ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories) (85 page)

              “Because I have made a life changing decision,” Peter could see the suspicion etched on William’s face. “I wanted to tell you first. I... I have decided to become a monk and live a life of piety.”

              “Fuck me.”

              “I no longer wish to hear such words.”

              William placed his hand on his chest. “Oh, yes. Sorry.” He coughed into his hand to buy time for the shock to recede.  “Does that mean you will be leaving the castle?”

              “Yes. I have held several talks with Friar Benedict up at the monastery. In truth I’ve been thinking about it for some time.”

“Why did you never say anything?”

Peter didn’t lift his eyes from the slate gray floor. “I was scared.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been.”

“I made up my mind yesterday and informed Father Benedict this morning of my intentions. I will leave for the monastery tomorrow where I will become a novice under Benedict’s guidance.”

              “Good. I’m happy for you. But what has this got to do with Beatrice and I?”

              Peter’s emotion made it a struggle for him to speak. “If I can’t make Beatrice happy... well, that doesn’t mean I don’t want someone else to. I wish you good luck, my Liege.”

              “Thank you.”

              “But keep this between me and you until I am gone. I just want to part quietly.”

              William reached for Peter, then placed his hand on his shoulder. “You have my word, Peter.”

              _

              The horse’s hooves clipped on the stone of the Roman Bridge. Built of local granite, the ancient bridge still stood proud and spanned three arches. The lack of recent rain had caused the river to recede and flow only through the central archway. William rode his horse with Beatrice riding pillion. He enjoyed the feeling of being so close that he could feel her warmth. Smiling, he muttered, “So, the first time you have ridden horseback?”

              “First time I had to wear trousers too.”

              “You still look beautiful. So much so, that the fact I can’t see you while riding make me wish it was I riding pillion.”             

“My Liege... I’m afraid you’re teasing me with such kind words.”

“Of course not. In fact I want to dismount on this bridge... just so I can see you.”

William climbed off the horse to the granite cobbles of the bridge. He reached up and took Beatrice’s hand in his. “Beatrice I would never tease you.” Cupping her hands in his, William raised it to his lips and kissed its back. “Now let me help you down.”

“My Liege... I don’t know if I can.”

“Please call me William.”

Beatrice’s smiled wildly. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Now come.”

“But William, I fear I may fall.”

William grinned as if he thought Beatrice was joking. “It’s easy.” The fear on her face made him aware she was serious. “OK. Listen to directions, swing your other leg to this side, then slowly shuffle forward and slide off. I will catch you.”

“But what if I fall backwards.”

“Then you will bang your head and risk death.”

“William?”

William chuckled. “Then simply make sure you fall forwards, then.”

“I can’t be sure.”

“Beatrice, now come on.”

The cold splash of a raindrop made Beatrice peer to the heavens. The grey clouds had been threatening all day but now seemed intent on replenishing the thirsty river. “Oh, William... it’s raining.”

“Then you have no choice but to dismount and shelter with me under the arch.”

Beatrice gingerly brought her leg over the horse. She then closed her eyes as she shuffled forward to dismount. “Catch me!” The fall caused her to scream, but she stopped as she felt William catch her by her waist and pull her close. Opening her eyes she was eye to eye with the man she craved. Leaning forward she rested her lips on his but pulled back. “I’m sorry”

“What are you sorry for?”

Closing her eyes once more, Beatrice rested her forehead against William’s. “How can we be?” Beatrice opened her eyes but her vision was blurred as her tear ducts finally overflowed.  “We’re merely playing a game of lovers.”

“There are no games between us.”

“Stop making me the girl to your boy.”

“Stop claiming that I’m a fool, Beatrice. Or that I’m some vagabond who is thieving your heart.”

“But I’m nothing but a simple poor girl.”

William pulled her tight to his chest. “You’re not a serf or a peasant. I think you’re as educated as you are beautiful.”

“William... leave me alone and stop with this cruel charade.”

“This is no cruel charade. My lips may move but it is my heart that speaks. What’s more it speaks nothing but the truth.”

The heavens fell from the clouds in sheets of cold grey rain as Beatrice broke from William’s arms. “Then your heart rules your head.”

“And so what if it does?”

“Even if your heart does call my name... what good is it? Your fellow courtiers... what will they think of us?”

William stepped up to Beatrice but she took a stride backwards. He then wiped the rain from his face. “I know plenty who have married English.”

“I’m not from English nobility, nor am I rich. I will never, ever, be accepted.”

“I don’t care.”

“You say that now, but your words will not last the test of time. That is why I must turn you down. I have a simple but happy life. I like what I am doing.”

“Beatrice.” William felt his heart sliding in his chest. “You speak as if you wished we had never met.”

“I do not wish to be locked up in some lonely tower only to be played with when you are bored.”

“I love you.”

Beatrice framed her face with her hands while her tears mixed with the rain. “You need to find someone suitable. Someone who can please not just your desires, but match the desires of your family.”

“I have been touted around by my parents like a political pawn. But to my parent’s disgust, no Woman took my fancy.”

“And why is that? Because you’re waiting for me..?  Do not speak such lies, William.”

William ran his hands through his matted hair. He took a fleeting look into the grey mist as the low cloud consumed the valley. “I fear I have no answer which will please you... But I know my father sent me to this backwater as punishment for not expanding the family’s wealth through marriage.”

“Then I feel sorry for you.”

“Don’t be. I was never interested in wealth, power and politics. I wanted love... and I found it in you.”

“I have lost one husband already.” Beatrice gazed into her William eyes while she exposed her tortured soul. “I do never wish to lose another.”

“If you don’t trust me because I am Norman. Then I will be an Englishman.”

“What do you mean by that? You are how God made you. A Norman.”

William finally grabbed Beatrice by her shoulders. “I will give up my riches and come and live with you.”

“But people will know who you are?”

“We’ll move to another town, start a new life with your vertical loom.”

“You’re crazed?”

“I am not.  I will give up my life to live another with you.”

Beatrice felt her heart swell. “Then kiss me.”

~

Under the arch of the bridge Beatrice smiled as William carefully disrobed her. She did not speak as words could never convey or express the emotion she felt. Despite the cold temperatures she felt nothing but the warmth of the lover. William’s kisses soothed her of her pain, freed her from her worries... killed any remaining doubts.

William’s hands traced Beatrice’s body. To his eyes she was beauty defined. Her alabaster skin glistened with the rain water, while her fulsome lips parted just enough to expose her healthy teeth as she sighed to his touch.  He stood naked but felt nothing but confidence. Holding Beatrice tight he lay down his love on the clothes.  Their lips locked, their bodies merged.  They never wanted to be parted.

Beatrice wrapped her leg around William. She silenced her groans by nuzzling her face into the crux of his neck. The sensation of love in its physical form played havoc with her body. Feeling the need to scream, she expressed her love to her man by losing herself in carnal pleasure.

~

Walking hand in hand back to the horse, William and Beatrice barely heard the whistle on the air.

The force of the arrow forced William backwards before dropping onto to his backside.  Blinded by pain, he tensed up while screaming in agony among the reeds. Beatrice dropped to the side of her lover. She shook her head in desperation as she noticed the arrow had buried deep into his shoulder. “William, oh William.”

“Get on the horse.”

“Let me help you.”

“Forget me, get on the horse.”

              Beatrice burst into tears. “We must escape together.”

“They want me not you. Now stop wasting time and escape.”

As William gingerly climbed to his feet, he spotted a masked bandit running towards him from road. He glanced over his shoulder to see Beatrice climbing on to his horse. Once she sat on the saddle, William slapped the rear of the horse sending the galloping across the shallow river towards the opposite tree line. 

William faced his enemy. Despite his bleeding wound he stood his ground. The bandit screamed as he launched his first blow, violently slashing with his sword.

Keeping his elbows close to his body, William parried each glancing slice.  He kept his knees bent and feet sturdy making sure not to lose his balance after each defensive parry.  Despite his ailing strength William knew he had to bid his time until he could capitalise on the aggressor’s first mistake.

The polished blades cut through the rain as they battled under the angry sky. Thunder from the unsettled heavens interspersed each grunt and clash of steel of the combatants.

The bandit proved too eager and locked swords. He pushed forwards in an effort to overpower the injured William.  Shifting his standing feet, William forced the bandit to make a false step. Off balance, the bandit was powerless to stop William gaining leverage with his sword and lost the flow of the fight.

William seized his opportunity.  In one strong sapping blow, he swung. But cried out in agonised frustration as the bandit merely blocked it.

Without the strength to carry on, William knew he was done for.

“Leave him... Leave him, I say!” A drenched Beatrice had crossed the river once more brandishing a large branch. “Leave, or you’ll have to fight the both of us.”

The bandit seemed stunned. His attention spilt, he couldn’t focus.  William thrust his sword towards the bandit. But the bandit easily sidestepped the blade. However he couldn’t avoid getting clobbered on the face with the Beatrice’s branch.

With the bandit floored, William kicked away the assailant’s sword. Beatrice then kissed Williams cheek. “Are you OK?”

“Fine, but you need to take me to Carlisle once we have dealt with this rat.” William reached down and unmasked the face of his stricken foe, revealing a bloodied face.  To Beatrice’s hysterical screams, William could barely mutter, “Peter?”

“My Liege, I had no choice.”

“Why? Oh Why? You foolish wretch.”

“I’m sorry... I.”

“You...” William dropped to his knees. Exhausted, he could hardly speak. “You wanted me dead? You betrayed me.”

“You stole the love I could never have. I couldn’t let you taunt me by making Beatrice happy.”

“You were to be a monk... No?”

Peter could barely speak for the blood pouring from his nose. “I was going to live my life as a monk in hope of cleansing my soul after killing you.”

“But this... it never had to come to this.”

“Kill me, as I no longer wish to live.”

Feeling faint, William could not muster the strength to pick up his broadsword. He instead unsheathed his dagger.  As he went to slit Peter’s throat, his hand was met by Beatrice’s.

“No, let him live.”

“Why should I? He will not allow us to live in peace.”

Beatrice did not relinquish her grip. “Knowing that we’re happy while he is shackled in the dungeon will serve him better than the tortures of Hell.”

“You’re wicked, Beatrice.”

“No. I’m just a simple weaver.”

THE END

Double Ink

              Jen loved tattooed men, especially ones that gave off that bad boy vibe. It was hard to find one that did it in an authentic way, though. So many people had watched a few episodes of Tattoo Masters Forever, or seen a tattooed actor on television or in a movie, and modeled everything they did after the aesthetic of someone more or less created in a Hollywood laboratory. It just didn't come off natural when, by nature, people had to try so hard. But it wasn't that way Seth.

              Seth wasn't the kind of guy that put on airs that he was somehow important because he tattooed people for a living. Although it was something that Jen found extremely attractive because of this she only known this was a turn on for her after giving it some thought. Because Seth was so humble, in a world where it's cool to be a blowhard, where it's cool to blast what you are doing and who you are with all over social media—but even so Seth was humble, but in his own way. He didn't like to tell people what he did for a living because television and movie stars had made tattooing something trendy. Seth had told her in conversations that even though the popularity of it made him quite a bit of money, it was something that he thought marked the high water mark of the industry as far as financial solubility went. In short Seth thought there was nowhere to go but down now, even though the stardom that the tattoo industry had garnered was the same kind enjoyed by people known for drinking and driving, or beating their wives and calling and leaving horrendous voice mails full of racial slurs; the same kind of attention that a carnival barker receives as he stands tall and proud, letting his piercing yelp ring out.

              Seth wanted everything to go back to the way it had been in the old days, when tattoo artists were people more associated with the seedy underworld than the lights of the silver screen. He wanted it to go back to being more craft oriented, more about doing solid work and leaving customers happy and wanting more. He thought the whole rock star attitude that people tried to push down the public's throat wasn't something that would, in the long run, benefit the industry. Because eventually, like the rest of the things that Hollywood dug its claws into, it played out. A thing just couldn't stay timeless when it was marked so thoroughly by the very nature of the passing of ideas and trends, and especially so when this transformation, instead of being allowed to happen and even fostered into existence sometimes, was instead exploited. It made things tend to go static, had a chilling effect on the people involved in the industry. No one that was really doing their own thing cared about the television stuff, so Seth wasn't really that bent out of shape about it; it was more something that the public projected onto him with their questions and how they treated him.

              But all in all Seth reacted to the whole situation with style and grace that Jen really found to be appealing in a person. Not to mention that Seth was damn sexy. He was an average height guy that had the build of a wrestler. But the best part was something that Jen hadn't been able to see for herself, not yet anyway. Rumor had it that Seth was really well hung. And THICK. This was the icing on the cake as far as Jen was concerned. It was hard enough to find a guy that she found really attractive, but it was even harder to find one that was hung decently well. It just always seemed like the artist types were either one way or the other: either really good in bed or not good at all. And from what she'd heard not only was Seth hung but he was one of the ones that was good in bed. And that was amazing news considering that Jen wanted to sleep with him.

              Jen always made a point to drop by the shop and talk to Seth if he wasn't busy, try to hang out with him a little bit. He was in his late twenties and was pretty independent. He liked her, that much she could tell. His face always lit up when he saw her and he always smiled so big when she smiled at him. He liked the attention from her and Jen liked giving it to him. But Seth was a little bit shy underneath his tough guy outer shell. Even though it seemed like nothing could faze him, and that he didn't care what anyone else thought about him, she knew that deep down he was a person just like everyone else. Albeit a person who needed much less attention than the average male his age, but a person none the less. And that meant he had hopes and fears, dreams and nightmares, things that he never told anyone about and parts of himself that he wore on his sleeve.

              But Seth liked to keep his distance from people, even the ones that made the effort to spend time around him. Jen didn't take it personally or anything like that; it just bummed her out that that was where the world had left him. He couldn't really trust that the average person was being for real about actually liking him because there was always the chance that they were really just being chummy to get some free tattoos, or something along those lines. Countless times while Jen had been hanging around the shop she'd heard people come in and try to haggle with Seth, tell him that they would hook him up, or that their cousin knew them somehow, and all kinds of other things. Of course most of these things were just complete and total bullshit. But there were times that Seth seemed to be caught unaware how a potential client went from being all "nice guy" to a hard bargainer.

              Jen couldn't image what life must be like for Seth, not that it was hard in the sense of having to go hungry or going without shelter, but more in the sense of being alone. Because something Seth really liked to do was drowned his sorrows in booze. Not that he was drunk every single day, but there were times when Jen would text him and she could tell that he was trying to text back and sound as sober as possible. There was always the chance that Seth was really only having a couple, but more and more Jen was coming to realize how many people said they were only going to have a couple and then really tied one on. But maybe he really was only having a couple, wetting his whistle like he said he was.

              After really thinking about it for a while Jen decided that she was going to ask Seth out next time they hung out. It was a bold move, especially for her, and she knew that it would catch him off guard. But that was all right. It was all right if she made him think a little bit more about what kind of person she was exactly. Because something that she really did worry about was that he thought she was just some kind of bimbo only hanging around to sleep with him and get tattooed. And even though she did want to sleep with him and she wouldn't mind getting tattooed more, it wasn't like she didn't find him to be someone that she genuinely thought could maybe end up being something for real with her. Even though that wasn't the driving thing behind what she was doing it was still an axillary motive.

              So the next time Jen visited the shop she waited until it was about ready to close before she stepped inside and made her way past all the tattooing booths to the drawing room where Seth sat drawing up a tattoo for a client scheduled to come in the next day. Jen put her hand on Seth's shoulder to let him know that she was there. He looked over his shoulder for a brief moment then went back to what he was going. He wasn't being rude, it was just that whenever she dropped by he finished whatever was at hand before he talked to her. It was pretty much the only way he could get anything done. Seth couldn't talk and do anything at the same time. It was one of those strange quirks some people have, where if they are texting they can't talk, and if they are doing something intensive on the page they can't do anything else, not even watch television. So Jen sat next to Seth and watched him draw, watched how his hands moved with confidence over the page as he situated the paper in front of him and continued to draw out the feathers of a bird in flight. She loved to watch him do his thing when it came to drawing and tattooing, it was so fascinating to her. Not just watching him but the whole thing, the way people came in to get things tattooed on them. How sometimes it was for very serious and somber things never to be forgotten, and other times it was things like a pot leaf, or a dog’s paw, or a dagger through a skull.

              Watching Seth's strong hands draw on the paper she remembered how she'd asked why so many people liked getting skulls tattooed on them. Seth said it had something to do with memento mori, a French term meaning literally, “Remember that you will die.” Death was something that humanity had grappled with throughout the ages, and it was something that it continued to grapple with. People, although they might not know it intellectually, got scary reminders of death on their body as ways to cope with the unknowable that lay just beyond death that faced everyone equally when they tried to imagine living in the blackness of the great beyond. But the way Seth had explained it had made it all make sense. He was really good at that, making her understand some of the concepts behind the art that he surrounded himself with. It really was a lifestyle more than a job, it had to be. With all the competition and the people out there who didn't care how good or bad their tattoo artist was, Seth had to be a cut above the rest by a considerable amount or he just wasn't going to make it. But he was doing well for himself, despite being relatively new to tattooing. As Seth finished up the drawing he was working on he looked over at her with a warm smile on his face.

              “Want to head back to my place to smoke?”

              He cocked his eyebrow when he asked.

              Jen, up to this point, had been really against smoking pot. Not that she cared if other people did it, it just wasn't for her. So, to be exact, she was really against it for herself. But that didn't mean that Seth didn't try to pressure her into it whenever he got the chance. He really wanted her to try it for some reason, saying that it would expand her mind or something. She didn't know if it would or if it wouldn't, but she wanted to spend more time with him so she said yes this time. For a few moments it was like Seth didn't know what to say, which was very much unlike him. He usually knew just what to say and when to say it, but now his words were failing him. He bounced back quickly though, and before she knew it she was at his place. It didn't take long because she just jumped in his car and road the two or three blocks to his place. When they got there he put a record on so that the music could barely be heard and started to dig around one of his drawers for the weed and a pipe. He said that he'd hid it well that morning because his landlord had said something about dropping in just to take a look around. When Seth found it he gave a small cry of victory and quickly set to loading a bowl.

              Jen felt a little bit apprehensive but tried to be cool. She didn't want Seth to think that she was some kind of square who couldn't loosen up or have a good time. Besides, it wasn't like they were going to smoke a ton. She was sure that Seth would only load what they could both handle without getting silly. As they sat on the couch and smoked Jen could feel all the stress leave her body. It was strange to think that it was this easy to let go of what was ailing her. All of her thoughts of school and work were gone from where they had been, swimming around the back of her mind. Instead she was just watching television, sitting on a couch with Seth. Then she started thinking about how lucky she was that she actually got Seth to hang out. Usually she couldn't get him to hang out after work because he was always busy doing something work related. She knew that he had to work a lot to keep afloat, but sometimes it was just frustrating when she wanted to hang out and all she ever got was shot down by Seth. She felt like he didn't even want her around sometimes, but she knew that was just her mind running a little wild, like it was now that she was high with him. He seemed to be doing all right, and if his mind was spinning he certainly didn't show it. That was how it was supposed to be, Jen thought. Then she tried to stop thinking.

              On the screen in front of her several cartoon characters were fighting to the death on some desert landscape with a two lane highway running through the middle of it, but nothing else. It took her a few minutes to realize she was watching an old rerun from her childhood. Man, she really must high if she couldn't recognize the iconic road runner character being harassed by the coyote who wanted to eat him. But the coyote wasn't as slick as the dog of Native American legend. He was always to slow, or too fast, or he aimed his comically enormous missiles just a little bit off. There were a lot of things that made the coyote a character that just seemed to have a lot of trouble following through with whatever it was doing. Jen thought about all the friends she had that were coyotes. They got all wound up about something and then let it loose, let it all their energy spring forward at once onto the thing at hand. Sometimes it worked out in their favor, but as everyone got older and the stakes got higher the strategy of just throwing all the energy someone could muster at something wore thinner and thinner. Jen thought about all the times that she herself had made similar mistakes when she didn't take into account how a coworker would stab her in the back during a meeting, or how she would need more time to complete whatever project she was working on. It wasn't like it happened a lot but it certainly did happen. Then Jen realized that she was high as fuck and trying to compare a comical cartoon to real life people and situations. And even though it didn't quite work out, the allegories worked out well enough that Jen found it a little bit disconcerting.

              “Hey I've been thinking about something,” Seth said.

              Jen's thoughts stopped and she focused on Seth.

              “What have you been thinking about?” Jen asked.

              “Why we don't hang out more,” Seth said. Then he paused a moment and seemed to stare off into the horizon where the ceiling met the well. Then he continued. “I guess maybe I'm just kind of shy. Not with the public, because I have to be good with them. I work with them every day. But more with people that could actually mean something to me. You're special to me, even though I probably show it like I should. I hope that you realize that the reason there isn't any competition to sit and watch me draw is that I'm not interested in anyone else. That and no one else really seems to give a damn to sit and watch me draw.”