Spoken

870 60 5
                                    

You must have fallen asleep, your small little nook having allowed you that much. A nightmare assaulted your senses, the darkness of the room and the clattering of iron shackles. The rank and tart scent of blood bit your nose and coated your mouth. But his familiar voice, soothing and gentle as it was, woke you. Your heart leapt into your throat, a sharp pain in your chest as fear overwhelmed you, a need to escape. You growled, instinct taking over as you threw your hands out like claws.

He snapped hold of your wrist, loosening his grip as you fluttered open your eyes. Your anger melted when you saw his sorrow, the dark hues of amber and gold, the gentleness that adorned his eyes. A calmness settled itself inside of you, soothing and relaxing. He had no need to harm you. He hadn't shown you even an ounce of anger. He was gentle. He was good.

Shay let go of your wrist, his hand falling away. "What're you doing sleeping on the floor, lass? I know my bed's not the best I've ever slept on but..." He stood up and waltzed over towards the centered table in the room. "Certainly much softer than a wall." Shay lifted up a wooden plate with food stacked upon it. "I know you're hungry. I doubt that smug bastard fed you much. You're too bony for him to have done that much."

He made his way back over with the plate, kneeling down some distance away. "Come on, now. Out of the corner." He set the plate onto the floor, thickly sliced meats and a chunk of bread gathered onto it.

You eyed the plate for a moment, eyed your jailor, before slowly crawling towards it. You grabbed a slice of meat, hesitating to bring it to your mouth. You still weren't certain how your new keeper would react to your behaviors. What mannerisms did he expect? Were you supposed to thank him in some way? Were you supposed to beg his forgiveness for taking some of his supplies? Your last master would have demanded such.

He released a heavy breath. "When we get to Boston, we can find you some better clothes than that." He sat down and scooted until his back could lean into the leg of a table. "Won't you talk to me, lass? Surely you know how to speak."

You knew how, although it had been a great deal of time since you'd done so. You weren't even sure what your voice sounded like anymore. And what words could you possibly offer him? What words would console your master? What did he even want to hear?

He watched you nibble upon the meat, a brow rising. "Good, is it?"

Of course it was. Wasn't it obvious? Why else would you have eaten it? Why did he care if it tasted good to you? You were a slave... You were a pet...

"Bit salty, I always thought." He shifted his weight onto his arm, bent a knee so that he might drape his other across it. "When we get home, I'll be sure to cook you up something with more flavor. Maybe we'll stop by a pub on the way? Grab a pint and a hot meal." Shay focused on his hand, examining the wrinkles and scars when he half-heartedly muttered, "What am I to do with you? I can't simply leave you in Boston. Not on your own. And the boys think you're mad."

The first few nibbles had flared your hunger, your stomach cringing with a sudden need. You ate down the rest of the meat in larger bites before snatching up the chunk of bread. You bit down onto the dry and hard bread, roughly prying off a mouthful.

"Take your time, lass." Shay sat up, his hand wavered to reach out to you but he stopped himself in time. "Don't want you to choke on it, now do we?" He cautiously got up onto his feet, his gaze lingering on you in case his movements made you uncomfortable. "I'm going to help Liam at the wheel. You get some sleep on the bed." He looked at you squarely now, chin lowered and eyes narrowed. "You'll not be sleeping in the corner again, aye?"

You tilted your head away, the last few chews of your meal dryly sliding down your throat.

He seemed to sigh again, a soft groan when you didn't reply, the heel of his hand rubbing at his eyes. Shay ambled out of the room, boots clomping in rhythmic succession until the door clattered shut again.

As It IsWhere stories live. Discover now