Copyright © 2007 Lyra Marlowe
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
By reading this excerpt, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are younger than 18 years old, you must exit this site at once.
"What are you doing?" Eric demanded harshly.
The young woman turned swiftly with the sword in her two hands. "I'm cleaning your sword," she answered simply.
"Give it to me." He struggled to sit up.
Carefully, she handed him the heavy blade. He inspected it critically and dropped it behind him. "You're the girl? Liesel?"
"Yes. And your name?"
"My name doesn't matter. I'm taking you back to your lord. If he's wise," he went on, "he'll put you in chains this time."
Liesel bowed her head. "So he has said he would do."
Eric stared at her in consternation. He'd been sure she would be a ravishing beauty. Instead, Liesel was as plain as the moors he'd followed her onto. Her brown hair was scraggily, tangled from the harsh wind and damp from melting snow. Her figure seemed entirely average, under dark and unflattering clothes. Just a common chicken, this one. Nothing about her would induce a rich man to pay ten gold pieces for her. At least, nothing obvious.
He shrugged. It was none of his affair, so long as he was paid.
He looked around the large, dim cellar. He could not remember how he got there, but he knew there was no house above. He remembered the wolves coming at him, remembered his surprise, remembered killing the first one. And something had called him, directed him. He had wanted to fight and die in the snow, but something had made him walk on. And then the stairs, treacherous with ice, and the door would not open—
Eric looked at the young woman more closely, suspicion dawning in him. "Are you a sorceress? Have you bewitched the lord somehow?"
Liesel would not answer, nor even look at him. He was used to that. People often looked away from his scarred face.
She had called him. He was certain of it. When he wanted only to die, she had called him here. Something warm and soft stirred in the center of his chest, something very small. She had saved his life.
He snarled out loud. "Why does he want you back so badly?" he barked. "Tell me!"
"It does not matter to you," she answered softly.
"Not a bit," he agreed, "so long as I get paid."
Liesel glanced at him. "Even if I had a good reason to run away? Even if he was misusing me?"
"That's not my problem." Eric found his stockings, still damp, and pulled them on.
"Even though I saved your life?"
He did not look at her. "You did no such thing."
"I brought you here. I warmed you."
He laughed harshly. "I got myself here, girl. And as for warming me--if you weren't so damn plain, I'd make you do it properly before I took you back."
She blushed and looked away.