Impure Intentions

Cady Goff

The red stains white, ruining the purity of its colorless transparency. The once beautiful dress became nothing but rags at my feet. Tears stream down my face in silent cries, washing the dirt of several days off my skin.

My head snaps up as I hear thundering hoofbeats echoing in the otherwise silent forest. Climbing off the side of the road and into the bushes, I breath in deeply as my hiccuping sobs slow. The hoofbeats sound closer, and as they near I hold my breath, my eyes tighten in anticipation and my heartbeat pounds in my ears.

Once certain that they passed, I loosen the vise-like grip on my fists and exhale a few shaky breaths. Stumbling to my feet, I wipe off what little dirt I can. Walking around like this will certainly attract attention.

Taking a few unsteady steps forward, I lose my footing as the gravel road spins in front of me and land on my knees, an ugly gash cutting into my skin. I inhale sharply when I feel the sting, noticing the blood red liquid pooling at my feet. Suddenly feeling sore, I had no more motivation to get up as the blood slowly sucked away my life, drop by drop. I lie there until darkness overtakes me.

___________________________________________

Warm hands touch my body, and I hiss in pain as a cold compress is pressed against my skin where several wounds lie. The scar on my knee is not the only place where the pain endured. It is actually the least of my problems. The more pressing issue is figuring out who found me.

My eyes open hesitantly, not expecting what I’d find. I take in the place surrounding me. It looks like a cozy little cottage, with a fire brimming in the hearth, making for a pleasant atmosphere. I breathe in deeply the scent of pine and alcohol. I sigh, wishing I had a glass to douse the pain right now. I do love me some champagne.

“Don’t let me ruin the moment for you, love,” a deep voice says, startling me out of my trance. I jump out of the bed, looking for a way to escape. In hindsight, I realize that was a mistake. I grunt, ready to grab something to defend myself without taking my eyes off of him.

You can’t let appearances fool you but you can use them to fool others, Cady Goff, a dreadingly familiar voice rings in the back of my mind. It taunts me with those words over and over. I shake the thought away, preparing to deal with the man in front of me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He rushes forward, unwillingly making me take a step back. I pretend to whimper miserably, reaching for my wounds. He steps forward again, while I step back. As if we were playing a game of cat-and-mouse, he approaches me while I flee to the opposite side of the room.

Mistakenly taking the wrong step, he corners me, way to close for comfort in my opinion. I try to move past him, but he stands like a brick wall, tall and intimidating. Confined in such a small space, I shrink against the wall. He reaches out and grabs my hand.

Before I can stop it, my hand comes in contact with his face, with a sound that makes it obvious it’ll leave a ghastly red mark. Surprising my opponent, using the hand he was grabbing me with, I flurry behind him, forcing him to one knee as I tighten my grip around his neck. 

“Are you crazy? You’ll pull your stitches,” he exclaims. He doesn’t seem scared. Instead he looks rather worried. I smirk. Caring for someone you don’t know is next level of idiocy. When I show no sign of stopping, he sighs.

Reaching down to the hem of my dress, I draw out the dagger positioned in my thigh garter. With the knife inches from his throat, his body starts rumbling. Is he really laughing in the hands of an enemy?

“I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

Without letting me process what he said, his hand darts out to clutch my wrist. He holds the knife away from his face, and pulls the arm – and me – over his broad shoulder, flipping me onto my back. The wind gets partially knocked out of my lungs, and I am left paralysed as I try gasping for air. 

I squeeze my eyes tight as he tries to pry the knife from my hand – with rather a lot of difficulty, might I add. I peek to see where he’s headed. He goes to a small cabinet, and drops the knife in, going back about business as if the person who he doesn’t know, didn’t try to kill him.

Once back to normal, I limp to the bedside, sitting on the very edge of the bed as if I was a bird ready to take flight. He’s standing over a bowl, wringing a rag in silence. When he walks over, he’s wearing a cheeky grin on his smug face.

“What are you laughing at,” I ask him with a throaty voice, clearly from lack of use. I clear my throat, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

He looks up for a second, his playful smile fading slightly as he nears. He hesitates, shaking his head while his smile reappears.

“It’s nothing.”

I frown. “Tell me. I think you at least owe me that as your prisoner.”

“I never said you were a prisoner, did I?” He kneels in front of me. “Besides, a woman as sophisticated as you wouldn’t want to know.”

I lean in, a smirk playing on my lips. “Now I’m generally curious. You have to tell me.”

He stares into my eyes deeply, and the outside world seems to fade. “You’ve got some pretty good moves,” he says simply.

“And…”

“And I can see where you’d apply some moves in the bedroom.” He smirks, showing a slight dimple in his left cheek.

“Ha ha,” I reply with in monotone, slapping him slightly over the shoulder.

My face must tell it all, because he puts his hands up in surrender with a laugh. Laughing along, I catch a glimpse of a scar on his left hand. 

I’m about to ask about it until he reveals the wound in my side by pulling up the hemline of my rags. It looks neatly sewn up, although blood has begun to seep through. He dabs at the wound with a steady, experienced hand, allowing me to steal glances of his features.

He is a handsome fellow, with brown curls falling in his eyes. The few times he swept them to the side, I am briefly met with the view of beautiful green eyes deep in concentration. His eyebrows are scrunched together, while he runs his hands through his hair, making it even messier. I continue looking, and I get this sense of familiarity in his mannerism.

We remain in silence until he decides to speak up.

“I’m Lucas Rowse, if you want to know.” He mumbles the last part mostly to himself, while getting up, dusting himself off. “Shall I be of service to you any further, milady,” he asks with a bow – and a smirk.

I offer a smile in return, showing off my pearly whites.

“Of course, my love.” The term of endearment rolls off my tongue as I recall his first words to me. “May I have whatever great feast you shall prepare while I rest?” I lower my voice and lean in. “Then maybe I can serve dessert.”

His eyes glaze over as I sit down.

“Run along, dear,” I reply with a grin.

He walks out without another word, and I am met with sounds – and mouthwatering smells – from the kitchen. Summoning all of my self-control, I walk to the cabinet, digging through the various junk stashed in it. A pot, several dried herbs, medicine, and finally, a golden medallion with the king’s royal emblem. Skeptically, I pull it out and hug it to my chest. I don’t know what makes me take it, but I tie it to my garter, along with my knife. It must be really valuable if he’s willing to hide it.

A loud crash from the kitchen makes me jump, startling me out of my daze. I scurry towards the door, unable to make myself say anything of my sudden exit.

I lean my head against the door, and inhale deeply. Then I walk away without turning back.