Chapter 5

After finding a few shovels leaning against a small shed near the silo, we quickly begin digging thirteen graves—nine for monks and four for nuns, including Gloria.

"So what's the plan?" Warren asks me, tossing dirt to the right in the growing pile.

Gripping the wooden handle, I shove the metal end of the shovel into the ground before doing the same. "They might have to come with us to camp," I tell him after going over all options in my head.

Warren and a few others nearest to us pause, giving me confused looks. "A war encampment is no place for outsiders, Thomas. Much less a group of religious folk or even women for that matter."

Sighing, I take a take a break snd look back to where the small group of women rest under the shade, eating our leftovers of the previous hunt. There's seven in all—not counting the priest. "I know this, but what choice do we have? We can't drop them off at an ole town we come across, and even if we could the only one we'll come across is Trodden and that's no place for a woman," I explain. "The nearest abbey is a months ride away and that's time we cannot afford. We've already been gone long enough as is, the other men need us back."

Warren and a few others share a look before he gives me a nod. "Alright," he says. "So we just have them as guests until the war is over and then.....?"

I wait a few moments to respond as I try to go over the possibilities. If all goes to plan and we come out victorious, perhaps I could send them with a caravan to ensure safe travels while the others return to Paevia?

"If they agree to that yes. We aren't holding them as prisoners, they are free to leave whenever they'd like," I say with a shrug, "But something tells me that they aren't in a rush to be on their own any time soon. There's no telling what atrocities they had to face," I say, and the image of Clair gripping her waist comes to mind while other women seemed terrified of us as they exited the pantry.

We work in silence until the graves are completed before lowering the bodies into the earth. We then call the priest and nuns over to offer any respects before we move on.

They come somberly—rightfully so—and a few allow silent tears to slide down their cheeks, including Clair. When the reach the edge of the graves, they make a motion with their right hands that I've seen only a few times, touching first their forehead to chest, then each shoulder.

Their priest, Father Anthony, clears his throat. "We stand here in the presence of God as we lay to rest our brothers and sisters in Christ. Because of the sins of others—their greed, lust, and violence—we must put them into the Earth to revert back to the dust of which Adam was formed," he begins.

He only speaks for a while, stating that life and death are both in their God's hands and that he is certain that they will see their departed friends again in the after life as their God had promised such in a holy book before turning to us and explaining that we too could gain the same salvation if we repent of our sims and ask their God to be ours as well.

"You inherited your sin nature for our forefathers and it must be wiped clean in forced to gain entrance into Heaven," Father Anthony says, his eyes landing on my own.

I'll admit I'm curious about his words and this place he spoke about, but the sun will soon set and time is of the essence.

"As much as I am intrigued about learning more of your beliefs, we need to move out and make camp while we still have daylight, Father," I say, adding the last part out of respect.

He frowns but gives a nod and we finish the funeral by covering the bodies with dirt, not having enough time to make proper grave markers.

The women whisper silent words and now their head one final time.

With nothing left to say, we turn around and begin making or way back to where our horses graze, dawns on me that our new traveling companions will not have a mount of their own. I suppose they could follow behind on foot, but what kind of men would we be making women walk?

Turning around, I pause by my horse's side and wait for the others to come to this realization as well.

"I suppose you don't have any horses to spare?" Beth Ann asks, her brown eyes flicking to Rory. He gives her head a slight shake.

"We didn't expect to be picking up anyone along the way," he replies, motioning for her to climb up on his saddle.

Pursing her lips, she looks backwards at Father Anthony—almost as if she seeks his permission. He gives her a frown before nodding and she hikes up her habit before slipping her foot in the stirrup and hoists herself onto the saddle. When Rory follows behind, her eyes grow slightly wide at his close proximity.

The other nuns give each other uneasy looks before Nik offers out his hand to the closest woman next to him and placing the other on his stallion's strong rear, giving it a pat. "Beau here is one of the easiest horses I've ever owned, he won't buck you off—promise," he says gently.

The blonde woman, who appears to be in her early twenties, peers at him skeptically, taking in his large sweaty form. The dirt from grave digging doesn't help either.

Sensing her apprehension, he gives her a smile and lowers his hand. "You'll be safe with me, lass. My wife would skin my hide if I let someone bring another woman harm," he tells her. This time she returns his smile with a small one and accepts his help as she climbs onto his horse.

At this, some of the other men begin offering to share their saddles as well and my gaze begins to subconsciously scan the small crowd for Clair to find her already making her way towards me.

"It was Thomas, correct?" she asks softly.

I offer her a grin, "Yes ma'am it was.

Would you like to accompany me?" I ask, looking over at my mare.

She exhales a sigh and nods. "No matter how inappropriate I believe it is, I would. I have yet to speak to any other of your men, so I figured I might as well ask you out of the lot. Forgive me if that sounds rude," she says, her cheeks heating up from embarrassment.

A light laugh escapes me and I give my head a shake. "I understand. Given what you all have been through I would be hesitant too," I say, offering her my hand.

As she takes it, I notice how tiny it is in my own. Gripping the bottom of her habit, she hikes it up to her knees, flashing her pale skin, and places her boot into the stirrup before pushing herself up and tossing the other leg over.

Before joining her, I remove my blade from my hip and strap it to my saddlebag. As my fingers move quickly through the motions, I look over and cannot help but chuckle as I see that the priest stands by his lonesome waiting for someone to offer him a ride as well until its Warren who finally gives in, seeming somewhat disappointed. "Sometimes having a kind heart can be a curse my friend," I think to myself, remembering all the times it has resulted with him getting the short end of the stick.

When I'm done, I grip the horn on my saddle and hoist myself up, sliding in behind her. I notice the muscles in her back tense as my chest brushes up against her and I do my best to allow what space I can between us. With a click of my teeth, we move out and continue riding as evening begins to set.

With each trot, I can't help but notice the inside of my thighs repeatedly bounce off of hers but she says nothing.

A half hour later, we come across a slow flowing river and I decide that this is as good of a place as any to set up camp. Pulling on the reigns of my horse, I slow our pace down until we come to a full stop. Sliding off my saddle, I land with a soft thud before turning to Clair, holding up my hands to help her down.

Once again, her face turns a shade of red as she blushes and she places her hands on each of my shoulders. Gripping her waist, I left her up before gently setting her down. Behind me, my men have done the same and have already begun to unload their belongings from their mounts—some setting up tents while others begin gathering bows to hunt.

Turning to Clair, I offer her a soft smile. "I'm going to join them on a hunt. I'll have someone pitch my tent while I'm gone and you can sleep there for the time being if you'd like," I say.

She gives me a slow nod, "Yes thank you. That is very kind," she tells me, her eyes glancing over to her fellow nuns.

Turning around, I see that they are gathered together in a small circle, whispering amongst themselves while the priest stands awkwardly to the right of them alone.

"I think I'll rejoin my Sisters if that's alright," she says when one waves her over.

"Of course, see you soon," I reply. She then quickly makes her way over to them and she too joins in. She must mention me, because all of the women turn to steal a glance at me before returning to their small circle.

As I cross my arms and let out an audible "hmph," Rory joins me by my side, never taking his eyes off of the nuns.

"Have them swoonin' already, huh?" he says, elbowing me in my side. Shooting him a side-eye glare, I roll my eyes.

"They're religious women, Rory—probably not even interested in men, especially ones like us," I say, turning around to collect the items I'd need on the hunt. Shoving my hand into the smallest saddle bag, I feel around until my fingers brush against the neatly wound string and pull it out before retrieving the bow and sheath of arrows from the other side, giving her a gentle pat as she rips up grass with her teeth.

"You can use mine, I have a spare," he tells me, placing his hands on his hips as he surveys the area.

I give a shrug and begin to unwind the cord. "I want to try out this new string I got from Vern, thanks though," I say, gripping the maple bow. Pressing one end on the inside of my thigh, I string one end and then bend the wood just enough to slip the other end on before releasing the tension.

Vern is our weapon smith back home, and aside from being one of the finest craftsmen I've ever met, he's always thinking of different ways to improve his goods.

"What animal did he butcher this time?" he asks, sounding amused. Vern was well-known for using various animal parts for his bow and arrows, especially for the strings.

"A sheep," I say, snapping the string made out of treated intestines. "Seems like it'll do the trick. Ready?" I ask, slinging my sheath over my back to where the strap crosses my chest.

Rory gives a nod and I follow him over to the men that have volunteered to hunt. Gale, a man in his mid-twenties with short ashen hair and steel blue eyes, gives us a greeting nod. Rory begins to strike up a conversation with him and the other three men—Michael, Eli, and Sven—while I steal a glance at Clair, seeing her and the others do their best to wash up in the river, scrubbing off any remnants of the past twenty four hours.

Personally, I don't blame her. I know first-hand how vile men can be; seeing how they can butcher others without even blinking or overpower a woman just because they can. Even Cora—as strong as she may be—still has dreams about the time she, Crispin, Laria, and Amiri were taken captive by slavers and that was almost four years ago. If any of these women have joined the countless of others who share the same fate, I too would want every inch of skin they have touched to be scrubbed so clean it turns raw.

"You coming or are you just going to stare at them all day?" Rory asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

Jerking my head towards him, I see that the others have already headed into the woods, arrows already nocked into their bows.

Quickly, I fall into place behind my brother and we join the others who have paused at a pile of droppings. Gale squats down and picks up a few, giving a nod when he senses that they are still warm.

Looking up at me, he wipes his hand on his trousers. "Looks like a few of deer were in the area recently. Probably scared them off when we started to make camp."

Nodding, I look at the two paths that the deer have made while frequenting the area and decide it's best if we split up. "Alright. How about you, Eli, and Sven head down that trail and Rory and I take the other," I suggest. When no one protests, we split up and silently make our way through the pine forest.

We walk for about half an hour when we decide to take a break and see if we can find any more signs of game. Leaning against the base of a pine, I squat down and rest my head against the flakes of bark. Rory mirrors my position on a nearby tree as well, keeping his bow in hand.

"You know that Beth Ann is a sassy little thing. She was quick to tell me that I was stinky when on my horse. Told me to make sure I kept my hands to myself too," he says lightly.

I can't help but to chuckle at his choice of words. "Well to be fair we haven't gotten a chance to bathe all that much while traveling. And digging thirteen graves in this heat doesn't help much either," I say, scanning the forest around us. From how quickly the sun has already fallen, we probably only have an hour left or so of daylight.

He gives his head a tilt as if agreeing with me and searches the woods as well, not bother to lower his voice. "Do you want to make a bet that I can bed her by the end of the war?" he asks.

Narrowing my eyes, I shake my head. "Do I have to remind you that she's a nun? I'm pretty sure she will denounce all that whenever she makes her vows," I say, looking over at him.

Letting out a scoff, he waves me off. "Denouncing something doesn't mean that you still are curious. And besides, what do you know of their vows?" he asks.

Growing slightly annoyed with my brother, I let out an exhale. "It's just what I've heard. Tavern talk and such," I explain.

Rory lets out a huff of air and shrugs. When he goes to open his mouth to spout out whatever retort he's come up with, but I cut him off. "Have some respect for them, yeah? You only feel so drawn to her because she's something you can't put your grubby fingers on," I tell him.

He frowns and examines his hands to see if they are in fact grubby, and from the dark outlines around his nailbeds that I can see from my tree—they in fact are.

"Same goes for you brother. I've noticed you've stolen more than a few glances at that red head," he says, giving a sly smile. "And don't try to deny it."

Smirking, I look once again through the tree lines for any movement. Realizing that we've more than likely scared off any game in the area, I stand up and slip my bow over my shoulder and across my chest. "I won't. She's a beautiful girl. The difference between me and you though is I'm not making a bet if—no, when—I can get her to sleep with me," I state, "Come. Let's hope the other's had better luck than us."

Rory hums and stands up as well, brushing off the bark that stuck to his back. Together we tread back to camp, this time not trying to move silently, and cut the half hour trip down to fifteen minutes. As we emerge into the small clearing, I see that Gale and Sven have managed to take down a small buck and currently skin the animal by the large fire that someone built.

Warren notices that we have returned and gives us a wave. I hold up a finger, signaling I'd join him in a moment and make my way over to me tent to drop off my weapons and grab a change of clothes. With a yawn, I push through the large flaps and am surprised to see Clair sitting on my bed roll, her habit hiked up to her thighs as she examines her knees. She jumps and looks up at me, placing her hand over her hart.

She must have recently hung a lantern, as one sways slightly above from a hook at the tent's peak, casting a slight shadow under her cheekbones.

"You frightened me," she says, letting out a short breath of air. Looking down, she seems to have forgotten that her legs are exposed and she quickly tosses her habit down. "Forgive my indecency."

The grin that forms on my face does so on its own accord and I shake my head, removing my bow. "If anyone needs to apologize it's me. I had forgotten that I offered my tent to you, I should have announced myself I suppose," I say, leaning both the sheath and bow in the left corner. "You hurt?" I ask, motioning towards her legs with my chin.

Meeting my gaze, she nods, "Um, yes."

Feeling the corners of my mouth pull downwards, I stick outside and look for Nikolas, spotting him lounging by the fire. He usually keeps a satchel full of bandages and ointments—labeling himself as our unofficial nurse. Popping my head back inside, I turn to her. "If you'd like, I can take a look at your injuries and see what I could do. I'm no professional by all means, but given life on the battlefield I know the basics," I say.

Her full lips press together as if she has to think over my words. Finally, she gives her head another small bob.

Offering her another smile, I promise that I will be right back and make my way towards Nikolas, greeting the other men as I pass. When I reach him, he looks up at me and brushes his long brown hair away from his face before holding up a canteen of ale. Not able to resist, I take a swing before giving it back. "Can I borrow your med kit?" I ask.

He gives a crooked grin and tosses the canteen over to Warren. "What happened? Got poked by a stick on your fruitless hunt?" he teases, earning an eye roll.

"It's not for me you twit—it's for one of the nuns. And if you had the since of a billy goat you'd probably check on the others and see if they need any aid as well," I shoot back. Glancing over to my right, I see that some have gathered around Father Anthony, listening to whatever he is saying while a few of the others stand alongside Gale, watching him skin the deer. Beth Ann is one of them and Rory stands beside her. He says something to her that earns a small giggle and from the way he turns his face, I can see that he is grinning.

He nods, agreeing with my words, and claps me on the back. "Always putting other's before yourself. That is one of the many reasons you'll make a great king. I'll check on them in the morning—between you and me, I'm a bit too drunk to be any help."

Letting out a light laugh, I shake my head. "Just don't be too hung over in the morning, yeah?" I suggest. He gives a nod and points to his tent, signaling that the kit lays inside.

Walking over, I duck inside and have difficulty finding the bag given the lack of light. When I finally do, I head back to my tent, making sure to pause by the entrance.

"Is it okay to come in?" I ask, not wanting to catch her off-guard again.

"Yes," her soft voice says from the other side.

Pushing through the flap, I duck inside, seeing that she still sits on the edge of my bedroll, her arms tucked around her shins as if protecting herself from me.

Laying the kit by her feet, I slowly kneel before her, trying to figure out the best position to be in order to dress her wounds. Ideally, it would be easiest if she were to lay her legs across mine, but seeing as how that would more than likely make her uncomfortable, I do my best to make due with kneeling.

"May I?" I ask, pointing at the bottom of her habit. She nods, and I grab the hem, gently lifting it up until I am able to see her injuries and allow it to rest a few inches above her kneecaps. It is obvious that the majority of injuries were caused by someone dragging her across what I assume to be the ground—perhaps even a wooden floor—given the way the deep scrapes form diagonally. Aside from the scrapes, there are a few minor cuts and bruises, which contrast greatly against her light skin.

"Your ribs are hurt as well?" I ask, looking up and meeting her ocean-like gaze.

"Mhm," she says, "I fought back so and I guess they didn't like that." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and gives me a small smile. As much as I hate picturing a group of men attacking her—or any of the nuns for that matter—it pleases me to hear that she did not go down without a fight.

Letting out a snort of bemusement, I open op the bag and pull out a roll of fresh bandages, a strip of cloth to clean the wound, and a bottle of antiseptic.

"Let me know if I hurt you," I say as I pop the cork on the bottle with my teeth and dampen the cloth in its liquid. I then begin to gently dab her wounds, taking my time to make sure I do the best I can. As I do, I steal glances at her when I can, noticing that she watches my hands closely. When I move onto her right knee, I notice that there is a splinter in one of the cuts.

It's not too deep, but it'll hurt like hell taking it out of the tender flesh. Pursing my lips, I rummage through the bag until I find a pair of tweezers. Leaning closer, I place my hand on her calf and position her leg to where I have a better view.

"You have a splinter," I state, looking up at her once again. He gives me a simple shrug and I take that as permission to remove it.

Taking my time, I do my best to wiggle it out as best as I can. She does well with the pain, only gripping the woolen cover of my bed roll once.  I'll admit, I'm a little impressed, having assumed that given her and the others upbringings that they somehow would be more...fragile? Weaker?

Once the splinter is removed, I make quick work of the rest—cleansing the torn and raw wounds before wrapping each knee with a bandage. When I'm done, I look up one last time and give her a forced smile, "All done."

"Thank you," she offers, and there is a few moments of silence that passes between us.

Standing up, I dust my pants off and put the bottle of antiseptic back into the bag before slinging it over my shoulder. "I'm going to join the others," I say, tilting my head towards the exit. "Dinner will be ready soon, you're more than welcome to help yourself."

Looking around the tent, she gives me a nod. "Thank you, but I think I'm going to get some rest," she tells me.

Knowing she's had a long day, I don't protest. "Right. Well if you need anything I'll be by the fire for the night. Sleep well," I say, grabbing a change of fresh clothes and my water skin before ducking outside.

Sorry that it's taking me so long to update, I don't have the time I once did when writing, I also feel like I've "lost the touch" I once had? Like I'm not as good as I once was if that makes sense lol. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this! I know it didn't end on the best note