By Redhawk
Disclaimers: See disclaimers in Prologue.
Part 1:
Furtive movement gained her attention.
To her credit, her flinch to wakefulness was minor, causing hardly a sound. Cracking her eyelids a fraction, her mind raced as she remembered where she was. Warmth was behind and beside her, evidence of her sleeping handmaiden. Aching from a root that had dug its way into the small of her back, she'd been so exhausted when they'd stopped running, she hadn't realized it was there. Her cloak was wrapped about the both of them, hardly touching the chill of the early morning mist.
Steam rose from her mouth and she tried to keep her breathing even. There, the movement again; a rustling of cloth just outside her vision. A twig snapped, sharp in the silence, and her heart fluttered in her throat. Beneath the cloak, her hand grasped the ornamental dagger her father gifted her on her last birthday. Despite her attempt to appear asleep, her dark eyes widened and she held her breath.
The bush to her left rattled, someone trying to get into the tiny clearing where the women were hiding. Unable to keep up the pretense, she threw off the cloak, pulling the dagger from its sheath. Her handmaiden, rousing at the sudden movement, looked wildly about, keeping her tongue at the warning wave from her mistress.
A figure pushed slowly through the thick undergrowth on hands and knees. With shaking hand, she prepared to launch her attack, gripping the hilt with white knuckles. The figure raised his head, their eyes meeting.
"By the gods, Your Highness!" the man breathed. He used one grimy hand to tug at his forelock. "It's me! Hector!"
Terror quickly faded to elation and the princess scrabbled forward on the hard ground to draw the servant in. "Hector! You survived!" Her hands were frantic on his shoulders, grasping at his tunic and pulling him, unable to believe he was still alive despite the tactile proof. "Mother? Prince Liam?"
Hector, his weathered face sagging, shook his head. "Nay, Your Highness. I saw the Invader run them through."
She drew away, looking down and sheathing her dagger with heaviness in her chest.
"I'm sorry, Your Royal Highness," the man whispered.
Flinching at the added 'Royal,' an indication of her new status as Crown, she shook her head. "Nay, Hector." Taking a deep breath to quell the need for tears, she looked at her two servants. "Call me Katerin. Both of you. If we're to survive this night, the Princess Sabine must not be mentioned."
The handmaiden, Ilia, made a soft noise in her throat and reached out to grasp the younger woman's shoulder.
"Hector, did anyone see you escape?" Survival first.
He seemed slightly hesitant as he shook his head. "I don't think so, Your… Katerin. The guards were busy with the royal family. Two of us slipped away, but Matteo was killed by a wandering patrol after we'd gone less than a league."
Nodding, the dark haired princess looked up into the overhead foliage. "Get some sleep, Hector. Ilia and I will remain on watch." With a sad smile, she leaned forward and touched his shoulder. "It's good to see you, my friend. I'm glad you stayed alive."
Hector's face twisted into a smile. "And I am greatly happy to see you, High-… Katerin."
"Have you found her?"
Swallowing nervously, the captain shook his head at his sovereign's back. "Nay, we've not, Sire." In a gush, he added, "All but one of the men have reported back. And he's not been seen or heard from in two days."
Thoughtful, the Invader stroked his bare chin, staring out over the city with muddy blue eyes. He held himself with the power and grace of a man half his age; a scar marring his lower cheek drew his mouth into a permanent frown. His hair was turning gray with a vengeance, the rich mahogany color of youth fading away.
He was standing on a balcony, behind him the main chamber of the previous Dulce king - unwitting victim in the ordained destiny of the Invader. One of many who'd attempted to resist the inevitable. Below the Invader, tendrils of smoke still rose from outside the castle walls, smoldering remains of a long siege and welcome success. He inhaled deeply of the acrid scent reminiscent of so many other battles in his long and bloody career.
"In which direction was my man going before he disappeared?" he finally asked, voice gravelly from an old scar across his throat.
"Southwest, Sire," the captain piped, hard put to refrain from wiping at the sweat on his face. "I've already taken the liberty of sending a full patrol in that direction."
"Good." The Invader turned, eyeing the guardsman. "Catch up to them. If you don't personally bring her head back, I'll take yours in its place. Is that understood?"
Ashen, the captain nodded. "Aye, my liege," he whispered, swaying on wobbly knees. He flinched a bit when a hand waved at him.
"Get out." A worried frown crossed the Invader's face as he watched the man tumble out the door as though all manner of demon were upon him. Sardonic, he thought, I suppose I'm close enough to that particular description. He approached a large oak table in the center of the room. Beneath a layer of expensive, clear glass laid a map of the kingdom he'd just taken and he regarded it with partial satisfaction. Hearing movement, he looked up, seeing an aide standing at the door leading into the king's bedchambers. Frowning, the scar only made him look fiercer, he growled, "You said you'd take care of the royal family. I should send you out with my captain and the same instructions."
The man bowed obsequiously. "My apologies, Your Royal Majesty," he said, voice oily from too many years at court. "You'd be well within your right, though my success would be limited - I'm not well-versed at tracking errant princesses."
"Had you done as you bargained, no one would need tracking. If I recall, you were to drug the royal family and get my men into the castle with a minimum of fuss." The Invader studied the aide, disgusted with the finery the man insisted on wearing. "You failed, Dominic."
"Aye, sire," the aide responded with another bow before stepping further into the room. "But you'd still be outside the walls had it not been for my assistance. It's hardly my fault that Cook decided have a go at the stew before it was served."
Distastefully turning away, the Invader picked up a goblet of wine from the table and sipped at it. "What's done is done." He returned to the balcony, staring out over his kingdom. "Get out, Dominic. Pack your belongings and see my quartermaster for your reward before you leave."
The aide froze for long seconds before a flash of anger crossed his face. He took an automatic step forward as he spoke. "That's not what you promised me," Dominic insisted. "You said I'd remain as a member of your court when it was over."
"Aye," the Invader agreed, turning to glare at the dandy. "And you promised me that the royal family and a good number of the guard would be drugged before you opened the gates. Too many of my men died as a result. Since you failed on your end, I hardly need to hold up mine." His manner became that of a hunting beast as he padded closer to Dominic, circling him. "You betrayed a king to whom you had sworn allegiance. Do you think I can trust your oath of fealty to me?"
Dominic ground his teeth, not trusting himself to respond. Stories were rampant of this man laying waste to all in his path when angered, friend and foe alike.
"You're a traitor now and you'll be one in the future - you don't fool me." Stopping behind him, the Invader leaned close, voice soft. "Now get out, before I decide to add another head to my walls."
With a swallow, the aide turned and backed towards the door, refusing to respond. Once there, Dominic intoned, "Your Majesty," before stepping into relative safety.
The Invader sighed and resumed studying the map of his new acquisition - the fourth in his military career. He was now master of more land than any remaining realms put together. Sipping his wine, he recalled the witch that had set him on his path.
Fidgeting on the stool, young Prince Germaine peered at the strange designs on the witch's cards. He wasn't supposed to be here; his father would have a fit if it were discovered his youngest son had visited a soothsayer. But when the teenager had rode past, he felt something call to him and here he sat.
The decrepit old woman cackled, rubbing stones together in her hands before casting them upon the cards. Leaning close to study them, she said, "You'll be a great warrior, a great king, young pup. You'll not be defeated in battle."
Germaine puzzled over this. "But I've two brothers before me in line for succession. How can I be king?"
"Never mind the present," the hag dismissed, waving a wrinkled hand. "You will be king."
Leaning closer, dread and fear and intense yearning filling him, the teenager asked, "Can you see my death? How will I die if I'm never defeated in battle?"
The witch clucked a bit, poking at this stone and that as she muttered to herself. "You will die by a sword, young kingling. It will be wielded by the child of your enemy, one of royal blood who will avenge those before and after."
After his brothers had been killed in assorted wars, his father gasping his last at the end of a spear, the Invader had begun his trek across the map. Of the four kingdoms he'd taken, all of royal blood were slain. There'd been an instance or two of trouble, but he'd been ultimately successful.
"And I'll be successful now," he stated, finishing his wine.
Stepping into the courtyard, Dominic cuffed a page that inadvertently impeded
his path. He smiled in grim satisfaction when the lad yelped and ducked away
from a further beating. The physical attack did nothing to ease the deep anger
in his heart.
Bastard! How dare he toss me off as so much rubbish!
Dominic made his way across the crowded courtyard, ignoring the soldiers still in the process of sorting through the Invader's new wealth. "Wealth he wouldn't have if it weren't for my intervention."
"Eh? You say somethin'?" a passing guardsman asked, carefully balancing a large tapestry on one shoulder.
Startled, his anger deepening at his slip, Dominic growled, "Nothing for your ears."
The guardsman snorted derisively but held his tongue.
Dominic arrived at his destination, a low door on the east wall, without further ado. The hall he entered was dark with an aroma that was coolness and death, the usual scent of musty stone mingling with a coppery tang. As he closed the thick door behind him, the rattle and activity of the courtyard faded away.
Sighing in relief at the audible reprieve, Dominic moved silently through the hall. The aide sidestepped a dried pool of blood, thoughts intent on his abrupt dismissal.
Bastard would never have taken the castle without my help, Dominic grumbled to himself.
Most of his life at court had been aimed at attaining power. Dominic wasn't presumptuous enough to desire the throne. He was a realist; no one would follow a king who had more interest in the fashions of the day than his people. But to be the man who had the king's ear... That was a worthy goal. Initially, things had worked in Dominic's favor and his career flowered as he progressed along the path to become the king's personal aide. All shriveled away when he ran into the stone wall called Queen Mugaion Caesarin Elizabeth Dulce Annaatje.
To say the queen disliked
Dominic was an understatement of grand proportions. He was never sure whether
it was something he'd done
or a distinct loathing for no other reason than he existed. Dominic assumed
the latter for nothing he did or said seemed to alter the queen's distaste.
Unfortunately for the ambitious man, Caesarin also had her husband's ear.
Dominic slipped into the small chambers he had called home these last few months. Throwing open an oak wardrobe, he looked at his clothes in dismay. There was no way Dominic could take all his belongings and he began weeding through the clothing as frustrated musings continued.
Every attempt at getting into the monarch's good graces was met with resistance. Dominic soon realized his future hopes were dashed and he began searching for another way to attain them. It had been a difficult decision but, with no other way of reaching the king, only one avenue remained. Moving on to another kingdom was out of the question - Dominic's network of informants and hoodlums couldn't be moved. Either find another throne, starting from scratch, or remain and bring another to power.
The Invader had been a difficult man to reach. Once their initial meeting was complete, however, Dominic felt a renewed sense of purpose; his proposals and offers accepted, a pact was made that would further his desires. That the Dulce king and his bitch would be dead was only added incentive.
With a frustrated sigh, Dominic slammed the wardrobe closed. Everything would have to be replaced. Opening a trunk at the foot of his small bed, he pulled out a travel pack. A few pieces of jewelry, a couple of changes of clothing and three small scrolls were all the space Dominic could afford.
Shouldering his bag, Dominic took a final look at his furnishings. I must take the bastard Invader down. Another frustrated sigh escaped him and he left the room.
Somewhere, there was a renegade princess on the run from a usurper. I wonder, Dominic speculated, What if I found her first?
A full day of travel had passed and Katerin was bone weary. Their pace slowed
to a crawl now that night was upon them, the added smell of nearby wood smoke
urging them to greater caution.
The trio kept to the forest, evading one patrol after another, with no chance to rest. The Invader was not content with spilling most of the royal bloodline; he was obviously hunting for the final heir between he and the throne. Fortunately, Hector had served in the guard as a younger man. His experience was invaluable as the need to hide their trail was tested again and again.
Wrapped in the only cloak, the women waited in the shadows of a large elm while the ex-soldier scouted the cause of the smoke. Stomach grumbling, the princess blushed in embarrassment at the din. Just what we need - to be discovered by the noise from my belly. Ilia heard it, as well, placing a hand on the young monarch's shoulder in a comforting gesture. Katerin's blush deepened, happy it was unnoticeable in the darkness.
Though the moon was full, the night was cloudy, sending intermittent splashes of light upon an encampment in the hollow below them. The sight of Hector ducking into the undergrowth was a welcome one; he'd been gone for some time and the princess was beginning to worry.
Moving close enough for the women to see, Hector held a finger to his lips, urging them further into the forest. Once far enough away, he whispered, "It's a caravan of some sort, Katerin. Maybe merchants. I couldn't tell in the darkness." He pulled two sacks from under his shirt. "But here's some food and water from one of the wagons. We can get more before we leave." He pulled foodstuffs from the sack - a half round of cheese, a loaf of bread and the leg of some sort of animal.
Despite the sudden ache in her belly, Katerin held her handmaiden back. "You stole it?" she asked, reprimand in her tone.
Drawing himself up to full height, Hector nodded. "Aye, your Ladyship, I did." He frowned, peering into her dark eyes with intensity. "We don't have the crowns to pay for it and it'll hardly be missed. I'll not have you starve out here in the wilderness! Your father would haunt me 'til the day I die."
Realizing the truth of his statement, the princess dropped her gaze. With a sigh and a nod, she gestured for Ilia to take the food. "You're right, Hector," she murmured. "We must survive at all costs." Glancing back down the hill, she vowed, "I promise to repay them… somehow."
The servants looked at each other behind her, worry lining their faces.
Much as she wanted to eat it all, Katerin knew it would be folly. As Ilia used the dagger to slice the cheese, the princess doled out a portion of meat, deciding to leave the bread for later. Filling the sack with the remaining items, she tied it shut, patting it gently.
They made short work of their meager allotments, sharing the water skin between them. Acid burned in Katerin's stomach as it demanded more, her appetite hardly whetted. With a sigh, she put the enticing smell of venison from her mind. "We need to find a place to sleep," she announced.
"Aye, lady," Hector agreed, glancing around with a calculating gaze. Pointing away from the encampment below, he said, "P'rhaps we can follow this ridge here and see if there's a safe place."
Nodding, the princess picked up her skirts with one hand and the food with the other. Beside her, Ilia gathered what few personal items they'd been able to scramble during the attack. A lifetime ago, Katerin mourned.
As the women stood, however, Hector grabbed both of them about the waist and pulled them back. Hissing their surprised gasps to silence, he cupped his ear and pointed up the hillside.
The distinct sound of a horse snickered. It was near.
Sudden terror filled Katerin's heart as the servant waved at the encampment below, urging them onward. As quietly as possible, the trio moved along the hillside. Behind them could be heard a muffled curse and the heavy thud of someone dismounting. Reaching the edge of the forest, clouds still covering the moon above, Hector threw caution to the winds and herded his charges across a cleared area and into the encampment itself.
Ducking behind a wagon, the princess leaned her back against it, watching her one and only aging guardsman peer around the side and back the way they'd come. Before her were several other wagons, their coloring indistinct in the lack of light. Her eyes narrowed as she studied one - Is that a design painted on the side? Hector's hand on her arm refocused her attention.
With exaggerated movements the servant urged them along the line of wagons until they came to the fourth. Here, he stopped them, hands held aloft, indicating they should wait. Stealthily, he eased around the wagon to have a look behind them.
The smell of food almost made Katerin swoon. It was overpowering and she knew that this must be the wagon from which Hector had taken their repast. She grasped Ilia's hand for comfort, her stomach growling in demand, and she closed her eyes against the faintness. Above them, clouds drifted aside and the moon illuminated the area.
"Bleedin' Sif!" came the soft curse.
Startled at hearing such language from her servant, the princess' eyes opened wide.
Hector returned to the women, face visible in the moonlight, clearly concerned. Leaning his head close, he breathed, "Only one man. He's got our trail and following." Glancing quickly about, accessing the situation, he grabbed the princess' arm, pulling her toward the back of the wagon.
As he eased the wagon door ajar, the aroma that assailed them nearly made Katerin faint. His hand on her arm pushed towards the opening and she stumbled on her skirts as she was forced inside, her handmaiden following. Turning in the darkness, the princess could see Hector's silhouette against the moonlit encampment, the tense set of his shoulders, his hand reaching out.
"Give me the dagger, lady." He glanced once backwards at a noise. "Quickly! I'll try and draw him away!"
Katerin knew there was no other choice. She handed it to him. "Be careful, Hector," she insisted. "I need you now more than ever!"
"Aye, lady," Hector grinned, tugging his forelock. "I'll do my best. Now, get back!"
The princess obeyed, darkness closing in as the wagon door was shut. She heard the latch click into place with a thrill of fear. Groping about her blindly, she found Ilia and the pair sank down to their knees.
Cautious movement could be heard, the slight jingle of chainmail as someone neared the wagon. Then a silence dragged on for eternity. Katerin felt her eyes widening as she tried to see in the pitch black, her ears nearly growing in length. She held her handmaiden tightly, comforted by arms wrapped about her as well.
A sudden blur of sound, some sort of skirmish. The wagon thumped once, rocking at the impact of two bodies running into it, and the women were hard pressed not to cry out in fear. More scrabbling, the sound of metal on metal, dogs nearby sounding an alarm, a voice grunted in pain. Ominous silence, only dogs barking in excitement.
Dread in her heart when Hector did not immediately reappear to open the door, Katerin rose and pushed further into the wagon, pulling her handmaiden with her. Outside voices were raised in sleepy question and irritation. Curling into a corner with Ilia, the princess wrapped her cloak tightly about them, drawing it over their heads. The barking drew closer and soon there were sounds of happily snuffling hounds all about.
"Freya's tears, Daiki," somebody cursed, getting closer to the provision wagon. "Your hounds raising a ruckus for a midnight snack? Thought you had 'em better trained than that."
Snort of derision. "If you wouldn't sleep on watch, Tommaso…"
A gasp of surprise, followed by another curse. Rustling movement.
"Ros is not going to be happy with this," Tommaso commented. After a pause, he continued, "Both dead and no good comes of that. What do you think they're doing here?"
Katerin bowed her head in mourning. Poor Hector… All this death and destruction. And for what?
"Don't know," Daiki answered. Another set of footsteps could be heard. "Habibah! Get Ros."
Further away, a woman agreed. Only the men shuffling about as they waited broke the silence. After a few moments, other footsteps could be heard, nearing the wagon.
"What's going on, Daiki?" The voice was low and gruff, filled with command.
"That, Ros."
"Bleeding Sif!" Ros cursed. "Tommaso?"
"That's how we found 'em, Ros," the man responded, tone a bit desperate. "I didn't hear or see nothing - I was on the other side of camp when it happened."
Another derisive snort from Daiki.
There was the sound of a resigned sigh. "Well, we can't stay the night here. Someone will be looking for the guard. And who knows what people are waiting for this poor fellow." Pause. "Tommaso, wake Martim. I want you two to clean up this mess. Hide the bodies as best you can. Daiki, Habibah, lock up the dogs. We need to get water from the creek and clean up this mess before we move." As Ros walked away, the orders continued. "We leave within the hour. Roust everyone!"
A chorus of agreement followed and soon the encampment was a buzz of activity.
Even if Katerin could leave the provision wagon, there'd be no way she and her handmaiden would get far without detection. And now we don't even have a weapon, she sighed.
The wait was long and the terror of previous days was taking its toll. Eyelids drooped heavily, startled wide only when the wagon jerked into movement. Making a decision, the princess sat up, pulling the cloak away from her head.
"Your Highness?" Ilia asked faintly.
"Katerin or Lady, Ilia,"
the princess reminded in the dark. She felt for the bag of food that Hecktor
had stolen. "We'll be here awhile, I think. It's high time we had more
food and some sleep. We're not getting out
of this wagon without help."
"Aye, lady."
The women, bread split in half between them, devoured the remainder of the meat and cheese. Finally sated, Katerin leaned back, weariness washing over her. The gentle rocking of the wagon lulled her into sleep.
After two days running, her exhaustion was deep. A full belly and the lazy swaying
of the wagon didn't help matters any. Katerin's slumber was sound, as was her
handmaiden's. Bright sunlight spilling across her closed eyes woke her and the
princess jerked upright with a start. Wincing, she raised her hand to block
the unwelcome light, turning her head to one side. Beside her, Ilia pulled the
cloak up over her face.
"Well, what have we here?" a gruff voice asked in amusement. "A pair of sleeping mice?"
Memory crashed in on Katerin, her heart thumping in fear. Eyes adjusting to the brightness, she lowered her hand, peering out the wagon door at a dark silhouette. Her handmaiden peeked over the edge of the cloak.
"Well?" the voice asked again.
Swallowing, Katerin cleared her throat. "My name is Katerin. This is Ilia," she nodded at the blonde beside her. She became silent, at a loss.
The sound of running could be heard and a small voice piped, "Da! Mum says she'll make cherry hotcakes for breakfast!"
"Hold, Wilm," the man ordered, looking over one shoulder. "Go get Ros."
"Aye, Da." Small feet pelted away.
Children. There are children here, so these people can't be all bad. The princess pulled the cloak from her shoulders, preparing to rise and move towards the entrance.
"Hold there, girl," came the gruff voice, his attention back on the women. "We'll just wait a moment until Ros gets here, all right?"
Katerin nodded. "Of course," she answered softly. Remembering the terror of the night, she recalled the sharp command in Ros' voice, the obvious respect from the others. She could feel Ilia trembling and reached over to pat her knee comfortingly, dark eyes warming with the promise to get them both out of this alive.
As they waited for the mysterious Ros, sounds of people making camp were heard. Voices called back and forth in cheeriness, men and women alike. Somewhere in the near distance, a man yelled out, followed by the rumble of a tree being felled. Footsteps approached.
"What's the hold up, Willem? We've got hungry people to be fed."
The man at the entrance stepped back and to one side. "Looks like a pair of mice have crawled into the provisions," he said with a grin, nodding into the wagon.
It took a moment for Katerin to realize that the new arrival was a woman. She was dressed in black, tunic and breeches, the only color a splash of light blue from her undertunic. Her curly, golden hair was cut scandalously short, giving her a roguish appearance that was further aided by the sword strapped to her hip.
Eyes narrowed, the woman studied the stowaways. "Come out of there," she demanded, hand resting gently on her sword hilt.
Recognizing the voice as Ros', the princess obeyed, helping Ilia to her feet. With no sudden movements, Katerin guided her handmaiden out of the wagon, wincing at the bright sunshine that assailed her eyes. Despite the circumstances, she sighed in happiness, finally able to stand to her full height, surreptitiously stretching in pleasure. Eyeing the strangers before her, the princess subtly stepped in front of her handmaiden.
Ros raised an eyebrow. "I can only assume that you are the reason we had to leave in such haste last evening?" she asked, directing her question at the princess. Hazel eyes flickered up and down the smaller woman with disdain. "While you are beautiful, you hardly appear worth fighting for."
At first surprised, anger soon followed. Having been rousted from her bed in the dead of night, watching family and friends be slaughtered and running for two days, it took supreme effort to hold her tongue. She bit down fiercely on her cheek. Simpleton! Unable to remain completely silent, Katerin responded, her tone icy. "A dear friend is dead and you've been inconvenienced. My utmost apologies."
A faint glimmer of amused understanding lit Ros' eyes, a corner of her mouth quirking. She bowed her head. "Apology accepted."
Katerin's teeth ground together.
Looking at the man beside them, the blonde asked, "Is Sati to make breakfast this morning?"
"Aye. Wilm says it's to be cherry hotcakes."
"Good," Ros said with a chuckle. "The troupe needs the extra sweetness." Her eyes returned to the two bedraggled women before her. "At the very least to make up for the night's unscheduled festivities."
"What of these two?"
With a calculating look, the woman studied the stowaways, ignoring Katerin's obvious hostility. After a thoughtful pause, Ros said, "Have Lucinda and Gemma get them cleaned up. I think they might have some clothes that will fit." Her gaze became less guarded. "I'll see them at my wagon when they're presentable."
"Aye, Ros."
Still angry, though somewhat relieved that they were not in any immediate danger, Katerin found herself being escorted towards a tall, rather colorfully painted wagon. Holding Ilia's hand, she watched the encampment's proceedings with a calculating gaze.
Ten tall wagons were in the clearing, each with its own intricate decoration. Nearly twice that number of people of all sizes and colors were out and about, working with happy industriousness. It appeared that most of the wagons were traveling abodes as the inhabitants set up awnings, chairs and tables outside them. To one side of the clearing, several men were unrolling a vast length of canvas. The dark figure of Ros was among them, calling direction and lending a hand. From what Katerin could gather, they had stumbled onto a circus.
Nearing the wagon, a voluptuous redhead looked up from the colorful flowers she was arranging in a vase. "Ho, Willem! What have you there?" she asked, a welcome smile on her face.
"Katerin and Ilia," the man responded, pointing to each in turn. "Ros said for you and Gemma to assist them. They need cleaning up and clothing."
Hands on hip, the woman nodded, looking the pair up and down. "Aye, that they do." Looking over one shoulder, she called, "Gemma! We've guests!"
Katerin started when the side of the wagon opened up, realizing that there was a shuttered window there. Another woman looked out, her hair and skin nut brown. Solemn green eyes regarded them and she nodded respectively. The redhead - She must be Lucinda - rubbed her hands together.
"Well, let's get started then, shall we?" she asked. Waving her hands at their escort, she said, "Shoo, Willem. I think Gemma and I can handle these two dangerous creatures."
Chuckling, he responded, "Aye, I know you can, Lucinda. I'll be helping the men with the tent in the meanwhile. Give a yell when they're ready."
"I will that." Lucinda remained where she was until he'd gotten out of earshot. Casting a conspiratorial look at her visitors, she winked. "Men! What they don't know about women could fill a book."
A smile crossed Katerin's face. I think I'm going to like this one, she thought.
"Let's have a look at you, eh?" the redhead insisted, waving the pair closer.