Romancing the Rogue (178 page)

Part Two

Abigail

Brynn’s eyes adjusted to the absence of light. Staring back at her were at least ten pairs of tired eyes.

“Get up,” Daman called to one of them, slowly making his way through the room. Immediately, the frail girl he addressed exited her bed and rushed over to him, head hung low. “Clean her up,” Damon ordered. “I want to see her in the morning.”

The girl nodded and stood with feet planted. She was dressed in a long, flowing chemise dotted with several holes with her hair neatly pinned back in tight plaits.

Daman’s footsteps thudded back up the stairwell, and a lock clicked.

A dark-haired woman revealed herself in the light, carrying a small oil lamp. She was an older woman, worn by the world and hardened by life. Her appraisal swept over Brynn and her muddy, blood-stained clothes. Her eyes met Brynn’s when the small lamp’s light passed over her face. They were dark and deep, like earthy caverns. A few wrinkles had taken up residence under her heavy eyes. She spoke with hastened words, expectant.

Brynn had no understanding of the Archaean words.

The woman pointed to her chest and smiled. “Abigail.”

“I am Brynn,” she told the woman, recognizing the Engel name.

“Ah, I see. From Engel, I assume?” Abigail spoke familiar words.

“Galhaven.”

“Galhaven, eh? Did ye serve there? I lived in Kirkwood once. How in bloody hell did you get
here
?”

“I am to be a nursemaid for a rich man’s family. I will not be here long.”

Abigail shrugged, chuckling. “That is what we were all told, silly girl. Come, let us get you cleaned up. You look as though you were dragged through a swamp.” The woman held out her palm.

Abigail led her to a small washtub in the corner of the room where the women set to work finding Brynn fresh clothing, a comb, and a few parcels of food.

Abigail promptly stripped Brynn of her clothing. “What is this, now?” she questioned, spying the boot knife
strapped to Brynn’s thigh. She looked closer and followed with more questions. “What is an Engel servant doing with an Archaean warrior blade? How did you get this?”

“’Tis very valuable to me. Please don’t take it.”

“And let you kill us all in our beds?”

“No, I would never!” Brynn gasped, shaking her head. “It was the last thing that… it was a very special gift. Do not take it away. ‘Tis all I have left.”

Abigail allowed her to keep it after giving Brynn strict instructions to keep it out of sight and away from Daman. While Brynn bathed, Abigail chatted away in Engel, asking for news of the royal family, about the wars, and if the raids had made their way east.

The bath was bitter cold, but Brynn paid it no mind. Her thoughts fluttered about. She hadn’t realized Abigail was still chatting or that another woman was busy trying to get a comb through the snarls in her hair. Brynn simply stared at the dark wall in front of her, wondering if Marek would burst through the door to rescue her. But as the women dressed her and plaited her hair, the door stayed firmly shut and locked while the hours rolled late into the night.

“You will sleep here. Rest, as tomorrow will be a long day.”

“What happens tomorrow, Abigail?” asked Brynn as she climbed into a straw-filled bed, trying not to disturb the girl she was to share it with.

“Just call me Abby. Your new life begins tomorrow, and I shall answer any questions you may have while we are in the fields in the morn. Now go to sleep.” Abby blew out the lamp and all was quiet.

Brynn found sleeping on a straw bed quite uncomfortable. The sharp needle-like twigs poked her through both the blanket and her chemise. Sighing, she wrapped her thin blanket around her shoulders and crept to the fireplace where a few coals still glowed and twisted in their fire dance with one another. They brought her back to the cave where Marek first kissed her. How she wished he was still with her to rock her to sleep on the back of his horse. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes, welcoming a bit of restless sleep.

But it didn’t last. It seemed mere moments passed before she was disturbed.

“Quickly now, ’tis almost daybreak. You don’t want to keep him waiting.” The words, sounding strangely familiar, coaxed her to further wakefulness. The fire had long since died, and her blanket hung loose around her shoulders. Abby was dressed and ready for the day’s work. A hand on her hip, she tapped her booted foot impatiently. “He will want to see you in the light. Now don’t worry, I will not let him touch you.”

“Who?” For a brief moment, Brynn forgot she was locked in the tiny, stuffy underground room.

“Daman, of course. Here, put these on. They should fit.” Tucked under one arm, Abby held several articles of clothing. “They were Nel’s, but she… is not with us any longer. She was about your size — these shall do just fine.” Abby plopped them in Brynn’s lap and continued to wake the others.

Brynn held up the long pieces of fabric, not quite sure what to do. Everything was so unfamiliar and strange. Even though Abby spoke Engel words, her voice was still thick with that of the Archaean brogue. And the clothing… she missed Marek’s tunic. That little piece of him close to her body was gone — his woodsy, smoky scent — nevermore. As she eyed the pieces, a pair of worn leather ankle boots fell to the floor.
Shoes
. Brynn smiled, slipping them over her chilly toes and latched the toggles tight. They were a bit snug, but they were warm. Rising from the floor, she pulled off the nightgown and slipped on the chemise from the pile. It felt heavy and awkward with its billowy sleeves and immodest, low-cut neckline. She felt as though her breasts would spill out if she bent over. She cinched the strings tighter around her neck. It would have to do.

“What are you waiting for — me to die? Come on, now.” Abby took up the overgarments and dark blue skirt from the remaining pile and slipped them over Brynn’s head. She pulled the drawstrings tight then tied them. Next, she grabbed a black bodice, slipped Brynn’s arms though each arm hole, and jerked the laces taught in the front. Brynn gasped at its secure grip on her ribcage. “My, one would think you have never seen clothes before.”

“Not like this,” she replied, sucking in a breath. The bodice was tight — annoyingly so — and Brynn fiddled with it, seeking a more comfortable position for the boning.

“Do not worry — you are only putting it on for him. It must to come off before work or you’ll keel over on me.” Abby laughed while tending to the rest of the garments. “You are a pretty one, you are. You will fit it just fine.”

“What is this?” Brynn questioned as Abby draped a long, green fabric about her shoulders. It was a pattern she had never seen before. It was quite beautiful — the color of the rolling hills in spring with a bit of blue added to match the summer sky.

“An
arisaidh. It took me awhile to get used to it at first, but it comes in handy during the cold weather we’ve been having. You will learn to like it. Here, put it over your head. Like this.” Abby took a piece from the back and draped it over Brynn like a hooded cape. “I was not as lucky as you to have someone show me how to wear the latest in Archaean fashion,” Abby teased. “Stay close to me and I will keep you safe. I know how to handle that poor excuse of a man.”

Brynn smiled. Abby was a lovely woman. Brynn followed close behind as they made their way up the steep set of wooden stairs. The room above reeked of stale ale and smoke, but was not a tavern. The building was a one-room house, much like the ones she had seen in villages in Galhaven. It was empty of drunken men now, leaving only traces of their festivities from the night before.

The morning air left a sharp chill on Brynn’s bones as they rounded the building. The other girls were busy eating a bit of bread and sipping from a bowl of water when she approached. A large man on horseback eyed them as they ate.

“Abby!”

“Daman, here she is. Take a good look — we have work to do.” Abby puffed out her chest and stood her ground, looking the man square in the eye.

Daman circled Brynn, taking in every inch of her frame as she stood awkwardly before him. She could feel his eyes burning over the exposed skin around her chest, but she kept her chin down and waited for it to end.

Grunting, he gave Brynn’s chin a little push with his finger. He muttered words briefly to Abby then stomped his way back into the shack.

After eating, Brynn followed Abby. “Where are we going?” Brynn asked, walking beside her newest friend. Brynn carried a large woven basket, keeping a sharp eye open for any Archaeans she happened to know.

“To the fields. We harvest Daman’s crops so he can sell them for ale.”

“Every day?”

“Shh… do not speak so loud. Engel is not a very favorable language to be speaking around this village.”

“But I know nothing else.”

“I will teach you.”

Upon reaching the field, Abby turned sharply to the right, hastening her pace. “We will be picking the rest of the beans. You shall come with me.”

Brynn removed the restrictive bodice shortly after they started picking the bean plants. Abby proved amazing with her speed and steady hands, while Brynn fumbled about with very few beans actually reaching the basket without first falling to the dirt. She could sense how frustrated Abby was growing when she nearly ripped a plant from the soil. “I’m sorry, Abby, I must tell you that I’m not used to doing this work.”

“Well, what sort of work are you used to doing, then?” Abby stood, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her chemise.

Brynn hung her head. “Well… none.”

Abby scoffed. “You have never done a day’s work?”

“No, I have not.”

“What kind of parents raised a child who does not do work?” Abby kicked her basket to the side as she moved on to the next bean plant.

“Well, my father is Bertram, Earl of Galhaven. I am… was, his only daughter.”

Abby’s eyes widened. “What a little liar you are.”

“I assure you, madam, I am no liar.”

“Heh.
Madam
…”

“My father was trying to marry me off when a group of Archaeans ended up in our entrance hall. A misunderstanding ensued and so here I am, picking beans in a land I have no familiarity with, alongside another Engel, who I would never have guessed it so if it were not for that dark hair on top of her head.” Brynn tossed a handful of beans into her basket and returned to find the ones that had fallen.

“How could
you
be the daughter of an earl? Look at you! If you
are
Engel, you look far from it.”

“Perhaps I look like my mother? I never knew her — she died shortly after I was born. My brothers, they all have the dark hair.”

“You poor thing. You are Archaean and do not even know it. At least you will not have any trouble blending in like this old goat does.”

“I am
not
Archaean.”

“Where else would that hair come from? Perhaps your dear mother dabbled a bit with the locals.” Abby chuckled.

“Do not say such things.” Brynn sat on a patch of browning grass. “My mother was an honest woman.” The thought of her precious mother carrying on affairs while married made her heart pound with grief. Although, her father did leave much to be desired. “So how did you come to be here?”

“That is a long story I do not like telling.”

“We have the time,” urged Brynn as she shelled a bean and popped it in her mouth.

“You best be careful. You could lose an arm for that.”

Brynn quickly spit out the bean and covered it with loose soil.

Abby let out a hearty laugh and shook her head. “Oh, to be young again.”

“Please tell me. It is nice to have someone to talk to.”

“Well, if you come over here and help me with some beans, I shall tell you.”

Brynn reluctantly returned to bean picking.

“Well, when I was young — about your age, maybe a bit older — I fell in love with a traveler before the Great Wars. He was the most handsome golden-haired man I ever set eyes on and we made our home in Dunlogh, a village deep in the highlands. It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen, with rolling hills and a view of the sea with rich soil and plenty of food. Oh, how lovely life was.” She sighed. “When the Engels invaded, our village was pillaged, the men killed, and the women and children were taken and sold as slaves here in the Crossroads. My husband, bless his soul, tried to stop them from taking me, but…” Abby’s eyes grew wet with tears. “It has been quite some time since I thought of him, and I have been here ever since. Daman has never been able to get rid of me.”

“Why did not you just escape and go back home?”

“There was nothing left for me there.”

“I mean to Kirkwood, back to your
home
!”

“My home was Dunlogh. I left Kirkwood long ago. I gave up that life. Being an Engel is a far worse life than this. You will see. ’Tis not all that bad. We are not always locked in that awful room, only when Daman does his bartering in the house. He doesn’t want the men getting too friendly — or the other way around.” Abby winked at Brynn. “Come, we are finished with the beans. We need to move on to the herbs. Daman needs them to sell in the market tomorrow.”