Dark Feather: A Dark Post Apocalyptic Romance (6 page)

“I would like that as well,” I said in not much more than a whisper.

“I respect you as a fierce warrior. Because of that respect, I will not force you into marriage. This will be your choice. But I would like you to at least be open to the idea. It is the way of the Cyan.” He turned to face me fully, the intensity of his look highlighted by the moonlight. “But I do not want you to be forced into any match, Tudor, even with me.”

With the intensity of his gaze, and the way my name rolled gently off his lips, I could well believe that he cared for me. A tingle flickered through me. Could I care for him enough to forsake a belief that was ingrained in me since birth, one that danced through my veins?

I spoke in a rush. “I respect you, Rigby, more than I have ever respected any man. But…” I paused, looking away into the icy night and then back to him again. This time I looked at him not as a commander, but as a man.

I studied his profile. His black hair was silvered at the temples, and his beard was stark black against his dark skin. By my reckoning, he was no longer young, but not yet old. His jaw was firm and set, showing the determination that had enabled him to lead a band of soldiers. His eyes, however, stopped me. Respect and caring lingered in their depths; no judgment lay hidden there, and no scorn. The slight twitch of his eye, accentuated by the moonlight, betrayed the worry he felt at my pause.

Drawing a deep breath, I finished what I had to say. “I see in your eyes that you do not look at me as do the other men. The other men look upon me as a conquest, something to boast of in the long evening hours. In your eyes, I see respect mingled with longing. My heart is hard. It cannot yet give love. Yet, perhaps I could say the four words you said to me. The words: I care for you.”

“So you have agreed to be mine?”

I nodded, staring directly into his eyes. “Yes.”

Rigby smiled, his face lighting up with the relief my words brought. He reached out and grabbed my hand.

“Give me time, and give me the freedom to fight,” I added.

He nodded, still smiling before glancing at the sky. His smile turned to a frown, and I too glanced to the heavens. The moon had almost set, and the icy land was plunging into thick blackness. The last stars that had blazed bright in the indigo vault had disappeared. I looked at Rigby, alarm tingling through me.

“The clouds are coming in.” I paused, glancing around the horizon.

“It’s a blizzard,” he finished. “We must run for camp, now.”

Without hesitation, we ran hand in hand. When I stumbled, Rigby pulled me back to my feet and our hands never left each other’s grasp. Despite the desperateness of the situation, I felt exhilarated as we ran. We made good time, leaping over the snowdrifts, and sliding or skidding down the steeper ones. But the storm was faster.

Wind whipped around us, scattering dozens of snowy granules like miniature sling stones that stung any exposed skin. The roar of the wind increased, and just as it was upon us, the wall of the encampment appeared. Kicking our speed up to a full sprint, we jointly vaulted the wall and dropped into shelter behind it.

We crouched behind the shelter. The snowstorm whirled around us, pelting the wall and every inch of exposed skin with snow and ice. Tugging on my hand, Rigby half led and half dragged me down the wall of ice.

Visibility was down, I could not even see Rigby’s torso, only his disembodied hand and arm. Suddenly he yanked me forward, and I stumbled into a tent as he pulled the flaps shut.

“We lucked out,” he said, glancing around. “At least we hit your tent and not one of the other men’s.”

The snow beat against the door, but I was grateful it no long pummeled against my body.

“Yes.” I nodded. “The storm came on fast.” Heading for the mattress of my bed, the only seat in the tent, I stumbled and nearly fell. My right, injured, leg could no longer bear my weight.

Concern etched Rigby’s brow. “Are you all right? Did your wound break open again?”

Collapsing in a seated position, I lifted up the edge of my ice-encrusted tunic, and pulled up my pants. The bandage was red with blood and thickly coated with snow.

I nodded with a grimace. “It looks like it broke open. Either from trying to defeat snow drifts with a sword, or from trying to outrun the storm.”

“Or from a combination of the two,” he replied, moving to the side of the tent and fetching the medical supplies, and some of the water that had been placed there when my wound was originally cared for.

I watched his every move. He looked different. I saw a man who had declared he wanted me. I saw a man who took me in hand and soundly spanked my bottom with no clothing separating his hand from my flesh. I saw a man I respected. Was this a man I could also call mine?

“We cannot let this get infected. I hope you trust my hand.” He smirked. “It can do more than just deliver punishment to a well-deserving behind.”

I did everything to conceal the smile that threatened to wash over my face. “I can scarcely think of a man I would trust to treat my injuries other than you.” I glanced around. The plain, black-walled tent had been my home since I’d joined the Cyan army. Tonight the walls were lightened by powdered white, and the whistling wind buffeting the taut fabric. “I would prefer your hand doing this, rather than peppering my backside,” I said as Rigby prepared the wound wash with warm water and various herbs. “Though I believe the sting to be the same.”

He smiled and turned to face me with a mischievous look in his eye. “Yes. My hand is a master of the sting.”

I turned, pulling the pants away from my leg just enough to permit access to the wound. Rigby squatted before me and carefully unwrapped the bandages.

The wound was inflamed and hot, with pus oozing around the edges. I winced, and Rigby looked grim. With a degree of care and gentleness that surprised me, he washed the wound. Over and over he washed it, until no trace of pus or dried blood remained visible. His touch was gentle. His skill was also clear as he effortlessly mixed, pounded, and otherwise prepared herbs to place on the wound. After the herbs were prepared, he stepped back and fetched a flask from the medicine chest.

“This will burn but it should prevent infection from setting in again.”

I raised my eyebrows and then gasped as he poured the liquid over the wound. Stinging pain stole my breath. As soon as he finished pouring, he smeared the herbal preparation over the injury. The herbs soothed the sting, enabling me to catch my breath again.

“That may clean the wound, but it hurts,” I exclaimed, watching as he began bandaging the injury.

He applied a layer of absorbent cotton. Then he wrapped a narrow bandage of linen over it to hold the cotton in place.

“The linen will help prevent contamination of the wound, and the cotton can be changed to prevent infection from increasing. The herbal preparation will remain good for some days, even in these conditions, and you can change and redress the wound nightly. That will also help keep infection away.”

I nodded, wincing as he began cleaning the cut on my face with some of the liquid.

“Is that really necessary? Just because the wound is smaller doesn’t mean it stings less.”

“It probably stings more. But if you don’t sit still, I will make your bottom sting as well.” Rigby smiled. “Keeping down infection and keeping the wound clean will decrease the severity of the scarring and speed healing.”

His breath was on my face. The close proximity made me nervous as he applied some of the herbal salve to the injury. When his hand dropped, he brushed it gently along my jaw. Then he walked back to the chest to put away the things he had used. Reaching up, I brushed my fingers gently over the wound and let my hand linger along my jaw, relishing his touch.

“It seems strange,” I said, relaxing and letting down my guard at Rigby’s care and gentleness. “I do not feel I have to prove my strength to you right now, yet I worry you’ll find me weak.”

He shook his head and said, “That is where you are wrong, my fighter. When you don’t feel the need to prove your strength, it is then that I see your true power.”

“It always seemed hard to me, that when the men were trained to use the sword, women were simply told how to die on one,” I said, glancing down at my hands. The snowstorm continued to rage around us, providing the only sound in the silence.

Rigby broke the silence after a few moments. “Although I hate the sense of fear I feel seeing you fight, I prefer it to you not knowing how. I know you can kill with the same ruthless nature as I.”

I turned, watching Rigby carefully. “Ruthless nature? Is that said with liking or disgust?”

He sighed, slipping closer to me. He stretched out his arm, and slid it behind my shoulders. Leaning sideways, I rested against his shoulder. A strange feeling of protection and comfort stole over me.

“It is said as fact. I have no disgust towards you,” he whispered. “Quite the opposite.”

“You are different than the men I have known,” I said, glancing at his face, profiled sharply against the black tent. “They treat me as less than the dirty snow on the bottom of their boots, yet it seems you see me as more.”

He nodded. “I do. I see you as a fellow fighter. I want you in battle right beside me.” He moved in ever so slightly, so I could feel his breath against my lips. “I also see a woman I would very much like to be inside of. I see a woman I would like to be with in all ways.”

“I would like that too,” I admitted. My heart soared unexpectedly at the prospect of fighting alongside this man whom I now respected. But my body throbbed with need at his proposal of intimacy. “It would be my pleasure to fight at your side until death parts us,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in completely and kissed me softly. This was not a kiss of force, or aggression, or even sexual need. This kiss was gentler than a light, chilled breeze—but had the power of a whiteout storm.

My breath caught and I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him back with complete freedom. I felt safe with Rigby; protected, but at the same time valued for the powerful woman I was.

He broke the kiss, but only pulled away mere inches from my face. “And what about my other desires?”

I knew he wanted more. In truth, I too wanted more.

I blushed. “I don’t have an answer for that… yet.” I gave the answer I felt I
should
give, even though my rebel soul wanted to be taken by his need.

Rigby leaned forward, brushing his lips gently along my hairline. “Then we had better part ways tonight, since I don’t trust my wants and desires. We have a long journey back to my home village tomorrow. Dablin Becker, the Cyan general, is meeting us there with more reinforcements. Our army is beaten down and we need to rest and rebuild.” Rising softly, he went to the door of the tent. “Sleep well, my dark feather.” He exited without another word, the only sounds being the swirling snow and biting wind.

We had finally reached and settled in to the village of Danis. Our travels were on hold until reinforcements arrived and the injured could heal. Camp was set up for the soldiers for housing so we could also continue to train. But for the time being, we were all taking this time to lick our wounds while Rigby met with General Dablin Becker to decide what the Cyans’ next move would be. We were at a standstill, and rather than the break and rest giving me comfort, as I’m sure it did for many, I felt a constant sense of unease and anxiety.

I stretched out on my mattress and pulled my arms behind my head, taking in the thick, clean smell of freshly fallen snow. I closed my eyes and stared up at the plain ceiling of my new living quarters. When I tried to turn onto my side, I winced. I still suffered slightly from the wound I had taken to the leg, but it was quickly healing, and I expected to be fully recovered in a few days.

I took in another breath and glanced out the small window of my hut, staring at the night sky. At this location in the icy land, the stars were clearly visible at night, and this was something I enjoyed. I loved to watch the stars, but I didn’t love sleeping in this kind of hut.

But then again, it was a hut that all soldiers had to sleep in. As part of Cyan’s army, I was required to sleep in the same location as all the other men. Higher ranking soldiers were assigned to a sleeping unit that was big enough to hold a sleeping mat, a small table, and had enough room to walk around. Others were assigned to group huts big enough to sleep several. Being the only female, I had my own. But I missed the simple tents we used when we went off to battle. The huts surrounding Rigby’s home in Danis seemed permanent, and permanence scared me. I preferred the freedom of the open icy land and the ability to pick up at a moment’s notice.

I would rather ride around the icy land at night on a snowmobile instead of being confined to a living space. I wasn’t born to spend my nights in a small sleeping hut. I was born to roam the world and explore all there was to explore. Sleep never came easy, for my mind stayed busy no matter how exhausted I was.

I turned onto my back after wincing again. I took in another deep breath and gathered saliva in my mouth before spitting it out. After spending so much time out in the icy land, I had become accustomed to the feeling of snow and grit in my teeth. At first, that had bothered me, but now it was almost something I bypassed every day. I just learned to spit it out and deal with it.

The soldier in the next sleeping hut over groaned, the sound easily relaying the pain he was in. He had suffered a great leg wound in the last battle. The battle that had wiped out nearly half of Rigby’s army. I blinked and shuddered at the thought of all who had died. The only saving grace was the last battle was won. Honor had been regained. And as much as I hated to admit it, we’d had no choice but to head back to Danis, where Rigby resided, to build up our forces, heal, and prepare for another war.

Even though I was hardly haunted by my past fights, this past battle stuck with me, and even gave me nightmares. Fighting against a side that was once mine, ate at my soul. I was an expert archer, but the last fight had tested my strength, my mental capacity, and my bravery. While I had made it out alive, half of the army had not.

Now that the battle was over, the courtyard where the army slept seemed much quieter than usual. Everything seemed motionless as everyone was still in a mourning state for the fellow fighters lost. The man in the hut on my other side had succumbed to his wounds from the battle, and even though he had snored like a pig and kept me up at night, I found myself willing to do anything to hear that snore again.

A rustling sound startled me, and I bolted up into a sitting position, my senses heightened. I sat there in the dark, staring in the direction of the entrance to my hut. Through the small slit at the bottom of the cloth door, I saw slight shadows caused by the light of a candle, and carefully got to my feet.

Without making a sound, I moved to the other side of the hut and retrieved my small knife, sharp and gleaming in the moonlight. By now, I had trained long enough to not cower in the face of danger, no matter how large and terrifying it was. Even if this danger was enough to kill me, backing down from a fight would never be an option.

Swallowing a mouthful of grit and courage, I took a step forward, my blade in front of me.

Then the cloth door disappeared in the blink of an eye, and a rider on a snowmobile drove to the entrance. The rider held a lantern high above his head. All I could see was the shadow of the rider and my heart rate spiked, sending shudders throughout my body. We had just defeated the enemy. The last thing I wanted was to fight again.

“Remain calm, Tudor,” came a soothing, deep voice.

I immediately dropped the blade that I’d readied for attack and let out a sigh. “What the hell do you think you were doing, storming into my doorway on a snowmobile? I almost killed you,” I said stiffly, bending to retrieve my knife, automatically cleaning dirt from the blade. I slipped the blade back into its sheath and turned back to face the soldier. “What is the meaning of this midnight meeting? Are we off to battle again after we just fought?”

The soldier, still clad in his battle tunic, slid off his snowmobile and paced into my hut, drawing the cloth door shut. Shaking his head, he placed the lantern on the ground and dug in his satchel for a scroll wrapped together with a silky red ribbon.

“This is for you,” the soldier said, handing me the rolled paper.

I stared at him and felt a lump form in the back of my dry throat. “Who is this from?”

“Rigby,” the soldier said, placing the scroll in my hands.

I stared at him for a long moment.

“I would suggest opening it, as it requires an urgent and immediate response,” the soldier prompted, gesturing to the scroll.

I let out a soft sigh but removed the ribbon. Before I opened the letter, however, I reveled in the touch of fine satin. Then I unrolled the scroll and read through the black script. It was clearly a formal production, as the font of the text was smooth and sleek, nothing like a typical man’s handwriting.

“What is this?” I demanded.

“It is an invitation to his home,” the soldier told me curtly. “He requires your presence in his home for a dinner in celebration of our recent victory. I require your response right away, since the dinner is tomorrow night.”

I looked up at him through narrowed eyes and handed back the invitation. “What if I would rather not go? What if I would rather stay and train?” I said the words, but my heart fluttered at the thought of seeing Rigby again. The journey back to Danis had taken days, and I had seen very little of him during it. I had actually felt physical pain in my heart at times, thinking that he may have returned to the arms of another woman who was doing a fine job keeping him company and rewarding him for his bravery and servitude to the Cyan army. The thought of him being with another made me ill, and I hated that he could control my thoughts and emotions so easily, not even being present to do so.

The soldier smiled wryly at me. “I’m sorry. Your attendance is mandatory.”

“Then why have I received an invitation?” I demanded. “If it is an invitation, I should be allowed to decline it if I wish.” I wasn’t sure why I was putting up such a resistance. I wasn’t one for playing silly games, and the truth of the matter was that I truly wanted to attend.

“It’s with Commander Moss,” the soldier told me. “It would be wise not to deny an invitation to his home. After all, you are a soldier in his army, and you are under his command.”

I swallowed back any further retort, not missing the fact that this time, he’d used Rigby’s formal title. “Fine. I will attend.”

“Thank you for the good news,” he replied. “A servant from his house will be by to pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”

Servant? It seemed odd that Rigby would have a servant. I had only known him as a commander of an army, who slept on cots and ate from tin bowls. The picture of him living as a man of wealth seemed foreign. And why would I need to be picked up so early? What would I do during all that time before the celebration?

“I thought it was a dinner? Doesn’t that mean eating after the sun has gone down?” I asked, blinking in confusion.

“Yes, but Rigby would rather you look more like a woman,” he replied flatly. “Upon your arrival, servants will take you to get cleaned and properly dressed for the dinner.” The soldier looked at me from head to toe. “A bath would do you good.”

I let out a long sigh. “I will await the servant.” I did my best to smile.

“Very well,” the soldier told me, taking a step back towards the door. “Remember that a servant will be around to your quarters later tomorrow afternoon. Be prepared.”

“I am always prepared,” I told him smugly.

All he did was nod, then he swiftly left my tent, jumping onto his snowmobile, spun it expertly in a tight circle, and disappeared into the night.

I took another deep breath and let myself relax on my mattress. Again, I stared up at the ceiling and listened to the sounds of the night, somewhat in disbelief of Rigby.

Rigby was the commander of this army. During my stay, I had learned plenty. He was the cousin of General Dablin Becker. Rigby was in training to be the next general, as he was deemed the next to follow Becker. He had a hand in the training of the soldiers for the most recent battles, and his reputation as a fair, but tough, leader blanketed the camp. Word had spread swiftly about me being ‘claimed’ by him. No one spoke of it, but all kept their distance. Vulgar comments had completely ceased.

I shut my eyes, feeling a bit of sleepy crust nestle in the corners. My thoughts drifted to his discipline and his talk about the need for submission. The stinging correction to my backside had been unlike any sensation I had experienced. Ever since the last spanking, I could only wonder if it would happen again. If I did indeed marry this man, would I find my buttocks constantly warmed? As appalled as I should have been by his display of overbearing masculinity, I couldn’t for the life of me forget the feeling. And if I truly were being honest, I craved it again.

Since that moment, Rigby had been frequently on my mind. Even in the midst of battle, he had been on my mind. His skin was the smoothest I had seen, and it was a rich color, darker than the men of the Penna. Though he had scars, and though his appearance revealed an ice age worn warrior, he also had an allure.

I shook my head and took another deep breath. But even as I nestled down and drifted off into sleep, I found myself thinking of Rigby in every way possible.