jingling in the darkness reached her ears, followed by the telltale creak of an old door. Kistle gasped as she was shoved into the room by strong hands.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for objections. And then with a look of warning should she attempt to escape, he was gone.

*

It had been twenty minutes since the Messball had delivered the message. Rade's footfalls became hasty as he made his way to the library, where a screen had been set up for the purpose of viewing Messball messages only. He lit a candle as he entered the room, his deft fingers already placing the glowing red ball on the ReadSphere – a flat, tile-like device meant to illustrate the message in the Messball on the screen. 

As the globe was placed on the Sphere, a bright golden light spread throughout the room and immediately focused itself on the large screen. It was a letter.

"Sir Rade,

I do hope your siege has been successful. It has been a week since we conversed and I demand a full update on the situation in Kierania. Plans to conquer the rest of it are being made as you read this Mess. The plans will be forwarded to you as soon as they have been completed. 

You must continue to do the Marqs proud. 

King Dominique the Hundredth."

Rade rubbed the tension away from the back of his neck as he read the Mess. Just the thought of another war made him a little tensed. Perhaps he was getting old for all the fighting and politics. His army had just fought a fierce battle on Lismus, and now, they were being asked to take over the other half of Kierania as well; he knew that the bastard Kieranian king would never give up the rest of his lands without a fight. 

Also, being involved in another war was now, unfair to Rade's men, for he knew that they, too, needed a rest from all the violence and bloodshed. He would see to it that they had enough rest before they prepared for another war. 

Rade's dark eyes glimmered as the glow of the Messball simmered and died down so that the remaining illumination came from the candle that he had lit. The flame that rose from it was a beautiful gold, which reminded him of his captive's hair. Unbeknownst to him, a smile curled his lips; the remaining thoughts of the King and the war fled his mind. 

She would be waiting for him in the tower, a tumble of honey-kissed curls and chubby caramel cheeks. Her allure was undeniable. 

In a heartbeat, he found himself striding up the stairs which led his enslaved innocent, an image of her naked and moaning, sizzling through his gut like fine whisky. How would she taste? How would she respond? He would decipher the answers soon enough.

*

Oh dear. What should she do?

He was gone. The room was dark. She was scared. 

Kistle's knees trembled inelegantly as she made her way across the room towards a sliver of light that spilled from a large window. She pried the window open wider with quivering fingers and warm glow from the late night moon bathed the room, bringing to life the non-living occupants of it.

What she saw shocked her.

A colossally large bed graced one corner of the room. It was a fine bed, yes, but it looked as though it would sleep four large men comfortably. She shuddered to think of the mischief that could occur in that bed – she'd once heard a few twitty girls whispering about bedwork at Mass. She had sent them a disapproving frown, but they had just giggled at her. Kistle had learnt quite a bit about what couples do in bed from their conversation, and the remembrance of it made her cheeks burn hotly. 

Her gaze riveted from the bed to spy manacles in another corner. She had to thank the Goddess that it did not look as though it had been used anytime recently but they did look to be of exquisite quality, with gold and satin weaved together to form a layer of finery over the steel. Other than the bed and manacles, there was nothing else in the room except for a large, wooden cupboard and a short bathing stool. Kistle's fearful violet eyes swung back to the bed again, and an unsuppressed shudder wracked her body. She knew that she couldn't stay in this room or else she would lose what she prized the most.

She put her plan into action immediately. She needed to escape. Trying the door would prove ineffective, she knew, for she'd heard him lock it from the outside before leaving her in the chamber. 

The only other way would be…the window.

She grabbed a stool that was situated beside the cupboard and pulled it up so that it sat beneath the window. Using the stool as leverage, she hoisted herself onto the ledge and peeked over it. Typical to the Talem structure of the manor, there was a terracing that led down to a lower level. 

Seizing her only opportunity, Kistle swung her legs over the ledge and tried to step onto the first terracing…only to find that the terrace was too low for her foot to reach! By this time, she was hanging onto the ledge of the window by only her fingertips and she knew if she fell, she would be hurtling down at least four feet before she hit the rugged stones! Oh Goddess help her, she had gotten herself into a painful fix! 

She hung there for a few minutes. Her arms started to ache. Her feet were numb, too, as she'd been trying to lift herself up onto the ledge by using her foot as leverage. The soft padding of her heels had scraped against the hard rock more than once. She knew she was bleeding; she could feel the blood from her bruised feet sliding slickly along the arch of her foot. 

Unbidden, tears started to well up in her eyes. What had she done to deserve this? The pain was unbearable. She should just let go of the ledge and pass on. At least she would remain pure to serve the Goddess if she did. If she screamed for help, it would only be him who would come to her aid. And she would rather die than be his 'love slave' as he'd so quaintly put it.

Her now-insensitive fingers started to slide from the ledge and she steeled herself to her fate, murmuring a final prayer beneath her breath. 

Kistle was suspended in air for a moment. It was a heady feeling, as though she was flying. Her whole body hurt and she was just happy that she would be going somewhere where the Goddess would alleviate the pain for her. She just wished that she could have lived a little longer…

Just then, a strong hand gripped her forearm firmly and hauled her back into the tower. She cried out involuntarily from the pain that sparked through her body at the bruising grip. She knew it was the giant who had saved her. She desperately wished he hadn't, but she could do nothing but moan weakly as the sharp thorbbing spread through her body. 

She heard a voice, as though from far away, calling out to her, but she couldn't respond; she couldn't do anything but yield to the velvety blackness that took her under.

*

Damn the woman, Rade thought as he placed her limp form on the large bed. What the hell did she think she was doing? Foolish, willful Kieranian. She could've gotten herself killed if he'd entered the room a moment later! Didn't she know that the terracing from the tower was too steep to scale even by a man of his training? Why would she go to such extent to escape him? It's not as if he was demanding her soul, he just wanted her body. Back in Marqatia, women would be lining up at his door for his attentions! So what was wrong with this woman? Granted, she was a servant of the Goddess, but did she practice abstinence? The spirits knew that the Sisters in Marqatia didn't.

Her foot was badly injured. Thankfully, she remained unconscious as he cleaned the small flakes of rocks that were embedded in the soles of her feet. He tried not to be distracted by the smooth curve of her ankles that were only mere inches away from his hands and was successful only to a certain degree. 

Every time she moaned in pain, however, an oversensitive part of his anatomy would twitch, making him uncomfortable in his crouched position. Rade pointedly ignored his baser instincts, knowing that he would have to tend to the woman's injuries before an infection set in – he could deal with his erection later.

He ran his hands down her arms and watched as her exotic features convulsed in pain. She probably had been hanging off the damned ledge for the whole half hour he'd been gone, he thought bitterly as he started to massage the sore spot on her arms. He could feel the tension in them, how the muscles beneath her skin were so tight. He chanted in his native Hersan tongue as he massaged her, casting a simple spell that would loosen her taut muscles and make her rest well. It was nearly impossible for him to resist the appeal of her caramel skin as he worked on easing the stiff muscles in her, but somehow he managed to get the deed done without ravishing her while she was unconscious. 

It was a while later when he sat back on the bed and realized that she would be more comfortable if she didn't have her nun's habit plastered to her skin. He knew that the purpose of his task had little concern of her comfort, but he indulged himself anyway.

He undressed her slowly, gently slipping the black habit from her arms, then sliding it down her legs. She whimpered softly as he accidentally brushed a sore spot on her arm. If that whimper set off any reactions in his body, he immediately quenched it. As quickly as possible, he rid her of the habit and the virginal white chemise that she wore beneath it. There was nothing to shield her from his gaze now.

The first thing that drew his attention was her sex. It was a soft, tanned mound, with a small V-shaped parting at its bottom. The intriguing thing was, there was only a thin strip of hair adorning it! All the women he'd had before had had hair covering their whole nether regions. Granted, they'd all been Marqs…

His hands reached out to touch the beguiling golden tuft of hair, stroking it between his fingers. It had an exquisite texture, like fine cotton wool or the hair of a new-born lamb. Rade felt like he was a little boy with a new toy, fondling it gently as his eyes stole up her torso. The pert mounds of her breasts rose and fell in rhythm with her breathing. They were beautiful mounds, topped with golden-brown crowns that were a shade darker than her sun-kissed hair. His mouth watered at the mere thought of suckling it, but he knew she should rest after her escapade. 

Thus, he withdrew his fingers – albeit reluctantly – from her inviting delta and laid next to her on the large bed.

He didn't have any tasks to see to as he'd dismissed his men for another several days. It was their time for fun after the grueling months of war. Rade smiled when he realized that they were probably enjoying themselves back at the chapel with all those beautiful women. His men had gone long enough without a good fucking and tonight, they would quench their thirst. He had seen to it.

The wench beside him stirred, her breathing quickening. He knew that she was coming around. His cock was still ready for her, straining against his breeches with a life of its own. Rade rolled onto his side, his large palm coming to rest against a curved hip. He marveled for a moment, that her skin so much fairer than his. All Marq women were usually as dark as himself and he found her skin in itself intriguing. 

Rade's thumb was making circles on Kistle's hip-bone as she came around, fighting the now-dull pain in her arms. His touch made tingles of pleasure mingle in her blood. She couldn't recognize her surroundings, or the feel of the bed she was lying on. This wasn't the straw-ticked mattress of the convent! This was…

Her eyes popped wide open as the hand on her hip moved lower to cup her backside. Her first view of the world was those dark, merciless eyes. A strangled whimper escaped her lips when his grip on her bottom tightened and his head lowered towards hers. 

"Don't," she whispered, but it was no use. Her vision began to blur. She shut her eyes tightly, blocking out the sight of those mesmerizing black eyes. A tiny spasm of shock jolted through her as his lips found hers in a caress as light as a butterflies' wing. Just then, the hand on her bottom moved forward, sliding nearer and nearer to the place where she knew she should never be touched…

*

I do hope you enjoyed this installment! Please take a second to vote or leave a comment. I appreciate comments of any nature – kind or harsh. Of course, if you say "OMG, that was absolutely fantastic!", I'll be your slave for life. Other than that, there are no side benefits for your kindness(:

Please try not to vote me down because of the absence of sex. I promise that that portion will appear VERY soon. So give Rade and Kistle a fair chance, please!

XOXO Lillian.



A Marq's Woman Ch. 03



"Don't," she whispered, but it was no use. Her vision began to blur. She shut her eyes tightly, blocking out the sight of those mesmerizing black eyes. A tiny spasm of shock jolted through her as his lips found hers in a caress as light as a butterflies' wing. Just then, the hand on her bottom moved forward, sliding nearer and nearer to the place where she knew she should never be touched.

"Don't, please," she repeated as he pulled his lips away from hers only to run it over her jawline.

Rade's hand hovered hesitantly over her smooth, soft pussy, her plea causing his touch to falter.

"Why ever not, little one?" he breathed against her ear, his other hand coming up to thread through the silken, golden mass of her curls.

"You know why, sir. I am a servant of the Goddess. I cannot do this. 'Tis a sin," she whispered, her body trembling in fear; the look in his eyes was so intense. 

"No, 'tis isn't a sin," Rade said, mirth lacing his words. "There is never sin in pleasure."

With that, his lips swooped down to recapture hers. Kistle struggled briefly against him, her small fists pushing against his broad shoulders, trying to dislodge him from his position above her. But it was no use. She felt like a protesting fly caught in a sticky spider's web. 

The hand on her pussy stole up her torso, mapping curves and swells with practiced ease. Kistle barely managed to contain a surprised gasp when his fingers found her petite breasts. The calluses on his palms rasped almost hurtfully against her sensitive flesh, making her squirm and writhe under him. The word 'no' formed on her lips like a chant.

Her eyes were tightly shut, her body unresponsive. Rade felt her resistance like a steel band about her delectable body. He had come to be so used to women quivering and trembling for him that her resolve in resisting him shocked him and pricked at his ego. Who was she to resist him when hordes of others couldn't? A desire-laced anger rose within him and he vowed to himself that he would make her beg him to take her before he finally did.

His lips covered hers again with flinty purpose, his tongue darting out to slip into her mouth, only to find the barricade of her teeth. Unperturbed, his hand rose to her jaw and applied steady pressure on it, knowing that sooner or later, the pain would make her gasp. 

Gasp she did and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. 

The first taste of her was empoweringly sweet. He nearly trembled from the impact of it. Her essence was something he'd never tasted before -- a mixture of wildflowers and musk that made such potent desire course through his veins. His tongue slipped deeper into the wet cavern of her mouth and he felt her stifle a whimper as his tongue brushed tantalizingly against hers. 

Oh Goddess. What was he doing to her? She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think. He was robbing her of all thought, all resistance. At the back of her mind, a nagging voice reminded her that she needed to fight him and protect her virtue. But it was just a small nagging voice and it faded away as his palms cupped her pouting breasts.

She was lost. All reason for resistance fled her mind as he palmed her breasts, massaging and stroking the now-needy mounds with his fingers. It was a betrayal of the body, how it responded so wantonly to a man's touches, but Kistle was powerless to restrain him. Her breath hitched in her throat as he lightly tweaked her throbbing nipples.

Goddess, no one had touched her like that before. It was heaven. It was hell. It was a sin. But it just felt so good! Her only point of consolation was the fact that he wouldn't stop touching her even if she begged it to be so. It surely wouldn't be her fault that she was taken by this man if she didn't have a choice to it, would it? His tongue brushed her nipple and Kistle let out a low moan, feeling all discomforting thoughts drain out of her. She arched against his fingers, feeling the pull of his magical touch in her soul.

'Oh, yes,' Rade thought as he felt her small body buck against his touch. Her resistance was melting and he could feel it. The refutations on her lips faded and replacing them were the most sexy little moans that he'd ever heard in his life. Those moans were the catalyst that made him lean down and suckle her golden nipples and caress her exquisitely rounded bottom. Those moans were the matches that lit the torch in his blood. Those moans were the ones that made his breath hitch from the mere thought of entering her supple body.

Kistle threaded her fingers into his hair, anchoring his head to her now-throbbing breasts. A need in her spread through her body like a wildfire and she knew not how it could be quelled. There was a pool of wetness growing between her splayed legs as well, and she had no idea on earth as to where it came from. 

Abruptly, the dark man pinched her nipple and she squeaked in pleasure and in pain. Her breath came in short little pants as she watched him make the descent from her breasts to her sex. His dark eyes never left hers as he bit then gently sucked on the fold of skin below her navel. Kistle watched, mesmerized, as his face lowered to her secret place. 

"It looks like you have enjoyed my attentions more than you were letting on, little one," Rade chuckled as he saw how her wetness had created a wet spot on the sheets below her. The breath of his laughter tickled the strip of beguiling golden hair adorning her dusky flesh. Unable to withstand its mesmeric charm, Rade sifted his fingers adoringly through the curls, just as his mouth came to rest on the V of her weeping slit.

"Not there! Surely... you don't mean to... Oh!" Kistle entreated him with her hoarse cries. Embarrassment had come first when he'd so intimately kissed her. But desire flooded her next, when his tongue had flicked over a sensitive spot on her flesh. She had no idea what he was doing to her, but it felt exquisite. His broad hand was splayed over her stomach, holding her down as he feasted on her incomparable juices. Kistle's eyes were fastened on the sight of him kneeling between her legs and lapping at her with much fervor. The sight stirred something low in her abdomen and she let her head fall back onto the pillows. One of her small hands came to rest over the broad one that was lying against her stomach.

Her scent was pushing him beyond control. The way she rotated her hips hesitantly upon his lips made him think of nothing but the way she would push herself on his shaft when he finally plundered the apex between her soft thighs. The erection in his breeches was deliciously painful as he knelt over her, devouring her with his tongue. 

He traced the outline of her quivering lips with the tip of his tongue, feeling her fidget under the slightly ticklish gesture. Then, almost unexpectedly, he plunged his tongue deeply into her and pulled out in the same second. He heard her cry of acute pleasure and agony but kept his laugh of triumph to himself. Over and over he licked at her, until her fingers had curled around his wrist where it lay on her stomach and her whimpers were begging him to end his torture. 

He rose over her then, his knees parting her thighs to accommodate his girth. Rade shivered slightly as the warmth of her pussy enfolded the tip of his cock. He braced himself on his hands, his mouth scant inches away from hers. 

"Do you want me inside you now, little one? Will you deny me?" he asked as he rotated his hips upon her weeping flesh.

His words were like a bucket of cold water across her face. The desire in her veins faded as she took in the aroused features of her captor. Oh, dear Goddess. What had she done? Tears of shame that she couldn't hold back welled in her eyes as she felt him enter her a little more, his thickness rigid against her malleable flesh. 

She had shamed herself. How could she have let him take advantage of her like this? It was forbidden! She should've controlled herself more. She never should have responded to his touches! Goddess help her, she was a ruined woman; she would never be able to serve the Chapel again.

A dewy teardrop seeped out from between the confines of Kistle's golden lashes and she turned her face away, unwilling to let her captor see her shame. 

But Rade had already caught the defeated look in her eyes. Something in his heart had twanged to see how distraught she looked even as her body welcomed him, or perhaps because her body welcomed him.

"Why do you cry?" he asked, trying to ignore the fact that he was partially lodged in her wet heat.

"It is not something you would understand," came the whispered reply.

"I understand your body, little one. I will understand your mind, too."

Kistle opened her damp eyes to look squarely at Rade. He had beads of sweat embellishing his forehead.

"Sir, I am a servant of the Goddess. It is written in the scrolls that if I were to be with a man, I would not be able to serve Her any longer."

Rade shook his head and smiled at her, knowing that he had an answer to her problem. He leaned down and put his lips to hers and felt her jolt at the simple touch. The jolt had her pussy muscles clenching around him and he couldn't bite back the groan of need that erupted from his throat. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he thrust into her heat, cleaving the expectant barrier of her innocence. He said a few words in Hersan to quell her pain and then began to move within her. He couldn't stop himself even if it was an order from the Gods. 

"Oh! No, stop! Stop!" Kistle whimpered, but it was no use. His flesh was ripping into her body, filling her to bursting. A virgin's fear and something exciting built in the pit of her stomach. She watched the features of the man poised above her as he plundered her sex. His features were contorted with the pleasure that he was receiving and the thought of him taking his pleasure from her body sent a tingle of something foreign through her. And when his fingers came up to roughly caress her pulsing nipple, she felt a sweet pain throb through her body. 

Somehow, she began to move with him, hesitantly at first, but found that the way he thrust against her, had him brushing against the sensitive spot on her skin. The ecstasy that she gained at this was spell-binding and she couldn't help but flick her hips against him faster and faster. Rade's hands slipped under her buttocks and raised her up to meet his every thrust.

He drove into her deeply, feeling the way she yielded against him. Her surrender felt so saccharine. And when her small fists came up to curl about his shoulders, he felt like exploding into her hot sheath right then. 

Kistle was lost to the myriad of sensations that he was awakening in her. She forgot all her fears, all her doubts, all her shame. All that mattered was his body and hers and the sensations that were spurting through her blood.

They moved in a dance as old as time, both panting heavily from their exertions as they strove for the ecstasy that they knew was close at hand. Rade's fingers curled into her golden tresses as he held her head back and kissed her neck. The sounds of her moans reverberated against his lips and he trembled against her. His thrusts grew wilder, harder, deeper and more hurried to reach that pinnacle of a climax. 

Kistle answered his thrusts with eager abandon. Her moans turned to loud screams as he plunged exceedingly deep inside her, making her come apart beneath his hands. Rade covered his lips with hers to savour the sound of her satisfaction as she bucked wildly against him, her juices coating his cock, her muscles contracting around him.

Her orgasm was his undoing. He came inside her with one final thrust, his seed spurting hot and endlessly into her womb. Again, he felt the similar pang in his chest and wondered where it had come from. 

When he was finally able to summon the energy to open his eyes, he found that he was lying half atop the little one, breathing into her neck. She was as breathless as he was, her soft rasp of breaths, soft against his ear. 

He turned her face towards him and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

"You have pleased me," he said. "From now on, you are to forget about serving your Goddess. You are to serve me. Only me. Do you understand?"

Kistle nodded weakly, fearing to cross the possessive heat in his eyes. She watched as he mouthed a few words in an unknown language and the wetness between her legs dried up in an instant. She looked at him quizzically and made to question him, but he placed his index finger over her lips. A blush stole up her cheeks when she smelled what must be herself on his finger. 

"Sleep, little one. Sleep," he said.

And yet again, she was powerless to disobey him.

*

"I worry about Sister Kistle."

Tyson looked over at his lover, bemused.

"Ginny, sweetheart, if you're going to tell me that you've been lying beside me all this while thinking about some girl, I swear I'm going to paddle your bottom," he threatened, his fingers tightening precariously on her bottom. He chuckled softly when Ginny jerked against him in shock.

"That isn't funny, arhan," she chided, her petite hand swatting his away. Ty's heart skipped a beat when she called him 'brother' again. She couldn't possibly still think of him as her brother, not after what they'd done. In fact, he reasoned that she had uttered the word more out of habit than to remind him of his sin, and for that, he was willing to let her misstep pass.

"Well, it is to me. I'd yet to get my breath back from loving you and you're already thinking about someone else!"

She sighed. "It's not that, Ty. It's just that Kistle means a lot to me and she's lived a very sheltered life. She knows nothing about men. And that giant who took her away..." Ginny shuddered.

Ty kissed the pink lips that had turned into a pretty moue of worry. 

"Don't worry, shaz'ra," he soothed, his fingers moving over her plump cheeks in a silken caress. "Rade is a very gentle lover. I have no doubt that he'll make Kistle's loving a pleasurable one."

"I guess," she sighed. "I just hope she's all right. I'm missing her already. She was the only real friend that I had and I just can't bear the thought of her hurting..." 

Tyson watched as Ginny's eyes filled with tears. A stab of pain seared his heart as she tucked her head against his shoulder. He could feel the wetness of her tears on his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting his own demons at that moment. The only other time he'd seen her cry was the day that he'd left home. And seeing her tears again made him feel like his heart was being ripped apart – again. 

"Hush, Ginny. You know I could never stand to see you cry. I'd rather die a thousand deaths than have you cry," he murmured hoarsely. 

Ginny raised her tear-streaked face to his, noticing the wealth of emotion in his features. It touched her that he could not bear to see her in pain. She lowered her lips to press a rather wet kiss to his lips.

"I'm sorry, arhan. I just wish I could know that she's all right..."

"Say no more, love," Ty said. "I'll find a way." 

A twinkle re-appeared in his eyes when he noticed that Ginny was staring unblinkingly at the lips she'd just kissed. 

"Mmmm," was the only thing she managed to say when he leaned over and slanted his lips over hers.

*

Good fucking hell.

They were re-building their army.

Rade could sense it in his bones. A frown of deep concentration etched seams in his brow as he tried to decipher more of the vision that loomed before him.

There were men dressed in steel armour surrounding the stout Kieranian king. The lecher was waving his fists in the air, addressing the crowd with a fervour that belied his size. Rade couldn't work out what the king was saying – everything was black and white – but he could feel the vibes of national pride that rose from the men around the king. 

Abruptly, a heartbeat later, the gathered men roared and Rade's vision came to life; vivid colours danced before his eyes. It was like he was amongst the Kieranian soldiers, a part of them as they gathered in the courtyard, listening to the king's speech. He could feel the armour rasp against his skin and a fury ebbing inside him. Thoughts of rebellion flashed through his mind. The Marq's tyranny should be obliterated.

"How can we let them besiege our country? Have we no men to fight for us? Have we no pride? No shame?" Jisisle's voice boomed over the crowd.

The men in front of him jeered. Rade's lips, as he lay on the bed, twisted into a scowl. Rade, as he was in the vision, let out a low howl of disapproval. 

"Will you fight for us, loyal men?" the king queried.

The crowd roared its assent. Jisisle beamed. Rade fumed.

How dare the old snit prepare for battle against the Marq men? The Kieranians would never survive! Their numbers were too small. What idiot would allow his soldiers to--

Rade jolted awake as a small fist hit him on the nose. The blessedly clear vision in front of his eyes wavered and faded away, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake. Another punch found its way to his shoulder and he grunted, turning over to hold the squirming little one away from his body.

It took him a moment to realize that she wasn't hitting him deliberately but was lashing out in a dream, a nightmare. Her fists and legs flailed out around her and she was crying.

"Please, Mother. Please! I promise to be a good girl. Please!" he heard. "I'll never go to the gardens again! Please, Mother! Not the cellar! No! It's so dark, it's so dark..."

Rade intertwined himself with her nightmare and snipped the remnants of it away, leaving a panting and weeping woman in his arms. Instant worry for her flooded him, making his vision seem unimportant. Little one was shivering violently and she probably couldn't get enough oxygen into her lungs by the way she was hiccupping. Rade shook her by the shoulders, trying to make her snap out of her daze of semi-consciousness. 

Kistle eyes fluttered open to full darkness, panic clawing its way up to her throat. She couldn't breathe. The shadows were closing in around her. Oh Goddess, help her! Just as she felt the comfort of a swoon envelop her, a bright light flared above her head and she was forced back to consciousness. She blinked several times before the chamber came into focus and it was moments later when she could settle her fitful breathing.

"What happened, little one?" a silken voice beside her asked. 

Kistle gasped and turned, for she had forgotten where she was and who she was with. Her only thought had been of the cellar, the pain, and the darkness.

"It's nothing," she blurted, suddenly a little shy of her outburst. Sister Ginny had always complained that Kistle thrashed about in bed and cried out in her sleep at night, but it hadn't seemed important then. She, however, was in a different situation now.

"Tell me," the voice coaxed.

Kistle turned towards him, her eyes self-consciously averted. She was aware that he was looking at her curiously and she was afraid that if she told him about her childhood fear, he would think that she had a disposition of a little girl. 

A warm hand traced the curve of her shoulder and Kistle shivered involuntarily. Her eyes met his and for the love of the Goddess, she couldn't look away. Words that she thought she'd never tell anyone formed on her lips.

"I'm afraid of the dark, sir. Mother Agnetta used to discipline me by locking me away in the cellar after punishing me. It would be very frightening, sitting there all alone. I've developed a fear." The last sentence was a mere whisper.

Rade intruded upon the image in her mind and he could see the young girl cowering in the corner of a dingy room. She was crying, her little hands curled about her knees protectively. Again, he felt something give within him at the pitiful sight. Unbeknownst to him, his hands enveloped Kistle's body as he shared the memory of her childhood with her.




A Marq's Woman Ch. 03



"I'm sorry for waking you, sir. I truly am. I didn't mean to," Kistle said in a quiet voice. 

Rade gazed at her fearful form. Anyone who knew him would know that she had nothing to fear of him. He didn't fancy hitting women. But the poor little thing had probably suffered a lot in her time at the Chapel for her to be so paranoid by the thought of simply waking another person up. He had never known someone to be so fearful about simple things, he thought. Nor had he known anyone to look so delectable after a night of loving. Her hair was all atumble about her caramel-coloured cheeks and her lips were rosy and swollen from his kisses. He wanted to bend over and suckle those lips and offer their mingled dew as a soothing balm. He felt himself twitch and harden a little at that thought. Instead, he said:

"That's all right, little one." 

Internally, he mocked himself. He knew that he would never have let any one else off the hook so easily if they'd butted into an exceedingly important vision. 

A sudden thought occurred to him.

"What is your name?"

Kistle clasped the bedspread about her body tightly, suddenly realizing that she'd shamed herself with a man whom she didn't even know the name of.

"Kistle, sir." 

A voice in the back of his mind told Rade that he should compliment her that her name was as pretty as its owner. But somehow, the honeyed words didn't come easily to his lips.

"Well, Kistle. Would you try not to call me 'sir'? My name is Rade Fei Gaellane— your benefactor, let's say, from now on. You may address me as Rade." He paused. "Do you not have a last name?"

Kistle shook her head. No. Her mother hadn't told anyone who her father was before she'd passed on.

"Ahh. I understand. Kistle, do you know what we're doing in this bed?" 

Rade watched as her violet eyes widened to become saucer-like planes.

Again, she shook her head. No.

"What we did just now is called 'making love', little one. Do you understand?" he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. If he was asked to choose the part of anatomy that he liked the most about her, he'd choose her hair.

He was perplexed when she shook her head again, slowly, so as not to dislodge the fingers that were playing on her skin. 

"What do you not understand?" he asked, mildly irritated.

"Well, Sir Rade. What I don't understand is: the term 'making love' implies affection." 

She paused.

"Pray tell, how did what went on between us have anything to do with affection?"

*

This chapter was penned only for your reading pleasure. It does not further the plot much, as I understand, but was meant to develop the relationship between the characters and give a little background info about Kistle. 

I know you have questions about what powers Rade exactly has and what is up with his visions, but I promise to address those questions in the subsequent chapters.

Thanks for reading and for all your support! Please take a second to vote and comment. As always feedback is greatly appreciated!(:

Kisses,
Lillian :*



A Marq's Woman Ch. 04



"Pray tell, how did what went on between us have anything to do with affection?"

Rade stilled, his fingers still entwined in her golden curls. Confusion diffused into his demeanor as his eyes rose to meet hers. 

"I cannot say, little one. I haven't thought of it that way before."

He watched as the confusion in her eyes mirrored his.

"Oh. No one has asked you of this before, Sir Rade?"

"Only Rade, Kistle. And no, no one has asked me that before." He paused. "It does make me think though…" he smiled wickedly. "…of the wonderful things that we did just now." The last line was breathed huskily against her ear. Kistle shivered involuntarily. 

"Kistle?" he murmured, his stealthy fingers dipping from her hair to the beguiling curve of her neck. He massaged the tiny knot of tension there, watching as her lips parted of their own will. "Kistle, are you sore?"

Instant heat flooded her cheeks and she averted her eyes, not wanting him to see the embarrassment in them. This was such a personal question; how could he ask her that?

"Answer me, little one," Rade said as he tilted her chin up toward him so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze. 

"Yes," she said, then burrowed into the softness of the mattress.

"Very well, then. We'll have to take care of that." Rade closed his eyes and seconds later, Kistle felt the dull throb in her nether regions disappear. She frowned at him when he opened his eyes.

"What language were you murmuring in?"

"It's Hersan. The language of Royalty. It holds mystical powers no one can really understand. I was taught it when I was younger and trust me, it has been a useful tool for most of my life." He smiled, using his lips to nuzzle the side of her smooth cheek. By the Spirits, she smelled lovely.

"You are royalty, Si- uh- Rade?"

"Yes. The Marq King and I are cousins of sorts." The lips on her cheeks traveled lower to where her pulse fluttered erratically. 

"Oh!" Kistle squeaked when he nipped at the indentation of her pulse. A delicious shiver wracked her body.

"Rade, is it wise to – oh – we only did this a few – oh!" 

She whimpered as his devil tongue found the delicate golden nub of her nipple. He traced it lightly with his tongue and even then, it coiled and pebbled in his hand so quickly that she could not even draw breath. She clutched at his dark head, her fingers intertwining with the thick mat of black curls on his head. Her hips lifted off the bed as she arched into his mouth. He continued to suckle her pert breasts deep into the wet cavity of his mouth until she was lost, yet again, in the hot, erotic void that he had spun around her once before. 

His thumb and forefinger rolled her other nipple, flicking against the blunt tip of it gently, plucking it to give her pleasure. A throaty moan seem to emanate from her very soul as she clung to him, feeling need drizzle through her. She couldn't think about anything but the pleasure that was roiling in her veins and the heat of him plastered against her. But if she had a chance to think, she would probably realize what a wanton she'd become from the staunch nun she'd been. For now, though, the woman in her took control of her body and she let Rade show her the new feelings that had awakened with that woman.

His tongue sampled its way from one breast to the other and when it laved over another hard nipple, Kistle's moans became desperate. Because with the way he was caressing her came a longing and with that longing, came an empty ache. It wasn't only an ache in her loins but an ache that spread through her body. And for the first time that night, she acknowledged how badly she wanted him. 

Her fingers cupped his jaw as it worked on her breast. She felt him jerk at the soft touch, as though he hadn't been expecting it, then he rubbed his jaw against her fingers as a gesture of acceptance.

Rade could hear her heart beating swiftly under him. It pleased him to note that he could drive her to do something she would never have done given a choice, and make her like it; perhaps even crave it. He could feel the way she was moving her hips against him, as though she was longing for him to thrust into her. He smiled against her glistening breast before placing a chaste kiss on its side and moving lower on his adventure of delight. 

Fiddling with a luscious fold of dark skin above her navel, he bit into it, feeling the sudden, quick rush of blood to the skin's surface. He laughed huskily at her surprised squeak of pain and pleasure and smoothed the pad of his thumb over the bite mark. A sudden rush of possessiveness overwhelmed him as he took in the sight of his teeth marks on her flesh. She is yours, a voice in his head interrupted his exploration. A part of him acknowledged that fact but the other part was too distracted by the musky smell of her that invaded his senses. He pressed his mouth to the top of her sex and just rested there for a moment, feeling the tickle of her golden hair against his lips. He jerked again when one of her hands touched his head as though to coax him into hurrying his duty. His eyes flickered up to hers and found that the vivid violet of her eyes had darkened to a deep purple. He was entranced.

"Please…" he heard her beg as his mouth remained still on her soft mound. She wriggled against him, trying to push herself off the bed so that his mouth would lie against her slit instead. Rade watched her, enjoying her efforts for a couple of heartbeats before moving over her, depriving her of his mouth on her pussy. Kistle moaned in dismay when his mouth left her, but groaned in delight as it plunged into the heated recesses of her mouth. 

It was like being drugged, Kistle thought. Not that she'd ever been drugged before, but if she had to imagine what it felt like, it should be like this. Her bones felt like they were melting and there was a heady daze muddling her brain. His hands felt like they were everywhere on hers and his heated gaze never left her own wanton ones. 

Rade stroked her over and over, from breasts to back – even the softness of her bottom wasn't spared. He learned every nook and cranny of her, every inch of skin, every fold on her flesh. It was exquisitely delightful to know that she had a sensitive patch of flesh at the junction where her thighs met her bottom, and that she was most responsive to gentle touches. It was also the sweetest of sensations to know that he was pushing her to the brink of sanity when her finger nails started to rake shallow furrows on his back. 

When he couldn't stand the wait any longer, and when her moans had turned into keening screams, he slid into her, heat into heat, flesh into flesh. She folded herself around him, welcoming him.

A feeling of wholeness washed over Kistle as he entered her. His skin felt so good, and he was so gentle with his touches. Everywhere their bodies were joined, she felt a tiny, lighting stab of pleasure and his hardness was driving her wild. 

Rade waited for her to move first. The gyration of her hips wasn't long in coming. As soon as he slid into her, she moaned and lifted herself off the bed, wrapping her legs around the back of his thighs. She was so exquisitely beautiful in her sex that he couldn't resist looking at her as he started to move within her.

His strokes were unhurried, even leisurely, unlike his prior loving; Kistle wanted to kill him. She needed to feel him deep within her, like before. She wanted to see his eyes closed as he thrust himself into her, pleasure evident in all his features. She wanted him to hold her close and tell her that she had pleased him. She opened her mouth to tell him these things, but she found that she could not for his lips had descended upon hers in a blur.

As soon as his lips met hers, he could not stop the animal that took over him. She was so wet, hot and welcoming inside that he couldn't hold back any longer. He had meant to love her softly, slowly, but it looked like she wouldn't let him. Her legs on the back of his thighs were digging into the muscle painfully, demanding that he take her faster. 

His hands ran down the length of her legs and secured them around his waist, enabling him to seat himself deeper within her. He moaned in ecstasy as he started pushing into her wet heat eagerly, and with abandon. It was a wild, uninhibited loving and he could've sworn that he hit her womb with each thrust from the way she shook and shivered under him, her eyes closed, her lips parted. 

"Come with me, little one," he heard himself say as though from a distance as the waves of pleasure started to engulf him. He thrust into her once more as he felt his seed start, then he was lost. 

Kistle heard herself cry out as a sticky, hot substance singed her womb. It was an exquisite bliss to feel herself taking flight after the tension that had rocked her body. The release shimmied through her like water flowing in a stream. It seemed like the delight went on forever and ever and she didn't really want it to end. 

When she floated back to earth, she found herself buried under a mass of man. He was heavy, but not too heavy, and she rather liked his weight over her. She touched a hand to his black curls and waited for him to look up at her. When he did, she kissed him.

Rade let her dabble at her new-found sensuality. He briefly forgot the infertility spell that he'd been about to cast, letting himself drown in her gentleness.

It was a temperate kiss, a mere experimentation, and she smiled with impish joy when he reached for her to take the kiss deeper.

"What're you smiling at, imp?" 

"Nothing," she said, although the smile never left her lips.

It was that point in time that the sun chose to rise and extend its rays onto the centre of their love nest. Rade looked at the shameless temptress on his bed and knew that with a sinking heart that he would be too busy for the rest of the day to take her again. He would have to wait until sunset.

He slapped her lightly on her bottom.

"Better get dressed, wench."

"Dressed? I don't have anything to wear, Rade," she said. 

"There are garments in the closet, next to mine. You may wear them for the time being. I'll arrange for someone to see to your clothing needs, soon," he said, gesturing to a huge cupboard in the opposite corner of the room. 

"Oh. Thank you." Kistle was already mentally picturing froths of lace and wool made to fit her body. She'd never worn anything other than her habit in all her twenty years and the prospect of dresses was really quite thrilling. What would she look like? She'd always imagined she'd look like a princess in a pink gown, but that was when she was younger. A purple one, perhaps, to match her eyes, with white lace around the bodice. Oh! It was all so exciting!

Rade angled his head at her, watching as a look of delight washed over her features. He didn't know what he'd said to give her that delight, but he was glad he'd said it. He reached out and ruffled her hair, repeating his order for her to get dressed.

"Oh. Now?" Kistle said, clasping the sheet to her breasts in modesty. She couldn't imagine traipsing across the room in nothing but skin, bare to his gaze.

"Of course. Now out with you, little one." When she didn't move, he flipped the sheet out from under her so that she rolled over the side of the bed and hit the floor with a loud thump.

"Ow! You pushed me!"

"Yes," he drawled, looking down at her from the corner of the bed. "I bit you, too, just now. You didn't complain then." 

A drizzle of redness tinged her already heated cheeks.

"You- oh!" she fumed, forgetting her shyness. She marched across to the large, wooden cupboard and wrenched it open. 

Good Goddess!

She stared at the contents of the cupboard in shock. Every article of clothing in it was either black, white or gold! It took Kistle a moment to realize that they were the Marq colours. 

"What's wrong?" came a voice from behind her. 

She turned to find Rade behind her and gasped before she could help it. It was the first time that she'd ever seen a naked man and Goddess, was he beautiful. The chiseled ridges on his stomach were gorgeous and his flanks were so well-muscled. 

Between his thighs! Goodness. It was so big! No wonder he hadn't let her see it last night! It would've scared her half to death if he had.

Her cheeks were well-heated, but for the life of her, she couldn't look away. Her eyes remained fixed on his masculine form until he came to her and raised her chin.

"Enough ogling, wench. Put something on before I decide to ravish you again."

He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a pair of breeches and a thin shirt. She was horrified when he shrugged into both without any underwear. 

"Why are you just standing there, little one? Are you attempting seduction?" he teased with a twinkle in his eye, when he looked up after pulling his clothing on. She still wasn't wearing a stitch of cloth. What was wrong with her?

"No, sir." Kistle's sudden nervousness made her lapse back into her habit of calling him 'sir'. "'Tis just that these are the Marq colours."

"What's wrong with that?" His eyes narrowed. "You're part of a Marq colony now, little one. You have to wear our colours."

"Nay, I'm a Kieranian, sir. I will not wear them." Instant pride for her nationality had her sticking her chin out at him. He chuckled at the petulant gesture, knowing that this was a fight he would win. She simply didn't have any other choice.

"Well, if you're not going to wear anything, it's fine by me. Just don't let anyone catch you roaming the manor in nothing but skin," he winked as he made his way to the door.

"Isn't there anything else I could wear?" she called.

"Nothing but the bed sheets."

He missed the odd gleam in her eye. 

"By the way," he said, as he leaned in from the doorway. "I'll trust you in this manor alone, Kistle. Don't make me regret it. If you ever try to run away…" He left the threat open. 

Kistle swallowed, then nodded. She saw the heat in his eyes and dreaded to cross it. It would mean a hefty consequence and she didn't know if she would be able to bear it. Besides, she already saw no point in running away; the Chapel wouldn't take her back after what she'd done. 

Rade smiled when she nodded her acquiescence, then closed the tower door behind him.

Kistle stood rooted to the spot for a few more heartbeats, fingering the loose strands of her hair whilst hearing his receding footsteps. Then, when she could hear him no more, she made a wild dash for the bed. 

*

He took the stairs two at a time, descending from the tower purposefully. The vision of Kieranian men gathering to fight the Marqs still haunted him. He didn't know if the vision was taking place at present or would take place in the future, but he didn't want to take any chances. The taking of Kierania was placed in his care, and he wasn't going to let his country down. 

He stepped into the shadowed library, his footsteps ringing hollowly in the empty room. The early morning sun was still mild as it cast its rays onto the broad, mahogany desk. Rade briefly admired it as he settled himself behind it. Without losing any time, he drew a sheet of paper from a nearby cabinet and placed it on the desk. Then, pencil in hand, he began to draw. 

He was bent over the task for what seemed like an eternity, but when he drew back and perused what he'd drawn, he smiled with satisfaction.

It was his vision come to life on paper. There was the king and the men at his feet, the lush mountains around them, and the royal castle. The pencil in his hand flew over the paper again, tweaking certain details here and there, making the drawing as accurate as possible. It was fundamental that he got every detail right to send back home to Dominique so that the War Department would get a good look at what they were up against. It would only be then that the WD would be able to be accurate in their plotting of how the taking of the rest of Kierania should be done.

Rade leaned back in his chair, frowning as an Army Leader's fear took root in him. It is natural to feel this way, his father, the previous war leader, had told him once. It is usual that a leader should feel such fear before a battle, for the uncertainty burdens the leader more than it does the people he leads. The only way for a leader to alleviate such a fear is to have his resources. 

That was it! Rade thought. He felt uncertain about this war with Jisisle, when he'd never felt uncertain about other wars in his life. The king was a lazy old rat, but a sneaky one, as well. Rade didn't want to be left in the dark about Jisisle's moves for it could mean harm to the Marq's siege. 

He knew only one way to safeguard his country's interest.

He called for Scar.

*

Scarlett Ranle Temeral sat in front of Rade, one booted foot propped on a knee. She scowled at him, showing her displeasure at having been awakened at such an ungodly hour. In fact, it had only been a few hours ago when she had been frolicking in bed with her lover, losing all her energy in one orgasm. And now, she sat before her war leader, tired and mussed and feeling exceedingly disgruntled.

Scar was a shifter, a half-human who could modify herself into anything she wanted. She'd been born on the star of Lismus, but after it had come under Marq control, she'd 'volunteered' to serve the army. She didn't have any objections about working for people who had been the cause of her star's downfall – her star had given her nothing but grief, anyway – but she sure as hell had something against someone waking her up at seven in the morning. 

"What is it that you want, Rade?" she snapped, crossing her arms under her small breasts.

"I need your help," came the enigmatic reply. Scar groaned inwardly.

"No. No way. The last time I helped you, I was nearly burned at a stake for being a witch."

Rade laughed, recalling the scene. Well, she'd gotten out alive anyhow.

"This is different, Scar. Here, look at this." He handed the drawing of his vision to her, watching her masculine form digest what the situation was. 

After a while, she said, "So, they're recruiting? And if they are, what do you want me to do about it?"

"There's the catch. I'm not sure if they are. The reason I summoned you is to help me check up on them."

"Wait. Spy for you, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Why me? Why not one of your men?" she asked, raking a hand through her short-cropped black hair. If she took this assignment up, she'd have to leave Remy, her lover, alone at home, and she didn't want that. She never wanted to leave Remy's side. 

"You know why, Scar," Rade said quietly. "There's no one else who could fly to the royal castle and be back by tomorrow. Even by airhorse, it would take three days for one of my soldiers. You're the only one I could think of that could help."

Scar nodded, weighing her options, then she asked:

"What's in it for me?"

He knew she would ask for something in return; she always did. And this time, he had an offer that she would never refuse. 

"Marriage."

Rade saw the dangerous narrowing of her eyes and the tiny spear-like spikes that rose from her knuckles but was too much of a man to cringe.

"What? To one of your top officials? It might come as a shock to you, Rade, but I'm not interested in fucking your men, no matter what a privilege it's said to be." She got up to leave.

"No, you misunderstand. Marriage, yes, but not to one of my men." Scar stopped in mid-shift, the lower half of her body still translucent.

"Then who?" Giving in, she shifted to her human form and sat back down.

"Remy Grent Faels."

Scar jolted, staring at him in shock with her jaw hanging slightly open. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 04



Ahh, yes, Rade thought. I've got you now.

"But how did you…?"

"I have my resources. Although it's illegal for such marriages to take place, I have enough power to overrule the law." He paused. "So, are you going to do it?"

He already knew the answer, of course.

"Hell, yes. I just…Gods, I think I'm in shock! You really knew all along, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Right about the time you ordered a glass rod fashioned in the shape of a…" he stopped with a grating laugh when she threw a burning look at him.

"All right. I'll do it. I'll leave by noon today and be back with news. May I keep the picture?" she asked, indicating to the drawing on the table. 

He nodded.

With the piece of paper in hand, Rade watched her shift out of the room. Even after six years, it still amazed him as to how she could change forms so quickly. He'd seen her shift to wind, horse, bird and once, even a worm. But even when she shifted, her form would always have the luminescent blue of her eyes. She was an interesting piece of work.

Speaking of interesting pieces of work, Rade thought as he reached for the Illiad globe in the corner of the table. Perhaps he should do a little checking up on the little one.

*

Kistle sat on the top of the hill, looking down at the fairly shallow lake before her. The white bed sheet that she'd fashioned into a dress billowed around her, catching the wind whenever it could. 

Had it been only a day since she'd been taken from the Chapel? It felt like eons since she'd first felt Rade's touch. She'd been so afraid of him then, she thought with a smile. How things change. 

A part of her loved this freedom, loved this vibrancy to life that she'd found outside the Chapel's walls. As a child, she'd never been allowed to saunter as far as the Chapel gates. Mother had always kept a tight reign on all of her girls. Many had suffered severe beatings from her for simple things. Kistle shivered when she remembered the bruises on Sister Gense's back when Mother had caught her winking at a boy at Mass. In Kistle's opinion, if Sister Gense had desired the boy, Mother should've cut her loose. Gense had been an orphan like Kistle, after all, and it should be her choice if she wanted to become a servant of the Goddess or not after eighteen years.

But Mother hadn't given any of the orphans a choice. It was either to serve or to be beaten. Kistle admitted ashamedly to herself that she'd chosen to serve only because she was afraid of the cane… that, and the darkness of the cellar.

She sighed and rested a cheek on an upturned knee. Her life had been so colourless – black habits, white candles, scentless bath soaps – everything had seemed so dull and lifeless. She had thought life was like that before she'd been so boldly taken away by her captor. 

Now she knew the joys of being a woman, of freedom and of mild contentment. There was nothing more she enjoyed than rolling around in the grass with the kitten that she'd found prancing in the garden. And to take a dip in the lake sounded so forbiddingly exciting! Only the Goddess knew that Mother would punish her so if she found Kistle wearing nothing but a bed sheet over her chemise and plunging into dewy lake-water.

This is the way life should be, Kistle thought happily as she jumped to her feet. Facing the blue skies everyday, listening to the cooing of the birds, watching the fish swim about in the river! This is life! Not the dreariness she'd known amongst the four walls of the Chapel, repeating the same prayers every day! This is life and she was just beginning to feel like she was living it. And considering everything, she thought, being the love slave of a man was such a small price to pay for this life.

She tilted her head to the sky, feeling the sun's warm rays beat down on her. Mother had always told the girls that bathing in the sun would ruin their complexion for the Goddess. The Goddess needed beautiful girls by her side, not sun-burnt prunes. But Kistle didn't care. She didn't care about anything in the world except for the elation in her heart right then.

It really was a luxury, this, she thought as she rid herself of her 'dress'. The hypnotic waves of the lake became too enticing and Kistle made a dash for it, like a rabbit amongst the tall grass. Then, with one quick jump, she plunged into the warm water…

…only to find that her feet couldn't feel the bottom of the lake.

She struggled, like a snake caught in a net, to stay afloat, but it was no use. The water seemed to pull her down into its murky darkness and all she could do was scream. 

*

Chapter five will be a while in coming. I apologize.

Feedback, comments and votes will be greatly appreciated, as always(: Thanks for reading this installment!

And to all of those who've mailed me, thank you for your support!

Lillian.



A Marq's Woman Ch. 05



*Please, please, please leave a comment if you liked it!



*

She could hear herself screaming, her voice laced with despair. 

Why, Goddess? Why? Why take me now when I've just learned about the pleasures of life? Why...

The breath was choked out from her lungs as she gulped in a mouthful of water, then another, then another. Water seeped into her nostrils and burned her throat. She hurt, she hurt so badly. 

Then, all of a sudden, she felt herself rising, rising, high into the air and was dumped, quite unceremoniously, onto the grassy green bank of the lake. 

She emptied the contents of her belly once she hit the ground, bout after bout of water spewing from her lips. Vaguely, she heard someone whining in the distance, but the ringing in her ears drowned everything out. 

It was many moments later that she managed to sit up, and even then, she did so only weakly. 

"Can't a body get some peace and quiet around here? Devil take you, child, I was just settling down for my nap!"

Kistle's eyes focused on a figure in the lake, her lashes working rapidly to clear the water from her eyes. When she was able to do so, what she saw made her eyes widen in apprehension. 

The woman rose from the water, an apparition made of a large cluster of water droplets. Her body was still, but the sun glinted off her transparentness, making her look luminescent in the morning light. Kistle gaped, unable to believe her eyes. Perhaps she was dead after all.

"Wha-what are you?" she managed to choke out.

"I asked you a question, child. You will answer me first," the figure replied, and Kistle could finally see the irritation mirrored in the other woman's countenance. She wondered what sin she had committed to spark off such anger.

"I beg your pardon, lady –," Kistle began, only to be cut off rudely.

"You don't need to beg anything of me. Just keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut, you hear me?"

Kistle nodded mutely, then watched as the woman began to disappear. 

"Wait! Wait!" she called out, rising to her knees, her apparent state of exhaustion forgotten. 

"Always yapping. Children these days... What is it, child?"

"M-my name is Kistle, Lady -um- Water. May I know what you are? I've never seen, or even h- heard of you before." Kistle's violet eyes were bright with fascination. She had no idea what an alluring creature she made, sitting on the bank with her clothes clinging to every curve and plane of her body. 

She heard Lady Water sigh, then raise her hands to her hips.

"My name isn't Lady Water, Kistle. It's Bianca. Do not tell me that you have not heard of me, the ghost of Talem Lake?" 

"No, I mean, yes, I have heard of you, but - but you are made of water!" Kistle pointed out.

"Yes, I know that, child. Have you not heard of the legend?"

"Nay, Lady Bianca, I haven't."

"Well, that is unfortunate. I haven't got to recite it to you now."

"No, wait, please!" Kistle beseeched her, but the woman vanished into thin air, leaving nothing behind but a cool breeze. Kistle let out a frustrated groan. Yes, she had heard about the ghost of Talem Lake, but she hadn't imagined that the ghost would actually be made of water. That was just absurd! 

She picked herself up from the bank and started up the hill towards the manor, but stopped short when she heard the joyously familiar voice calling out to her.

*

Tyson strode through the Talem Manor, his lover at his side. His hand rested on her hip, caressing with a touch so light that it contradicted what his visage portrayed of him. He was a hard man, a man of war, yet it would only take a red-haired sprite to tame him and bring him to his knees. And he loathed to think that he would have to leave her very soon.

He had not wanted to report for duty yet - had hoped he had more time to spend with his beloved - but it could not be helped. Rade had sent him a message, one of urgency, to report for a meeting as soon as possible. 

He knocked on the door to the library, flicking a glance at the curvaceous woman in his arms. She was nervous, nibbling on her kiss-swollen lips in anxiety of her friends' well-being. She looked so adorable in the new, ready-made pink dress that she'd purchased; perhaps he would be able to steal a kiss before...

"Come in," Rade called. Tyson cussed inwardly. 

"Tyson," Rade said in lieu of a greeting. Almost immediately, his gaze skitted to the woman next to his first-in-command. She was a small woman, with reddish-brown locks that fell to her waist, and an air of serenity about her. Looking at her, Rade was reminded of the few women he had seen his friend take to bed; they had all been red-haired wenches, too, and looking at the besotted glaze in Ty's eyes, he now knew why. 

"Ginny, isn't it?" Rade asked, and motioned for both of them to sit. Ginny declined, choosing to stand beside Ty. Rade noticed that she was gnawing on her lips nervously, her brows drawn together in a slightly worried pucker.

"Yes, it is, sir," she said shyly. Rade also noticed that Ty kept the woman's hand tightly clutched between his bigger palm. 

"Rade, if you wouldn't mind, Ginny would like to see Kistle. She's been really worried, thinking that you might abuse her soft-hearted friend," Tyson joked and got a playful swat from Ginny, whose cheeks became slightly heated. 

"Well, yes, I suppose you could see her. Last I checked, she was frolicking in the gardens. You might find her there," Rade told her and Ginny curtsied hurriedly before taking her leave. 

Rade observed Tyson watching the woman's retreating back with a look of longing. He deliberately cleared his throat so that his friend would turn his attention to the matter at hand. 

"The Kieranians have begun to amass their troops."

The news did not come as a shock to Tyson, but he had to make a colossal attempt to clear his head of distracting thoughts before replying.

"How long will it be till they're mobilized, then?"

"I'm not too certain. I had a vision about it, but it wasn't very clear..." He didn't mention the reason as to why it hadn't been clear.

"Thus, you need our army to get back to training immediately," Tyson finished, already feeling dread seep into his heart. If he was involved with the training of the soldiers, he'd have little time for Ginny, and he did not want it to be so. He wanted to devote all his time to her. 

"Yes, immediately. This," he said as he passed a slip of paper to Ty, "will be the plan for the next few days. It might change once Scar returns from her expeditions, but generally, this is it." 

Ty read it, then nodded. It was a tactic that the army had used many a time and it would not be difficult for them to put into practice any longer.

"I doubt the Kieranians would put up a tough fight, Rade," Ty said after a moment of contemplation. 

Rade snorted at that comment. "Never underestimate the enemy, Ty. What I saw in the vision... there were many more soldiers than we could ever expect."

Ty's brows rose and he silently cursed all Kieranian men, briefly forgetting that he had been one once – a long, long time ago. 

"All right, Rade. I'll take charge of training the men and let you worry about more of the technical fripperies." Ty flashed a smile, knowing that being the one to do the reports of their battles frequently irritated Rade. He was rewarded with a scathing glare.

"Don't be too happy, Ty. We both know that our men won't be overjoyed to report for duty so soon. And," he added with an evil smile of his own, "they won't be in their best moods after wenching and drinking. Especially when they're made to practice tactics."

Ty groaned, calling their verbal match a draw. He rose from the chair, intent on riding back to the main town square and rounding up the men. But Rade stopped his retreat.

"Ty?"

"Yes?" Why, Ty thought, is that a blush I see creeping up Rade's neck?

"Is there a place you know in town where I could order some – uh - feminine articles?" The question came out in a quick breath of words. 

Ty stared at his friend for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Lace shopping now, are we?"

"Nay, it's not like that. It's just that Kistle needs some clothes."

"And here I thought you'd be keeping her naked and locked up for a week," Ty replied through a guffaw, remembering the way his friend had carried Kistle out of the Chapel. Rade didn't think the comment was worthy of a response. 

Ty turned to leave the room, shouting over his shoulder: "I'll see what I can do."

"And Ty?" Rade called out.

"What?"

"The manor has many rooms."


Ty looked back and acknowledged the invitation. He would move his things to the manor after he'd seen to the collection of his drunken men.

*

"Sister Kistle!"

Kistle whipped around, her chemise swirling about her, to find Sister Ginny standing across the gardens from her. A beautiful smile brightened her face and she picked her skirts up and ran towards her friend. Sister Ginny met her halfway. 

"Oh, Sister Kistle! I've been terribly worried about you!" Ginny said as she enveloped her dear friend in a hug. Kistle stood, shocked, when her friend's arms went around her, for the Goddess's chapel forbade Sisters from any form of communion, except for the touching of hands. But slowly, the warmth of the hug began to seep into her, and Kistle hugged Ginny back with as much affection as the other woman had shown. 

When Ginny pulled back, she had tears in her eyes. "Are you all right, Sister Kistle?" she asked worriedly.

"I am fine, Sister Ginny, though I suppose we should stop addressing each other as 'Sister' now," Kistle said with awkward forwardness. She leaned forward and grasped her friend's hands in hers, which somehow made her feel...loved.

"Yes, of course. How foolish of me! Are you sure you're all right, Kistle? Sir Rade did not hurt you?"

A blush crept into Kistle's tanned cheeks. "Of course not, Ginny. He was very... gentle with me. Oh, enough about me; what about you? I was so worried when that giant carried you off!"

Ginny laughed, a joyous sound that made Kistle laugh along with her. "That 'giant' is my brother. Well, my step-brother, actually." 

Ginny noticed that the laughter faded from Kistle's eyes. She sighed.

"Yes, yes, I know what a sinner I am. But you should see the love in his eyes, Kistle. I couldn't resist him. I – we couldn't help what happened." Ginny begged her friend to understand her.

"Nay, Ginny. You do not have to explain yourself to me. If you love him... it should be all right, shouldn't it?" Both women faced each other with insecurity in their eyes. Neither knew the answer to that question. 

"But...I think it should be all right," Kistle concluded finally and they shared a wavering smile. 

"At least you know your giant loves you, Ginny. I know nothing at all about Rade. What we did gave my body pleasure, but nothing else. Do you think me a harlot? Perhaps I am, like my mother... Mother Agnetta always told me that I would slip into wanton ways sooner or later – just like my mother did. Do you think she was right?"

"Don't be foolish, Kistle. Mother Agnetta was just being her old prudish self." Ginny blushed at her disloyal words, but she had always felt that Mother Agnetta had been too strict on the girls in the Chapel.

"I suppose so. But what would you acquit my behavior to?" Kistle asked. "I know nothing of Rade, but I shiver when he touches me and I feel this funny swirling in my belly when I think of him. Oh, it's all so confusing!"

"Come now, Kistle. You don't have to worry. I say, isn't this the first time that you've been out of the Chapel gates since you were twelve?" Kistle nodded briskly. 

"Then perhaps it is the excitement of it that makes you act this way. What say you to that?"

Kistle thought about it, then nodded. Perhaps it could be that. And right now, she only needed a reason to explain her unusual behavior. 

"See? We've solved your problem. All will be well. Do not worry," Ginny repeated, patting her friend's hand comfortingly. Then, she drew back in an almost-abrupt motion.

"Why in the Goddess' name are you drenched?"

*

Soldiers filed into the manor at a steady rate. Ginny and Kistle stood behind a stone wall, looking at the bedraggled soldiers with open curiosity. 

"Why do you think they're here?" Kistle whispered to her friend.

"I don't know," came the hushed reply. Suddenly, Ginny's breath caught and she pointed to a warrior in the distance, his dark skin glinting off the late afternoon light. "Do you see him?" There was an odd note in her voice.

"Yes. Is he your giant?"

Ginny laughed. "Yes, he is. His name is Tyson. He's beautiful, isn't he?" 

Kistle found herself nodding, wondering about the peculiar way Ginny's eyes softened as she gazed upon the giant. She was just about to lean over and get a better look at the warrior, when twin strong arms wrapped around her waist. 

She was pulled back against a brick wall, the breath leaving her lungs in a quick 'whoosh'. She didn't have to glance up to know who had manhandled her; she recognized his touch. 

"So, you think Tyson's beautiful, do you?" Rade's voice slithered over her body, making her shiver. Kistle knew Ginny was looking at them, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the intensity of Rade's dark eyes. Why, did he sound jealous?

"Release me, Rade. You're hurting me," she squirmed, for in truth, his hands were bruising her waist. At her words, she immediately felt him relax his hold, but he didn't let go of her. 

"Perhaps I should be helping with supper," Kistle heard Ginny say, but when she tore her eyes away from Rade, she found that her friend had already scrambled off. 

She felt herself being gradually backed against the wall, and one look at the change in Rade's eyes told her exactly what he intended to do.

"Answer me, wench," he growled into her ear.

"Wha-what is it?" she stuttered, for he had taken to nibbling on her earlobe. Dear Goddess, she thought, the coiling was starting again.

"You think Tyson is beautiful, do you?" He nicked the underside of her jaw, almost painfully, then ran his tongue over it to soothe the spot.

"Yes, I suppose so," Kistle replied truthfully, only to find that that was the wrong answer. Rade's wide palm found the roundness of her bottom and gave it a thwack. She drew a shaky breath from the pain.

"You are not to find other men beautiful, do you understand me? You belong to me; you will only think me beautiful." And before she could protest against that outrageous statement, his mouth covered hers hotly, boldly, almost cruelly. He intended to brand her as his alone and she knew it. But that knowledge didn't stop the shimmery sensation that unfurled within her belly. 

His body pressed hers into the stone blocks, his hips grinding forcefully against her. Unknowingly, Kistle's fingers rose to his hair, delving into the locks to anchor his mouth to hers. A need spread through her body, making her want, making her need more from him. 

She shuddered when his fingers caressed the sides of her breasts through the cotton chemise. A moan tore from her mouth as his hot fingers traced the outline of her areolas, flicking at the hard bud of her nipples erotically. Unable to bear the consuming sensations, she arched into his touch, losing herself in his embrace. 

She vaguely heard the rip and tear of her chemise before she felt the slick slide of his palm against the fevered flesh of her small breasts. He caught her strangled sounds of pleasure with his mouth as he massaged the pouting globes, intent on showing her just who her body belonged to, just who her body responded to. But slowly, as her fingers threaded through the dark curls on his head, tugging, pulling, he felt a need grow within him.

He ducked his head and feathered his lips over one dark nipple, his tongue darting out to taste the forbidden sweetness of it. A shudder wracked his tall frame when he felt the nub harder further beneath the coaxing of his tongue. She bucked against him, nearly demanding him to suckle her aching, tender breasts into the hot cavity of his mouth, and nearly cried out when he did. 

She writhed beneath him, watching with breathless pants as his mouth worked on her needy body. The familiar knot was coiling unbearably inside her and she felt a wetness run down her inner thigh. Goddess, how she wanted him to put his hands where she needed him the most. 

A sob of half-pain, half-ecstasy tore from her throat as Rade bit the underside of one succulent breast, leaving tiny indentations of his exploits. Then, his tongue snaked lower and lower, his fingers impatiently tearing the cumbersome cloth out of the way until she was totally bared to his gaze.

"Beautiful," he murmured as his knees hit the ground in front of her, his fingers already tracing the surreal-smooth flesh of her exposed sex. He still could not believe how pure she looked – caramel-colored skin embellished with a tiny crop of golden hair. He felt juices pool in his mouth at the mere thought of suckling her jewel. 

A chaste kiss he placed at the hollow between her hipbones as his fingers traced a pathway from her knees and over her inner thigh. He held one hand over her belly to hold her upright, and the other, her used to trace the length of her swollen lips. He felt her jerk under his touch, a mewling moan spewing from her lips, and he put his mouth on her, lightly tracing the downy hair on her pussy. 

"Oh Goddess. Please...," Kistle heard herself saying, rendered powerless by the intoxicating mastery of Rade's tongue, Rade's fingers. She longed for him to slide himself into her, much as he'd done the night before, and bring her to heaven. But she was denied her wish for he moved his tongue to the bundle of nerves at her core, making her clutch his hand, where it rested on her belly, in desperation. 

The word 'please' formed on her lips like a chant as his longest, thickest finger slid into her, working its way into her core. She could feel him inside her, his finger fighting to breach her tightness, and the intrusion struck a discordant cord within her heart. She clenched herself around him, feeling the knot of tension within her about to expand and rupture. His mouth and tongue tortured the pearl of flesh between her thighs, swirling it, nibbling on it, and finally, suckling it.

Bright, golden spots flared behind her eyelids. She had lost all control, and was aware only of the flames that besieged her body. The finger inside her wriggled and she felt herself spurt endlessly into his hand, her body feeling as though it had taken flight to the stars. He continued his torment upon her body until she could no longer stand, no longer think of anything but him. Only him. 

He withdrew his finger from her and as she watched, slid it deeply into his mouth, tasting her intimately. She felt something curl deliciously in her heart at the sight. Then, his finger rose to her lips and she obediently granted him entrance to her greedy mouth. 

His withdrew his hold on her and she fell onto the grass, legs still too weak to hold her aloft. She watched him with those glorious violet eyes as he rolled over her, sweat beading his forehead. He nudged her thighs apart and she let him, still floating on a cloud of fuzzy satisfaction. His fingers found hers and he brought them to the ties of his black breeches, demanding that she undo them. 

Kistle obliged, tugging and pulling at the strings with the energy left in her body, but the ties would not come loose. Frustrated, a frown drew her brows together. Upon seeing that, Rade leaned down and kissed her forehead, for he could not resist her achingly young, innocent charm. 

He helped her free himself and watched as her eyes widened in fascination at his length and girth. She had seen him this morning, but he was not aroused then. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 05



His mouth found hers again, stoking the fires that had been awakened in her when she'd seen him in his hardened state. A wantonness like none other filled her being and she scooted lower in his grasp, trying to impale herself upon his rigid length, but he chose to torment her. 

His lathered his cock in her juices, but did not enter her. Instead, he ran himself over the creamy softness of her inner thighs, watching as her muscles quivered with longing. Only when her desire for him had mounted to a delirium did he slip into her with a strong thrust. 

Gods, was she tight. Rade felt her stretch around him to accommodate him. He feared that he had hurt her but the play of emotion on her features had nothing to do with pain. 

"Wrap your legs around me, freina," he whispered and nearly whimpered when she did, seating himself even deeper within her smallness. His hands slipped under her arms and cupped her shoulders, making his taut stomach muscles slide sinfully against her. He eased out of her, a little at first, then slid into her, making her let out small gasps of incoherent words. 

"You want more, little one?" he queried when he was buried halfway in her, and saw her nod frantically, lips parted in pleasure. 

"Like this?" he asked as he slid into her a little more, his mouth moving to capture one dark nipple. 

"Yes, yes. Please, please, oh! I need more... I need...," her please drove him over the edge and he slammed into her, his hips pistoning into her slick heat. Her hands were clutching at his shoulders, holding onto him as he drove her to that brink of that pinnacle over and over again. 

She wanted him so badly, needed to feel him find his release inside her so badly that it became a sweet, glorious ache inside her. She watched with pleasure-glazed eyes as he thrust himself in and out of her quickly, fiercely, until with one violent thrust, he took them both on a pathway to rapture. 

His body shook, unbelievably so, as he emptied himself inside her small body. He could feel her trembling around him, her pussy muscles clenching his cock, milking him like none other. He groaned when he felt her move slightly beneath him, stirring his sensitive length to attention again. He looked up and was surprised to find that the sun was almost setting. A glance at Kistle's face told him that he would have to save some of his amorous pursuits for later, in the comfort of the tower. 

He leaned over and kissed her, promising her a night of loving, before withdrawing from her and tucking himself back into his breeches. Her chemise was a torn mess and he knew that they would never be able to salvage it. In the end, he shrugged out of his shirt and handed it to her. She reluctantly donned it, for the shirt bore the crest of the Marqs, and made her way towards the servant's stairwell, so as not to be spotted by any soldiers walking around the gardens. 

Rade watched her scurry off, and wondered at the fierce protectiveness that rose within him whenever he thought of her. It was something he had never felt before, but then again, he had never seen a woman as innocent as the little one before either. Perhaps it was her innocence that made him feel the need to protect. He shrugged, his shirtless chest rippling in the light of dusk – he did not really want to understand his attraction to her. He wanted her body, that was all.

Then, grinning to himself at the thought of the night to follow, he made his way into the manor.

*

Kistle entered the large dining hall with Ginny by her side. She was wearing her first dress, one Ginny had loaned her, and she felt wonderful. The way the concoction of lavender silk and white lace molded to her curves made her look and feel like a woman. She wondered briefly if Ginny would let her keep the beautiful dress.

"I've been waiting all day to do this," she heard a low growl and turned just in time to see Ginny being swept into Tyson's arms and kissed soundly. She blushed, knowing she shouldn't be staring, but she couldn't help herself – the love that passed between them was too sweet for one to ignore. 

When she was able to tear her eyes away from the romancing couple, she noticed that some soldiers were already seated on the tables that were strewn about the room. She knew, however, that there were also many more of them seated outside, near the grounds that they used for practice, already being served by the maids. She did not see Rade anywhere, and thus, naturally assumed that she should be helping with the serving of supper.

She emerged a little while later with a huge basin of tossed beef. It smelled heavenly to her starved stomach, for she had only eaten a pilfered sandwich from the kitchen for dinner. But she resisted the temptation to take a bite out of the scrumptious meal and hobbled to one of the nearest tables, the heavy basin weighing her down. 

"Would you like some tossed beef, sirs?" she asked the soldiers gathered around the wooden table. They looked up at her, somewhat in awe, before nodding mutely. Smiling, she spooned generous portions of the beef into each of their steel plates before hefting the burden yet again. A quiet voice reached her ears:

"You should try placing the basin on your hip, milady." Kistle looked up to find a brown-haired young man looking up at her from his seat. He looked very young, perhaps even younger than she was and her heart ached at the thought of such innocent boys heading off to fight such violent wars. She shook her head sadly and placed the basin on her hip as he'd told her to do. When she did, she looked up and smiled. Truly, it did seem much lighter like this. 

Kistle made her rounds carefully, so as to not soil the beautiful dress, then went back into the kitchen to find something else to occupy her time. She was handed a large pitcher of ale by a scary-looking woman who ordered her to bring it to the main table. Kistle nodded briskly, then scuttled out of the room.

Kistle found Rade seated at the main table, a long, wooden monstrosity that seated almost fifty people. Ginny and Tyson were seated by his side as well, and she wondered with much alarm if she should have been seated with them. There wasn't anything she could do now, she thought as she filled the glasses of the men seated around Rade. The mistake had already been made.

It was only when she stepped up beside him to fill his glass that Rade realized what she had been doing all this while.

"Kistle, put the pitcher down." She put it down.

"Have you been serving my men?" She nodded. 

Rade caught the frightened look on her face and was hard pressed not to laugh. She had no idea how much she'd pleased him by volunteering to serve his army. She might not know it, but she had inadvertently accepted the fact that the Marqs were the rulers of her country now. She had accepted it when she passed out food to the men who had conquered her homeland in the first place. He was thoroughly pleased with her. 

But he saw the colored dress that she was wearing and frowned.

"Why are you wearing that dress?"

"I had nothing else to wear, Sir Rade." He'd begun to realize that she would take to call him 'sir' only when she was nervous. 

"Very well. But next time, you will wear my colors."

"I will not." The denial was whispered, almost undecipherable, but he heard it.

"And why not?"

"I explained the reason to you this morning, Sir." Rade frowned at that, only vaguely recalling their discussion. He only recalled the sight of her standing naked in front of his cupboard. 

"Your reasoning does not matter. I will see you dressed in Marq colors." His word was final. 

"No." She said it loudly this time, drawing stares from the men seated around him. Rade scowled at her, showing her his displeasure. But she just remained standing there, her chin lifted impudently, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. He did not want to start at argument with her, not now, when almost all of his top-ranking men were watching them. He would save their argument for the tower. 

"Very well. Take a seat now. You should be served, not be the servant. You are a Marq love slave, my sweet; it is an honor given to only the most beautiful of women."

To that, Kistle said nothing, although she was a riot of emotions inside. She didn't like the way he was speaking to her, as though she were nothing but a – what was that word? – a wench. Granted, she was not nobility, but she deserved an iota of respect at least, didn't she?

She seethed throughout supper, sneaking looks at Ginny and her beloved when she knew they were not looking. Internally, she was a little jealous that her friend had found such love when she hadn't. She stole a glance at Rade and laughed at herself for even thinking for a second that she could love such a man. Nay, he was too bossy and demanding; they would never work together. 

She reached for her glass of ale and took a sip. The spiced liquid hit her belly like a fistful of fire and she blanched. But after a while, she got used to the taste. And four glassfuls later, she realized that she was drunk.

*

It was a funny feeling really, not entirely unpleasant. Her belly tingled and her head whirled pleasantly. Almost everything around her seemed funny, but she pressed her lips together so as not to laugh, for no one else seemed to be laughing. 

She stared at the meal on her plate – poached eggs and quail meat – and thought ridiculously that they looked like a face with wobbly, yellow eyes and meaty lips. The thought brought a smile to her face and she poked at the gooey yolks, wishing it would be some bossy man's eyes that she was poking instead. 

By the time she finished her meal, most of the men had already left the hall and Ginny and Tyson had already retired to their chamber. Rade, however, was still discussing matters of grave importance with a bald man across the room. She sat alone at the table, nursing a glass of ale between her hands, wondering if she should have retired to the tower as well. She didn't know what was expected of her. 

Rade held discussions with several more men before he turned around to her and she saw how his eyebrows rose in surprise. He probably had not expected to see her here, waiting meekly for his escort back to the tower. And she would not have considered waiting for him for so long if she hadn't tried to stand up once and fallen back into her chair immediately. Her limbs felt like water. 

"It's good that you waited for me, Kistle," he said once he reached her side. For some reason, she found that statement exceptionally amusing, and a giggle escaped from her lips. Rade stared at her, befuddled, as she dissolved in a fit of female laughter. 

"What is so amusing?" he asked her, only to be rewarded by another dose of giggles. He noticed that her cheeks were flushed with read heat, and that the pitcher of ale stood empty in front of her. Comprehension slowly dawned. She was drunk.

A small smile curled his lips as he helped her up from the chair. She stumbled against him, then caught her balance by holding onto his shirt tightly. Her fit of laughter had resided but a stray hiccup or two would find its way past her lips from time to time. 

He guided her up the first few steps, and when she tripped on the third one, he swept her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way. By the time he laid her onto the soft mattress, she was asleep. 

Rade sighed, thinking of all the mischief that he'd been planning to make with her that night. He had greatly looked forward to it, but as he watched her sleep, a small fist curled against a plump, tanned cheek, he could not find the heart to wake her. He would just have to wait till the morrow.

He strode to the only window in the tower, divesting himself of his shirt as he went, his thoughts caught up in the worry that had been nagging him since morn. 

This war with the Kieranians was his prime worry. It was not as though he had a doubt that the Marqs would win the war, but it was more of the worry that he would lose more men in his army. The body count in Lismus had been more than he had expected and most of the men who were dead were under the age of twenty. It had been a saddening fact, and when he was told the news, he had vowed to himself that he would never let that number of people leave the army for the village of the dead. And now, he would have to cement his tactics to be strong enough to see through his vow.

A sudden noise had him turning from the window. He saw a white figure, translucent in the meager night light, materializing in front of him. He leaned against the edge of the window, waiting for Scar to finish her shift. 

"You're back early. I was expecting to hear from you sometime tomorrow," he said once Scar stood before him, dressed all in black except for the sapphire keystone that hung from her neck. She looked rather flustered, which triggered an answering flutter in the base of his stomach. 

"That's only because there was not much to see near the royal castle. But," she paused, reaching into her pocket. "I found this." She handed him a slip of paper.

It was a recruitment advertisement – a recruitment advertisement for the Kieranian army. Rade sighed, realizing that the advertisement was a proof to his vision. Somehow, he had clung to the hope that his vision would be false for once. 

"Have they been recruited?" he asked.

"Nay, as of yet. The notice went out today. I suppose that gives us close to a month to get our men ready."

"A month, perhaps more. It takes a lot of time to train mere peasants to fight a war," Rade said bitterly. Scar strode over to him and cuffed him on the shoulder. 

"I will be returning to the castle again next week to see if there's a miraculous improvement in the state of their army. Until then, you would not be forgetting that promise you made, now, would you?" she asked.

Rade shook his head. "You better head home now, Scar. I'm almost sure that you'd be missed."

Scar laughed. "As I'm sure you're not." She angled her head toward the bed where Kistle was sleeping soundly, still wearing the purple dress. When Rade narrowed his eyes at her, she thought that perhaps it was, indeed, her time to head home. She cuffed him on the shoulder once again and shifted off. 

Rade stood at the window, alone again with his miserable thoughts. He wished he could end the war without a battle, but the Kieranian king would not give his lands up without bloodshed, he knew. Of course, the Marqs could withdraw from the battle, but that was not a possibility, for it was the King's order that Kierania be conquered. Rade could not contest that order. With a sigh, he turned away from the window and made for the door. Perhaps he could use a glass of ale himself.

*

Rade was surprised to find Tyson, shirtless and moody, taking a swig out of a wine pitcher in the dining hall when he entered it. It wasn't usual for Tyson to be drinking, especially so when Rade had only seen him lift alcohol to his lips a handful of times. Intrigued, he slid into a seat beside his friend.

"What ails you, brother?" he asked when Ty flicked him a cursory glance. Rade noted that his friend's eyes held a reddish tinge, almost as though he'd been crying. But as soon as that thought popped into his head, Rade dismissed it. He had never seen Tyson cry before, even when he received news that his mother had passed on. 

"Nothing, Rade... just a fall out with Ginny."

"Oh? What about?" Rade asked as he helped himself to another pitcher of wine that lay at his friend's feet. 

"I asked her, well, I asked her to marry me."

Rade choked on the bittersweet liquid that ran down his throat, then took almost a minute to regain his equilibrium. 

He could not believe Ty would want to get married! Not with the kind of life he led. He would be giving Ginny nothing but worries whenever he left home for war. But, wait, Rade thought. Ty had a fall out with Ginny because he'd asked her to marry him?

"And she was ecstatic?" Rade guessed.

Tyson laughed without humor. "Nay, not really. She hit me."

"She hit you?" Rade was appalled and amused at the same time. The image of a sprite like Ginny hitting a boar of a man like Tyson made such a ridiculous picture. "Why?"

"Because...," Ty took another gulp of wine. 

"Because?" Rade prodded.

"Because she's my sister."

*

Thanks for reading chapter five of A Marq's Woman. I apologize for taking a while to get this out, but I found that there were semi-major plot flaws in the original version of it.

I do hope, however, that you enjoyed this one; please leave a vote and a comment if you did! Thank you so much for your support.

Lillian.



A Marq's Woman Ch. 06



Note from the author: I had a couple of E-Mails asking about Kistle's attire in the previous chapter. When she fell into the lake, she was wearing her chemise. A chemise in those days, was almost nothing like the ones that we see today. It used to be a thick, white garment that reached the ankles of a woman, and was worn below the dress and above the drawers/pantaloons etc. 

I do hope that this clears up any remaining doubt, though I can't imagine anyone thinking of Kistle running around in a chemise that Paris Hilton wears as a dress :P

Lillian.

A Marq's Woman

Chapter Six

Lillian K. Rockmore

"Because she's my sister."

"She's your what?" Rade spat, incredulous. He watched as Tyson shot him a sheepish glance, then returned his gaze to the table. "How could you…?"

"Yes. I know what I've been doing. You don't have to look at me like that," Ty said and took another long gulp of the searing liquid. He looked his dearest friend in the eye. "But I love her, Rade."

"Yes, I do love my sister as well. But not…like that. Gods, brother, what could you have been thinking?" Rade leaned back in his chair, still struggling to accept the bit of information Tyson had told him. It seemed impossible that the two were related, much less siblings. The resemblance was minimal!

"I was thinking about the way she smiles, the way she laughs, the way she… nevermind. Would you believe it if I tell you that only the thought of her kept me alive when I was wounded during the war on Lismus?"

Rade remembered the time when Tyson had limped back to camp after a fierce battle, bereft of his armor and splatters of blood staining his torso. Rade had thought the blood hadn't been Ty's at first, but soon realized that his friend had been hurt badly. Fatigue had caused Ty to collapse into a fever for two days. Rade had been afraid that he'd lose his first-in-command and best friend.

But now, hearing Ty confess that the only thing that had given him the courage to stay alive was the love for his sister, made a feeling close to tenderness rise inside him. He never thought a hard man like Tyson would ever fall in love – thought that his hardness would make him incapable of doing so – but he'd been proved wrong. 

"I can't stand it, Rade. I can't stand knowing that even now, my child can be growing in her womb. I can't stand knowing that people would call her my whore instead of my wife. It's not like that between us, Rade. I swear, 'tisn't."

The impassioned cry struck a cord in Rade's heart. He didn't want to see his friend unhappy. And besides, if Ty wasn't in the right frame of mind, he wouldn't be able to train the men well. 

"Can I do anything to help, then?" Rade offered.

Ty laughed without humor. "Put a spell on Ginny to make her change her mind? Not bloody likely."

Rade's face remained stoic. "I could do that, you know."

Tyson turned to stare at Rade, his eyes mirroring disbelief. "Haven't you been listening, Rade? I love that woman. I could never do that to her!"

Rade shrugged and settled back in his seat, stretching his long legs out before him.

"Maybe she's afraid that your parents will not allow the communion."

"Her mother, you mean? We are not related by blood, Rade. Merely marriage. As to your question, mayhap she is afraid of her mother. The woman was a witch even when I was a wee boy."

"Then I suggest that you ask her mother for her hand. If the woman is willing, Ginny can't say no."

"Yes, she can," Ty said dejectedly. "She loves me, but doesn't want to marry me. Gods, what have I done to deserve this?"

"Have you told her that you love her?"

The question made Ty sit up from his slouched position. Surely, he had told her that he did…hadn't he?

"I – I think so," he said finally. Rade raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"How did you propose marriage to her, Ty?"

Tyson looked uneasy. "I just said that considering how we've been together for these few days, we should get married. I also added that she could be with child now and…" He was stopped by Rade's hand.

"Did you tell her you love her?"

"Well, no. But I assumed…"

"You can't assume with women, Ty," Rade sighed. "They need to be told these things. My sister Venus didn't agree to her marriage until Riccarde confessed his love for her. The love that they shared was apparent to everyone, but Venus just had to be told. I suppose that it's the same for all women."

Tyson nodded, savoring the tip that Rade had given him. Then, as quickly as he'd downed the wine, he rose and started for the stairs. 

"Thank you, brother," he said, laying a hand on Rade's shoulder. Rade nodded, placing one of his large palms atop his friend's. They shared a moment of understanding before Tyson turned and left, his bootless feet making no sound on the tiles. Rade sighed and sipped his wine, his thoughts shifting to the sprite that he'd left alone in the tower. 

She was a keeper. 

He smiled at that thought, his body relaxing as he let the wine wield its magic. For all her innocent giggles and guileless looks, she was a fiery thing in bed and he liked that about her. She had spirit, as he'd deduced when he'd spied on her making mischief in the gardens with Ginny. She was beautiful as well, with golden locks that looked like they'd captured sunlight, and those violet eyes that could tip him into release. 

Yes, she was a woman worth keeping. 

He'd had love slaves before – women he'd kept and plundered, then let loose. The longest that he'd ever held an interest in any woman, was two months. After that, whoever it was, was a woman who was free to do as she pleased. 

But there was something about Kistle that made him want to keep her permanently. He did not wish to marry her – the very thought caused him to shudder – but he could make her his own... mistress. 

Yes, Rade nodded as the thought took root. She would do very well as his mistress. In fact, the idea of Kistle as his mistress was almost perfect. Her body was one that was made for loving. 

He knew Kistle would have no one to turn to if he let her go; she would be penniless with no means to survive. Thus, he was almost certain that she would be ecstatic if he made her his mistress. Yes, she would be most ecstatic. And he would ask her on the morrow. 

*

Those eyes were staring at her, and almost immediately, she felt a sense of calm spread through her body. 

She had had this dream since childhood, where she would be gazing into obsidian black orbs that could only be someone's eyes. And whenever she saw those eyes, all worries would flee her mind, leaving her at peace. 

She sighed as the corner of those eyes crinkled, as though the person looking at her was smiling. An undeniable urge to giggle was rising in her throat, but almost as quickly as the indentations of a smile appeared, they receded, and now, the eyes mirrored only a bleak sense of loss. 

Unknowingly, Kistle cried out in her sleep, her fingers reaching out to desperately clasp the hands of the person who was turning away from her, but to no avail. She thrashed on the big bed, only to come awake when gentle, but firm hands held her down. 

"Another nightmare?" a husky voice asked. 

"Well, no, not really," Kistle whispered after a moment's thought. She could only vaguely make out Rade's form in the darkness, for his skin was almost as dark as the night that surrounded them. 

"Would you like to talk of it?" Rade asked, his fingers drawing gentle circles where they lay on Kistle's shoulder. It's such a feminine shoulder, Rade thought to himself, feeling a streamer of desire shoot through him when he remember how such a feminine creature could turn as wild as a hellcat when rubbed the right way. He smiled devilishly into the night, knowing that she wouldn't be able to see him do so.

"Why're you smiling?" Kistle murmured, watching the whiteness of his teeth flash bright against his skin. 

"How did you know I was smiling?" 

"I could see your teeth. It's rather white against your skin," she said truthfully.

"Brat," Rade said with a laugh and leaned down to nip at what he thought was her ear. 

"Ow!"

"What?"

"My lip. You bit it!"

"Oh. I'm sorry, little one," he said, amused. "Here, let's make it better."

Kistle made a muffled sound as she felt Rade's lips slide over hers, soothing the painful nip that he'd taken out of them. She started with surprise when she felt his tongue lave her lips, coating them with an essence that she felt rather comfortable with. His hands on her shoulders were massaging them now, kneading the soft, tanned flesh tenderly. She felt her lightning bolts of pleasure sizzle in her belly when his mouth traced the silky curve of her neck and throat to find the swell of her pert breasts. 

Rade was pleased when he noted that her nipples were already puckered and pouting for his attention. And even in the moonlight, they seemed to look as inviting as sin. 

"You have the most beautiful breasts," he breathed against the quivering mounds. 

"Really? A few girls at the Chapel called me 'flat' once. As a Sister, I shouldn't have been hurt by the comment, but I was…"

Rade laughed, sending his heated breath traipsing across her sensitive flesh. 

"Nay, little one. You are not small. You are perfect."

Kistle felt a blush creep up her neck at his appraisal, and her fingers went instinctively to the curls of his hair when his mouth enveloped a straining nipple into its burning heat. The breath caught in her throat, making her elicit a mangled sound of longing. Rade's frame shuddered lightly at the sound. 

"I don't understand this," she choked out when almost all her senses had been extinguished. 

"What do you not understand, little love?" Rade asked as he reversed their positions swiftly so that she was straddling his waist. 

"This. This reaction of mine when you touch me. I don't understand this at all!"

'Neither do I' was the first response that came to Rade's mind, for he didn't think he'd ever reacted to a woman's body so potently before. The tryst in the garden proved that he could not keep his hands off her even when there was a chance that someone might see their coupling. He would take the chance of looking weak-willed in front of his men, just to sheath himself in her soft body. It was madness, that's what it was. And the worst thing was that he did not want it to end. 

"Well, Kistle," he said, his fingers reaching up to cup her generous caramel cheeks. "Some things do not need explanations. This," his fingers slid over her puckered nub, "is one of them."

"Oh, Goddess," she whimpered when he pulled her down roughly and passionately engulfed a waiting nipple. There were no clothes to hinder the caress of his fingers as they stole beneath the coverlet and skimmed across her wet lips. She jerked in reflex and arched her back violently when his thumb found the slick bundle of nerves at her core. He used her own juices to lubricate his thumb, and massaged her sensitive spot until she had no option but to close her eyes and accept the ecstasy that coursed through her small frame. 

His fingers were relentless as they plundered her soft flesh, sliding into her rippling heat, then pulling out when she would've come apart around him. She endured the torture for as long as she could, driving him on with pants and half-screams as she rode his fingers. But it wasn't enough. Dear Goddess, it wasn't enough. 

"Please…" she begged, her fingers gripping his hand in order to force him to stay within her, to give her some sort of release. But the strength of her grip was easily overpowered by him as he slid his fingers out of her. She could feel his rigid flesh curling against her bottom and wondered why he wouldn't just take her. She knew it would be heaven for both of them.

"Take me, please," she begged, on the precipice of pleasure. She needed him, she wanted him. Goddess help her. 

"I'm here, little one, for you to take," Rade whispered, the tightening of his loins nearly painful enough to make him lose control. 

"What do you mean?" she cried, her hips moving over his pelvic bone, her pussy rubbing against his smooth flesh. 

"Stop that, wench," he commanded, holding her hips down with his hands. She whimpered, protesting against his hold. She knew release was near. 

Thank God, Rade thought as he held her hips. Another movement of her curved flesh would have had him disgracing himself. 

His hands pushed her back until she was straddling his rigid length. He felt her gasp as her moistness found his heated flesh. 

"Now, it's your turn, Kistle. I'm here. Take me."

Kistle's eyes locked onto his, and a shiver ran over her skin at the intensity that she saw in them. 

"Take me, Kistle. Take me, please."

The groan was torn from the longing in his soul. 

Kistle felt the power of a female fill her as she stared down at Rade, watching him begging her to take him into her sheath. It was a beautiful kind of power that made her ache to love him until he spurted inside her. 

Her fingers dug into his hips as she raised herself to an appropriate height and grasped his thickness in her fingers. He felt so good; she could feel his life's blood pulsing beneath the surface. Slowly, as though afraid to err, she guided him to her awaiting lips. 

She felt a shudder run through Rade as she descended upon his shaft, gradually taking every inch of him into her. A feeling of fullness spread through her body when she was seated on him wholly, her hips grinding with his. She moved as instinct taught her to move, sliding gently to the front and back until his hands guided her up his shaft, then down again. 

His eyes were tightly shut, fists curled, muscles tensed for the colossal relief that only one person could give him. And when he felt his sacs tighten in forewarning, he groaned only one name. 

Kistle.

*

Scar shifted home, in anticipation of finding her lover naked and in bed, awaiting her arrival. She smiled as she moved through the grey planes, then finally re-materialized at the home that the two women shared on Farrow's hill.

"Re – ouch!" she started when something sharp cut into her foot. Scar looked down to find a spray of thick glass on the floor of their foyer. Instant alarm ripped through her lanky frame. 

"Remy?" Gods, the windows were broken. The door was hanging on its hinges as well. Where the fuck was Remy?

"Remy, honey, where are you?" 

Scar frantically began to go through the rooms, one by one, calling out for her lover as she entered each room. But no one answered her desperate calls. 

'Remy, oh Gods, Remy!' her mind was screaming. She raked a hand through her dark hair, panic already rising like bile in her throat. Where could she be?

"Remy, please, don't play with me. Where are you?"

There was no answer, except for the howl of the chilly wind that whipped through the glass-less windows. 

And then she heard it, a muffled thump in the bedroom. Scar ran as fast as her legs could carry her back to the room that they shared, to find Remy in a pale heap on the floor in front of the cupboard. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing shallowly. 

"Remy! Love, what happened?" Scar lifted the small woman into her arms and watched as those beautiful hazel eyes were revealed by fluttering eyelids. 

"Scar? Is that you?" Remy raised her hand, and all six of her fingers caressed Scar's face. Scar felt a tear glisten at the corner of her eyes.

"Remy, what happened? Oh Gods, I should never have left you alone. Are you hurt?" she asked, her fingers moving over bone and flesh to check for wounds. 

"No, no, I'm not. And 'twas the Nire boys. They knew you were gone and they started throwing stones at the windows. I didn't know what to do so I hid in the closet."

Remy was taking deep breaths of air, as though she hadn't been breathing right in a long while. Scar ran a hand through her lover's flaxen hair, cursing herself to be all kinds of a fool to leave a woman without protection alone in a house. She should've known that the superstitious villagers would come for her. 

"How long have you been in there?" Scar asked once she'd carried Remy to the bed and tucked her into the pink sheets that she adored. She was reluctant to release the small woman's precious weight. 

"I'm not sure. They started throwing the stones about two hours after you'd left."

That would make it half a day, Scar realized. Those bastards were going to pay. 

"Have you eaten anything? You must be tired. I'll just boil some water -," Remy started, only to be cut off by Scar's soft kiss. 

"What did I do to deserve you, hmm?" Scar said when she pulled back. Her lover had been starved of air for the whole day, and probably hadn't eaten as well, but the only thing she worried about was Scar. Remy was much too good for her. 

"Rest, love. I'll make us something to eat. Don't get up, all right? Just rest. I'll be right back."

"No, it's fine. I'm fine, really." 

Remy struggled to get out of bed, but Scar simply pushed her gently back onto the mattress and growled 'stay' before bounding out of the room. 

*

Tyson had his arms around Ginny's waist, his chin resting on the top of her head. He could feel the beat of her heart under his palm, the smell of Lavender in her hair but most importantly, he could spy the jiggle of her breasts whenever Diane took a swift turn. Her small hands were on the pommel, her grip relaxed as though she wasn't afraid of falling from the vast height. And the Gods knew that she had no reason to be afraid when she was with him. 

They spotted their family's cloud from a distance, and Ginny sat up on the airhorse, remembering all the other times when Ty would take her out on a ride to the town and buy her the ribbons that she had coveted once, long ago. She had had to give them up when she entered the Chapel and till today, she felt that those ribbons were the ones that she missed the most, apart from Tyson himself. Her fingers tightened on the arm that lay possessively across her waist when she remembered all those years that she'd been apart from him. It was painful to think of it now. She did not know how she had survived without him by her side. 

Ginny smiled when she remembered his confession last night. 'I love you, shaz'ra' he'd said. She had cried and smiled all at the same time – out of happiness and love. 

She would've been happy with his heart, but he went on, asking her to marry him on his knees. Her joy knew no bounds. 

"I hope your mother is available," Tyson said into her ear, guiding the airhorse into a smooth descent. In truth, she was very worried about meeting Lady Rayna. He had always thought her a little too prudish, and couldn't understand what his father had seen in the woman to begin with. 

"Yes, I hope so, too," Ginny said, turning her face up to place a kiss on his chin. 

Her cheeks glow beautifully, Tyson thought. The knowledge that her love has been returned has put that glow there. 

"Why don't you seek her out first while I tether Diane?" Tyson offered, noticing Ginny's eagerness to see her mother. 

"Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you." 

She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek before scurrying off in a swirling of skirts. Tyson gazed after the sprite, and only when Diane sidestepped did he realize that he had been daydreaming again. 

"Get out, you whore!"

Tyson turned to the direction of the shout, just a moment before Ginny was pushed out of the home that they'd grown up in. He was at her side in an instant, helping her stand and brushing the dust out of her skirts. A rage was building within him, and he feared that if he turned to face his step-mother, he would kill the bitch with his sword. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 06



Ginny turned to face Ty, and saw the uncontrolled anger in his eyes. She knew that he could see the imprint of her mother's hand on her cheek, and that had increased his anger. She laid a hand on his arm and stroked it soothingly. 

"I knew you'd be a bastard. Just like your father. Led around by your dicks -."

"Watch your mouth, madam," Ty turned frosty eyes towards the bitch in red, his voice cold enough to freeze an average man in midstep. "I will forgive you this transaction because you are my father's second wife, but mark my words, I am sorely tempted to wring your neck. If you ever dare lay hands on my wife again -."

"Wife? What wife? Everyone in the towns is talking. She's nothing but your whore. I noticed the way you looked at her when she was younger, and I knew, I just knew this would happen. I sent her to the Chapel so that it would not, but it was inevitable. She's a whore. Nothing but a harlot, a tart, a whore!"

The fist came from nowhere. 

"Mother!" 

Tyson only vaguely heard Ginny's aggrieved cry. The blood was pulsing heavily through his veins and the anger in him was so potent that he felt that he could tear the bitch from limb to limb with his bare hands. Ginny was crouched over her mother now, wiping at the blood that was oozing from the corner of her lips. Tyson felt utterly disgusted by the woman's mouth and the things it said. He could not believe that she was bound by blood to his sweet-tempered Ginny. Ginny was nothing like her mother.  

"Ginny. Come here," Ty ordered and slipped his hands around her shoulders when she did. He looked down at the old woman balefully. 

"We had intended to invite you to our wedding, but I see now that you will not be attending. Good day, madam."

*

"You should not have hit her."

Tyson turned startled eyes to his lover, unsure if he'd heard correctly. Ginny repeated her statement.

"And whyever not? The woman called you – she called you a…" Tyson stumbled over his words, unable to let the blasphemous word slip out of his lips where Ginny was concerned. He shifted his grip on her waist, bringing her soft bottom up to the cradle of his thighs.

"It isn't new to me, Tyson. She started calling me that when I was twelve. The day you rode off: do you remember the kiss that you gave me?" Tyson nodded. "She saw that. And she's been calling me a whore ever since. 'Tis nothing new to me."

"But it doesn't make it right. You're not a loose woman. You never were. I certainly know that. She has no reason to call you that. No reason at all. Though I doubt she'll call you that anymore."

Ginny sighed. She knew that Tyson had struck her mother out of anger, an anger that should have been hers. For years, she had despised her mother for calling her that filthy word – not only in her chamber, but in front of servants as well. It had cut her heart to the quick, to know that her mother had such a hateful soul. And she should rot in hell for feeling the quick stab of gleeful revenge when her mother had fallen to the floor. 

"'Tis over and done with, shaz'ra. Do not think about it. Our wedding will be held at the manor's chapel this Saturday. You're a bride – you're supposed to smile, not frown." He leaned down to nuzzle her neck, and she giggled and shied away.  

"Your beard tickles," she said, her fingers moving to caress the silky roughness of it. 

"You'll have to shave it for me, then. Tonight. While I take a bath." 

Her mischievous smile was taken captive by his hungry mouth. 

*

Kistle sat under the Erb tree, a small mountain of books by her side. In her hands was a thick tome of the adventures of Dariel Mehand, a famous explorer of the galaxy. He had been to every planet, including Kierania, and had recounted each and every one in detail in his biography. 

1729, Rasphere

It is beautiful here. The trees grow, untouched by any creature's hand, as tall as the heaven's above. The lakes not only overflow with the sweetest of waters, but with a new breed of red fish which I have aptly named 'Redtail'. 

What people that do live here, live high on the mountain tops where there is rain and sunlight aplenty for their farming needs. Every once in a while, a rainbow could be seen creasing the blue, cloudless sky in the distance, over the small, brown huts that are visible to the naked eye. 

It is truly a wonder -

"Excuse me, milady," a voice cut into Kistle's intense concentration. She had almost seen Rasphere in front of her eyes! And what a beautiful place it was, Kistle mused, looking up to find a bearded man poised above her. 

"Yes, sir?"

"I apologize for the inconvenience, milady, but the men need to use this area for their training. Would you mind stepping inside the manor? For I assume that the soft cushions are much for fitting for such a gentle young woman, as opposed to a wooden garden bench." He smiled down at her, revealing even, white teeth. Kistle was almost immediately charmed. 

"Of course, sir. I'll be but a moment," she said and gathered the books that were scattered in a pile. 

"Allow me, milady," the man offered, and scooped the thick, heavy books into his hands as though they weighed naught but a feather. Kistle followed beside the tall man, hugging the adventures of Mehand to her chest. 

"My name is Kistle," she said after a moment of silence, expecting him to introduce himself in return. 

"I know that, milady."

She found it peculiar that he hadn't introduced himself. 

"And what is your name, sir?" she asked.

"I am not permitted to tell you that, milady."

"And why not?" 

Quinn winced when he saw the disappointment in the lady's eyes. How was he supposed to tell her that soldiers were not allowed to even converse with the love slaves of royalty?

"I am not permitted to tell you that, either," he said. 

"Oh."

Her pretty violet eyes looked like flowers that were wilting. Quinn felt the slashes of pain tear at his heart almost immediately. She did not utter a single word until they reached the great hall, where he set the pile of books down on the great dining table. How one woman could read so much was beyond his comprehension, but he did admire Lady Kistle for trying. 

"Well, thank you, sir," she whispered, her face averted. 

Quinn sighed, knowing that one day he would pay for what he was about to do. 

"My name is Quinn, milady. Quinn Teel. I head the third section of the Marq Army."

Quinn thought that the smile she bequeathed him was well worth the consequence if Sir Rade found out that Quinn had been talking to his love slave.

Little did he know that Rade had been watching the couple dallying flirtatiously from the courtyard.



A Marq's Woman Ch. 07



The story has taken a darker turn, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. 

Chapter eight is in the works. 

*This one's for Laxmy, the woman who waits eagerly for my work. Thank you for your support 

*

Kistle hurried up the stairs to the tower, feeling trepidation flutter in her belly. She had received a summons from him, ordering her to ascend the tower as quickly as possible. The urgency and importance of the bold scrawl had a million thoughts rioting through her mind. 

Was something wrong? Had Ginny been hurt? Had the war begun? Had...

She quickly unlatched the door and scurried inside, skirts ruffling against the cold floors. A gasp tore from her throat when hands encased her shoulders, pulling her roughly to the belly of the shadowed room. She tensed, as any woman would, then let out a huff when she realized who it was. 

"Rade, you don't have to manhandle me so," she snapped, pulling at the hands that were now sliding across her neck. Kistle stilled when she felt a warm hand tighten around her the slender column, severing her source of air. She waited for him to release her, but he didn't. And when everything around her began to float about like little golden angels, she realized that he wasn't going release her. This wasn't a game that would end in lovemaking. It definitely wasn't. 

She bucked as fast and as hard as she could, uttering a keening cry as she did. He didn't let go, his hold didn't slacken. Her arms began to flail around, and she brought the heel of her foot up and struck him on his shin. 

He let her go with a vile curse, one hand still buried in the silk of her sleeves. Kistle tore herself away, not caring when her beloved dress was ripped at the sleeve. As quickly as she could, she pried the door open and fled down the stairs. 

She ran past the large dining hall, past the stables and across the gardens. Once, she had looked back to see if he was following her, and had been shocked to see that he was, though he had a terrible limp. Her eyes had moved from his knee to his face, and the fierce look on it had her scampering even faster. 

And then, the futility of the situation hit her. She could go no where that he wouldn't find her. She could only run to the end of the cloud, and no where else. Kistle looked around frantically for a weapon, and found the stack of attack lances beside the soldiers that were training. 

She looked back again. He was nearing her. She made a lunge for the nearest lance, a sharp, black spear that was too thick for her hand. Another hand closed around it and she held it in the air, pointing the sharp tip at him. It was a challenge and both parties knew it. 

"You will stop there!" she yelled, panting from fear and exhaustion. Her order seemed to amuse him, for she saw a flash of his teeth as he came closer. 

He was barely five yards away from her now.

"I will put this through you! Stay back!" she warned, shifting her grip on the weapon. There must have been something in her eyes, for he paused in mid-limp. Kistle grimly noted that there was blood staining his knee. 

"Put the weapon down, Kistle." His command was clear and low. She didn't move a muscle.

"No! No, I will not put it down! You tried to kill me! I will not put this down!" Her words were even, with only a slight tremor giving away her state of anxiety, anger and... hurt?

"After what you did, you're lucky that I didn't slit your throat or throw you to my men!"

"After what I did? You make no sense!" Kistle lowered the weapon for a moment, relaxing her hand, then lifted it into the air again. 

"Oh, don't pretend to be the innocent, Kistle. I saw you dallying with Quinn with my own two eyes!"

"Ha! Maybe you need a third one, then, for the two you have seem to be misleading you! I consider Sir Quinn a friend, the only one I have around here aside from Ginny. We were merely talking, Rade. Talking!"

"Talking? Really? I don't think so, Kistle. Not by the way you were leaning towards him and laughing at his jests!"

Kistle threw the lance, rage spurting through her as hot and as potent as the desire that she had felt just the morning before. She smiled with satisfaction when he dodged the lance by a slim margin. She was diving for another lance when she was pulled away by brawny arms and held captive. Kistle kicked and screamed, but nothing worked as her captor held her effortlessly still. 

If Kistle had glanced up, she would have seen Tyson's stoic face trying hard to suppress a smile. Damn, but the men were having great fun watching their Leader being battered and bruised by the slip of a girl. 

Kistle watched unblinkingly as Rade strode towards her, fists clenched and breathing heavily. She refused to show the slightest hint of fear. 

He stood over her, staring into her eyes, and she felt the rage, the hurt and the mistrust that emanated from him. Well, she thought. His mistrust was sorely misplaced. 

"I did not dally with Sir Quinn." Her voice was flinty. 

"I'm not sure if I believe you." His voice was equally flinty. 

"Why should I care if you believe me or not?"

Another challenge. She didn't know where her courage came from, but the courage made her feel good. It made her feel more alive as a person... she felt as though she was discovering more of the woman that Mother Agnetta had buried so long ago. 

"Why?" Rade's eyebrows rose. "You should care because I own you."

"How dare you? You do not own me! The fact that I share your bed does not make me yours!"

"Does it not? Who do you belong to, then? It is not as though you have a mother, father or siblings. You have no one, Kistle. No one, but me. You don't have a choice but to accept that. I own you."

Kistle tried hard not to let his comment affect her deeply. But it had, and she felt tears prickling the back of her eyelids. He had just stated the truth of her situation. She did, indeed, have no one else. And it broke her heart that he could use that to her disadvantage. 

"I will not accept it," Kistle whispered, but she knew it was useless. The discussion had already been subjected to closure. 

"Let go of her, Ty," Rade commanded, gripping Kistle by the arm. He noticed her flinch, but didn't ease his hold. His knee was killing him and needed attention, but first, he had to bring Kistle back to the tower and lock her in it before she got herself into more trouble. 

He had taken only a step toward the manor when a young boy ran over to him, a missive clutched in his hand. The boy stopped about five feet away and bowed to him before coming closer and handing Rade the square piece of parchment. 

"It arrived for you an hour ago, sir. From a Lady Venus. The missive was delivered to the town's mail centre, sir. My Papa sent me to give this to you." The little boy bowed again. 

"It's a long ride from town," Kistle croaked through bloodless lips, still light-headed by Rade's words. "Would you like a glass of goat's milk, young man?"

"No, lady. Thank you," the boy declined, even though Kistle could see the longing in his eyes. She had heard about some of the towns before, and their state of poverty. She had never seen the towns before, but the new Sisters who had enrolled themselves would tell of the dire state that the townspeople were in. Kistle hadn't had to worry about poverty, for the Chapel had been generously funded. 

"Niall!" Rade called out to one of the young soldiers. "Get the boy something to eat."

Rade tucked the missive into his pocket after scanning it bleakly. He took hold of Kistle's arm and dragged her with him to the tower. At the base of the stairs, he told her to ascend the tower and remain there until he returned. The order in itself was a warning that should she disobey him, she would not like the consequences. 

When Rade heard the satisfying click of the tower's door, he hobbled into the library and placed the glowing Messball on the reader. As Venus had stated in the letter, there had been a message from the King that awaited him. 

"Sir Rade,

Your father has taken ill. The Royal physician fears that the illness is fatal. You have been given ten days of absence to visit your father. I suggest that you make the appropriate arrangements before you leave. 

King Dominique the Hundredth."

Rade closed his eyes for a moment, feeling grief wash over him. His father, the man who had taught him about being a warrior, was dying. And it pained Rade that he wasn't by his father's side. 

He re-opened his eyes a moment later, in control of himself. He would not let grief seize to his heart. Not here, not now. Perhaps when he was by his father's side, he would allow himself a few tears, but until then, he would hold himself in check. 

He summoned Tyson, and whilst waiting for his friend, examined the wound that hurting the hell out of his shin. Gingerly, he rolled his breeches up to his thigh and peered at the bloody red sight that greeted him. Damn women's heels, he thought as he tore off a strip of his shirt and cleaned the injury as best as he could. Then he tore another piece of cloth and wound it around the injured area. 

"You wanted to see me?" Tyson asked from the doorway. Rade looked up and beckoned Ty to sit. Rade then showed his friend the message from the King. 

"You will be going home, brother?" Tyson asked.

"Yes. I wouldn't if I had the choice, but as you can tell, the leave was more of an order than a choice."

"Of course. If the fighting starts whilst you're away..."

"Rest assured that I will be on my way home before any of our soldiers raise their swords."

Tyson nodded grimly, disliking the idea that his leader would not be here to train the soldiers when war was approaching. 

"Ten days, Ty. I will be back," Rade said tightly, noticing that blood had begun to seep through the cloth tied around his shin.

"Of course. I'll ensure that everything goes as planned, brother. Will you be taking the girl as well?"

Rade answered without hesitation. "Yes. She will travel with me. Only the Gods know what mischief she'd be up to if I left her here alone. Would you mind heading to the tower and telling her to assemble her belongings? If I manage to tidy up some final details, we can ship off within the afternoon."

"I'll order the Seconders to get the ship ready." Tyson rose to leave. "'Tis a pity that you're missing the wedding, Rade."

Wedding? Oh Gods! The wedding had completely slipped his mind. Rade struggled for an appropriate response. 

"Oh. Yes, Ginny. I apologize. Extend my apologies to her, will you? I'll get you a bottle of Bitter Wine as repentance," Rade offered. 

"Of course. That would be nice. Though I heard from Ginny that Kistle had been terribly excited about the wedding. She helped tailor the dress, you know, Rade."

Tyson could see the tightening of the hard lines on Rade's face. 

"I do not wish to talk about her, Ty."

"She is not Millicent, Rade. You have to understand that!" Tyson exploded. 

Rade sucked in a breath. No one had ever spoken to him about Millicent, not even Tyson. It was a survival instinct that kept everyone from shying away from that topic. 

All in the Marq court knew exactly how she had played him – him and the other three men. So craftily she had handled him, with her pretty little hands, low-necked gowns and sexual perfumes. He hadn't thought of Millicent in years, but her impact on him could probably survive through time itself. 

"How do you know, Ty? She could be as sinful as they come," Rade growled.

"A pretty face does not make one a harlot."

"How do you know?" Rade repeated, anger boiling beneath the surface. 

"I know that she isn't Millicent, Rade. I know."

Tyson turned and left the room. 

Rade lowered his head to his hands and took deep, gulping breaths. He would not think of her, he would not! He had buried her deep in his mind, where she would do no harm. Yes. She would do him no harm.

*

He had tried to kill her. 

Kistle did her best to blot the vivid image of Rade encircling his hands around her neck out of her head, but could not. She had not expected this from him. Just that morning, she had awoken to his gentle fondling, loving nipping and blissful lovemaking. And a few hours later... he had tried to kill her!

Why? 

Kistle didn't believe that he had tried to kill her because she had talked to Sir Quinn. The thought was beyond comprehension. She would not believe that he wouldn't trust her to be alone with another man for a few minutes. After all, she hadn't given him reason to trust her loyalty, had she? It was true that she'd found Sir Quinn mildly attractive, but that did not mean she would be sharing sheets with him anytime soon. 

The Goddess had said in her scrolls, 'If a man has only one woman, then the woman, in return, should have only one man.' Kistle believed in everything the Goddess said with no exceptions. She would never think about lying with another man... unless Rade had laid with another woman first. 

But Rade did not believe in the Goddess. For all she knew, the Gods that he worshipped would encourage him to have multiple women. Just the thought of that moved Kistle and whipped a maelstrom of emotions in her. She did not want to share him. 

You have no one, Kistle. No one, but me. You don't have a choice but to accept that. I own you.

The sentences had replayed over and over again in her mind, but the more she heard it, the more she sensed that there had been an underlying current in those words. Yes, it had been authoritative, but when Rade had said them, they had also held a note of desperation. It was as though he had been trying to plead with her to accept his dominance, his ownership. He had highlighted her plight to show her that she had no one to depend on but him... because he wanted her to depend on him. 

What in heaven was she talking about? The man had tried to choke the air from her body and the only thing she could do was try to make excuses for his behavior so that it would not tarnish her image of him in her mind. She had lost her senses!

The man was barbaric. She would never permit him to touch her again and she would most certainly never take pleasure in him again. It chilled her when she glanced in the mirror and noticed the horrid blue-black streaks of his fingertips on her skin. Oh Goddess. The harsh reality that those marks brought her back to scared her. 

She was in the hands of a man who wanted to kill her. And she had no where to run. 

But perhaps she would be able to run off and survive in the towns. She was an adept seamstress, and she would definitely be able to serve meals. If she ran to the towns and disguised herself as a seamstress, changed her name and powdered her hair, he wouldn't be able to identify her, would he?

As the thought took root, she rose from where she was seated with her back against the door and began gathering her belongings. All she had were two chemises, and the lavender dress that Ginny had lent her. As quickly as she could, she threw them into a black sack that she found in the cupboard and tied it up with a string. She was just about to leave the room when a knock sounded at the door. 

Frantically, Kistle threw the bag under the large bed before calling for the person to enter. 

"Lady Kistle," Tyson said upon entering. "Sir Rade has asked of you to gather your belongings. You are scheduled to leave this afternoon."

For one, brief second, Kistle allowed herself to imagine that she was being sent back to the town and that she was being rid of Rade. She bravely fought the emotions that rose to the surface at the thought. 

"I am leaving for town?" Kistle asked, breathless. "I am being set free?"

Tyson raised an eyebrow. "Nay, Lady Kistle. You are to be traveling with Rade to Marqatia. You leave in an hour. I suggest you make haste in assembling your things."

"Oh. Yes, of course, sir. Will I be forgoing the wedding, then?" 

Kistle held her breath for his answer. She had been anxiously awaiting Ginny's wedding, and the possibility that she would be missing the occasion was heart-breaking. 

"You will."

Kistle willed herself not to cry. She consoled herself with the fact that even if she were to stay in Kierania, she would not have been able to see the wedding for she would have run away by the time. 

"If that is all, I will begin with the packing, sir. Thank you."

Sir Tyson looked as though he was about to say something, but instead, he nodded and left the tower. 

The first tear rolled down her cheek and Kistle wiped it away with a spiteful hand. All her life, she had done nothing but cry and accept. It was about time she made a change. 

Kistle dashed for the bag and began to put in the clothing articles that had tumbled out of it. When she was done, she made for the door and scurried down the stairs...

Only to find that he had been waiting for her, casually lounging by the base of the stairwell, waiting for her to make her escape. Kistle's breath caught, but she didn't give up. She attempted to run past him, but he caught her waist, hauling her back against his body. Kistle remembered the last time she had been held like that by him – the time that accounted for her bruises – and struggled like a fish caught in a net. 

"Let me go!" she shouted, but it was of no use. He was carrying her, she realized, but she didn't know where he was taking her. She kicked at him, punched him, but he kept her at arms' length, and thus, she could not do much damage. 

Then, she felt the softness of a mattress at her back, a swift, sharp pain and everything went black. 

*

Rade stared at her sleeping form, replaying Ty's words in his mind. The horse-ship was already in motion, and its rough jiggling mirrored the rioting thoughts in his mind. 

Kistle let out a pained moan and stirred, making Rade sit up from his slouched position. He had been watching her for half a day now, ever since they had departed from Kierania. He knew he should not have knocked her out, but he also knew it was too late for regrets. What was done, was done, and there was no way to turn the clock around. 

She is not Millicent, Rade.

Damn Tyson and his interference. He had no inkling of the pain that came with the knowledge that one had been played by a pretty face. He did not know how one's heart could hurt when it was ripped apart by genteel hands. He did not know the pain that came with trusting any woman with love. Tyson didn't know the pain and disgrace that Rade had been through ten years ago. 

And though it had been a long time since Rade thought about her, the pain that her memory brought back was raw. 

Kistle's eyelashes fluttered open, and Rade watched with cold eyes as she struggled to adapt to her new surroundings. He reached out and lit a candlestick. 

Almost immediately, Kistle gasped and rolled away to the far corner of the bed, her eyes large and wary of him. Her breath came out in short, little pants that raised the delicious mounds of her breasts to his gaze. And even through a haze of anger and pain, Rade felt bolts of lust shoot through his body. 

"Come here," he commanded, watching as Kistle swallowed thickly. Her violet eyes were darting toward the door; her plans for escape couldn't have been more obvious. 

"The door is bolted, Kistle. I have the key. Come here," he repeated. He heard her breath rasp in the relatively small confines of the cabin. 

"No," she said, shaking her head. A strand of her honey-kissed tresses slipped from her shoulder and traced the curve of her breasts. 

"I will give you one final chance to come here. Or you'll suffer the consequences."

"I will not move! You will kill me if I come near you!" Her voice was trembling, and so was her body. He could tell that she was desperately trying to hide her fear of him, but it was in vain. He knew just how afraid she was.




A Marq's Woman Ch. 07



"Come here, Kistle. I want to talk to you."

"C-can I have your word that you w-will not hurt me?"

Rade raised an eyebrow and nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat on the edge of the bed. Kistle warily ambled to the edge and sat, eyeing him from the corner of her eyes. Where could he have kept the key to the door?

"Kistle, the ship has already been set in motion. There is no way you can get off of it," Rade said, reaching for a decanter of wine. He splashed a generous amount of it into a goblet and sipped. 

He watched as her despair was reflected on her face, making her look younger than her twenty years of age. Her lips quivered invitingly, and Rade felt the gradual rise of his shaft at the invitation. 

He cleared his throat. "My father has taken ill. I am returning to serve at his bedside until his time."

"Why did you want me to come with you? I could have stayed at the Manor and attended the wedding..."

"And who would be keeping me company on this voyage? I couldn't possibly be speaking to Xane the horseman all the while, can I? Besides, he does not have the body I want."

Kistle gasped.

"You are conceited if you think that I would allow you to touch me again!" she declared with hatred in her eyes. 

"Is that so? We shall see. Now, take off your clothes."

"What?"

Kistle immediately rose from her perch on the bed and started moving backwards, out of his reach. 

"I said, take off your clothes."

She swallowed thickly, feeling panic clawing up her spine. A few days ago, she would have done as he'd requested without reluctance. But now...

She shrieked when Rade rose from the chair and strode towards her. His fingers caught in the lace of her bodice and ripped the feminine frippery off her body. One large palm went around her waist, anchoring him to her body, and another worked her free of her clothing. 

Panicked, she struggled against him, fists pounding at his chest, trying to dislodge him. She was afraid of him, afraid of what he would do to her. 

"Please, don't," she whimpered as she was trussed onto the mattress, her beloved dress in shreds, her chemise ruched around her hips. She bucked and squealed, until his weight on her back drove the air out of her lungs. 

His teeth scraped along her shoulder, then sank into the flesh there. He heard her cries and pleas, but an animalistic need to mark his possession had taken over him. He wanted Kistle to know who she belonged to. 

"Mine," he growled as he thrust into her, feeling her gasp. Ecstasy washed over him as her flesh enfolded his, encasing him like a glove. He drew back and thrust into her again, repeatedly, until with a feral growl, he spurted inside her, thick and hot.

He collapsed onto her, his breathing ragged, his composure shattered. It wasn't until he heard the first sob that he rolled off her.

Oh Gods, what had he done?

"Kistle, I-," he started, reaching out to her, but she fought him off with a cry, her eyes condemning him to hell. She gathered the remains of her clothes and slid off the bed, shying away from him. 

"Damn it," Rade cussed as he laced his breeches again and unlatched the door. He strode from the room, leaving Kistle behind, but the sounds of her sobs haunted him for the rest of the night. 

*

"We will be landing in an hour, sire," Xane told Rade four days later. Rade nodded, dismissing the man as he set about dressing. 

He had kept away from her for four days. Every time he walked past the bedchamber, he would hear her sobs or sniffles. He couldn't come to accept the reality of what he'd done, for he'd never done it before. 

He'd raped her. 

The thought filled him with self-loathing like none other. Why had he done so when he could've just as easily seduced her into compliance? Perhaps it was the anger that had been building inside him ever since he'd seen her with Quinn. Or the old pain and hurts that had resurfaced. He did not know which, but he was not proud of his actions. In fact, he felt remorse whenever he thought about the way he had rutted on her. 

And her eyes – Gods, her eyes – they appeared in his dreams like a silent accusation. Rade ran a hand over his face as he groaned, trying to block out his guilt, but it was no use. It had him chained to the deepest pits of hell. 

Unable to avoid his fears any longer, he rapped on the door to her bedchamber, feeling like a damn fool. He heard the rustling of clothing behind the door, but didn't hear her call to enter. 

"Kistle?" he called through the door. There was no reply. 

"Kistle?" he repeated as he opened the door. He had just stepped into the room when something cold and hard came down upon his head. 

Rade let out a blasphemy and leaned heavily on the doorframe. He raised a hand to his head, probing the wound and feeling the bump that was already forming. 

Kistle jumped off the chair, holding the candleholder in front of her like a weapon. If that man thought he was going to get anywhere near her, he was wrong. She was never going to allow him to touch her again. 

He had used her the other night, had taken pleasure in her body and left her feeling like a...whore. She had cried over the sorry fact of her captivity for days, then decided that she would take no more of his brutal assaults. She was leaving him as soon as the opportunity arose. 

"What the devil are you doing?" Rade exclaimed, incredulous. 

"I am defending myself!" Kistle cried, throwing the candleholder onto his chest. He grunted, coming forward to hold her hands captive when she reached for another weapon. 

"Don't come any closer!" She shouted the words and Rade paused in mid-step, remorse and indecision flowing through his veins. The memory of his brutality came back to him when he saw the fading bruises on her neck. He moved away from her, feeling something in him clench at the wild look on her face. He should never have taken her in anger. 

"Kistle, I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse. "I never should have taken you the other day."

His eyes pleaded with her for forgiveness for the guilt that was wracking his heart. 

"What's done is done," was what she said, still eyeing him warily. 

Rade nodded, unsure of what her statement meant. Did she forgive him? And why was her forgiveness suddenly so important to him?

"The ship will be landing soon. You'd best get dressed," he said. 

Kistle nodded, watching him intently until he closed the door and walked down the hallway. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

It had been only a few days and so much had changed between them. Kistle didn't know what had triggered the change in his attitude towards her – from a gentle lover to a boar – but she was loathe to believe that it had been because of her words with Sir Quinn. Surely, anyone who would've seen the two talking would know that they were discussing tomes and not 'dallying' as Rade had put it. She wouldn't believe that his treatment towards her had changed just because he'd seen her talk to a man that wasn't him. Impossible!

A tear slipped down her dark cheek when she thought about the days when she'd been happy. Rade had made her laugh, teased her and made love to her with such gentleness. It was so much in contrast to his behavior of the past few days. What had happened? She wanted so desperately to know the truth, but was afraid to bring it up with him. 

But will the truth change anything? She knew now that he wouldn't hesitate to strangle the life out of her, nor would he be hesitant about forcing himself upon her. What would it matter if he was sorry for what he had done? There was nothing he could change, and there was nothing she could forgive. 

A slash of pain tore through her heart when she remembered his invasion of her body. She had been so scared, so frightened that he would hurt her that she had just lain under him, sobbing to herself and praying to the Goddess for help. 

But the sinfulness of it all was the fact that her wicked heart had soared with joy when he had spurted his seed deep within her womb, when he had taken pleasure from her body. She hated herself for feeling that tiny speck of elation and knew that her emotions were not aiding her in her cause for hating him. 

For she found that no matter what he did, she could not rid herself of the memories of his kindness, gentle caresses and loving words. 



A Marq's Woman Ch. 08



Kistle gathered the lavender skirts in one hand, and hefted her travel sack in the other, keeping her head high and chin raised as she descended the ship, ignoring Rade's offered hand. 

Her initial reaction was awe, for the tall walls that rose in front of her would inspire only that. For as far as she could she, guarded walls surrounded the land that the Marq royalty had claimed as theirs. Large gates loomed in front of her, almost twenty feet in height, made of the finest, glittering gold. Atop those gates stood formidable-looking, armored men who seemed to be carved of stone. 

Someone tugged at her sack, and she looked away from her perusal of the castle gates to see Rade standing a scant foot away from her. She gasped and took a step back, her eyes shooting a warning, her heart aflutter with fear. Rade's eyes caught hers and held for the barest second, before he looked away.

A sudden, loud, noise erupted to their left and both of them turned hastily with a start. The gates to the castle opened, revealing the hidden treasure within. 

Kistle's breath caught as she caught a glimpse of white marble embellished with precious jewels. She could see only that for the gate had only opened partially, just enough for the three people to pass through. 

Rade started in the direction and Kistle followed in his wake, careful to keep him within safe distance. If, by chance, he decided to attack her, she made sure that she would be able to flee and defend herself. 

There were people waiting for them just inside the gates. Kistle could see the grand skirts of a woman and the dark breeches of a man. Unconsciously, she adjusted the pins in her hair, hoping that she would be presentable to someone who obviously ranked highly in the Marq courts. 

Kistle paused in her tracks when she saw the convoy of people just inside the gates. There were ten of them, most of which were the royal servants. The three that caught her eye were dressed in fine clothes and wore jewels that sparkled under the morning light. 

A woman, with skin as dark as night, gifted Kistle with a smile when she saw her. The woman was dressed in gold, a color that set off the dark brown of her skin, and had a tiara perched on her dark curls. She was short, but very pretty and largely with child. Her husband had his arm around her waist, steadying her and he only moved away when Rade came close enough to greet him. 

"Despite the circumstances, it is good to see you again, brother. It has been a long time," Dominique said, extending a hand to the head of his army. He hadn't noticed Kistle, who had been hovering in Rade's shadow. 

"Indeed it has," Rade responded, bowing slightly over the extended hand. He turned to Lady Chiara, Her Majesty, and bowed to her as well. 

"And is Her Majesty doing well?" he inquired politely, trying to mask the anxiety he felt infiltrating his bones. On one hand, Kistle's withdrawal from him was gnawing at his heart and on the other hand, he was worried about his sire's health. 

"As well as can be, I suppose, with the burden I'm carrying around," was her saucy reply. 

"Careful, love. I can have you thrown in the dungeon for calling the royal heir a burden," Dominique teased before realizing that a small shadow stood behind Rade. 

"And who might that be?" he queried, slipping an arm around his lady wife yet again. He knew how weak she could get in the mornings. 

"This,' Rade said, stepping aside, "is Kistle."

Kistle felt a blush creeping up her cheeks when the eyes of the row of people narrowed in on her. She knew how she looked with her wrinkled gown, mussed hair and fading bruises. During the few days in the ship, she had only had one, small basin of water to wash with, and she had put the water to good use. Even so, she knew she looked a little worse for wear. But even in her degrading situation, she curtsied gracefully to the two people, whom she had concluded were the King and Queen themselves. 

"Kistle, I would like you to meet His and Her Majesties, King Dominique and Queen Chiara," Rade said. 

Kistle curtsied again, for she did not know the appropriate thing to say. She kept her head bowed until the third party spoke up. 

"I hope you received my message before you left, Rade," the woman said, casting a quick glance at a shocked Kistle. 

Goodness! Kistle thought. What a woman! She had never seen such a woman before – tall and muscular, dressed just like a man. If not for her voice, Kistle would never have realized that she was female!

Heat crept up Kistle's cheeks when the woman shot her an inquisitive look again. She was staring, she knew. But she could not help it. The woman was so… unusual, yet fascinating. 

"Nay, I did not. I'm quite surprised to see you in Royal residence," Rade said, making Kistle snap out of her daze and look away hastily.

"Well, I suppose that is fine. It was a note to inform you that there had been an attack at my lodgings a few days ago, when I was on the assignment…"

Kistle looked around blankly as the group of people started walking towards the castle that rose a hundred yards away from the gates. She quickly started following them. A servant came up to her and took away her sack with the tips of her fingers, as though the sack had a contagious disease. Feeling dreadfully out of place, Kistle kept up with the group until they reached the main dining hall. 

The group split up then, and Rade hastened to an unknown corner of the beautiful building. She was left alone, feeling desolation creeping into her blood as she stood in the centre of the large hall, when the servant came up to her again and announced that a bath had been readied for her in her chamber. 

Somehow, that cold announcement made Kistle feel more unwanted than a speck of dirt. Was she so unfit for the Marq courts that she had to be bathed before being 'presentable'? She knew that she looked a little grimy, and had to be grateful for the bath, but there was something about the way the servant looked down upon her that make her feel small and worthless. It was as though the servants considered themselves higher authority than her… and to be considered lower than a servant was disheartening, to say the least. 

A hand landed on her shoulder, and Kistle started, raising a hand to her heart. When she turned, Queen Chiara stood behind her with a smile playing around on her lips. 

"Did the man leave you?" she asked, her voice low and husky, as though she wasn't very used to speaking Kistle's tongue. 

"Yes, my lady," Kistle replied, knowing who Her Majesty had referred to. 

"Ah. Men are like that, Lady Kistle, until you learn to tie them down," she laughed richly. "You will learn."

"Of course, my lady."

"Come now. I have had a bath drawn for you. And as you bathe, you could tell me of how you ended up with Rade." 

Kistle looked up in surprise when the Queen addressed Rade with such familiarity, but the Queen merely took her hands and pulled Kistle in the right direction. The servant trailed along behind them, a slightly disproving frown on her face. 

*

"You are a native Kieranian, yes?" Chiara said as she waddled to an empty armchair and sat upon it heavily. The child was growing at a speedy rate, especially since she was only seven and a half months along, and the added weight made her limbs ache. She placed a tender hand on her stomach and leaned back against the chair, feeling the muscles of her back relaxing from the strain they had been in all day. A sigh escaped her when the warm smell of cinnamon sticks wafted from the tub in which the shy Lady Kistle was washing in. 

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And do you have family there?"

"No, Your Majesty."

Chiara's brows puckered as she attempted to understand the station of the young girl. Thus far, she only knew that the girl was twenty years of age, a native Kieranian and that she had no family. But what Chiara's meddling streak wanted to know was if the girl had an entanglement with Rade. 

It was plain for all to see that the girl was Rade's love slave, but Chiara knew that there had to be more between them. She had seen the display of animosity between the two as they had stepped out of the ship, and only feuding lovers would step around each other that way. 

Granted, the bleakness in Rade's eyes could've been due to the fact that his father was on his deathbed, but it could also have meant that the two had had a serious love-tiff. Chiara could almost hear her husband admonishing her for meddling, but she could not – nay, would not – stand aside and see two people who loved each other, fighting over a minor issue. It was not in her nature to do nothing. 

Besides, she had never seen Rade become romantically entangled in any relationship before – though she did know of the discreet houses he frequented – and the fact that this small lady had managed to reel him in was intriguing. 

She remembered his quick words of, "Milady, if it's not too much to ask, could you keep her safe while I visit with my father?". Those words had an underlying meaning to them. Rade wouldn't care about the girl's safety if he didn't care about her… would he? But, of course, he could have been honor-bound to say such a thing…

Chiara turned a critical eye toward the small frame in the tub, eyeing the fall of golden curls that covered the almost-unnoticeable bruises that sat on the girl's neck. At first, she had thought that Rade had inflicted them upon her, but as soon as the thought formed in her head, she dismissed the notion as foolish. The man might be as fierce as a bull in wartime, but he was the gentlest of men in bed – or so she'd been told. 

"How did you get those awful bruises on your neck, dear one?" she asked, masking her astute curiosity behind the question. The lady had made to rise from her bath, but at Chiara's question, she lost her footing and would've fallen back into the tub had the maidservant not caught her by the arm in time. 

"Are you all right?" Chiara asked, moving forward to help the girl step out of the tub without mishap. 

"Yes, Your Majesty. I am fine. Thank you," Kistle said as she accepted the large bath cloths that the maid handed to her. 

"Very well. I have something for you. You can perceive it as a gift of welcome," Chiara said, motioning for the maid to open the door.

Kistle's breath caught when the door opened, for what came through the door was the most exquisite garment she had ever seen!

The silk of it shimmered beautifully under the dim light in the room, making the dress seem almost ethereal. The glimmering white material flowed from neckline to hem, making the purple brooch that clinched at the bosom, more prevalent. 

Kistle simply stared at the beauty for a while, eyes wide. 

"I assume that you like it," Chiara said, watching as the girl's eyes misted over. 

Kistle looked over at the taller woman and nodded briskly. 

"My ladies in waiting and I were taking a stroll near the dress shops last weekend when I saw this dress. I fell in love with it, but I knew it would not suit me. I'm much too tall, you see. But when I caught sight of you, the first thing that came to my mind was how lovely you would look in that dress, so I had one of the servants run to the shop and purchase it for you. Isn't it wonderful? Would you like to try it on, dear?"

Kistle nodded mutely as a few more maids scurried into the room with her chemise and pantalets in hand. Efficiently, they slid them over her head and up her legs, while Kistle stood amidst all the activity, trying not to squirm from the awkwardness of so many people touching her at the same time. 

When her chemise strings were tied into a tighter knot than usual, the white dress was brought forward and unbuttoned before she was told to step into it. 

To her utter shock, when the dress was pulled up, and her hands had gone through the sleeves, she realized that the gown was cut such that it revealed the tops of her breasts! Furthermore, the gown left her shoulders bare, showing off the dainty curves of her shoulders and upper arms. 

When she looked into the mirror, however, her shock was replaced by wonder.

Is that me? Kistle wondered, swirling this way and that, admiring the beautiful form in front of her. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Chiara said from behind Kistle, smiling broadly. She had known that the dress would be a perfect fit. 

"Yes, it is, Your Majesty! Thank you!" 

Kistle's joyous laughter and impish appreciation was addictive, and soon, even the surly servant had cracked a smile. 

"I'll leave you to your privacy to brush your hair, dear. Will you meet me on the balcony for tea in half an hour?" Chiara asked, watching the girl run her hand lovingly over the simple flow of the dress. 

"Yes, of course, Your Majesty," Kistle replied, still smiling over her reflection. She never thought she could look so beautiful!

*

"Dominique!"

"Chiara."

"Why don't you go first?" Dominique said, gingerly taking his wife in hand and seating her on the edge of their bed. 

"There is something going on between the two. I know it!" Chiara said, rising from her perch, only to be gently pushed onto it again. She gave her husband an irritated glare before continuing. 

"Did you see the bruises on her neck?" Dominique nodded. "I think those have something to do with him."

Dom raised an amused eyebrow at his wife, disbelieving her words. Rade was the most respectable man that Dom had the pleasure to grow up with, and he most certainly wouldn't believe anyone who told him that Rade had raised a hand to a woman. 

"Sweetheart, I think you know Rade as well as I do. He's not the type of man to raise a hand to a woman."

"I know," Chiara sighed, remembering. "But her behavior was terribly suspicious. When I mentioned the bruises, she nearly slipped in the tub."

Dom looked at his wife, baffled. "So you think that the bruises had something to do with Rade because Kistle slipped in the tub? You're not making sense, woman."

Chiara's smile held a hint of pity.

"You know me so well that I sometimes forget you're a man," she said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" An exasperated Dominique ceased his pacing and seated himself beside his wife. 

"Nothing, dear. But I just know that there is something between them. Do you suppose we should call the futurist? He would be able to tell us if they'll have something together…"

"Nay, wife. No meddling," Dom warned, playing with his wife's lean fingers. 

"Very well, then. What did you find out?"

"Nothing much, I suppose. I attended the meeting with the sword merchant for half an hour, and when I returned to Sir Warren's bedchamber, Rade was hunched over the man. He looked up at me, and what do you think was the first thing he said?" Dom asked, nuzzling the inside of Chiara's wrist. 

"What?" Chiara swallowed thickly, feeling tingles of pleasure unfurl in her belly at her husband's administrations. 

"He asked if Kistle was well-settled. Hunched over his father's deathbed, he asked me that, love. What do you think?" Dom questioned as he pulled Chiara closer to him and kissed her throat. 

"I think they're having a lover's tiff, that's all. If I could just find out what it is…"

Dom pinched her lush bottom. 

"No meddling! Please. We've had enough of that already!"

"I'll try, husband. It's just that I owe Rade my life and I think I should do something nice for him," she said hoarsely as his teeth scraped across her shoulder. 

"Yes. I'll admit, he's never acted like this before. Even when he toyed with Millicent, he didn't have the intensity creasing his features. It's rather disconcerting. Do you suppose he's in love with the wench?" he asked, his fingers coming up to the pins in her hair and taking them down.

"Perhaps," Chiara said, humming in her throat when Dom placed a wet kiss on her jaw. From somewhere in the castle, a bell was sounded, announcing the hour. Awareness came swiftly, causing her to pull away. 

"Oh dear!" As fast as her bulk would allow her to, Chiara wormed herself loose from her husband and started for the door. "I have to meet with Lady Kistle in ten minutes," she called over her shoulder.

She turned when she reached the door to the outer chamber. Her gaze traveled along the dejected look on her husband's face, to the erection that strained in his breeches. A feline smile played on her lips. 

"I will see you later, my amoral husband," she said as she slipped out the door. She could hear his heartfelt groan through the thin door to their bedchamber. She paused to straighten her hair in the private sitting room outside their chamber, pinning up the ringlets that her very considerate husband had sifted his fingers through. 

He was standing in front of the door when she turned, making her gasp in shock. She hadn't even heard him move! Gods, he also had a predatory look about him. Chiara knew what the look meant, and an answering response to it sent a sizzle of need through her nether regions.

But she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to appear as serious as he was. "I have an appointment, Dom," she said. 

"I know. But it can wait for this. After all, the queen is never late," he said as he disentangled her arms and caught her lips in a kiss that sent fire through her blood. 

"Mmm," was her only muffled response.

*

"I apologize for my lateness, Lady Kistle," Chiara said fifteen minutes later, presentable as always. She smiled at the younger girl who was standing at the edge of the balcony, staring off into the city. 

"'Tis fine, Your Majesty. I was enjoying the lovely view you have here. Is the city far from the castle?" she asked as she came forward to take a seat from across the Queen. 

"Why do you ask? Might you be planning on visiting it?" Chiara asked.

Kistle blushed, knowing that if she had the chance of visiting it, she would take her chances and flee his clutches. 

"Perhaps."

"That's nice. We could plan a visit for you," Chiara said with a smile. 

"Oh, if it's too much trouble…" Kistle protested. 

"Not at all!" the Queen insisted. 

The next few minutes were spent on idle chatter as the tea and cakes were served. Kistle drank little and ate even less. Chiara frowned in concern. 

"Are you well, dear?" she asked.

"Very well, thank you. 'Tis just my lack of an appetite," she explained with a small smile. Chiara nodded, not wanting to push the subject. 

"Well… which part of Kierania do you hail from, then?" Chiara asked, sipping gaily on her own tea. She reached for another piece of cake. 

"The cloud kingdoms, Your Majesty. Have you heard of it before?"

Chiara nodded. "Yes, I have. Sir Warren – Rade's father – has talked of it before. Is it as beautiful as he described it to be?"

"Some clouds are, but others are steeped in poverty. It's a sorry sight to see people starving without food when the crown assures us that food is being sent to those who are suffering. We used to pray for those without food in the Chapel," Kistle said sadly. 

"The Chapel?" Chiara asked, "You were a servant of the Erubian Goddess?"

"Nay, not Erubian. I was a servant of the Nissi Goddess," Kistle said, surprised that the Queen had even heard of the Goddess before. 

"Ah, of course. I was a devotee of the Erubian Goddess myself, back home," she said. 

"Back home? You mean… you aren't from Marqatia?" Kistle tilted her head to an angle in confusion. Chiara chuckled.

"Nay, Lady Kistle. I was a Princess of Lismus before this," Chiara explained.

"But I thought that Lismus came under Marq control four years ago?"

"It did, yes. I was caught in the war."

"Oh dear. Do tell," Kistle prodded, interested. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 08



"Very well." Chiara settled in her seat and drew in her breath. 

"It was late in the year 1819, and I had been engaged – against my will, I might add – to the Prince of Earth. I fought with my father against this, but he hadn't listened to me. As solace, I'd enrolled myself to the service of the Goddess, to cultivate acceptance in myself. It was in the Chapel that I heard about the poverty in our cities and how many were dying in starvation. In fact, I think that most of the Sisters were there because they couldn't survive outside the castle walls. 

"When I heard this, all I could think of were the daily feasts that we had at the castle, the lavish jewels that my mother wore and the beautiful gold-wound dresses that were in my armoire. I couldn't believe that people were suffering because of our way of life. If I could, I would have given the people every piece of jewelry and clothing that I owned. I was thinking about doing just that, when on the 29th of December, the Marq's attacked. 

"My father had not been expecting the attack, and although he boasted of having a strong army, could not fight the invincible Marq one. They came and took over everything – my home, my family, my land. 

"But the Sisters were very sure that the Marq's wouldn't harm the women in the Chapel. And I suppose I believed it as well. I began to stay in the Chapel permanently, for I had no where else to go. I didn't know where my family was. 

"But as I was washing my garments at the river one day, a few men from the army strolled down the hill with their dirty swords and shields and began to harass me, even when they knew I was from the Chapel. I became scared and started screaming for help…"

"And did His Majesty save you? That is terribly romantic!" Kistle exclaimed, only to have the Queen shake her head. 

"Nay, it wasn't him. It was Rade. And do you know why he saved me?"

Kistle shook her head. 

"He told me it was because I looked like his sister and he couldn't bear to see his men touching me." Chiara smiled through a thin film of nostalgic tears. 

"Oh," Kistle replied. "You were lucky."

"I was, yes," Chiara replied, patting her belly. "Rade's a good man, Kistle. He's kind, loving, but he might have a temper at times…"

"I apologize, Your Majesty, but could we not talk about Rade, please?" Kistle asked, looking away. She did not want to discuss Rade with the Queen. How inappropriate that would be. But more importantly, she did not want to think about the man. For if she did, she knew that she would persuade herself to forget what he had done to her and accept his tyranny. 

Kistle had already set a goal for herself: If it was the last thing she did, she would escape the man and flee to a place where she could live a happy life, without the fear of being strangled. She already had a plan for it. She would leave her room, gathering her belongings around midnight this night, and look for a side-gate, something that the servants would use. Then, she'd creep away from the castle and hide within the city before purchasing a ticket for a public ship to Rasphere. Yes, she had her plans sorted out, even though she did not know where she would get the money to buy the ticket from. But it was all right. She would find a way. She had to. 

"Of course, dear" Chiara said, watching the play of emotions in the girl's eyes and hiding her smile behind a tea cup. So, the tiff might be a little more serious than she'd previously thought it had been. 

Kistle cleared her throat, changing the topic. "Are you expecting the baby soon, then?"

Chiara ran a hand over the large mound, lovingly caressing the little life that was growing inside her. 

"I wish it were soon," she said, "but I have another six weeks."

The announcement took Kistle by surprise. She knew immediately that something was dreadfully wrong. The Chapel had always helped in the delivery of babies, and Kistle had been doing so ever since she was fourteen. Looking at the Queen's size, she had naturally assumed that the baby was due at any moment. But six weeks? There was definitely something amiss.

"We've tried for four years for this child," the Queen went on, making Kistle bite her lip to keep her thoughts to herself. She did not want to alarm the Queen into thinking that there was something wrong with the royal heir when there were only her assumptions as evidence to base it upon. 

"Are you hoping for a boy, then?" Kistle asked, looking down into the folds of her new dress. 

"Dominique has told me that the gender of the baby wouldn't matter, but I know that he wants a boy to inherit his throne and everything that comes with it."

A maidservant hurried to Chiara's side and handed her a note. The Queen read it quickly and started to rise. 

"I'm sorry Lady Kistle, but I have to take my leave. I'm afraid that a few people from the city have come to see me and I have to attend to them."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Kistle rose as well. 

"Will I see you at dinner?" Chiara took Kistle's hands in hers. 

"I suppose so," Kistle smiled at the Queen's affectionate gesture. 

"I look forward to it," Chiara said as she hurried away, leaving Kistle alone on the balcony. 

*

Kistle wandered through the large castle, feeling more than a little lost. She had no idea where she was, for she'd left the brightly lit area of the main castle a while ago. Now, she traipsed through the darker, dimly-lit belly of the castle, feeling stray drafts of cold air brush past her exposed shoulder.

She paused when she arrived at the edge of the hall, looking over her shoulder to check if there was a being in sight. When she found none, she continued on her exploration, 

The carpets sank under her feet as she moved towards the right, for she could see that a stairway was tucked away in the corner of the dank corridor. She looked over her shoulder again, knowing that she should not be prowling along the inner bailey of the castle, but finding it difficult to resist the temptation to ascend the stairs. 

As quickly as she could, she scampered up the steep steps, only to find herself coming face to face with a small door. Curiously, she pushed against it, and to her surprise, it slid open easily. 

"Hello?" she called into the room softly, poking her head through the opening in the doorway. The room itself was steeped in semi-darkness, the evening sun streaming into the chamber and draping itself over the furniture on the opposite corner of the room. Kistle's eyes roamed, from the large shelves, to the armchairs and the large desk. It dawned on her that she had entered someone's private study… a someone who clearly wasn't in attendance. A mischievous thought made her crack a small smile.

Quietly, she closed the door behind her and headed toward the first shelf, unable to deny the pull of the leather-bound books and the smell of old paper. Her fingers roamed over the tomes, caressing the worn leather. Whoever it was that owned the library had been very fond of reading. 

She looked on the first shelf, but found nothing of interest. The second shelf proved to be just as fruitless. Then, just as she was reaching for a tome titled, 'The Art of Stitching', she heard someone clearing their throat. 

Kistle turned swiftly, a blush tingeing her cheeks, hands clasped behind her back. She felt the guilt of someone caught stealing, and looked around for the owner of the voice to convey her apologies to. Curiously enough, she saw no one. 

"Hello?" Kistle called out again, her voice wavering. She took a step back when a small figure appeared from the unlit corner of the room. 

"Excuse me, my lady. I am terribly sorry for sneaking in, but I called out before I entered…" Kistle's voice drifted off as the woman stepped into the light. 

A pixie! was the first thought that entered Kistle's mind. The woman stood not more than five feet from the ground, silvery locks framing her heart-shaped face. Shy amber eyes glinted in the fading sunlight, making the woman seem wraithlike. A fairy's wings wouldn't be unusual on her, Kistle thought. 

"I should leave. I'm sorry," Kistle said, turning toward the open door. 

"Nay, don't go. I found this place by chance today as well," the woman whispered, her voice sweet and melodious. 

"Oh," Kistle said as she smiled. "Would you mind if I borrowed this tome?" She pointed to the novel that had interested her before. 

"It isn't mine to lend," was the reply. 

Kistle frowned, watching the woman's movements. She seemed to be uncomfortable speaking to Kistle and that confused her. Kistle frowned as she plucked the book from its shelf, flicking the dust off the tome. 

"Would you like to read it here?" the woman offered in a soft voice. 

"That would be lovely," Kistle said, moving closer to the woman and holding out a hand. When the woman extended hers, the only thing Kistle could do was gasp. 

Six fingers! What a marvel it was! Kistle stared at the oddly figured hand in hers until it was pulled away abruptly, and its owner fled toward the doorway with an anguished cry.

"Nay! Don't leave! I'm sorry I stared," Kistle called out, berating herself for her insensitivity. But, Goddess, it had been so fascinating to look upon such a hand, for she had only heard of people having six fingers before, but had never actually laid eyes on such a being. 

The woman stopped and turned, her eyes glinting off a thin layer of tears. 

"You stared at my fingers in horror, did you not?" she questioned, her eyes averted. 

"Nay! I stared at it in fascination, lady. I have never seen anything so… unusual before. It took my by surprise," Kistle said, starting towards the woman again. "Let us try this again. My name is Kistle."

"I'm Remy," came the faint reply. 

*

"I have to leave now. It is almost time for dinner," Remy said an hour later, rising from her seat on the sofa. She stared down at her new friend. Kistle was such fun, even if she did, at times, develop a far-away look in her eyes. Remy found out that, like her, Kistle had no one in this world, and her benefactor was the War Leader, Sir Rade. Remy knew, of course, that there was more to the relationship than Kistle was letting on, but she did not want to prod where she was not welcome. 

Kistle was open-minded as well, taking the news of Scar and Remy being lovers, lightly. Remy learned that Kistle served the Goddess, and the Goddess had said, "Love is never wrong", a phrase that Kistle took seriously. 

In a few, short minutes, the two had become fast friends, finding comfort in their similar backgrounds and confessions of their state of discomfort in being in a place that they knew nothing about. Kistle, like Remy, was new to the land of Marqatia, and knew nothing about their foreign culture and tradition. These common discomforts alone seemed to bring them closer to each other, making them understand each other better. 

Thus, when Remy stared down at her friend an hour later, she was reluctant to leave her. Other than Scar, she had no friends to depend on, and had had none during her botched childhood. A warm glow surrounded her heart when she realized that she had someone else she could rely on now, and who would rely on her. 

She smiled and held out a hand for Kistle to rise. Kistle gripped it and rose to her feet, adjusting the folds of her gown and hefting the 'borrowed' tome in her hand. 

Both women carefully descended the steep stairs and traced their steps back to the main castle. They had just stepped onto the marble floors when a maidservant whizzed by them, her features panicked. Kistle and Remy exchanged startled glances but continued down the corridor.

Ten seconds later, another servant rushed past them, muttering heatedly to herself. Something is wrong, Kistle thought immediately. Servants weren't supposed to dash through corridors, were they?

"What could be wrong?" Kistle asked Remy, but the other woman was as clueless as she was. 

They hurried to a man who was pacing in front of the royal suites. 

 "Sir, if we may ask, what is going on?" Kistle queried, mildly worried after the Queen's stories of invasions that afternoon. 

"Have you not heard?" the man asked, irritated. The women shook their head. 

"The Queen has started her pains and the midwife is no where to be found!"

*

Rade bolted upright from his position on the floor, instantly alerted by the faint whisperings emanating from the low bed. He rose to his knees, hovering over his father's pale, sickly face. 

His heart ached to see the most fearsome warrior he'd ever known struggling for dear life and needing the aid of others to feed and relieve himself. 

He hadn't even had the chance to talk to his father, for the older man had been under the influence of a sleeping spell to quell the pain that came from a failed lung, all day. Rade's breath shuddered out from behind clenched teeth as he felt the familiar pang of grief strike his heart. 

The helplessness of the situation made him feel powerless. Rade had always been a man who took what he wanted, and saw that his needs were met. But what he needed right now was for his father to stand up strong and slap him on the back with a prideful smile, boasting of his warrior son. He wanted his father to be able to sit up in bed and tell him about his adventures. Rade just wanted his father to be… alive. 

But it was not to be. The physician had already told Rade that his father's condition was critical, and there was nothing they could do to keep the warrior from the clutches of death. Rade knew that his father would only live to see another few days, and he wanted to spend those days beside him, nursing him, speaking to him. He wanted to return the favor of taking care of the old man, just as the old man had taken care of Rade when he'd been wounded in his first battle. 

But again, it was not to be. Rade had to return to Kierania in two days; he had to return to the war in two days. Just the thought of it had his skull throbbing. 

He had much clouding his mind – the war, his father… Kistle. 

He couldn't stop the tear that slid down his cheek – grief, guilt and powerlessness warring within his heart. It was too much for him to bear. And even though he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't help the force that pushed him back on his haunches, couldn't help the force that made his raise his hands to his face and definitely couldn't help the force that made the tears flow from the corner of his eyes. It had been eons since he'd cried – such a long time that he could not even remember the last time he had done so. Thus, he allowed himself the weakness of a few tears before he blotted the wetness away and steeled himself to face the bleakness that was the future. 

Before then, he had pushed every thought to the back of his mind, concentrating only on nursing his father, but now, what he'd done came back to haunt him, the sobs replaying over and over again in his mind. 

He remembered how he'd reached for her after he'd done the deed, and the way she'd uttered the wordless, pain-filled cry, before slipping from the bed. Self-hatred had filled him then, and a loathing plagued him continually. He had felt an unbearable loss, something he hadn't felt before, and it had terrified him into leaving the room without a word. But, hell, now he wished he'd said something to her, forced her to listen to him, telling her that he hadn't been able to control the anger and hurt inside him. He had wanted her to know that she was his and would be his for as long as he wanted. Rade smiled thinly at the twist of fate. He had taken her forcefully, wanting to brand her as his, only to lose her after the taking. She'd curled herself into a little shell, and it was his fault. He would've laughed if his heart hadn't hurt so much. 

Rade picked his father's limp hand up and laid it against his face, silently asking for some kind of guidance, any kind of wisdom that Sir Warren always seemed to have. Warren had been lucky in both life and love, for it was known to all that the marriage match between Sir Warren and his bride was a love one. Rade had thought he'd find such happiness one day, as well, but had pushed the notion aside when he had been toyed with by the bitch, Millicent. At the mere thought of her, Tyson's words floated back to him, scalding his already guilty heart. 

She is not Millicent, Rade…

Be damned, Rade thought, frustrated. What if Kistle was, indeed, like Millicent? What if she cheated him like the worst harlot in all the planets? She was a woman, after all. She could play him false and he would end up looking like a fool.

But would he risk looking like the worst idiot to feel her soft skin against his again? Would he grovel at her feet just to hear the tinkling sounds of her giggles when he pressed his lips to the ticklish shell of her ear? Would he cut off his sword arm just to feel the pressure of her release on his fingers, the whimper of it muffled against his mouth?

The answer came to him immediately. Yes, he would.

Her gay laughter came back to him, so lovely and innocent. Her jests, when they'd had time to speak, spun around in his mind. Millicent had never been like that. She had always been coy and coquettish, stealing moonlit kisses in the gardens even when he had not initiated them. She was nothing like the shy innocent that Kistle was. And yet he had compared Kistle to the harlot. 

He saw the error in his ways now and mourned for it. 

He wanted Kistle desperately, and he acknowledged the want for not just her body, but her heart as well. Yes, he wanted her to love him… for he knew that he already loved her in return. 

It had been that love that made him act thusly when he'd noticed her talking to a man that she should not have been talking to. Quinn was fair of face and strong of build, and he admitted now, that he had misjudged the situation for more than it had been. But, damn it, the anger had flowed through him with blinding speed, blocking out all reason and making him want to punish her for her deeds. But the punishing would stop. 

I will try, he vowed. I will try to make things better between us. 

He would put his heart out again for her to accept or crush at her will. Forcing her to bend to his demands had gone terribly wrong, and he would never do so again. He would wait for her to come to him, to want to love him, if it was the last thing he did. 

The evening light faded to night and Rade lit a candle to fend off the darkness in the room. The glow from the candle made Sir Warren's features look pained and paler than usual. Rade heaved an anguished sigh and settled himself comfortably beside his father's bed with a new determination in his heart. 

"Sherrie!" the agonized cry made Rade sit up again, reaching for the pitcher of water.

"Father?" Rade asked, dipping a cloth into the water and pressing it onto his father's forehead. 

"Sherrie! I won't leave you. I swear it! I'll bring our daughter up, darling! Please, don't leave me!" 

Rade's brow knitted in confusion. He did not know anyone by the name of Sherrie, much less someone who was of his father's acquaintance. And what was it about a child? Had his father taken a lover? Or was Sir Warren simply rambling in delirium?

"Father?" 

There was no response as Sir Warren settled back into a fitful sleep.

*

"It shouldn't be this soon! There is something wrong with my child, isn't there? What of my wife?" the King bellowed to all present in the room. 

The maidservants skittered around him, fearful of his wrath. The several messengers he had sent to the city in search of a midwife had returned to the castle with naught but bad news. Dominique felt a gut-wrenching fear creep into his body. It was his fault! If he had called for the midwife sooner, instead of wanting to wait for the eight month to arrive, Chiara wouldn't be suffering in pain in the next room! He was such an idiot! What he wouldn't have given to turn back time!




A Marq's Woman Ch. 08



"You couldn't find anyone?" he shouted, grabbing a messenger boy by the collar and shaking him. 

"Nay, sir. Most of the women have taken to the countryside for the winter…' the boy whimpered.

Dom's shout of rage echoed through the halls, making Kistle and Remy cringe as they entered the Royal chambers. 

"I may be of assistance, sir!" Kistle called out, maneuvering her way through the horde of servants. 

"Lady Kistle. I don't believe you've quite grasped the situation. My wife is in labor, and I cannot find one bloody midwife to aid in the delivery of my baby!" His last words were a roar, and Kistle shuddered inwardly. 

"Yes, I do understand the situation. I served in a chapel before and have helped to deliver many a child, sir. Would you take me to the Queen?" Kistle asked.

Dominique stared down at the slip of a girl, indecision seeping through him. Should he let this girl handle the delicate process of the birth of his firstborn? His conscience answered immediately : you have no other option. 

Nodding imperceptibly, he led her into the bedchamber where several simpering ladies in waiting were crowded around the Queen, offering sweets or a sip of wine. The Queen herself looked tired and in dreadful pain. Kistle knew what she had to do. She turned to the King. 

"We need many towels, sir. And large amounts of hot and lukewarm water. Quickly, if it's possible," Kistle said, kneeling by the Queen. The poor woman had her eyes shut tightly as a contraction wracked her body. 

"My lady, can you hear me?" Kistle said whilst indicating that Remy – who'd followed her into the bedchamber – should ask the other ladies to leave. 

After a moment, the Queen nodded, opening her eyes slightly. 

"I'm going to die, aren't I? It's much too early for this. Please save my baby…" the Queen trailed off, clutching the pillows on the bed as pain seized her body again. 

"We need the King's help. Could you call him in, please? We have to move her," Kistle told Remy just as the towels and water were set on a table. 

"Did you ask for me?" Dominique questioned mere seconds later as Kistle washed her hands in a basin of warm water. 

"Yes, sir. Could you please move Her Majesty so that legs are facing the edge of the bed?"

Dominique did as he was told to do. 

"You can stay, sir, if you want to. Holding her hand would help her very much," Kistle added, pulling a stool up to the edge of the bed and lifting the hem of the Queen's loose chemise. 

"Remy, I'll hold her legs if you'd slip a warm towel under her," Kistle said, reaching up to feel the large bump of the baby. To her surprise, she felt the baby wriggling under the skin. 

"My lady, do you hear me?"

Again, a weak nod. 

"The baby is ready to see the world, my lady. It is healthy and alive. All we need you to do is push," Kistle said, looking up at the couple. The King was sitting by the Queen's side on the bed, and his forehead held much more sweat than the Queen's. He was murmuring sweet platitudes to her, soothing her even as he continued to become a bundle of wrought nerves. 

"Are you sure you know the procedure?" the King asked her again when she commanded the Queen to push. 

"Yes, sir, I do," Kistle replied, encouraging the Queen. Remy was by Kistle's side, quickly replacing the cloth once it was soiled. 

After many minutes of pushing and re-positioning the baby, a rounded, blunt edge finally appeared. "I see its head!" Kistle cheered, knowing that it would make the Queen more determined to fight the pain. 

"One more push, my lady," Kistle coaxed, when she held the baby's torso in hand. And with one more push, the little legs slid out with much purplish-red liquid and the room was filled with the first choked cry. The King laid his forehead against the Queen's, thinking it was over, but…

"My lady, you'll have to continue pushing, for I see another head peeking out!" Kistle cried joyously, handing the baby she held to Remy. 

Surprised, all parties held their breaths as another baby, smaller than the first, slid out of the Queen's womb.

Slowly, the Queen's breathing eased, and her husband held her hand, shedding tears of joy for the miracle that was his wife. 

Kistle slit the cord that bound mother to child and wrapped the bloody remainder of the birth in the ruined towels. Then, slowly, she wiped off the blood on Her Majesty's thighs before looking up at a smiling Remy. She held two blood-soaked babies in her hands, cooing to their bawling forms. 

"It's a perfect birth," she said to the couple which looked at her inquisitively. "A boy and a girl."

*

Later that night, after a simple meal of cheese and bread, Kistle sat on the settee in the Royal sitting room. She could hear the cheers and merry-making outside in celebration of the Royal twins, and the sounds brought a smile to her face. 

Remy had left grudgingly after dinner, with the excuse that Scar had an assignment tomorrow and would like to spend the night with Remy before she left. Kistle saw the spark that lit Remy's eyes up when she spoke of her lover, and envied her friend as she left. If only…

A minute later, Kistle tip-toed into the nursery, careful not to awaken the babies, and slowly knelt by the twin cribs. She ran a hand over their bodies, and smiled when they cuddled deeper into their plush cushions. She would cherish these moments with the twins, for it would be the last time she saw them.

Kistle tried not to think about the people she'd be leaving – Remy, the Queen, the twins… him – for she knew that if she did, she'd stop herself from doing so. To leave would be the best thing for her to do, and she had already packed her sack in readiness for her departure. She would be leaving after she visited with the little twins. 

She stared down at both cribs. How peculiar it was that the baby boy was much larger than the girl, taking up half the crib whilst the girl took up only a third. The girl also had dry skin, which indicated that she needed more nourishment than the boy. Kistle would have to warn the Queen about the girl for she looked weak for a newly born babe. 

Kistle settled herself against the wall, rocking the cribs slowly, humming to the babies of a song that she'd heard a mother sing to her child at Mass. Kistle yawned once, feeling the exhaustion of the day's activities, and let her eyes close. Just for a second, she thought. Just for a second. 

*

Rade opened the door to the nursery with Dominique trailing behind him. It was past midnight, and he hadn't seen Kistle since morn. He had searched for her in her room when his sister had come to watch over their father, but Kistle hadn't been there. He told himself not to panic, and made his way to the main hall. Then, he'd heard the cheers from emanating from there and had gone to investigate. 

After a goblet of wine, the King had led him to the nursery, where he had been certain Kistle would be. He had been right. 

Rade watched her from a distance as she slept peacefully, her hands still on the two cribs. Her lovely, white dress was dotted with blood and her hair was in disarray, but to him, she was beautiful. 

And the memories she brought him made his heart ache. He heaved a sigh and went closer to the cribs. The King was already hunched over his daughter's pink crib, feeling the tufts of dark hair on the angel's head. Rade looked at the two new born babies, then back at Kistle. Without a doubt, she outshined both of them. 

Gently, so as not to jar her, he gathered her in his arms, whispering to the King that he would be putting Kistle to bed. At his dismissal, Rade bundled Kistle and started for her chamber. 

Rade remembered the other times when he had carried her like this – the first time they'd met and once, after she had gotten drunk from imbibing too much wine. He had hefted her like this to the tower and she'd put her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. But now…

He looked down at her limp form, her hands curled on her stomach, not moving to touch him. Rade felt tears prick the back of his eyelids and swallowed thickly. It was his fault that she wouldn't even touch him in her sleep. It was his fault for ruining the happiness that they'd shared. 

When they reached her room, he held her longer than he needed to, relishing her weight in his arms. 

After minutes of staring at her peaceful slumber, he leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her cheek before relinquishing her weight to the bed, sighing as he did so. He watched as she cuddled into the soft sheets, her hands looking for something to hold on to, and finding a pillow. She looked lush, lying there as she did, and he was hard-pressed not to lie beside her, to feel her heat, to enjoy her unique smell. 

She has had a tiring day. She wouldn't awaken 'til morning.  

The devil in him was speaking, and even though he knew he should not, his body saw logic in what the devil was saying. Before his mind could object, he divested himself of his shirt and boots, and crawled into the bed behind her. His hands slipped around her waist, pressing her against his torso. He buried his nose into her hair and inhaled her scent. 

Home. 

That was what her scent reminded him of. Rade shut his eyes, feeling regret for his actions coursing through his blood. I will make it right, he vowed, with the hope that he would forgive him. He clutched her tighter, never wanting to let her go, and his eyes slid closed, feeling her heat meld with his. His fingers found hers and he interlaced them, kissing the back of her palm. 

And slowly, he felt himself drift off to sleep, nestled within the warmth he'd only been dreaming of for the past few days. 

*

Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it! I would appreciate it very much(:

Chapter Nine is in the works.

And if you're wondering – no, the story isn't going to end soon.

Thank you for reading!

Lillian. 



A Marq's Woman Ch. 09



Remy stirred from her position atop the goose feather ticked mattress, a cat-like mewl escaping her lips. She stretched, raising her arms above her head before extending one to the side of the bed where Scar slept. Her eyes blinked open when she realized that her lover wasn't beside her. 

Clasping the sheets to her breast, Remy sat up and looked around the large, unlit room that she would be staying in whilst Scar went on her mission. 

Even though Remy had insisted that she would be fine in their home – that she could defend herself if need be – Scar had been unbending in her resolve to get her baby somewhere safe, and her image of 'safe' had been the Royal castle. Remy smiled into the darkness, thinking about the small argument that they'd had about the arrangement, and how Scar had cradled Remy's face in her hands and said very simply that she loved her, and if anything happened to her, Scar would never forgive herself for leaving her alone. 

It had been that love-filled look that broke Remy's insistence and made her nod her acquiescence to the plan. And Remy was glad that she'd come, for she'd made a new friend because of it. 

A scruffling noise from the small expanse of a terrace caught Remy's attention, and she shuffled to the large, glass doors, holding the sheet protectively about her. She inched the curtains apart to see Scar's silhouette against the dark night, the spikes in her black hair a clear sign that she had run her fingers through it more than once. 

Quietly, Remy pushed the door open and slipped onto the cold terrace. Scar hadn't heard her entrance, and Remy took advantage of that. With a child-like smile, she inched forward and encircled the tall woman's waist tightly. 

"Boo," she whispered, breathing the musky scent that was her lover. 

"I knew you were there, baby," Scar said, fingers reaching into her thin coat, feeling the small, velvet pouch that lay there, waiting. 

"Aw, you're no fun," Remy murmured, rubbing her rapidly numbing nose against Scar's back. Scar let out a weak laugh, looking into the night, watching the stars twinkle in the sky. 

The two stood in the cloak of darkness for several minutes, absorbing the rightness of being with each other. 

Remy thought of how much she loved Scar, of how much she would hurt if anything ever happened to the woman. For four years, Scar had been by Remy's side. Scar had never raised a hand to her, nor had she demanded anything of Remy that Remy hadn't wanted to give. With Scar, Remy had found a sense of belonging and comfort that she never thought existed. 

She remembered that fateful night, four years ago, when she had been chased by two lust-raved men. It had been a wet, cold night, and she remembered having fallen twice on the rough roads of Farrow's Town. Her palms had been scraped and raw. She knew she had a cut on her cheek. But she could not stop running, for if she did, they would catch her. 

She had only been a girl of six and ten, then, running for her virtue. A girl of the streets, she never had a home, nor anyone whom she could call kin. Her mother had abandoned her when she was but a child, and an old woman who lived on the street had nourished her until the day she died. Remy had been four. 

After that, she had done everything imaginable for food. She'd stolen, pick-pocketed and even worked in a saloon, serving jugs of ale to seedy men who took swipes at her skirts. 

It had been a busy night at the saloon when one of those men had caught her around the middle and hauled her into his lap. Remy had struggled against him, futilely trying to disengage herself, when he'd reached down and tugged on her hands. Her gloves had slid off in an instant and a hush fell onto the on-looking crowd who'd cheered the vile man on. Remy had quickly folded her hand into the folds of her skirt, but it was no use. Each and every soul in the crowd had caught sight of it. 

Remy found herself on the floor, for the man had thrust her off his lap. Pain shot up her back, but she ignored it, for fear of the large group of men that surrounded her had taken over. They looked at her in disgust and horror before the name-calling had started.

"It's the Satan's spawn!" she heard. 

"Nay, it's the devil itself!"

"Look at her fingers. Good Gods!"

Another sank to the floor in prayer. "I ate what it gave me, Gods, forgive me…"

Remy's chest heaved as she fought to take in enough air, her head swiveling, trying to find a route through which she could escape. Tears crept to the surface of her lashes, but she willed them back, knowing they would do no good. 

She knew that her fingers were unusual, the land-owner that she'd worked for before had often called her 'the strange one', but she hadn't thought of herself as a devil's spawn until then.

Her gloves. She needed her gloves. 

Remy crawled to where her simple gloves had fallen to the floor. She noticed that the crowd backed away as she moved, and she saw her escape. Quickly, she picked up the pieces of cloth that she'd owned since she was ten, and ran out of the saloon, her meager belongings still lying in the small, cramped room that she shared with three other girls above the saloon. She was unbearably hurt, for even when she'd known she was different, she hadn't thought of herself as the evil before. 

She had often questioned the Gods as to why she had to be born different. The other children at the landing had teased her; some had even played pranks on her, just because she was different. Remy accepted the fact that she had one extra finger and that she was different… but she couldn't accept being calling the devil's spawn. 

What was wrong with her? Wasn't she passably pretty? Why did the fact that she had six fingers make her evil? She had a kind heart, for she always gave what she could to the other children on the street before she ate something herself. She was not evil! She knew she wasn't.

Silent tears fell onto her cheeks, and the chilly wind whipped them into her flaxen hair as she ran. She did not understand, she simply didn't understand. Why was she different? Why did she have to be different?

So caught up in her own thoughts she had been, that she hadn't noticed the two brawny men that stumbled up the road, until she ran into one of them. She pulled back immediately, her muscles poised to flee. 

"Well, what do we have here?" leered the first one, his fingers digging into Remy's thin shoulders, holding her still. Under the street lamp, Remy could see that he was missing more than one tooth. 

"Unhand me, sir," Remy murmured, wrenching herself away from him, but he caught the front of her blouse. 

"Such a fine-looking thing you are," he went on, eyeing the small swell of her breasts. 

"Release me!" Remy insisted.

"Now, why would I do that, girly? Don't you want to earn a few coins?" he sneered, reaching out to run his other hand over her breasts.

"Let go!" she screamed, twisting in his grip. 

"Let's see what she's got, brother," the other man spoke up, and Remy felt another pair of fingers digging into her waist. 

A loud, ripping sound was heard in the next second, and Remy uttered a wordless cry, her foot coming up to kick both men away.

It was the luck of the stars that she caught both of them by surprise, and they released her momentarily, an opportunity that Remy did not hesitate to take. She took off in a dead run, hearing the men's startled cries of 'hey' and 'get back here!'. 

She slipped and fell onto the rocky roads, scraping her cheek and palm. Pain shot through her body, but she knew the consequences if she stopped running to nurse the wounds. She had managed to keep her body clean from men's blasphemous caresses for sixteen years, and she would not submit to it now. And so she ran, skirt in hand, looking back every once in a while to see if they were still advancing on her. 

She felt as though she had been running for hours when, suddenly, she misjudged a bump on the road and tripped yet again, falling and hitting her head against the hard earth. She tried to rise to her feet again, but found that her limbs could not move. Everything hurt. Her vision had somehow, become impaired, and everything seemed extremely fuzzy. Her mind told her to get up and run, but her flesh was weak, unable to summon the energy to stand. 

Boots rang hollowly against the road's surface as she heard someone come up behind her. Moments later, the two men staggered up the road, huffing and out of breath. In fear, Remy tried to stand again, but felt herself being lifted high into the air. 

At first, she thought that the Gods had finally called for her, and she relaxed, feeling weightless. Then she heard a voice.

"The wench is mine."

Her limbs tensed, but she couldn't move them. She struggled against her captor for a moment before the blessed darkness claimed her…

"Baby?"

Remy blinked, feeling Scar hand moving over her arms. She smiled against the taller woman's back, unable to believe that four years had flown past so very quickly. And she owed her lover every minute of her life, for if Scar hadn't saved her that night, her body would probably be rotting away in an unknown alley right now. 

"Yes?" she replied, lifting her head. She could sense that Scar had something to say, for whenever her jaw was set like that, she was thinking of something important. "What is it?"

Remy un-entwined her arms from around Scar and moved to wedge herself between the railing on the terrace and her lover. She smiled up at Scar, who returned her smile in the darkness. 

"I love you so much that you wouldn't believe it's possible," Scar said softly, her hands coming up to adjust the sheet that Remy had wrapped around herself, so that it would cover her shoulders as well. 

"I love you, too, Scar. You know that," Remy said, wondering what in the universe her lover was up to. 

"Remy…" Scar whispered, ducking her head for a kiss. It was slow and sweet, and when she pulled back, a little, shiny web of moisture stretched between them. Remy flicked it away with a finger. 

"What is it? What's wrong?" Remy asked, made anxious by the worry in Scar's eyes. 

"Remy…" Scar trailed off again, running a hand through her hair. 

"You're making me nervous, Scar," the pixie-like woman said. 

"I'm sorry. It's just…" Sudden determination entered Scar's eyes, as though she had steeled herself to doing something. Remy bit her lip, wondering what was going on in Scar's mind. 

Scar took two steps back and sank to the floor on one knee. She reached into her pocket and slipped the beautiful, sapphire ring out of its pouch. She raised it to a surprised Remy who swallowed thickly. 

"Remy, my baby, will you marry me?"

*

Kistle awoke slowly, hazily sifting through the realms of consciousness, being pulled from the torn parchments of a dream that she couldn't comprehend. She drew in a breath, pulling into her lungs the heady scent of someone familiar, and felt the weight of a hand on her waist. 

She jolted upright immediately when the sensation registered, looking around frantically for any sign of him. Her heart beat like a wild, untamable thing in her chest, oozing with the fear that he was in close proximity. 

But as she tilted her head this way and that, she could not catch even the merest hint that he had been anywhere near her. His warmth was not on the bed, nor was his scent on the pillows. And yet… the feeling of his hand on her waist had been so real; the warmth had been so real. Had she imagined that? Had she started dreaming of him now?

Kistle placed her palm over the area on which she had felt his heat. Unwittingly, she began to trace it with her fingers, her thoughts flitting into the past, only to have her memories shattered when rapid knocking came from the door to her chamber. 

Her chamber? Kistle wondered blearily. How had she gotten to the chamber? Then, another thought popped into her head. Oh, Goddess! Was it morning? It couldn't be! For she had planned to escape the castle during the night! Had her plans for escape been thwarted by her foolishness?

Kistle tried to decipher the time of day, but she found that the drawn curtains were not of much help. There was no light peaking from beneath the curtains, and she took strength from that. Perhaps all her plans were not lost. She had just slipped out of bed to peek out of the curtains when the rapid knocking ensued. It sounded urgent, and Kistle silently prayed to the Goddess that it would be nothing that would detain her from leaving the palace as soon as possible.

She opened the door a crack after adjusting the lovely, stained gown that she'd slept in. On the other side of the door stood the King, flanked by two male servants. 

"Your Majesty," Kistle said, surprised to be visited by the King, in what was probably, very early in the morning. She pulled the door open wider. 

"Lady Kistle. I apologize for bothering you at this ungodly hour, but I'm afraid I need your help. It is about my little girl," the King said, massaging the back of his neck anxiously. 

"Has something happened?" Kistle turned pale quickly, remembering how scrawny and weak the girl had looked. She fervently hoped that nothing untoward had happened to the lovely baby.

"I'm not quite sure. Would you follow me to the Royal suites?" the King asked, his voice strained and laced with confusion. He didn't know what was happening, and being untutored in subjects such as newborn babes was wearing on him. Dom was not untutored in many things. 

"Of course, sir," Kistle said, stepping out into the hall without hesitation. She fell into a step behind the King, moving away from the figure that quietly crept out of her chamber, blissfully unnoticed. 

*

Kistle rushed into the Royal bedchamber to find white foam dribbling out of the little baby girl's mouth. Shocked and instantly worried, she went to the Queen's side and asked her what was wrong. 

"I don't know!" a tearful Chiara exclaimed, tears flowing from the corner of her eyes. "She doesn't want to drink any of my milk. She throws up every sip I feed her! I don't understand! My boy drank so much, but…" 

Kistle sighed and reached for a towel, calmly wiping the milk from the baby's cheek, feeling her muscles relax from the alarm. She knew that there was nothing to be alarmed about now. 

"Your Majesty, if you wouldn't mind my advice…"

"No, of course I wouldn't mind it. I would do anything for my baby girl," the Queen said, shifting the slight baby to a more comfortable position, wiping at her eyes at the same time. 

"You should try feeding her goat's milk, milady," Kistle said, looking up into the Queen's eyes. "There might be something in your milk that she doesn't like, so you should try some other form of milk. It has been more than eight hours since she's been born. She needs some form of nourishment soon."

Dominique, who had been hovering over the two women, quickly dispatched two of his servants to procure goat's milk. While waiting for it, Kistle cooed and crooned to the girl, trying to get her to swallow some of her mother's milk, but the darling thing thrashed and shook its head, shaking its fist in the air. 

After a few minutes, Kistle gave up on trying to feed the baby, and struck up a conversation with the Queen, trying to turn her attention from the problem at hand. 

"Have you thought of a name for her?" she asked, running a finger through the dark hair that dusted the baby's head. 

"We were thinking of Luna, since she was born once the sun had set," Chiara said, looking up to see her husband nod in agreement. 

"The boy will bear my name, of course. He will be Dominique the Hundredth and One," Dom said with much pride, though he would never admit to his wife that there was a tender spot already growing inside him for his young daughter. 

"Milk, sire!" the servant called as he rushed in, carrying a small bowl in hand. Kistle hastily grabbed it from him and headed towards the Queen and her baby. She washed her hands in a basin beside the bed before dipping her index finger into the milk and dribbling the residue into the girl's mouth. 

The King, Queen and servants waited in silent anticipation as the babe stuck its tongue out and licked at the milk. Minutes passed and Kistle used a spoon to dribble more milk into the babe. 

All parties broke into a smile when, an hour later, the milk didn't return to the surface as foam. Slowly, little Luna curled into her mother's swollen breasts and fell into a milk-induced sleep. Kistle smiled slightly and handed the half-empty bowl back to the servant. She had just turned from the bed when the first rays of dawn tinged the sky. Inwardly, Kistle let out a blasphemous curse. Drats! She had missed her opportunity. But she would leave tonight. She could not delay it any further. 

But what of the twins? And Remy? Are you going to leave them as well? a little voice in her head asked her.

I have no choice! she growled at it before turning back to the bed, watching the Royal family cuddling together on the bed. Ignoring the faint pang in her heart, she started for the doorway, only to be stopped by the Queen's tear-filled proclamation of gratitude.

To that, she merely curtsied before exiting the room. 

*

Kistle felt unsettled. There was a dreadful churning in her stomach and a slight buzz flitted through her head. She took deep, calming breaths as she walked along the corridor that encased the Royal dining hall, trying to settle her stomach. But it was of no use. 

Smells of crisp toast and tea emanated from the hall, making her stomach cramp horribly. A hand on her stomach, and another clutching her skirts, Kistle made for the doors to the garden. Once there, she leaned over a bush, afraid that she would empty her bowels. However, nothing exited her mouth but dry heaves of air. Her head spun, making the world seem awash with multiple colors, and she sunk to the grass, head bent, knees raised. 

She didn't know how long she remained in that position, clutching her knees as though it were her lifeline. She had never felt as nauseated before in her short life! Her skin had prickled and her flesh had become cold. Her stomach had turned over in its seat and her head had felt as though it was cushioned in a fist that was squeezing it of its juices! 

A moan escaped her at the memory of the discomfort, and she rocked herself gently, finding that the soothing motions helped alleviate some of the remaining remnants of dizziness. She swayed on the grass for what seemed like hours before she felt gentle, caring hands on her shoulder. She looked up blearily to find a very concerned Remy staring down at her.

"Is something wrong? Should I get the physician?" the pixie-like woman asked, brows furrowing. 

Kistle stared blearily at the other woman before her head dropped back into the dark cave that she'd made for herself. The sunlight that beamed down on both of them seemed to aggravate her headache and she felt the bitter bile rising in her throat yet again. 

"Nay," she moaned into the cloth of her skirts. "Don't get the physician. I'm fine."

"You're obviously not fine, Kistle. I'll be but a moment," Remy insisted, pulling her hands away from Kistle's shoulders, only for Kistle to reach for them again. 

"No, please don't. Stay with me," she asked through clenched teeth. Her stomach had started its rolling again, and Kistle shut her eyes tightly, praying for the Goddess to dull her pain at least a little. 

She felt slight arms around her shoulders, and soon, Remy was rocking her, cooing to her as though she were a child. Kistle rested her weight on her, sighing as the turmoil in her body passed on, slowly. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 09



"I'm feeling much better, thank you," Kistle said, clasping Remy's hands in hers and pulling her down so that they were sitting side by side next to the bushes. 

"What happened, Kistle?" Remy asked quietly, picking up the black cloth and needle that she'd brought along with her. She folded them in her lap as she looked over at her friend. Kistle was pale and her golden locks looked lifeless and pale. Her usually bright, violet eyes were a dull purple and her hands were trembling. Remy wanted to rush for the physician immediately, but she respected her friend's wishes too much to do so. 

"I'm not too sure. There was a horrible stench coming from the dining hall, and it upset my stomach, I suppose," she mussed, resting her chin on her knees. 

But the dining hall was serving breakfast, Remy thought to herself with another frown. In fact, she had just partaken of some of the delicious meat and buttered toast from the dining table. The aroma of it had lured her from her room. How could Kistle have called that delicious aroma, a stench? The thoughts ran through her mind, but Remy didn't contest her friend's taste. Instead, she scooted closer to Kistle and picked her sewing up. 

Kistle's arm made a nice cushion as she laid her head against it. 

"What're you doing?" Kistle asked after minutes of relaxed silence, watching Remy skillfully pull the black thread through the cloth. 

"I'm sewing a shirt for Scar. She loves black," Remy said with a smile, remembering the night before and feeling the welcome weight of the ring that still glinted on her left hand. She was waiting for Kistle to take notice of it. She didn't have to wait long. 

"That is a beautiful ring, Remy. Did Scar buy it for you?" Kistle asked, eyeing the beautiful, sapphire, heart-shaped stone that sat atop a band of gold. She could have sworn that the ring hadn't been on Remy's finger the day before. 

"Yes. She gave it to me last night. It is my engagement ring," Remy replied in a soft, yet proud voice. She ducked her head shyly when Kistle raised her head and sat upright. 

"Nay!" Kistle exclaimed, a sudden burst of happiness for her friend warming her heart. "Truly?"

"Yes," Remy returned, fingering her ring, "She asked me to marry her last night."

"But is that permissible?" Kistle let her question trail off. 

"Yes, it is. Scar was granted permission from your Rade," Remy said, still beaming. 

"He isn't my Rade, but congratulations!" Kistle said before giving her friend a hearty hug in congratulation.

"When will the wedding be held?"

"I'm not too sure. Scar has yet to tell me the details, though I assume it'll be soon… Kistle, I have a favor to ask of you," Remy said suddenly, nervously setting her sewing aside. 

"Yes?" Kistle inclined her head and stretched her legs out; they were beginning to ache. 

"I would like for you to be my bridesmaid."

Shocked and suddenly feeling utterly miserable, Kistle didn't speak. 

"Kistle? Did I say something wrong?" Remy asked after a moment of awkward silence. 

"Um, no. No, you didn't. It's just…Remy… I, um, I cannot…" she trailed off, not knowing if she should tell Remy the truth. It wasn't that she didn't trust Remy, but she did not want anyone else knowing about her plans to flee Marqatia. 

"Oh. Well, why not?" Remy asked, clearly put out. She had been looking forward to Kistle – her only friend – being her bridesmaid for the wedding. 

"It's just… um, I don't think I'd be allowed to go and… you understand," Kistle tried to persuade Remy into letting go of the idea, but it was of no use. She only resulted in hurting her friend. 

"Hmm," Remy said, picking up the shirt once again. She began picking at the threads that she'd sewn incorrectly while speaking with Kistle. Her eyes began to water and she willed herself not to cry. But the hurt of having her only friend turn down an invitation to be her bridesmaid… it tore at her heart with the force of lightning. Perhaps Kistle didn't view her to be as close a friend as Remy viewed Kistle to be. Perhaps Kistle didn't want to come to the wedding. Perhaps she didn't want to be Remy's bridesmaid. Perhaps…

"I should go," Remy muttered when she knew that she could no longer hold the hurt that rose as tears, back. She rose to her feet hurriedly, only to have Kistle gently tug her down again. 

"Please… I just have to go…" Remy protested as a tear snuck out from the corner of her eyelids. 

"Remy… it isn't as it seems," Kistle said, taking hold of the other girl's hands so that she would not run off. 

"What isn't as it seems?" Remy asked, tears flowing freely now. She raised a shoulder and swiped at the salty droplets. 

"Remy, I have to leave this place. I need to go," Kistle said, taking a deep breath and making up her mind on one issue : she was going to have to tell Remy about her plans and why she had to leave. If not, Remy was going to be hurt and Kistle didn't even want to think about hurting her fragile friend.

"Why?" the flaxen-haired woman cried softly. 

"I have to run from him, Remy. Please, try to understand my predicament," Kistle pleaded until Remy folded herself onto the grass before her. 

"Why do you have to run from Rade?" Remy asked, curiosity creeping into her eyes alongside the hurt that Kistle saw there. She took a deep breath before reciting the happenings of the previous week. 

When she was done, telling her story in an almost-bored, practical voice, Remy sat, slack-jawed, her eyes disbelievingly wide, staring at her friend, Scar's shirt forgotten. 

"Dear Gods! Are you all right now? Did he hurt you last night? I cannot believe anyone…Dear Gods!" Remy repeated, reaching out to envelop her friend in a tight hug. Her heart hurt for a completely different reason now. She could not believe that Kistle had been through such pain! Remy had definitely overestimated Rade's character. He was probably worse than those men who had chased her down the street four years ago!

She hugged her friend tightly, trying to absorb Kistle's anguish and pain, trying to heal her of it. She felt the slight quake in Kistle's shoulders and knew that she was crying as well. Remy drew back and used a fleece of her skirt to dry both their eyes. 

"Kistle… if you leave, where would you be going?" Remy asked in a trembling voice. 

"Rasphere, most certainly. I've read about it and it seems like a good place to live in. It is also on the other side of the sun. He won't be able to find me easily if I am there," Kistle explained with a sniff. 

"Of course. Rasphere. I have heard of it. There are small towns and villages there. It is good. How are you going to get there?" Suddenly, Remy's eyes widened. "Kistle, the last spaceship will be leaving tonight at nine! I heard servants talking in the hall just now. The ships stop running during the winter season! The last ship is tonight! If you're going to take a public ship, you have to leave tonight."

Kistle swallowed, grasping her friend's hands in anxiety. She hadn't thought that she'd be leaving Marqatia so soon! She had assumed that she'd discreetly work in one of the restaurants in the city until she had earned enough to buy a ticket on board a ship. But now… she did not have enough money to buy a ticket for the ship! Oh Goddess! What a fix she was in!

"What's wrong?" Remy asked, watching her friend's face crumple. 

"I don't have the coins to buy a ticket for the ship," Kistle admitted, biting her lip. She was busy thinking of what she could do to earn a few coins within the day. 

"Oh," Remy said, waving Kistle's words away, "That isn't a problem, Kistle. I'll buy you the ticket. No, really," she said when Kistle looked as though she would protest. 

"I just want you to leave him. What he did to you… Gods, I can't even bear to think about it!" Remy exclaimed. 

"Remy, are you sure about the ticket?" Kistle asked, afraid to hope. 

"Yes. I just want you to be safe, even if it means that you'll have to be away from here to be thus," Remy said, rising with flinty determination.

"Where are you going?" Kistle asked as Remy walked away from her. 

"I'm going to see if there is any way I can obtain a ticket from the servants. Meet me by the castle's Chapel this eve, will you?" she called before disappearing from sight. 

"I will," Kistle said quietly to herself as she rose from the grass and made her way to the rooms. 

*

"How is little Luna faring?" Dom asked his wife several hours later. Chiara was wrapped in a satin, white nightgown that was loose around her newly-rounded figure. He crawled onto the bed beside both of his precious ladies and kissed their foreheads.

"She's sleeping," Chiara whispered, snuggling against her husband's outstretched arm. "Have you given her the chest, yet?"

"Nay, she wasn't in her room when I knocked. But I did get one of the servants to leave it on her dressing table with a note," Dom said, running a finger down his daughter's soft, warm belly. 

"I don't think anything we give her will be enough to compensate for how much she's helped us, husband," Chiara said, to which Dom nodded gravely. 

"Without her, my babies wouldn't have seen this world," he said, sighing. 

"We are in her debt," Chiara added. 

"We most certainly are."

*

Rade put the soiled cloth away, buttoning the new shirt that he'd pulled across his father's shoulders.

Sir Warren hadn't awakened for two days. Rade knew that it wasn't the sleeping spell that kept him that way, but it was the wretched disease. Every few hours, he would cough thickly, followed by dry bouts of wheezing. And moments after that, he would collapse back into the hollow world of sleep, leaving Rade to clean up the mess that he had made. Rade did not find cleaning his sire a chore, but the older man's constant, hard coughing worried him. Whenever he coughed, pale, yellow liquid would flow from his nose and sometimes, Sir Warren would even choke on the liquid. Rade feared that his father would die from the lack of breath because of the liquid. 

Rade had just set the basin of dirty water outside the chamber when he heard slight, wheezing sounds coming from the bed. He hurried towards it to find his sire's eyes open, his mouth moving as though he needed to say something desperately. 

Rade bent and grasped his father's thick hand in his, clasping it to his heart. 

"Father," he murmured, and smiled when he saw the old man's eyes warm in recognition. 

"Ra-ade."

His name sounded like another wheeze, but Rade caught it and he couldn't help the tears that rose to his eyes. After two days… the Gods must be looking down upon them.

"Ra-ade."

Sir Warren's chin jerked upwards as though he had something to tell Rade. Rade leaned forward to catch the precious words that came out his father's mouth. 

"Ra-ade" was all Sir Warren repeated. 

"I'm here, father. Please, talk to me," Rade pleaded, kneeling beside the bed.

There was silence for the next few minutes and eventually, Sir Warren's eyelids drooped, then closed. Rade had been in enough battles to know that Sir Warren had merely dropped off into sleep rather than death. He sighed and leaned away from the bed. 

It was minutes later when he heard his father speak again. 

"Rade."

Rade lifted himself off the floor and faced his father. He was surprised to find that Sir Warren looked alert. His voice had also been clear, if not slightly shaky. 

"Yes, father. I'm here," Rade replied, reaching, yet again, for the weathered hand. 

"…have to tell you something," Sir Warren was saying.

"Of course, sire. Anything," Rade said. 

"There's a girl. A young girl, one and twenty years of age. In Kierania. I need you to find her for me," the old man wheezed. 

"Of course, sire," Rade repeated. 

"I left her in the Chapel of the Nissi Goddess when she was naught but six months old. I knew her mother; she was pregnant when I met her. I need you to find her – our – daughter. Please, my son. 'Twill be my last wish…"

"Nay, do not say that, father. I will find her for you. Do you know her name?"

"I named her Tessa, but they changed her name in the Chapel. I pray that you find her, son. I have done her mother a grave sin. I promised her that I would care for the girl, and yet, I could not bring her home, because I was afraid -," another wheeze wracked Sir Warren's frail body. "I was afraid of what the court would think. She isn't mine, son. Her father died in combat. But I loved her mother. More than anything, I loved her mother. That was why the Gods took her away from me at childbirth. Because I was a sinner. Son, find her for me. Give her a good life."

"I will, father. I will. I will treat her like a sister," Rade vowed, and winced when his father's fingers clasped around his hand, much too tightly for a dying man. Rade heard his sire's sudden, loud gasp. 

"It's my time, son. I see her waiting for me. Find the girl, son. Sherrie, my love, you are as beautiful as I remembered…" the old man trailed off as his gaze fixed on something in the doorway. 

Rade's eyes followed his father's to find Kistle hovering beside the door, dressed in her pink dress. She had a shocked, incredulous expression on her face, as though she could not believe what she was seeing. 

Rade looked from his father to Kistle, then back to his father again. He leaned towards his sire and whispered, "Was the girl from the Cloud Kingdoms?"

Sir Warren did not take his eyes away from his beauty in the doorway, the way she looked in the pink ruffles. Gods, how much he loved her. He wanted so desperately to join her…

"Father, was the girl from the Cloud Kingdoms?" Rade repeated.

Sir Warren looked at his son, his vision blurring for an instant. Rade looked as though he was saying something, but Sir Warren could not hear anything. His entire being was focused on the angel-like figure in the doorway. His angel. His love. 

"Sherrie, my love. Come closer," he beckoned. 

Rade watched as Kistle crossed the room woodenly, kneeling on the other side of the low bed. 

"Find the girl," Sir Warren mouthed. "Find the girl and marry her."

"Sherrie…" he raised a hand to Kistle's cheek, stroking it longingly, before it fell away weakly. Kistle and Rade watched as Sir Warren's eyes closed, his breathing deepening and finally, fading. When his head turned onto its side, they knew he was gone. 

Rade had prepared himself for the moment, but the impact it had on him was indescribable. A sense of loss permeated his skin, making him feel empty. His father, the sole reason that Rade had become who he was, was gone. Rade felt the tears building inside him, aching to be let loose. But he would not cry. He would not cry for his father's death, for he knew that his father would not want him to be cried over. He would want to be remembered as a strong, powerful man who was respected by many. He would not want anyone to cry for him. 

Rade opened his eyes to see Kistle kneeling on the other side of the bed, her eyes fixated on his father's face. And all of a sudden, the emptiness in him vanished in a second. Looking at the cascade of golden locks and simple uniqueness of her filled him to the point of wholeness.

"I know him," he heard Kistle whisper. 

"I know," Rade replied, releasing his father's limp hand. 

"I dream of him; I dream of his eyes."

"I know."

"Is he my father?" she asked, her eyes never leaving Sir Warren's face. 

"Nay, he was not. But he nurtured you for the first six months of your life."

A wild rush of emotion rose in Kistle. "I have to leave," she said, rising to her feet. 

"No, you should not. Did you not hear all of our conversation?" Rade asked. There was a moment of silence.

Then, "Yes," she whispered with her back to him. 

"Good. Then I will see you at the Chapel this eve. Be ready."

*

Be ready? BE READY?

Goddess! The man had gall. There was no way in heaven or hell that she was marrying him. Even if it was his dying father who had decreed it, she could not marry him. He was a boar of a man who didn't care for her. He was a man so driven by jealousy that he'd nearly killed her because of it. He was a man who took women as a pastime, as a form of sport, just as he had taken her. The man was unscrupulous, rage-filled and entirely too violent for her liking. She could never marry him. She would never marry him. There was too much of the unsaid between them, too much violence, too much… hate. How could one marry a man whom she knew could strangle her at any turnabout?

Kistle paced in front of her bed, worrying her lower lip as she watched the sun set. She needed to get out of the castle as soon as possible! But when she had looked for Remy, she had been no where to be found. Kistle guessed that her friend was still looking around for a ticket for her and she felt bad at inconveniencing her friend. She sighed, straightening her shoulders. But what had to be done, had to be done. 

She sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing the readily packed travel sack that she had placed at the bottom of it. Her mended lavender gown, underthings and her 'borrowed' tome were the only things that she was taking with her. She had already hung the beautiful, white dress she owned in the large armoire, not having the heart to bring it with her. Somehow, she felt that her leaving the castle would hurt the Queen, and leaving the dress behind was Kistle's way of saying that she was leaving everything behind. All she wanted was to start a new life in a new place – a place where she wasn't known as the love slave of a war leader. A place where she would be respected for who she was. 

She wanted to be a real woman, a woman who could survive on her own without the help of a man. Why couldn't she be a woman like that? All her life, she had been the docile, gentle creature that she had been expected to be. She had served under Mother Agnetta, pretending to be a soft-spoken young woman, and then, she had been made to serve that wretched man as his sex slave. Well, she was tired of serving anyone. She wanted to serve no one but herself. And she would see to it that that wish came true. 

Kistle knelt by the bed, taking note of the disappearing sun, as she bowed her head in prayer, but the only thing she saw when she closed her eyes, was the image of Rade's father, weak and dying, reaching for her in his deathbed. A streamer of pain zipped through her heart. Sir Warren had been the first man to see her enter the world, the first person to carry her. And yet, she had not known him until the very moment that he'd passed on. She remembered entering the room upon chance, and seeing the figure on the bed. Her eyes had immediately gone to his, the dark eyes that she'd dreamt about since she was a child. A wealth of memories had burst forth – of times she had been so confused by the dream, and of times when she'd been comforted. She had not known who those kind eyes had belonged to, but now she did. And the knowledge didn't bring her joy as she'd expected. 

Sir Warren had been the closest thing she had had to a father, until he had handed her over to the care of the Chapel. Part of her seethed at his ignorance in doing so – denying her a childhood bound with love – but another part grieved for his loss. She had not had time to speak with him of a mother that she hadn't known, and other than the fact that she now knew that she looked almost exactly like her mother, there was nothing else that she knew about Sherrie. Kistle's heart twisted helplessly again, and she cast all thoughts aside, throwing herself into the 'Soul's Prayer' to calm her heart. When she looked up, her heart steely and mind determined, she heard a knock on the door. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 09



Kistle knew that it could not be him, for he'd rode into the city to purchase their clothing, and so she opened the door to peak into the hallway confidently. 

"Your dress, milady," the servant that stood in the hallway said. 

"Dress? Has Rade arrived so soon?" Kistle asked, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice. She had not expected him to return for another hour at least. She had intended to use that time to grab her sack and make for the ship station!

"Nay, milady. This is a gift from the Queen." With that statement, the servant swept in and laid the shimmering golden dress on the bed. Kistle barely flicked a glance at it. 

"Thank you," was all she said as the servant bowed and left the room. 

Kistle shut the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes against the magnificent sight on the bed. Her tiny hands curled into fists and she fought hard against the temptation to scream her agony. Why did the Queen have to make leaving such a horrible ordeal? It was hard enough for Kistle to leave everyone behind, but her acts of kindness were making it much harder…

Another knock on the door startled Kistle, and she jerked away from the wood and hauled the door open more quickly than usual. 

On the other side of the door stood Remy, her skirts tussled, her hair in a mess. But between her fingers, she held a thin, white piece of paper. Kistle could've cried. 

Hastily, she grabbed her friend and hauled her into the room before shutting the door and bolting it. 

"I heard the news," Remy said as she adjusted her skirts in the mirror that sat on the dressing table. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the dark box on it. 

"Yes. Now it is most important that I leave," Kistle said, gathering her sack in two hands. 

"What is this?" Remy asked, lifting the lid on the box. When she saw its contents, she gasped. 

"It is a gift from Her Majesty. I'm leaving it behind. I cannot accept it," Kistle said, not masking her impatience very well. Remy was still holding her ticket. 

"Of course," Remy said smoothly, palming one of the gold coins. 

"Remy, can I have the ticket? I have to leave the castle. Rade will be here soon, and he will give chase if he finds me gone…" Kistle trailed off, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. 

"Will you give me a hug first?" Remy asked, turning towards her friend. It suddenly dawned on Kistle that this might very well be the last time that she saw Remy, and thick emotions rose to clog her throat. She slung her sack over her shoulder and rushed forward into her friend's arms. Remy took the opportunity to slip the coin into Kistle's sack. 

"I will miss you very much," Kistle said, taking deep, gulping breaths to fight the tears. I'm a strong woman now, she told herself. I should stop this wretched weeping. 

"I will miss you, too. Please, keep safe," Remy said pulling away and handing Kistle the ticket. "I have written the address to our home on the back of the ticket. I will wait for your letters."

Kistle gave her a quivering smile and nodded, slipping the ticket into the top of her bodice. 

"There is a small gate that the servants use as a short-cut to the city. It is directly behind the gardens. The trail will lead you to the city," Remy said as she followed Kistle out of the bedroom and down the corridor. Both women descended the stairs quickly and dashed across the gardens. They found the side gate hidden behind a clump of greenery. 

"Goodbye, my friend," Remy said solemnly, clasping Kistle's hand in hers. 

"Goodbye."

They shared another embrace, with Remy reluctant to let Kistle loose. But a minute later, the violet-eyed woman was no more than a shadow in the distance, beneath the dark, night sky. 

*

Rade rode up to the Chapel, already dressed in his best suit. He had ridden to his city lodgings to freshen himself up, before riding back to the castle in a hurry. Nervously, he ran a hand down the black suit, thinking of the hour ahead. 

He was going to be married to the woman he loved. 

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he guided his horse to the stable boy nearby As the boy tugged the horse away, Rade looked up at the thick, white marble that held up the Chapel.

He never dreamed that he would be here to be married one day. Rade had always thought that he was done with courting women, wooing them. He had been satisfied with the different women from brothels in his bed. He had liked their attention and the uncomplicated loving they gave him. A shudder used to wrack his body at the thought of being tied down to only one woman, sharing only one body for the rest of his life. But now, as Kistle's image ran through his mind, he only felt joy. 

Initially, he wondered if he was pressuring her into marriage, but realized that Kistle would respect the decisions of his late father, especially since Sir Warren had been like a father to her once. It was unbelievably coincidental that Rade himself had been drawn to Kistle, a woman that his father had held in his arms as a child, but fate had a humorous way of intermingling with life. And Rade accepted fate's mischief this time because it had worked to his advantage. His father had gotten Kistle to marry him. 

There had not been a wake for his father, as Sir Warren had requested. A few hours after he had passed on, Rade had ordered his body taken to the Royal cemetery and buried beside his late mother. Rade did not grieve for his father, for he had come to realize that there was no reason to. Sir Warren would live in Rade's heart, even if he was not still living and breathing. Rade could live with that. 

Thus, instead of feeling sorrow for his father's death, Rade only felt the happiness at finally being able to legally own the woman that he wanted. He knew that Kistle was only marrying him because of his father's decree, but that didn't matter to him. He would treat her well, and love her well. In the forthcoming years, she would learn to love him as well. It was so simple. 

He started for the Chapel with a bright smile, only to stop in his tracks when something glimmered beside him. 

Scar materialized, her body moving through time and space until finally, she stood before him, unsteadily. He watched, paralyzed as she fell to the ground before him, clutching her stomach. Rade knelt beside her immediately, watching as blood spurted out of her mouth and nostrils. Her hands rested on her abdomen as blood oozed from between her fingers. 

Scar wheezed, spurting more blood onto the ground. Rade reached out and began to lift her, only to be stopped by Scar's strong arms. 

"No, don't," she said through gritted teeth. "You have to go. Now. They're marching. Mobility spell. Going to attack in three days. Need to go. Now!"

"Who did this to you?" Rade said through gritted teeth. 

"Soldiers. Caught spying. Need Remy. Please! Go now! Army needs you…"

A myriad of thoughts ran through Rade's mind as he motioned the guards of the Chapel over to help Scar. Kistle, the army… should he leave? Should he leave before binding himself to Kistle?

The answer leaped into his head in the next moment. Yes. He had to leave. Kistle could reside in the castle until he returned. It would not make a difference if he married her now or then. She was his. But more importantly, his army needed him for battle right now, and he needed to prepare his men for combat. He had been trained for situations of this nature. 

Thus, he took a deep breath and whistled for the stable boy to ready his ship, and as quickly as he could, he wiped his hands off Scar's blood and penned a note for Kistle. It was a two second debate on whether he should sign off with 'love', but in the end, that was how he ended the letter. He thrust the piece of paper into the hands of an awaiting servant and grabbed the satchel that another servant handed him. He was on the ship in mere minutes. 

As the ship lifted into the air, he thought he saw a golden-haired woman leaving the castle from the servant's gate, but when he blinked, he saw nothing but dark trees and dirt roads. 

*

A.N.: As you can probably tell, this is going to be a start of a new and improved Kistle. For all you guys who were begging for a stronger heroine, you're in for a treat! LOL. 

As usual, I hope you leave a comment on this chapter. Really, you have no idea as to how much each and every comment motivates me. You guys can make my day sometimes :P

Thanks ya'll!

Lillian. 



A Marq's Woman Ch. 10



Kierania

March, 1825

Rade crouched down beside the fire, poking the burning embers with a stick as he watched his men drag their heels to their tents around him. It had been more than four months, and the violence of the war seemed to be everlasting. Just that day, he had lost twenty-seven men in the battle of the Valleys, and even though it had been a Marq victory, the loss of his men gave him far more sorrow than pride he gained from the victory. There was just too much blood, too much pain. 

Every time they had to lower a man into the soil, he would think of how many people had depended on the fellow for food, or of how many loved ones he had back home. Whenever he thought of that, that choking pain would overwhelm him, and he would slowly trudge away from the burial site, telling himself that he was getting soft and that he needed to act like a man. 

If his manliness was thawing, he had only one person to attribute it to. The golden-haired beauty that he had left back home. There was just something about her that made him ache for her, even as he lay in his tent at night, his body battered and weary from battle. He thought mostly of her smile, the bare hint of pearly teeth when she looked over at him from behind her shoulder, the way she giggled when he found a ticklish spot on her body. The memories of her would float in his mind consistently. Sometimes, an image of her would pop up in his mind and remain there through the night. He would not be hearing her laughter, or would not even conjure the sound of her voice. He would merely think of her angelic features, and that would be enough to keep him warm even in the coldest December winters. 

Kistle, he sighed longingly as the cooks started placing the pots of rice over the fire. If only you were by my side right now...

For even though he could survive on her memory alone, there were times when he ached for her kisses, her touch. There was just something mysteriously, sensually, virginal about her kisses that made him squirm. He could only remember all too well, the times when he had made her respond to his kisses, and the way she had changed from a shy, little girl to a brazen temptress, the way her eyes had turned from vivid purple to a smoky amethyst. Gods, but he missed her. Missed her body and soul. 

If he could hold her in his arms right now, he would do nothing but curl his fingers into her hair and keep her beside him, cuddling by the fire all through the night. As the thought took root in his head, Rade felt an emptiness fill the void in between his arms. With a groan, he threw the stick in his hand into the fire and covered his face with his hands. 

He was slowly going insane, that's what it was. He could not even think of her for a moment and not want to feel her. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. It was disconcerting in the very least. 

"Losing your mind, brother?"

Rade grunted as Tyson took a seat next to him in front of the warm fire. 

"Lost yours yet?" Rade said in response. Tyson merely chuckled and took out his whittling knife and a piece of wood. He was shaping it into a horse for his child to play with. 

"Not yet. But I'm nearly there," Tyson joked, setting to work, carefully running the flat blade of the knife over the wood. 

"I should've married her before I left," Rade mumbled, watching the water in the large pots coming to a boil. He gestured the cooks over. 

"Marry her?" Tyson looked up, surprised. "Kistle agreed to marry you?"

"Well, I...um...hmmm... yes, she did," Rade said finally, causing Ty to raise his eyebrows in question. 

"Umhmmm doesn't sound very much like a yes, Rade," he prophesized. 

Rade shook his head at his friend. "It's complicated, Ty."

"We have all night."

Rade was momentarily saved when one of the cooks came forward and handed him and Tyson a bowl of rice and potatoes. Both men set their bowls aside for the time being. It was tradition for the leaders to start eating only after the soldiers had done so. 

Rade remained silent even after the cook walked away from them. Tyson continued to stare at his friend. 

"Hell," Rade spat. "You're not going to leave it alone, are you?"

Tyson shook his head. "I've known you for more than eight years, Rade. I know when you need to talk to someone."

Rade damned his friend for being right. Gods, Ty was always right. Rade sighed and searched the ground for another stick to poke the fire with, just to occupy his hands. 

He cleared his throat before he started to speak. 

"My father, gods bless his soul, asked for me to marry Kistle before he died."

Tyson nodded slowly, waiting for his friend to continue. When Rade didn't, Tyson prodded him. 

"And..."

"And what? She heard what he told me. You see, my father knew her mother twenty or so years ago, but she died in childbirth. Don't get me wrong," he added when Ty's eyes widened, "She isn't my father's child. No, Kistle's mother was with child when my father met her. They fell in love. He vowed to care for her child. But instead, he feared to bring the baby back home when she died, for he didn't know what others would think, and thus, entrusted her to the Chapel." 

Rade went on when Tyson nodded again. 

"His dying wish was for me to find his girl, Tessa. Then, he saw Kistle standing in the doorway, looking at him. He started calling out to her; he called her Sherrie, his lover's name. In that moment, everything just came together. The pieces of the puzzle were finally whole. When I first held Kistle, she had looked into my eyes with some sort of recognition in her own, for my eyes are like my father's. She was remembering my father's eyes. And then, she confessed to me later that she dreamt about my father's eyes – which is not a surprise since he nursed her for six months before he gave her up."

He looked up from where he was poking the fire to find Tyson staring intently at him. He went on with his story. 

"So... my father passed on that night, after he thought he had seen his lover again. His dying wish had been for me to wed Kistle." 

Rade shrugged. 

"How convenient for you," Tyson said wryly. "So how did you propose to her?"

"Propose?" Rade said, baffled. 

"Yes, propose," Tyson said with a small amount of disgust in his voice. 

"It wasn't needed. She had heard what my father said. She should respect my father's wishes, should she not?"

"Respect the wishes of a man who left her in the trust of a Chapel when she was but a child? The man who had deprived her of the love of a father figure? I don't think so," Tyson said, humming thoughtfully as he returned to his whittling. 

"What're you saying?" 

Rade's eyes narrowed dangerously. 

"I'm saying that she doesn't have to respect your father's wishes. He's a stranger to her. She doesn't have to marry you."

Instant anger gurgled low in Rade's stomach. He looked at his friend sharply. 

"What makes you think that she wants to marry you?" Ty asked, blowing the wood shavings off the slightly-disfigured horse. 

"What?" Rade roared, catching the attention of the other few soldiers who were huddled on the other side of the fire for its warmth. 

"What makes you think she wants to marry you?" Ty repeated, unconcerned by his friend's anger. 

"What makes me..." Rade trailed off, fury claiming his ability to speak. "Of course she'd want to marry me! She shared her body with me, for the gods' sake!"

Tyson winced, remembering a time where he'd acted almost the same way. He realized what a fool he'd sounded like then. 

"You love her, don't you?" he asked. 

"Yes!" Irritated, Rade rose to his feet and started pacing. 

"You love her but you didn't propose marriage to her? You let your father propose marriage for you?"

"Don't twist what happened around, Ty. I told you, there was no reason for me to propose. She had heard that my father wanted both of us to be married!"

Damn, damn, damn. Why was Tyson doing this to him? Rade ran an agitated hand through his dark hair. He had never thought of the off chance that Kistle would not want to marry him. Marrying him would be a great opportunity for her. She would no longer be a poor, orphan, love slave, but a woman who was related by marriage to the Marq Royal family. She would have all the jewels and dresses a woman could ever want. Why would she ever say no? He could give her anything a woman would ever want.

And even though he had yet to tell her that he loved her – adjusting to the fact himself – he had reasoned that he could always show her that he did after the wedding. He just wanted her to belong to him, now and forever, for the thought of her being touched by another was truly infuriating. 

"Did you tell her you love her?" 

The question, posted by Ty, had him snapping out of his raging fit. It was an echo of the very same thing that he had asked Ty when Ty had been rejected for marriage by Ginny. Rade groaned. 

"I would have told her after the wedding. We had no time. I would be leaving the next day!" 

"Telling her that you love her would take little less than three seconds, Rade," Tyson said, getting up as well. 

"Damnit! Damnit! Are you trying to say that she doesn't want to marry me?" Rade fumed. He was ready to punch the life out of his friend. 

"I'm saying that I'll be surprised if she's still waiting for you like a docile little girl to get married when you return. I've seen how strong she is, Rade. I doubt she'll wait for a man who doesn't love her," Tyson called over his shoulder as he walked away with his bowl of food. 

"But I do!" 

Rade's proclamation was only heard by the very surprised soldiers who scrambled off to their tents a moment later, leaving Rade with his discomforting thoughts. 

*

Rasphere

Late July, 1825

Oh, Goddess! 

The pain was excruciating! Kistle gripped the mat under her as lighting bolts of pain shot through her spine and spread over her body. She was crying out, animal-like, wordless screams that were torn from her very soul. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she tried to take her mind off the pain to do what needed to be done. But it was no use. It clamped around her like a vise, squeezing the life from out of her body. 

She shut her eyes, praying reverently for some ease in pain, but the Goddess was not kind to her. Spear after spear of stinging aches battered her body, until she was sure she was splitting into two. 

She bit her lip in order to stifle her screams, and tasted blood on her tongue. Something whined beside her and tilted her head to find Pip, the stray, golden dog's eyes on her suffering form. His tongue flicked out to lick the perspiration from her forehead. She tried to reach out to him, but a spasm of pain coursed through her, stealing her breath. 

After what seemed like hours of nearly-unbearable pain, Kistle knew it was time. Squeezing her eyes shut, she closed her fists around the cotton mat and emitted the loudest, shrillest, most ear-splitting scream of her life. 

*

Kierania

June, 1827

The war had stretched on for far too long. Two hundred and ten Marqs had died and twenty-five of them remained critically injured. The Kieranians had not fared any better. 

Jisisile had ordered the retreat of the Marqs from Kieranian lands. The Marqs had declined. Their leader, Sir Rade, had called for a final battle; whoever won would claim rights to the whole of Kierania. Jisisile had declined that proposal. Instead, he wanted a battle between only two men. 

Rade received the missive from a hawk that had been circling the Marq camp. The piece of parchment fell on his lap without a sound. It was rolled up and tied with a piece of golden ribbon. 

Brows crossed, Rade unrolled the paper and read from it out loud to the curious men who surrounded him.

"Sir Rade, 

I propose a little battle between our best men. Whoever hits the soil first has to forfeit my land. 

If you agree to this proposal, stake the Marq flag at the edge of your camp, beside the large boulder. The battle will begin at dawn tomorrow.

His Majesty, King Hermissle Jisisle Ci Yelmbuerg the Seventeenth."

"His name's longer than the note," someone in the crowd said. 

The soldiers around him laughed nervously, wondering what their leader's decision would be. They knew that if Rade agreed to it, the battle that they had fought today would have been their last one. If not, they would have to face more months of violence and bloodshed. They held their breaths collectively as Rade pondered what the note said. 

Tyson moved in beside his friend, placing his hand on Rade's shoulder. 

"I will fight for the men, Rade," he said, his eyes mirroring unflinching determination. His words rang loudly across the valley that they were camped in. Following it came an aching, empty silence. 

"Nay," Rade declared loudly after a while. "I will fight for our men. Order a flag staked by the boulder."

The piece of paper fell to the ground as Rade made his way away from camp. The throng of men parted as he moved between them, shoulders straight and chin raised.

It wasn't until he reached the edge of the forest that he let his tired shoulders slump, his eyes close in exhaustion. 

The past months had been hell on him. He had lost more men that he had in any other war. There were so many warriors who'd lost their limbs, forcing them to return home for they'd become of no use to the army. Even his fiercest warrior, Gordon, had lost his sword arm in a battle two weeks ago. And almost all his soldiers were tired beyond belief. 

It would be the fight tomorrow that would make or break the army. He knew that if he lost, every man in his army would feel nothing but anger at the many months they'd fought for, for they had fought for nothing. If Rade lost, his countrymen would not gain anything for the months of pain and anguish they'd endured. 

If he lost tomorrow, the men who had died, had died for nothing. 

Rade emitted a feral growl low in his throat, his hand clamping around the handle of his sword. He could also feel the indentation of his father's six-inch blade that he kept in his boot, plastered against his skin. Somehow, the hidden piece of metal gave him much confidence. 

Alone, in the woods, he withdrew his sword from the leather that it was sheathed in, swinging it high in the air, while he crouched low to the ground. He conjured the image of his opponent in his mind, crouching before him, circling him, and he played out the method of attack in his mind. Practice, Rade, he thought. It would be his best weapon to be ready and skilled. 

It was hours past midnight when he sheathed his sword again and walked briskly to the stream for a drink of water. After he had quenched his thirst, he trudged back to camp, stealing a handful of biscuits from the cooks' tent, munching on the stale treats as he stepped into his tent. Sighing, he sat on the small bench that had been placed next to his bedroll. In front of him was a sheaf of papers and an inkwell. 

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out all thoughts, all feelings. He needed to compose himself for his fight at dawn. But even as he tried to settle his raging blood, he could not blot recurring thoughts out of his mind. 

It had been one and a half years since he'd received news that Kistle had run away. And his worry for her safety seemed to escalate each day that he thought about her. He had written to the King to send detectives out to look for her, but all of their searches had turned out to be unfruitful. Rade didn't know where she was, or even is she was alive. So many things could've happened to her – she could have been kidnapped, raped, killed!

The irony of the situation hit him like a bucket of swamp water. 

Bloody hell, he thought. Hadn't he done that to her as well? He had kidnapped her from the Chapel, he had taken her without her consent, and he'd put his hands around her neck with the intention of killing her. Granted, he knew he wouldn't have had the guts to actually kill her, but he had tried to, and that was what mattered. 

Rade envisioned himself from Kistle's eyes: the man who had brutalized her in every way possible. He saw himself as a monster, taking a young, innocent girl away from everything she knew, and making her be his bodily slave. He had not given her much choice in anything. Gods, he had even tried to dictate the color of her clothing!

Memories of her flashed through his mind, the very same memories that had haunted him for the past two years. Memories of a laughing, carefree girl whom he'd broken into a woman who was afraid even to be touched. He remembered the way she had looked at him when he'd come close to her after they'd disembarked from the ship. Yes, he had broken her. And she had every right to hate him. 

Rade groaned. He didn't need this now. He ran a hand over his face, trying to block all distracting thoughts of her from his head. Over the past months, he had learned to shove the memories of her to the back of his head when going into battle. It had been hard for him to do so at first, but after he had seen a soldier hacked to bloody pieces, he realized that he had to do something about his wandering mind before it became the death of him. 

The pocket watch that lay on the table told him that it was half past four, about half an hour before sunrise. He twisted his neck, feeling the strained muscles and bones in it pop and crack loudly. Then he let out a deep breath. 

What if you don't win? The thought flitted into his mind, making him tense again. If he didn't win, he would never see Kistle again. He would never be able to tell her that he loved her. He would never be able to apologize for what he had done to her. She would live with the memory of his cruel behavior, ingrained in her for the rest of her life. He couldn't have that. 

Quickly, he dipped the quill in the inkwell and began to write. 

When he looked up, the first ray of sunlight shimmered from behind a mountain in the distance. From his perch on the bench, he noticed that there was someone lurking outside his tent. He recognized the hulking figure of Tyson instantly. Rade folded the letter, picked his sword belt up and exited the tent. 

He didn't have to say anything as he handed Ty the letter. The knowledge of what to do with it showed in his friend's eyes. Slowly, he cinched the belt around his waist, watching as soldiers slowly filed out of their tents to see their leader leaving for battle. When there was a good crowd of them around him, Rade lifted his sword into the air and cried, "To victory!"

His roar was accompanied by the cheers of his men, piercing the morning quiet of the forest. Amidst the noise, a young soldier led Rade's and Ty's horses to them. They mounted up, and with another war cry, Rade led the stud into a canter, riding to an unknown future. 

*

Two lone riders appeared from the middle of the valley, their horses galloping smoothly across the leveled terrain. Jisisle sat upon his mobile throne, golden garb glinting in the light of dawn. His warriors surrounded him, giving him much comfort, for he knew that they would give their lives to defend the Kieranian honor; they would fight for him until their deaths.

His knowledge made him sit a little straighter in his chair, made his nose turn a little higher up into the air. He eyed the two dark men with astute distaste as they rode quickly and sharply, before stopping a respectable distance away from his shoulders. The leaner one, the man who had stepped so glibly into Jisisle's castle and demanded his land, spoke first. 

"I have come to fight your man," he said in a voice that Jisisle remembered all too clearly. His fists clenched in the blank fury that rose within him. Standing before him was the man who had broken his dear land into bits and pieces. And today, he was going to pay for his discretions. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 10



"Really?" Jisisle questioned from across the field. "I thought you'd come to die."

The last word was spoken in a growl, but it was carried across by the wind. Jisisle could hear the soldiers behind him cheering their agreement to his words. It made him smile. 

"Only fools wither time away in talk when there is work to be done," the other man said. Jisisle could only assume that this was Rade's first-in-command. Tough like a bull, he was. 

Rade moved back to where Tyson stood and embraced his friend. Their eyes locked for an instant, conveying all that needed to be said between them. There was respect, honor, friendship and yes, even love. If Rade did not make it past dawn, Tyson knew what should be done. 

"Not interested in getting to know your challenger, I see," the King's whiny voice floated across the field. Rade and Ty shared an annoyed smile. It was Marq culture to do what needed to be done and moving on with life, but it was becoming pretty obvious that the practice was not part of Kierania's culture. 

"Whoever it is, he'll be a dead man by noon," Tyson replied as Rade unhooked his shield from the saddle of his horse. He held it against himself, fitting it against his body like a second protective layer of skin. The armor had belonged to his father, and he knew that if anything brought him luck this day, it would be his shield.

Rade took three steps forward, knowing that Ty was moving both their horses back, away from where the battle would take place. He took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tension in his shoulder muscles and neck and jogging gently on the spot, getting himself ready for what was probably going to be the battle that he'd be known for. 

"I call forth Ison!" the King shouted to the men behind him, and from amidst the mass of men appeared a red-haired giant. 

Focus on your foe, no matter how large or small he is. Never underestimate him. Never take your eyes away from him. If you do not take his life, he will take yours.

His father's words of wisdom came back to him, settling the flurries of anxiety he felt in his stomach. Rade narrowed his eyes and stared into the bleak, green ones of his opponent. The seven-foot-tall man merely stared back, prancing back and forth on his feet like a horse. He was also bare-chested, the scars on his abdominal muscles glinting in the morning light. Rade shook his head slightly at the other man's overconfidence, for Rade's sword could easily sift through the muscle and bone of his chest without an armor for protection. 

"Gentlemen," the King said, though neither man looked up from their intense eye contact. "Let the battle begin."

Rade dropped into a crouch smoothly, holding his shield protectively before him, and the giant did the same. There was no movement for many minutes, save the harsh breathing of both men. Then, slowly, the giant took a tiny step to his left. 

Rade optimized the opportunity when one of the giant's foot was off the ground, to lash out with his drawn sword. But the giant had anticipated the attack, and shielded himself with much skill. Moments later, the first clang of sword against sword pierced the quiet of the morning air. 

Rade plotted his movements carefully, retreating when the giant's sword bore down on him with enough strength to kill a lesser man. He stumbled backward, but was able to counter the attack with blows from his sword and protection from his shield. 

Neither party had thought that the battle would take very long. But it did. The morning sun faded away, bringing forth a burst of afternoon sunlight, but the desperate battle continued, both men unwilling to give up the fight. A fine sheen of sweat covered their bodies, making their breaths choppy and harsh as they swung their swords. 

The end of the battle approached swiftly as Rade was struck to the ground, his sword knocked out of his hand by his opponent's blow. He scrambled back quickly, and the plunge of the giant's sword fell not on Rade's chest but on his thigh. 

Thick spurts of blood sprayed into the air, but neither man paid notice. Rade could already see the gleam of triumph in the giant's eyes as he raised his sword for another blow. But Rade had different ideas. 

He lifted his own sword, one he had grasped as he scrambled on his elbows, and thrust it into the heart of the surprised giant. 

The red-haired troll stared at Rade in disbelief, then looked down into the sword that jutted out from his skin. He staggered backward and Rade heaved himself up, grabbing hold of the handle of his sword, and pulled. 

The giant fell into the grass with not much more sound that a dead horse. 

Rade stood above the body, feeling the copious amount of his life's blood seeping from within the gauge in his thigh. He felt himself growing weak, but the knowledge that the Marq's had won the war, gave him enough strength to stand for some time. 

"Kierania is ours. We expect full cooperation," he shouted to the King, who had stood up to witness the fight. 

"Nay!" the weasel denied. "Nay!"

Rade felt strong arms catch him just as he fell, pulling him to his feet. He knew he was losing too much blood to remain conscious for long. A shrill whistle permeated his fogged brain and he looked into the distance to see his soldiers appearing from behind the boulders that were strewn not too far away from the battle site. Slowly, he watched as they came closer and formed a battalion behind him. His vision began to blur as he heard Ty speak. 

"Surrender or we attack."

He couldn't remember much of what happened after that, for the darkness claimed him, sucking him under the groggy mist. 

*

Farrow's Hill, Marqatia

November, 1827

"He's come out of his delirium, but has been very different as of late," Scar said as she entered the drawing room, unbuttoning her shirt as she did.

"Hmm," was all she got in response from her wife, who was seated in front of her writing desk, furiously scrawling something on paper. The sight brought back memories of a time when Scar had taught an incredibly innocent girl how to read and write. She smiled as she settled herself onto one of the comfortable, old, brocaded settee. 

Reaching down, she began to unlace her boots, sighing as she put her bare feet up on the table. 

"Remy?" 

Again, she got nothing but a distracted "hmm". 

Remy jolted when caressing hands fell on her shoulder, feeling her heart-rate accelerate twofold. She raised a hand to her heart as she looked up at Scar, who was standing above her with a curious smile twisting her features. Quickly, Remy used her other hand to fold the piece of paper that she was writing on, into two. 

"Scar," she said, breathless. "When did you get home?" For in truth, she hadn't even heard the loud creak of the front gate!

"Just now," Scar said, mildly amused by Remy's shock. What had she been so wrapped up in that she hadn't heard Scar coming home?

"Oh. I didn't hear you," Remy said, stating the obvious. She rose from the bench, the piece of paper in her hands. "I'll just make you some tea."

Scar's eyes narrowed in on the anxiety in her wife's eyes, to the parchment clasped in her hands. "What's in your hands?"

"Nothing," Remy said hastily. Too hastily. 

Scar crossed her arms over her chest, raising a brow as she did. She knew that Remy was keeping something from her. 

"You know you can tell me anything," she said. Remy bit her lip. 

"I c-can't," she stuttered. 

"Why?" Scar asked as she took the seat that Remy had vacated. She must be growing old, for the wound on her abdomen seemed to sting more every day. 

"I promised not to," Remy said, turning away, but Scar caught her by the hips and hauled the smaller woman between her legs. 

"Really? And how long have you kept this from me?" Scar asked, feeling a twisted sort of anger rise within her. 

"A while," Remy whispered, noticing the faint anger and irritation in Scar's eyes. She hated it when Scar got angry. 

"How long is a while?" Scar demanded, her hands fisting in the smaller woman's dress. 

"A while," Remy repeated, feeling suddenly guilty. She would never have kept her correspondence with Kistle a secret if Kistle hadn't asked her to. Now, she felt wretched for hiding it from Scar. "I will tell you if you promised not to tell anyone... even if that person is a dear friend of yours."

Scar tilted her head, eyeing Remy closely before turning the smaller woman in her arms and pulling her down onto her lap like a little girl. Remy had to smile despite herself. She loved it when Scar was being romantic. 

"All right," Scar said, her anger gone, replaced by mild curiosity and amusement. "I promise. Now tell me."

When Remy only remained silent, Scar said, "Have I ever broken a promise to you?"

Remy shook her head, settling herself more comfortably on Scar's lap, mindful of the sore spot on the other woman's stomach. She squirmed for a moment before sighing heavily. 

"I'm writing a letter to Kistle."

"What?"

"You needn't shout!" Remy said, rising from her perch. "You're not to tell anyone, Scar. You promised!"

"You were writing to Kistle? The very same Kistle who ran away from the castle?" Scar said, thoroughly shocked. She had, in fact, helped to dispatch investigators to search for the missing woman a few years ago. All the investigators had been useless. 

"Yes," the flaxen-haired pixie said slowly. 

"And you know where she is?" Scar countered just as slowly. 

"Yes."

Silence. 

Then, "Why didn't you tell me this before I sent the investigators out years ago?"

"Because I promised not to tell anyone about where she was."

"You also promised to always be completely honest with me, Remy," Scar spat, her anger returning to the surface. 

"I was never dishonest!" Scar's accusation sparked Remy's anger as well. "You never asked me if I knew where she was, did you? If you'd asked me, and I said I didn't know, that would be being dishonest. As it is, you didn't ask me anything! How could you accuse me of being dishonest?" she fumed, amber eyes glinting beneath the late afternoon sun. She turned, muttering to herself as she stalked out of the sitting room and into the kitchen, in desperate need of some cooling tea. 

Setting the letter away, she set a kettle of water above the cast-iron stove, gritting her teeth as she did so. Oh, why did she have to fly off the handle like that? Remy hated getting angry, especially when it came to Scar. But the accusing manner that Scar had looked at her made something fierce and defensive rip inside her. 

Remy heard Scar enter the kitchen. She stood still as the taller woman came up to her, standing closely behind her. 

"I'm sorry," Scar said first, sighing. "I shouldn't have said that."

Remy squeezed her eyes shut, telling herself that she always forgave Scar so easily, but she didn't protest when Scar leaned down to press a kiss against her neck. 

"I'm sorry, too," Remy said. "I shouldn't have shouted at you."

Scar's arms slipped around her neck and Remy sighed, leaning back against the taller woman. They stood like that for a while, before Scar's curiosity broke the silence. 

"So, where is she?" 

"Rasphere."

"Rasphere?" Shocked, Scar pulled back from Remy a little. How did the small woman get halfway across the sun?

"Rasphere," Remy conceded, reaching out to pluck the whistling kettle off the stove. 

"How did she get there?"

"I bought her a ticket for a ship," Remy explained, reaching for the container of tea leaves that she kept on the shelf. 

"I still think you should've told me," Scar said, resting her head on Remy's chin. When Remy tilted her head up to glare at her, Scar apologized quickly. 

"I can't tell Rade, can I?" Scar questioned, watching the nimble way Remy stirred the tea into the cups. 

"No. You're not to tell anyone," Remy punctuated. 

"Fine. So, um, how is she doing?" Scar asked, realizing the room was getting dark because of the setting sun. The glow from the stove was the only illumination in the room. 

"She's doing just fine, Scar. She has her own ladies' clothing shop, and this widower who's courting her. She has a different life now. Interesting, isn't it?" Remy said, trying to ignore the naughty hand that was creeping across her waist. 

"Yes, it is. Why did she run away in the first place?" 

Remy sighed, knowing she'd have to answer the question eventually. As quickly as possible, she recited the sequence of events that Kistle had told her about. 

When she was done, Scar merely shook her head. 

"I'm not inclined to believe that Rade is such a man," she said. 

"Well, did you not see the fading finger marks on Kistle's neck?" Remy asked incredulously. 

"No," was Scar's response. 

"Well, I did, and I am inclined to believe my friend," Remy retorted. "If you'll excuse me now, I need to get the potatoes ready for dinner."

Scar knew she'd erred again when she saw the frown on her wife's face. Before the damage could grow until it became a fight at bedtime, Scar grabbed the smaller woman and turned her around. 

"We're not going to fight about over a woman who's a million miles away from us," she told Remy. "If what you're saying is true, I will confront Rade about it. No, I will not tell him that I know anything," she hastened to add, "but I will find out the truth. Then I'll decide if I should stab him in the gut or let him live. Is that fine with you?"

Knowing very well that Scar wouldn't do something as drastic as stabbing a man in his gut, Remy nodded with a smile, turning away again to start with the potatoes. But she found herself pulled back against Scar's chest again, and there was that tension in the air this time. She bit her lip as Scar's teeth moved across her earlobe. 

"I suppose the potatoes can wait," Remy said slowly, tilting her head back for more of her lover's caresses. 

She was squealing a moment later when Scar hefted her over her shoulder and carried her to their bedroom. 

And the potatoes did wait... until dawn. 

*

The Royal Castle

December, 1827

'To impress a lady, you have to pretend understanding to whatever topic in discussion. You should make her believe that she is an equal, not someone who is, by right, a station under you..."

Rade snarled as he threw 'The Lord's Guide to Ladies' onto the desk before him. The whole novel was about how a man could get his fingers under a lady's skirt within a certain time-frame. How a man could ever read such drivel was beyond him. 

He had learnt so much in his five month stay in the castle. While summoning enough strength to walk again, he had sat in the main dining hall, bleakly observing the couples that walked in and out of it. He always noticed how the men always handled the ladies with nothing but gentleness, and how the lady would smile her thank-you when an arm was held out for her. He watched the subtle signs of affection that played between the couples, and wondered fervently why he couldn't be one of those couples. 

But the most interesting couple of all was the King and Queen themselves. Rade always watched the verbal foreplay between them with much interest. It was true that the King was always interested in what the Queen was talking about, be it about a pearl necklace or feeding the city's orphan children. He always seemed to trust that his wife would make good decisions, and sometimes, Rade would even notice that the King let his wife make decisions on her own. 

The most stupefying thing of all was the fact that he had heard His Majesty asking Her Majesty her view on the wars taking place in a faraway planet called Earth. And Rade was shocked to find that the Queen had voiced an opinion that was more valid than any man's Rade had ever heard. He was immediately impressed by her and the equality that he saw in the Royal relationship. 

And he couldn't help but wish that he had the chance to build a relationship like that with Kistle.

He saw himself now, as the dominant ass who had done those irreversible things to Kistle, making her cry for the Gods' sakes! He remembered all too vividly the tears in her eyes the day he had taken her without her consent, or the look of undiluted shock that crossed her face when he had settled his hands around her neck. Those images of her would eat at him for the rest of his life. 

It had been nearly three years and all he thought of was her, and only her. There were a few ladies who had offered themselves up to him, but he'd been as blind to them as much as he'd been blind to his own cruelty to Kistle. 

During the days, when he sat around the castle, reading, or when he went for a slight stroll, he would not see the words or people passing him, but think only of her. She was like a drug in his blood, an unshakable, unforgettable memory that purged him of enjoyment in life. Never had he known a torture, a pain, as the one he experienced whenever he thought of her. 

Rade sighed, leaning heavily on his desk as he rose, trying his best to ignore the pain that shot from his thigh and through his body. He gritted his teeth and ambled to the doorway of the chamber and made his way down the stairs for supper. It was already past nine in the evening, and if he didn't present himself, the King would barge into his study, as had happened the night before. The King was concerned that Rade didn't eat enough to restore his health. 

When, finally, he dropped himself into a chair next to the King, he was sweating from the exertion of the walk from his chamber. 

Dom looked at his war leader and frowned deeply. He knew Rade well enough to realize that more than his thigh was paining him. And he knew that it had something to do with the girl that had left him three years ago. 

"How's the wound, brother?" Dom asked, keeping his voice light. 

"Fine," came the clipped reply. 

"I heard you turned Lady Evelyn down for a supper escort yester eve," he continued. 

"Who?" Rade asked, raising his head from the platter of poached pigeon in front of him. 

"Lady Evelyn," Dom repeated. "Lovely, red-haired, blue-eyed woman?"

"Oh. Don't remember her."

Dom sighed. The man was tiresome, but he had promised his wife that he would try to cheer the man up. 

"You need to be more sociable, brother," Dom said after a moment's silence. All he got for that was a grunt. "What would it take for you to start talking to people again?"

Rade didn't even have to think the question over. "Kistle. Kistle in my arms."

Without another word, he rose from the table and left the room. 

*

"What do you mean, you're leaving? Rade, you can't leave! Your wound has barely healed!"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I cannot stay in the castle and pine for her any longer. My wound is fine. I would only cease hurting when I have her again," Rade said, his traveling bag slung over a shoulder. 

"But my men have tried finding her, Rade. She is nowhere to be found," Dom rationalized, rising from his throne and advancing towards his war leader. 

"I refuse to believe that she is missing. She's somewhere in the universe, I know it. I can feel her," Rade replied, his hand rising to his heart. "Your men only searched this side of the sun. They did not try to search Monablo, Rasphere, Earth and Visk, did they?"

"Nay, they did not. Only because it was much too far for a young lady to travel."

Rade sighed, knowing that he could not rest until he had searched every planet thoroughly for the only woman that his being yearned for. He had to see her, even if it was just once, to tell her that he was sorry for the way he had treated her when she was with him. It was just something that he had to do, for the sake of his conscience and his heart. 

"I'm not too sure about this..." Dom started again, but was cut off by Rade's suddenly heated words. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 10



"Would you, sir, sit here in this castle if your lady wife were out there somewhere in the universe, starving? Being beaten, raped, killed? Could you live with the knowledge that you had someone you loved once, but she left you because you made many stupid errors one after another? Would you be able to forgive yourself if you never made an effort to see her again, to see her smile, to hear her laughter?"

The answer was evident in the King's eyes. Without another word, Rade turned and left the hall, his stride deterred only by a slight limp. 

*

Brittle Creek, Rasphere

May, 1828

"Have you said your prayers, yet, Tess?" Kistle asked her two and a half year old daughter who was sitting on the bed, thumping her heels impatiently against its wooden sides. At her mother's question, little Tessa pouted prettily. 

"No. I was waiting for you, Mama," she said, watching as her mother tucked her shirt into her breeches. A sudden question struck her. "Mama, why do you wear breeches every day? Why can't you wear a dress like me?" 

Kistle turned from the task of pulling her hair into a bun. She looked at her daughter and smiled. "I can wear a dress like you, sweetheart. I simply choose not to," she said. 

"Why?" 

"It's because, a long time ago, someone taught me that people will respect you more if you're dressed in breeches instead of a dress. No one will mess with you as well."

"Why?"

Kistle shrugged. "It's just the way it is, I suppose."

"Can I wear breeches, too?" Tess asked, fingers plucking at her skirt with a puckered brow. 

"Of course, sweetie. When you're older," Kistle conceded, turning from the mirror and ushering Tess out of the room. As it was, they were going to be late for Kistle's first appointment. It was just Kistle's good fortune that Mrs. Ports wasn't a prompt person herself. 

As Tessa grabbed the small slipper-box, Kistle reached for the sheet covered dresses that she had completed the night before. Together, they made their way down the stairs, stopping briefly in front of the slim, wooden statue of the Goddess to say quick, morning prayers. 

While Kistle locked the front door to the small cottage, Tessa made an unladylike dash for Brady, the old cart horse that Kistle had bought at the market for a low price. It had been all she could afford at that point in time, but Brady had served her well over the past year. 

"Get up on Brady, Tess," Kistle said as she folded the dress twice and placed it over the front of the horse. She turned just in time to see her daughter place both foot and palm into the cup of stirrup and hoisting herself up. Kistle stood close by, prepared to catch her daughter if she fell, but to Kistle's surprise, Tess managed to pull herself up until she stood with both feet in the stirrup. 

"See, Mama! I did it!" Tess said proudly, gripping the top of the lightweight saddle for balance. 

"Of course you did, sweetie. Who's my big girl?" Kistle cooed, boosting Tessa onto the saddle before climbing on behind her. As was custom, Tessa held the dresses in front of her while Kistle kept the slipper box in between them from slipping. 

"I'm your big girl, Mama," Tessa responded, and Kistle leaned down to place a kiss on the girl's head. When they were ready, Kistle patted Brady's rump twice, and they were off. 

*

"It's a miracle, Kistle! You've actually made me look as though I have breasts!" Mrs. Ports exclaimed an hour later, placing her palms over her meager assets. Kistle merely laughed at Mrs. Ports' crude language. She had gotten used to it over the years. 

"I stuffed some wool in the bodice, ma'am," Kistle said respectfully, finding a loose thread in the waist of the green dress and nipping it away. 

"You think of everything," the elderly woman beamed, turning around in the mirror. "Just where do you get these exotic designs in clothing?" she added, eyeing the exposure of her shoulders. In truth, she had never thought exposing her shoulders would make her look so... enticing. 

"I used to live on a planet where Royalty wore this kind of clothing," Kistle said absently, picking up a quill to tick off the completion of Mrs. Ports' order in her ledger book. 

"Royalty? Goodness me! You wouldn't be Royalty, will you?" Mrs. Ports asked, astonished. Kistle laughed. 

"Me? Nay. Not at all. I just caught sight of the design while I was traveling." The lie slipped past her lips easily. She had been repeating these lies for almost three years now – that her husband had been a soldier, and he had died in a war in a faraway land. It was so much a part of her that she almost believed it herself. Almost. 

Mrs Ports hummed in acknowledgement before she turned away, fiddling with the front clasps of her dress. Kistle moved forward to help her. 

"I'm going to be the envy of all other ladies at the dance," she said, laughing gaily. Kistle knew enough about the business to laugh along with her. 

"Of course, ma'am," Kistle said. 

"You are coming, aren't you?" When Kistle shook her head in denial, Mrs Ports features conveyed shock. 

"But you have to, Kistle! It would be beautiful! All the couples from the villages around would attend it! Exquisite gowns, soothing music, moonlight kisses..."

Again, Kistle smiled and declined politely. 

"What about Jones? He hasn't asked you to the dance, yet?"

"No, I'm afraid he hasn't," Kistle admitted in a distracted voice. Jones was the widower who owned the provision store in town. He had two young boys the ages of six and eight, whom he had told her, 'needed mothering', and it was obvious to Kistle that he thought she would volunteer for the job. She had been rejecting his offers for little more than a year now, but he did not understand that she did not want to see anyone for the rest of her life. She enjoyed her freedom, without men demanding things from her, ordering her about and chiding her for her every movement. She did not want to be with a man ever again in her life. 

"Well, he ought to," Mrs. Ports scoffed, stepping out of the new gown. Kistle held the old gown out for her and she stepped into it, much too daintily for her old age. 

When the buttons were done up, Mrs. Ports reached into her purse and took out five coins, counting it as she laid them on Kistle's work table. 

"There you go, Kistle. For a job well done," she said with a smile as Kistle pulled the sheet over the dress and put the slippers into the slipper box. She followed Mrs Ports as she walked through the narrow aisle of the shop and stepped out into the morning sunlight. There, under the heat, stood Mrs Ports' handman, whom Kistle handed the items to. Then, she stood on the little wooden staircase and waved as the elderly woman's coach rolled away. 

*

"I wonder why she wears those dreadful breeches," Ameryliss griped to her sister, Maggie, as they watched the small woman enter the post office. They always talked about her when she came in, for she was always such a tasty morsel to gossip about. It was said that the woman's husband had died in the war before their first child was born, and that he had left both woman and child without a coin to their name. It was a story sad enough to bring a tear to the eye, or so the twins thought, but that didn't stop them from spreading town gossip about the widow. 

"Probably to hide the fact that she's flat-chested!" Maggie replied and both girls giggled. They watched as the woman walked up to their father and smiled, asking if there was any mail for her. Their father, in return, turned around to check the mail stack.

"I heard that men don't like her," Amery whispered. 

"Yes, I heard that she killed two men with those...things. What do you call them? Those metal things they import from Earth?"

"Pistils?" Amery supplied. 

"Aha! Pistols. Yes, I heard she keeps those, too. Killed two men with them. If you asked me, she might as well be a man."

Both twins nodded gravely in agreement, but ducked their heads when the woman shot them a look as she left the post office. 

*

"Tess, sweetie! Come inside, will you? We've got a letter from Auntie Remy and you can read it for me!" Kistle called through the small window in the shop. It felt as though she had just turned from the window when she heard her daughter's footsteps on the porch. Kistle smiled to herself as the little girl dashed into the shop, inky black locks flying, Pip trailing behind her like a guardian. 

Tessa didn't even stop as she hurled herself into her Mama's lap, already peering into the letter. Her grubby fingers reached inside and pulled the long letter out. 

"Dear Kistle and Tessa," Tessa started, but stumbled on the next word. Patiently, Kistle taught her daughter how to read the first three sentences, after which, she simply read the whole letter to the girl. 

When Kistle read the last word, Tessa had a frown on her face. When asked why she was sad, she said, "I don't know how to read."

Kistle grabbed her daughter and gave her a large hug. "You're only three, sweetie. You'll be able to read by next year, I promise you," she said. 

"You promise, really?" Tessa sniffled. 

"Yes, I do," Kistle vowed, looking over at the small pocketwatch on the table. It was nearly noon. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes! Can we have cookies, Mama? Please?" Tessa asked, turning around on where she sat on Kistle's lap. 

Kistle smile and chucked her daughter below the chin. "Not now, sweetie. We'll bake some tonight, all right? For now, Mama has some soup on the stove."

"Can we bake the sugar ones, Mama?" Tessa asked as her mother carried her towards the small kitchen in the store. 

"Of course we can."

*

It was well past six in the evening when Kistle's final customer, the young Miss Ginger, left the store with a smile on her face. Kistle's fingers were numb from holding needles too long and picking at miniscule threads, and her back muscles ached from her almost-permanent perch on the floor as she had adjusted Miss Ginger's hemline. 

She stood and stretched, wincing as she heard the sound of strained muscles giving in. Then, sighing, she covered two half-ready pink dresses in a sheet and checked the cupboard to see that their matching pink shoes were, at least, ready. 

Setting everything on her work table, she went around the shop, closing windows and blowing out the candles that she'd lit once the sun had set. She checked her pockets for the keys to the cottage, her meager earnings, and the letter from Remy before she gathered the dresses and exited the shop. 

Tess and Pip were waiting for her on the porch, Tess with her arm around the golden mongrel. Kistle smiled at the adorable picture the two made. 

"Come on, Tess. Let's go home," Kistle called, turning key in lock and making sure that the door was securely shut. 

Brady was standing beside the shop, his gray tail flicking flies away. Kistle walked up to him and placed her dresses on the horse. She looked down when she felt a tug on her shirt. 

"What is it, sweetie?" she asked, when she saw that her daughter was holding something behind her back. 

Tessa smiled and gave a little flounce before extending her hand. In it, she clutched a Polly stem. But it wasn't just any Polly stem; it was a Polly stem that had flowered. She looked from her daughter to the stem in astonishment. Polly stems only flowered once every twelve years!

"Tessa, honey, where did you get this?" Kistle asked, reaching out to stroke the petals of the pretty purple flower. It was a beautiful sight, the pretty violet petals with the honey-colored button in the middle. 

"He gave it to me to give to you," Tessa said, still smiling. Kistle looked around, but saw no one who was looking at them. 

"Who is he?" Kistle asked her daughter, but the little girl merely shook her head. 

"It's a secret," she said. 

"Would you keep secrets from your mama?" Kistle asked, raising her eyebrows. 

Tessa seemed to think it over, before she nodded with finality. Kistle laughed. 

"Was it Jones?" she asked, reaching out to carry her daughter and settle her on top of the horse. 

"I don't know," was Tess's reply. Kistle pinched her daughter's waist. Tess squealed. 

"It's a secret, Mama," Tess repeated when Brady started trotting in the direction of home with Pip trailing behind. 

"Fine, then. How did he look like?" 

"It's a secret!"

"All right, sweetie," Kistle said, giving up. It had to be Jones again, playing some game with her. If he thought that he could charm her into marrying him with a flower, he was wrong. 

"Oh, he wanted me to tell you something!" Tess said a moment later, jerking upright in her seat. 

"What, sweetie?" Kistle asked, curious beside herself. 

"He wanted me to tell you that, um, 'the flower is the closest thing that I could find that matches your ex-tro-di-nary eyes. What I would not give to drown in those bright am-sheesh." Tess looked up at her mother, knowing that she had mispronounced some words. But her mother just took the flower from her and hugged Tess tighter. 

"Amethysts, sweetie, not amsheesh," Kistle corrected her daughter after a momentary silence. Who could have sent her such a flower? Could it have been Jones? She knew that he certainly wasn't the kind of man to send a lady flowers, but he could have developed a romantic nature, couldn't he?

Kistle heaved a large sigh, looking down at her daughter, who was already half asleep in the saddle. She stroked the little girl's soft, black curls, taking out the tangles with one hand while holding onto the reins with the other. 

Upon reaching home, Kistle heated up some water and bathed the little girl before feeding her some bread and cheese. Little Tessa ate in a dreamy state, already too tired to lift her head. When eight o'clock rolled around, Kistle tucked Tessa into bed and heated some water for herself. 

As she waited for the water to warm, Kistle looked at the beautiful bloom that was lying on the kitchen table. She picked it up and lifted it to her nose. Yes, it did smell as heavenly as it had been described to be. She held the stem for a while, admiring the way the gold in the centre seemed to glow beneath the candle-lights. What I would not give to drown in those bright amethysts...

Kistle realized abruptly that she was smiling to herself. As if she had caught herself doing something forbidden, she put the flower away guiltily. 

She worked through the night, finishing the bodice of the two dresses, her tools spread across the kitchen table. When she was done, it was past midnight, and she was beyond exhausted. 

But not exhausted enough to admire the bloom once more before bed. 

*

Another couple of chapters to go, so hang in there, guys!

And thank you soooo much for your comments on the previous chapter! They were beyond extremely cool! I would really love to know what you think about this one, though. So...do leave some feedback or just a message to say if you liked it or not. Constructive criticisms are welcome as well (:

Thanks again!

Kisses,

L.



A Marq's Woman Ch. 11



*No change in the first part of this chapter. The changes will be made to the parts after this. Commenting will be disabled, but you guys can still spare a vote(:

This one's for team Kistle! Enjoy, guys!

*

She found her next surprise the very next day, when she rode up to the store. Little Tess had already torn up the simple wrapping by the time Kistle tethered Brady and knelt beside her on the porch. 

"What is it, sweetie?" Kistle asked with much interest, as her daughter poked her head into the white bag. Her grubby fingers pulled out an edge of a red material. 

"It's just cloth, Mama," Tessa said, making a face. She had hoped for something more, like sweets. 

"Cloth?" Kistle asked, reaching over to pull the bag out of the girl's hands. True enough, in the large bag lay a pile of red cloth. Intrigued, Kistle pulled the material out. 

The first touch of the cloth sent goosebumps spiraling down her body. Kistle gasped at the unbelievable softness of it. The thread was richer than silk! In fact, it was so fine that she could not grasp it in between her fingers; it slipped between them so easily!

As a dress-maker, she could appreciate the exquisite care one must have taken to stitch the cloth together. But no matter how hard she looked, she could find no indication that a needle had been used to make the material. 

Slightly astonished, she looked up from where she knelt on the porch, to Jones' provisional store down the street. She spotted his burly build loading cart-horses, and when she looked at him, he turned around as though he had felt her gaze. 

Kistle frowned. Initially, she had thought that he had given her the beautiful bloom, but later, she had become doubtful. Now she knew for a fact that Jones wasn't the one giving her the gifts. She had once asked Jones if he knew how much work it took for a lady to sew a dress by hand, and he said he didn't care to know much about feminine fripperies. He had also said that it couldn't possibly be so hard to pull to ends of a cloth together and sew it up. 

Jones was a man who wasn't interested in lace and silk; he was more of a horse and feed man. And thus, Kistle knew that he wouldn't have had the eye for fashion or quality to have recognized the gem that the material was. 

Kistle looked away from his inquisitive eyes, praying that she had not unwittingly 'invited' him over for a visit. As quickly as possible, she grabbed the dresses that she'd finished last night and entered the store, Tessa trailing behind her. 

After putting everything away, Kistle consulted her appointment book. She didn't have an appointment for another hour or so. An idea crept into her mind, something that she hadn't thought of doing for more than two years now. 

"Mama, can I have some paper?" Tess asked as she came up to her mother. 

"What for, sweetie?"

"I want to draw Pip." Kistle gave her daughter a small smile before handing her a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal. 

"Can I sit with you, Mama?" Tess asked, already scrambling onto a vacant stool beside Kistle's chair. She called out to Pip, who came cantering into the store like he owned it. Kistle watched the pair coo and cuddle before Tess finally told Pip to sit still, and that she wanted to draw him. 

Kistle shook her head, turning her head back to the blank sheet of paper that she had set in front of her. Her mind took a creative turn, making images flash in her head. If she were to make a dress out of the delicate material, how would she design it? It wasn't as though she was actually going to make the material into a dress – for all she knew whoever sent it could've mistaken her for someone else – but it was nice to toy with the idea of owning such a unique gown. 

Her thoughts skittered around the scandalous, her fingers bringing to life what she saw in her mind's eye. A woman with her hands at her sides, looking into a mirror, seeing herself wrapped in a tight bodice of red, adorned with pearls. The material clutches at her breasts, stomach and hips, but flows out in a spiral-like manner to form a cloud-like foam around her. 

Kistle hummed to herself as she sketched the design on paper. Occasionally, she would look up to check on Tess, and upon seeing that the insect-like head of Pip was turning out well, she would turn back to her own sketch. 

The hour passed like a breeze, and Kistle jolted in surprise when she heard the telltale thump of horse's hooves from the front of the store. She rose hastily and put her sketches away, dashing to the dress closet to pull out the pretty, pink dress that she'd made for her next customer, Miss Elizabeth. 

She had just rid the dress of its protective layer of a white sheet when the stately Miss Elizabeth marched through the front door. 

"Ah, Kistle. I see that you have the dress ready," she said with her hands on her hips. 

"Yes. I hope it is to your liking," Kistle returned, knowing how picky the woman could be with clothing. 

"Hmm," was all Miss Elizabeth said as she walked forward, taking a good look at the dress. 

"I like it." 

Kistle breathed a sigh of acute relief. 

"But don't you think that the bodice might be a little too high? I think you should lower it. And of course, the hemline. I think the lace there is too much. Don't you think it'll look better…"

Kistle groaned inwardly. It was going to be a long, long day. 

*

It was past noon when Kistle finally had the time to make a stop at the post office. In one hand, she hefted the paper bag that contained the red cloth, and in another, she held the letter that she'd written for Remy after Miss Elizabeth had left with a barrel of orders to alter the dress. 

As she entered the office, she noticed that the twins weren't at their usual seats near the window, and sighed a sigh of relief. She hated those chits. They gossiped too much for it to be healthy. Kistle also noticed that Mrs Weeds was at the counter today, dressed in her signature grey. Mrs Weeds was a friendly old woman, the first person who had come to visit Kistle when she'd bought the store about three years ago. She had finely graying hair and a wide smile that Kistle enjoyed being around. 

"Good afternoon, Mrs Weeds," Kistle said as she stepped up to the counter. The old woman turned from where she was sorting out a cluster of letters and squinted her blue eyes at the young woman in front of her. 

"Kistle," she said finally with a bright smile. "Good day to you, missy. What brings you here? George told me that you came by yesterday."

"I did, yes. But I had something to ask you," Kistle said, laying the bag on the counter. "Did you deliver this to my store this morning?"

Mrs Weeds perused the bag and the contents of it. No, she hadn't seen the bag before. And if it was delivered to Kistle, she should have seen it, for she was the one who sorted the parcels out every morning. 

"Do you mind?" she asked as she reached into the bag. Kistle shook her head. 

Mrs Weeds peered into the bag, raising her eyebrows at the fine cloth she felt under her fingertips. She moved her fingers around until she found what she was looking for. 

"Dear Kistle," she read from the card that she'd slid from the bag. "This was the only cloth I could find, that would match the silk of your skin."

Kistle blinked and stared, wide-eyed at the old lady who read the card. She was shocked; that was the reason that she stood there with her heart-rate accelerating as though she'd run miles. Who would have the audacity to say such… intimate things to her?

"I, um, I…" Kistle trailed off, not quite sure what to say. She should've checked the bag for a card before she brought the damned thing to the office. 

Mrs Weeds laughed, her blue eyes twinkling. "Well, sweetling, looks like you've got yourself a secret admirer."

Kistle felt a blush creeping into her cheeks. A secret admirer? Nay. Impossible! Men didn't like her… and she didn't like them. Who could have been so foolish as to waste his time to send her such beautiful gifts? It wasn't as though she would be charmed by material things, Kistle thought with a huff. 

"I don't believe in secret admirers, Mrs Weeds," Kistle said stoically, handing over the envelope that held a letter for Remy, and a brass cent in payment. As quickly as possible, she stuffed the material and card back into the bag, taking deep, gulping breaths to steady herself. If she didn't know better, she would think that the words on the note had affected her. 

"Thank you, Mrs Weeds. I will see you sometime soon," Kistle said once the dear woman had placed a stamp on the letter. She began to walk away from the counter, but Mrs Weeds' words stopped her. 

"With your secret admirer, I hope," she called out with a chuckle. The old woman was a cheeky one, Kistle thought, shaking her head as she walked out of the office. 

Secret admirer, indeed. 

*

The bloom and the cloth were just the beginning of a fine list presents that came Kistle's way over the next few weeks. Two days after she found the scandalous note with the red cloth, an amethyst pendant in the shape of a heart was placed in a small, brown packet in front of her store. The temptation to wear such a pendant was strong, but Kistle put it away with the cloth, keeping to her vow that she would not let any man near her again – for she did also think that whoever was sending her those gifts was trying to woo her. And if she only knew who was sending her those gifts, she would tell him not to squander his time on her. 

Kistle had even walked across the street to the Yuke's shop-house to ask the family to keep an eye on the store while she was not there. But after an unfruitful week of Mr. Yuke's nightly supervision, Kistle gave up on the idea of ever catching her 'secret admirer'. She could never leave Tessa alone and stay in the store in vigilance, and the store didn't have a proper fireplace to keep Tessa away from the chills. Thus, she could probably never catch her stalker in action. 

She didn't know who the man was, but Tessa most certainly did. Whenever a present arrived at the store, the little girl would impatiently tear at the wrappings and get to the present faster than Kistle could take a breath. But no matter how many times Kistle asked Tess who 'he' was, Tess would put her finger over her lips and go 'shhh'. 

After getting that response for a week, Kistle decided that time could be spent on better things than asking her daughter that question repeatedly. 

But, Kistle mused, if the man was one thing, it was romantic.

Even Kistle had to admit that the ornate jewelry box that he'd sent her had brought tears to her eyes. When she had opened its dark lid, a lullaby had risen from the wound-up music box inside it, bringing forth a surge of emotion. Kistle had never seen a present as beautiful and thoughtful as that one, and if she had to keep only one present from all the presents that he'd given her, she would've chosen the jewelry box. 

It was a chilly day, late in May when Kistle found the letter. A golden ribbon had been used to tie it to the wooden pillar in front of her store. Kistle frowned in consternation, for she had not seen the letter early that morning when she'd ridden into Town, and thus, could only conclude that her admirer had snuck up to the store when she hadn't been looking. Drats! If she had been looking closely, she could've caught him!

On one hand, she was irritated by the man's constant attempt to woo her, even when he probably knew that she was not interested in a husband. But on the other, she liked the gifts that he gave her. They were so insightful… as though he knew exactly the sort of things that she adored, and the notes attached to them always made her tingle, whether she wanted it to or not. The man was a charmer, and Kistle knew that she had to be on guard because of that. She knew what could happen if she let a man touch her. Having been burnt once was enough. 

Gently, she reached out and slipped the ribbon free of its knot from around the pillar, looking up and down the street to see if anyone was watching her do so. There was no one along the dusty street save Tess and Pip who were playing 'fetch' with a stick. Frowning, Kistle tore through the envelope and unfolded the letter. 

But she found that it was not a letter. It was a poem. 

"A special world for you and me A special bond one cannot see It wraps us up in its cocoon And holds us fiercely in its womb.  Its fingers spread like fine spun gold Gently nestling us to the fold Like silken thread it holds us fast Bonds like this are meant to last.  And though at times a thread may break A new one forms in its wake To bind us closer and keep us strong In a special world, where we belong."

Kistle's eyes were moist as she read the last line of the lovely poem. And as hard as she tried, she could not keep the hidden emotion between the lines from seeping into her heart. For three weeks now, she had wondered who her secret admirer was, and she had resisted becoming charmed by his advances. But the poem… Goddess, it was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever written for her!

She decided that in that moment, she would find a way to meet with this man. This man who could pen such lovely words. It was beyond imagination that anyone could give her a gift that was so simple yet true. And to think that she had inspired them in him… her heart contracted painfully in her chest at that thought. 

An idea crept into her head, and Kistle quickly bustled back into the shop and scribbled a note on another piece of paper and slid it into the envelope. Then she used the same golden ribbon to tie back onto the pillar. In the note, she had said that she would like to speak with him in person, and she hoped that he would accept her invitation for a visit. 

Before she could berate herself for her foolishness in doing so, she called to Tessa and Pip, quickly loaded her little girl onto Brady, and took off for home. 

Later that evening, as she was settling Tess in bed, Kistle finally let herself think about what she had done. She had sent a note to a man. She had sent a note to a man to tell him that she was interested in seeing him. She had probably lost her wits! Hadn't she learned that no matter how sweet a man was, initially, there was always a layer of bitterness in him? Didn't she understand that a man had two sides to himself? 

A brief flash of a man long forgotten entered her mind, and no matter how hard she tried to block it, the image did not go away.

Rade.

She remembered how he had held her through her nightmares, and how he had soothed her after that. His laughter came back to her, haunting her. She remembered everything. Every kiss, every touch… every bruise. 

Involuntarily, her fingers rose to her neck and she skimmed the now-even skin. Even after three years, the wound in her heart never seemed to abate. And at times, although she daren't admit it to herself, she would think about the first few nights that she had spent in his arms…

Kistle shook her head and blew out a huge sigh. She was tired, that's what she was. She needed to rest her eyes. Slowly, she bent down to unlace her boots and crawled into bed behind Tess. It was early yet, but she decided that since she had put the finishing touches on the dress that needed to be worked on in the store, she would treat herself to an early night in bed. 

Tessa stirred and moved closer to her mother and Kistle opened her arms, settling her baby by her side. Already the girl was becoming too heavy for Kistle to carry around. A smile played on her lips as she stroked the girl's brown skin and placed a kiss on her forehead. She tucked Tessa's head comfortably under her arm, and then, she was asleep in a heartbeat. 

*

Kistle awoke a while later, drenched in sweat, her heart beating the rhythm of dread. There was something wrong. She knew it. Tessa lay sleeping comfortably beside her, and Kistle quickly disentangled herself from her daughter's clutches before padding out of the bedroom to the small cupboard in the kitchen. 

She extricated her pistol from behind a cluster of containers and crept to the door, pressing her ear to it. There was a funny noise coming from the stables – one that she was not used to. 

Kistle listened closely, hearing the familiar scruffle of ol' Brady's breathing. There was no other noise. But Kistle plastered herself to the door, listening for what seemed to be hours. She would not put her daughter's life at risk by thinking that what she had heard outside had just been a trick of the winds. She would swallow her fear and anxiety and protect what was hers. 

And then she heard it, a slight movement of someone's boots. Kistle's breath caught, and she reminded herself of how to use the pistol. She had never used it before in the two years that she'd had it, for she'd only bought it for protection. Jones had taught her how to use it; just pull the trigger, he had said. If there was, indeed, someone in her stables this night, she would have to swallow her tongue and shoot her first man. She wouldn't care if she was taking a life. Her daughter's life was far more important, and no one was going to harm little Tess. 

Whoever was out there moved again, and Kistle felt the blood pump faster in her veins. As quietly as possible, she sucked in a breath and unlatched the wooden door. The door made no sound at all as Kistle slipped through it. 

She nearly let out an audible gasp when she saw him. Goddess, he was huge! A man that size could do possibly anything to her and Tess. Nervousness made Kistle's hands tremble, but she steadied them by determination alone. 

"Don't move," Kistle ordered, her voice sounding like a gunshot in the cold, empty night. She watched with satisfaction as the man froze, his large stature managing to bring Kistle into a state of desperation. She felt small compared to him, and she thanked the Goddess that she had had the sense to purchase a pistol before moving out here. She didn't think she had the strength to fight a man of his built. 

"Why are you here, on my land?" Kistle asked slowly, the calmness of her voice belying the extreme anxiety in her being. All she could think about was Tess, and that she had to protect her girl from any harm this man could impose. 

The man did not respond. Instead, he stood there, mutely. Kistle could not see his face in the darkness of the night, but she could make out enough of him to know that he had not moved. 

"If you intend to pilfer something, I assure you that we have nothing worth pilfering," she went on. "I will give you a chance to leave my land now. Or I will shoot."

Still, he did not move. Kistle bit her lip in worry. She did not want to shoot a man, but she would have to if the situation called for it. 

"Leave my land now." Each word was pronounced clearly. 

Then, he moved. But he did not back away. He moved forward. 

The pistol exploded in her hands. She fell backward, and so did he. 

But the difference was… he did not rise again.



A Marq's Woman Ch. 12



*Thanks for waiting, guys(: The story changes from here on. Comments and votes are very welcome.

Kistle stared blankly at the pliant body on the ground. Even from a distance she could see the pool of blood expanding near its shoulders. A ragged breath tore through her lips as she took in the reality of what she had done. 

She had killed a man. 

Kistle murmured a quick prayer of forgiveness and gingerly stepped to the man's side. There was no doubt that he was dead; he lay unmoving even when she nudged his leg with the tip of her bare toes. His face was still hidden from her view by a fall of dark hair, and she thanked the Goddess that it was so. She didn't think she could look at the face of the man she had killed. 

A sudden wave of nausea hit her and Kistle swallowed thickly. She had just taken a life. This man could have been anyone's father, son or friend, but she'd thought of none of that when she'd pressured the trigger. Her only thought had been of her daughter. She could not let Tess be harmed. 

Now, she crouched down next to the man's prone body, feeling guilt wash over her. She reached out to probe for a pulse, but withdrew her hand when the heat from the man's body grazed her fingers. The warmth of his body only served to remind her that not long before, the man had been alive, and now lay dead because of her. A sob caught in her throat, but she closed her eyes and held herself in check. Then, slowly, she reached out again and skimmed her fingertips over the man's dark flesh. 

A pulse! How could it be? Kistle wondered wildly. 

She had killed him, had she not? 

She rose to her feet and dashed into the house. As she plucked a lantern from the kitchen, she peered into Tessa's room to check if the little girl had been disturbed by the noise. When she saw that Tess slept soundly, she exited the house and brought the light of the lantern with her. 

The golden glow illuminated the scene, making everything that had happened in the dark seem more real. Kistle's hands shook as she brought the light over the glint of the metal pistol on the earth, to the tips of the man's boots, to the Marq seal on his breeches…

Dread grew like a storm in her chest as she stood there with the lantern poised above the black and gold Marq seal. Memories flashed behind her lids even as fear permeated her skin. It couldn't be. No, it could not!

But moving the lantern higher proved that it could. 

An anguished cry escaped her lips when she recognized the hard line of his jaw. Nay! her mind screamed. She had spent the past three years thinking that she was rid of him, and here he was again! Her heart contracted painfully at the memories and she had to blink back the unwanted tears that rose to her eyes. In front of her lay the man who had tried to kill her; the man who had taken her brutally. She hated him. She hated him with all her being, and yet… as she watched him take shallow, hitching breaths, she knew she could not let him die. Because then, she would not only be a murderer, she would be a heartless murderer.

She had to help him, do her best to keep him alive, only to prove to herself that she still had a heart. 

Just then, something wet and sticky coated her toes and Kistle glanced down to find that his blood had formed a trail towards her. With a shudder, she stepped away from the trail and shone the lantern over the small puncture at the side of his head. The bullet had grazed his forehead, and Kistle grimaced when another glob of the red liquid oozed from the wound. 

Kistle bit her lip, hands already moving to her shirt. She unbuttoned it and slung the material over Rade's boot. Then, using that as leverage, she pulled him into the house, ignoring the smear of blood he left in his wake. 

Seeing his tall frame in her house made Kistle's being fill with unease. But she told herself think about nothing else as she cut his shirt off and cleaned the wound. She would consult her fears later, once there wasn't a dying man lying in her sitting area. In the worse situation, she mused darkly, I could take Tess and move to another planet. We have adequate coins and Tess is old enough. Anything, anything to escape this man once again. Why had he come for her? Did he want to hurt her for running away from him?

With an aggravated sigh, Kistle worked on her patient for what seemed like hours, then cleaning the wound gently. As a salve, she poured coffee powder over the wound and tied it up with a torn piece of an old shirt. He was still and unconscious throughout the procedure, though his pulse remained steady. Kistle felt stray spurts of guilt wrack her conscience as she pulled the final thread through the binding that she'd wrapped around his head, taking deep, gulping breaths to calm herself. 

In the end, she told herself this: he had tried to kill her, and she had, in return, tried to kill him, and as the Goddess had said, 'What one gives is what one receives.' Thus, she had not committed a sin. 

She had definitely not committed a sin.

*

"I should have let him die."

That harsh phrase, breathed against his neck, wasn't really something Rade would have chosen to wake up to. As he fought the murk that was trying to drag him under once again, he tried to fathom his surroundings. Years of war had taught him that being thought of as unconscious could give him a definite advantage. 

Then, he felt the gentle hands on his head – a head he didn't know if he had any longer – and the incident came back to him vividly. 

Kistle. 

He remembered having read her note and then following her home on his own horse. He'd watched as she'd fed and washed little Tess, then put her to bed. And he'd smiled when she crawled in after her daughter, cuddling the beauty to herself. His two girls, he had thought, peeking into their room through the window. And then he'd moved backward and knocked a pail over. 

She'd rushed outside in nothing less than a minute, a metal object in her hand. He hadn't understood what she'd meant when she'd said 'Leave or I will shoot', but he had felt the blinding pain a second after he'd moved toward her. He didn't understand exactly what she'd done to him, but he could not fault her for wanting to protect Tessa. It was what he would have done himself. 

And now, she was poised above him, the backs of her fingers brushing his jaw as she worked on his head. He could smell her, the faint scent of wildflowers that was her unique smell. Her knee was also nestled against his arm, and her nearness – after all those years of separation – caused his heart to sing. 

After months of searching, he had finally found her. It hadn't been very difficult to track her once he'd landed in Rasphere, for she had not changed her name. He had wandered through the larger cities first, using the Questball as his guide to find her scent. And the magical ball had led him to Brittle Creek within months. 

He still remembered the first time he had seen her after three years of astute misery. She'd been on the old gray horse with her daughter seated in front of her. His eyes hadn't been able to leave her face, so beautiful in the sunlight, much more than his dreams could ever conjure. He had watched the way she smiled, the twin dimples appearing from the roundness of her cheeks, the way her lips moved as she talked to the little girl. And then, his eyes had wandered from her to the bundle of loveliness on her lap. 

There weren't words to describe the myriad of emotions that had risen in him, for he knew instantly that the young one was his. She had his hair, the black, unruly locks curling about her shoulders and his skin, so dark against her mother's. His being had ached to have known his daughter, to have carried her when she was a wailing bundle. Rade remembered the tears that had risen to his eyes at the thought of Kistle running from him with his child in her womb, a child that he was supposed to protect. But he had not. Instead, he had driven her away, albeit unintentionally. 

She had changed colossally – from the breeches that she wore, to the strength that he saw in her every movement. He had admired the way she was independent enough to run her own store, and often marveled at how she coped without the help of anyone. 

Then, one day, he had caught sight of the little girl running in the fields behind the store, near the place where he'd decided to bed down for his stay. She had been playing with the mongrel, and when he'd called out to her, she frowned at him before cautiously approaching the sheltered area. The frown was so much like her mother's that Rade could do nothing but crack a smile. 

He had befriended the little girl, and sooner or later, they'd struck a deal. If Tess would pass his presents to her mother, he would give her a sucking sweet each day. Tess had been quick to agree to that. And that was how it all began. 

Rade knew that if he wanted Kistle back, he had to resort to gentlemanly measures. Thus, he bought her gifts. He knew that she loved flowers and feminine articles and that was exactly what he bought her. But the other day, as he was thinking of what to get her next, a thought had struck him, and he'd stayed awake all night to find rhyming words in order to pen a poem. But a sleepless night had definitely been worth the look of shock, awe and love in Kistle's eyes when she'd read it. It was that moment when he knew that he could not stand to be apart from her any longer. One month of watching her longingly had been enough. His heart could no longer take more torture. He had to see her, to tell her how he felt about her, to make her his. 

His impatient nature was what that led him to the little cabin beside the creek, where he had gotten 'shot'. He still did not understand what had happened to him; he only understood that his shoulder hurt like the devil's own misery. At the back of his mind, he made a little note to inquire about this new form of defense weaponry, for it could be of use to his army. The Earthlings always managed to produce an interesting variety of goods, especially like the silky weave he'd purchased for Kistle. 

Rade did not give away his conscious state even when her fingers gingerly touched his forehead to check for a fever. He nearly groaned at her touch, so familiar yet distant, that he ached to reach out and simply hold her until she accepted him again. But he knew he could not do that. He had to woo her slowly. 

A sudden, sharp, blinding pain shot through his head as her fingertips rubbed against an extremely raw spot on his fresh wound, and Rade let out a startled whimper. He had never experienced such intense pain ever before in his life! The throbbing did not release its hold, wracking his large frame with stinging pain, until once again, he had to succumb to the peace of unconsciousness or resort to facing hell's own fury. 

*

The sun was already up when he felt brave enough to risk exposing his eyes to light, in case it aggravated his wound. The pain was still there, a steady throb in the corner of his forehead, and he could feel the starch of the dried blood that encrusted the cloth that Kistle had bound him with. 

His eyelids fluttered as he tried to raise them, thinking that there was nothing more in the world that he wanted to do now, other than to gaze into his love's eyes. But he knew that that want would come with a price. She would be angry, perhaps even bitter that he'd found her after she'd run from him, but when he told her of his need to be with her and their child, perhaps she would understand that he was sincere and sorry for what he had done…

He felt a soft nudge against his shoulder and he opened his eyes to find unblinking, violet orbs poised above him. Locks of dark hair fell to his jawline in a loving caress. Rade cracked a small smile and murmured a good morning to Tess.

In return, she chided him for sleeping so late. 

He nearly chuckled at that, but soon realized that if his wound only pained him if he smiled too broadly or did anything to jar the muscles in his cheeks. 

"Where's your mother?" he asked softly as he struggled to sit up. By the Gods, it felt like his arms and legs had gone to sleep!

"Mama's taking a bath," the little girl explained, settling back onto the floor and tilting her head to look up at her best friend, aside from Pip. She scooted closer to him and wrapped her chubby little arms around his waist. "Did you come to see me? Why are you wearing the cloth over your head?"

"Um…" Since he didn't have the answer to the last question, he decided to answer the first. "Yes, I did come to see you."

He noticed a cup of white liquid on the floor next to her, and frowned. "Why aren't you drinking your milk?" he asked as he squeezed her gently. 

"I don't like milk," she replied. 

"Well, you still have to drink it. Don't you want to grow up to be as strong as your…" It had been on the tip of his tongue to say 'Papa', but then he realized that he did not have the liberty to claim his daughter as kin. A deep sadness washed over him as he reached over for the cup of milk, wordlessly, and placed it to her lips. The task was made slightly difficult by the beginning few lances of pain from his head and heart. 

"Drink."

Tess shook her head. She didn't like the taste of milk. 

"For Mama? It would make her happy."

She seemed to think it over, her bright eyes twinkling beneath the sunlight. Then she sighed, admitting defeat. Tilting the cup, she drank as much milk as she could. When she was done, Rade set the empty cup on the kitchen table, from which he had been lying a few feet from. It was then that he noticed the gleaming piece of metal on it, the thing that Kistle had used to wound him the night before. His hand closed over it as he brought it nearer to examine it. 

A sudden gasp made both parties turn toward the direction of the room. Kistle stood in the doorway, clad in a new pair of breeches and a shirt, her eyes wide and fearful. Rade noticed her swallow thickly. 

"Tessa, come here," she said, her voice strained. Her eyes were trained on her daughter. 

"But Mama…" Tess started and Kistle shot her a look that could've boiled cold water. 

"Tess. Come here. Now." It was an order, and Tess knew not to cross her mother's orders. Resignedly, she wiggled away from her friend and came to her mother's side. She was surprised when her mother's fingers flew over her body, as though she was checking for a wound. 

"Did he hurt you, sweetie? Are you all right?" Kistle asked the little girl, and was relieved when Tess nodded. She hugged her little girl to her chest, feeling the painful weight of fear lifting off her chest. 

When she had entered the room to see the pistol in his hand, and her daughter by his side…

Rade felt his heart shattering at the sight of Kistle holding on to her daughter. He had known that she didn't trust him, but he hadn't realized that she didn't trust him to the extent that she thought he would harm his own child. Had he treated her so harshly?

"Why are you here?" Her voice was like steel, resounding through the room. Rade shut his eyes tightly, feeling his blood flow densely through his veins. He had been waiting three years for this moment, to speak to her again. And now… he did not know what to say, for he feared that he would not be able to aptly express what was in his heart. 

"Kistle, please. Can we speak… in private?" He glanced down at Tessa, whose eyes were moving back and forth between the adults in the room. Biting his lip against the stinging pain in his scalp, Rade staggered to his feet.

Kistle's face mirrored her indecisiveness. She was surprised. He had asked her if she could speak privately with him, not ordered her. Kistle had been so sure that she would ask him to leave once he was well enough to walk, but now…

No, she did not want to speak to him in privacy, and yet, there was this small, hopeful part of her heart that did. It prodded at her soul, making her want something that she knew was impossible. Mayhap he had come to apologize? But as soon as the thought popped into her head, she knew it was utter foolishness. Rade was not the sort of man to grovel. 

"Why are you here?" she asked again, unrelentingly. She hadn't let Tessa go, but clutched the little girl's arms tighter. 

Rade's eyes flickered again to the girl that was between them. He did not want to discuss matters with his daughter in the room. Only the Gods knew how knowing the truth about him would scar her. 

"Kistle," he said again, his voice pleading. "I would like to speak with you privately. Please."

Again, he was not ordering her. He was asking. Kistle frowned, unable to remember a time when he hadn't ordered her to do something. He also seemed different somehow… less commanding and more vulnerable. She didn't understand her train of thoughts, or why her heart had started tapping out a quicker rhythm, but she knelt down and asked Tess to run to the creek and fetch a small bucket of water. The little girl agreed reluctantly. 

As soon as Tessa left the cabin, Kistle rounded in on Rade. He could see the fury in her eyes. 

"Why? Isn't it enough that you destroyed the peace that I once had in my life? Why are you here again? What more do you want from me?" They were bitter words, and each one of them stung Rade like a slap to his face. Words clogged in his throat like vomit. 

"I had to see you," he managed to choke out. Her eyes, those beautiful, beautiful eyes were now looking into his, unflinchingly, and with a strength that only a woman on her own could achieve. He was mesmerized by her, the way she stood her ground even when the odds were against her. He ached to take her into his arms, and swear his love for her. But it was not the time. Not yet. 

"Why?" she shouted, throwing her hands into the air. "I left you because of the way you treated me. I was nothing more than an instrument of pleasure for you. You took me without my consent and then you tried to kill me…" Her voice cracked and she whirled away from him, placing her hands over her eyes, calming herself. "Why did you track me down? Did you not strip enough from me? Do you want my daughter now, as well?"

It was all Rade could do to keep his own temper from rising to the surface. He knew he needed to be level-headed to pick his words correctly. Somehow, he felt that this was his only chance to prove to Kistle that he was willing to try to be a better man for her, if she gave him the opportunity. Gods, he would do anything for her!

"Freina," he started, using the endearment that he'd given her the first time they'd met, "I came for you because I needed to speak with you, to tell you things that were in my heart before you left."

"And what were they? That you enjoyed hurting me?" Kistle scoffed, catching the brief flash of anger in his eyes before he tampered it. 

"I never enjoyed that, Kistle. I… there is something about me that you must know." When she didn't interject, he continued, his words leaving his lips in a rush. "I was involved with a woman, Millicent, when I was younger. We were in love, or so I had thought, and I remember thinking that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. That was until the day I found her in the gardens, cavorting with another man."

Kistle's eyes widened slightly. She had a faint idea as to where this was heading. 

"Ever since that day, I am – was – wary of beautiful women. I liked them in my bed, yes, but I could never come to trust one of them ever again. She played me like a toy, Kistle," his voice became husky, and she recognized that he was confessing something to her that he had never told anyone else. "She broke my heart, and after that, I built a wall around it so that no one could get to it… until you.




A Marq's Woman Ch. 12



"You overcame my every defense, and I didn't understand the emotions that rose in me when I was beside you. Then I saw you with Quinn, speaking to him as though you were lovers," he spoke over her denial, "and I could not control the jealousy in me. I wanted to kill Quinn…"

"But you came for me instead," she finished coldly. 

"Nay!" he cried brokenly. "You have to believe me when I say that I would never have killed you. I would have stopped. I swear by it. Please, Kistle, try to understand me. Those days at the castle when you didn't speak with me, those were the days that I began to die inside. I began to crave your touch, and after you left and I came back from the war, I wandered like a madman through the castle, sleeping every night with the dress you wore last. It was the only thing that kept me sane as I waited for my wound to heal before I could leave to find you. I needed to, Kistle, because I wanted to tell you how sorry I was for everything that I did to you, and that I would like us to start again. Do you think we could start again?"

Damn the tears that rose to her eyes. Kistle tried to stop them, but they seemed to flow freely down her cheeks. She reached up and swiped them away angrily, but stopped when she saw the lone teardrop that glimmered on Rade's cheek. 

Turning away, she gripped the wood of the table in the kitchen, her emotions in a tangled knot. She didn't want to believe him; she'd convinced herself that he was the devil himself. But the regret in his eyes was real, and she could not deny that. He wanted to have a relationship with her – what was she supposed to say to that? That she did not want a man in her life? That was what she had made herself believe, but not what her heart yearned for. Her heart knew that it wanted to have a mate, someone who would make her as happy as she had been after the first few days of leaving the Chapel. But did she want him? Could she forgive him? Oh, Goddess! She was so confused. 

"Kistle," his voice resounded in her ear as he moved behind her. There was desperation in his voice; she could hear it. But there was still something in her that prevented her from saying yes to 'starting over'. She did not know what, but she felt the heavy stone of it in her heart. 

"The gifts," she stated suddenly. "It was you."

Everything fell into place as he nodded, and the poem ran through her mind. 

A special bond one cannot see It wraps us up in its cocoon And holds us fiercely in its womb

"Why did you send me those gifts?" she asked, taking a shuddering breath. 

"Because I knew you would like them. And I wanted so badly to make you happy. Whenever I see you smiling over a gift, there would be a quiet peace that would settle around my heart."

"And the poem?"

"Yes, I penned it."

She lifted her head from where she had been staring at the glimmer of the water from the creek. "It was beautiful."

"Like its mistress."

There was a tingling in her cheeks, and Kistle realized that she was blushing. She could not remember the last time that she blushed. The feeling was… exciting. 

"Rade," she began. "We were fine before you came…"

There was a spark in his eyes that frightened her. She could see how desperate he was for her acceptance, as though he would do anything for it. But there was still this niggling feeling in her chest. 

"…and we will be fine even after…"

"Nay! Kistle…" He dropped to his knees, feeling bolts of pain shooting through his previously injured thigh. "Please! I cannot go on without you. I need you, freina. Life without you is a hell that I cannot tolerate."

Pain tore at her heart, and she bit her lip, hard. 

"Please, Kistle. I love you."

He had wrapped his arms around her legs as he'd said it, his head resting on her stomach. Kistle staggered beneath the weight of his words, feeling the stone lift from her heart. He loved her. Her treacherous heart leaped from joy at his words, even as her mind refused to accept it. It was a painful ordeal, and Kistle's hands clenched into small fists. 

Her breath caught as sudden images of the past flooded her senses. His fingers around her neck, squeezing it, bleeding the life out of her. He had said that had not meant to kill her, but if she forgave him, what was the certainty that he would not try to do that again if they had a disagreement? What more, he might be after her child after he was done with her. Years of mistrust sizzled over her skin, turning her cold. Nay, she would be stupid to trust him now. Stupid, foolish and spineless. 

She shoved at him with all her might, and he fell backward, shocked at her sudden rejection. After the shock that creased his features, came understanding and a sadness that hurt even her. Kistle looked away, telling herself and her aching heart that to push him away now would be for the best. She would survive well enough without him. She didn't need him, and even though he loved her, she wouldn't take pity on him and accept him because of his love. She didn't trust him, and that was all that mattered to her right then. 

Tessa came through the door, a small bucket of water in her hands. She toddled over to the kitchen table, oblivious to the tension in the room, and hummed to herself as she set the bucket down. 

She had just ran a hand over her dress to right it when she heard the neighing of a horse that wasn't Brady. Startled, she turned around to find her Mama looking through the doorway, tears gathering in her eyes. She did not know what had happened between her friend and her Mama, but she knew that Mama was crying because of it. Her arms went around her Mama's leg as she attempted to comfort Kistle, but Kistle was stronger that she realized. Two flips of her fingers over her cheeks cleared the moisture there, and without remorse, she picked her little girl up and prepared for another day of work. 

*

It must have been the shock of seeing him again. That was it. After more than three years of thinking that she was rid of him, he had returned to her life again, sprouting nonsense that resounded in her head every night. She'd thought of him every day over the two weeks from the day she'd rejected him. 

Every nuance of their conversation haunted her, made her ache, even when she knew that what she did was for the best for herself and more importantly, safe for her child. Even so, she could remember his smell, his sincerity, his warmth… his love. She seemed to wear it like a layer of discomfort around her, making guilt a staple of each and every minute. 

But guilt alone was not enough to make her call out to him again. She knew he was near, for there were subtle signs that told her so. It had started a week before, when she had realized that there were four more logs in the woodpile than there had been the night before. Four logs were just enough for her to keep the cottage warm for one night, so that the task of chopping wood could be put away for a day. Kistle remembered standing under the light rays of the early morning sun and contemplating what exactly the pieces of wood meant. Knowing Rade, he would have placed more than four logs in the pile if he had a choice, for she knew that he liked to oversee her well-being. But… only four logs? To last only a day? Did that mean he understood that she could survive well on her own, but wanted her to know that he'd like to help her when she was falling behind with orders and did not have much time to handle household matters? Or was she seeing too much in a simple gesture?

Kistle remembered shaking her head at the muddled confusion that took up rational thought, telling herself that she was being assumptive. All that she needed now was long-buried emotions rising to the surface. 

It had been a long day at the shop, with five new customers coming in to take their measurements for a new dress. All the ladies had been unusually picky, making Kistle's job as a seamstress more difficult than it already was. Plus, the ladies wanted the dresses ready in time for the ball… which was in ten days! Kistle knew that she would have to sacrifice precious hours of sleep to finish all the dresses, but she also knew that she could not afford to lose her customers. After all, she put food on the table for Tessa with that money. 

Kistle yawned loudly, setting the needle and thread down on her worktable in the shop. It was only six in the evening, but the sky was already as dark as night. Only the two candles on the table allowed Kistle to see enough to pull thread through cloth. 

A loud tap sounded on the windows and Kistle started in surprise. The sound was peculiar, something she'd never heard before. Intrigued, she poked her head out the open window and looked up. 

Something fell into her eye. After moments of panic, she realized that it was only water. Apparently, it was raining! 

Kistle couldn't remember the last time it had rained in Brittle Creek, because it did so none too often. She suddenly recalled that she'd hung clothes out to dry back at the cottage and hastened to call Tessa back in so that they could get home before the clouds broke and the rain started to pour in earnest. 

They made it home in record time, with the rain intensifying to a heavy drizzle. Kistle made sure that the cloth for the dresses and her daughter stayed safe and dry in the house before running out into the backyard. She stopped short when she saw the neat stack of clothes in washing basket, folded and dry. So, he's at it again, Kistle thought as she looked towards the woods, knowing he was somewhere out there, watching her. She didn't know if she should thank him for keeping her clothes dry, or if she should scream at him to stop helping her, for she could help herself. 

Slightly miffed, Kistle hefted the basket indoors, saying hello to a sodden Pip who had just taken his place in front of the fire. Tessa was settled on the worn sofa, a book of pictures open in the cup of her palms. 

A whip of thunder lashed through the sky and Pip geared into action, his barks echoing in the room. Both Kistle and Tessa winced, eyeing the dog wearily. It was a surprise that Tessa remained unmoved by the fierce noises emanating from above, but she simply curled herself up in the sofa and flipped through the pages of the black and white book. 

Ignoring Pip as best as she could, Kistle set the basket of dried clothes away and started a pot of stew, taking down a loaf of bread from the cupboards as she went. There was about seven inches of bread – just enough left for the three of them. 

She threw Pip his share as she added a diced potato into the small pot, taking note that Tessa had risen from her perch and had gone into the bedroom. She was still stirring the salt into the hot liquid when the little girl emerged with a blanket.  

"Why did you take that out, sweetie?" Kistle asked as she nibbled on a corner of the soft bread. 

"For Brady, Mama. He would be cold, won't he?"

Kistle raised her eyebrows at her daughter and the innocence in her eyes. How nice it would be to only have to worry about simple things. 

"Yes, he would. Are you going to take that to the shed?" 

Kistle craned her neck and saw that the rain was coming down in heavy sheets. It wouldn't be advisable to head outside now. 

"Yes, Mama."

"I don't think you should, sweetie. The rain's very heavy right now. How about we take some carrots to Brady later?"

"But he'll be cold, Mama! And I can squeeze under the shelter outside and get to the shed without getting wet."

Kistle thought about it for a moment. True, there was enough leeway under the wooden shelter of the house for Tess to walk under without feeling the rain. Brady, too, might be warmer with the thick blanket that Tess was holding. 

"All right. But hurry back, Tess," Kistle warned as Tess made a dash for the front door. 

She returned to the stew, adding the few ingredients that she knew would make the broth as tasty as Tess liked it. A loud neigh told her that Tess had reached the shed and was petting Brady in the way that made his dark eyes close in pleasure. Kistle smiled at the image, her tense features finally relaxing, when the loud crash shook the wooden cottage. 

Panic made her limbs paralyze for a moment before she threw herself to the window, looking out into the night. 

What she saw was her worst nightmare. 

The creek was overflowing, large waves of water rolling over the edge of the creek and flowing downwards… onto her land, moving with speed that terrified her. 

Tess! Kistle nearly choked on her heartbeat when she realized that Tess was outside. Her daughter was in danger. She needed to get to her. Immediately. 

Kistle had just stepped out into the rain, body trembling with unabashed fear, when she heard the high-pitch scream – a heart-wrenching scream that was muffled by the roar of roiling waters…

*

© KillerRomance, 2009.



A Marq's Woman Ch. 13



Kistle had just stepped out into the rain, body trembling with unabashed fear, when she heard the high-pitched scream – a heart-wrenching scream that was muffled by the roar of roiling waters...

*

Rade's gut had clenched the moment he'd spotted Tessa creeping out of the house in the rain, a blanket in her hand. He couldn't pin-point exactly what had made fear materialize in his heart, but it was there and he was the kind of man who trusted what his gut told him. 

The forest provided him with ample cover as he traipsed across shrubs and twigs, making his way towards the old shed where Tessa now was, cooing and petting the gray horse that stood under the shuddering, swaying wood. He stood there for minutes, simply gazing upon his daughter, the miracle of her, and glimpsing habits of his in her. Like the way she stroked the horse from the neck downward, just like he did, or he way she cooed to the horse, murmuring directly into its ear. The scene touched him like none other. He ached to rush forward and sprinkle kisses on the girl's dark head, and tell her that she was the most marvelous creature in the universe – next to her mother, of course. 

But then, he had heard the crash, and didn't waste a moment in running for a very startled girl and horse. As he ran, he looked around for the source of the noise, ready to protect what he held dearest to his heart, but he could see nothing. There was a slight fog, and sheets of rain poured over him as he ran towards the shed. 

He thought the roar that he'd heard was the sound of the blood rushing through his veins, as it usually did when he went into combat, but the gush of water that sent him sprawling into the unearthed mud told him different. 

Sputtering, he sat up, only for another wave of clear liquid to shoot him down again. Water entered his nostrils, his mouth and had him gasping for a decent breath of air. Even so, the only thought in his mind was to get to his daughter and woman. He needed to keep them safe from what, he concluded, was a flooding from the creek. 

He heard a scream pierce the air, and squinted his eyes to look about to figure out where it came from. Being flung to the ground like a sack of feed had warped his sense of direction, and the rain was not helping his quest to get to his gems.

The water had risen to his chest, the strength of the tide pushing him away from the cottage. But he fought the current, dragging his body through the slosh of water, trying not to lose his calm at the thought that Tessa could be drowning in that very moment. He didn't need to think of the worst scenario. He needed to concentrate on getting to the little house as soon as possible. 

He shouted for Kistle and Tessa when he was within hearing distance, hoping that he would hear someone yell back, but there was nothing, save for the crashes of the water splashing over the edge of the creek and down, towards the house. He couldn't see Tessa now, as well, and neither could he spot the gray coat of Brady's fur. Had the water swept them away?

A broken cry escaped from his lips as he shot off the ground and began to swim towards the cottage, vision blurred by the constant ferocity of the pouring rain. 

The shed rattled as he grabbed onto one of its unstable pillars, anchoring himself to it. He called out for Tessa again, but heard nothing. Brady wasn't there, either. The water was rising, nearing his chin now, and he was getting desperate. 

"Kistle!"

*

Kistle vaguely heard her name being called, but the wail of the water was too loud for her to be sure. Her thoughts were focused solely on her daughter, whose scream she heard in her head, over and over again. She needed to get to the shed. Quickly. 

The first wave of water had pushed her away from the cottage, towards the fringe of the forest. But she had tried to move against the current, to struggle towards her daughter, only to find that she was pushed back every time, thrown towards the higher ground of the forest. 

It was the first time in many years that she had felt helpless. So helpless, and so vulnerable. Her life was out there, somewhere, probably drowning, and here she was, unable to help her! Pain unlike any other crippled her, and Kistle fought to keep the tears from flowing from her eyes. She did not need tears now. She needed to get to her daughter!

"Tessa!" she called as she threw herself into the roiling waters again, trying to propel herself forward, heedless to the fact that she could not swim. It did not matter, she would swim now, to save her daughter's life. 

She called her daughter's name again, frantic to hear some sort of confirmation that her she was still in this world. The alternative was too much for her to bear. Her heart constricted at the tiny sliver of doubt that rose in her mind. 

Tessa's name was like a rabid chant on her lips as she tried to move towards higher ground. The water level was rising quickly, and so were her fears. It was a cloying feeling – to know that her daughter was in danger, and not being able to do anything about it. 

She couldn't see the shelter now. Water had covered everything, and it didn't seem to have stopped overflowing from the creek. Kistle knew that if she was going to hold on to the hope that Tessa had survived the rage of waters, she would have to throw herself into the waves and hope that they would push her towards the house, and not in the opposite direction. 

Sucking in a breath, she made a jump into the dark, deep, cold water. 

*

He saw her hurtling herself into the water and cursed the woman for being so strong-willed, it bordered on idiotic. What person with a sound mind would do such a thing when the water was rising as fast as it was? But he could understand, if not approve of, her actions. She'd thought her daughter was still stuck in the flood, and the Gods knew that she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she'd not dove in to help her baby. It had been the same thing that had gone through his mind when he'd swam towards the shelter with a single purpose in mind – to find his own. 

As he saw her take the dive, Rade quickly deposited the warm bundle in his hands under a tree on the higher land and sprinted for the house. He didn't bother to break his gait as he plunged, headfirst, into the water. 

She was flailing around, trying to stay afloat, about fifteen feet from where he was. Four quick strokes brought him to her and he pulled her into his arms, knowing the intense relief that came with her safety. He had her in his arms now. She wouldn't be throwing herself into danger any longer. 

"What are you doing?" she screamed at him over the roar of water and rain. A strong wave of water hit the couple, and they were pushed further towards the crux of the storm. Not bothering to answer her, knowing that there was no time for answers, Rade pushed towards shore. But her struggling against him wasn't helping the cause.

"Rade! Let me loose! Tessa's there!" Kistle tried to explain, but the irrefutable man kept pulling her towards the shore. There was sharp panic rising in her throat, the kind that made breathing difficult. She knew she could not leave, not without knowing that her daughter hadn't clung onto a low branch or something and had survived. 

"Rade!" 

She pulled at him again, and yelped when he hauled her towards his front, so that they were facing each other. His right arm swirled around them to keep them afloat. There was irritation in his eyes. 

"Tessa's fine. I need to get you to safety. Please, let me take you back to land."

He didn't wait for her to nod, but started swimming back to shore when he saw the understanding in her eyes. There was something else as well... he had seen the love she had for her daughter, and the liberation that had come with the knowledge that Tessa had not been harmed. She probably blamed herself, he thought. Blamed herself for letting Tessa leave the house in the middle of the storm. If it were him, he'd have blamed himself for it as well. 

They pulled themselves onto higher ground and Kistle rose to her feet immediately. Looking around, she spotted the bundle under the tree and stumbled towards it. Tessa, wrapped in Rade's outer shirt, slept soundly on the ground, her little fists clutching the feeble cover. 

Kistle's knees hit wet grass as she gathered the child to her chest, relishing the welcome weight of her baby. Tessa was in her arms now. She wasn't caught in the flood. She wasn't dead. She was very much alive, and warm. Her baby was all right. 

And then, Kistle did the only thing she could under the weight of fading desperation. She cried. 

*

They walked side by side into town. There was nothing else they could've done. The house was gone, that Kistle knew, and the rain was still coming down in heavy sheets. They needed to find shelter for the shivering child, if not for themselves, and the only place available was the shop. 

The rain had slowed to a drizzle when they climbed the short steps to the shop. The large, golden lock gleamed beneath the dusky street lamps and Kistle felt the humiliating tears threatening again. She had left the keys at home... with everything else she owned. The things she'd worked so hard for over the past two years were all gone. She was left where she started: with a clothing shop and few cents to her name. 

Not saying a word, Rade gently steered Kistle away from the door as he slammed his boot against it with just enough force to crack the lock. When the bolt broke, he opened the door and stood aside, allowing Kistle to enter the cramped space first. She went immediately to the lonely cushion next to the cupboard and set Tessa down on it. It was dreadfully hard for Kistle to relinquish the comfort of her daughter, but she knew that she had to do so to light a fire. The room was as cold as ice. 

There wasn't a fireplace in the shop, only a stove that Kistle had used for heat a long time ago, and to prepare meals. There was also a stack of firewood in the corner, which she'd gratefully remembered to bring to town the day before. Resignedly, and with a heavy heart, Kistle pushed the stove from the miniscule kitchen, towards the main room. 

She had just taken two steps when the weight was lifted from her hands, and she saw Rade hauling the large, tin-can-like structure to an available space beside the cupboard. She wanted to call out to him – to tell him, no, she didn't need help – but she was simply too tired. Her body and heart ached, and all she wanted to do was crawl under a blanket with Tessa and sleep until all her worries evaporated. 

She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a loose, cotton robe for herself and one of her shirts for Tessa. Rade was still in the room, meddling with the stove, and Kistle took the opportunity to carry Tessa into the kitchen and get both of them out of their wet clothes. Belatedly, she realized that Rade was bare-chested as well, and his breeches were wet, but she didn't have any kind of clothing to offer him. 

She needn't have worried, though, for once she carried a still-sleeping Tessa into the main room, he was gone, leaving the small space toasty and warm. Kistle looked about the store for a moment, thankful that she had this left, in the very least. Well, this and her baby. Gently, she pressed a kiss to Tessa's forehead as she ruffled through a large trunk and pulled out a large, woolen blanket. Then, as an afterthought, took out a second one. 

She set hers in front of the worktable, adjacent to the kitchen and suitably near the stove, then spread the other a few feet away, in the space between the mirror and cupboard. The space would probably be a little cramped for his large frame, but he should be able to adjust. 

Tessa was already curled up comfortably on the blanket when Kistle moved in behind her, pulling the other end of the blanket above their bodies. Despite the warmth of the air, her skin still felt cold, like there were remaining droplets of water on her skin. Kistle shivered silently and held on to Tess with enough force to stir her. The little girl turned toward her mother and buried her nose in Kistle's robe. 

The rain receded, but the storm of Kistle's thoughts did not. Her mind revolved around all her problems, addressing them, but never finding a solution for any of them. It was as though whenever she tried to solve a problem, her mind would rebel and start thinking of another problem in her life. She did not know what to make of her pattern of thought, although it scared her. 

She remained awake for a while, listening to the soothing sounds of Tess's even breathing. It occurred to her that all the cloth that she'd bought for the dresses had been ruined as well. Another expense she would have to put in the ledgers. As it was, she didn't have much coins to spare. Tomorrow, she would buy more cloth and attack the orders with a vengeance. Then, perhaps, she would have enough money to buy bread for Tessa and herself for the next month. 

She barely heard his footsteps, but years of living alone had her alert when the whisper of the door closing drifted to her ears. The silhouette that filled the doorway made her feel safe, safer than she would allow herself to admit. It had an effect on her body, too, making her relax and melt into the blanket. A scuffle told her that he was removing his boots, and she smiled, thinking that in all the time she'd spent with him, she couldn't remember a single instance where she'd seen him remove his boots. 

It made a warm feeling spread through her heart, though she couldn't begin to guess why such a mundane task would make her feel that way. It felt good, and she didn't really care for a reason. She felt warm, she felt safe. 

A yawn escaped her curved lips, and a minute later, she joined her daughter in sleep.

*

He awoke early, as he usually did. The room was still warm though the fire was burning low. He added another log to the stove before rolling his blanket up and looking over at Kistle and Tessa. Both of them remained deep in sleep. He didn't disturb them, for he knew that it had only been a few hours since they'd cuddled into the blankets. 

It wasn't even dawn yet. The sky was still dark, but Rade found that he could not sleep. There was something about last night that changed so many things in the relationship between them, and it haunted his dreams, making sleep a torturous thing. 

He had gone from needing Kistle to feel whole, to needing her to feel peace. He knew that he would never, ever again leave her to her own means. The image of her putting her life in danger last night was still fresh in his mind. It was like a plague, reminding him that he had been so very close to losing her again. He could never survive that. 

Leaning over both of them, he placed a kiss to Tessa's sleep-warmed cheek before pulling away. It felt somehow sacrilegious of him to touch Kistle while she was asleep, and he dismissed the notion of feathering a kiss over her forehead. Only the Gods knew what would happen if she'd awoken and caught him in the act. 

A glance out the window told him that there was more than an hour to the start of the day. Making as little noise as possible, Rade shrugged into the shirt that he'd purchased from the general store a few shops away. It hadn't been open, but Rade's incessant knocks had awakened the shopkeeper, who'd thundered down the stairs with numerous curses worthy of a soldier. But when Rade had promised to pay him extra coins for his services, the small man had relented and served him with an eye open. 

With his shirt buttoned up, Rade picked his way around the sleeping bundle and stepped into the kitchen, thinking that he would heat some coffee while he waited for Kistle to awaken. He wanted to speak with her about last night, to offer her a solution to her problems. 

But when he opened the first kitchen cupboard and found nothing, his eyebrows drew together in suspicion. One by one, he pulled out a few drawers and opened several cupboards, but, in total, found only one can of soup. There was no coffee, no tea, no bread. There was nothing in the shop save the miserable can of soup. Rade looked down at the tin can, mentally measuring its contents. Yes, it would last Kistle and Tessa for a day, but it was hardly enough for a growing child and a grown woman. Had they been eating like this for the past few years?

Rade shut his eyes against the sudden pang of guilt. It was his fault that his family was eating such peasant food. He had enough money for them to sit and eat at the Royal table, and yet...

He replaced the can of soup into the cupboard and shook his head, knowing what he had to do. Once again, he picked his way around Kistle and Tessa, smiling when he saw that Tessa's thumb was in her mouth. Didn't his mother tell him that he used to have that habit as well? 

Kneeling on the patio of the shop, he unsheathed the knife from his boot and worked his way towards the woods. Today, his family would have a nice meal for breakfast, even if he had to hunt for hours to spear game. 

*

His horse – which had not showed up after the flood – was waiting for him at the store when he returned with the meat of two rabbits wrapped in their skin. Diane nudged his arms as he passed her, and Rade used his forearm to nuzzle her nose before entering the shop. Still, the two hadn't moved, and Rade felt the similar pang he'd felt when he'd first seen them that way. His loves. His family. 

Sighing to himself, he set the safely-wrapped meat onto the cushion and, as soundlessly as possible, carried the stove back into the kitchen. Then, finding a pan, he began to cut the meat and place them slice by slice into the heated pan. 

The meat cooked in its own fat, and sooner or later, the sweet smell of meat wafted through the shop. Rade started when he felt an arm on his thigh. He looked down to find little Tessa rubbing her right eye and looking up at him blearily. 

She didn't seem to find anything amiss; nothing showed in her eyes. Rade had been half-afraid that Tessa would be scarred by memories of hanging onto the roof of the shed while he swam towards her. However, nothing but morning weariness showed on her features. 

"Good morning, little one," he said to her, reaching down to stroke a stray, tussled curl. 

"G'morning. What are you doing?"

"I'm cooking breakfast. Do you want to help?" 

He slid the cupboard open and took out the lonely can of soup, pouring it into a heated pot. Tessa remained standing behind him, staring with a peculiar frown on her face. It was as if she couldn't understand why Rade was standing in her mother's kitchen. 

Once he'd settled the soup, he hefted Tessa onto his hip so that she could see what was cooking in the pan. 

"What is that?" she asked, peering from a safe distance into the pot. 

"Rabbit meat. Have you tried it before?"

Tessa shook her head.

"Well, today you shall." Rade forked out a few slices of meat and cut them into bite-sized pieces for the young girl. Then, as gingerly as possible, he fed Tess the tender meat. 

"Nice," Tessa said with a smile after a few seconds of chewing. There were smears on the corners of her mouth, but she didn't seem to notice as she reached for another piece. 

He kept her on his waist as he prepared the meal, turning the meat over and giving the soup quick stirs to keep it from burning at the bottom. And even while he was concentrating on his tasks, he felt the exact moment in which she entered the kitchen. 

He looked over at her and offered a hesitant smile, not knowing if she would take kindly to him preparing a meal without her consent. But there was nothing close to contempt in her eyes. There was sadness, yes – he could understand that, since she'd lost her home overnight – and there was the steely independence that he'd come to admire. Her hair fell in a tumble of gold across her shoulder, standing out against the whiteness of the robe. Her collarbones showed through the thin material, and he had to admire the curve of them. How had he not realized what ravishing collarbones she had before?




A Marq's Woman Ch. 13



"Good morning," he said to her, filling the silence that had permeated the air as both man and woman took their time to peruse the other... a silence that was blemished only by Tessa's squirrel-like chewing. 

"Good morning," she replied, her throat husky from sleep. "I..." She started to say something, but stopped when she noticed that there was meat frying in the pan. Meat. How long had it been since they'd had meat? On her salary, Kistle could only afford bread and cans of soup for herself and Tessa. So where had he gotten the meat?

"Where did you get the meat from?" she asked, her brows crossing. 

"I caught a couple of small game this morn." He left out mentioning that he'd done so only because there wasn't any other form of food in the shop. 

"Oh. Well, thank you."

There was something about him standing there, in her kitchen, holding her daughter, that had her chest tightening. He had given her something she would never forget last night when he'd risked his life to save her daughter. He had given her the ability to feel again, something she'd thought she'd lost when she found out she was pregnant and had little more than no coins. It had been an intense, brutal feeling of pain and anguish that had overwhelmed her when she'd seen that bundle of love, and had known that he'd saved little Tess. 

"I...," she cleared her throat. "I haven't thanked you for last night. So... thank you for everything. For staying close even when I told you that you weren't needed. I cannot imagine the consequences if you hadn't been there for Tess... for us."

But he was already shaking his head, not needing her gratitude. He had done what any other father would have done. Keeping his daughter safe was his duty. But his head stopped in mid-shake when an idea came to him. 

"Are you really grateful to me for saving Tess?"

"Of course," she replied instantly, as he was sure she would.

"Then prove it to me. Keep me company for dinner tonight."

She blinked, her mind reeling from the change in subject. He wanted her company for dinner? Such an intimate act between two people. She shouldn't say yes, she couldn't. Not after everything...

But 'everything' seemed to fall away, chipping into little pieces. She couldn't really remember what 'everything' was anymore. It was getting difficult for her to hold onto her resolve in not wanting to see him again, if she couldn't remember why she'd been against him in the first place. There was no need to remember the past, her heart told her. Because they were operating on a clean slate now. And she realized that she wanted to give him another chance... at the possibility of having a relationship. 

There was, now, simply a man and a woman wanting to have a warm meal at a restaurant, enjoying each other's company. There was no instinct that persuaded her to flee, but there was one which told her to say yes and spend some time with him. 

"All right." Her easy response shocked him, she could tell. But he recovered quickly, passing her the plate of meat and setting Tess on the floor. The little girl left the kitchen, and Kistle knew that she would be looking for Pip in the backyard, since she had copped some of the meat from the plate. 

"I will see you at seven this evening, then?" 

Rade took a step closer to her, breathing in her unique scent of wildflowers. It always seemed to waft towards him, enveloping him in its glove. 

"I will be ready."

He pulled away abruptly, and brushed past her, heading for the front door. He would leave, but stay close enough to watch over them. Never was he letting them out of his sight again. 

"Rade..." Her husky entreaty stopped him in his tracks. "I...really. Thank you for being there for Tessa – for me – last night. I don't know what I would've done if..." She let the sentence trail off, knowing he could piece it together. 

"I know," he said after a moment. "But it didn't happen, so do not think of it." He turned away again. "I will be near."

*

She slipped into a fresh pair of breeches and a white shirt before glancing at herself in the mirror. Her hair was loose, hanging down her back in tangles. Kistle reached for the brush before proceeding to untangle the knots that matted her hair. 

She'd returned to the cottage earlier that day, as had half of the town, but there hadn't been much to salvage from the wreckage. The only thing she could retrieve was the statue of the Goddess, which had been surprisingly unscathed by the waters. 

The townspeople had come over sporadically throughout the day to offer their condolences, sending Tessa and her gifts to aid them financially. But Kistle had waved them off, assuring them that they weren't worse off, that they still had the shop. For it was true. Whatever they could make from the shop would go towards procuring another house to stay in. Perhaps it was the consequence of never having a real home before, but the fact that the only one she'd ever bought was destroyed didn't bring her much sadness. It had been Tessa's safety last night that had worried her to the point of madness. 

Kistle sighed, running the brush purposefully through her hair. Apart from entertaining her visitors, Kistle had also worked hard at the myriad of dresses she'd had orders for, and over the ten hours she'd had to herself, she'd finished sewing two dresses. It was an accomplishment, for she was usually a slow worker. 

But it was nearly seven now, and Tessa was safely tucked away in Mrs. Ports' house. Kistle found herself braiding her hair and wondering belatedly if she should change into a dress. She only had two of them: the one Ginny had lent her over three years ago, and one she'd made for herself. They weren't much, but they were infinitely more feminine than what she had on right then...

He knocked. Kistle started and quickly set her brush away, giving herself one last look in the mirror before taking the few steps to the front door. Oh well. She wouldn't have time to change now...

Rade had taken some time to make himself presentable for her. His new, tanned breeches and black shirt were a nice compliment to his dark skin. In his hands, he held a single rose. Kistle leaned on the doorframe and smiled at him, somehow finding the situation acutely amusing. 

"For you," Rade said, extending the rose. 

"Thank you," Kistle returned, reaching for the flower. "It's beautiful."

After a moment of mutual, honest staring, Kistle moved away from the door and went to her worktable. Finding a pair of scissors, she snipped the stalk of the rose away and slipped the newly-shortened bloom into the crux of her braid. 

Rade found himself staring at her movements without blinking. How could one person be so beautiful, so delicate, so feminine, and yet, so strong? She was an enigma to him, an amazement. And he wanted her for himself, to have the right to call her his own. He would either bind himself to her, or die trying, for he knew that the last few years without her was not living. 

"Come," he told her. "My horse is waiting."

"Wait!" she called just as he turned. He looked back at her, his eyebrows raised. 

"I will only step out of the shop with you if you promise not to talk about the past tonight. We would talk about nothing that could ruin this night."

He stared down at her for a moment, before a smile tilted the corners of his lips. Yes, he would agree to that. His woman was a smart one. 

*

Her face was red from laughter. Kistle knew that her cheeks were probably as red as the devil's skin, but she couldn't seem to stop the bubbles of mirth from escaping her lips. The image of little Luna pulling pranks on her nurse was too adorable not to laugh at. To think that only a few years ago Kistle had thought the child would have a small chance at survival as a babe!

"The Queen must have a hard time with her," she stated, pausing in her laughter to take a sip of the clear wine. Remembering the last time she had indulged in spirits, Kistle drank the wine sparingly tonight. 

"Yes, she does. Though the King spoils her rotten."

"I can imagine that. Even when I was in the castle, he seemed to dote on his daughter more than his son."

"Maybe because males tend to have a certain tenderness for their daughters."

An awkward silence went around the table, which had Kistle picking at her food, and focusing on the violinists behind Rade, instead of his eyes, which she had been mesmerized by all night. 

He had taken her to the most expensive restaurant in Brittle Creek – a grand place that had been set up by a few Earthlings. She had felt out of place by the way the waiter had gave her a disparaging glance, but after some light conversation with Rade – something she could never remember having before – she felt more comfortable to be there. 

"Tell me of Tessa."

His question had her rearranging the vegetables on her plate again. 

"What would you like to know?"

"Anything." Everything. 

"Well... she was born on the twenty-eighth of July. Her favorite color is gold, because she says it reminds her of Pip. She loves to draw, though stick people are her forte. And...I can tell she gets lonely sometimes." Her eyes caught Rade's and held. He felt his nerves sizzle from the sensuality of such sparkling amethysts.

"There aren't any children to play with along the street. Well, there are. But she doesn't like Jones' boys."

"Jones?" Rade sat up straighter in his chair, alerted by another man's name from her lips. 

Kistle cleared her throat. "Jones owns the supplies store a few shops away from mine."

Immediately, the image of the short, brawny man entered Rade's mind. He had seen him loading his carthorses once in a while, but hadn't given the man much thought. 

But now... Rade took a deep breath, calming the jealousy in him. Jealousy was what made him lose Kistle in the first place. Deep breaths, he told himself. Deep breaths. 

"Oh." He would not ask her for more information on this Jones fellow. Rade decided that he would find out about him on his own. He shook his head and returned to the topic they were discussing. "Tessa might not be lonely if you brought her back home, Kistle."

He realized too late that the words that left his lips were too closely related to the undiscussable past. The narrowing of Kistle's eyes confirmed his realization. 

"I can't go back, Rade."

His chest tightened. "Why not?"

Because I'm stubborn. "I don't want my life to be like that again."

"But it won't be. I promise you that, freina."

"I like my life here, Rade. I don't want to leave." That's not true. I miss my friends. 

"There's no one here for you, Kistle. No one. People at home care for you. Ginny asked after you every time she visited the castle, and I always had to say I have no idea where you were. Even Ty misses the saucy bit of woman who pointed a spear at his war leader. Come back with me, Kistle." His fingers reached for hers. 

"You promised not to speak of the past." Her words were cold, her voice like steel. She couldn't stand to be reminded of those she had left behind. Especially Remy. Oh, how she wanted to see her. 

"I did, yes. Damnit!" he cursed under his breath. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to let you know how I felt about you, to let you know that I still want to bring you back home."

"All right." She wriggled her hand away from where it was smothered under his. 

"All right? You'll come home with me?" The hopefulness in his eyes touched her heart and made her smile.

"No. All right, as in, you've made your point clear."

"Oh." His face fell. 

That made her laugh again. "You've changed quite a bit, Rade."

"Oh, really?" It was his turn to take a sip of his wine. When he saw that she was done with her food, he called for the dessert. "How so?" 

"You seem more jovial, light-hearted, so different from the time when I knew you."

"And how was I then?" 

"A brooding, domineering boar. Especially that evening when you..." Her eyes widened suddenly, and she looked away with reddened cheeks. 

"When I what?" he asked out of curiosity. 

"When... when you had me run to the tower in nothing but your shirt," she said softly. 

He blinked once before memories of that day returned. The gardens, with her sprawled under him, her hair spread across the grass. Her nipples hard and pouting from his caresses... Gods!

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yes. I remember that day. I remember it very well. And I also remembered thinking that you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever had the pleasure of having."

She blushed fiercely. "Thank you, I think."

"Are there... have there been..." she struggled to get her question out, but he understood. 

"No. None." She was entitled to know. 

"Oh." The answer pleased her. He could tell. 

The waiter came up to their table and cleared it before placing two plates of wobbly yellow globs on it. Earthlings, Rade thought. They came up with the most peculiar of foods.

"Kistle?" 

She looked up from her wary perusal of the glob. 

"Let me make you a proposition."

She looked interested, but cautiously so. 

"If you come back to Marqatia with me, I'll rent my mother's old store out to you, for you to make it into a clothing store." His mother didn't actually have a store; it was more of a storage closet, but Kistle didn't have to know that. "It hasn't been used in a while, so I'll have to get someone to clear it up a little, but it is big enough to be a clothing store. What do you say?"

"I... I don't know. I'll have to think on it."

"Well, the offer will always be open. You'll be able to do what you love, and have the people you miss around you as well. "

"Yes, of course. Thank you for offering. But why are you doing all this? Trying to persuade me this way?"

"Because I love you," he stated simply. "More than I can understand, and I want you and our daughter to be with me, in my homeland. I don't know if it means much if I say that I can never leave Brittle Creek without the both of you, but there it is."

"It means a lot to me. I understand." She straightened suddenly. "Your daughter? How do you know that Tessa is yours?"

"How could I not know? She has my hair, and my skin." He grinned as he said it. 

"Are you so sure?"

"Place your hand in mine." When she did, he uttered a spell and probed her mind. 'Tessa's mine,' he told her.' I can tell.'

Kistle gasped. She had heard his voice clearly, but his lips hadn't moved. How was that possible?

We've been intimate before. I can read your thoughts when I want to, but you have to touch me in order for me to do so. 

Kistle shook her head. She must be hearing things. 

No, you are not hearing things, freina. 

She withdrew her hands from his immediately, staring at him with wide eyes. 

"I told you about the ancient language of Hersan, did I not? It's the language of Royalty through which our ancestors have learnt spells and tricks to save kingdoms... or charm countless women." He smiled. "Wh- If we are bound by marriage, you will have to participate in a ceremony that will have our priests giving you the power to learn Hersan. It will enable us to speak to each other without being in the same room. You are able to hear me now only because we have shared our bodies before we were wed."

Curiously, she reached out and touched him again. 

Rade?

Yes?

Oh. 

He smiled at her, seeing her confusion and awe wrinkling her pert nose. The adorable way in which she reacted made him long for her intimately. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her. 

Too late. He'd forgotten that they were still connected, and his mind was open to her. He watched as her eyes widened in shock and she pulled away again. She buried her hands in her lap and averted her eyes. If he could have read her mind right then, he would've known how pleased she had been that he found her attractive. 

"It's nearly midnight," he stated softly after a while. There was no one else in the restaurant, and the waiter was hovering impatiently. "I should take you home."

Kistle merely nodded and stood without waiting for assistance. Rade reached into his pocket and slipped a few notes under his plate before leading her out of the intricately decorated place. 

They had just taken a few steps towards the livery when a shadowed figure stepped out from the alley next to the shop. Rade instinctively pushed Kistle behind him, just as the figure threw something towards them. From the way it splintered across the stones at his feet, Rade knew it was a glass bottle. Liquor, perhaps. 

"Whore!" the shadow screamed, and Rade winced, wishing he could cover Kistle's ears. 

"Whore!" 

Then Rade was knocked off his feet as something larger and more powerful than a glass bottle hurtled towards him...

*

Well, there we go! Hope you enjoyed it(: I would ask you to leave a comment, but I already know that you guys are going to do so. Haha. Thanks for reading!

L. 



A Marq's Woman Ch. 14



Years of training for war had him ready to defend himself and reciprocate the blow as he hit the hard ground, his attacker on top of him. Rade couldn't make out the man's features, but knew that he had the intent of hurting his opponent in his mind. Blindly, Rade swung at the shadow's face, hearing a satisfying crunch. The figure keened and drew back, hands rising to clutch at his face. Rade took the opportunity to slam the smaller man into the wall. 

Huffing slightly, he held the man up by his neck, feet dangling off the ground. He looked back to find Kistle staring at the scene with wide eyes. 

"Do you know him?" he called to her, his hands still tight on the man's throat. 

"I- I don't know."

He held out his free hand to her and she took it, coming closer to the immobile man. A gasp caught in her throat when she recognized the jaunty thrust of the man's jaw. Immediately, she began pulling at Rade's hand, a demand that he release him. Rade complied, watching as the limp form slipped slowly to the ground.

Kistle knelt, her fingers reaching out to check for a pulse. She let out a breath when she felt the steady thrum of one. 

"Jones," she whispered, tapping on his cheek to awaken him. She didn't understand why Jones had attacked them, or why he had called her a whore. Granted, she knew that he had had his eye on her, but after a few home visits, it should have been apparent to him that she was not interested in a relationship. So why had he attacked them so?

"Jones?" Rade questioned, his brows furrowing. He reached out and pulled Kistle up from her crouch. He did not want her near this man. "Is he the one you were talking about during dinner?"

"He is, yes."

"Why did he attack us, then? Why did he call you a whore?"

A moan from the slumped form interrupted Kistle's reply, but she didn't bother leaning over to check on him again. If the man was in pain, it was of his own doing. 

"I don't understand it either. When I first came to Brittle Creek, he visited me a few times to let me know he was interested in courting me." Rade's hand tightened on her arm. "But I made it clear to him that I was not interested in a relationship with anyone. I don't understand why he would react like this, attack you like this, just because he saw us together."

Ah. Rade understood now. The man had probably fallen for her charms, just like Rade himself had. And Jones had probably thought of Kistle as his to court, and had become enraged when he heard tell that another man had escorted Kistle to dinner. Knowing how small the town was, Rade wasn't surprised that the news had traveled that fast. 

Rade shook his head, pitying the poor man. He could lust for Kistle as much as he wanted, but she belonged only to Rade. Only him. 

"Come," he said tersely. "Let us leave."

"But Rade, I can't leave – he has children," Kistle protested, but Rade did not relent in his purposeful strides towards the livery, where Diane was awaiting them. 

"I don't understand. Truly. He hasn't talked to me in weeks... yet he tried to kill you, did he not?" Kistle asked as she watched Rade slide the saddle on top of the white horse. She was just a jumble of confused emotions, not knowing if she should run back and help the injured man or take umbrage that he had tried to kill Rade. The latter came easier to her, and so, she felt herself turning red with anger at the thought that the low-down, measly bastard had tried to kill her... man. 

Surprisingly, as the thought entered her mind, she didn't cringe or turn it away. It felt good to say it. Her man. Yes, Rade was her man. After all they had bee through, the least that he would be, was her man.

Her man. She knew she was repeating the phrase in her head unnecessarily, but she could not help it. It felt right, calling him that. 

"Yes, he did. I'll have a talk with him on the morrow, when he's sober."

"I will accompany you, then."

He shot her a look. "No, you will not."

She accepted the hand he held out to her, and threw a leg over the horse. He followed closely behind her. "Yes, I will. He called me names, Rade. I have some things that I'd like to say to him as well."

"I'm not sure-," he started, but she cut him off. 

"He's my problem, isn't he?"

Diane pranced under them, as though she could feel the tension of the minor dispute between the parties seated on top of her. Kistle's eyes never lost contact with Rade's as she put across her request. She wasn't going to back down, and he knew it. 

Finally, after moments of tense silence, he uttered a low curse and kicked the horse into motion. 

Bloody stubborn woman. 

*

Farrow's Hill

December, 1828

Remy gingerly folded the letter and slipped it into a drawer, making a mental note to pen a reply to it later. It was a note from Kistle, assuring Remy that all was well, and that she and Tessa were safe. She had also briefly mentioned a flood in Brittle Creek, which had made Remy anxious, but had ended the letter saying that they had not lost much in it, because Sir Rade had assisted them. 

The mere mention of that man's name had Remy's skin crawling. She didn't understand how her friend could forgive his discretions so easily. Laying a hand on a woman was a cardinal sin in Remy's eyes, and she did not believe such a person could ever be forgiven.

But it was different in Kistle's case, Remy knew. She had seen the look in Kistle's eyes when she spoke about him during the few days they'd known each other. There had been a different light, a tenderness around her mouth and eyes that had spoken of affection. It was as though Kistle hadn't wanted to accept what he'd done to her, but did not have a choice but to do so. She had had feelings for the man, but she'd left because she'd known that it would be the best decision for her. 

And Remy didn't fault her friend for that. But now, ever since the man had found Kistle again, she could read in Kistle's letters that the buried affection for him was returning, scurrying to the surface, and probably taking over her heart. Remy would have been happy for her friend if she hadn't known that the man Kistle loved did not have the tendency to lash out in anger. That fact worried her, and she knew she would write of her concerns to Kistle in her next letter. 

She had just risen from her perch on the writing bench when she heard the neighing of Trinston, Scar's winged mare. A smile tilted the corner of her lips as she hurried to the doorway, anxious as always to greet her beloved after a long day of chores. But the blood in her cheeks drained away as she took in the bloody mess before her. 

"Scar!"

Hiking her skirts up, Remy ran to her husband. The lanky woman was struggling to get out of the saddle, one hand clutching at the wound low on her belly. 

Scar fell off the horse and stumbled into Remy's arms. Her stomach was aching like the devil, as was her calf, but she took the time to press a hard kiss to Remy's forehead, murmuring, "It's not as bad as it looks."

"The hell it isn't!" Remy snapped, worried over the amount of blood flowing from the wound. If she'd guessed correctly, Scar had opened up the older gash. Quickly and efficiently, Remy ushered Scar into the house and laid her on the settee. She'd just turned away to get the medical supplies, knowing that she should clean the wound and ask questions later, when she was pulled back to Scar. 

"Lean down," Scar ordered, her voice husky. 

"What? Why?" Remy protested, already mentally ticking off the list of supplies she wound need to tend to Scar. How one woman could get herself injured multiple times in the same area was beyond Remy's imagination. 

"I want to kiss you. I've been thinking about it all day."

"Not now! I've got to..." But she saw that there was no point in arguing with Scar. When her eyes were as steely as that, she always saw that she got what she wanted. Thinking to get it over with as quickly as possible, Remy leaned down and pressed a hard kiss to Scar's lips. She was about to pull away when Scar's hand snaked through Remy's moon-lit tresses, fusing their lips securely. 

Scar knew that it wasn't advisable to kiss her wife when she was bleeding like a lamb after slaughter, but she could not help herself. Throughout the day, Remy had been drifting through her thoughts, especially since they hadn't been intimate for a week. More than once through the day, Scar had stopped to think of what her baby was doing. Was she thinking of Scar as Scar was of her? The hunger had grown such that even in training, she had been careless and had gotten nicked by a prick of a soldier. 

"Stop. Stop," Remy breathed when she felt herself falling into the hazy clouds of desire. It was always that way with Scar. One look, one kiss and she melted like butter under the afternoon sun. Disentangling herself from the taller woman's warm body, Remy hurried into the kitchen and poured warm water, herbs and healing oil into a bowl. Then, armed with a towel, she entered the hall and knelt beside Scar. The injured woman already had her shirt off, and had used the cotton material of it to staunch the blood flow. 

True enough, the wound she had incurred whilst spying for the Marq army had been re-opened, and dried blood encrusted it, making it seem worse than it really was. Remy made Scar lean back on the settee again and washed the wound carefully. The oil mixed in the water helped cease the blood flow, and soon, Remy found herself wrapping a dry towel tightly over an angry, pinkish-red gash. 

All this while, Scar's fingers had been playing on Remy's shoulder and neck, touching the soft skin there. Right now, she only wanted Remy cuddling by her side, not wrapping a bandage around her waist. Blast it, she would have to tell Remy about the other injury as well. 

"That's not all," she said quietly, before pulling her breeches up to reveal another scratch, about six-inches long, along her calf. Remy glared at her, but didn't say anything as she bent to wipe that wound as well. 

Half an hour later, when Scar was finally patched up, Remy returned to the sitting area with their dinner. She sat on the floor, between Scar and the low table, as she sliced the newly-baked bread and meat onto a plate. There were no vegetables, for she knew that Scar hated greens. 

But Scar was not interested in the meal, she was more interested in biting into the delectable expanse of neck that showed above the modest neckline of Remy's gown. She feathered her thumb over it and felt the shivers that rose as tiny bumps on Remy's skin. The younger woman turned and frowned at her. 

"You've yet to explain yourself."

Scar laughed, thinking that her wife looked damned desirable when she was angry. 

"Come here and I'll tell you," Scar said, shifting so that there was enough space for Remy's sweet derriere to fill. 

Remy could see the devilish light in Scar's eyes. There was something wrong with her husband today; she was being overtly romantic. Had she done something wrong and wanted to make up for it?

"What happened?" Remy asked as she seated herself next to Scar. The food remained untouched on the table. 

"I got distracted." Scar's hand snaked around Remy's shoulders. 

"Distracted?"

"Yes. Thinking of you. The soldiers were training, and I was on duty. A few of them were talking about women, you see, and how they were inferior to men. Hearing that, I couldn't leave without teaching them a lesson."

"And you've got these cuts to show for it. You could've gotten yourself more seriously injured, Scar!"

"Yes, but at least they're moaning more than I am," Scar said, her eyes tracing the outline of Remy's lips before she captured it with hers. Ah, this was the best kind of heaven. 

The fresh shirt that Remy had made her put on was rough against her suddenly tender nipples, and Scar began to tear at the buttons to her shirt. But Remy stopped her, telling her that she needed to put some food in her stomach for strength. She had lost enough blood as it is. 

Groaning, Scar let her head drop into the crook of Remy's shoulder. Remy always smelled good, like laundered clothing and woman. Scar took a deep breath of her love's essence and sighed. She hated being aroused and not being able to do anything about it. But she knew that Remy was speaking the truth. Blood loss tended to leave her weak if she didn't feed her body soon. 

So she leaned back against the cushion, patiently and waited for Remy to feed her bits of bread and meat. 

"I received a letter from Kistle today."

Scar nodded for Remy to go on. 

"I think she's in love with him."

Scar swallowed the food in her mouth, weighing Remy's tone. "And that's a bad thing, why?"

"Have you forgotten that he laid his hands on her once, Scar?" Remy asked, incredulous. 

"No, I haven't. But I happen to know that it was an accident, and I can forgive Rade for it. He isn't the type of man to hit a woman, beautiful."

"But what if an 'accident' happens again? What if he hits her too hard and something happens? What then? I sent her away for a reason!"

Remy was getting tensed again. Scar sighed and cupped Remy's cheek, smoothing it patiently. "You have to trust Kistle a little more, Remy. I'm sure she's woman enough to decide whether or not Rade is worth taking back."

"But she's so innocent..."

"Only as innocent as you are, sweets."

Remy thought about what Scar said for a moment, accepting the piece of bread that Scar pressed against her lips. It was true. She did have to trust Kistle more to make her own decisions. But she just didn't want her friend to make the same mistake twice!

"Shh. Enough about her. You should think about me more often," Scar teased, setting the plate of food away. Remy smiled distractedly, still lost in thought about her dear friend. The older woman traced the slight curves of her love's breasts, lingering between them, before moving up, towards Remy's neck. Scar placed a soft, wet kiss on Remy's neck, nipping slightly, until Remy had no choice but to notice the pleasant humming of her body. Her worries about Kistle faded away as Scar's fingers deftly handled the tiny rows of clasps on the back of her gown. 

*

Remy pulled the blanket firmly over her shoulders, feeling the chill in the room attempting to penetrate their love-warm cocoon. She and Scar were sprawled in the sitting room, for they'd had little strength to rise after a passionate bout of long-awaited loving. Remy smiled contently as she turned in Scar's arms, pressing a kiss to the underside of the taller woman's chin. Scar grunted softly and held Remy tighter against her naked body. 

But something had caused Remy to awaken, for she was usually a sound sleeper. She popped one eye open and listened carefully to the night's whispers. There seemed to be nothing out of place... Oh! But there it was. That peculiar scratching noise...

"Scar?" the flaxen-haired beauty nudged her husband. 

"Hmm?" Remy could feel the awareness sweeping through the other woman's body. Scar had always been one to rise quickly. 

"I think there's something outside. Listen."

Scar rose on her elbows and strained to catch the faint noise. True enough, there was a peculiar scuffling noise coming from the area of the house which boasted the gardens. Immediately on guard, Scar pushed Remy firmly to the ground and shrugged into her shirt and breeches, wincing when she felt the twang of her protesting injuries. How was it that she never felt those pains when she was in Remy's arms?

The threat outside could possibly be merely an estranged animal, but it could also be those boys from the village again, trying to destroy the home that Remy had built for her. It wouldn't be the first time they had attacked them, and Scar could feel rage rise in her. If she caught them today, she swore she would snip their fingers off. 

But she did not see anyone as she shifted out of the house and into the gardens. There was no whiff of fire or burning wood, neither was there the slightly revolting smell of a man's sweat. Everything remained still around her, until she heard the tiny sniffles about ten feet away from where she stood. 

Her brows furrowed instantly as she made her way towards the source of the noise. It sounded suspiciously human. 

She found a small, fair ball of human flesh in the corner of the garden, huddled against the fencing. It seemed as though the young thing was crying. Then, as the clouds ceased blocking the moon, Scar got a good look at the boy's face. 

The name erupted from her lips before she could stop it. Her limbs were too cold with shock for her to move. 

"Remy!" 

*

Brittle Creek

January, 1829

Kistle drew the needle through cloth, her fingers steady as she put together yet another dress. It was a beautiful, emerald-green one this time, and it had been ordered by the wife of the chief of the town. Thus, Kistle was giving it special care, making sure that she did not miss a single detail of the dress. She wanted to assure Madam Borne got the finest quality of gowns, for the sum of money she had promised to pay Kistle was too much not to. 

Moreover, it would be the last dress Kistle would be sewing in Brittle Creek, and she wanted it to be the best. 

She looked up to find Tessa seated on Rade's lap, a children's book open in front of them. Kistle could see the joy in Tessa's face as she pointed to the characters that were illustrated on the page. Rade's voice was a low rumble in the background. 

It was a beautiful sight, really. One of many that had convinced Kistle that she was doing the right thing. 

For the past months, Rade had flitted around Tessa and her like a mother hen around her chicks. He had hunted fresh meat for them for the first few days, but after Kistle had told him that she could afford to feed her own child, he had stopped, though she did spy him slipping extra cans of soup into the cupboard when he thought she wasn't looking. 

Also, he had begun to teach Tessa the art of sword-fighting. He had, of course, asked Kistle if she approved of her daughter learning such tactics, but Kistle had told him that she saw no harm in it. It would aid Tess in the future if she knew how to defend herself. 

Thus, every morning, the cling and clangs of battle would sound from the fields at the back of the shop, as Tess tried to defeat Rade with her four-inch, blunt blade. And every day, without fail, her daughter would emerge the victor. Kistle had to admit, though, that her daughter was having fun with her father. 

"Is that what the prince will look like, Rade?" Kistle heard Tess ask as she bounced on Rade's lap, head tilted up to him. Tessa had taken to addressing Rade by his first name, a habit that Rade had not corrected, and Kistle hadn't felt compelled to. If only Tessa knew that she was calling her father by his first name. 

"Yes, I suppose so, little one," Rade replied, turning a critical eye on the young lad that was depicted in the book. Much too young to be of any use as a prince, he mused. 

"Why doesn't Mama have a prince?" Tessa asked with a blink of innocence. Kistle sat up in her chair, placing the half-ready dress on her worktable. It was already late; the candles were burning low. 

"Mama doesn't-," Kistle began, when Rade cut in. 

"She doesn't need a prince, Tess. She has me." Kistle flushed at that, but did not say anything. 

"Come on, Tess. It's time for bed," Kistle said, reaching into the trunk for their blankets. It was a routine of theirs. Once Tessa was safely tucked in her blankets, Rade and Kistle would move to the porch and talk for a while. They would talk about everything in the world, although they did tend to avoid the uncomfortable past. Kistle was amazed, though. Throughout the three months that he'd been with them, Rade had not made a single advance towards her. No matter how sexually charged the situation was, he seemed to have developed an edge of steely control, one that she appreciated. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 14



"Aw, Mama. One more page! Please? Please?" Tessa begged, her fingers already moving over the book to flip the page. 

"Yes, Mama. Just one more page?" Rade echoed with a smile. The look on his face had her chuckling. 

"One more page," Kistle conceded before spreading the blankets and heading to the kitchen to heat up some milk for Tess. She was glad that she was earning enough to purchase some milk for Tess these days. It would be good for a growing child to drink milk, especially when the child was so active. 

She returned to the main room with a cup of warm milk in her hands. Tessa was already leaning up to kiss Rade's cheek – a signature of love that Tess had cultivated over the past few months. Then she scrambled off Rade's lap and dutifully took the cup from Kistle's hands with a grimace. She peered into it to check its contents as Kistle pulled out a nightgown for her from the closet. Rade took the cue and said his goodnights to his daughter before signaling to Kistle that he would be waiting on the porch. Kistle nodded and watched him leave. 

"All done, Mama," Kistle heard Tessa say around a yawn, and she took the cup from the girl. Tess immediately pulled the gown she was wearing over her head and Kistle bundled her into her nightgown. After getting the tangles out of her dark, curly hair, Tess laid down on the blanket and made herself comfortable. She was asleep before Kistle could fold her used dress and put away the milk encrusted mug. 

"She loves the picture books," Rade commented as Kistle came through the doorway, whipping her hair into a knot as she did. He wanted to tell her to stop, that her hair looked silky as it fell down her back, but he knew he was in no position to. 

"She does, yes," Kistle replied, taking a seat on the steps, next to him. She crossed her legs at the ankles and rested her head on her knees. 

"I love reading to her. It makes me feel like I'm getting closer to her, getting to know her. Like I'm making up for all the time I've lost with her."

She didn't feel as uncomfortable talking to him about the past as she thought she would be. 

"You haven't lost much, Rade. At least you're here for her while she's growing up."

There was a silence, and Kistle stared at the forest around them, thinking that all of a sudden, she felt dreadfully out of place in this town. 

"Kistle..."

She turned to face him.

"Would you – If I'd never found you – would you ever have come back to Marqatia? Would you ever have told me that I had a daughter?"

His honest eyes probed her for an equally honest answer. She answered from her heart. 

"No, I wouldn't have. We didn't part on good terms, Rade. I never wanted to see you again when I left Marqatia."

Rade closed his eyes and nodded, as though her answer had affected him greatly. And it had. 

"I'm so sorry for what I did -," Rade started, but Kistle cut him off. 

"Stop. You've apologized too much as it is."

"But nothing I could say could bury the effects of what I did." It was Rade's turn to look away. 

"Rade," Kistle called softly, but he didn't turn towards her. She reached for him and tilted his head towards her. She was not surprised to see the slight glimmer in his eyes, but it tore at her heart and conscience. 

Slowly, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his startled lips. It was a tender, quick meeting of lips, but to both of them, it meant so much more. It was a kiss of acceptance. 

"I forgive you," Kistle whispered against his shocked person, before pulling away and heading into the house. 

She didn't see the man who buried his head in his hands and wept. 

*

"Lovely, Kistle dear. The dress was simply lovely. Here you go," Madam Borne handed Kistle a small pouch. "I hope it covers the cost of such fine material and needlework."

Kistle murmured her thanks to the lady as she slipped the pouch into the pocket of her breeches. She was in a hurry to return home, for it was nearly dusk, and it was a fifteen minute walk back to the shop. 

However, she patiently queried if Madam Borne wanted any adjustments done to the gown before she took her leave when the stately woman shook her head. 

She had just stepped out of the large manor's gates when she heard the pounding of a horse's hooves behind her. Before she could turn around to fathom who the rider was, she felt an arm loop around her waist, and she was hoisted into the air. 

She screamed at lashed out at her assailant, only to hear a familiar voice in her ear. Kistle swiveled in her seat, out of breath, to spy Rade's amused smile. 

"Why did you do that? My heart nearly gave out altogether!" Kistle huffed, raising a hand to where her heart was trying its very best to beat out of her chest.

"I thought it might be romantic," Rade replied.

"Romantic? Romantic!" 

Somehow, Kistle began to see the humor in the situation as well. She started to smile, but a thought entered her mind. 

"But you were supposed to be watching Tess," Kistle asked, her brows furrowed. 

"She's with Mrs. Ports. I wanted to show you something... and I didn't want you walking back to the shop alone in the dark."

Kistle was comforted by the knowledge that Tess was safe. "What did you want to show me?" she asked as Rade veered the horse off the town's road and onto a dirt track. 

"It's a surprise. I found it while going on a hunt. It's really too beautiful to keep it to myself."

"What is it?" Kistle asked again, but Rade remained appropriately stoic. 

He stalled the horse in the middle of the forest and dismounted. She followed suit, her excitement rising. She did not know what he had prepared for her, and could not even hazard a guess. 

But when she heard the sounds of a steady drizzle of water, Kistle let out a grateful yelp and sprinted towards the clearing. She stopped short when she saw the small waterfall. It wasn't the beauty of the clear water that had her enthralled, but the nature around it. Oh Goddess! There were probably ten different species of glorious flowers around the pool of water. And against the green of the bushes, the waterfall looked like a bower for a princess!

"Beautiful, isn't it?" She heard his voice. He was close behind her. 

"It is, yes," Kistle replied breathlessly. "It's a sad thing that I didn't bring soap, for it's been a while since I had a real bath."

But even before she could complete the sentence, Rade had extracted a thin sliver of white soap from his pocket. He smiled at the expression on her face when he put the cake in her hands. 

"I brought you here to teach you the art of swimming, Kistle. But if you'd like a bath, go ahead and take one. I'll wait by Diane while you do." He pointed to a corner that had a ledge which had been formed like a step. "The water on that end is quite shallow."

Kistle looked up at him with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Rade."

"There's no need for that. Call out to me when you're done. I've brought you a change of clothes, so you needn't worry about wetting the ones you have on."

Kistle simply nodded as she watched him trudge back through the trees. Then, turning back to the inviting pool of clear liquid, she let out an excited squeal. 

*

Kistle stood directly under the stream of water flowing from the rocky ledges of the waterfall, her head tilted back so that the liquid flowed directly onto her body. The water was cool, refreshing her sun-warmed skin. However, when she finally summoned the energy to part her sleep-dazed eyes, she found that the sun was no more directly on her body, but had faded into the darkness of night. It was not full darkness yet, but it was close. 

Sighing, she reached for the little cake of soap and spread it around her body, thinking that she had not felt as carefree as she did in a long, long time. It was as though the waters of the fountain had miraculous cleansing powers, and had cleansed her soul of the past, leaving behind only the light-hearted girl she had been several years ago. At the back of her mind, however, she knew how precious this time was – a time where she could simply relax and enjoy the beauty around her – and she treasured every minute of it. 

The time finally came, though, when she had to step out from under the shower of cool liquid and dry herself off using her chemise. Then, as dry as she could possibly get, she donned her shirt and breeches before calling out to Rade. 

The moon allowed her to catch glimpses of his tall figure as he moved through the trees, the golden Marq seal on his thigh visible as the man himself. Kistle smiled, remembering the very first time she had realized that all his clothing had been sewn with the Marq crest on them. She had been shocked then, in the very least. 

Now, as she watched him walk towards her, his hair falling to his neck, curling slightly above the collar, her heart clenched with nostalgia. She could not imagine that the girl who had been so naïve once, was her. 

"Did you have a nice bath?" he asked as he neared her. 

She nodded. "How are you planning on teaching me the art of swimming?"

"First, we are to get into the water," he said with a smile. Efficiently, Rade stripped his shirt off and lowered himself into the cool body of water. Then he offered his hand up to her. 

"Careful," he murmured when he felt her petite fingers gripping his palm tightly. 

"It was shallow at the other end," Kistle remarked as she attempted to stand in the water without his help. The water came up to her chin, even when she stood on her toes. She saw the flash of his teeth and heard the slight husk of his laughter. 

"You look like a drowning kitten."

Taken aback by his honest answer, Kistle tried to poke him in the ribs, but she couldn't seem to get her footing in the pool without his aid. 

"That wasn't very gentlemanly," she huffed at him when he reached out to steady her swaying form. 

"You never asked me if I found drowning kittens a picture of adorability." Slowly, he moved them towards the centre of the pool so that they would have a greater area to practice. 

"Hmmm" was her only response to that. 

She found that the water got deeper as he brought them towards the centre of the pool. And the deeper the water got, the tighter she hugged him, the closer she got to his shirtless chest. It was a beautiful chest, she noted. Warm and comforting, with a smell she remembered all too well. She wanted nothing more than to bury herself in it, for it reminded her of the only comfort she'd had in her life. 

"Why don't we try floating?" he whispered into her ear, for she was pressed close enough for him to do so. And her closeness was having a profound effect on him... an effect that he was trying his best to ignore. 

"H-how do I do that?" she murmured back, her voice as husky as his had been. Perhaps it was the moonlight, or the beauty of what surrounded them, but in a heartbeat, Kistle realized that she would like it very much if he kissed her then. Just one kiss. 

"You have to lean away from me first-," he began, but she decided that she would not wait for him to fathom that she wanted him to kiss her. Placing her forearms on his shoulders, she rose up, with the aid of the water, and mated her lips with his. 

His hands settled around her waist instinctively, supporting most of her weight. In this position, she was just a slight bit taller than him, which had spurts of power coursing through her. She felt dizzy, deliciously light-headed, as though she did not have to condone the consequences of her actions, for she knew they were right. She wanted this, had been wanting ever since she had caught him thinking of it, more than two months ago. Ever since, memories of his touch had haunted her every night.

It was her turn to lead the kiss, and for the sake of her life, she could not tamper the hunger that was burning in her soul. Wet and clinging, she wrapped her arms around his head and devoured his lips with a potency that shocked both of them. 

Rade stood still, rooted to the ground, as she wrapped herself around him. He hadn't expected her to be so bold. He had, of course, felt the tension between them – the very same tension that had been between them for the past months – but for her to act on it had his heart-rate accelerating ten-fold. 

But he was careful about the way he responded to her. He didn't want to repeat his mistakes. She meant more to him than anything else in the universe for him to do that. And so, he stood as still as possible and let her have her way with him. 

Kistle was floating on her own cloud of pleasure, the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of his wet hair curling around her fingers. She could feel the heat of him seeping through her clothes, assaulting her breasts in the most sensual way possible. And she slanted her mouth over his, knowing he would make a gruff sound of approval low in his throat. She was expecting that... but got nothing. 

She pulled back, somehow unable to wholly tear herself away. Light kisses she sprinkled over his cheek and jaw, her breathing harsh. But her initial suspicions were confirmed. He was not responding to her. 

"W-what is wrong?" she queried, looking deep into his eyes. A tick had formed just below his eye, and it beat in line with the frantic rhythm of his heart. 

He could feel every twitch of her body, every tug of her fingers on his hair, every breath she took. They went through his body like a sword, igniting his senses. He wanted so very much to lean into her and lose himself in her femininity, but he knew he could not. Not if he wanted to keep her. 

"Rade?" Her voice broke, and the shuddering breath that she took rippled over him, making him wonder why the water around them didn't simply turn into steam and evaporate. His body was as ready as hell, as hot as Satan's den, but he could not – would not – relieve himself of the pain. 

Kistle was puzzled. Was it the fact that he did not appreciate her boldness? Why was he standing so still, so unaffected by her caresses? Why did he not want her the way she burned for him?

Confused, she started to disentangle herself from him arms, but surprisingly, he pulled her back towards him, hands spanning the curved column of her waist. 

"I-I don't understand," she stammered, but he quieted her.

"Shh. Please, just let me hold you."

That was it, the barely-concealed desperation in his voice. She reacted to it, stilling her movements on his hair, and simply leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Mere seconds had passed by before she leaned closer to his neck and began nuzzling it. This time, Rade could not suppress the whimper that tore through him. Her plump, wet lips on his skin felt like heaven. The torturous, slick slide of them shooting straight to his groin. 

"Kistle," he growled. "We are supposed to be swimming."

But even his protests didn't stop Kistle from taking advantage of him. She craved one kiss; simply one kiss. After that, she would leave him be. 

"I know you wanted to kiss me the other day. So why won't you kiss me now?" 

Her lips were dangerously close to his, her breath whispering across his lips. 

"Thinking of it and actually doing it are different things, freina."

"Why? It is not as though we've never kissed before. One kiss, Rade. Just one."

Her tongue flicked out, tracing the strawberry redness of her lower lip. There, that delectable piece of flesh was so very close to his own lips. A path of fire seared from his gut to his heart. His eyes were focused on the movement of her tongue, mesmerized by the sight of it. And he knew that when she drew near again, he wound not fight her. He would indulge her in one kiss. 

His skin felt feverish, his heart in utter turmoil as he tilted his head to kiss her the way he knew would make her purr. He remembered everything about her, what she liked and what she didn't. He even remembered that he should mind his grip on her waist, for she bruised easily. 

Their tongues entangled, the friction causing both of them to gasp, the sound swallowed back into their bodies. It was a beautiful mating, the simple fusing of lips, the sharing of trust. Rade could feel the connection flowing from his body to hers, and from hers to him. Lightning pricks of pleasure danced over both of their skins. 

When they pulled back, however, Kistle was shaking, buried under the clouds of pleasure. But she was coherent enough to recognize the mirroring of intense pleasure in his eyes as well. 

"You taste exactly the same," she whispered, letting her head fall against his shoulder yet again. A weak laugh curled her lips. 

"As do you." Rade tilted his head up to the skies, taking a deep breath, cooling his skin. 

He'd thought he'd cooled his body when her voice drifted back to him. "Now, what about swimming were you speaking of?"

January, 1829

Talem Manor, Kierania

Ginny sat up slowly, the pain in her rounded belly causing her to clench the sheets of the bed tightly. Lighting bolts of sharp pain was making its way through her blood, spearing her with tiny, stinging injections. 

Her husband was asleep on his side, exhausted from a full day of training the Marq soldiers based in Kierania. She shouldn't wake him; the pain would pass. 

But it did not. After many minutes of battling a clenching pain in her nether regions, Ginny's strength crumbled and she reached over for Tyson. 

"Tyson," she said softly when his eyes blinked open. "I think I'm losing the babe."

Tyson bolted upright, sleep forgotten. He noticed immediately that his wife's forehead was drenched with sweat, and that her pallor had turned a sickly yellow-white. Panic was instant. 

"What is amiss?" he asked, gathering her closely in his arms. 

"I-my stomach hurts, and it isn't even near the babe's time yet. We are a month off. I think I'm losing the baby." There was a weakness in her voice that he could not bear. For four years now, they have been trying for a babe. And after three mishaps, Ginny had successfully got with child. But now...

"I'm calling for the mid-wife. Lie still," he commanded and rang the bell for the maid. Then, realizing the stupidity of his actions, he sprinted off towards the servants' quarters and woke everyone there with his commanding roars. 

"How long has she been in pain?" the tiny mid-wife asked him as she toddled up the stairs. She was a small woman seeing her seventieth summer. But she had birthed Tyson as well, and that was the reason he had summoned her to the Manor. 

"Not very long, I think." I hope.

"'Tis a little early for the babe," she commented, seemingly to herself. Halfway up the stairs, Ty became most tired of the woman's slowness and simply picked her up, ignoring her protests, and carried her to the chamber that he shared with Ginny. 

The maids were already there with the herbal tea, just as Mrs. Lanom had requested. 

"Hello, dear," she said to Ginny in a calm and soothing manner. Ginny writhed in pain on the bed. She could feel her baby slipping away from her. She had disappointed her husband once again. 

She could feel hands on her bare belly, probing at the flesh she couldn't feel anymore. It had only been an hour, but it felt like an eternity. She was too weak to fight the pain that seemed the reign over her body. 

"Here. Drink," the old woman said and held the cup of tea to Ginny's lips. Numbly, Ginny drank the liquid, turning her head away when she could swallow no more. Her breath wheezed out in heavy pants, her hands clutched her stomach. 

Then there was a sudden change in her surroundings. She was near the lake... with Kistle. They looked much younger, so much more carefree as they dared each other to take dips in the cool water. She heard Kistle's voice in her ear, a voice that she had not heard in many years, and it made her smile. Kistle was telling her that she was all right, and she needn't worry. And Ginny was berating her for having left in the first place. As a friend, she would have been honor-bound to write in the least... As the thought flashed across her mind, the scenery around her changed to a cloak of darkness. Ginny flailed around in the murk, but found no one. Not Tyson, nor Kistle. No one. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 14



*

Brittle Creek

"Don't run off, Tess," Kistle warned as she watched her daughter toddle along through the fields after Pip, her purple dress billowing in the winds. The little girl was having a hard time maneuvering through grass that was as tall as she was. 

"She's beautiful," Rade said with a frown. "In another decade, men would be tripping over their own feet for her hand."

"And is that a bad thing?" Kistle countered with a smile. They had sauntered over to a large oak tree. Kistle sat, cross-legged against the trunk, and Rade followed suit. From their vantage point, they could keep a sharp eye on their daughter. 

"Of course it is! Just the thought of any man ever thinking about her makes my blood boil."

Kistle laughed, plucking a blade of yellow grass and twirling it around her finger. 

"You should worry about that when the time comes, Rade. Not now."

It had been a week since he had taken her to the waterfall. The memories still lingered between them, of how unfulfilled their desires were, and how much passion still sizzled between them. The embrace had felt like a comfort to both of them, as though they were coming home to all that was familiar. 

She did not regret what had happened that night, neither did she feel ashamed of it. She knew, that in her heart, her body belonged to Rade – only the Goddess knew how she couldn't imagine some other man touching her – and to be intimate with him was as natural to her as breathing. 

She had also made up her mind about returning to Marqatia more than a week ago. She had, however, yet to tell him the news. 

"Rade, I need to speak with you about your proposition."

He raised an eyebrow. "Of course."

"How much would the rent be if I take you up on it?"

"I have not decided yet. What can you afford?" He did not dare hope that her questions meant that she had decided to come back home with him. It was too much of a gamble with his heart. 

"Not much. But I have enough."

"I'll take it," Rade said simply. 

"And Rade?"

"Yes?"

"When does the next ship leave?"

He had been in the process of chewing on one end of the grass. At her words, he turned to face her, the yellow weed still clasped between his lips. He couldn't believe what he'd heard. In fact, he might have dreamed that she'd said that. 

"I want to go home."

It was stated simply, and Rade felt the joy running through him. He reached out and crushed her in his arms, loving the way she emitted a startled yelp at his mock-gruffness. It could not be true. But it was! It finally was! After years of being apart, he would finally have her by his side, in his country. The Gods had answered his prayers. Though, he schooled his thoughts, that did not mean she had agreed to any kind of life with him. It simply meant that she wanted to be nearer to the people she knew. He had to understand that. He shouldn't push her. 

The kiss was inevitable, and Rade poured his pleasure at her decision into their passionate joining of lips. He moaned when she bit his lower lip playfully. 

They stayed that way for a long while, simply enjoying the taste of each other, when suddenly, there was a scuffling noise. Turning, they found Tessa standing a few feet away, her head tilted to one side, a befuddled look on her face. Pip was by her side, looking as confused as she was. Kistle swallowed, even as Rade thought of an excuse to cover up their behavior. 

"Mama, why were Rade and you mashing faces?"

*



A Marq's Woman Ch. 15



She could see the gathered crowd as the ship landed, the winged horses' feet finally landing on Marq ground. Tears rose to Kistle's eyes as she recognized Remy's smiling face and Scar's imposing height. Not waiting for the horseman to tell her that it was safe to leave the ship, Kistle threw the doors open and took her chances with a leap. She knew that Rade would care for Tessa as she traded hugs with her friend. 

Remy's open arms met her halfway as both women embraced one another, the agony of being apart for many years finally appearing as crystalline teardrops on their cheeks. Kistle laughed for the sheer pleasure of doing so before pulling back and giving Remy a good, sound kiss on the lips. 

"I've missed you!" Remy sniffled, her nose already red.

"I've missed you much, too," Kistle said as the others came forward. The Queen, the King, the little ones, every one surrounded her, calling out to her, questioning her, welcoming her. Kistle was overwhelmed. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and knew that Rade was by her side. Instinctively, she reached out for Tess, who was looking lost and befuddled on Rade's waist. 

"Mama," Tess whispered once she was in her mother's hands. "Who are they?"

"Do you know who I am, Tessa?" Remy, who as now standing next to Kistle asked. Tessa shook her head. 

"That's your Aunt Remy, sweetie," Kistle explained, and Tessa's face lost its confusion. 

"Aunty Remy!" In a moment, she was in Remy's arms. 

As Remy introduced Scar to the little girl, Kistle walked over to where Rade was surrounded by Royal family. She positioned herself at his side and curtsied to the Queen. 

"Oh, none of that, Kistle. We're past that, are we not?" Chiara tsked, her hands reaching into the folds of her skirt. It was only then that Kistle noticed the little, shy being hiding there. Luna, Kistle thought. It had to be her. Goddess, what a beauty she was!

"You must be Luna," Kistle cooed, leaning toward the little girl. But Luna simply pulled her mother's skirt tightly over her eyes and shied away. Chiara laughed. 

"She isn't always that shy, let me tell you."

Kistle laughed and rose, feeling Rade's hand clasping hers. She huddled closer to him, looking over at Tess to see if she was getting along well with the ladies. Surprisingly, it was Scar who had Tessa draped over her back like they were already well-acquainted. Tessa looked like she was having fun. 

Happiness welled within Kistle's heart as she watched her daughter with her friends. She had missed them so very much. 

But what she could not explain was the empowering feeling of comfort buzzing through her body. This planet had a charm that Rasphere could not compete with. Perhaps Marqatia had been fated to be her homeland. 

"Come. I had the servants prepare a feast for your return," King Dominique announced, hands around his wife's shoulders. 

"Oh dear. You shouldn't have..." Kistle began. 

"Nonsense, Kistle. You've returned home after so long. A feast is the least we could offer to welcome you back."

The crowd broke in the large foyer, with the Queen carrying a fussing Luna to her room. Dominique invited Rade for a glass of wine, to update him on the going-ons of the planet. Scar kissed Remy on the cheek and parted with the excuse that she had to check on the soldiers. That left Kistle, Tessa and Remy standing in the wide expanse of the foyer. Unlike the previous time she had stood there, Kistle didn't feel lost and abandoned. She felt full, happy, knowing that people she could trust were within shouting distance. It was a luxury she hadn't known for a long while. 

"Come, I have asked the servants to draw a bath for you," Remy said, the smile on her face unwavering. Tessa stood beside her, looking around at the jewel-encrusted walls. Kistle knew exactly how her daughter felt. 

*

"I can't believe you're finally home!" Remy repeated for the umpteenth time as Kistle and Tessa washed in the large tub. 

"I can't believe it, either," Kistle returned with a laugh, pouring a bucket of clean water over her head to clear the soap suds on her body. Tessa reached for the smaller bucket and did the same.

"The last time I was here, Tessa was in here." Kistle ran a hand over her stomach. Tessa giggled and signaled to her mother to bend over. 

"Aunty Remy is soo pretty," she whispered, casting a shy glance towards Remy as she said that. Kistle laughed and said that Tessa was prettier than Remy was. 

"I can hear both of you, you know," Remy called from her perch on the bed. 

Both mother and daughter laughed as they toweled off. 

The Queen had provided them with bejeweled dresses, as Kistle had expected. For Tessa, the Queen had sent a dress made from gold pleats, with swirls of darker brown on it. For Kistle, a royal-blue dress lay on the bed, embroidered with silver streamers. The luxurious material was a far cry from the cotton and wool that she was used to wearing. 

Remy helped Kistle and Tessa comb their hair. Mother and daughter decided on the same hairstyle – an elegant bun with a simple ribbon holding loose strands away from their eyes. Kistle knew that she was much too old for the innocent hairstyle, but the ribbon looked too adorable for her to take off. She had not felt young in a while. 

After a few sprays of wildflower-scented perfume, the threesome emerged from the room, ready for a feast. 

*

The dining hall was bustling with people, many of whom Kistle did not recognize. But as she set foot into marble-floored area, a soldier came forward and bowed to her. Startled, Kistle took a step back. But when he raised his head, Kistle gasped in recognition. 

"Sir Quinn! Oh my." She raised a hand to her heart. 

"Lady Kistle. It's good to see that you've finally returned," Quinn replied, jerking his head slightly to the side to flip forelocks of dark hair away from his eyes. Kistle smiled. If it were possible, the man had gotten more handsome than the last time she had seen him.

"It's good to be home as well." There was a tug at her skirts. "Oh, Sir, this is my daughter, Tessa."

The knight bowed again and Tessa smiled up at him. 

"Such beauty could only be of your making, Lady Kistle."

Kistle laughed and waved him off, telling him that she needed to look for Rade. She weaved through the crowd looking for him, smiling at everyone who nodded in her direction, but saw him no where. She did see, however, that Remy was getting cozy with Scar behind a pillar. The scandalous sight had her turning Tessa in the opposite direction immediately. 

"Your Majesty!" Kistle called out to Chiara when she spotted the Queen walking into the hall. "Your Majesty, have you seen Rade?"

"Oh, Dominique told me that Rade was in his study. Here, here," Chiara stalled Kistle as she started in the direction that the Queen had pointed to. "I'll take care of Tessa. You go ahead and find your Rade."

Kistle looked down at Tessa, who seemed enthralled by the large number of people around her. She would be all right with the Queen, Kistle knew. And so, she gathered the alien weight of her skirts and climbed the stairs towards Rade's study. 

*

There was a row of doors aligning the corridor, and light showed from under only a few rooms. Shrugging, Kistle moved towards the first lighted room. Just as she was about to knock, she heard a burst of gay, feminine laughter, and stepped back. A woman who laughed like that... Kistle knew that whoever it was in there was keeping loose women for company. She blushed, turning away, ridding her thoughts of the sinful images in her mind. 

She knocked on the other doors, but no one answered them. Frowning, she turned in time to see the first door she'd attempted to knock on, open. Concerned that she might be thought of as prying, she immediately hid behind a stone pillar. 

A busty woman emerged, clad in a tight, shamefully-red gown. Thinking that no one was watching her, she pulled at her bodice and stuffed the indecently large globes of her breasts back into it. Kistle shook her head, wondering why loose women received such pleasure in flaunting their assets. 

But it was her companion that made Kistle feel light-headed. 

A small sound of utter misery escaped her lips as Rade stepped out after the woman, buttoning his blue doublet as he did. 

Kistle couldn't breathe. What was Rade doing with such a woman? A million thoughts raced through her head. She didn't understand, for she didn't want to believe the worst. He couldn't be seeking pleasure from a harlot, could he? Oh Goddess, no! She would not believe such nonsense. He should have another, more viable reason for meeting with a woman who wore bright red dresses. She trusted him more than that. Yes, she trusted him and had faith in him. He loved her. He wouldn't do anything to hurt her... she believed that. 

Kistle took large, gulping, calming breaths, trying to contain the tears in her eyes. She told herself that he had to have an explanation for the meeting. He simply had to...

Composed, calm, and quivering on the inside, Kistle stepped out from her hiding place and strode towards the hall.

*

Rade resisted the urge to flinch as Remy sent another one of her blade-like stares towards him. He had a distinct feeling that she didn't like him very much, but he had no idea why. Had he said something hurtful to her? Rade chewed on his herbed lamb as he thought of it. He couldn't remember having said anything hate-worthy to her. 

"Your friend hates me," Rade commented in a whisper to Kistle. Kistle. Now, she was another problem altogether. Ever since she had returned from her bath, she had been nothing but cordial to him. Her eyes were red-rimmed as well, telling him that she was probably tired from the long journey... or that she had cried. Since she had no reason to cry, he did away with the notion. But he noted that she did however, despite her exhaustion, smile appropriately and mutter relevant responses to people who came forward to talk to her. 

"I wouldn't know why" was Kistle's response to his question. Rade stared down at Kistle, a niggling feeling that something was amiss seeping into his blood. Mayhap she wasn't actually tired, but something else was plaguing her. 

"Is something wrong, Kistle?" he asked her as she pushed the lamb around in her plate, but she merely shook her head, reaching for the glass of wine on the table. He was about to put another question across to her, when a maid came running into the dining room, her skirts whooshing across the floors in a hurry. 

"What is it?" Dominique, seated at the end of the table, asked the flustered maid. 

"'Tis Master Ryder, Your Majesty," the maid blurted, and a curse was heard from Scar's seat as she excused herself from the table. "He-he's wielding his sword against a g-girl!"

Kistle and Rade were out of their seats in a heartbeat. 

Rade's heart nearly gave out as he spotted Tessa in her pantalets, a training sword clasped in her hands. She thrust it against her opponent's sword, a young boy about eight summers in age. Little Dominique stood by, his sword sheath empty. He cheered for his friend as the boy fought a young girl half his age. 

Scar was already making her way down to the field, where the fight was taking place, but paused on the last step when Tessa made a quick turn and rammed her little foot into Ryder's face. Rade, too, paused when he saw that. The small crowd of training boys that had gathered in the field, jeered. 

Tessa stepped back and waited for her opponent to get his bearings. She twisted her neck to the right, then to the left, loosening the tensed muscles there. Playing with Ryder was so fun. Rade always let her win when she played with him. 

Scar turned to stare at Rade. "Did you see what she just did?"

"What?" Rade asked, focused intently on the scene before him. Damn, but his daughter was good. 

"She eased the crick in her neck, just like you do. See how she's holding the sword? With the knuckle of her middle finger pointing outward like that? You do that, too."

Rade raised his eyebrows, realizing that Scar's observation was indeed true. His daughter had picked up many habits from him, including the talent of sword-fighting – that was a surety. 

"Watching them fight is getting my muscles moving," Scar commented, rubbing her arms. She was impressed by the way little Tessa wielded the sword. If Rade allowed it, Scar would've liked to take Tessa as a pupil, though Rade probably wanted Tessa all to himself. 

"What do you say we..." Rade let his sentence trail off, as he gestured toward the sword that hung from Scar's hips. 

"A bottle of my best wine against yours."

They were on the field, beside the young ones, in an instant. 

*

There was a knock on the door just as Kistle pulled the covers over Tessa's half-asleep form. The poor girl was so tired from the day's activities – not to mention the travel – that she had almost fallen asleep while Kistle fed her a long-awaited dinner. The maid in charge of feeding the children had apologized profusely for being unable to contain the rowdy lot, but the King had said that it did not matter. The commotion had contributed to a very entertaining evening in the end. Poor Ryder had a horrible blue bruise on his cheek where Tess had kicked him. All through dinner, the boy had stared daggers at a sleepy Tessa. 

But no amount of amusement could have caused Kistle to smile. With a sigh, she turned away from her daughter and plodded in her bare feet toward the door. There could only be two people calling for her at this hour: Remy or Rade. She prayed it wasn't Rade, for she did not feel like seeing him at all. 

But the Goddess wasn't listening to her prayers, for when she opened the door, his imposing figure blocked the doorway. 

"Did you want something?" Kistle asked, her tone curt. Rade frowned. 

"Is something wrong, Kistle? You haven't been yourself since dinner."

She didn't want any of the servants to eavesdrop on their conversation, so she stepped aside and allowed him into the room. 

"She made me so proud today," Rade said aloud when he saw Tessa sprawled on the mattress. 

Then, clearing his head, he turned back to Kistle. "If something is wrong, I would like you to talk to me."

"What would make you think that something isn't right?" Kistle avoided his eyes as she stood in front of him, hands clasped at the waist. What am I doing? she wondered. I thought I wasn't going to mistrust him. 

Sighing, Rade sat at the edge of the bed, taking in the rigidity of Kistle's form. There was something that she was keeping from him. 

"What were you doing with that woman today?"

Rade raised his eyebrows with the confidence of a man who knew that he had nothing to hide. "Which woman?"

Kistle blew out a large breath. "That woman. You were in your study with her. I don't want to believe the worst, Rade. So I'm asking you..."

"You're asking me?" Rade struggled to contain his amusement as he finally understood. He couldn't account for the acute relief he felt that that was the only thing that was bothering her. If she'd said that she didn't feel at home in Marqatia and wanted to return... 

"I'm asking you who she is. Why were you with her?"

He thought about his response for a moment. 

"Kistle, come here," he said finally, but she stood her ground, shaking her head. She was not going anywhere near him until he explained who the loose woman was. 

"Fine. I'll come to you."

She didn't move as he came toward her, not wanting to back away as her heart was telling her to. Until he explained himself, she didn't exactly want him to touch her. It felt blasphemous, somehow. 

"Don't you trust me, little one?" Her eyes shot upward to meet his. In shock, he knew. He had not called her 'little one' from the time they had been in Kierania. It reminded her of the instances when he would call her that in the midst of pleasure. She shivered.

A question. Yes, he'd put a question to her. "I do, Rade. But I saw you walk out of a locked room with her, buttoning your doublet as you went. What am I to think? I... I don't want to believe."

"Good. You shouldn't believe." He paused. "Come, I want to show you something."

She looked up at him quizzically, but he gave away nothing, leaning over to pull on the cord that called the servants in. He would need someone to watch over Tessa while they were away. 

"W-where are you taking me?" she asked as he ushered her – very quickly – down the stairs. 

"I want to show you something," he stated, making her wait outside the stables as he went inside to saddle Diane. 

"Rade, what does any of this have to do with the woman I saw you with? Will you just – oh!" 

She let out a startled squeal as he hefted her onto Diane without a moment's notice. Oh Goddess. She wasn't understanding any of this. What was he doing? He was supposed to explain himself to her, not take her for a ride in the middle of the night!

"You're going to learn to trust me, Kistle," Rade breathed in her ear, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the thunder of Diane's hoofbeats. Kistle didn't know why she felt wretched as he said that, but she did. She decided to wait for him to justify his actions before she said anything else. 

The ride didn't last even a handful of minutes. In fact, they could have walked to their destination if Rade hadn't been in such a hurry. He dismounted in front of a row of short, quaint buildings, carrying Kistle down after he slid off. The easy way in which he handled her bodily weight had Kistle reeling for a moment, before she cleared her head and followed him into one of the compartments. 

It was dark inside, and the narrow hallway did not even boast a window to let the moonlight through. Only Rade's hand in hers kept her from tripping on her own feet.

"Stairs," he whispered to her, and she followed him dumbly, feeling her way up the stairs.

The sound of a creaking door drifted toward her, and Kistle frowned in confusion. 

"What are you-," she started again, but Rade shushed her, releasing her hand and moving away. She'd just opened her mouth to call him back when the grating sound of a match being lit filled the room, and a warm glow of light breached the darkness. Kistle's face focused only on the man who held the candle, his features bereft of any guilt or treachery. He couldn't have had a secret liaison with that woman, Kistle knew immediately. Why had she even thought so?

He set the candle in the middle of the room, and led her to a dark corner, wrapping his arms around her waist as he did. She did not resist, but melted back into his warmth. 

She had just tilted her head up to him, to ask him what he was about when she first caught sight of the wallpaper in the room. The gasp that tore from her throat was an indication of her awe... for it was beautiful – the white background dotted with red roses and golden shrubs. It was more stunning than anything she had ever seen. 

Then she looked to the right, and saw a matching cupboard, flushed with white paint. A little further right revealed a work-table. Everything clicked, but nothing seemed to make sense. 

"I – but – no, what has any of these things have to do with the question I put to you?" she asked, trying to turn around in his arms, but he would not let her. 

"Do you not like it?"

"Of course I do. I love this, but I don't understand..."

"Melite designed this room."

"Huh?"

She looked around blindly as Rade rested his chin on her forehead. 

"Melite – the woman you saw me with. She designed this room. We were speaking of her payment when you walked past my study ever so discreetly."

Somehow, the sigh of relief did not arrive. Kistle was surprised, yet knew instantly, that she had not really suspected Rade of chasing another woman. But to not have confronted him about it would have been foolish. Deep down, she realized that she trusted Rade too much to believe such a betrayal of him – Rade had gone through too much trouble to win her affections. Surely he would not risk its withdrawal. 




A Marq's Woman Ch. 15



The blood thickened in her veins, and she leaned back against her man. The room surrounding her was so very beautiful. In fact, it was twice the size of the shop she had sold in Brittle Creek. The smell of roses permeated the room, making her smile. 

"I love you."

The words left her lips, but she felt no compulsion to retrieve them. The quick intake of breath from Rade told her all that she needed to know. Comfortable within the cocoon of his arms, she turned her head to the side and pressed a kiss to his tensed biceps. Then she repeated her vow again. 

He turned her towards him and kissed her, unable to hear the words from her lips without showing her exactly how much it meant to him that she loved him. 

It was a miracle, that. Even after all that they'd been through, she'd found a place in her heart for him, one he did not deserve. But he was grateful, eternally grateful, for her love, affection and devotion. She was much too good for him, and yet, she was his. He could've cried. 

"I love you, too."

His whisper brushed across her ear, making a warm glow spread around her heart. She smiled, resting her head against his chest, breathing in his masculine, musky scent. Contentment surrounded them like a glove, encasing them in its ethereal purity. And they stood together, locked as one, until her eyes slid closed, her lax body trusting him wholly as she slept. 

*

"What you did today was wrong, not to mention ungentlemanly."

Remy stood by Scar as the older woman admonished the boy who was staring at the blisters on his fingers. Ryder's black bruise was looking worse by the minute, and Remy was worried for him. But Scar had said that she needed to teach the boy some manners first, before Remy proceeded to baby him.

Ever since the night they'd found the little boy cocooned protectively in his own arms, Remy had taken up the role of a mother for him. She cooked, cleaned and sewed for the boy as though he was her own eight year old child. Ryder had become part of the family. It hadn't been the women's choice, really – Ryder simply hadn't left, and no one had come forward to claim him. So he stayed on in the house, a shadow that both women had come to adore.

Remy had tried countless times to ask him of his family, but Ryder had very calmly stated that he had none. 

Apart from helping Remy do the household chores, Ryder also began to learning how to use a sword from Scar. The boy was a quick learner, if a quiet one. He had grasped the basics in less than a week. 

But now, Scar could tell that teaching him how to defend himself had been a foolish thing to do. Who knew he would take to fighting young girls?

"No matter what you do, you should never – ever – raise your hand to a girl. Do you hear me, boy?"

"But Tessa isn't a girl," Ryder pouted, raising his head defiantly. The black eye and his facial expression did not match. "She knows how to fight. Girls don't fight."

"I fight. I taught you how to fight," Scar said with a frown. 

"Yes, but you're Scar. You're not a girl."

Scar looked from Ryder to Remy, not knowing how to answer the boy. She could tell that Remy was stifling laughter. 

"Whatever it is, you are not to go around fighting girls, understand me? If you do, that black eye will be a permanent one." 

"Tessa got lucky, is all."

This time, a very unladylike snort of laughter was heard from Remy's snickering frame. She raised her hands when Scar glared at her. 

"All right, Ry, listen to me." Scar knelt so that she was eye-level with the boy. "You are not to challenge Tessa to any more sword fights. Promise me that. It's all I'm asking of you."

Ryder let out a long-suffering sigh, unable to recall a time when Scar had asked him to do anything. He supposed he owed this to her after all she'd done for him over the past few months. Sighing, he promised Scar that he would no longer fight little girls. They were much too weak for him, anyway. 

"Now, go take a bath." Scar slapped his bottom and he scurried away, relieved to be finally out of the line of fire. He wasn't afraid of Scar, really, but was afraid he'd disappoint her. He sure didn't want Scar to be disappointed with him. 

Scar sighed as she watched Ryder walk away, before rising to deal with her wife. She didn't even get to utter a word when Remy threw herself into Scar's arms. 

"Oh, that was marvelous, Scar!" Remy squealed, placing a kiss to the exposed skin of her husband's neck. 

"It would've been more so if you hadn't started snorting halfway."

"I did not snort!"

"Of course you didn't."

Remy laughed then let go of Scar, leaning back to adjust the bodice of her dress, which had slipped a little from all her excitement. A lock of her straight hair came loose of its bun and fell across her right eye, giving her a smoky, harlot-like look. Scar could've sworn that the woman had done it on purpose, trying to stir the flammable desire between them. She looked about to see if Ryder had left before growling, 

"Come here."

*

Kistle blinked, feeling the caress of sunlight on her eyelids. It felt good to awaken to sunlight, instead of the bone-numbing chill she'd gotten used to over the past few months. But the warmth wasn't the only thing that she wasn't used to. 

She opened her eyes, and the room came into focus. 

The first thing she saw after such a romantic night was the smooth expanse of Rade's neck. The halo of light streaming through the lace-like curtains made a silhouette of his half-naked frame, allowing her an opportunity to appraise his thoroughly masculine form. He had climbed into bed beside her without his shirt and she could see the neat rows of muscle peeking from beneath a thin strip of hair that ran down his middle. She reached out and tentatively touched the beguiling tuft of curls. 

It was like a lazy caress, simple strokes that she didn't think he would feel. It was a selfish caress, too, for she only wanted to feel him under her fingertips for her pleasure. Her fingers traipsed along his torso, feeling the toughness of his utter maleness appealing to her. Time escaped her as she played with his body, but when her fingers dipped lower to trace the contours of his pelvic bones, she heard a strangled sound from him. She looked up to find Rade's dark eyes penetrating hers – thick with slumber, yet sharp with arousal. She bit her lip under their scrutiny. 

"How long have you been awake?" Kistle asked carefully, trying to move her offending hand away from his body. But his hand came up to keep hers in place. 

"Longer than you. Do I please you, freina?"

Kistle could feel a blush creeping into her cheeks, but she tried to fight it. It was no use. Instead, she cleared her throat and raised her chin. "Yes."

Rade chuckled at the indignant pout on her lips. Ah, she was so adorable. 

"My body's yours, Kistle. You can do anything you want with me." To punctuate his statement, he brought her hand to his heart and laid it there. 

"Such a vow," Kistle tsked playfully, "could only mean that you expect a similar one in return."

Rade made a humming sound at the back of his throat. "It would ease my heart."

Kistle tilted her chin thoughtfully, as though she was thinking about it, letting Rade stew. After a minute, she said, "I'll have to think on it" before promptly bursting into giggles at the expression on Rade's face. 

Rade knew he had been duped by the exquisite woman in his arms. And he wasn't one to take being duped lightly. Growling, he turned her over and settled himself atop her. Before she could mouth a protest, his fingers found her waist. Kistle's eyes widened. The denial forming on her lips turned into an unladylike screech. 

"Ah! Rade, let me loose!"

"Not until you learn not to fool with me, sweetling." His voice was barely heard over her shrill squeals. His fingers found all her vulnerable spots, making her squirm and wriggle and pant. Goddess, Kistle thought. She could never remember being tickled before, and she sure as heaven didn't want to be tickled ever again!

"Stop, stop, stop!" Her hands rose to his forearms to try and push him away, but it was no use. He was bent on revenge. 

There was only one way to stop him now, she knew. 

Sucking in a breath, she pushed herself upward and kissed him. 

It felled her giant like she knew it would. He submitted to her kiss, his fingers digging into her waist now, instead of tickling it. She could feel the tension in his shoulders as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently licking the bold thrust of her lips. His lips curled over hers, molding to her sweetness and releasing the maelstrom of passion that he hadn't wholly given into at the waterfall. 

When he drew back, they were both panting, and not only from the feverish kisses they'd shared. 

"I could hear every single one of those dirty thoughts that ran through your head," he said casually, leaning down to nip at the golden flesh of her neck. 

"And I could hear yours," Kistle shot back, her fingers turning to claws on his flesh, daring him to voice what he had heard. 

"Well, I'm not the lady."

"Mmm. Do you want me to be a lady?" 

His eyes bore into hers as he shook his head. "If you wanted me to treat you like one, I wouldn't be able to do this." He placed a kiss in the valley between her breasts. "Or this." A hand came up to lightly brush over one of her nipples. She shivered involuntarily. "Or... this."

And he touched her. There. 

Oh, Goddess.

She couldn't remember the feeling to be that intense, that overwhelming. Her body bucked in surprised pleasure, her fingers digging into his flesh in earnest now. Her eyelids fell as she savored the exquisite brushes of his fingers, her knees coming up to clamp around his arms. 

By the Spirits, he could not believe how silken she was! Even through the cotton of her chemise, he could feel her warmth covering his fingers, coating him in her essence. He wanted only one thing for her in that moment, something he'd denied her at the waterfall. He wanted her to come apart around his fingers. 

Slowly, he used his thumb to massage the sensitive bud nestled within her folds, taking her shattered moans as encouragement. He drove her wild, holding back just when she was about to reach her peak. Never did he withdraw his fingers from her sex, and never did his eyes turn away from her face. He wanted to witness every expression that crossed her features so that he could put it away in his memory.

Her hips rose to meet his fingers, wanting so much more from him. But he drove her to ecstasy slowly, until when she could finally find her release, bursts of bright light appeared behind her eyelids. She could do nothing but let her body tense and feel the molten pleasure rushing through her. And even after that, she found that she could not move limb or muscle. It was a delicious languor that spread through her, making her weak. 

"I love you," she heard him whisper in her ear as he disentangled his fingers from the wet bunch of cotton. She smiled through the haze of pleasure, thinking that she would never get used to hearing those three words. It was a different kind of pleasure to hear them. 

"I love you, too." She turned towards him, feeling a little of normalcy returning to her body. She reached for him, but he stopped her. 

"I'm hard enough as it is, freina," he admitted, and their eyes immediately riveted to the engorged outline of Rade's manhood. Kistle blushed, but reached for him again despite her shyness. She had to return the pleasure he'd given her, did she not? But to her surprise, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. 

"Not today, Kistle. Not today. When it happens, I want it to be perfect." He placed a kiss on her wrist. "This morning was for you."

"But I don't-." 

"Shh." He quieted her by placing his finger against her lips. "Not today."

Her brows rose in question, but she did not retaliate again. Instead, she kissed the finger that was nestled against her lips. Rade smiled. 

"Now, come here, freina, and cuddle with me 'til it goes away."

*

To her surprise, when she finally gathered enough strength to move her legs, she realized that she wasn't in the castle as she'd expected to be. Instead, the room was much smaller than the rooms at the castle, but as tastefully decorated. Rade later showed her that they were in the bedroom he'd had built next to Kistle's new shop. Her eyes had watered with gratitude when he'd told her that. The gesture spoke volumes to her – it meant that he did not expect her to share his bed, and that nothing would change of their arrangement until she was comfortable. She could have asked for nothing more than that. 

Now, they dismounted in front of the castle, Diane prancing beside them. There was a glow in Kistle's cheeks which would be an indication to all of what the two love birds had done the night before. They were touching each other more often as well, as though they could not bear to be apart. But when Remy raced down the steep flight of stairs to the courtyard to greet Kistle, Rade knew that he had to let her go. He placed a chaste kiss on Kistle's forehead before giving her up to Remy, who was staring at him as though she wished him dead. And such a look on a pixie-like face scared him. Gathering Diane's reins in his hand, he turned away from the ladies. 

He was nearing the stables when he heard Tessa calling out to him. The little girl ran across the training ground to meet him at the stables, sword in hand. She had obviously been joining the young ones in practice. He gathered her in his arms when she came to a halt. 

"Yes, sweetheart. What can I do for you today?"

Tess breathed heavily, her cheeks red from her sprint. Rade waited patiently for her to catch her breath. 

"Where's Mama?" she asked, settling herself more comfortably in Rade's arms. 

"Mama's in the castle. Did you want to see her?"

Tess shook her head. "If I ask you something, you won't tell Mama, will you?"

Rade's eyebrow rose in surprise. Was Tessa asking him to keep a secret? "It depends on what you tell me, sweetheart."

"I won't tell you unless you promise not to tell Mama!"

Rade's eyebrow rose half an inch higher. What was so important that he could not tell Kistle about it? He was intrigued by the way Tessa was acting. As far as he knew, she had never kept a secret from Kistle before. And now, she wanted to tell him something, but didn't want Kistle to know what it was? What could possibly need so much secrecy?

"All right. I promise. What is it, Tessa?"

"Do you really really promise?"

"Yes, I do."

She seemed to think about it for a moment, chewing on her lower lip. He was completely unprepared for what came out of her lips next. 

"Rade, can you be my Dada?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. What did you say?"

"Can you be my Dada?"

Gods. He set Tessa down and turned from her, trying to collect his thoughts. The innocent question had shaken him unlike any other. His heart felt like lead in his chest, and the damn tears were prickling at his eyelids. He blinked, sending them scurrying back. 

"Did I ask something wrong, Rade?"

Rade cleared his throat and faced Tessa again. She was looking at him with a confused frown on her face. 

"No, Tess, you didn't. You can call me Dada if you want to."

Tessa's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Ryder told me that you wouldn't let me call you Dada."

Still shaken, Rade picked Tessa up and led Diane into the stables with his free hand. "Why not?"

"He said that Mama is only your com- companion, and that doesn't make you my Dada."

Rade's eyes narrowed dangerously. The boy was rubbing him the wrong way. 

"Don't listen to that boy, Tess. Understand?" Tess nodded. Rade knelt in front of her. "Your Mama's in here, and so are you. She's the woman I love, and that gives you the right to call me Dada."

Tess stared at where Rade had placed his hand over his heart. She reached out and placed her palm against his, feeling the strong thud of his pulse. 

"You promised not to tell Mama, Ra – Da."

"Promised not to tell Mama what?"

Two guilty heads turned towards the sound of Kistle's voice. She stood in the open doorway, hands on her hips, a piece of paper clutched in one hand. Rade swallowed, not knowing that his expression mirrored Tess's.

"What are you two hiding?" Amused, Kistle stepped into the stables, moving past the stacks of hay to stand beside her daughter and her man. Rade stood up as she did so. 

"We were just talking about how I was going to get Tess her own horse. Right, Tess?"

Tessa's eyes widened, but she caught on quickly. "Yes, Mama. I want a white one."

Kistle tilted her chin, contemplating their answers and finally decided that she would let them go for now. She had more exciting news to share.

"Start with a pony first, though, Tess," she said, ruffling her daugher's flyaway curls before asking her to get back to whatever she had been doing before. When Tessa was safely out of sight, Kistle threw her arms around Rade's neck and kissed him soundly on the mouth. 

"Am I to be alarmed?" he asked when she pulled away. He noticed the happiness in her eyes yet again. She was keeping news from him. 

Kistle shook her head. "It is good news. We just received a note that there is a new addition to the family! Cobalt Vore Den is one month old as of today."

"Vore Den? Gods, Ginny had a child? Ty's a father?" Last Rade had heard, the couple was having trouble with having children. He hadn't thought much of it, then, for he'd been drowning in his own sorrow. But now, upon hearing such news, he couldn't help but feel joy for the couple. His brother must adore the little boy. 

"Yes! Yes! And listen to this – do you know about the lady of the lake?" She continued when Rade nodded. "She was set free the night the baby was born. The previous owner of the Manor, an old coot, had bought the unwilling lady from the markets. But before he could get to her, she killed herself by drowning in the lake. As revenge, the owner had cursed her soul to eternal life in the lake itself. She would only be free if new life was created in the Manor. He knew, of course, that that was impossible since he owned the Manor. But he passed on, and Ginny married Ty and they had Cobalt. Now, she's free. Can you believe it?" She hugged him again, tight and fierce. 

"They even have a drawing of the boy," she continued excitedly and handed him the piece of paper she clutched in her hands. "Beautiful, isn't he?"

As he looked upon the sleeping baby, Rade couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to know the little bundle of sleeping flesh was a part of him. He hadn't even been able to see Tess as a baby. The knowledge hurt, somehow. 

"What's wrong?" Kistle asked, noticing a slight withdrawal from the man beside her. 

"I just remembered that I didn't get a chance to see Tessa as a baby."

"We should be thankful for what we have now, Rade."

Rade nodded, seeing the wisdom in her words. He couldn't keep berating himself over the same thing over and over again, could he?

The withdrawal didn't lift from his features, so Kistle snuggled closer to him and burrowed her nose in his chest. "There's always the next one, Rade."

"The next one?" Rade stared blankly down at Kistle.

"Yes."

"Our next child?"

"Did I say that?" She smiled cheekily up at him. 

"I think you did," he returned with a laugh. 

"Perhaps."

He sighed. "Perhaps."

*

Scar knocked on the door to Rade's study, bottle of wine in hand. There was a call from behind the door, and she entered, giving the precious bottle one last, longing look. 

"Come to pay your debts, Scar?" Rade asked from his sprawl on the leather-backed chair.

"I don't exactly have a choice, now, do I?" Scar sighed, placing the bottle on the table and taking a seat opposite her long-term friend and mentor. "Just know that you got lucky."




A Marq's Woman Ch. 15



Rade snorted, but did not comment. He knew that he and Scar had different abilities. Scar was more agile, whereas he was more forceful in his thrusts. It had just been luck that he bested her in their sparring. 

He walked over to the small table in the corner and retrieved two wine holders. As Scar updated him on the progress of the training of young soldiers, Rade poured the wine for both of them. His injured knee had been hurting him all day, and as soon as he could, he dropped his weight onto the chair again, taking the cool glass of wine with him. 

Scar was saying something, he knew. But he was not giving her an ounce of his attention. His focus lay on the little box that sat in the drawer, waiting for him to put it to use. 

Images of Kistle entered his mind – Kistle bent over the stove in her little cottage, Kistle sitting on the old horse behind Tessa, Kistle sewing with her tongue tucked between her lips, Kistle sighing as she cuddled closer to his warmth. Every thought that ran through his mind had Kistle tagging along with it. It was insanity, but Rade wanted to be insane. He wanted Kistle to be his – now and forever. He had wanted it that way for a long while, but Tessa's question that morn had awakened an urgency in him. 

"There was a three-horned rabbit at the fair yesterday," Scar said, and Rade nodded as though he was actually listening to her. Only when her hand came down on the desk, did he start and sit up in his chair. 

"A three-horned rabbit? Rade, what's wrong with you?" 

Three-horned rabbit? Had he actually nodded to that? "I'm sorry. I didn't catch what you said."

Scar's frown slowly turned into a smile. "You're thinking about her, aren't you?"

Rade started to deny it, then sighed and nodded. 

"Well, I certainly know how you feel."

Rade's eyebrows rose. "Really? And how's that?"

"Like you can't live without her; she's IT for you? If she rejects you, you might as well fall off a cliff?"

Scar was eerily accurate in her perceptions. Rejection was the most horrible prospect Rade had ever heard. "Yes."

Scar hummed. "I didn't know she was that special to you. If you remember, the last thing I heard about both of you was that you were keeping her as a love slave in a tower."

Rade shifted uncomfortably as he remembered. Damn if he didn't regret doing so. 

"I love her," he said softly. "I love her very much, but I'm afraid that she won't accept me."

Scar thought about Rade's situation for a moment. She didn't know exactly what had happened between the two, but one thing was for sure: Rade loved the woman and Kistle loved Rade in return. How was she to tell Rade that he had nothing to worry about? 

"Rade, coming from a woman – I suppose – I think that Kistle was ready for you the moment she said yes to returning to Marqatia. No woman would make such a great change in her and her child's life if she didn't trust the person she was with. I don't think you have to worry about her not accepting you, because she already has."

"But what if she still remembers the past?"

Scar could hear the frustration in Rade's voice. She'd never seen him so insecure about his own charms before. She couldn't believe that this was the man who was able to seduce women of any race into his bed. He looked like a love-struck, frustrated puppy right then. 

"Then I suppose you'll have to wait till your next life rolls around to marry her," Scar said, just to tease Rade. 

Rade glared at Scar. "I appreciate your honesty, Scar."

"You are very welcome." She glanced at the half-finished bottle of wine on the table. It would probably be drained by the hour. 

"I should take my leave now, Rade. Remy will be waiting." Rade's cold stare intensified and Scar laughed. "Don't worry, Rade. You will soon be able to say that about Kistle."

Rade grunted. 

"In the worst situation, growl some poetry at her, and she might relent," Scar said over her shoulder as a parting note. Rade groaned and placed his head onto his upraised hands. What was he going to do with his insecurities? It was dragging him lower than a bird tied to a rock. 

He reached into the desk and pulled out the silver-lined, black box. His thumb found the clasp and the box popped open. In it lay a bright amethyst and diamond stones set in a golden band. It would look exquisite on Kistle's finger. If only...

If only.

*

She gave a great deal of thought to what had happened between herself and Rade. What exactly did it mean? And did she feel awkward about it?

Her heart and mind had an immediate answer for her. She had known that when she agreed to return to Marqatia with him, she was already consenting to be his companion. If she did expect little more of a commitment, she kept her expectations to herself. Currently, she would let her daughter get to know her father a little better and let herself be swept away by the new, charming version of her arrogant captor. 

It was two weeks later, just as she'd just finished working late one afternoon, when she heard the rattle of the front window; there was a distinct noise of something hard hitting the glass. Her eyebrows rose, but she set the rest of her needles safely out of Tessa's reach before making her way to the window and opening it. 

A smile creased her lips when she saw that it was Rade standing at the pathway just below the window, his head tilted towards her boyishly. He returned her smile before dropping the rest of the pebbles in his palm onto the pavement. 

"What is it that you want, Rade?" Kistle called down, trying to sound bored. The effect was ruined by her smile, though. 

"I want you to take a walk with me."

"Couldn't you have come up to ask me that?"

"I thought it might be more romantic this way."

Kistle rolled her eyes. Goddess, the man was becoming overly cliché with his romantic gestures. But she loved every one of them.

"I'll be down in a minute."

She accepted the hand he held out once she exited the building, tucking her smaller palm into the folds of his tailored suit. He smelled good, she noted, as though he had just taken a bath. His hair was shorter, too, and she couldn't help but feel disappointed that the loose curls that wove around his nape were no more. She leaned in closer to him as they walked along the sidewalk, the bustle of other shops and restaurants like a noise in the background of their comfortable silence. 

He bought her flowers as they walked, two red blooms that glittered ever so beautifully from the water the florist had sprayed on them. He handed one to her and tucked the other in her hair. All this while, he talked about Tessa and how much progress she was making in training. She was already challenging the older boys in combat, and because she was so quick with her movements, she always managed to catch them in the shin or the ankles. She was barely five and yet, she was turning out to be one of Rade's best students. He was so proud of her. 

Kistle listened quietly to Rade's words, feeling the same kind of pride that he was feeling. When she'd birthed Tessa, she'd never thought for a moment that her daughter would be interested in combat. Like every other mother, she'd envisioned a daughter who'd grow up and help with the shop. But unlike most mothers, she was happy that her daughter had found a talent that was unique. It spoke well of Tessa's character. 

"Where are we going?" she asked once they'd left the shops behind. In front of them was the route to the country, littered with quaint, yellow blooms on the side of the road. Kistle looked up at Rade in question. 

"Somewhere. Come on, I'll show you."

Rade stepped off the road and onto the grass that spread out around them. Kistle followed with little apprehension. 

"Wait. What about Tess? I need to go back to get her..." she asked from behind him. 

"Practice ends at six, and I arranged for the nurse to look out for her if we're not back by then."

"Well, you sure have thought of everything," she muttered under her breath as they trudged between the tall grass. 

It wasn't long before she spotted a clearing and the grass trickled down to a shower of gravel. Rade paused and let Kistle move in front of him, careful not to release his hold on her hand. He watched the wonder on her face as she moved closer to the edge of the cliff, her eyes fixed on the splendor of the gold castle, among other things. 

It was a special spot, one which Rade used to come to when he was a boy. It was only a few minutes' walk from his family's country home, and it always gave him peace. Now, he hoped his secret sanctuary would give him the courage to do what his heart desired. 

"Your homeland is beautiful, Rade," Kistle said, taking in the color of the homes around the castle, the shops, the farms and the country houses. To see those things from her vantage point was beyond stunning, and for an unknown reason, she felt tears rising to her eyes. 

"It's your home too, Kistle," he said softly, entwining his fingers with hers and resting his chin on her forehead. His breath ruffled her hair as he spoke. "I want to share it with you."

A still silence cloaked the two of them. He felt her tense slightly in his arms, her gaze still fixed on a faraway spot in the horizon. The speech he'd prepared in his mind slipped his mind, and he struggled for the right words. Gods, he was so nervous, but he knew that he needed to do this. For two weeks, he'd thought and re-thought his relationship with Kistle. He wanted her to be his, now and forever. But he did not know if she would accept him. Was she able to forget? Did she love him as much as he did her? Would she accept his proposal?

"Kistle." His voice nearly betrayed him by cracking, but he cleared his throat and turned her in his arms. It couldn't be, but he thought that her eyes mirrored hope. He brought her hand to his heart and covered it with his own. "Kistle, every time I see you, it pains me to realize that you're not lawfully a part of my life. I want you to be mine, infinitely. I want to see your smile when I awake, and hear your voice before bed, to see your belly rounded with my children. You're the only woman who has ever stood up to me, and I admire that in you. And the fact that you still love me, after everything..."

His voice broke, and he cleared his throat again. "It makes you the most special woman in all the planets. Kistle..."

He knelt, capturing her hand in one of his as the others dug into his pocket for the ring. "Will you marry me?"

A single tear slipped from her eyes, but she smiled at that nervousness she saw in his features. Why did he not know that the moment she'd forgiven him was the moment that she agreed to be his wife?

He pulled out a ring of gold, encrusted with the brightest of amethysts, and she knew he'd chosen the color to match her eyes. Something bright swelled within her bosom, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. She merely nodded innumerable times in succession, encouraging him to slip the ring onto her finger. 

The weight was unfamiliar but perfect to her, and she threw her arms around his neck, holding on tight. She knew he heard her sobs, but she didn't care. She didn't know such happiness was possible, much less that she would experience it!

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, and she cried even harder.

When she pulled back and kissed him, he tasted the saltiness of her tears, but felt the passion as well. He was just about to respond to her when he heard the distinct thud of hooves.

Irritation buzzed through him, but he rose and watched as one of the palace guards galloped towards him. A glance at the guard's face, though, had irritation replaced quickly by worry. 

"What is it?" Rade asked as the guard jumped off the beast. 

"'Tis Tessa, sir," the guard said, and Rade felt Kistle snap to attention. 

"What's wrong with my daughter?" she asked, walking towards the man. 

"There was an accident... by the lake near the castle. I'm afraid Tessa drowned."

*

Kistle was frantic by the time she got to the castle. She needed to see her baby. Tessa couldn't have drowned; she would've known in her heart if that was so. As soon as Rade stilled the horse he'd taken from the guard, Kistle scrambled off it and raced up the steep front steps. 

"Where is she?" she asked a maid, but ignored the woman when she saw the crowd gathered around a sofa in the main hall. 

Rade joined her as she pushed the crowd out of the way to get to her daughter. Tessa lay on the gold cushion, her hair and dress wet, unconscious. Scar was rubbing the girl's feet, trying to infuse some warmth into Tess. Ryder was doing the same to the girl's hands. 

"How did this happen?" Kistle asked as she slapped Tessa's cheeks, hoping the shock of it would awaken her. 

"These two were racing across the lake, like the little idiots they are," Scar replied, aiming a glare at Ryder. 

"Racing? But Tess doesn't know how to swim!"

There were murmurs from people in the crowd as Rade stepped in and pushed Ryder back. He laid his head against Tess's chest. Thank the Gods her heart was beating steadily! Taking a deep breath, he put his hands high on her abdomen and pressed downwards three times. On the third try, a gurgling sound came from Tessa's throat and she rose partially, water spewing from her mouth. Rade continued until the last of the water she'd swallowed left her body, then he gathered her in his arms like a baby and rocked her. How close he'd been to losing her... again. He was never letting her out of his sight ever again. 

Scar dispersed the crowd, turning her attention to the relieved couple. Tessa was fine as far as Scar could see. Her eyes were bright and she was breathing well. 

"What were you doing, Tess? Why did you get into the water when you don't know how to swim?" Even though Kistle chided her daughter, she stroked Tessa's hair gently, still recovering from the shock. 

"You can put me down, Da," Tessa whispered to Rade, but he refused to, holding her close to him. He still couldn't get over the fact that he'd almost lost her. 

"Will you promise to never do that again, Tess? I'll teach you how to swim, but you must promise me never to go near the lake again until I do. Promise me, sweetheart." Rade waited for Tessa to promise him before passing Tessa over to her mother. Remy came running from somewhere in the castle and stood beside Scar to oversee Tessa's recovery. 

"What happened?" Remy asked the group, and Ryder answered.

"We were going to swim across the lake. The first person to reach the other end would win."

"And I suppose that you came up with this game?" Scar asked, giving the boy a scathing glare.

Ryder nodded. "And I won, too."

Up popped Tessa's head. "You did not!" her voice was hoarse, but it got her point across. 

"Drowning doesn't make you a winner, idiot."

Rade thought he heard Tessa growl, but he couldn't be sure. The next thing he knew, his daughter's foot was in Ryder's face.

Again. 

*

22nd April 1829

The Royal Castle, Marqatia

Twin golden bands shimmered on their fingers, a nice accompaniment to the besotted look that was prominent on their faces. Rade and Kistle clung to each other as people congratulated them on their wedding, and wished them well for their life together. Tessa sat with Scar and Remy, munching on a slice of the wedding cake. There was music all around, making the night seem almost magical. 

"I love you," Rade said for her ears alone, and she beamed up at him, her cheeks aglow with contentment. 

The wedding was everything Kistle could dream of. The perfect man, the perfect daughter and the perfect friends. If she had a bone to pick though, it would be that Ginny and Ty hadn't been able to attend the wedding on the account that baby Cobalt was too young to travel. But Ginny had written her apologies and congratulations to Kistle, and Kistle knew she would forgive her friend in time. 

"A toast!" Kistle heard and looked up to find Scar standing on a chair. Tessa, who was seated next to the tall woman, tilted her head to watch, displaying a chin coated with cream.

Rade's hand wrapped around Kistle's waist as he handed her a glass of wine. 

"To Rade and Kistle – for the many years of separation and pain, may the Gods give you happiness in equal amounts. And Rade, may you treasure your wife for years to come."

A roar came from the crowd and Kistle sipped her wine, knowing that she did not need the well-wishes to reassure her that Rade would treat her well. She trusted him wholly, even with her life. He was hers now; hers to love. 

She leaned up and kissed him, ignoring the hoots of encouragement from the crowd. Her lips slid over his and she smiled against him. 

"I could get used to this."

So could he.

*