A Love Unveiled

Chapter Twelve

           

            Alana was in disbelief. She had tried many times afore to put the golden warrior from her mind but since that day she had stumbled upon him in the forest; his image seemed cemented in her mind.

            He had played her for a fool, indeed, having led her to trust in his word and what good did that do? Her village was now ashes in the wind! What an utter fool she had been! He had deceived her, the despicable blackguard!

            They had warned her that he was a barbarian and she had disregarded caution and the error of that had nearly destroyed Nettie. 

            The vision of Nettie straddled beneath the Norman warrior as he ripped aimlessly at her clothing burned vividly in her mind. She would never forgive herself for trusting the enemy so carelessly. She vowed never again to let her heart interfere.

            As she paced before the closed door, wondering at what the two men could possibly be discussing, she felt her temper flare. She wanted to pummel the Norman’s chest until her anger was spent! She wanted to scream out all the heartache of her village now soots! Innocent villagers were dead because of his men!

            She had detected Lechmere’s hesitation around the Norman and wondered mindfully, did Lechmere fear the golden warrior? She realized than she knew naught of the man, including his name but what did that matter?

            The door opened and she turned to face the Norman as he stepped into the room, his golden eyes burning with an emotion she could not fathom. Lechmere followed closely behind and as he stepped around the warrior, his mouth widened into a satisfying sneer. “Gather your belongings, wench, for you belong to ‘The Fury’ now.”

            ‘The Fury’! 

            Had she heard right?

            Her eyes slanted towards the golden man in her peripheral. Surely this man was not the ‘Fury’. She had heard unimaginable tales of a man whose adeptness in battle bespoke of a man incapable of conquering. Many Saxons died from ‘The Fury’s’ blade; slain without qualm and as her eyes moved fleetingly over that golden face, she trembled within. How could a man, whom she had tended and once detected tenderness within be the man known for sheer ruthlessness and a fiery temper likened to the blazing sun?

            “You stone deaf, wench?” Lechmere growled, “You best move with haste lest I change my mind and keep that bonny kin of yours for myself!”

            Alana stiffened and averted her green eyes from the golden warrior to Lechmere. Her eyes hardened as she blurted, “You will not touch her!”

            Lechmere, taken aback by her sudden brazenness, responded instinctively and brought his hand across her cheek with enough force to knock her off her feet.

            Alana reacted naturally, fueled by the explosion of pain, scrambled to her feet and rushed at Lechmere but in a swift and fluid motion, a large brawny arm stopped her flight and Lechmere felt the tiny prick of a double-edged blade pressing beneath his jugular.

            “I gave you fair warning in mishandling the women-“ Alana felt a tremor race down her spine for the gruffness in his voice relayed his ire and for a moment, she believed this man capable of the tales spoken.

            Lechmere’s throat convulsed nervously beneath the pressure of the steady blade as he glared pointedly at Fallon and said through grounded teeth. “I shall leave you to get better acquainted with your newly obtained slave.” he said this lastly with a leveled look at Alana before gingerly stepping away from Fallon and leaving the room.