Bors
I rode hard up the King’s Highway that led out of town. Any other time, a good hard ride would have cleared my mind of all other thoughts. But this time was fucking different. She was fucking different. All my thoughts were for her. Those eyes, that face, that body. She was perfection itself.
I’d never much considered my ideal woman. Never cared.
Now? I’ve seen her. Been close enough to touch her and I can’t fucking get her out of my mind.
Mid-night black hair hung to her hips and, Jesus, those hips. All I could think of was grabbing them, holding hard and slamming inside her watching the swell of her tits bounce as I drove in and of out her.
She came barely to my chest and I could have scooped her off the ground with little effort and taken her away with me. Oh, how I wanted to take her away with me.
Green eyes unlike anything I’d seen before seemed to look into my soul and tell me for the first time in as far back as I can remember, there is more to life than pain. There is care and comfort and I needed her to be the one to give it to me.
My reaction to her stunned even me. I’d lived long enough—and hard enough—to have had my share of women. I’d enjoyed the pleasures they provided but never before had I desired one with such intensity, such unbridled fury to possess... to protect. To have. To own. In the moment I locked eyes with her, the truth became clear:
I wanted her to be mine. And I needed to be inside her.
If it weren’t for the look in her eyes, and the all-consuming protective need it induced in the pit of my stomach, I would have taken that beautiful girl right there, staring into those eyes that reminded me of a spring meadow. Consequences and onlookers be damned.
I shook when she looked at me as though the ground under my feet had shifted. The fear in the washerwoman’s voice was right—I had no place forcing myself on a girl like that. She was way too goddamned pure for a brute like me.
She was young too. Far too young for my years. Mine multiplied by war and fury. I was older than I should be and yet young enough to still long for things others took for granted in life.
Worse still, I knew now that all my best-laid plans meant nothing. My intentions had been simple: find a nice widow, settle down, have a quiet life. No more. No less. I hadn’t considered love, I just wanted simple. I wanted to be done fighting.
But all those simple, vague plans that had consoled me were chaff on the wind.
After seeing her, I knew I was fucking ruined. The haze had cleared—if I couldn’t have her, no other woman would do. And I knew in my heart that I would never have her.
I’d seen heaven and could never return to earth again.
Up ahead, the old whitewashed cottage where I was headed came into view. The vines along the east corner were thicker now nearly covering one window and a crack in the foundation was wider than when I was here last. Still, blossoms of pink and purple showed their tenacity lining the aging stones where the structure met the rock soil and it made me think how something so delicate and beautiful can co-exist with something so hard and inhospitable.
As I slowed my horse to a trot, I felt pissed off and resentful. She was the one, but there was no chance in hell a warrior like me could have an angel like that. I was too sullied by life to have her, yet I could not imagine life without her. In the matter of a few moments, one glance and my future was changed, created and crushed all at the same time.
I dismounted and untacked, giving my horse a bucket of grain, two flakes of hay and a drink of water, and then headed toward the cottage, calling out to Angelica.
She and I had a long history. I’d known her since we were both brushing up on adulthood, and I knew how she felt about me, but we’d never fucked. She’d always been a good friend to me and vice versa, and I wouldn’t have done anything to change that.
I’d protected her from over-zealous customers back in her early brothel-running days, and even wiped the floor with some of them. The world went red when I saw her customers mistreating her or the other whores; men who disrespected women deserved all the pain in the world.
Over the years, I’d dished out plenty of pain in her defense. In return, she’d always given me a place to stay, a warm meal, trusted friendship and good advice. As for her body, she’d offered it often, free of charge, but I never agreed. For some men, sex was mere currency. But not to me. I respected Angelica far too much to treat her as a replacement for my own hand.
As I approached the house, I was proud to see the life Angelica had made for herself. She’d come a long way from running whores in the back rooms of the village tavern. Years back, she’d had a dozen or more girls under her wing, but now she was all on her own since the army moved on and the whores became camp followers. Her independence suited her. I walked up the front path, admiring the lush garden she’d managed to cultivate, full of medicinal herbs and plants. The door squeaked open and before I knew it, Angelica was in my arms, squealing and laying a big kiss on my cheek.
I embraced her, but my heart wasn’t in it. My mind was still with her. And, I knew, it always would be.
Angelica slid out of my arms back to her feet and looked up at me. Her crow’s feet were deeper than the last time I’d seen her, and there was even more wisdom and kindness in her eyes than I’d remembered, too. “The years are always good to you,” I told her, with a brotherly kiss on her forehead.
She giggled a little and slipped her arm into mine. “As they are to you. Is this the day you take me up on my offer?” She lifted her shoulder and her eyebrow in unison.
I knew what she was asking—she always did. But, as ever, I shook my head. “I just need a place to stay while I get my feet under me. I’ll pay my room and board—no arguments.”
Her eyes sparkled in the morning light and she smiled up at me. “Come in, Bors. You should know by now, your money has no value here.”
Angelica poured me a mug of ale and sliced into a fresh loaf of crusty bread as I sat down at her table. “So, what brings you through?” She asked.
Before I even thought about answering, I downed the ale and she poured me another. As I slathered the thick slice with butter, I told her my plans. Even though the encounter with that green-eyed beauty at the well had shaken me to my core, life would have to go on in some form or another. “Buy some grazing land, breed and raise horses to build up a livery stable. It won’t be easy, but I’ve got some money laid by and can call in some favors if I need them.”
Angelica nodded approvingly as she sat down across from me. “You’ve always had a knack with animals.” She swept the breadcrumbs off the old pine table into her hand. “And something tells me your fighting days are done. You’ve got the look of a broken man.”
“Broken? Gee, thanks,” I said around a mouthful of bread, shaking my head.
Angelica shrugged and pursed her lips impatiently. “I mean, you look tired, Bors.” She reached over and gave my forearm a squeeze. “In all our years, even when I’ve seen you bruised and bleeding, I’ve never seen this look in your eyes.”
She spoke the truth. “Working for the clan has lost its lustre. I’ve earned something better. But I bet you’ve met enough broken men to know when one can’t be repaired.”