The Ward Ch. 07

All in all, Sage was sensually striking and at first glance would appear an exceptionally important slave rather than a noble lady.

"A shame she is marked," Mary observed the red stripes down Sage's smooth back as the servants continued to fit the dress, another began to comb her tresses for braiding. "Perhaps her hair should be out?"

Nicholas circled Sage like a ravenous lion, overjoyed by the sight of her and hardly believing he finally trapped his prize. "The lashing was mild, and the marks are not unsightly. She will be beautiful, either way."

"True," Mary admitted with a sardonic smile. "You are pleased to distraction, Nicholas."

"Aye, mother."

"See that it does not cloud your good sense," she cautioned, accepting a glass of wine and seating herself by the window to oversee Sage's preparation.

Nicholas made a dismissive sound, still staring appreciatively. Sage was elegantly pretty, but there was something in the way she held herself, the flash of hatred in her eyes, her quiet dignity, that inexplicably pleased him. After such a prolonged chase of an elusive girl unique to all others, the victory was titillating.

"You are oddly cooperative, Sage," Mary gently commented, watching a servant carefully apply rouge to Sage's cheeks. "Dare we hope you finally accept your position here?"

"I am merely curious how you mean to force my vow," Sagely said sweetly; the servant painting her lips instinctively drew back when she showed her teeth in an angry smile.

"Your presence is all we require," Mary answered, relaxing in the chair. "I believe you are aware of blood vows."

Sage stiffened, then quickly tossed her hair to mask her reaction. "That is a vulgar practice."

"And wise of you to acknowledge it," Mary smiled. "I would never believe you ignorant of the ritual. When I have your compliance, you will be very forthcoming about the charming gentleman who called upon us."

Though infuriated by the circumstances, Sage repressed a smirk. The Stiles had no idea how thoroughly Aleksis had educated her.

A knock, and the door opened. A young man entered and bowed, his eyes on the floor.

"The clergy have arrived, mistress. They wait in the underground."

"Is the courtyard clear?"

"Aye, mistress. The front gates barred and locked."

"Have all soldiers stationed in case that young fool tries something heroic. He is to be rebuffed, not harmed; at worst taken prisoner and transported to town."

"Aye, mistress."

Mary rolled her eyes. "He is a Bard, after all, and they are always obstinate in these matters." After a reviving shake, Mary smoothed the skirts of her gown as she stood. "It is time."

***

Once the guard were well toward town, Edmund backtracked and secured his horse a short distance from the Stiles' estate.

Creeping through the still forest, as he drew close to the property, he carefully peered from behind a large tree through the gates to count the men in the courtyard.

There were no more than twelve, loitering in pairs. Four on horseback. They were not too alert; they had never been called to guard the manor before now and were in collective agreement that Lady Stiles was overreacting in the wake of a humiliating visit by the Guard.

Edmund found a tree which curled up and over the ornate fence, pulled a long dagger from his boot and carefully held it between his teeth, and began to climb.

Finding a good position to crouch on a thick bough, he cautiously moved the dagger from his mouth to tightly grip in his hand. Sweat beaded along his forehead as he watched one of the horsemen wander toward him, closer and closer, lazily humming a crude ditty about young ladies who bed their brothers.

Edmund's sharp gaze moved from the lone soldier to the others, silently plotting. Once he struck, there would be no room for consideration. For the first time, he was very glad for his warring experience. He had stood in rivers of blood, fought grim battles in the dirt both with and without weapons, slit his share of throats, strategised attacks and fended off ambushes.

It had been a while, but his instincts and confidence were in check. Though he never imagined he'd engage thus with his childhood neighbours in his hometown, he was nonetheless grateful for his experiences.

Twelve men...Edmund winced. He'd fought off groups in the war, but all were injured, including himself, and luck was on his side.

"Psst."

Edmund very nearly lost his footing on the bough and stared up at Aleksis, perched on a higher branch. Aleksis' black eyes glittered in the shadow; the moonlight fell across his smiling lips through the trees. Attractively dignified in fine clothes despite his current positioning, the man was certainly surreal.

Edmund started with surprise when Aleksis deftly used a sign language he'd not seen since the battlefield. It was too sophisticated for Edmund to comprehend and he shook his head and signalled for Aleksis to repeat. Aleksis smirked impatiently and gestured with slower emphasis.

Leave the men on foot. The riders are yours.

Edmund nodded, remembering his steed's hysterical reaction to meeting Aleksis on the road.

They continued to watch each other, until Edmund was distracted by movement below and realised the horseman was almost directly below him. He looked back to Aleksis, who seemed to observe him with an intent curiosity.

Taking Aleksis' stillness as confirmation, Edmund agilely moved so he was roughly aligned above the rider. He jumped, his boots skimmed the horse's behind and he tightened his thighs to avoid an unfortunate impact between his legs.

The horse gasped and reared up when he landed; Edmund took advantage of the backward momentum, seized the soldier's collar and slit his throat. Before Edmund could throw him from the saddle and resume control of the steed, the soldier relinquished his grip on the reins and fell, clutching his neck spurting blood.

Completely unsettled, the horse turned and its panicked attention landed on Aleksis. The next second the horse galloped screaming toward the main group and Edmund was on his back staring at the sky.

A soft chuckle from above, and Aleksis hauled Edmund upright.

"You may wish to consider unsheathing your sword," he advised, his black eyes bright on the dying soldier.

Edmund snarled and swiftly drew his weapon as Aleksis dashed into a cluster of four approaching soldiers. The ground rumbled, and Edmund turned to find a horse bearing down upon him, the rider's face twisted with anger.

Edmund nimbly ducked aside and shoved his sword upward, through the rider's thigh and into his gut. Withdrawing the reddened blade, Edmund seized the saddle and tried to mount as the soldier collapsed to the ground on the other side.

The sword was weighty and affected Edmund's balance. For a few desperate seconds he hovered uncertainly, one foot in the stirrup, the other angling to lift over. Edmund cursed angrily when the sword tilted the wrong way and he tumbled down the horse to land on his ass.

A deep laugh rang out as foreign against the collective sounds of terror. Aleksis was watching, laughing at him, with one hand crushing the neck of a man, his other wiping excess blood on his beige vest.

The other horsemen repeatedly urged their steeds to Aleksis, and soon realised their mounts would not go near him. Their attention switched to Edmund.

"Shall I assist you into a saddle, Edmund?" Aleksis cheerfully called, before becoming preoccupied with another three men attacking him.

"Fucking immortal!" Edmund seethed, stabbing his sword to the ground to push himself upright in time to brace for the two riders charging his way.

***

Looking formidably angry, Sage allowed the servants to bind her hands behind her back. She managed to preserve her icy silence, though twitched irritably when Nicholas collared her.

"If I said that these circumstances are regrettable, neither of us would believe it," he murmured, tracing the leather strap from the fitted choker to the handle, his other hand caressed her shoulder; applying a light pressure that signalled ownership.

Refusing to look at him, Sage swallowed spiteful words and allowed him to lead her out, like a prized pet to be exhibited.

Much of the mansion was in darkness, whether for privacy or general gloom. Sage's shoes were surprisingly low-heel, and very uncomfortable. There was no leather lining or insulation to soften the material against her feet. Indeed, much of the design seemed impractically composed of jewels, which rubbed abrasively against her heels and toes. Beauty and pain; it was not surprising the Stiles fashioned such a thing.

The journey was long as they crossed the border from the main estate into a steep stone staircase. The accompanying servants lit large candles to precede the group, and eventually Sage found her eyes adjusting to the pitch black surrounds.

The stone floor was very old, though swept clean, would still dirty the soles of their shoes and the hems of Sage and Mary's dresses. Still ogling his bride-to-be, Nicholas chuckled lowly when he noticed her hands behind her back were balled into tight fists.

Finally, they reached a large room, with gaps in the ceiling to let the bright moonlight through so that the candles were no longer necessary. Sage turned to give Nicholas a last glare of contempt that made his mouth run dry with desire. Standing illuminated, dressed as she was, with such ferocity on her pretty face and her dark hair shining as though silver-coated, was a powerful image, and only made him feel more empowered for owning her.

Four robed men, their faces concealed, stood quietly conversing at an alter which had clearly been brought to the premises for this purpose, as it was immaculately finished and certainly not ancient as the surrounds. Mary haughtily swept forward to have words, and the robed men turned to consider her. Sage felt sickened, as though she'd been snared by inferior beings that would make the most of their catch.

She stood stiff and hostile as one of the robed men approached her. He walked about her still figure, nodding to Nicholas as he passed. Standing closer, he stroked her cheek, pleased by her elegance, his thumb settled under her chin to gently tilt her face to the moon. He drew back with a gasp, then looked excitedly back to his observing companions.

"Gods, she is not only witchblood! She is - YARGH!"

Sage viciously bit the man at the tender place between thumb and forefinger, drawing blood. Nicholas immediately jerked her collar and seized her hair to hold her back.

The bite was a good effort on Sage's part, and she maintained an expression of ladylike innocence despite the unsightly blood smeared down her chin. Aleksis would be proud.

"I apologise," Mary said coldly, looking annoyed but not dismayed in the slightest. "I thought her too pretty to be muzzled for the ceremony."

"It is not too late!" Spat the priest, nursing his bleeding hand and hurrying back to the others. "If she weren't invaluable, I would-"

"Finish your sentence," Mary demanded. "She is, what?"

The priest growled in pain, hurriedly bandaging the wound with the servants' assistance. "She has been groomed, a long time, for...I've not seen it before with my own eyes, but it appears genuine, the signs are..."

"Make your point without explanations!" Mary barked.

"Beneath her ear, the faintest markings," he muttered, the others rushed to inspect Sage, who began to show reluctance at being manhandled by the hateful group. "She is being prepared for a transition that would be gruesome agony if carried out within a shorter timeframe, if the chronicles are to be credited."

"What transition?" Mary breathed, afraid to hope.

"It is impossible, but-" he broke off as the others closed in on Sage, forcing her head back to display her neck. They paused to allow a servant to clean the priest's blood from her mouth and chin.

For a long time they scrutinised her. "It is true," one whispered. "The marks are almost invisible, but they are there."

"And most conspicuous under moonlight inspection, as per the chronicles."

They observed Sage, who glowered back at them, feeling extremely unsettled by a discovery that surprised her just as much as them.

One priest let out a long exhale. "A blood ceremony will have no effect on her, if it's as suspected."

Mary made an exasperated sound. "What do you mean?"

"The blood in her veins is more than her own. She could be too powerful to yield to a temporary hypnotic."

Nicholas watched Sage's reaction. She seemed to understand, but she was clearly astonished.

"Where did you find her?" a priest questioned Nicholas.

"The forest."

"The forest? She is no savage. Who are her guardians?"

"I believe we met one tonight," Mary cautiously answered.

"The young man?" Nicholas exclaimed, looking extremely sceptical. "Jaromir? Mother, he is not even older than-"

"Be silent!" Mary snarled, impatiently turning back to the small group of robed men. "Well, what are we do to now? I have the Guard raiding my premises and nobles reporting the girl kidnapped. I hoped to present her convincingly in love with Nicholas by daybreak!"

"Had we known her origins we would have proceeded differently," the tallest sourly replied. "By her features, even a half-wit would know she is noble. You led us to believe she could possibly be peasant."

Nicholas snorted and Mary shot him a warning look.

"I was never equipped to verify her origins so there is little point chastising me for it," she sweetly countered. "What are we to do now?"

"Well, we should attempt the ceremony," one priest ventured. "This is only a suspicion, after all."

"Very well," another nodded. "There are uncertainties, but this may work. And if she delivers us a girl...Do you know her to be fertile?" he questioned.

Mary looked as though she was surrounded by imbeciles. "How am I to know? She was discovered in the forest!" she exclaimed. "I've no reason to suspect her barren. Proceed with the ritual and I will otherwise keep her here until you return with better judgement!"

The priests were slightly taken aback by Mary's temper, but there was a silent concession amongst them that Mary possessed an advantage in Sage.

"Bring her to the altar," a priest directed Nicholas, pointing to the altar where an ancient book was fitted.

Sage frantically resisted, dug her jewelled heels to the floor but was carried forward by Nicholas.

The group of priests began to chant a prayer in repetition. Mary joined them, drawing a small vial from her dress and uncorking the lid.

Sage desperately struggled but was held down. The binds on her wrists were cut loose and her right hand forced forward to the altar, lightly sliced to yield a trickle of blood. Chanting with the priests, Mary ensured several liquid drops from the vial mingled with Sage's.

Sage snarled her disgust as words bounced about the room, her name and Nicholas' echoing around the group, the insidious drops absorbed by her blood flow. She twisted in Nicholas' arms until they faced each other.

For the first time Nicholas perceived Sage was unsettled and uncertain, her usual hatred toward him replaced by a helpless panic.

Unable to block her ears, Sage gazed back at Nicholas. Her pale eyes widened with innocent bemusement, struck by his attractive features; strong jawline, well-crafted cheekbones and his sultry deep blue eyes staring into hers with besotted desire.

None could deny he was very handsome; it was a shame about his character. If he were noble-minded and of Edmund's disposition, they would have beautiful children. And if Edmund was raised to be callous and cruel, if he pursued her with impure intentions, she would hate him just as much. If Edmund were the villain, and Nicholas the hero...If by some confusion Nicholas was the hero...

Sage let out a small scream of frustration, recognising the symptoms of a disastrously intrusive spell. She shook her head and almost broke free, but Nicholas was prepared for it. Sage's fight ended as faintness crept up, her eyelids grew heavy, the tension in her limbs dissipated and she relaxed in Nicholas' arms.

***

Panting on his back, Edmund was utterly exhausted, but undefeated. Accustomed to fighting disadvantaged, he'd battled the riders and won. The subsequent sword fights posed no challenge. Toppling the soldiers from their mounts sapped his strength, and he was irritably aware Aleksis was thoroughly entertained by his failure to ascend any of the beasts; they were too skittish, and Edmund was unlucky in his manoeuvres.

"I never expected you to defeat four soldiers on horseback," Aleksis admitted, an ounce of respect creeping into his voice. "I see your time in the war was productive, though your equestrian skills are quite lacking."

Edmund rolled the body of a man off him and slowly got to his feet to glower at Aleksis.

Satisfied there were no immediate threats, Aleksis cupped his hands to his mouth, his fingers linked in a strange way. A sharp, almost musical whistle passed through his hands and echoed into the night.

Edmund pulled his sword from the fallen man with a grunt and straightened in time to see a shadow streak across the courtyard at a speed too great for his eyes to follow. The figure swept by Aleksis and crashed through the front door. Seconds later, the screams began.

***

A full half hour passed before the chanting ceased, and all watched Sage, who did not stir. Nicholas looked from her passive face to his mother's.

"Is it done?" he whispered.

Mary pressed a finger to her lips. The priests moved in, and Nicholas gently turned Sage in his arms so they could examine her, particularly the markings by her pulse. One pursed his lips and retreated, gesturing Mary to join him while the others continued their examination.

"Well?" Mary breathed.

The priest angled his head both ways in a so-so gesture. "She lost consciousness, that much is authentic. It is a promising sign. But the markings may weep the bad blood, if her blood is superior."

"Bad bl-? Those drops are sacred! Decades old!" Mary insisted. "She could not possibly-!"

"The markings are there, and they are colouring. It would make sense." He glanced over his shoulder, the others now watching. "We will know more when she wakes. You said she is educated above the norm? Intelligent?"

Mary's lip curled. "I would call it insolent cunning."

"I see," he muttered. "The time-frame is shortened when the subject is wilful. Strength of mind carries substantial influence in spells such as these. We may have to..."

All perked up when Sage sighed deeply and stretched, her head contentedly falling back to Nicholas' chest. When her eyes fluttered open, they widened, and she immediately crossed her arms to conceal her cleavage.

"What..." she jerked around to see whose arms were closing about her. "I...I..." she stammered, gazing up wonderingly at Nicholas. Forgetting her audience, she arched against him, her arms snaked about his neck and tightened, drawing their lips together.

Nicholas forgot himself and banded an arm about her waist to strengthen the embrace, sensing he'd be forgiven for an open display of intimacy considering the victory. He feverishly kissed her lips, her cheeks, her neck and returned to her mouth that obediently parted for his lips and tongue. She was exquisite softness in his arms, entirely compliant, and Nicholas felt his heart thunder against his ribcage, the blood pulsing fiercely down to his cock. Ending their kiss, he lightly sucked her lower lip before drawing back to stare curiously into her eyes.

"Mine?" he murmured, trailing a finger down her jaw.