Chapter 11

Our heads jerk in their direction and we scramble to put on our trousers. I hear a thud as Rory loses his balance and curses under his breath. With nothing on but our bottoms on we sprint the short distance to camp—my bare feet complaining as they catch on stones and thorns. Ignoring the pain, I focus on the band of men that stand by our camp fire encircling the few women and men that have yet gone to bed. This includes Beth Ann, Claire, Alma, Darla, and one by the name of Ruth. Max and Nik have a look on their faces that I expect to be anger and embarrassment—the latter because they allowed these heathens to sneak up on them.

The men have blades and axes pointed at those by the fire while others keep watchful eyes on those that have begun to emerge from their tents.

Judging by the poor craftsmanship of their weapons, my initial reaction is to not take them as much of a threat, but with the lives of the women possible at stake I don't want to take any chances. One move and these men could end any one of their lives in an instant.

Claire's wild blue eyes find mine as our sprint slows before coming to a halt about fifteen feet away. She looks petrified and I want nothing more than to tell her that everything will be okay, but I can't. Now isn't the time.

Instead, I focus my gaze to those that stand around them and my jaw tightens, recognizing one of them from the tavern. Of course.

"Know why we're here, boy?" a burly one asks me, his thick fingers gripping his axe.

"I have a good guess," I retort, folding my arms across my bare chest. The few water droplets that have yet to dry cause goosebumps to scatter across my flesh, but with the adrenaline that trickles through my veins I hardly notice. I silently count sixteen of them and compare them to our own numbers.

"Then you can guess what we want," he replies, mocking my choice of words. His brown hair is greasy and sticks to his forehead in the humid night air.

My men shift around uncomfortably, rightfully uneasy given the situation. Normally when a band of villagers that we've upset want reprisal, we can usually dissuade them with a few coppers and an apology. But something tells me that all the copper in my coin purse wouldn't cause them to back down. They want blood.

Max's eyes flicker to mine as he comes to the same realization and I give him a quick shake of the head, silently telling him not to worry.

"Point the lad out and no one else has to get hurt," the man says. "If not, we'll just have to kill all of you to make sure we got the little shite."

Rory lets out a snort beside me, seeming not to be too worried about the situation. "You and your tooth picks for weapons can go to hell. My hard on in the morning could do more damage than those pitiful things." My men do not care to stifle their laughs in the slightest, and even in their immediate danger Nik and Max join in.

This—rightfully, I'll admit—angers the Ekons and they step closer to the two and the women—one grabbing Beth Ann by the root of her hair. She lets out a yelp causing to Rory stiffen, and in a low voice warns him to let her go.

"We don't want to have to hurt your whores, but we will if we have to. Point out the boy and let us do with him as we please and we'll be on our way," he says, scowling.

Biting the inside of my lip, I uncross my arms and feel my hands ball into fists. "All this because one of us made a few comments about a tavern wench?" I ask. I know that my comment is not helping the situation, but I'm confident in the outcome if it came to a fight—I'd just hate if one of the women got hurt for our foolery.

"You watch how you talk about our sister!" another man calls out. He's smaller than their leader but favors him in the face. A bulbous button nose, thin brown hair, and a weak chin.

"I'd be careful if I were you. Don't make me have to kill you and your inbred family over some hurt feelings," I warn. "Do you retaliate every time your sister gets turned down like this?" I ask rhetorically. "What are you, an eleven year old girl? Grow up. "

"This is your last chance. Point out the one who offended Scarlet or die—your choice," their makeshift leader says. He then places his blade to Max's throat drawing blood, not knowing that their reason for being here is right at his fingertips. His men do the same and in moments the women along with Nik have weapons placed at their throats. Claire's eyes lock onto mine but she remains silent, biting down on her bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

To my left, Warren stands rigid, leaning forward slightly ready to take action at a moment's notice. At this point it's clear that words will not be able to resolve anything. My mind scrambles to come up with a plan that will result in the fewest casualties. Could somehow one of my men that stands at their tent—weapon in hand—come up from behind, giving us the advantage? No. At the first sound of blood being spilled, those with a blade at their throats would be slit immediately.

What we need is a distraction. Something that demands everyone's attention. And when Beth Ann lets out a small whimper, it is Rory who gives us one.

Marching forward with such assurance and power, he makes a beeline for the man who stands behind Beth Ann who watches him in confusion—because surely one would have to be a brazen fool to try to attempt anything half naked without a weapon. But he does.

Rory closes the small distance between the two, and upon reaching the man he snatches the knife that is held at Beth Ann's throat and drives it deep into the left eye of the Ekonian. There's a short scream of pain that escapes from his lips before his knees buckle and he collapses—the blade undoubtedly has found its way into his brain.

We all watch in disbelief that someone would pull such a stunt, but I know that we only have seconds to act before the Ekons come to their senses. As Rory retrieves the buck knife, my men converge on those that stand the furthest back. Metal clashes against metal and grunts fill the night air. Nik quickly slams his head backwards into the groin of his captor while Max grapples with their leader.

"Thomas!" I hear a voice that has come familiar to me shout, and my eyes flash to Claire. The man has overpowered her and pinned each of her arms down with his knees. He holds a short-sword and looks around at the others who have also overpowered the three other nuns. Each have paused and it's clear they would rather not take the women's lives. One of his hands are entangled in her auburn mane, holding her head to the ground.

Sprinting forward, I throw my body against his, tackling him off of her. Our bodies collide and he lets out an audible "oof" as the air is knocked out of his lungs. "Get to the tent!" I yell at her, sparing her a quick glance. She crawls backwards a few feet before pushing herself up and running off to where our tent lies. Turning my attention back to the man, I grab the man's blade and press it against his throat.

"I'm sparing your life because you spared hers—at least for a moment. Remember that," I snarl. "Go back to your town and—" I begin, but someone kicks me in my left temple and my vision is momentarily overcome by black spots and tiny flashes of light. Grabbing the hilt of the short-sword that is still in my hand, I slash blindly in the direction of where my attacker is, satisfied when I feel it connect with flesh.

"Ah!" he cries out. Blinking hard, I regain my sight and see that I sliced him rather good on his upper thigh. His free hand applies pressure and he lets out a slew of curses. Regaining my feet, I realize that it is the smaller brother of the leader—the one with the bulbous nose and weak chin.

"I'm gonna gut you like a fish for this!" he says through gritted teeth and lunges.

I easily step aside and watch him as he stumbles forward. He quickly turns around and with his axe, swings it towards my direction. Jumping backwards, I wait for his momentum to be thrown off before taking my turn to strike. With his entire right side now open, I dive forward drive the blade into the man's stomach, give it a swift yank to the right before pulling out. His innards gush forward, causing an audible wet smack as they fall out onto the ground. My nose winkles at the sight. "Who's gutting who?" I think.

"Tom!" I hear Max grunt and I turn to see that he is still grappling with their leader. Both are bleeding from multiple injuries that range from small cuts to the brow to bite marks on their shoulders. The man's weapon lays beside them about fifteen feet away and at this point it's clear that they've been trying to kill the other with their bare hands.

Turning to the one I spared, I see him running in the distance back to town. Jumping over the body of the man I just slayed, I race over to Max just as the man's hands grip around his throat. Max's fingernails rake against the man's skin, drawing more blood. The Ekonian lets out a growl of pain and squeezes harder, causing young Max's face to go blue. Reaching the two, I quickly drive the short-sword straight down into the man's back, causing him to release his grip immediately. As Max's gulps in air, I pull the blade out of the man's back and roughly slit his throat. Blood gushes over Max who now sputters.

"Sorry sorry" I apologize, rolling the man off of Max. If it were under better circumstances I'd find it actually funny. "Get to your tent, there's not many left," I command. Offering him a hand, I help him up and then turn to assess the others. Rory is nowhere to be seen and I assume that he has most likely carted Beth Ann off to safety. Warren, Nik and Sven fight off the last three while some of the others finish off the dying. My eyes scan those that litter the ground and I'm relieved to see that none are our own.

With ease, Warren cuts off the final one's head and spits on the corpse for good measure. Nik and Sven grin and a group of the men head back to the river to bathe for the second time tonight.

No longer needing the short-sword, I toss it aside and make my way over to Gale—wiping the slick blood off my hands onto my trousers as I do. His dark brows are furrowed his he examines a cut on his forearm and he mutters something to himself.

"Don't tell me you're worried about that little scratch?" I tease, finding that the best way to cope with times after a battle—no matter how small—is with humor.

"Hmph," he huffs, giving his head a shake. It will need a few sutures but in a few weeks it'll be good as new.

"Didn't even kill him. Sven ran him through before I got the chance. Not really fair if you ask me," he says.

Clapping him on the back, I look over to Alma and Darla who seems to be in some sort of argument.

"I don't care!" Darla yells—her eyes wild with panic. Alma tries to place a gentle hand on her shoulder but Darla bats it off. "Don't try to make what they have done tonight okay! They're no better than the Ekons if you ask me!"

Frowning, I fold my arms across my chest and continue listening to their conversation which has gained the attention of more than a few—including Father Anthony.

"You mean to tell me that these men—who saved our lives tonight for the second time—are no better than the ones who tried to take them?" Alma asks while the light of the fire illuminates her dark toffee skin.

Darla steals a glance at me before turning her round face back to Alma's. "That is exactly what I am saying. Our place isn't with people like this. We should go straight to the abbey where we belong and wait for new postings," she answers. "God will protect us on our travels. We should have never put our faith in these men."

Alma's face tightens and she takes a slow breath before speaking again. "Darla, I can understand that you are upset. You have every right to be, b—" she begins, but is cut off.

"I know I do! We wouldn't have been in this mess tonight if it wasn't for their whoremongering and drinking!" She then turns to her left where Sven, Nik, and Warren stand with somewhat bemused expressions on their faces. "You should be ashamed of yourselves!" she yells, pointing a small dirty finger at them.

Sven steps forward to say something, but Warren places a hand on his arm and stops him, believing that it's best to just let her finish.

"All you men ever do is sing bawdy songs, drink, fight, fart, and kill! And when you aren't killing you talk about the times that you have, as if it's something to celebrate! You've done nothing but damn fifteen souls tonight," she finishes, shaking her head.

By now, the entire encampment has now come to listen to what she has to say. Rory leads Beth Ann over, his large hand encompassing hers. Even in the low light it's clear that she's been crying. Claire flanks her, an unreadable expression on her face. Her blue eyes meet mine and she tucks in her lower lip as she takes the rest of me in—gore and all. I can't help but silently hope that she isn't agreeing with her counterpart.

Is there some truth in Darla's words? Yes, most definitely. We can all attest to it. Is it selfish of me to want to remain "good" in her eyes so with any luck she might fancy me as I her? Maybe.

Darla's scoff brings my attention back to her, wondering what else she has to say. "I had a feeling that these Paevian's would lead us astray and it seems that you have let them. First sleeping in their tent's, accompanying them to their taverns, now this?" she asks, motioning her hand at Beth Ann and Rory.

"It's called offering comfort," he retorts, but we all know better.

"Ugh," Darla huffs. "And I suppose that soon you'll be bending her over a fallen tree in the woods, hm?" she asks, folding her arms across her chest.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Father Anthony shouts, causing Darla to jump. I've never heard him speak like this before—much less to one of the women—and I'll admit I'm taken aback. "If Beth Ann chooses to give up her vows that's her choice! But we don't need you speaking about it in detail!" he continues. Darla's eyes begin to water and Father Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose.

Taking a breath to collect himself, he looks at Darla with tired eyes. "We owe these men—" he begins but is cut off by Darla.

"We owe them nothing!" she shouts, causing silent tears to roll down her flushed cheeks. "I'm not staying here a minute longer! I'll go back to the abbey by myself if I have to!"

Feeling the need to speak up, I step forward in hopes to offer what little I can to both sides. "You're right—you owe us nothing. It's true that what happened here tonight was our doing to an extent. But it was their choice to take it this far—not ours," I say, pointing to one of the bodies that lay next to me a few yards away. "Having to deal with death as often as we do can make some men indifferent to it—numb even. Do we enjoy having to take lives? Not always, but when a deserving man meets his maker at the end of my blade you can bet your ass I'm satisfied. Did they deserve what happened to them tonight? Would you have preferred I let them do as they pleased and let us be butchered?" I ask rhetorically.

At a loss for words she says nothing, so I continue. "You don't owe us anything, Darla. I mean that truly. And we don't expect anything in return. We're soldiers. We drink and sing bawdy songs, we joke about nonsense during the day and bed women at night because we don't know when our last day is. I don't speak for every one of us, of course—those with wives love them dearly and stay faithful. But what would you have us do?" I ask, tossing up my arms and letting them fall to my sides. "We're men. And those that stand here with me tonight do so because they are some of the best men I know and I trust them with my life. And any one of them would lay down their life if it meant to save yours. If that means so little to you then so be it. If you want to leave, I won't try and stop you this time. I'll give you a horse and food and you can be on your way if you'd like. If you want to stay, you're more than welcome to and we will continue to protect you as best we can—but I won't have you speaking ill of my men again or even Beth Ann for that matter. Understand?" I ask, raising a dark brow.

The only sound the fills the air is the popping of the wood as it burns, causing embers to rise into the air.

Darla gives me one hard look and gives her head a shake. "I understand where you're coming from, Mr. Thomas. But I can't risk my soul for the likes of yours. I won't."

Swallowing, I nod. "Very well then." I respect her determination to remain resilient, but I can't help but feel as if she just signed her own death warrant. Traveling such a great distance—especially in the south where there is an abundance of wild animals—will be no easy feat for her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Darla. You know very well that your best option is to stay with us," Alma says, stepping closer to her.

Darla raises her shoulders. "I've made my decision and I'm putting my fate in the Lord's hands."

More nuns object, begging their Sister to stay but Darla still refuses.

Father Anthony's aging eyebrows furrow and in his eyes I can tell he truly cares about her. "I won't let you go out in the world alone, so I'll accompany you. I'm not much but you have a better chance out there with someone other than yourself," he tells her. I can't say I'm surprised when again the women object. Even Beth Ann and Claire join the small circle, begging both to stay behind.

Sighing, I turn away and with the help of my men we do our best to collect the bodies lying them side by side one another. It would be the polite thing to do to return them back to Ekon, but given the current events we decide it's best to let the crows give their location away tomorrow.

Those that need stitches set up a makeshift camp and get their wounds tended to. More men go to bathe in the river while others wait patiently by, letting the women and Father Anthony talk. It takes everything in me not to try to eavesdrop in their conversation, but with voices being raised and emotions running high, I pick up that more than just Darla and Father Anthony will be leaving us.

"I hope Claire chooses to stay," I say to Rory in a low voice who sits beside me by a tent.

"Me too, brother," he replies, clapping me on the back.

Turning to him, I see that in the moonlight he has yet to wash himself off as dried blood has matted his hair. "Are you worried about Beth Ann?" I ask, curiously. With his steady breaths and relaxed state it seems as if he could care less.

"No," he answers in a deep and clear voice. "She'll stay." His answer is so matter-of-factly that I find myself envying his assurance.

Half an hour goes by until a final decision has been made. In the morning, Father Anthony, Darla, Ruth, and two others will leave and make their way to their main abbey. With nothing else to say on the matter for the night, we all disburse—some retiring to their tents while others who are too riled up lounge around the fire, sharing soft conversations between themselves.

I'd like to bathe and wash off all trace of tonight's bloodshed, but first I need to find Claire. I lost track of her when Beth Ann walked up to Rory and I, taking him by the hand. Warren and Gale had come over, asking about how the following morning would go and which horses we would give them. Given that the Ekon's that died tonight would no longer need their mounts, we kept three—slapping the remaining ones on the rear, sending them home. But before doing so, we made sure to attach enough coin to cover each horse ten-fold with a note sending our condolences for the dead.

"But why? They tried to kill us," Max had asked.

"Because we aren't heartless thieves," Warren replied.

My eyes search the stragglers that still mull around, trying to find sight of her but I can't. There's only one place left she could be, so I make my way to the tent before pausing outside. "Claire?" I call out softly, clearing my throat.

A moment of silence passes by before she answers. "Yes?"

"I-I guess I just wanted to see if you were okay or wanted to talk about anything," I say, my fingers absentmindedly running across the coarse canvas. "I should probably wash up though first if so," I add as I catch a whiff of iron as a small breeze blows.

"I'd like that," I hear her reply. "Could you bring back a waterskin when you do?"

I give her a nod even though she can't see me, "Of course." I then quickly make my way back to the river and wash up for a second time tonight, making sure to scrub any remnants of blood away. I don't wait to dry off completely when I'm finished and find myself trying to squeeze into my nightclothes as the water causes them to stick. Refilling a waterskin for Claire, I hurry back to the tent and duck inside, pleased to find her curled up in my bedroll.

She props herself up on one elbow and reaches for the waterskin as I hand it to her. She drinks deeply before sitting up the rest of the way and pats down her hair. Meanwhile, I turn the knob on the lantern to allow more oil so that we don't sit in an uncomfortable darkness.

She sits and watches me patiently, as if waiting for me to say something first.

"Are you okay?" I ask genuinely, taking a seat onto the ground. I prop my elbows on each knee and grab my left wrist with my right hand to keep balanced.

She gives me a shrug in reply. "I suppose. With how the past few weeks have been going I hate to say that I'm getting used to it. My life being in danger, I mean."

I feel the corner of my lips tug downwards into a frown. "That's actually pretty sad to hear," I say, letting out a short huff of bemusement. "Well consider it a compliment when I say that you handle peril quite well," I add, giving her a small smile. She returns it with a weak one.

"Is it always so awful? Death? It wasn't until recently that I've seen it up close and now I find myself thinking of their faces...watching them twist in pain before finally slipping away," she asks me, taking another sip of water.

I think of my answer long and hard before I realize that I can't give her one. "I've watched hundreds of men die and I can't really tell you yes or no. Sometimes there's nothing but pain and agony—regardless if they are on a battlefield or dying of sickness in bed," I start. An image of my father flashes in my mind and I ignore it, moving on. "Sometimes it's slow and they say their goodbyes and death is welcomed. Other times it's..." I pause, snapping my fingers. "One moment they're here and the next they're gone—kinda eerie if you think about it. One time a man was just laughing to himself after he took an arrow to his heart," I finish, shaking my head. That one would always stick with me.

I look back up to her and realize that she seems to be holding on to my every word. "Did that answer your question?"

She gives me a half smile and nods. "Surprisingly yes."

Tilting my head back ever so slightly, I decide to continue the conversation a few moments longer. "So what Darla said earlier, you all believe that these men are damned? That they are in hell right now?"

She gives me another nod. "In Christianity, you are only guaranteed entry into heaven if you've been sanctified—saved, is an easier word to grasp. If none of those men took that opportunity in their lifetime, then yes—their souls are damned."

"Hmm," I hum, trying to picture the flames in my mind. "And how does one leave this place? Can they repent and go to your heaven?" I ask.

Again she motions with her head, but this time with a shake. "No—that's not how it works. In that case, everyone would live how they desired on earth and then change their minds once they meet their demise. You have to make that choice while you're alive and put your faith in God—not man."

"So let's say I wanted to become a Christian and get saved. I just have to pray to God and then when my time comes I'll go to heaven?" I ask, curiously. Really it seems like a win-win situation. A few muttered words would ensure my soul's eternity, and if it turns out that it wasn't true in the end, I've lost nothing.

"In theory yes, but as I've said before, you have to actually mean it. Hollow words will get you nothing," she says.

I give her a nod and decide to move on. "Well, regardless, I'd like to apologize for putting you in danger tonight. We're lucky that the worst was only few cuts and bruises on our end. If something were to happen to you—any of you—I'd feel responsible. And now, our actions are causing some of your party to leave in the morning," I say, meeting her azure gaze. I want to ask her if she planned on going with them, but I couldn't get the words out—possibly I was too afraid of her answer. "And if something happens to them on their travels...?" I say, giving a shrug.

She leans forward and places a small hand on the top of my bare foot and gives it a pat before leaning back. "I think you're too hard on yourself sometimes.  We knew the risks when agreeing to travel with you and your men, and they understand that the risks will be greater when they depart," she answers. "But that's their decision, and I truly believe that God will watch over them."

"So you're still staying?" I ask automatically.

Her eyes glance down at her fingers as she fiddles with my bedroll. "Yes, I can't deny that I feel much safer if I were to stay with you."

A grin finds its way to my face and I don't try to hide it. "Good," I say, and her eyes look up into mine once again. "I'd prefer it if you did."

She bits the inside of her mouth, pursing her full lips. "Why?" she asks, tilting her head sideways.

"Come now love, I think it's becoming somewhat obvious that I'm growing to care for you. In what way, though?" I ask, giving myself a shrug. It's instinct to want to protect the helpless—I'm a solider after all. As a friend? Yes. As something more? I'd say so, but I always have a soft spot for beautiful women. "Well," I pick up, "I guess that's to be determined."

In the low light I see her face deepen a shade as she ticks a strand of hair behind her ear. A ghost of a smile forms on her lips and she looks away, trying to hide whatever thoughts she is having. "If this is  an effort to woo me..." she trails, still blushing.

I can't help but let out a chuckle. "It's not unless it's working," I say before standing up and stretching. "I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight so I'll take watch. If you need anything I'll be by the fire," I tell her. She nods and as I turn in a heel she stops me.

"Wait," she says and I pause, looking back at her over my shoulder. "I think I'd feel more safe if you slept in here tonight. Can someone else keep watch?" she asks me, sounding almost embarrassed.

This time I feel my own face heat up and I smirk. "I'm sure someone can." Poking my head out the door, I see Max and Nik sitting by the fire in conversation. "Oi," I call out. Their heads jerk in my direction. "Think you two can handle watch tonight?" I ask.

Max's gives me a nod though I'm sure he can't see me in the darkness. "We can—but I want a raise," he jokes.

Chuckling, I turn around and dig out a shirt from my bag, laying it out in the ground so I'd have something to sleep on. Tucking an arm under my head, I close my eyes and can feel Claire's gaze on me.

"Yes?" I ask, still enjoying the fact that she asked me to stay with her tonight.

"I can give you your blanket if you'd like," she offers. "I feel bad enough as it is making you sleep in here with me."

I let out a soft laugh and roll onto my back, still keeping my eyes closed. Resting my palms on my chest, I shake my head. "It's okay. It's humid enough outside to keep me warm—that's one of the worst things about the south to me. You can never seem to escape the heat."

I hear her nestle down in the bed roll and she lets out a soft sigh. "Goodnight Thomas," she says before yawning.

"Night Claire, sleep well."

So sorry that it took me forever to update. It's so hard to write these days. Anyways, I truly hoped you enjoyed the chapter ❤️