Chapter 12

Another warm droplet falls onto my forearm and—like the others—I pretend to not notice. Saying goodbye to some of the women that she's shared years of her life with was difficult for Claire this morning, rightfully so I'd say. Ever since this morning, she's been unusually quiet. From dressing the men's wounds—mine included—to whispering her farewells in the nun's ears. Father Anthony assured her that they would see each other again one day, and after giving him a final hug she turned on her heels and made her way to the horses to care for them.

Sensing that she wanted to be alone, I took my time cleaning up camp and breaking down my tent until it was my turn to bid our departing guests farewell. Shaking Father Anthony's hand, I slipped him a small coin purse that he was reluctant to take. "Please," I insisted, "For any troubles we've caused you and to make sure you can stay somewhere during your travels."

He gives me a sigh before nodding and places the pouch into one of the pockets in his robe. "You're a good man, Thomas, and I don't doubt that one day you'll make a fine king for your lands. God be with you," he says, bowing slightly. I press my lips into a thin line and move down to Darla who refuses to meet my gaze. She stands with her arms folded in her torn abbey and I can only assume that she has given away her new clothing.

The urge to be as stubborn as she is makes me want to waste the energy it would take to say goodbye, but I decide to at least try to leave things with her on a good note. "It was a pleasure traveling with you Darla, I wish you well."

She gives me a snort. "I wish I could say the same," she huffs, quickly glancing at me with her pale eyes. My head automatically tilts back and I give it a shake, moving on to the next. Shortly after, when we've all said our goodbyes and have lent them a few horses, we mount our own and continue south—skipping breakfast all together.

Another teardrop falls, this time onto my wrist and I look down at Claire who sits in front of me on my horse. She wipes her nose with the back of her sleeve and lets out a small sigh. From last night's conversation I assumed that for the most part she was content with her decision about staying with our party. Does she regret her decision? Believe she has made the wrong choice?

Pursing my lips, I lean to my left which causes my chest to press against her and I mutter an apology. Digging into my saddle bag, I pull out the fine cloth I use to clean my sword and hand it to her. She takes it without a word.

Eventually some of the men begin to sing songs but I refrain—partially from the lingering headache of last night's drinks but really, I'm just in a bad mood. I'm not sure why if I'm being honest with myself, perhaps it's because I've allowed Darla's reluctance this morning to get to me, Claire's sullenness, or the weight of the deaths from last night have begun to sink in.

"All three," I answer myself.

Having led the front of our convoy for the majority of the morning, I turn to Warren who has flanked my left for the last hour. "What do you say? Time for a break?" I ask hopefully.

Warren gives me a chuckle and slicks back a piece of hair that clings to his forehead. "Sometimes I think you forget that you're our forthcoming king, Tom," he says lightly. "We can stop any time you wish."

I give a small smile and nod, pushing back my own hair that has dampened with perspiration. "Right," I reply. Through the thicket of the woods, a breeze makes its way through the air carrying the pungent smell of mud, peat, and decay and I know that the murky swamp waters are near. "Getting closer," I say. "Are we placing bets?"

Warren flashes a grin and gives me a nod, "I'll go with five this time. You?"

Pursing my lips, I think back on our last trek through the murky waters and remembering counting four. "I think three for me—let's hope that it's not more. Same amount as before?"

Warren gives another nod, "I'll ask around if anyone wants to match it," he says before slowing his pace and falling back with the others.

"What are you betting on?" I hear Claire's soft voice ask from in front of me. It's one of the first times she's spoken directly to me since this morning.

"Leeches," I answer before further explaining. "We have to cross through some pretty nasty waters home to thousands of leeches—among other things," I add. "We place bets on who is the closest to how many we find when we're out of the water."

"I see," she replies stiffly. For some reason her response leaves me feeling as if I need to explain myself.

"Allows us to have some fun, I suppose. Plus it makes crossing the waters easier if you have something on your mind," I say.

"That's what I'm worried about. Leeches would seem to be the least of my worries in a swamp," she tells me. When it comes to the factor of which animal is the most dangerous we might encounter, a leech would defiantly be at the bottom of the list but we have no other choice.

"Well these marshes and swamps stretch out for miles and miles. If we were to go around them it'd add another week to our journey. Your concern is flattering, though," I say slyly. "If something were to happen to me what ever would you do?" I tease, picturing her small form trying to navigate the southlands.

She scoffs and shakes her auburn head. "See how much money I could make by selling your belongings, for starters. I bet I'd fetch a pretty penny for some of it," she retorts.

I throw my head back in laughter at her answer. "You have a smart head on your shoulders—smart mouth, too." She gives me a soft laugh and I lean forward, pushing a branch out of our way. My chest presses against her for the second time and she stiffens at my contact.

"I used to get in trouble for some of the things I'd say when I was younger—at the abbey I mean. Abbess Theresa would paddle me weekly for speaking out of turn. She'd have a heart attack if she knew some of the things I've said since her passing. Especially since meeting you all," she says, though not in a condescending way.

"Hmm," I hum, trying to imagine Claire in her younger years. I've never been to the nunnery which she lived at previously, only the monastery that we stumbled upon, but I picture it to be a large building made of stone. Every room is cold and unwelcoming and the women who ran it are old and cruel. "What was it like having to grow up there?" I question as we come to the muddy waters of the swamps embankment. "Hold that thought?" I ask as I stand in my stirrups and swing a leg over behind me, landing on the soft ground.

Looking up at her, I see her full lips are pursed together and she gives me a silent nod. I get the feeling that I have may have bothered her by question but it's best to put the conversation on hold.

I hear multiple slaps of boots making contact with the earth as my men dismount their horses, leaving the remaining women in the saddles. Without any instruction, we simultaneously begin to remove our clothing—leaving us wearing nothing but our skivvies.

"Would you mind holding these for me?" I ask, looking up at Claire and holding up my shirt and trousers.

"What about the rest of your things?' she asks, taking the bundle of clothing from me as I stuff my boots into my saddle bag.

Raising my shoulders, I give her a shrug.

"Eh, can't really do much about that. I packed what can't get wet towards the top this morning—the rest will just have to dry out."

Her auburn brows furrow down at me as she examines my body. Playfully, I cover my chest with my hands and turn slightly sideways. "Claire," I whisper critically, "Have some respect. My body is a temple."

She shoots me a look but is trying to fight off a grin. "Well your temple might get gangrenous if you don't try to protect your injuries," she says, pointing the cuts that have yet to heal. The few times we have made this trip, someone has always had some sort of open wound and they have been fine. On the other hand, more than half of us have acquired fresh cuts within the past twenty-four hours given last night's run in and the threat of infection brings unease, but what can we do?

"Well, unless you wish to lead us through the waters while I just sit and look pretty on my horse then I don't know what to tell you," I say, shrugging. She gives a huff and shakes her head and I turn to my men.

"Alright boys. Same as before, just do your best to follow my lead. If you need to spread out, do so cautiously," I warn. It only takes a rotten tree or a turtle hole to break a horse's leg which we can't afford.

Rory, who has been occupied with Beth Ann for the majority of the day joins my side, leading his mare with her on top, protecting his clothes closely against her chest.

"Made any bets?" he asks me in his husky voice.

I crack a grin and hold up three fingers. "You?'

He wags his heavy dark eyebrows. "Seven. Lots of places for those buggers to hide if you know what I mean," he says, elbowing me in my side. "Following you, brother."

Exhaling, I grab my horse's reins and flip them over his head, giving him a soft nudge to follow suit. At first he resists entering the water, but with a few soft words he takes his first stop into the murky waters.

I wish I could say that the water offered some reprieve from the hot humid temperatures, but just like everything else in the south is warm and leaves my skin covered in a mixture of peat and duckweed as I sink waist deep.

"If you want to keep your dress dry you might want to put your feet up there with you," I suggest to Claire who cautiously watches the surrounding area for any sign of movement. Nodding, she does her best to lift her legs up and rests them in front of the saddle's horn while trying to tug at her dress to keep her modesty.  Eventually she gives up and tucks the hem around her thighs before shoving it under her rear, but while doing so she drops my shirt into the water below.

The corners of my mouth rise as I scoop it out and toss the soaking wet fabric over my bare shoulder. No point in giving it back to her. Her face grows a bright red and she mutters an apology to me, embarrassed that she has failed the simple task of keeping my things dry.

"It's no big deal, doll face," I say, trying to ease her mind. As I take my next step forward, my right foot falls in a dip in muddy bottom and I stumble, sinking chin deep in the water. Shaking my head, I find my way out of the hole and nudge my horse to my left, making sure he steers clear. Turning my head, I look back at Rory whose eyes watch mine. "Swing left a bit," I say.

Beth Ann grips his bundle of clothes and sits identically to Claire, doing her best to stay out of the warm murky waters and gives a small squeak as something disturbs the water a few yards away.

"Easy love, probably just a fish," Rory says, giving me a look that says the even he doesn't believe his words.

Chuckling, I turn back around and lead us through the swamp in silence for the next twenty minutes or so. Our pace is slow—especially since we have to find routes that ensure the women will stay dry. Every now and then something with bump into my legs beneath me that I hope are curious fish or turtles. To keep my mind worrying about any alternatives, I decide to pick up the conversation from earlier.

Looking over to Claire, I see that she is currently taking in the treetops and watches two large white birds cleaning their long feathers up above. Her long hair hands loosely at her shoulders save for a few strands which cling to her neck, wet with perspiration.

"So," I begin, gaining her attention. "You were going to tell me what it was like growing up in the abbey earlier?"

She bites her bottom lip briefly before giving me a quick glance. "It was...well. Some days were better than others. My parents couldn't afford to keep me when I was younger—I was the youngest of five—so they thought I had the best chance at life at the abbey. Three meals a day were better than one every other day, I suppose," she begins. "I made a lot of friends, the girls there quickly became my sisters—both in life and in Christ, of course. My parents had always raised us to be religious, so it's not as if Christianity was something new to me and I didn't mind dedicating myself to Him or the church," she tells me.

Chewing the inside of her lip, she gives her small shoulders a shrug. "The nuns there that taught us weren't always the kindest, but their punishments were for our own good—or so I thought until recent years."

My brows furrow and I look over at her. "Punishments? For what?"

She nods, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear while keeping a grip on my trousers. "We'd be paddled, forced to write scriptures over and over again, sometimes shunned. For lying, being disobedient, for speaking out of turn, wasting food, questioning authority, things like that. It wasn't until I got my posting with Father Anthony that I realized that not all of it was for our own good. Some of the nuns abused their authority over us because they knew that they could," she says, shrugging once again. "Sometimes we would have visitors and we would show them how well-behaved we were and how well Christ like we could be. And sometimes, those visitors would stay the night—men I mean. The abbess would turn a blind eye and allow them to sneak into our rooms at night if it meant a few coins in her pocket. They wouldn't do too many terrible things to us, just tell us how beautiful we were and that we were going to make great nun's ourselves one day."

"Is that all?" I ask cautiously, looking over to her quickly. I know Claire has had a rough go at it in life—even within the past few weeks. But having to face such difficulties as a child is despicable.

"For the most part. Sometimes they would...well...they would pleasure themselves while looking at us or running their hands through our hair—things like that. When they were finished they'd leave without a word. None of us ever really talked about it either, now that I think of it. I'm not sure why. Anyways, I've forgiven them. That doesn't make what they did okay, but I've learned to look past it all and still see the beauty in my faith. If I'm ever posted at an abbey for young women I'll be sure to show kindness and try to make a difference."

Her words bring a soft smile to my lips and as I am reminded of the type of person Claire really is. I can't help but feel bad for the poor lass as I compare my childhood and early teen years to hers. While I was handed anything I asked for, Claire was having to deal with abuse in a variety of ways.

"Are all abbeys and monasteries like that?" I ask, hoping to see some good in these places.

She gives me a shake of her head. "Not all of them, no. But some are more corrupt than others. I once overheard Father Anthony speaking to a visiting Father from another church about the things he experienced when he was younger and from what I did hear..." she trails, shaking her head. "It made me sick to my stomach. It seems that the monasteries for young men can be far worse than the ones for us."

Pressing my lips together, I try to ignore the anger that is beginning to stir inside me. Every child deserves to grow up feeling safe and loved. I know that can't be the case for everyone and isn't for many in our world, but you would think that children being raised by people who preach about loving one another and putting others before themselves would guarantee the best childhood they can offer for their wards. Clenching my jaw, I try to push the thoughts out of my head.

"You seem upset," Claire states sounding confused. Looking over at her, I find that her blue eyes watch me closely and I give a sigh.

"Yeah I guess I am," I reply. "I just hate that you had to experience that. That any of you had to. And I hate that more will in the future."

She gives me a slow nod of understanding. "Well, maybe you can make a change when you become king. You have the power to do so," she suggests.

I'll admit that over the countless of matters I've spent hours thinking about—the ones where I've sworn I would make it a point to address when I become king, issues amongst the churches has not been among them. Ignorance on the subject is my excuse, but now having been informed about the atrocities I refuse to sit idly by and allow more abuse to take place.

Looking over to Claire, I set my jaw. "You have my word that I will. I don't think my father realizes that such things went on in the churches, if he did he would have at least begun an investigation," I say, giving my head a shake.

She gives me an understanding nod. "It's okay. From what I've heard of him he seems to be a good man, I'm sure he would of as well," she says. "You once said he was sick?" she asks softly. I suppose it's her turn to ask the questions.

Swallowing, I tear my gaze from hers and focus on the duckweed that swirls around us in the water before looking ahead. "Yeah, he is," I answer, getting a better grip on my horse's reins. "Not really sure with what. Consumption, dysentery, who a mixture of both?" I ask rhetorically. "He wasn't doing any better when I left..." I trail, trying to block the images of my frail father laying in his bed. I hope Crispin has been staying with him or Cora at the very least. Someone other than the nurses should stay with him overnight.

"Do you think he'll improve?" she asks after a while.

The bottom of my foot comes in contact with a slippery log underwater and I make sure to direct my men around it before answering. "I hope so but I can't be certain. He seemed to be getting better for a while until he suddenly took a turn for the worse. That's why I rode back to Paevia—we weren't sure what to expect. Wars don't wait on dying family though, so I had to come back after a few weeks," I say with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," she offers after a moment. "For what it's worth, the Lord draws nigh to the broken hearted. He's with you in this sadness and the sadness to come."

A ghost of a smile forms on my lips and I give her a thankful nod. "That brings me some comfort, thank you," I tell her. To be told that someone—fictional or not—knows how I'm feeling and the stress that weighs on my shoulders somehow helps make the load feel lighter if only slightly.

Over the next few hours we make our way out of the sultry water and finally find solid shoreline when the sun begins its descent. Seeing a clearing large enough to make camp among the cypress trees. Carefully, I place on hand around a large knott and pull myself out of the murky waters and lead my mount to a trunk, trying him off. Looking up, I take Claire's hand and help her down trying my best to keep the silt that covers my skin off of her.

"Do you think you and the other women can start collecting some moss for the horses?" I ask as I take my bundle of clothes back from her. I don't like sending her off alone but we have a lot to do to start setting up camp. When she gives me a nod, I ask her to not go too far and then walk over to my men who have begun counting leeches.

"How many so far?" I ask Warren and Rory who helps remove one from between his arse cheeks—bastards love dark crevasses.

"Two off of Warren, this'll make three. Still have to check his precious gems though," Rory says with a deep chuckle.

Looking over my shoulder, I see that the women are about fifty yards away collecting moss and deem it safe to quickly check below to see if any leeches have found themselves a meal out of my Johnson. To my dismay, on has and I quickly squeeze it by the head, ripping it off and tossing him back into the water. Blood begins to slowly seep from the circular spot where he was feeding and I frown, trying my best not to get queasy. I can handle the sight of blood easily, but when it comes to such a delicate area not so much.

When the women return, we've just about scoured ourselves free of the little devils and paid our dues—more than half of us were wrong, including myself, thankfully coming in at only two leeches in total. As the women collect moss, I instruct some of the men to immediately start a fire to begin boiling water to drink for ourselves and the horses while the rest of us try to find a dry enough spot to pitch our tents. It seems as if everything in five mile radius is damp due to the humidity.

Once enough moss has been collected, the women begin caring for our horses without any of us having to ask—even removing their saddles to prevent chaffing and I'll admit I'm impressed with their initiative. Once enough water has been cured, the women begin to water them as well. Filling our water skins, another batch is started to use for cleansing our wounds as bathing is not an option for tonight.

With the sun setting, the temperatures have begun to drop slightly though it doesn't offer much reprieve. As I toss my wet shirt over a low hanging branch to dry, I hear a sequel of laughter and look over to see Beth Ann doubled over. Rory stands next to her—his hands on each hip—sporting a smirk. It takes me a moment to notice the white splatter in his hair and now slowly falls onto his left shoulder. Claire and a few of the men laugh as well, and it takes Gale pointing above them that I see two large egrets resting on a cypress branch to realize what happened.

Grinning, I make my way over and hand my brother my water skin who all but snatches it from my hand. Unscrewing the cap, he dumps the contents on his head, only managing to wash about half of it away. "It's going to take more than that to get all of it out," I tease.

Muttering a few curses under his breath, he flashes Beth Ann a quick look of apology. Still giggling, she shrugs and turns back around to finish watering his mount.

"Ready to find some food?" I ask Rory lightly. "We might be able to get some snares out while we fish."

"I'd rather wash the shit from my hair, thanks," he replies stiffly. His gaze shifts to Claire and he gives me a crooked grin. "Why don't you take Claire with you? Teach her a few tricks?" he suggests.

Raising my brows really quick, I look over to her. In truth, she'd probably slow me down in the long run but I wouldn't mind spending more time with her to pick her brain. "If she's up for it," I say in a tone that sounds more so like a question.

"I've nothing else to do here. I suppose I could join you," she replies, her dark eyebrows furrowing slightly. I can tell she's unsure of herself—perhaps she feels unsafe in these parts? Or is it me? I decide to go with the former for my own sake.

Flashing a grin, I tilt my head towards my tent to where the needed supplies lie. "Come on then, lass."

So sorry for the how long it takes me to update! Work and whatnot doesn't allow me to write like I once did. Anyways, I really hope you enjoyed!