The conversation with the Magistrate had felt like hours even though it had lasted mere minutes. She’d never spoken with someone of such a high rank before, but mindful of the good manners her parents and village had drilled into her, the shell-shocked young woman kept her gaze lowered respectfully.
Lyla was eminently cognizant of the fact that she was not to look directly at individuals of importance until the Magistrate threw his hands up in exasperation in the middle of the discussion.
“By the absent Gods, girl, I’m not going to bite you.” His exclamation was one of frustration and disgust. At first, she thought it had been at her, but no, his ire was directed at the customs of her people which Lyla realized with instant clarity was not the way civilized people outside of the High Passes behaved.
“I hate the way the men of the mountains teach their women to not look people in the eye. How am I to sufficiently judge your character or honor if I can’t see into your eyes? Makes you look to the rest of the world like every mountain woman is a conniving sneak thief trying to hide the truth from everyone. Please just look at me.”
It had been unexpected and made Lyla jump guiltily. She was telling him the truth. She was telling him everything she knew. Every question she had answered to the best of her abilities. Never in her life had she been instructed to look a man in the eyes.
Hesitantly, Lyla lifted her bowed head to glance up at the Magistrate. Then she remembered the way she had brazenly gazed into the eyes of the soldier who had given her The Kiss of Life and flushed violently with embarrassment. Her whole face reddened as she remembered that she had wondered if maybe the young man had gotten the wrong idea about her because she’d met his eyes so unabashedly.
Not for the first time since those moments, Lyla felt a phantasmic touch of a mouth brushing gently against her own. Her lips trembled with the memory and the Magistrate sighed and she was startled out of the remembrance as his hand reached for her face. She leaned back as he paused to explain.
“Forgive me girl, Lyla…,” he amended kindly, “…but I must look directly into your eyes to use the truth scrying spell correctly. I understand that cultural conditional can be strong, so let me help you.” He placed one thin clammy hand on her chin and turned her face up towards him. “Now look me in the eye, and answer this question. Does anyone in your village know who or has suspicions of who may have harmed the caravan?”
Looking the man in the eye was just about the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Harder than the run through the mountains. Harder than fighting with the men who had attacked her. It was harder than looking at the dead bodies of friends and family. Her eyes slowly, very slowly it felt like, focused on the huge pore of his damp flesh clogged with makeup.
Time felt like it slowed as her vision flew over the landscape of moles and pimples covered with powders and creams. His breath smelled like brandy. His skin smelled like nervous sweat sweetened with perfumed toilet water. And eventually, her eyes had traversed, what felt like, the great distance from his cheeks to the Magistrate’s hollow eyes and answered his question.
“Not as far as I know, My Lord Magistrate.” Her words brought a pleased predatory smile to his lips. It was nasty and thin.
“That’s all I needed to know.” He clapped his hands and stood quickly. The room was suddenly flourishing with movement as servants entered and came and went and Lyla was ushered to the soldiers who were hard at work themselves preparing for their journey.
Things moved quickly after that. A group of Imperial soldiers twenty-one strong and one nineteen-year-old woman set out for Lyla’s home village within an hour. Lyla was washed and dressed in a fresh tunic and trousers. The men were all mounted on their own horses, except for the ones which drove the carts. In Lyla’s cart, pillows were piled around the high walls with blankets engulfing her as in a nest.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
It felt so stupid to be treated like one of those wannabe princess waifs that she had always loathed. Those spoiled tiny girls who kept their delicate figures by not doing anything for themselves. They came through the village every year with the trade caravans. Now she was being treated like one of those pampered fluff brains.
Every time Lyla had tried to pick something up to help load the wagon one of the men had snatched it away from her and tisked her for not listening to the doctor’s orders. Didn’t she remember that she was to take it easy and rest? Eventually, one came over, huge and powerful, and lifted her bodily into the cart full of pillows. Lyla had been loaded like a sack of potatoes.
Full of indignation, she tried to scramble around the brute and escape. It was sheer stubbornness on her part, but she would not be treated like she was breakable. All the man had to do to block her was to shift his weight from one foot to another. His dark hair and mountain sky blue eyes sparked a memory that infuriated her. He was the one. Lyla’s eyes narrowed.
Out of anger, Lyla lunged for the end of the wagon and if her guardian had not caught her in mid-flight, she would have probably killed herself accidentally by breaking her neck upon impact with the ground. At the very least it would have hurt. Being handsome did not work in this man’s favor as it only pissed her off even more that she was attracted to him. Helplessness caused her to lash out at him who had tried only to help her. The tears that she had been trying to hold back and ignore rained against his broad chest along with her ineffectual blows.
After a few moments, he caught her hands and pinned them behind her back. One hand was all it took for the large man to hold her there against him. The others pretending that they did not notice her minor breakdown turned their heads away and did not “see” what her captor did.
“We cannot fix the past Beautiful.” Her warrior assured her kindly, murmuring his hot breath into her hair. It both calmed her and excited her and her breath caught as his warm masculine scent reminded her of what his lips tasted like. The feel of that mouth against hers. Her breath returned, deep and hard so she kept her face pressed into his shoulder in the hope that he wouldn’t notice the unexpected change in her emotions that had her heart hammering and a warm tingling in her abdomen.
“But we will try to protect the future.” He continued speaking, hopefully, unaware of how she felt. “And I will protect you. Even from the harm you inadvertently would do to yourself.” Leaning back, he looked down at her as she kept her eyes lowered. With his free hand, he stroked her face as he had done in the Magistrate’s mansion before sliding his fingers backward into her hair. That familiar sensation made her heart flutter and she half hoped and half dreaded that it meant he was about to do what had followed the last time he’d done that. “I cannot take away your pain. But I can help you in other ways.”
Slowly enough that she saw it coming the warrior lowered his face toward her own. Oh, Gods. He was. He did intend to kiss her. No. The prim and proper part of her mind thought furiously at herself. But his arms were firm and though she backed against them with all her might, Lyla could not get away from him.
Yet, a less tiny than she would have preferred part of her mind screamed. YES! Yes, yes, yes. And wanted to feel his lips fill her body with fire and passion to chase away the pain, and fear, and sadness. Inexorably his lips drew nearer hers and knowing that she couldn’t get away, she took the chance to look into his eyes.
This man wasn’t of the High Passes. He would think it was normal. And, they were beautiful eyes. Full of sweet and tender affection. Maybe, just a tiny…a little bit of lust. Something that tugged at her soul and twined it with his.
What was she thinking? Why was her brain behaving like a hussy? This wouldn’t do. Her parents would be so disappointed if they knew. They village would have yet another thing to justify calling her a slut with. With the realization that this kiss was inevitable, Lyla sagged in his arms and ceased her struggles. What was the point? Resisting wouldn’t change anything.
But instead of kissing her he simply held her and rested his forehead against her own. They stood there what felt like a long time as the shuffle and bustle of the other soldiers continued around them. An island of calm and stability in an ocean of motion.
After a while, Lyla realized that she felt safer in his strong arms now that she understood they were there to protect her and not to hurt her. He wasn’t intending to take advantage. He wasn’t intending to use her. Gradually the frantic beating of her heart slowed. Just right now. Just this once, Lyla let someone support her and hold her up, something that hadn’t happened for as long as she could remember. Lyla let someone hold her and comfort her.
A great lassitude came over her. If she hadn’t been so exhausted, her mind so bruised from the events of the last few days, Lyla might have struggled and screamed as this strange man lowered her onto her back in the wagon bed. But that was all he did, lay her down to sleep so that she could rest on the journey back to her home.