The Thorian Sagas. 1. The Trader.

Stoker knew the Inn at Coniston. It was run by a family he trusted.

Even though he had never stayed there before, he had changed horses, eaten there, and had conversed with them on each of his pauses through the year.

There was one such stop he knew about; at least one, in each of the nine intermediate waystations between Dorian and Fenn.

Never, would he willingly trust the hospitality of the cities themselves, though Fenn had never dealt with him in the formal way as a Thorian; not knowing about him as its warriors now knew him.

He pulled into the yard, seeing his steaming horses held for him. They were tired, and the cold and wet would soon get through to them, so they were even then being unhitched and led away to a warm stable where they would be rubbed down and fed, as they needed.

Erianne was asleep beside him with her hand holding tight onto his belt.

He did not want to disturb her.

While he could, he took out that claw on its necklace and dropped it over her head. There would be no immediate questions this way.

With her asleep, she would not be able to read too much of his thoughts if he encountered one of those suddenly weak moments when he would lose control of his own thoughts and emotions.

His dog approved of him doing that.

Stoker slowly extricated himself from her grip, leaving her holding his fingers, stepped to the ground and then reached in to lift her into his arms as his dog jumped down and followed them into the Inn, shaking the water off his fur.

Stoker gave instructions to the sons of that family to bring all of his things; weapons, everything, from under his seat to their room, and to leave nothing in the carriage.

The landlord already had the largest room in the Inn ready for them, having been warned ahead of time of their arrival.

Stoker spoke for hot water for a bath, and also learned that food could be served whenever he wished; either here or downstairs.

With the weather being as it was, the taproom might be busier than usual with the woods’ folk; the loggers, not wanting to be out in that blustery weather if they didn’t have to be. This weather could last for two or three days, once it set in, and they would rather be at home.

He had no fear of them. He might even know a few of them. They would know his business when they saw a young woman with him, and would know enough not to bother them, or to be too boisterous or loud.

There was a large fire blazing in the hearth of their room. It would not take long to dry everything out and for them to warm up again.

Despite being wrapped up against the weather as they had been, the rain had still beaten through to their skin.

Stoker laid her on the thick Sheepskin in front of the fire and loosened her damp coat as the dog looked on, taking advantage of the warmth himself.

Stoker shrugged out of his wet coat and laid his sword aside, but within reach.

She was unconscious to the world, sleeping the sleep of utter nervous exhaustion, having lived with this knowledge that she was to be a tribute for the last few days, and being unable to rest or to sleep because of it nagging at her, not understanding what it meant.

Had there been two or more tributes, they could have helped each other while he stayed to one side, but here, there was no one else, and she had not let go of him since that first moment of joining him on the driver’s seat, always finding something to hold onto about him, whether his coat, or his tunic, or his sleeve.

Stoker watched as a metal bath was brought into the room, followed by buckets of hot and cold water, as well as all of his things from the carriage.

‘Are you sure you should be doing this, Stoker?’

His dog still cautioned him.

‘I must. There is no one else to help her as there usually is.’

The tributes usually helped each other.

He teased her coat off her arms, and then as much of her remaining clothing as he dared, picked her up again, and lowered her into the warm water with her still partially dressed.

She would not let go of him; merely changing to a different hold as he had undressed her.

He had never seen anything so beautiful in all of his life. If this was all that life held for him from this moment forward, he would be happy to stay here with her.

He wet a cloth and passed it slowly over her face as he supported her, holding her away from the hard edge of the bath, sitting beside that tub and looking at her, admiring all that he could see, from her raven-black hair, to her delicate lips, and to the flawless smoothness of her brown skin.

One day he would draw her from this memory. His mother had taught him some of the gentler, more artistic things in life.

The women of Dorian and of Fenn had so much in common. Both were much darker skinned than the women of the other two cities and were the more beautiful because of it.

Somewhere in the past, the decision had been made to separate the darker-skinned women into the two cities of Dorian and Fenn, putting, them on diametrically opposite sides of the inland sea, and with mountains between them on the eastern side around that sea, and with the other two cities and all of the intermediary waystations between them, on the other. A similar decision had pried that other tribe of straw-haired, pale women apart too, but not quite so far from each other.

He was lost in thought as he slowly wiped over her to warm her up. What he could do next, once she was warm, he was not sure, other than to wrap her in several towels and let them get her dry in front of that fire as they ‘wicked’ the moisture from her shift and her body.

The problem was taken out of his hands when he suddenly realized that her eyes were open, and she was looking up at him.

He had never felt so at peace with the world. His entire being was bathed in a sudden warmth as he was drawn deeper into her eyes, into their dark depths where he would happily end his life.

“Where are we?”

He shook himself back to consciousness, pulling himself back from that ensnaring place; that abyss he so wanted to dive into, and answered her as he looked down at her.

“We are in Coniston. It was too stormy to go any farther.”

She became aware of other things too, about their situation and what he was doing for her.

“You are my protector?”

She must have glimpsed that thought in his mind, which he had been repeating to himself as he had bathed her, reminding himself of his obligations, despite what he was feeling.

He nodded. “I am.”

“In what way?”

“In every way. Whatever it will take. That is my role.”

That, silenced her, realizing that he spoke the truth. She had glimpsed that other thought in his mind… ‘to the death!’

He would give his life, to protect her?

Why would he go that far, just for her?

“Did you give me this?” She touched at the claw upon her neck.

“I did.”

“It is warm to the touch. Why did you give it to me?”

“To allay your fears. I sensed what you were feeling.”

There was a lot more to it than that. She would find that out for herself as time went by.

He looked around.

“Most of your clothes are drying by the fire. If you can see to yourself, I will leave you to go on with this for yourself.”

“No!”

He had not expected that response and was flustered for the first time in his life.

“No?”

“No. I do not want you to leave me, and I like your helping me. I also like this feeling of being protected by you. I will not be afraid of my fate if you are with me. You are different from other men, and are the first one who has ever helped me.”

That clinched it for him. He would stay with her.

“If you look in that bundle of mine, which I hope is dry, I have a change of clothing in there which should be aired out by the fire.”

She was in total control of him, and not the other way around! This was unusual.

He opened her bundle and sorted out the relatively delicate clothing he thought she would wear, and followed her directions, airing out her clothing. It was of as fine a cotton, and as diligently woven as the Fennians did it, but he knew that the Dorians did not make wine in the same way as their remote, sister city.

She began to get rid of all of her remaining clothing in the bath as he watched her, wringing them out before passing them to him to arrange on a wooden clothes horse to the side of the fire as she continued bathing, apparently unaware of his concern at her doing that. She did not seem to sense his agitation, watching her do that, or his increasing emotional state.

Or she did not care. She was not used to men.

He turned away but was conscious of everything she was doing so close beside him. He focused on holding those other of her clothes to get warm, forcing himself to close his eyes and his mind; to hold his turbulent thoughts in check and to keep her out.

She stood up in the bath and stepped out, her hand on his shoulder for balance, picking up one of the towels, standing beside him in the full glow of the fire, holding that towel for him to take from her and to dry her as she stepped in front of him.

He had no choice. She was not giving him one. Did she not know how dangerous this was for them both?

She was naked except for that necklace he had dropped over her head, and which would be his undoing. It would all…this too... be his undoing if he did not watch himself.

She was so beautiful. He felt lost in a dream world.

“If you do not mind, I need you to dry me, and to brush out my hair.”

What had she seen in his mind?

He was balancing on a knife edge. It was becoming too dangerous for him.

She had absolutely no shyness, but then, none of the Guard warriors in Fenn had shown any shyness with him either, when they had stripped to wrestle him, even though he provided them with protective covering. They had soon dispensed with it as being too limiting; but he kept his, for all the good it did him in such an enervating setting!

And this, was another one!

He took the towel from her, trying hard not to stare, draping it around her as she dropped to her knees to sit with him in front of the fire as he dried her back, her shoulders, and her arms, and then her legs as she turned around and leaned back, facing him; her legs upon his, for him to dry all of her, as the fire warmed her back.

She hid nothing from him and had no shyness. Indeed she chattered gently to him all of the time to take her own mind off what she was daring to do... being tended by this gentle giant that had seen the women of her city terrified of him.

His own mind was no less busy.

At this rate she would drive him utterly mad, long before they got to Fenn.

He had to keep reminding himself that this was a ‘tribute’ in his care, as he slowly dried her!

She even told him what he should do, telling him how to do so, guiding his hands across, over and under her breasts, then between them, encouraging him if he missed anywhere as she laid back so that he could dry all of her; her abdomen, her buttocks and even between her legs, sensing his shyness; not understanding it.

She had never been attended to by a man before! It was strangely different. Exciting.

She must know how she was affecting him.

He had to continually remind himself of several things. He, was the autocratic Thorian. She, was in his care and he was supposed to be in control... but he wasn’t. He, was supposed to keep all others away from them, including himself; but this one…?

He was a long way out of his depth.

He glared at his dog.

‘Don’t you dare say anything.’

His dog lay there looking across at them both.

‘Why would I say anything? I told you she was different.’

Stoker gave in and followed her directions with her hair, brushing it out, and then passed her the warm clothing as her other things dried, watching her get dressed; helping her as she requested.

She turned to him.

“Now you shall bathe, and I will help you.”

“No!” It was his turn to use that word now, but for a different reason.

“Why not? You saw to me, now I will help you.”

“But….”

She began on his tunic.

“What are these?” She discovered his necklace. “There are many of these, and they are like this one that I wear.”

She touched his necklace and examined it, and then her own single claw, sitting between her breasts under her tunic.

“I will bathe later; before I retire. We must eat before it gets too late.”

She accepted that.

“We can eat either up here, or down in the taproom, but there will be many others like me down there. They may frighten you.”

That did not seem to bother her.

“You will be my protector. This is all new for me, here, and I want to find out about everything. I never left Dorian in all of my life, so this is all interesting to me.”