Meriel Fuller - Captured by the Warrior

From his vantage point at the back of the line, Bastien studied the maid. When he had first met her, a spoiled rich girl dressed in all her finery and lost in the forest, he had dismissed her from his mind instantly. But now? Now she presented him with something of a puzzle; a puzzle dressed in boy’s clothes and striding along with the rest of the men as if it were a routine activity for her. Why, they had covered nearly twenty miles today—the majority of women would be mewling wrecks by now. His own mother, Cecile, would barely totter more than a few steps before lifting one limp, white hand to be assisted into a litter, to be carried everywhere, like a child. His lips curled at the unwanted memory. Since his older brother’s death, she had become even worse, hardly able to walk at all without assistance. Yet if he were around, which was seldom, she would whip her head around with such force it would stun everyone, and fix him with a baleful eye, pinning her younger son down with such bitter accusation, such acrid blame that it knotted his stomach for days. Cecile had chosen to punish him for what had happened, but surely the guilt that he carried around, day after day, was punishment enough?

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