Underestimate Me

Josselyn’s hand grabbed her throat. Her breath was burning in her windpipe, as if the oxygen fueled the flames inside like a chimney. The rapid pace of her breathing causing her insides to smoke. She could still feel those mens' hands surrounding her neck, as they had touched her before. She had been overthrown by his presence, a jolt of recognition paralyzing her. The scars upon her body had reacted and the moment of indecisiveness had almost cost her life. She’d be on the woodland floor, watching the sky of leafs with empty eyes, had Rowen not stepped in, twice. Her enemy had granted her another gulp of breath. Another day to live.

Looking into his strong eyes; there was no hiding anymore. She stood bound to the forest floor, her eyes intertwined with those of Rowen. The darkness in them overtook her, drawing her in and not letting go. She could not move. She was as a deer watching the arrow nearing, so crippled from shock it would not run. His eyes had caught her as the man between his shackles had writhed for air. His face turning purple, blood boiling behind his eyes. It had taken only moments for his body to go limp in his grip and fall to the ground. She had not watched his descend. She had only heard the dull thud of limbs connecting with the soil, her eyes still bound on his as if the shackles were on her now.

A few men were standing at the entrance of her stone pen. One of them leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes opened and closed. She could not keep her focus as felt the blood dripping from her toes to the ground. She had lost a lot of blood. Her mind was wavering and she was feeling light headed. Though her ears did not abandon her. They heard the words that floated towards her.

“.. Even with the blood.” A man grinned. His brother nodding and licking his lips as if he was to sit at a great feast. “I bet she taste exquisite, they say scarlet girls taste the best, for they have the devil to spice them.” She blinked her eyes a few time, trying to focus on the silhouettes at the door. She hung there, at display, and the men watched. Their eyes raping her, their mouths watering. She tried fixating her eyes on their faces. A few she recognized vaguely. Some were on the council.

“I think it’s time we’d ask for a taste,”

A flare of recognition entered her memory, and looking into Rowen’s eyes she saw the man that had just caused her to freeze. The man that had almost cost her life. That face. That man. It had been one of them. He… He was one of them. The memory fading before her eyes she found the dark ones of Rowen again. Their connection so raw, so unguarded that it shook her to the bone.

“Josselyn, are you alright?” Meredith’s voice was followed by her touch, her hand on the blooded shoulder. She had felt the substance flooding her body, but looking down now she saw she was drenched in it. Her sister’s voice had awoken her from her enchantment and she was finally able to divert her eyes. Immediately they found Meredith’s. Her sister was pale and her eyes still in distress. She was bloody as Josselyn was and for a second she feared that it was her own, and not the blood of the slaughtered.

“I am fine, I think I have a flesh wound on my arm and my hip is bothering me, though this blood is not mine.” She turned her gaze on Rowen again, he was barely able to keep standing and the body of his brother lay at his feet as if he had stooped down and praise his own leader before his lives breath had run out. Flashes of the writhing man, dying in the weak hands of their captive kept presenting themselves before her eyes. She could not think straight. She could not turn to her sisters and move as they should. She could not go to them and inspect their wounds before letting Meredith tend to hers. That man at Rowen’s feet commanded her attention; jolts of images of his blueish visage kept punching her like one of Rowen’s men had just moments ago.

The animal inside of her awoke again. She felt the instinct to go for his jugular, her corner teeth biting into the side of her lip.

“You!” She growled as she rushed towards him. Two long strides was all it took to face him. Savagely she grabbed Rowen by his tunic and pushed him hard against the tree behind him. She didn’t care for his state. She did not care for his malady. She pushed him against the bark with a strong arm, leaving the injured one at rest along her body. Digging her nails into the fabric and putting pressure on his sternum, she inched closer.

“What was that?” She spat in his face. Why had he saved her? She saw her fingers turning white in her clenching fist. Her nose was but inches from his and as she growled her words she almost bared her own fangs. She felt like an animal, feeling the rush of the fight still flowing through her veins. The fire that burned through her and the smoke that clouded her mind were accompanied by his proximity. Her senses were heightened and his scent was still the same. That scent of leather and sweat, of roasted pork and early autumn. It reached her nostrils and her hold on him became even stronger, for she was afraid she would stumble.

She pushed herself off of him and left him with her anger. Turning to her sisters she saw the shocked look on Emma and she neared the young girl.

“Did they hurt you?” She asked with a tone that did not resemble the voice of a few moments ago to any extend. She spoke to her sisters with care and sometimes with dominance, but she never spoke to them with the animalistic growls she had just used on Rowen.

The girl shook her head in silence. They had not sent a single jab towards her little sister. Remembering the fight with the haze she had endured it; she knew Emma had been close to Rowen, holding his chain in her hands. They had not fought her for they had been busy getting through Meredith and Evelyn. They had not shot her, for she had been standing to close to Rowen. The girl had found the perfect position for her to endure this attack. Maybe Emma was not as ignorant as she had believed. Maybe this girl had an instinct for survival, one gravely needed on voyages as these.

Softly she turned the girls face to check for injuries and scanned the rest of her body by sight.

“Drink some water, get yourself together,” She said gently, before turning to Meredith and Evelyn. The girl scattered to the donkey that held their water supply, eager to obey the woman who had just slaughtered men without blinking.

“How about you?” Evelyn was holding her bow tensed an arrow in it that she had plucked from a dead body. Its point was aimed at Rowen’s head, her fingers ready to let the string go and send the arrow through the air. Josselyn had forgotten that the manacle around his neck was not hold, and his feet had been free to run. Her sister, however, had not forgotten about the sudden freedom their captive had earned himself during battle and was keeping him positioned with the threat of her arrow. She had a cut on her upper arm; it was at eyelevel now that she was tensing that string. Gently Josselyn plucked strands of tunic from it and looked at the red gap.

“It’s a flesh wound. Just like mine. It does need binding though.” she mumbled to herself and turned to Meredith. Her second in command left courtesies and pretense in the valley they departed and embraced her. The body of her golden female pushed against her and Josselyn felt as the arms of Meredith wound behind her back. Their breathing synched and for a moment and all she could watch were those icy eyes and lustful lips. Meredith was holding her attention as Rowen had held her eyes captive.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Meredith whispered and the words chilled her. The sun had disappeared and was devoured. It had died and had almost taken her with. Quietly she pushed Meredith from her and held her at her arms. Looking her over she said: “They did not cut you?” Meredith shook her head and Josselyn was relieved that the blood she spotted had not been her loves.

“We need to keep moving. Everyone keep an eye out.” Josselyn ordered. The women bound cloth over their wounds before rinsing them with water and started to loot the corpses. Josselyn herself took two knives which she bound around her upper thighs.

“You are just going to leave them like this?!” The deep passionate voice of Rowen bounced off the trees. “I thought you burned Balor's men. Honor their deaths!”

“We have no time for a funeral pyre,” Evelyn answered him. “Say your words and we’re off.” She had taken his chain in her hand and held it loosely. Josselyn could not see if Rowen did indeed pray to his God. She could not look at the man that had killed her and saved her. She could not understand why he had taken the life of that young man. She did not understand any of it. One thing she did know: she did not like it one bit.

Before Rowen could return to his donkey Josselyn took his chain from Evelyn and yanked at it harshly. The shackle around his neck pushed at the red lines it had made itself, chafing across his skin. She pulled Rowen closer by his chains and whispered:

“You do not save me. You sold me to death once, you can do it again.”