Telepathy of Hearts (21 page)

“Yes, I will thank you,
” Eleanor replied.

* * * *

Shouting back at Godwin, Eleanor replied to his bellow,
“Yes I will.
”

I love the woods. Mmmm the smell it
's incredible. Wet willow and winter sweet.

There was no urge to run in Eleanor now. It had seemed since her mother died she had run from everyone and everything. Now the need had
been
sated. Matheus had become her anchor. He may well have roped her as they slept, but there was little need as stronger bonds than twine held her to him. They were the infant threads of heart strings that weaved a binding stronger than any rope.

A bit concerned about the incredible and slightly unbelievable wild boar, Eleanor made her way to a brook and sat down to relieve herself to the sound of the babbling brook, confident that Godwin
's sharp ears would hear the stream of the water not her stream of need.

The winter sun was still glowing.
Putting her face to it the rays warmed her bones.

Tis true;
when you feel that small ball of contentment creep in and grow in your belly
,
every sound, smell and sight seems more glorious, almost as if God
's grace has touched it. This place has true beauty.

Crack
…crack.

“
Dear GOD, it
's
a
boar!
”

She was yelling as she was running, and forest rough ripped into her skin. A river of tiny scratches. Twigs from low boughs birched her face. But she kept running. The feeling of her own heart pounding hard against its cage startled her. Spinning she had no idea where she was. Fear had her veins as her blood cooled and her skin went clammy.

Crack click
…crack

“Oh
,
heaven help me.
” Eleanor was panick
ed
. She knew the lakes, the mountains, the fields. This was unknown, and she was buckling under the gravity of her situation. Screaming now, her voice shrill with panic

“Matheus, Godwin, Jethro
…dear God someone!
”

The forest floor was slimy
with
rot and damp
ness
, sweating
together to make
gloop. Where the umbrella of treetops opened
,
the leaves lost in the thinnest layer of snow moved beneath her feet, sliding against each other
and
making the way treacherous.
Puddles in the shadow of the oaks remained frozen
, sick with ice
.

Eleanor felt herself go. Nothing to grasp. Nothing to grip. She was falling. Feeling the pain of both her ankle as it twi
sted and her head as it hit, she was n
ot able to focus
on a sky
she imagined
moving above her
.

Oh the pain, the pain.

I
'm moving.

Between her pain and confusion Eleanor could not voice her thoughts. Her eyes would become heavy and
she would drift. Her face wet, h
er
body enveloped in cold, s
he shivered. Silent cries of pain left her body
,
making not a sound, although the sound of moaning boomed thick in her ears. Did she hear a voice? Was it just the sound of her mind answering the confusion as she looked for clarity?

No I hear you speak
…speak
…speak
…

Pain took her again and she drifted.

The smell of harvest fill
ed her nostrils. She was spun
—o
ne, two, three turns
—
spinning away.
Children chattered. Voices squealed. Blindfold buff catch the boy in the rough. Distant voices shouting find us, beggar blind. Finding her catch, her blindfold lifted.
“
A kiss for the king
1
”
the children shouted.

The warmth of a blush filled her cheeks.

T
he eyes of a boy smiled back
at her
.
“I will have my kiss,
” Richard Sline whispered.

Whispering, yes whispering
;
you are whispering
…

Eleanor
's body was
moving. It was being dragged, but n
ot by the boy who was playing blind man
's bluff in her mind. The boy had grown,
but
still
he
demanded his kiss. It was the man
the boy
had become.

Holding her ankles, he dragged her across the forest floor. The pain of her injuries would pierce through the sleep the blow to her head
had
forced
upon her. S
he
c
ould
only
open her eyes for mere moments.

Looking through glassy eyes, s
he saw the starling cloud. B
irds danced together in a black whirl of natural theatre. Eleanor t
ried to focus on their flight, j
ust and so
,
coming round. The voice that penetrated her sleeping subconscious
belonged to
Richard Sline.

“I will have my kiss. I will have you and claim you as mine.
”

“Richard, help me. I
've fallen. I think I
'm floating. Dear Richard, where are you
?
Oh my
…my ankle is broken
…it feels like Satan himself feeds off it
. A
re we playing
B
lind
M
an
's
B
luff?
”

Still once more.
Weight on her body; her chest was tight. It was the smell she noticed first. Stale ale filled her nostrils. Eyes focusing, she saw the starling cloud.

I
'm on my back. What
's that weight?
S
omeone is on top of me.
Sharp pain made her body rigid. Her heart was responding, pumping her blood.
Chemicals were rushing in. Eleanor was ready to fight.

“Don
't struggle. Be warned. I
will
hurt you if you do, so pray don
't make me.
” He
spat. The smell of his breath
covered her face. Moving to her chest, he unsheathed his dagger.

Eleanor heard screaming. Her throat tightened at the realisation they were her own screams.

Breathlessly. Spraying more drunken spit as he spoke.
“He
's not coming, so scream away princess
,
for you
'll be screaming as mine.
”

The dagger sliced the lacing of her gown. Ripping what remained open. With his hands, he looked from her breasts to her eyes with a bestial leer. His hands found her breasts and he kneaded her aggressively.

Rocking, she tried to free her hips but his weight h
o
ld
ing
her. Her mouth filled with her vomit. Her skin creeped and crawled and the core of her
howled.
Clawing into his back, f
ighting him
for
all her worth
,
Eleanor unseated him
from atop
her hips.

She was up and running, t
he adrenaline of fleeing fuelling her legs, dulling her pain. Nature
's drive to survive
,
alive in her veins, power
ed
her on.

Fingers bit into her waist. She was caught. Gr
ipping her, he threw her back down
. Richard Sline grabbed her wrists, forcing her hands up over her head. His knee forced her
apart
at the cleft of her leg
s. His eyes were full of hate, f
ull of desire, full of evil.

“Kiss for the King, my lady? Have you and I
'll have the throne, for ye will marry me as will have covered you, so you were mine before him.
”

He growled. His mouth took hers, his tongue aggressively pushing at her teeth and forcing her compliance.

Eleanor used the only
defense
she had. Remembering her sweet Matheus, she bit him.

He spat blood all over her. His body rose off her a little. Drawing back his head and dropping her wrists, he formed a fist with both hand
s and hit her with full force, g
rowling again
,
“Bitch.
”

Watching the starling cloud swirl and dip, whirling round and round, it seemed to Eleanor as she slipped into sleep
,
that the whirl was a cloaked spectre dancing his dance
…dance
…dance
, until s
till once more.

Moving once more,
the panic
renewed
. She sensed it rising in her body, tickling up her spine, making her rigid. Once again
,
the silent scream stuck in h
er throat. She opened her eyes. T
he dark spectre was gone. No birds flew.
There was n
o whirling, starling cloud. Just the gentle dusk. Golden peach haze decorated the beauty of nature that surrounded her
in
opalescent brilliance.

Exhausted, Matheus dismounted and watered his horse. For such a cold day, Simon had sweated up. A mist of steamy air rose
from him
as if spectres floated off his body. There was an eerie hush to the woods. The birds held their song, and beasts remained still.

He had worked his mount quite unfairly. Simon blew clouds of hot heavy breath out into the cold. He was grinding his bit, and his head lay low.