The Ward

Edmund lowered his crossbow to the ground, adjusted the gleaming sword at his waist and crouched to inspect the dead animal. It was a quick death; he was an apt hunter, and the quality meat would be welcome at his home.

Though his estate allowed an idle lifestyle, Edmund enjoyed time alone without servants. It wasn't the only tradition he flouted. Edmund was a hands-on Lord, a fighter who did not baulk at physical tasks, nor did he have the usual air of rude superiority typical of his class. Servants respected him, and not from fear. Pleasant to the eye, he was tall and muscular like his father, with his mother's unruly brown hair and hazel eyes.

Edmund busily tied the slain animal for transport, when he heard a light step behind him and turned.

What he saw astonished him - a beautiful, unaccompanied young woman. With long, soft black hair and elegant features, she was out of place in that part of the woods. It was strange for anyone to dare tread through the forest, let alone an unprotected, desirable female. Then Edmund blinked, and took a startled step backward, suddenly beholding a starkly unattractive old crone.

"Sorry to bother ye, comely lad," she cackled, rolling up voluminous brown sleeves looked to be made of coarse potato sack. Grey matted hair hung limply down the sides of her thin, weathered face, which was covered in warts of various colours that turned Edmund's stomach.

Shaking his head, Edmund sourly turned his back on her to continue with his task.

The old lady wandered merrily through the forest, still chuckling at the young man's unconcealed revulsion. The mirth quickly died from her face when she sighted two men on horseback. The combatant riders cautiously made their way between trees, the black and red banners colourfully gleamed across the flanks of their mounts. Lord Stiles' men.

"Oh, Gods," she hoarsely whispered, quickly scampering the way she'd come, but one of the men saw her movement.

"Halt, hag!" he shouted, kicking his horse to action, and his companion quickly followed suit.

Making a quick and difficult decision, Sage traded her shield for lightness of foot, cursing her frivolity for wasting her last trick on the hunter.

The horsemen reined in their horses with widened eyes as the crone vanished, replaced by the beautiful girl they never believed existed.

"So, it's true," one breathed.

"The Master was right," the other murmured, but his companion had already set off after Sage.

Edmund frowned and grit his teeth as he balanced the dead animal across his shoulders. Perhaps he should have brought help, after all. Bending with some effort to reach for his crossbow, he heard the distant thundering of hooves, and slowly straightened to see the beautiful girl streaking toward him, her face white with terror. Behind her, he recognised Lord Stile's men in urgent pursuit.

Edmund's handsome mouth pursed in a stern line. He and Lord Stiles' family had a long history of friendship, both upper class bloodlines. But as the boys grew into men, their distinct lifestyle tastes clashed too harshly for any real friendship to exist between them.

Gasping as Edmund blocked her path, the girl seemed at her wits end.

"You are in grave trouble, wench," Edmund remarked, dropping the carcass to the ground to better look down at his company.

Eyeing her features, he could easily see why the girl was chased. But his mind was rather preoccupied with the earlier encounter that made him question his sanity. How could his eyes play such a trick? Were there two women perhaps, with a thieving agenda?

"Please," she gasped, clearly reluctant to ask for help. "Don't let them take me."

"What have you done?" Edmund curtly replied, cruelly offering no assistance.

His eyes sharply swept her appearance. She was dressed interestingly, in a style of clothing he had never seen before. Whatever it was, it was neither noble nor peasant. Edmund noticed the dark tresses in her long plait were free of dirt and shone healthily. It would be a pleasure to undo the braid, run his fingers through the silken locks and idly spread them across his pillow.

Edmund reflected the girl's lovely face would certainly catch the attention of Lord Stiles. Slaves were rare in their part of the world nowadays, but it wouldn't be unlike Lord Stiles to keep them, his family being fond of old sinister traditions.

"I've done nothing! Please, I can pay you well," she pleaded.

"With Nicholas' coins? Do you belong to him?" Edmund asked frankly, and was surprised by the fire lighting her midnight-blue eyes. Would they melt to a brighter shade if he kissed her?

"I belong to no man," she spat with contempt, completely forgetting her plight as the riders reined in at the sight of Edmund.

"Will you belong to me?" he asked lowly, smiling as her jaw clenched. Oh, yes, she would be a welcome addition to his estate.

"Never," Sage answered with true loathing.

"Very well. Give my regards to Lord Stiles. No doubt you will enjoy his bed." Edmund rudely looked over her tempting figure, before turning to smile welcomingly at the riders who had paused a respectful distance.

Edmund looked between the mysterious girl and the horsemen, making a decision on a pure whim.

"Once beneath Nicholas, there is no way out. This is your last chance, girl," he murmured between his teeth.

"Greetings, Master Bard," one of the riders began courteously, with the oily tone of servitude Edmund despised. "Our Lord will be grateful for your assistance."

"Oh?" Edmund lightly replied, his eyes hard. "How so?"

"For aiding the capture of..." the other warily answered, looking distinctly nervous.

Edmund ignored the rider's prattle and looked back to the girl, who he could see was fast realising the severity of her predicament. Meeting his eyes, she slightly nodded, signalling her agreement. A silent bargain. Somehow, Edmund sensed that she knew she'd fare better with him, than Nicholas.

"You are mistaken. She is mine, and I need no aid capturing my slaves," Edmund interrupted, staring down at Sage in a haughty matter that immediately made her eyes narrow.

"What good is a wench who won't do her master's bidding?" he added, reaching to flick Sage's delicate cheek with careless disdain. At his touch, she blushed a deep, angry red, but managed to hold her tongue and bear the insult.

"This is your slave?" one rider boldly questioned, his disbelief thinly veiled.

Edmund made a show of looking around. "Do you see another, lackey?"

The daring one lifted his chin. "Your family never kept slaves."

"And I should drag you from your mount and beat you with my sword," Edmund said softly, bringing a swift smile to Sage's pretty face. Edmund was sightly distracted by it, having never seen a female in dire circumstances show signs of humour. Certainly untamed.

The riders exchanged a glance. They were in no position to challenge a Noble, no matter how urgent their Master's instruction. He would be very angry, but there was nothing to be done, save slaughter their better and hope the sin never came to light. It was far too great a risk to attempt murder without explicit instruction, especially with the families so well acquainted.

Diplomacy aside, two against one held very small chance, when that one was Edmund. Lord Bard was a known warrior, and there was good reason he was confident hunting alone. When the war was afoot he unreservedly did his part in battle, unlike the rest of the rich, who remained home and sacrificed untrained servants to die for their comfortable existence.

News quickly travelled of the noble who cared little for status in a united cause, and fought shoulder to shoulder with men many ranks below him. Reputation aside, Edmund was well liked, far more than Lord Stiles, though the latter was feared with just cause.

Edmund turned to the girl, deciding to rattle her pleased demeanour. It wouldn't do for her to doubt his authority. "On your knees, slave."

Sage glared, well aware he amused himself at her expense, holding her freedom from Lord Stiles as hostage. With no better retort, she sullenly dropped to her knees.

"You teased Lord Stile's men to chase you?" Edmund barked, hugely enjoying the charade. He would never treat a servant this way, and hated witnessing their mistreatment by those of his status. But somehow, the role-play was surprisingly fun, even liberating, when it wasn't real.

"Aye, Master," she answered low and venomously.

Edmund frowned at her impression of lower-class speech. It didn't match her appearance.

"Next time, I'll let them have you. Understand?"

"Yes, Master."

Edmund smiled. That tone suited him better.

The rider's faces were stony as they sceptically watched the exchange, both gripping the reins on their mounts rather tightly. After a brief nod of resentful acknowledgement, they briskly turned and departed at speed.

When the sounds of their retreat faded, Sage sighed angrily and made to rise, but a firm hand on her shoulder kept her down.

"Did I say you could move?" Edmund said softly, his fingers gently massaging her shoulder. He felt she was delicate, slender. Unused to authority, and it made him shiver.

"Did I ask your permission?" she sneered, angrily shoving his hand from her shoulder. But before she could get to her feet, Edmund seized her wrists and forced her to the ground.

Sage fought him, not so naïve to hope his motives were innocent. But he didn't try to remove her clothes, nor did he touch her in an untoward manner. Instead he folded her wrists behind her back, and tied them with leftover rope.

"What are you doing?" Sage cried out. He wasn't going to rape her, it was much worse. He was taking her captive.

"You are mine, by your own admission," Edmund answered, easily catching her kicking feet and firmly binding them.

The girl's small shoes were as intriguing as her unique dress. They were practically crafted, as though made purposely for walking in wilderness, which was completely unheard of, for a girl of gentle birth. They were also quality - a smooth, olive-coloured leather that he did not recognise.

Casting a regretful look to the dead animal, Edmund hooked his crossbow over his shoulder, then easily picked up Sage's writhing figure.

"No! I never said I was yours! I can pay you!" she screamed, viciously struggling. "I said-!"

"Did I accept your offer of payment? No," he said gruffly, holding tightly onto his precious new quarry.

Ignoring her struggles and insults, he steadily marked back to his estate, almost laughing out loud imagining the shocked faces of his staff by his unusual conduct.

******

As anticipated, it was with a fascinated silence that Edmund's staff bore witness to their sensible master carrying an unwilling female toward his abode.

Their amazement was quickly rebuked by Edmund's elderly house steward, Joel, who snapped at them to continue their business. Then he briskly followed in Edmund's wake, equally curious as the rest of them.

Simon, a young servant boy, was passing through the corridor with new candlesticks when the doormen opened the entrance to admit his Master. Simon stopped, his jaw slack as he stared at the girl in Edmund's arms. Edmund looked twice at the boy, because his expression was not for her beauty, but rather an immediate concerned recognition.

"Shall I prepare quarters for the lady?" Joel sharply inquired from behind him, watching his master slowly set down the wriggling female.

Though she'd been carried through the courtyard screaming, now the girl was very subdued, staring around the magnificent interior of Edmund's home with astonishment.

"Yes," Edmund said tiredly, wiping sweat from his brow. Glancing back, he saw Simon had quietly vanished, as though he was never there.

"And a bath. Prepare dinner within the hour. She will dine with me tonight." With a small smile he glanced at his reluctant companion, amused by her distracted wonderment, before grinning at Joel's stark disapproval. "Do you think you can handle her?"

"If I survived your youth, I can certainly handle this young lady," Joel confirmed, stepping forward to untie Sage's ankles. He peered up at his master from the corner of his eye.

"My Lord-"

"Yes, Joel?"

"There are many women in town who willingly encourage your attentions," he said pointedly.

"I enjoy the advantage, as you know."

"But, my lord-"

"What?" Edmund snapped, his patience clearly tested.

Edmund would never tolerate such a familiar line of questioning from his inferiors, but Joel was adored by his parents, and practically raised him following their death. It was mostly Joel's influence that matured Edmund into a responsible, hard-working young man, rather than a cruel pansy like most rich children became.

"Might I ask where your guest will be stationed?" Joel stiffly queried, raising his eyebrows in a look that said 'please, not your bed-chamber'.

Edmund smiled at the silent entreaty. "Nicholas will by now be informed I own a slave. So, that is how it must be."

Joel's eye twitched. "A...A slave girl from Lord Stiles? My Lord!"

"You have only to look at her to see she is not from the gutter. She is an innocent, and I am exhausted. Chastise me later, Joel."

Knowing when he was dismissed, Joel pursed his lips began to guide Sage up a widely ornate staircase.

"Joel," Edmund called, and his servant paused, still looking put-out.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"The girl does not yet know her place. I should be very disappointed to lose her."

Joel wanted to roll his eyes, but didn't dare. "Shackles, my Lord. Anything else? Perhaps a night in the stocks?"

Edmund grinned. "Nicholas might come for her. See she is well guarded."

"Am I to understand Lord Stiles did not consent to forfeit his slave?"

Edmund raised his eyebrows warningly. Joel knew that look, and briskly led Sage away. Edmund stared after them until they reached the top of the staircase and disappeared into a long hallway.

******

A short time later, Joel ushered Sage into a room and pointed to the steaming bath at its centre.

"Two maids will arrive in a moment. You can help yourself into the bath, if you wish."

Finally, Sage's fuzzy bewilderment cleared, and she glared at the tub of fresh water. Instructed to bathe, as though she were a filthy rat? Perhaps she was sweaty and Earth-stained, but that was only after being forced to the ground and kidnapped.

"He is not my master, and neither are you."

"Oh?" Joel said quietly, with a raised eyebrow.

"I do not want a bath," she said moodily.

"It is customary for new arrivals to bathe before dinner. I advise you to be grateful to be treated as my Lord's guest."

"I don't care!" Sage hissed, opening her mouth to blurt more impertinence. But before she managed another word, she was abruptly lifted.

"I may be an old man, but that does not make me weak."

Sage shrieked as she was unceremoniously dumped into water, with all her clothes on. Kicking, she slipped beneath the surface before moving into a sitting position, spluttering. When she wiped her eyes clear of water, she beheld two girls staring at her. Joel was gone.

"We-We're to attend you," one faltered with wide eyes.

"Attend to me, how?" Sage snarled, then saw one held a tray of soap and lotions, the other a pile of clean clothes.

"If you make trouble, the Master will send the stable boys to replace us," the other girl stoutly warned, eyeing Sage with mild resentment. "You'll not be so haughty then, I wager."

Sage grit her teeth and relaxed, allowing the girls to unclothe and bathe her. It was unusual, to be attended by anyone other than her Guardian. She wondered when her absence would be noticed, and what might be done about it.

"Did you seek to rob the Master?" the timid one ventured.

Sage narrowed her eyes. "He abducted me for a slave."

"A slave!" both girls exclaimed, shocked.

"Nay, Master Bard does not keep slaves," the one slightly older eventually shook her head, eyeing Sage with a glare of disapproval. "I think you sought to rob him, and he chose not to turn you to the Guard. He is kind that way," she sighed, looking dreamily toward the sun glowing through the curtains.

"No," Sage snapped, angered that these docile females seemed so enamoured with the large, handsome bastard who'd snatched her from the woods. "He was a brute."

"I see no mark of violence," the girl boldly looked Sage over. "The master never raised a hand to one who didn't deserve it."

Sage felt bizarrely irritated by the way the girls put on an air of loyal familiarity with their Master, though she didn't understand why she should care, since her only thought was escape. The disgruntled feeling mixed with a blinding rage that they blatantly discredited her version of events.

No doubt these sluts gladly laid back to spread their legs for the Lord at his leisure, and he would soon expect her to do the same. It was not unusual for Sage to spy reckless young couples, dallying in the woods together. For the flash of a second she pictured herself on a bed, with the hunter on top of her, their naked bodies heatedly writhing together. The idea made her flush giddily, and her reaction to the thought made her equally angry.

"I didn't deserve it!" Sage suddenly shouted, losing her temper.

The servants recoiled as she angrily scooped water and splashed them. Then she seized every item she could grab from the tray and threw soaps, bottles and a hairbrush at the girls, who were so unused to such an outburst of unladylike behaviour, squealed and fled the room.

Sage giggled, flicking water after them. Stupid kept girls, raised like horses in a barn. How little they knew the wonders of freedom. Then she froze and the spiteful smile wiped from her face as Edmund stood in the doorway.

He had changed clothes, and no longer wore hunting attire. Now he dressed as a noble, infinitely more handsome in a dark navy coat that enhanced the green in his eyes.

"Starting trouble already, girl?" he murmured, closing the door behind him as Sage shrank beneath the water, trying to hide her nakedness.

"You've no right to keep me here," she muttered, averting her eyes and wishing she had not pitched so much water from the tub.

From the beginning Sage sensed he was not villainous as Lord Stiles, and was quite shocked that the quiet hunter braving the woods alone was a powerful Lord himself. Regardless of his good nature, there was something about him that told her he was not to be trifled with.

Edmund ignored her protest, and sauntered over to inspect her discarded dress, neatly draped over a chair by the bath. Catching a slip of damp material between his fingers, Edmund discerned the style was nothing he had ever seen in town or abroad. It was expertly handmade, and unusually soft to touch. No, the girl was not local.

"What is your name, girl?" he asked, still inspecting the dress.

"Sage," she shrugged. There was no reason to hide her name, and certainly preferred it to 'girl' or 'slave'. Sage struggled to appear unaffected by the man's presence, the fact a tall, grown man lingered in a room while she sat naked in a body of warm water.

"Where are you from? Who is your kin?"

"I am from town. I have no family," she lamely answered.

"What were your dealings with Lord Stiles?"

"None," Sage scowled. "He sighted me once, and has hunted me since."

"Why does he hunt you?" Edmund turned his attention from the dress to gauge Sage's reaction. He liked to watch the facial expressions of those he dealt with. It was the best way for him to discern the truth of their words.

Sage shook her head mysteriously, though her eyes mocked him.

"He sighted you once?" Edmund smiled, liking the challenge. "And yet you know his name, and recognise his family Crest."