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Cold.
She thought she had known cold, but that was until it manifested itself in that dreadful winter's eve when the screaming winds sliced the gaps between the iron bars of her moving prison.
With nothing but a thin, wool blanket to shield herself from nature's wrath, she curled against the corner wall, praying for warmth and if not that, death.
Her mind and its prayers were jostled when the horses pulling the cart which carried her cage made an abrupt stop.
"Shelter. Snow. Woman."
The instinct to survive kicked in and she shuffled to the bars to better hear the voice that uttered the broken command stifled by the wind. But the man didn't speak again.
A flicker of torchlight illuminated a sphere of forestry and a few tall soldiers before it bowed at the wind's ferocity and flickered out. Whoever had thought to light a torch in this storm was daft, but then such a thing could prove beneficial given she summon enough cleverness and stealth to escape.
Despite the lack of light, she could make out some movement within the shadows.
The cage rattled as a figure stood before it and unlocked it, but lost hold of the door when the wind ripped it from his grasp. He opened his arms wide as if to catch her should she bolt past him. Though tempting as it might have been, only a fool would brave this weather in a dress and a blanket.
"Come!" the man shouted as he waved her forward with equal malice and impatience.
After but a moment's hesitation, she stepped out of the cage and stumbled. Limbs flailing, she reached out to steady herself and caught hold of something firm. Her feet found purchase and she raised her gaze to the thing she clung to only to find it was a knight's arm.
Following the length of his arm, her eyes focused on the scowling face of the very man who had found her and forced her into the cage.
The howling wind shifted and momentarily blinded her with snow, but her hand acted on its own accord and struck the man in the face with precision.
He grunted and strong hands held her firm. The tips of his fingers were almost painful as they dug into her forearms and led her through the storm toward a flickering light within the veil of darkness. 505Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsPdmlx3ORq
Underneath canopies of trees, he led her into a cave where men were setting up camp for the eve. Though the face of the cave was turned away from the brunt of the wind, the rocks gave off a chill that rivaled the gale outside.
"Be still!" the man growled, holding her at arm's length.
She kicked out, aiming for something other than the thigh she hit. Muttering something beneath his breath, he pulled her against his chest to keep her from improving her aim.
The torchlight illuminated golden flecks within his vivid green eyes as he held her, and threw shadows over the hollow of his cheekbones. His square jawline was accented with black whiskers that matched the tendrils of curls splayed across his forehead and temples.
If she had not hated him so, she may have been attracted to the knight.
His eyes narrowed into slits as he glared down at her struggling form.
"If you refuse to stop fighting, I will throw you out in this storm."
Curling her lips into a snarl, she tossed her head back and met his glare for glare. "The storm would be preferable."
"Your desire is my command."
In one swift of sweep, he hoisted her up onto his shoulders. She gasped as he moved toward the entrance. Fear clenched her chest.
Surely, he did not intend to toss her out in the storm?
"Sir Dragomir." A man clad with armor approached the knight that carried her.
The knight stopped and growled, "What, Theo?"
"The baron wants his bride delivered alive."
His shoulder stiffened beneath her. After a moment, he released her and barely kept her from falling on her face.
"Baron or no baron," muttered the knight, low against her ear. "If you put my men in danger, I shall have you left for the wolves."
She straightened her spine and defiantly held his gaze unflinching. "Better to be fed to wolves than to suffer your touch."
The ire in his gaze intensified, but he retracted his hands. A strange sense of loss startled her as his fingers slipped from her.
She steeled herself against his scrutiny and went to a spot furthest away from the men, but not so far that she could not feel the warmth of the fire they had started on the rocky floor.
She did not want to lie down in the company of men, but she was too cold and too tired to remain upright. Eyes closed, she fought off the fear of what was to come and the imprint of the knight's touch on her arm that was seared into her memory, and tried to sleep. As the minutes trudged into hours, the cold seeped into her bones and sleep eluded her.
The crunch of rock against boots made her open her eyes. Crouching down next to her, the knight who had kidnapped her, Sir Dragomir, maneuvered his arms around her and brought her close to himself before she had a chance to react.
"If you remain calm, I will help you warm up."
Uncertain of the implication behind his words and afraid of how she might respond to his touch again, she squirmed, but he tightened his hold.
"Release me," she demanded with half a mind to lay teeth into the arm that held her.
"Foolish girl," he muttered. "I will not have you die by chill. T'is body heat that you need as I do not have any extra blankets to spare nor any clothes."
Seeing the truth behind his words, she stilled, though she begrudged him for pointing it out. After a moment, she allowed herself to relax against his chest, but she mindful of not touching him more than what was necessary.
The cave had quieted once the knights had laid down to sleep. If it wasn't for the storm outside, she would have attempted escaping.
"You wouldn't survive the storm," he said, guessing her thoughts as he watched her gaze cross the cave.
She pursed her lips. "I'm not unaccustomed to adversity, knight. Neither am I without title."
"Nor am I, Lady Arya," he muttered. "And such formalities are best kept when one's arms are holding another's betrothed."
She felt the warmth creep up her neck, but she told herself it was not from the reminder of their embrace, but rather the rage that he stirred dragging her unwanted fiance into the conversation.
After that, they fell into silence.
The warmth radiating off his skin alleviated the shivering and eventually, she felt warm again. When his chest rose with slow, rhythmic breaths, she risked a glance at his face. If it were possible, the man was even more attractive now that the anger and seriousness had vanished. Her gaze flickered to a stray lock from the unkempt curls that hallowed his head. She reacted before she could think better of it and gently brushed it off his forehead.
His eyes snapped open and she was caught with her hand poised in midair.
Although his expression was undecipherable, she felt his arms stiffen beneath her. Wordlessly, for what could she say to justify the intimate gesture, she turned on her side away from him and stared at the rocky wall.
What had driven her to do such a thing?
She detested the man.
He had been tasked with delivering her into the hand of the enemy who's hand she was forced to marry.
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Morning came swiftly and they were back out in the frigid temperatures, ready to embark on their journey once again. She longed for the heat the knight had provided her the night before, but she was too proud to admit her discomfort as she was led to the cage.
The man Dragonmir had called Theo took her hand to help her up into the cage, but hesitated as Dragonmir approached on a black horse.
"She will ride with me," Dragonmir instructed, tugging on the reins so that the horse was turned sidelong for her to mount.
Theo frowned. "Sir?"
"Help her up," he commanded, gruffly.
"I assure you, I'm fine in the-"
"T'is not a suggestion, Lady Arya," said Dragonmir, cutting her off. "I am charged with your safety and will not deliver you encased in ice. Now, come. "
She bristled beneath his order, but rather than take offense and save her pride, she allowed Theo to help her up.
Every sense heightened at the nearness of him as she slid onto the horse in front of him. Though she tried to keep her back rigid, the bumpy ride made it impossible to avoid touching him. She glanced over her shoulder at him, but his eyes were trained in front of them. His jaw tensed.
"Do you make a habit out of staring at people, Lady Arya? Or only at handsome knights?"
Did he jest?
She glared and turned forward again. "If I stare it is only because of how grotesque you are and out of the need to keep myself safe."
"Aye, I see," he said, though his voice didn't sound like he believed her lie. "If you are fearful of unwanted advantages, you have nothing to fear from me, Lady Arya. I have vowed to deliver you safely to the baron and I keep my word."
She scoffed. "You claim to be a man of honor, yet you lead me to the baron like the butcher a pig to slaughter."
His knuckles paled as they tightened around the reins at her thighs. "The baron's intentions are hardly to slaughter you."
"That would be more kind."
"You know not of what you speak," the knight growled.
Every cell in her body urged her to scream, but she remained calm, though her voice shook as she answered him. "Neither do you know the baron you serve, Sir Dragomir."
A sound rumbled in his chest, reverberating against her shoulder blades, but he didn't speak further on the matter. As silence drove a wedge between them she found herself pushing back tears.
He had no inkling of how terrible the baron could be. She had only met the man nearly twice her age once, but it had been enough for her to run away from the only home she had ever known and risk everything.
He must have felt the sobs that shook her shoulders, he was too close not to, but he never said anything. Instead, Dragonmir continued to drive them toward her doom at an excruciatingly tempered pace.
"Arya, I-"
Whatever he was about to say was lost upon the sudden arrival of Baron Michael.
The man, nearer to fifty than she was thirty, seemed unfazed by their presence and she wondered if he had sent a scout ahead of him to track them. His gaze missed all of the men and settled on her.
A smile bordering a triumphant sneer tugged at the corners of his lips as he brought his destrier to a halt before them just a few feet in front of his armed men.
"Lady Arya," he greeted. "I do not believe we have been formally introduced before. I am Baron Michael, your fiance."
"You are wrong on that account, Baron, for we have been introduced when I was but six summers old and you visited my uncle." Arya jutted her chin, hoping she appeared more defiant that weak and that there was no trace of tears left on her cheeks.
Michael's smile faltered. "You'll forgive me, who is your uncle?"
"Sir Patrick Robinson," she answered in satisfaction as the baron's eyes widened. "Or as the people have dubbed him, Robinhood."
Murmuring broke out among the men. They had known Robinhood. He had led the rebellion against the corruptted king's cousin, paved the way for the rightful king to be seated on the throne, and delivered the poor from starvation and servitude. Many of them had perhaps even fought at his side.
The baron quickly grew weary of the men's restlessness and ordered them into silence. His gaze returned to her and she found the crazed madness within the eyes that had plagued her nightmares since that day.
"Foolish girl," he snapped. "I'll have to teach you some manners."
"Unfortunately for you, Robinhood could not be taught manners, isn't that correct?" She knew she ought to stop, that she was only asking for his ire, yet she couldn't resist confronting the man responsible for her uncle's death even if no one believed her as they hadn't when she was a child. "So you had him murdered."
"Silence!"
But she had nothing more to say and the knights were too restless to heed his command.
"Get the girl and let's go," Michael ordered the man on his left.
However Dragomir drew the reins up so that the horse beneath them trotted backward.
"Such allegations should be reported to the king for a ruling," Dragomir said.
"Give me the girl."
Unmoved by the man's snarl, Dragonmir unsheathed his sword.
"Lest you wish to lose your rank, knight, you best hand the girl over to me," spat the baron, brandishing his own sword. "Besides, you are outnumbered. Everyone here serves me."
But none of the knights looked too sure of the fact.
Dragomir did not glance away from Michael as he maneuvered his horse with one hand. "My loyalty is first to God, then to the king and as his knight I am commissioned with preserving the safety of the innocent. As are all knights."
Arya watched as the men around them unsheathed their weapons and stepped in front of Arya and Dragomir. The baron seethed.
"Treacherous varmint! I shall tell the king of your treachery!" With a curse, the man turned his steed around and vanished into the forest.
She released a breath she had been holding. It was not over, but she was grateful she would not have to marry the barron that day or perhaps ever.
Dragomir dismounted then helped her down. His touch stirred the familiar, forbidden longing, but she did not move to break his hold as he held her waist still after her feet were on the ground.
"I'm sorry, Arya," he murmured, green eyes reflecting the sincerity of his words. "If I had known, I would not have forced you to come here."
She shook her head. "You couldn't have known. You were just doing your job."
"Still, will you forgive me?"
"Yes," she breathed, laying her hands against his chest.
He had trespassed greatly against her and though she understood why he had done what he did and she chose to forgive him, she knew it could not all be forgotten over night. Yet, there was something magnetic about him that propelled her to leap where she should tread lightly.
Was it love? Although too soon to name, at least out loud, she had no other word for the intense emotion he had awakened within her.
Dragomir smiled, revealing a lone dimple in his cheek. "Thank you, m'lady. I vow to be your protector from this moment forward."
She smiled in return. "Thank you, my knight."
His eyebrows quirked up in surprise at the intimacy of her words.
It became apparent that he sensed at least some of what she felt for him as he dipped his head and his lips brushed hers.
Cheers and whistling erupted from the men around them.
Her captor turned protector kissed her abandonedly and in that moment she was certain she loved him.
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