Chapter 15

The men give a yip of glee as they see me join the ranks of those dancing. Claire's hand is still in mine before she turns to me, letting it drop to my side. Putting her hands on her small waist, she hikes up her dress to her shin and she begins bouncing up and down, shuffling her feet to the beat before rotating in a circle.

Grinning, I join in the jig that everyone and their pig knows and Paevia. We clap, we laugh, and we even sing the songs we all know while listen in on the ones we don't. Claire makes her way towards me and rests her hand on my shoulder while reaching for my wrist. "Let me show you something. Follow my lead," she says, directing me to grip her waist. Looking down, I give her a nod and we dance as one. The other women have found partners and now teach the same movements to them. The music has slowed down a few beats but remains a fast enough tempo to not be considered intimate.

Wanting to learn, the rest of the men partner up save for those making music and I laugh as I watch Gale and Sven struggle—each stepping on the other's feet.

"Where'd you learn this?" I ask as I spin Claire around swiftly.

"Sometimes when Father Anthony would travel to another monastery for business, we were left to our own devices. I guess this is the result," she says over the claps as the song ends. Another tune begins to play, this one fast and lively. The heat of the night has taken its toll on me and I decide not to ignore the rest my body asks for.

"I'm pretty hot, I think I'm going to sit down for a while," I tell Claire. She offers me a small wave and heads over to the women. They have now formed a large circle that skips clockwise while someone takes a turn in the middle moving to the beat of the music. Some of the men join in while others take a break as well, fanning their faces as sweat pours from their temples.

I notice that in the midst of things, I failed to realize that Rory and Beth Ann are no longer in our presence. I turn in the direction of his tent and notice there is a soft light coming from within. Shaking my head, I turn my focus back to the others and try not to dwell what might be occurring between the two. I suppose it's not any of my business.

The song ends and more take a break, leaving only a few others still dancing, Claire being one of them. As she bounds and leaps around swaying her hips—her bare feet digging into the earth—I try not to stare at the movement of her cleavage but at the end of the day I'm a man after all. I try not to be too noticeable, switching my gaze from her to the others, but they always find their way back to her small shapely form. When there is a disturbance forming in my trousers my face falls and I do my best to adjust myself. Someone snickers to my right and my head jerks towards them, finding Warren grinning slyly at me.

"You dog," he says, laughing again.

Frowning, I push his arm with my free hand but he hardly budges. "What do you expect? You've got beautiful women swinging themselves around all over the place..." I trail off.

Warren tilts back his head and lets out a belt of laughter. "I'm only busting your balls, Tommy," he says, causing me to smirk. "All is well with you and Rory?"

Nodding my head, I turn away from him and look back at Claire who has since stopped dancing and now chats away with her friends. Since Warren had taken a breaks it only leaves a few left playing. "Aye. I think we've both come to a better understanding of each other tonight. Kind of relieving actually," I say with a small exhale. It's nice to know that he understands how I finally feel on the subject of my coronation and all that follows.

"Did you give him your blessing about him and Beth Ann then?" he asks, looking behind him at their tent.

Letting out a huff, I give my head a shake. "I'm not really sure?" I state though it comes out as more of a question. "We never really talked specifics, but it was decided that our guests are adults who can make up their own minds. I just hate that it makes me look like an ass to the men. What kind of leader am I if my own brother can't even obey me?" I ask.

Warren offers a smile and grips my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Tom," he begins. "You could kick a litter of puppies then spit in an old woman's face and we'd still think the sun shines out your ass." I give a low chuckle and he continues. "We're your men, and not by chance but by choice. Remember that the next time you want to get sensitive—respectfully, your grace."

Rolling my eyes, I smile softly and look to my right at him, noticing his light hair sticking to his forehead while the corner of his mouth is red due to the jawharp. "You're right, thank you for the reminder my friend." His eyes leave mine and turning before him and I follow his gaze. Claire makes her way towards us and bows her head at Warren.

"Thank you for the music. I had a good time," she says kindly.

Warren stands up and nods to her. "It was my pleasure Claire. It was fun watching you all, especially seeing this buffoon struggle to keep up," he says, glancing down at me. Smirking, I gain my feet and am relieved that the disturbance is gone. Claire might be naïve about the ways of men but I'm sure she at least has that knowledge.

"Maybe if you didn't switch up the music every few seconds I wouldn't have to," I retort.

Warren and Claire chuckle and she looks at him, noticing the irritation around his lips. "Is your mouth alright? I can try to find some herbs to alleviate any pain," she suggests. "Is there any dog tallow or fever few in the area?" she asks us. There isn't, but I appreciate her concern even if it meant foraging in the woods at night for Warren's sake.

He offers a smile but gives his head a shake. "No my lady, I'm alright. It'll be gone by morning."

Those around us begin to wind down for the night—most heading off to bed. Warren gives a yawn and stretches. "I think it's time to hit the hay. Good night," he bids before turning and ducking inside his own tent leaving the two of us standing alone.

"Do any of your wounds need tending?" she asks, glancing at the cuts and bruises I've accumulated over the past week. Looking down at the site where she once gave me sutures, it appears to be healing relatively well. In the past I've let injuries get much worse before tending to them again but in truth I wouldn't mind the intimate closeness it would provide between the two of us.

"Might as well—lots of nasty things to catch out here," I say lightly. I go and grab the needed supplies and meet her over by the fire. There are only three others still lingering about—two seem to be in a soft conversation while the last a man named Uriah who is swaying a few feet away, clearly drunk. Noting that the flames have died out some, I hand her the small bag. "I'm going to grab some wood, I'll be right back."

Passing by Uriah, I place my hand on his back. "You alright mate?"

He gives me a nod causing his red curls to fall into his face. "Right as rain. Say, you know where my tent is by chance Tom?" he asks, hiccupping at the end.

Smirking, I look around for his tent and point at it when I find it—he has one of two two only brown canvases. "Looks like it's over there by Nik's. Drink some water and rest. That's an order," I say, giving him another pat. Tomorrow is going to be rough on all of us, especially him. Even though we all partook in drink tonight we still are soldiers—hungover or not. I watch as he shuffles off and I make my way over to the pile of wood that was collected earlier in the day. Placing what I can hold in my arms, I carry two logs and a bushel of branches back over to Claire and place them in the flames, satisfied when they catch alight quickly.

Sitting down across from her, I fold one leg in front of me and stretch out the other before letting her get to work. She starts with the larger cuts first, dabbing them with a clean cloth and alcohol which burns but is welcomed. "You have a lot of scars," she states as she begins on the smaller abrasions. "What are they from?"

Thunder rolls in the distance and silently hope that any rain holds off. I give a shrug as she grabs my bicep and studies an inflamed cut. "Oh lots of things," I say lightly. Hunting, fighting, being clumsy, training, previous wars and such."

Her blue eyes glance up at me and she lets go of my arm, digging into the bag for a fresh bandage. "Fighting?" she asks. "With your hands?"

"Aye—mostly with my brothers when we were younger but I've been in a few at some taverns. Always over something insignificant I'm afraid to admit."

She cracks a small smile and looks up at me. "Like?"

Smirking, I roll my eyes. "Oh you know...words being shared over a loss of a drinking game, a man bumping into Crispin and not apologizing, girls, roughhousing taking a more serious turn, hurt feelings."

Nodding slowly she glances down before tending to my cut again and dabs on an ointment kept in a small jar. "And what about the one on your abdomen? Beneath your...naval," she says cautiously. It's clear that speaking of anything close to my nether regions makes her uncomfortable and I make it a point to stifle my laugh.

Looking down through the dark hair I find the pale white scar and run over it slightly with my index finger remembering the incident. It was a cold winter morning on a frozen battlefield and nearly cost me my life. "A man from Vellyn gave me this when he tried to gut me. I was twenty I think?" I ask myself, tilting my head. "Anyways, I'm lucky he didn't know his ass from his elbow and missed. Had to spend six weeks in our medical tent."

She offers a slow nod and wraps my arm tightly with the cloth. "I see. I think I remember hearing about that war when I was younger—crazy to think that I'm here sitting with you talking about it," she says before a frown finds its way to her lips. "What happened after? To him I mean,"she asks softly already knowing his fate.

"I made sure that it wouldn't happen again—to me or any of my men. War is war. You have to do what you have to do for your country—even if there are times you don't want to, whether that be march through a stinking swamp or take a life of someone who was only following another's orders," I say, holding her gaze. From the time we've shared together she has made it clear her opinion quite clear on the subject.

"But you don't have to kill. I believe that if you sat down like human beings and spoke until an agreement is made you could save thousands. Not even in this war but those to come," she states, tying off the bandage.

It's an idea, that's for sure—but it has been done in the past to no avail. Mankind is weak. Greedy. Our minds ever changing. I give my head a shake, "So whatever deal is made can be broken on a whim?" I ask rhetorically. "Actions speak louder than words. No one respects a soft leader. To have peace there must first be violence." It was an old saying my grandfather would say and it took me a long time to comprehend it's truth, just as death is a meaningless concept without life.

"You say soft, I say kind-hearted," she mumbles, now inspecting the scabs on my hands. "Apologies. I don't mean to overstep my place," she adds. Her fingers lightly prod my skin and I watch as her fair eyebrows furrow before releasing me.

Giving a small laugh I shake my head. "You don't have to apologize every time you say something you think I won't like. I understand that the church might have taught you that women aren't allowed to have opinions but on the contrary I think its women who has the clearest of minds." There is also nothing more attractive than a woman speaking her mind, that's for sure. "Besides, I don't punish people for merely disagreeing with me. What type of man do you think I am?" I add playfully, but by the way her eyes darken I immediately know that now is not a time for joking.

"No," she says softly. "You just celebrate in the aftermath of slaughtering those that did."

Thunder rolls again, closer than before and I can smell the rain on its way—even through the stench of peat in this swamp.

Her eyes water briefly and she blinks, trying to wick away any moisture but a single tear falls and slides down her cheek. I take my thumb and wipe it away, still lightly holding her face in my own hand. "I know warfare is hard to think about love, but at the end of the day there are no winners on either side. We all lose—whether that's our minds, our pride, our humanity, our friends, or our lives."

She looks up at me and another tear drop finds its way down her face, dripping of her chin and landing on my thigh. "You're right, and I'm sorry. The whole thing just saddens me. Thinking of the horror of it all...the terror you all feel as you face each other, the last thoughts before a man giving his last breath, the families left behind, and the souls that are damned. All for one man's greed," she says, taking a slow breath.

Frowning, I sit back. Is that what she thinks of me? "Do you think I'm greedy then?" I'm sure she doesn't—but she has peaked my curiosity.

The first few droplets of the storm begin to fall.

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and shakes her head. "No. I just think you're lost." Standing up, she quickly turns and makes her way inside our tent. Lost? Glancing over at the two men who were in conversation earlier, one—named Vikus—gives me a shrug.

"She's got a point. Try not to dwell too much on her last comment though," Vikus says, standing up himself. He then begins to grab clothing that was left out to dry and I join him while the remaining man—Abraham—goes to bed.

"You think Claire has a point then," I state as I fill my arms with what I can carry. The cool sprinkles offer reprieve and I do my best to move swiftly—it's only a matter of time before the sky opens up.

"Aye. Put yourself in her shoes. She's never had to sit down and go over battle plans the night before mass bloodshed, or stand in formation while the man next to you whispers prayers to his family back at home. Step over bodies as you identify the dead and smell the shit that lingers in the air after their muscles have stilled. Return home only to fight again because the victory you claimed didn't sit well with the fallen's allies. To her, we might as well be a fools fighting over a few grains of wheat when we can grow our own fields back home. Perhaps even literally. Of course, it's not that simple though is it?" he asks, picking up a pair of trousers.

"No, it isn't," I agree with a shake of my head. We walk over to his tent and we toss everything inside before collecting the remaining clothing articles. By the time we are done, the rain has transformed to a sprinkle to a steady fall.

A horse nickers in the darkness—perhaps welcoming the cool water as we are. "Well, I'm off to bed I suppose. Good night Vikus," I bid, adding "I appreciate you talking to me."

"Goodnight Thomas," he says shaking my hand and the two of us head off in opposite directions to our tents.

Once locating my own I duck inside through the flap to find Claire in my bedroll, her back towards me as she faces the canvas wall. I debate on speaking to her but what is left to say?

Sighing I do my best to lay out my clothes on the ground in hopes of them being dry in the morning. My pants stick to my legs but decide to leave them on given Claire's presence and for a brief moment find myself wishing she was staying in another tent. "You've slept in far worse conditions," I remind myself as I grab my spare blanket. Placing it a few inches beside her I blow out the lantern leaving us in complete darkness.

Closing my eyes I focus on the rain as it patters overhead. My head spins slightly as the alcohol I've consumed tonight still lingers in my body. I hear Claire's body as she shifts and rolls over and I have a feeling she is now facing towards me and I hear her sniffle. So badly do I want to speak to her—crack a joke in hopes to make her laugh, perhaps offer an empty apology—but I don't. Instead I allow the wind and rain to lull me to sleep and I push all thoughts of her from my mind.

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