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.