Chapter 13

13

Lustina

Lustina knelt by a gnarled tree trunk that’d fallen in the recent storm. Before her on the ground was a black fledgling--a crow or raven, she guessed—its wing bent at an angle that suggested it was broken. The angry eyes at either side of its too wide beak were not threatening enough for her to leave it to die, and with careful placement of her hands, she lifted the baby into her palms for closer examination. That was when she noticed an unusual, white streak across the bird’s feather that reminded her of a lightning bolt. An aberration of some sort that she found absolutely charming about the bird.

“It is what The Holy Father intended,” Drystan said from behind. “Best to leave it there.”

With her back to him, Lustina rolled her eyes. “Was it not The Holy Father’s plan for me to happen upon it this afternoon, also?”

“You are exceptionally combative when someone questions your intent, aren’t you?”

In slow, gentle strokes, Lustina tried to calm the rapid breathing of the baby, who’d snapped its beak at her a couple of times. “Only when there is an air of command about it. The fact is, it does not matter what The Holy Father intended for this bird. I do not plan to let it die here. And I shall take that up with Him this evening, in prayer. Without your commentary.”

“I do not know how to take you sometimes, Lustina. How can someone be so rudely passionate yet gentle? It is such an odd combination.”

“One that suits me.” She chuckled, relieved when the bird finally relented its attack on her thumb.

“What is this?”

The sound of his voice sent a shudder down her spine, and Lustina turned to find the young baron standing only a few steps away from them. Like the soldiers she had frequently encountered at the gate, he wore bracers at his wrists, and a black leather brigandine vest which showed off particularly large muscles for a boy his age. The kind she had only seen on blacksmiths and men who toiled in the fields all day. The baron’s were more of a distraction than she cared to admit.

“What do you have there?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Lustina tucked the bird into the pocket of her apron and stood to face the wretched boy.

“You are lying.” The baron held out his hand to her. “Hand over what is hidden in your pocket.”

“No.”

“Lustina, just hand it over,” Drystan urged from where he stood off to the side. “It is not worth the consequence.”

Brow furrowed, she shook her head. “It is very much worth the consequence, and I refuse.”

“I will not tell you again. Hand it over. Now.”

“What for? What cruel things would you do to this bird for your amusement?”

“What I would do is none of your concern. You either hand it over now, or I will take it with force.”

“Lustina … please.” Drystan’s words arrived through clenched teeth. “I do not wish to suffer the consequence of your insolence, as well.”

“I will suffer the lashes myself, if necessary. I will not hand this bird over to you. You may be the young Lord of this estate, but you are not lord of the birds. And you are certainly not mine.”

“Who would endeavor to command such an unruly and tyrannical creature as you.” He lurched closer. “Give me the bird.”

“Tell me what for.”

“Do as he says, Lustina,” Drystan chimed again. “You do not know what trouble this will bring.”

“Perhaps not. But I know what harm awaits this poor bird, should I comply.”

The baron’s icy eyes swirled with both intensity and dark amusement, which only served to affirm her fears. “Give me the bird, and nothing will come of this.”

“I would sooner have you pry the poor creature from my hands.”

“It isn’t wise to taunt me, girl.”

“Neither is it wise to threaten me, My Lord.”

“Enough of this.” He lurched forward, reaching for her arm, and on wrenching it away, Lustina tumbled backward.

The ground met her spine in a clash of pain, and she grimaced as the needling sensation coiled up to her sinuses.?The young baron fell atop her, catching himself on outstretched arms, and he seemed to eye the pocket of her apron where the bird lay tucked.

The moment he reached for it, Lustina dug her fingernails into his scalp and tugged back on what little hair she could grasp.

The baron slammed her wrist against the ground alongside her head, which promptly unleashed her fingers from his hair. Careful not to disrupt the injured bird tucked in her pocket, she brought her knee up to his groin, and smiled as it made contact with his most sensitive flesh.

The baron let out a growl and pressed his thighs into hers, his blue eyes blazing with the kind of fury that sent her heart into rapid beats.

“Lustina!” Drystan called out from somewhere beyond the scuffle. “Just give him the bird! For Heaven’s sake, this isn’t worth it!”

“Do not tell me what to do!” She clawed at the baron, as he dug into the wrong pocket. “I will not listen to a couple of wretched boys who could both use a good lashing!” She lifted her head to bite his ear, which he dodged just as her teeth grazed his lobe.

“I see the monastery has done a fine job of teaching you to behave like a wild animal,” the baron gritted.

“And is it your fancy university education which has taught you to wrestle ladies to the ground?”

“I will let you know once I lay eyes upon a lady.”

A new flare of anger burst inside her, and it was a wonder the poor bird in her pocket wasn’t crushed to bits with the flailing of her arms and kicking of her legs.

Abandoning his rifling of her pocket, the baron took hold of both her wrists that time, slamming them into the wet ground beneath her. The mud sloshed against her skin, and she could feel her dress soil with the wrestling that ensued.

“Give me the bird!”

“Never!”

“You are nothing but an ill-tempered brat who ought to be stretched across someone’s lap and punished. Only then will you learn to keep those impudent lips shut.”

“I will never silence myself for a spoiled child of a man!”

“Then I will shut them for you.”

His lips pressed hard to hers, and while every sensible fiber of her being sought to push him away, a much greater resistance pulled her forward. She didn’t fight him. She couldn’t. As much as she wanted to push him off and feel the impact of her fist against his bones, the taste of his lips against her own proved to be a much more potent distraction. No boy had ever kissed her before. And when he finally pulled away from her, a dizziness swept over her.

She opened her eyes to the intensity of winter blue, like an ice storm, staring down at her. The cold that washed over her settled beneath the heat of his gaze, and the world around her muted, like the times when she lay in the river with her ears just below the surface, looking up at the bright blue sky above.

“I despise you,” she whispered, but the words were a lie.

“And I you,” the young baron countered, not having removed himself from her prone body. Not having moved, nor torn his gaze from hers. His eyes remained riveted on her lips, and he licked his own, as if imagining the kiss all over again. Then, all at once, he broke from his spell and reached down inside the pocket holding the bird. Lustina could feel its struggle as he lifted it from inside.

She reached out to stop him, but his eyes held a warning that told her, if she fought him, she would surely regret it. “Promise me you won’t hurt it.” When he didn’t answer immediately, she tightened her hold of his wrist, ignoring how he snarled back at her. “Promise me, My Lord.”

“I make no promises. Particularly to eager girls so willing to be taken before an audience.”

“Perhaps so. But whether I am eager, as you say, or not, I ask you kindly to show the bird mercy.”

“And I am under no obligation to you. So I say, forget about the bird. It is no longer your concern.”

“I cannot forget, when it is my nature to be concerned for things which are broken.” There was meaning beyond the bird, beyond things. She had grown curious of the baron, had thought about him since her last visit a week prior. Had dwelled a number of nights on words he’d spoken in their last encounter, about Bishop Venable and her mother. In that time, she had come to realize the young baron hadn’t been out to torment her, as she had initially thought. It hadn’t been his intent to wound her heart, so much as prod the truth past stubborn lips that’d long sealed.

One didn’t require the powers of mindreading to know the baron felt animosity toward Bishop Venable, which Lustina suspected may have been due to his mother. She longed to know what truths lay sealed behind those enigmatic eyes, as well.

The ferocity in them seemed to soften only a moment before their hard and unyielding edges darkened once more. “If it is broken things you fancy, then perhaps you should turn your attention unto yourself,” he spat and cradled the injured bird as he pushed to his feet.

Drystan stepped toward him and lowered his gaze. “My Lord, if you would like, I can take the bird--”

“No.” The baron kept his eyes on Lustina as he backed himself away. “And if you fight me again, girl, there will be consequences.”

* * *

Fingertips pressed to her lip, Lustina lay on her cot, staring up at the cracked ceiling of her small, unimpressive room. She hadn’t wanted to eat, nor drink, for fear of losing the taste that lingered like the warm liquor her mother would brush over her lips when she was ill. It tingled and burned every time she imagined the boy pressed hard against her, breathing through his nose, muscles tense with fury. Of course, she’d have preferred her very first kiss to be sweet and under entirely different circumstances, but what she’d felt in those moments was no less intense, or passionate, assuming she had any understanding of passion, at all.

She wasn’t entirely ignorant when it came to such things, though.

Her mother had often regaled her with stories of princes falling in love with princesses, and warriors with maidens. She had always expressed the importance of passion over everything else, and how it could mean the difference between a cold and bland kiss, and one that left a blazing fire in its path. Her own story of having been swept away from her home to the foreign lands of Praecepsia had started out on a romantic note, before she’d been abandoned with child. Even if she’d faced a number of hardships as a result of their short-lived affair, Lustina’s mother had never spoken ill of her father. She’d always recalled him with a fondness that told Lustina she’d still been very much in love with him.

Her mother had also been very open to questions that Lustina would have about lying with a man and the mysteries of her own body.

She may have lacked the experience, but Lustina certainly understood the mechanisms behind attraction.

Which was silly where the baron was concerned, because she certainly wasn’t attracted to him. He didn’t carry himself as some boys did, like Drystan, with his gentlemanly mannerisms and warm empathetic eyes. Ones that oftentimes looked at her as more of a poor and pitiful consequence of her gender.

No, the baron treated her much differently. He didn’t reign in his words for the sake of her feelings, and he certainly didn’t gentle himself around her, simply because she was female. If anything, he treated her more as an equal.

His equal.

Which any good and sensible lady would absolutely abhor in a man.

And yet, she didn’t. She didn’t hate the way he spoke to her or handled her. The way he looked at her or challenged her. She certainly didn’t hate the way he’d kissed her earlier that afternoon.

In fact, if she were being perfectly honest with herself, she really didn’t hate the baron, at all.