The Forest Rogues: Peter & Agnes

[BigBubblehead]

The Forest Rogues:
Peter & Agnes​

The coach was being escorted by four riders, a pair each front and back. It would be a bit more daunting a raid than Peter would have preferred as he had only brought eight men with him. But the winter had been harsh, the recent picking had been thin, and the Forest Rogues were on the verge of starvation, not to mention attempting to maintain their rambunctious life style with empty purses.

It was still early in the Spring travel season, so the roads were still plagued with winter damage: pot holes, land slides, downed trees, and even a few washed out bridges could be found all about the Great Forest that dominated the Great Continent's mountainous interior. And that wasn't even considering the places where, by the dark of night or in the midst of great storms, desperate peasants stripped the King's Roads of their bricks, using the valuable resources in their own construction elsewhere.

Since the spring melt had entered its full, the only travelers Peter and his band of scary-men had met on the North Forest road had been desperate merchants eager to move their product to and fro 'tween the King's Capital City in the West and the Nobles' Baronies and Counties in the east. It was, of course, safer to use the North Shore road -- a long, trek around the coast of the Great Continent -- but that doubled or tripled the time required to reach market. And even then, there were still tolls to be paid.

No, even with the possibility that they may be set upon by Forest Rogues and forced to pay a toll in goods or gold, it was still worth the risk of passing through the Great Forest. The Rogues had a reputation for not killing unless forced to do so, so the most a traveler might lose was a bit -- or sometimes all -- of their stuff.

Peter waved to one of his younger Rogues, a lad barely fourteen, who lifted a horn to his mouth and let out a call that rushed through the forest like a tsunami on the shore. The pair of them, already mounted, turned their horses up the narrow road and hurried into the Forest to join the others who, due to the call, were already in place and ready.

Peter dismounted by grasping a tree limb as he rode under it and swinging up into the tree. His horse knew the task: it wandered off into the trees where its owner had left a feed bag and greedily stuffed its big nose down into the sack, uncaring of what was about to happen on the road behind it.

The attack was quick and decisive. The riders and coach slowed for a rough section of road in a sharp corner, and before they knew what had happened, men dropped from the trees all about them to tackle them to the road. The forest erupted in mayhem, with hollering Escorts and Rogues, flailing fists, even a bit of sword play.

Peter himself had landed atop the coach, clubbed one Escort, and pressed a sword point to the chest of another. He commanded, "Order the passengers out!"

The Escort hesitated, panicked, but then looking about himself and suddenly realizing that the only men still standing with weapons were their assailants, he nodded his head anxiously and responded, "As you wish, m'lord."

The Escort dropped to the ground, opened the coach's door, and begged, "Please, m'lady, disembark. Do as they say, and no harm will come of you."

Peter surveyed the scene and smiled with pride. His men had overwhelmed the Escorts with the surprise attack and had full control. He loved raids like this: no blood, no deaths, pure profit.

He dropped to the ground, ready to make his demands of gold, jewelry, fine clothing--

But when he turned, expecting to find some old Noble man's wife, rich with finery and wrinkles, he found her ... and suddenly Peter's thought of treasure were the least of his concerns ... or desires...

 

[AnyOtherName]

It was with a conflicted heart that Agnes rode within the coach.

Not to suggest that she had been given an option. Her noble Lord father did not make requests of his children any more than he would of his peasants: he commanded them. His daughters were his bargaining chips, his sons his legacy. To put their fates in own their hands would have been unthinkable and utterly foolish.

“But, father... He’s twice my age,” she had argued.

The man didn’t even lift his eyes from his papers. “Mm-hm.”

“...I don’t like him. I will never find happiness if you make me—“

That was enough to earn his attention. With a deliberately smooth hand the man set his paper on the flat of his desk and looked to his youngest daughter. “Have I not taught you well enough?”

She recognized the tone, the potential for violence. Agnes had always been just a shade better than anyone else in invoking her father’s rage. Silently, she dared him with a slight narrowing of her hazel eyes.

“You will find your happiness in pleasing your husband,” he continued gruffly. “And only then.” He stood, several slow steps carrying him to the other side of his desk. Hard eyes cast down on the 18-year-old girl, who looked up at him most defiantly. “He’s been waiting for you a long time, ‘twould be a shame for you arrived marked.” His heavy hand fell on her shoulder, applying just enough clamping pressure to reinforce his threat.

He turned her towards a set of double doors. “A Lady wouldn’t condescend to such difficult behavior or whining.” He pushed her forward. “Don’t you dare embarrass me.”

The push had forced her to take several steps forward. As she regained herself she halted and glanced back at her father – his expression suggested that she keep walking. So she did.

And now...well, she tried to assure herself that it could be worse. Frederick wasn’t entirely horrible. He had chosen Agnes when she was ten years of age and had taken to visiting her ever since – he always brought presents and love tokens and treated her sweetly. He had even promised to allow her to learn archery when it was she was his, simply because she showed a great interest and complained once that her father wouldn’t allow her. He didn’t even strike her in response to the ‘whining’.

Her father had told the coach driver to take the North Shore route and paid him accordingly. But as the small group took their first rest they had yet to reach the fork that would determine their path – and Agnes had already grown bored of travel. Despite the coach’s luxurious interior, hand carved wood panels and over embellishments and all, it was a damned uncomfortable ride. Even on level surfaces the monstrosity jolted and shook in such a way that reading would make the lady sick, and the windows too small to enjoy the passing scenery. The reinforcements of the ports made things even more difficult, forcing the viewer to look out vertical slots and/or intricately designed metal mesh.

The horses were loosed and driver, escorts, and passenger alike took the opportunity to stretch their legs. It was only a matter of minutes before the young maiden had convinced her chauffeur that detouring through the Great Forest would benefit them all. He was hesitant, at first unconvinced by the prospect of collecting fare from another passenger four or five days before he could otherwise. He countered with concerns of bandits and rogues. “It’s not worth the risk.”

“Risk?” Agnes laughed. She was sheltered, didn’t really understand the word. But she was certain that nothing bad could happen to her. Nothing worse than what already was, anyway. “Tell you what,” she started, reaching for a coin purse attached to the ties of her cloth corset. She deftly removed it from herself, tossed it at the man. “Here. I shan’t be needing this – I’m given to understand my husband has plenty more funds for me upon my arrival.”

The driver inspected the contents of the taking, his mouth falling open at the sheer quantity. “Yes, m’lady, of course!” He quickly tucked the treasures away before the escorts had a chance to understand what had transpired.

...As soon as Agnes heard the bellow of the horn the next day, she knew the poor bastard wouldn’t be allowed to keep his prize. She shifted her position and tried to peer outside, unable to spot the oncoming assailants.

Stupid, stupid girl, she chastised herself.

A sudden thud from above caused her to jump in her seat. She lifted a hand to her breast and was immediately aghast to have performed such a lady-like gesture in jerk-response. Damned finishing school...

”Order the passengers out!"”

She sat still and silent, as if her presence might be denied. But that dream quickly shattered as she heard her escort’s delayed and weak response. He was so craven to even call the aggressor ‘m’lord’. Pathetic.

The coach door swung open. "Please, m'lady, disembark. Do as they say, and no harm will come of you."

Lies, she thought. And we both know it.

The escort looked at her as if he was sorry that he hadn’t done a better job of protecting her, though Agnes couldn’t blame him for the current events. She was the one who bartered her way to this route.

Without hesitation the girl climbed to her feet, the height of the coach roof low enough to necessitate her to stoop over slightly. As she emerged from the transport her posture straightened proudly and she hopped down to the ground (her driver had not supplied her a stepping stool, as he normally would have).

The man who had been on top of the coach jumped down as she made her exit – and now he turned to look at her.

Agnes wasn’t blind or dumb. She knew what would be coming. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of her fear.

She placed her hands on her hips and looked at the man with contempt.

“You there!” she called with a venomous, haughty tone. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

 

[BigBubblehead]

You there!” she called with a venomous, haughty tone. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

Peter stood a bit taller at the young woman's bold inquisition. Typically, the female passengers of coaches the Rogues set upon were terrified, nervous, or at the least politely cautious. It surprised him to have this girl snap at him with such obvious -- and perhaps naïve -- anger.

"Who am I...?" he asked with a polite tone, taking a couple of steps forward and closing the distance between them to just more than arms reach. He removed his cap and swung it across his lower abdomen as he gave her an exaggerated bow. "Why, m'Lady ... I am Peter, Emperor of the Great Forest ... the Dark Prince of the Forest Rogues ... Master of All and Slave to None..."

He gave her another deep, exaggerated bow, keeping his head up to allow his gaze to remain on her eyes ... just as all about her, his men slowly erupted into a long round of giggles, chuckles, and bellowing laughs.

When he rose to height again, he looked about to his men with a wide smile that also carried an expression the Rogues understood. They went quiet as they began quickly rounding up the Escorts at sword and dagger point, assembling them on the ground before the coach.

As they worked, Peter's eyes took a conspicuous walk up and down the noble woman's form. She was a shapely young thing, and while Peter shouldn't have been having such illicit thoughts about her, he couldn't help but imagine how good it would feel for their naked bodies to be pressed firmly against one another as he pummeled himself into her.

It was, of course, fortunate for the young lady that of all the possible criminals to intercept her coach, it was Peter that she met this day. He couldn't honestly say that he'd never had a reluctant lover, but he could say that he'd never simply forced himself upon a woman. Consent may be been a gray area at times, but rape was an act that featured a definite, solid line Peter had never crossed.

Of course, that didn't mean he'd never fantasized about simply taking a woman, and he certainly couldn't say that about the thoughts he was having about this particular noble woman now.

"Boss!" one of the Rogues called from inside the coach he was ransacking. When Peter managed to pull his eyes from the beauty, he found the man pulling an elegant gown from within a protective cloth wrap. The Rogue bellowed, "Someone's hitching their wagon to this filly, Boss."

Peter's lips widened at the sight of what was likely a wedding dress. He looked back to the young woman and asked, "Are their wedding bells in your near future, m'Lady...?"

He gave her a moment to respond in her own way, then called out to the Rogues, "Strip'em to their unders, Boys ... then pack it all up. The Lady has a ceremony to get to, and it's up to us to get her there safely."

The Rogues began manhandling the Escorts, ordering them at sword and knife point to strip out of their boots and clothes. Those men who resisted were punched and kicked until they cooperated, and while the violence appeared savage, it was mostly just for shock value and would leave little more than a few bruises in a few days.

"If m'lady would like to board her coach once more," Peter said, his tone polite and friendly, "The Rogues will provide you your escort. You'll be much safer travelling with me than with these ... amateurs."

He stepped over to the coach, opened the door, and offered her a polite hand. "May I help you, m'lady...? Oh, and ... what shall I call you?"

This was where Peter would learn -- or hoped to learn -- the noble woman's identity. He didn't recognize her, but of course, he didn't spend a great deal of time in the courts the Nobles and Royals, most of whom would string him up from a limb if they realized who he was. But, he did know names, and he knew what names would demand the highest ransoms.

That was, of course, what Peter intended to do with this young beauty. A young noble woman -- particularly one on the way to her wedding -- would fetch a sum equal to all the Rogues could earn off a year of robbing merchant coaches. All he needed was to identify her...

 

[AnyOtherName]

His advance made her uncomfortable, though she didn't back away as he took steps towards her. He stopped, just close enough for Agnes to touch if she cared to stretch out her arm.

She had never witnessed this sort of mockery before. He introduced himself as he bowed too deep, the gesture theatrical and devoid of any real respect. He even gave a second exaggerated bow as he finished his grand introduction. His gaze remained on her and so there was no doubt that he saw her eyes narrow in the moment that his men burst into laughter.

Peter stood to full height, a devilish and handsome smile on his lips. He need only give his men a look for them to set about to their work. For a moment Agnes watched them - hoping that her escort had been right, that the rogues wouldn't hurt the men so long as they were told.

After several moments her gaze shifted back to Peter, who still stood quite near her. She saw that his eyes rose to meet hers and she couldn't help but assume that he had been admiring her youthful body.

"Boss!" one of the Forest Rogues called. Peter and Agnes both looked in his direction, at the dress he was removing from the protective wrap. "Someone's hitching their wagon to this filly, Boss."

She felt anger welling within - though she repressed any outward signs of it. Likely the rogue's metaphor was not intentionally insulting, but it rang within her ears as a painful reminder. She was little more than an object - a horse or a pretty statue, it really mattered not what she was compared to, really. The larger point was that she wasn't important as a person, to anyone, not even Frederick. He had picked her out as one would their curtains, after all, strictly on the merits of her appearance.

Her eyes remained on the dress as Peter asked his question. "Are there wedding bells in your near future, m'Lady...?"

"No," she answered dryly. "I just thought the dress was pretty."

He didn't give her sarcastic response comment. Instead, Peter returned to ordering his men. Agnes watched as a couple of the escorts refused to strip to their undergarments, receiving kicking blows and strikes of closed fists until it was that they obeyed.

"If m'lady would like to board her coach once more," Peter spoke in a suspiciously friendly tone, "The Rogues will provide you your escort. You'll be much safer traveling with me than with these ... amateurs." He stepped towards the coach, opened the door, and offered her a hand. "May I help you, m'lady...? Oh, and ... what shall I call you?"

She studied him for a moment. "Agnes," she responded at length. Her hands went to her skirt, taking hold of the material so that she could draw it up her legs, the bottom hem nearly reaching the bend of her knees. "Your help won't be necessary," she remarked as she placed her foot on the ledge of the door frame. As she lifted herself one hand released her skirt so as to catch and pull herself inside of the coach. Once there she allowed her skirt to settle and eased herself onto one of the plushly lined benches, looking back at Peter.

"It will be difficult for you to escort me to my destination...as I have no intention of telling you where it is I was going." She crossed her legs and balanced her clasped hands on top of her knee. "Though, if you insist, we may travel in that general direction. Perhaps once we reach the edge of the Great Forest I'll find an opportunity to quit you and your rogues." She smiled sweetly, as if she hadn't just told her captor that she intended to run away.

 

[BigBubblehead]

"Agnes," she responded at length...

Peter didn't recognize the given name, but that wouldn't have surprised him. He waited for the surname that would place value on her -- or not -- but it didn't come. He only smiled at her resistance and watched as she took it upon herself to return unassisted to the coach's interior. His gaze dropped as she lifted her skirt, and for just an instance he caught a bit of leg between her tall, laced boots and the hem of her skirt.

Scandalous, they would have called that back at Court, he was sure. And since it caused him to tingle a bit below his belt line, he understood why even such a minor flashing of skin was considered so sinful for a young noble.

"It will be difficult for you to escort me to my destination...as I have no intention of telling you where it is I was going." She crossed her legs and balanced her clasped hands on top of her knee. "Though, if you insist, we may travel in that general direction. Perhaps once we reach the edge of the Great Forest I'll find an opportunity to quit you and your rogues." She smiled sweetly, as if she hadn't just told her captor that she intended to run away.

Again, Peter's smile widened. He gave her a nod of his head -- not a bow so much this time -- to show his acknowledgement of her continued defiance.

"Then west we shall head," he said politely, "and when you feel it appropriate to give us more precise directions--" He flashed his teeth in a knowing grin. "--or simply bid us adieu ... then so be it, m'Lady."

Peter stepped back and closed the door, giving Agnes one last bow as he backed away and began shouting orders. In a short moment, the coach rocked with the boarding of several Rogues and then rocked much more as it surged forward.

As Peter watched it leave, half of the remaining Rogues followed behind it with the rider-less horses in tow. One handed out the reins of his Master's horse, but Peter had one last task to complete before he left.

"What is m'Lady's name," he said, ripping his sword out of its scabbard as he approached the Escorts, huddled together on the road's edge in no more than their underwear. He pointed the weapon at the man he'd assumed was in charge and said for all to hear, "The first man to tell me lives. The rest will--"

Before he had even finished his threat, three or four of the men spat out the answer. Peter smiled -- particularly at the head man's grimace of disappointment -- then mounted his horse in a swift motion and kicked it into action. A moment later, he was following or being followed by the rest of the Rogues, leaving the men to discuss their heroism or lack thereof in the dust...



After an hour long ride that had taken the coach on one narrow, seldom used road after another, Peter rode up beside the coach and called, "I would advise you to close the shutters, m'Lady! It's going to get ... difficult."

He stopped his horse suddenly -- before Agnes could respond -- and watched as the coach burst through what he and the Rogues called the Green Wall. The foliage here was thick and looked like just more forest, but once the coach surged through it, it was on yet another road.

This one the Rogues called the Green Tunnel. For its entire length of a mile and half, it was so restrictively narrow that the coach was constantly being slapped and stuck by limbs. Peter stayed far enough behind the coach not to get slapped by swinging branches himself. He could only wonder how Agnes was feeling about her new Escorts...



Then, suddenly, the mayhem ended. The coach burst out of the dark, shadowy forest and into the bright of the midday sun directly overhead. It slowed, then stopped. The rocking of the rough road was replaced by the rocking of the men aboard hoping off to the ground, smacking away the leaves and twigs that had nested in their hair and clothes during the ride.

Peter dismounted next to the coach, opened the door, and offered a hand. "We are here--"

He nearly called her by name, letting her know that he'd been told her identity by the frightened Escorts. But he caught himself. He had no intention of giving her that information: Peter wanted to know just how long she would resist him before finally explaining who she was in the hopes of him beginning negotiations for her release.

Instead, he simply finished, " Would you like a hand, m'Lady."

Here, as Peter had called it, was a village sitting in the midst of an open, sloped pasture. There were a dozen wood plank homes, the worse for wear after the harsh winter Mother Nature had delivered to the residents.

In every direction, eyes turned toward the coach, those of young shepherds herding a handful of goats on the hillside, to women prying turnips from the recently thawed soil in the village, to men just down hill from the homes who were skinning and quartering a deer hanging from a hook.

It had been quite a while -- years, actually -- since a wheeled vehicle had survived the trip through the Green Tunnel, and even then, it had been a merchants wagon full of barrels of ale. With little hesitation, villagers began heading toward the unexpected vehicle, eager to learn of its reason for being here ... and, of course, of who was inside.

 

[AnyOtherName]

He was not at all unsettled by her defiance, a fact that unnerved the young noble. Never in her life had she spoken so freely without suffering some sort of consequence - and yet this rogue simply smiled at her.

He responded politely, flashing a grin as he spoke as if she wasn't his captive. His words were courteous, almost sounding kind. But as he backed away, gave a bow, and closed the coach door...it felt to Agnes as if she were in a cage.

Which, assuredly, she was.

Shortly thereafter the coach began to move. Agnes sank back into the cushions of her bench, letting out a sigh as she closed her eyes. She had no way of knowing if Peter was one of those upon the exterior of the coach - or if he was following or staying behind for the next opportunist heist. She was uncertain if she should have a preference in the matter.

After what had been an hour but seemed much much longer, Agnes heard Peter call to her:

"I would advise you to close the shutters, m'Lady! It's going to get ... difficult."

Her brows drew together. Were arrows to be loosed upon the coach? What sort of danger would closing the shutters --

And then the most horrendous scratching noise Agnes had ever heard filled the cabin. A branch caught in one of the vertical ports and snapped shortly thereafter, a small and sharp remainder launching into the interior of the coach like a throwing dart. Agnes sat still for a moment, perhaps in shock, before she did as Peter had recommended.

The terrible conditions persisted for what seemed half of a day. When it was that stopped it wasn't but moments before the coach began to slow and stop itself. Agnes felt the turbulence of the rogues disembarking.

She wasn't sure if this would be a short break or if they had reached some destination. Whatever the case, she was ready to get out of the coach and so her hand reached for the interior handle...

The door swung open before she could make contact.

"We are here--" Peter spoke with an offered hand. It nearly sounded as if he had trailed off in his speech, but he shortly continued. "Would you like a hand, m'Lady?"

She looked at his hand as if it was disease-ridden. She did not deign to verbally refuse his assistance, instead simply hopping down as before. She glanced towards him with a 'I got it' expression before her attention shifted to the village and it's inhabitants.

"Where is here?" she asked.

 

[BigBubblehead]

"Where is here?" she asked.

"This ... is Heaven," Peter said with a more serious tone than he'd used with her to date. He swept his hand before him as if presenting the world to her. He politely gestured her to follow on foot, as the Green Tunnel Road ended where they were standing at a small bridge that spanned a narrow creek. "Welcome, Lady Agnes."

Peter began down the trail, turning his back on the young noble without concern of whether or not she might pull a concealed dagger from her bosom or boot and stick it in his back. Killing him now wouldn't do her much good, of course, not that killing him back at the raiding sight would have either.

"We live a humble life, m'lady," Peter continued, assuming that she was following him close enough to hear his tale. "No Royals or Nobles to take our coin because, most days, we have none to take..."

As he continued he gestured his opened hands toward the things he spoke of. "...and have only our goats, our crops, our homes..."

He have glanced back over his shoulder as he spoke the last part with a smirk. "...and our lovers."

He continued down the path, calling out to the children who were running up to him. He dropped to his knees, swept his sword out of the way, and was tackled to the ground by half a dozen children -- from barely walking to pre-teens -- who immediately began searching his pockets for anything they could find.

One by one, they held up copper coins or candies or dried jerky and such, shrieking with joy as they turned and headed away with their little treasures.

Peter remained on the ground, watching them disappear into the gardens or over the rolling ground. Without looking to the Noble woman, he said with a meaningful tone, "I don't have much to give them, Lady Agnes ... but what I do have, is theirs."

He looked up to her with a happy smile...

 

[AnyOtherName]

Agnes continued to watch the village as Peter introduced it as Heaven, keeping whatever comments she had to herself for the time. The rogue signalled her to follow and bid her welcome before turning his back, taking a leisurely pace down the trail.

For a moment the noble simply watched. The hesitation caused for her to take half a dozen quick steps to catch up to Peter, once it was that she saw no other option than to follow.

He continued to speak. Agnes hadn't been allowed to associate with peasants, even when she was a young girl and desired other children as playmates, and so their lifestyle was truly unknown to her. She was surprisingly interested in Peter's words as he described their life. There was no noble or royal in charge of this territory, no taxes or tribute for these people to pay. Agnes also understood that to mean they lacked for formal protections, which would explain their tolerance of the Forest Rogues.

She watched the indication of Peter's hand as he showcased their simple belongings. Goats, crops, homes... And then he glanced over his shoulder at her, a smirk upon his lips.

"...and our lovers."

She wasn't quite sure what to make of that. As he turned back forward, calling out to the children that rushed up to meet him, Agnes stopped her progress. She could feel a slight heat upon her cheeks. But why was she blushing? It wasn't as if Peter had meant to suggest that he didn't have a lover to indicate...or that he had anything in mind with regards to herself.

Right?

Agnes watched as the rogue dropped to one knee and was overcome by the youth of the village, knocked to his back as they rifled through his pockets. She took note of their prizes and the happiness each received from the minor treats and coin. A stab of guilt at the realization that she, as a child or even now, would have taken a gift such as theirs with only the utmost disappointment. They scampered away, one by one, treasures clutched in their little hands.

Peter remained laying on the ground. "I don't have much to give them, Lady Agnes ... but what I do have, is theirs."

She looked at him in response, just as he turned his gaze to her. The smile he gave seemed more genuine than those that had proceeded it.

The lady was glad to have recovered from her former blush, not wishing for Peter to know that he had caused such, not so very long ago. But maybe he wasn't as bad of a guy as she had first thought, maybe he even had honor - whatever twisted version of it one of his station and circumstances could have, anyway.

She studied his face for several long moments. He was older than her, by exactly how much she couldn't discern - but in any case his age was much closer to Frederick's than her own. And yet...his being a man of at least thirty didn't repulse her, as it had in her betrothed's case (though Frederick was much closer to forty - to teenaged Agnes there wasn't a whole lot of difference).

She suddenly came to the realization that she considered Peter to be handsome; her sight strayed only a moment, soaking in the sight of his lean body stretched out on the ground...

The momentary slip in judgement was quickly caught. She let her eyes continue their sweep, as if she had been seeking to look out at the village once more instead of exploring Peter's fully clothed body and imagining what was beneath.

"Are we staying the night here, then?" she asked abruptly.

 

[BigBubblehead]

As he watched Agnes, Peter thought for a moment that she was inspecting his physical being. But when her sweeping gaze continued on away from him, he smiled broadly, a bit embarrassed by his wishful thinking.

A young noble woman such as she would have no interest in spying his body, right? Bull shit! Mother Nature didn't care whether a girl was noble or not in her creation of natural want and need. Agnes wanted, for certain. Unfortunately for Peter, she wouldn't want for a person, a Rogue, such as himself.

As he stood, it made him rethink his policy about not forcing himself upon reluctant females ... but only for a moment.

"Are we staying the night here, then?"

He began down the trail further, gesturing her with a gently curling finger as he mused, "The night...? Yes ... at least the night."

He didn't think it was appropriate yet to discuss the fact that she was a hostage of the Forest Rogues, that she would likely be here for a couple of weeks while they arranged a ransom for her. She was likely thinking it, too, but Peter didn't see the need to discuss it quite yet.

"We don't have a stone Keep to offer you, m'Lady," he said, half glancing over his shoulder, wondering what her reaction would be but not really wanting to witness the expression. "But ... we will make you as comfortable as we can."

As they entered the village itself, Peter became very aware of the attention the woman following him was garnering from the villagers. Some people eyed her with curiosity, others with disdain. The single set of clothes and decorations Agnes wore -- despite being more casual than those she might wear at Court -- were still more valuable than everything one of the peasants eying her personally owned or might even own throughout the course of their entire life.

Of course, some of those eying her had made the conscious choice to live this simple life. But most hadn't. The village's population of just under 100 included mostly outcasts from the towns and cities in the lower lands, people who simply didn't fit the mold the Nobles had in mind for their servants.

There were common criminals, tax evaders, runaway wives -- and even more runaway husbands -- Army and Guard deserters, Loonies, and even a parish-deprived Holy Man who had found his flock here in the hills. And, of course, there was Peter, the Dark Prince, who defied classification due to his innumerable idiosyncrasies.

He turned suddenly and stepped through the door of a decrepit building, the only one in the village that was built of stone, not logs or wood planks. He knew the layout, so he didn't need to let his eyes adjust to the darker setting before making his way toward the hearth on the far side, eager for a hot mug of venison stew.

By the time he'd scooped the thick, steaming mixture and turned back to look to Agnes, he could see in her expression that her eyes had adjusted, allowing her a clear view of the hut's interior.

"Welcome to my castle," he said with a smirk, lifting the mug to his mouth to carefully sip a bit of the thick broth. "It's not much, but it's more than many have."

Peter's statement was so very accurate. He had few possessions: other than those he was already carrying, there were a dozen or so confiscated weapons assembled in one corner, including short and long swords, a cross bow, a pair of bows -- one long, one short -- and an ancient shield that sported the Coat of Arms of a centuries gone Roman Noble; in another, was a pile of clothing that had also been filched from various merchants and nobles detained on the Great Forest Road; on the walls were a few trinkets that Peter could have sold but treasured for their uniqueness, beauty, or modern engineering, the latter including a wind up clock that was so amazingly accurate that it only lost a half an hour a day ... or gained, depending upon the humidity.

Other than that, there were just the usual: a three legged kitchen table supported by an empty beer keg, upon which was an overturned wash tub that didn't get nearly as much use by Peter as it probably should have; a trio of mismatched chairs or stools; a wardrobe with few clothes and even fewer clean clothes; a larder with a lift lid which hadn't been lifted in weeks seeing as it was empty following a harsh winter; and ... of course, the bed ... the one and only bed.

Peter glanced over the mug of stew toward his bed for a moment, then looked back to Agnes, his smirk hidden behind the wooden container. He took a moment to let the smile wane before he lowered the meal and said, "You'll stay here while we ... prepare for your departure ... your return to the road and to your ... I'm sorry, m'Lady, did we decide he wasn't to be your husband or...?"

 

[AnyOtherName]

"The night...? Yes ... at least the night."

Yes, that sounded about right. They wouldn't be traveling any farther east, or going back west, at least not until some arrangement was made in regards to ransom. But she'd have to supply her name for him to have even the slightest idea of who to contact...or to even figure if her bloodline was wealthy enough to warrant the trouble.

It didn't even occur to the girl that the rogue could have threatened her escorts or driver for such information. No, she was naive enough to believe she had a slight upper hand on him.

She followed him into the village wordlessly, glancing about at the people as they passed. She'd offer them smiles, make eye contact. Still, she had a creeping feeling that she was resented by the majority of them.

She followed Peter into the solitary stone building, pausing just past the threshold. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowed her pupils to widen before she reopened them. It didn't take more than a slight turn of her head to see the entire residence.

"Welcome to my castle," he spoke with a smirk. Nonchalantly he lifted a mug to his lips, the procurement of which Agnes had entirely missed, and took a sip off of the top. "It's not much, but it's more than many have."

His castle? she repeated in her mind. Her eyes were drawn to the singular bed. Her thoughts raced and she only received a momentary reprieve when it was that Peter spoke again.

He continued to pretend that he and his rogues intended to return her home - they merely needed to prepare for her departure. It sounded like a fun way to dodge the word 'ransom'. She didn't dwell on it, though, as Peter had other lovely topics to address.

"I'm sorry, m'Lady, did we decide he wasn't to be your husband or...?"

"We didn't decide anything," she corrected. Agnes suddenly felt awkward standing within reach of the door; she took a couple of paces forward, more carefully studying Peter's collection of goods. After a few moments she continued. "Nosism, you know." But maybe he didn't. Agnes glanced in his direction. For some reason she didn't want to insult him, at least not in regards to his education or lack thereof. "As in I don't have a choice, and you aren't involved." She turned her attention back to his things, slowly skirting her way around the room.

"That is, unless you were to ruin me for marriage. Then I suppose you'd be involved," she added with the tone of an after-thought, without so much as looking at him.

 

[BigBubblehead]

"We didn't decide anything," she corrected.

Peter's lips thinned in a sly smirk. I like her, he thought to himself, seeing that she was in no way going to surrender herself to the situation in which she found herself. Agnes was going to fight her new happenstance politely or with fury, but Peter knew she was going to fight it without any forfeit of her pride or station to him.

"Nosism, you know...
As in I don't have a choice, and you aren't involved."

He'd heard the word Agnes used before, back before he'd come to the Great Forest. But he didn't immediately recall its meaning. After she'd explained, he still couldn't be certain he would have known. There wasn't a great deal of use for such vocabulary amongst the mountain peasants.

He watched her in silence as she wandered about the relatively large, relatively plush home -- for this village, of course -- and, while he should have tried harder, he found it difficult to prevent his gaze from falling repeatedly to her young, firm bosom or shapely, round buttocks.

"That is, unless you were to ruin me for marriage. Then I suppose you'd be involved..."

Peter laughed aloud, then cut the humor short, realizing its inappropriateness. He wondered whether she had risked the risqué concern simply because he was a man of questionable background and she was a beautiful young woman without proper escort or chaperone; or whether she spied him ogling her youthful form repeatedly.

"I assure you m'Lady," he said with a suggestive tone, "if what concerns you was to occur between the two of us ... you would be far from ruined, as your husband-to-be would thank me for the dispensing of such a valued education."

His lips spread in the grandest smile yet, not just at the joint-straining pat on the back he'd just given himself but at what he considered an elegance of words. He may not be of the Court, and he might not have a stables of private tutors as he suspected Agnes did, but he wasn't totally uneducated either.

Peter wondered if that surprised her, or pleased her ... or both. She had likely assumed that he was little more than an illiterate peasant running around with a sword, doing the only thing his ignorance allowed him, stealing and murdering and ... raping? He contemplated how she would react to find that Peter, too, had Noble blood flowing through his veins.

Of course, he wasn't going to tell her that anymore than she was going to tell him her father's name. He couldn't know it now, but Agnes would, in fact, learn his secret in the near future. That would leave them each keeping a secret from the other, assuming that only they had that upper hand.

"I have things to do, m'Lady," Peter said, giving her a slight bow of respect. "You are welcome to remain here ... perhaps nap ... perhaps clean up if you wish."

He gestured toward the basin upside down upon the table, adding as he headed for the still open door, "I will send a girl to assist you if you wish, and a boy with more wood for the fire..."

 

[AnyOtherName]

Her lips upturned at the sound of his laugh, though she hadn't been making an effort at humor. She wasn't completely sure what the aim of her last comment had been, to be entirely truthful. Hearing Peter cut his mirth short - probably for fear of offending the lady - only made it all the more amusing.

"I assure you m'Lady," he spoke suggestively, "if what concerns you was to occur between the two of us ... you would be far from ruined, as your husband-to-be would thank me for the dispensing of such a valued education."

She blushed a shade deeper than before - and right before his eyes. Agnes could not help but glance in the man's direction, her expression showing her speechless surprise. She looked at him for only a moment, her hazel eyes tracing the curve of his lips... The young noble had no reason to suspect that he was lying, or that he wouldn't follow through if given the chance. She forced her eyes away from him, now taking an interest in his collection of weapons.

He wasn't at all like she expected him to be. His silver tongue could match her own - he was a dashing rogue, like those in books of adventure. He wasn't the bandit-type that all young ladies were warned of and afraid.

She was even starting to doubt that he had any intention of raping her.

As if reinforcing her thought, Peter spoke. "I have things to do, m'Lady." She looked to him, to see him give a proper bow. "You are welcome to remain here ... perhaps nap ... perhaps clean up if you wish."

"Are you telling me I can't go outside and play with this?" she took the long bow in hand, brandishing it as if she had any idea how to use it. "Because I would much rather, if it's an option."

She looked at him hopefully. Gave him the cutesy-innocent look that had never worked on her father.

"...I understand that arming me isn't in your best interest," she continued after a moment. She still did not openly refer to herself as a captive. "But unless I'm a natural there shouldn't be any chance of me purposely injuring anyone."

 

[BigBubblehead]

"Are you telling me I can't go outside and play with this?" she took the long bow in hand, brandishing it as if she had any idea how to use it. "Because I would much rather, if it's an option."

Peter had been handling the bow since when, in his childhood, he had to stand atop a block of wood just to be able to use the weapon that was taller than he. So he could tell by the way Agnes lifted the weapon -- and by her use of the word play -- that she was unfamiliar if not totally ignorant of the bow's deployment.

Either way, it hadn't worried him to leave her alone in the room with one. If she'd wanted to use a weapon to escape, there were a dozen sharp blades of various lengths at her feet, and they would be much more beneficial in the event of an escape attempt.

She looked at him hopefully. Gave him the cutesy-innocent look that had never worked on her father.

"...I understand that arming me isn't in your best interest," she continued after a moment. She still did not openly refer to herself as a captive. "But unless I'm a natural there shouldn't be any chance of me purposely injuring anyone."

Peter's lips widened in yet another smile. He really liked this young woman! It was a shame that he'd have to send her back to her father, or to the non-existent husband-to-be, in any case. If luck was on his side, she might be tempted to delve into that whole ruining her for marriage idea. But, of course, Peter hadn't been a lucky man during most of his years, so he wasn't holding out any hope for that.

He crossed the room toward her slowly, his gaze on that playful expression in her face, until he was well inside her personal space. He took a moment to look into those incredible hazel-green eyes, then reached to take the bow from her.

As he did, though, he took her hand into his, a forward move considering their differing stations and -- of course -- the fact that they were a captor and a captive, male and female, alone together. In it he place an ornate dagger that he'd inconspicuously slipped from the small of his back.

"If you are considering ... injuring someone, m'lady," he said softly, still looking deep into those wonderful pools, "this will make the job easier."

He curled her fingers around the hilt, then pressed her hand back against her belly such that the flat face of the blade pressed into the lower cleavage of her shapely bosom.

The gesture was far more intimate than was appropriate for them, and the effect it was having on both of them didn't go unnoticed.

"As far as the bow lesson goes," he said, his seductive smile widening playfully as he released his grip on her hand, "Yes, I would be more than happy to give you a lesson, but ... tomorrow. Tonight, however ... this moment ... I have things that need to be done."

Peter backed a step, then gave Agnes a proper bow due her station as a Noble. He took another step back, turned, and was gone...

 

[AnyOtherName]

Again, her willful mouth had earned a smile from Peter. It was invigorating - at home, she had not only been disciplined for whining; in fact, more often than not it was the cleverness of her words. She wasn't allowed to back-talk, or make sarcastic or snide remarks...essentially, it was her role - as a Lady - to be pretty and devoid of personality.

...She often compared herself and her sisters to furniture.

As Peter took steps towards her she had no fear of him, though she knew he would take away her already cherished weapon. He came close and stopped. They stared into each others' eyes, for a moment both unmoving, until he reached forward to take the bow away.

Unexpectedly, he also took her hand. She glanced down as he desposited an ornate dagger onto her palm. Her eyes returned to his, her brows drawn slightly together.

She had to repeat his words in her mind several times before they made any sense.

His hand cupped hers from beneath, a curling of his fingers pressing her own around the hilt of the dagger. Gently he eased the weapon towards her.

Her lips parted, as if to speak. But she said nothing, instead only staring into his dark orbs.

"As far as the bow lesson goes," he spoke, releasing his hold of her hand. "Yes, I would be more than happy to give you a lesson, but ... tomorrow. Tonight, however ... this moment ... I have things that need to be done."

She nodded softly.

Agnes watched him leave, still entirely uncertain what to say.

When she found herself alone in his residence she took another glance around. Her eyes settled on the bed. Would they be sharing it, this evening? Peter might be courteous for a rogue but she couldn't imagine so much so that he'd sleep on the rock hard floor. She certainly didn't intend to. She approached the sleep nook tentatively.

Another glance around the room. Then she slowly seated herself on the edge of the bed. His bed.

...It probably smelled like him. She looked towards the blankets, considering...

And then there was a knock at the door. Agnes jumped, as if someone had just caught her doing something wrong. Hurriedly, as if to prove she hadn't been, she jumped to her feet and went to the door. Opening it, she found a small girl standing outside. The noble guessed her age to be in the early teens.

"Greetings, m'lady," the girl spoke as she gave a clumsy bow. The way she said 'm'lady' indicated that the address was foreign to her.

"Hello," Agnes returned simply. She watched the girl, expecting her to give a reason for her appearance. But when she didn't, the lady took a step back and opened the door wide. She motioned with a hand. "Won't you come in?"

The girl nodded weakly and scampered over the threshold.

Making conversation with the little one was strained. Agnes couldn't tell if the girl was intimidated or merely awkward, but she made an effort at easy small talk to make her more comfortable. It wasn't but minutes, though, before another knock came upon the door.

"Get that, would you?" Agnes asked of the girl, whom she had coaxed a name out of during niceties. Elizabeth seemed happy to be given a task and she bounded to the door like a ball of energy.

This time, it was a young boy. Couldn't have been older than fourteen - which was just old enough to have him tip his wheel barrow upon seeing Agnes. Wood plummeted and scattered about the ground.

He looked mortified. Quickly falling to his knees to clean up his mess he also started babbling apologies.

"No worries," the lady assured him. She approached and knelt down to help him clean up the mess. "I'm Agnes, by the way."

"...Mark," he responded, as if uncertain.

"I've always liked that name," she offered.

"Uh..." he blushed a little bit. "Thanks, lady. Er, m'lady."

"No, no... Agnes."

"...Agnes," he repeated reluctantly. Elizabeth beamed a smile - she already knew to call the lady by her first name.

After the minor mess was cleaned, Peter's woodpile stocked, Agnes stood and dusted off her hands by brushing them together.

"We'll be outside if you need anything, Agnes." Elizabeth seemed to enjoy speaking her name.

But the lady turned to look at the two young ones with a sad expression. "Leaving me already?"

The two gave each other confused looks. "Yeah, well..." Mark started. "Unless you need something..."

Well. She didn't need company, she merely wanted for it. "The coach - is it still here?"

The boy nodded.

"Then let us go to it!"

"We can fetch for you --"

"Oh, no. You won't know how to get into the secret compartment."

Their eyes widened. Secret compartments likely had treasure.

"Come, let me show you," she spoke sweetly, leading them to the door. As she stepped outside and began their journey she couldn't help but noticed an armed man following her. She glanced back at him, then at Elizabeth.

"That's Samuel," the girl informed her. "He's supposed to keep you from running away."

"What do you bet I can run faster than him?"

"I...I don't know that that's a good idea, Agnes."

The lady grinned. She turned on her heel, walking backwards, calling back to the man. "We'll race you to the coach!" With that she spun back around and took off to a run, holding her skirt up with both hands. The young teenagers gave a squeal and chased after her.

Sam seemed convinced she was making a real bolt of it - and he nearly caught up to her. But as she reached the coach, she touched the side of it, and proclaimed "I win!"

"I got second!" added Mark.

"Samuel is last!" Elizabeth pointed and laughed.

"Let us see what I have for prizes..." Agnes crawled into the coach, the two young ones following her inside. They watched eagerly as she pulled a sliver of wood out of the paneling. She started at the plank with her nails, then recalled that she had Peter's dagger tucked into her corset. She pulled the weapon, which did not seem to startle the children, and pried off a large carved piece of wood.

"Ah ha!" she gave the two a beaming smile as she tucked the dagger away. She reached into the recess, retrieving a large flat box. It was silver, with golden trim, and pure solid metal. She shifted its position so as to open it facing them.

The inside was stuffed with candy confections - and only the best, of course. "Go on," she insisted.

They each took a treat and nibbled on it cautiously. Not as if they feared she would poison them, but that they feared the morsels would be gone too quickly.

"Do we get to share?" Elizabeth asked suddenly.

Agnes tilted her head. It was unlike children - or at least any that she knew - to be so quick to wanting to spread the wealth of candy. "Of course. Can I trust you two to fairly divvy up the loot?"

They both nodded enthusiastically.

"Good. Now, don't forget to give Samuel one. Defeat isn't so bad when you're still treated well."

The three emerged from the coach. Agnes had taken another treasure from within, one she didn't intend to share with the kids; a tall and wide onyx black bottle, sloshing full of liquid. They started back down the path, Elizabeth placing a candy in Sam's hand as she passed. "Better luck next time."

"It'd help if he had been on the starting line," Agnes commented.

"We still would've beat him," Mark boasted.

The lady laughed and tossled his hair. "Maybe you would have. I fear he might have tackled me to the ground."

"Only because you're not supposed to run," Elizabeth offered helpfully.

"Yes, this is true. But I've spent the better part of life doing as I was told, and so..." She shrugged. "I'll run if I want, and fall if someone tackles me. It won't be the end of the world."

It seemed that Agnes' antics had drawn at least as much attention as her initial appearance had - and as she wandered back into the village it felt as if all eyes were on her. "Where is Peter?" she asked a bystander at random.

A pointed finger indicated a direction. "Thank you muchly," she said in a sing-song voice, taking to that way.

She found him with a gathering of rogues, some familiar and some not. She approached with a proud posture and steady pace. The men were roasting a deer and enjoying a freshly popped keg.

"You weren't going to invite me to the party?" she asked with a mock frown.

 

[BigBubblehead]

"You weren't going to invite me to the party?"

Peter was lifting a wooden tankard to his mouth, still in the midst of a hearty laugh after listening to an off-colored joke about a naked Royal and the horse he rode in on, when he heard the sweet and yet challenging voice of the village's newest resident.

He looked to Agnes, hesitating in his drinking, to smile broadly and consider her question. In fact, he hadn't planned on inviting her to the party, the usual celebration that followed another successful toll collection on the Great Forest Road. It wasn't because he hadn't wanted Agnes there: he simply didn't think that the Lady would be interested.

Of the nearly 100 residents of the hillside village, half of them were already assembled and one or two or three more were arriving every couple of minutes. By the time that the sky was dark and the music was raging, the packed dirt square of the village would be occupied by well over three quarters of the forest peasants, drinking and laughing and dancing and, in many cases, groping and kissing the ones for whom they loved ... or for whom they lusted, anyway.

"Consider yourself invited, m'lady, and very welcome," Peter said, standing and giving another of his exaggerated bows. This one wasn't performed mockingly, however, as those back at the robbery sight had been. Despite being surprised at her presence, Peter was tickled to see her here. "Please, let us find you a seat."

As he headed for Agnes, Peter gave a laughing man a push in the chest, sending him off the top of the stump chair that was a comfortable distance from the roaring fire. The man spilled over to his back, rolling over to land on his buttocks, looking up in surprise with his tankard of beer now splashed all over his front side.

Peter looked to Agnes, looked to the seat, then proclaimed, "Why, this gentlemen has been good enough to surrender his to you m'lady."

The entire crowd erupted in laughter, and after a moment the man on the ground -- who saw his now empty tankard replaced by the one from Peter's own hand -- was even laughing hysterically.

Peter took Agnes' hand and led her to the stump, then backed away a step and conspicuously surveyed her entire being. He smiled, looked around to the rest of the crowd, and announced, "My good friends! May I present to you her Ladyship, Agnes of..."

He looked back to her, his eyebrows raising as if hoping she would let slip her father's title. After a moment, it was obvious that a name was not forthcoming. Peter finished, "Her Ladyship, Agnes of the Great Forest."

The crowd surrounding them was divided in their response. Some gave bows -- formal, informal, even mocking -- while others called out greetings or smiled happily and still others only stared at her as if wondering what the hell she was doing there.

"Your Ladyship..." Peter bowed again, his playful eyes set upon hers. He rose to height again and swept his hands in both directions, "...may I present ... the The Rogues!"

The entire community erupted in cheers of pride as tankards lifted in the air and a fiddler struck a few loud noted before again going silent. Despite Peter's word to Agnes earlier on the hill, in which he made it clear that life here in the village was hard at best, it was obvious that at this moment, these people were happy to be who they were and with whom they were.

A teetering man practically slammed into Peter, shoving out a tankard and a bottle both to him. Peter took the containers, then gave the man a little shove back the direction from which he'd come. He moved up to Agnes, offered out both containers.

"M'lady would prefer a vintage wine...?" he asked, indicating the bottle before lifting his head and asking of the village, "Which we got how...?"

"Tolls! they all called, laughing.

"Or, would m'lady prefer an aged ale...?" He asked his question of the group again, and again they called out the answer, Tolls! He smiled to Agnes as the music suddenly erupted beyond the fire -- a couple of fiddles, some pipes, some home made percussions -- and, for just her ears alone, said, "I'm happy you came to join us ... Agnes."

 

[AnyOtherName]

The young noble's question was greeted by a smile and a moment of consideration. Agnes couldn't truly be upset, even if the rogue had expected her to stay lonely and confined to his home during what looked to be a promising good time, because...well, she was a captive. Ignoring the fact in speech didn't make her situation any less true. Besides, what proper Lady would want to join the revels of commoners and peasants?

Each passing minute only seemed to convince Agnes that she was, in fact, improper. She had been told as much from countless sources and forced to correct her behavior, in the past. But it wouldn't be but a day - or hours, or minutes, in some cases - before she either purposefully repeated the offending action or found a new one. Physical discipline only seemed to strengthen her resolve to disobey. The hammer to her rebellious nature had always been wielded by her parents, who would shame and question her honor.

She received an invitation and a welcome. From Peter, at least. He gave her an exaggerated bow before expressing a desire to help her find a seat.

Her mouth dropped open and she lifted a hand to cover her gaping maw as Peter shoved a man from the stump he had been using as a chair. She looked to the man, who had thoroughly dowsed himself in his drink. He looked up in surprise.

"Why, this gentlemen has been good enough to surrender his to you m'lady."

Her hand dropped slowly, revealing that she unable to restrain a small laugh. She looked at the man as Peter supplied him with a full tankard. "Thank you, good sir," she bowed her head and lifted the sides of her long skirt as she gave a graceful curtsy.

Agnes hadn't been surrounded by such raucous laughter since...well, ever. Nobles were notoriously uptight, most of all the women. If noble men were to seek amusements and good times they would undoubtedly leave the lady at home.

Peter's hand took her own and he led her to the stump. Upon arrival he stepped back and gave an appraising glance to her form.

She was caught a little off guard that she so enjoyed him looking at her in such a way.

He introduced her with only a slight twist of the formalities one would encounter at a ball (if only because the crowd was never addressed as "good friends"). He trailed off as he gave her name and Agnes was glad that he didn't know her house or titles. He looked to her, as if she might supply one, which she did not.

So he improvised. Agnes of the Great Forest.

...That had a nice ring to it.

The crowd response was mixed; Agnes couldn't find it in herself to be too concerned, though she surveyed the crowd and gave a friendly wave of her hand coupled with a dazzling smile.

Peter introduced The Rogues and Agnes cheered along with the crowd. These people, who just earlier today she would have considered little more than filth (though she hadn't taken the assignment to heart, like many others of her upbringing), were obviously so much more than that. They may steal, could even be given to lying, but... What other options did they have? One had to play the hand they were dealt, after all.

She was, at this time, completely oblivious to the fact that any of those among the crowd had chosen this lifestyle.

Peter presented her with two options for her consumption: a vintage wine or a tankard of aged ale. As he asked for her preference he made a show of it, continuing to rile up the crowd. They called out happily in response, proud of how it was they came into such fine drinks.

A mixture of instruments ignited the air with music before Agnes was able to make her choice.

Peter flashed her another of his smiles. In a voice not shouted for the pleasure of the group, he added, "I'm happy you came to join us ... Agnes."

She reached for the tankard, delicately removing it from Peter's grasp. She returned his smile, pleased that he had used her name in place of 'm'lady', and looked to his face as she replied, "I'm happy to be here."

Probably not the most common response from a captive but it was never-the-less true. Likely she'd be less glad in the days to come, if Peter could extract a full name from her. She tried to not imagine her father being difficult, disagreeable, to a point which would force the Forest Rogues to start sending pieces of her home to show their serious want of ransom. Which is not to say she had evidence of any such instances from this specific group - but it was not an unheard of practice in these ugly situations. Maybe they'd start with her fingers...

She pushed back the gruesome thought. Agnes lifted the tankard to her lips, tipping the it back in order to take three deep drafts. As she lowered the stout mug her expression showed that she found the taste not at all offensive.

"Oh!" she suddenly spoke, lifting her alternate hand. It contain the onyx bottle she had retrieved from the coach. "Might I present you with a gift?" She offered the bottle to Peter without ceremony. "It is an imported amaretto. I think you'll find the taste quite refined."

She nearly thought to set down her tankard so that she could open the offered bottle, to take a drink first to show Peter that it wasn't tainted. But she was curious to see if he'd take it without such a demonstration.

 

[BigBubblehead]

"Oh!" she suddenly spoke...
"Might I present you with a gift?" She offered the bottle to Peter without ceremony. "It is an imported amaretto. I think you'll find the taste quite refined."

Peter stared at the bottle for a moment, then back to Agnes. Before Agnes and the children -- and slow, lumbering, out of shape Samuel -- had returned from the coach, another peasant had, of course, already reported the foot race to Peter, so it didn't surprise him that she'd snuck back an item or two without her escort's knowledge.

It did, however, surprise him that she was ... well, being like this. She was a hostage, an object of ransom: she had to know this, didn't she? And yet one of her first thoughts was to return to the vehicle from which she'd been snagged to retrieve a gift for her kidnappers?

Peter smiled broadly, took the bottle, held it high, and -- knowing that at least a few of the revelers had heard Agnes' comment -- announced, "Quite refined...! Like me!"

The entire village erupted in laughter -- some tossing small objects his way, including pine cones or bread chunks -- as Peter turned slowly with the bottle overhead. When he'd made the full circle and was again facing Agnes, he pulled the cork, sniffed at the bottle, gave her an appreciative expression and lifted the bottle to his lips for a healthy draw. When he lowered the bottle again, swallowing, he growled with delight.

"Wonderful," he whispered, his gaze firmly upon Agnes, thought not only on the face that was studying him. He took another sip, leaned forward to offer the bottle back to its owner, and said with a suggestion tone and smile, "The best I've ever tasted ... or wanted to ... m'lady."

Peter was just a bit tipsy by now, just enough to air the true feelings about Agnes which he would have concealed sober. Whether she understood his compliment to mean his desire to taste her was questionable: whether the tent that was forming just below his belt line was obvious wasn't in doubt.

 

[AnyOtherName]

Agnes joined in the mirth of the crowd, quite amused by Peter's claim of refinement. Although - truth be told - she thought him to be, considering his station.

He showcased the bottle and performed a slow twirl. Once he again faced Agnes he pulled the cork and sniffed the contents. The young noble took pride in the expression he gave her in response - though the liquor had not been picked by her hand, nor was it hers. It belonged to one of her brothers, who had cut out the secret compartment to begin with. The candies had been stowed only after Agnes caught him sneaking a nip from the previously hidden bottle. He wasn't supposed to be a drunk, and she wasn't supposed to get fat.

Peter lifted the bottle, taking the level of the liquid down a notch. When he lowered the glass from his lips he gave a growl that had an unexpected effect on his company - she felt a sudden want between her legs as she imagined what similar noises he might make in bed.

"Wonderful," he whispered, his eyes upon her. He took another sip and offered the bottle back to her. "The best I've ever tasted ... or wanted to ... m'lady."

She had been about to refuse the offering of amaretto, on the sheer merit that she had never had liquor before and feared to become sloppy. But as an all too familiar burn came to her cheeks she accepted the bottle and took a moderated drink.

Maybe she had read too much into his words? He was talking about the amaretto, after all, even if his gaze and tone suggested otherwise. She cast her eyes towards the ground just after swallowing, attempting to repress the twist of expression that often times followed liquor. The amaretto was smooth, to be sure, but Agnes was not accustomed... Her reach moved forward, offering the bottle back to Peter.

She might have kept her face from skewing but she couldn't repress a light shiver. Her eyes drifted back upwards, glimpsing the rise within Peter's pants. She nearly stopped to stare but her training to become a lady won out. Her gaze continued upwards, as if she hadn't even noticed, but a stiffening of her nipples suggested otherwise. Her undergarments and dress were of little help in concealing the nubs of flesh that pushed against the fabric from beneath.

...And there was that damned burning of her cheeks again. She took a drink of her ale, as if it might help to cool her down, but it did no such thing. If anything it made it only made it harder for her to deny her sexual attraction to the Dark Prince of the Forest Rogues.

For a moment she simply watched his face. She was uncertain what to do, untrained beyond ignoring the awkward situation between them. A sheepish smile came to her lips.

"Dance with me?" she asked in hopeful tone as she offered a hand. If he accepted she'd find a place to deposit her tankard for the time, so that she could move in closely against him.

The music was upbeat and jaunty, and nothing like what Agnes had been taught to dance to. She'd settle just to be pulled around by Peter, jostling and rubbing against him...

 

[BigBubblehead]

"Dance with me?"

Peter's eyes widened, surprised at Agnes's request. His lips widened as well, as he reached out to take her hand and said, "My pleasure ... m'lady."

He helped her from her seat and, walking backwards, took her out into the packed dirt square, calling out, "Fiddler! Something we can dance to, please."

The music which had been fun and jaunty and foot stomping but not particularly danceable faded one instrument at a time, as the musicians talked or simply looked between one another, deciding upon a song.

Peter stopped his and Agnes' movement, released his grip on her hand, and stepped just a bit closer to her. He took a very proper pose in front of her, something she might very well have seen in the finest of courts in the valley. It likely wasn't what she'd been expecting after the wild frivolity of the party so far. Just as likely, she hadn't been expecting the very cultured and formal music that began on the make shift stage that, by it's appearance, likely had been a home once before everything above the floor burned and was taken away.

Peter gave Agnes a formal bow, then waited for her response. He stood motionless for a long moment as the prelude continued and other villagers hopped up and moved out onto the solid ground.

Then, with a devilish grin, Peter leaned forward, snatched both of Agnes' hands, and said softly, "Let's dance."

The musicians suddenly broke out in a fast paced tune, and Peter swept Agnes into a wild, energetic dance that involved swirling in circles and skipping while moving in a greater circle that involved the entire square. All around them, other couples -- and even children jumping about alone -- gave a life to the village that for which even the preceding party atmosphere couldn't have prepared Agnes.

Peter had been to court once or twice, though none here knew that, and from his experience, he knew that if you doubled the energy, boisterousness, and sheer joy of even the most enjoyable court dance, you still would not have seen a display as wild as this one.

In the process of the dance -- which sometimes caused Peter and Agnes to collide with other dancers -- he very skillfully took Agnes closer to him, until finally as they neared the end of the minutes long song, the fronts of their bodies were pressed firmly together, allowing him the pleasure of her firm young breasts and her the ... well, the feel of that down lower against her belly and at times hip. Whether she was getting as much pleasure from the proximity of their personals as Peter was was something of which he certainly couldn't be certain.

 

[AnyOtherName]

She shouldn't have been surprised to find Peter commanding the music to be more accommodating for them - and yet she was. He led the townsfolk and his band of rogues admirably, his composure and certainty unfaltering. It was strangely enchanting. Strange, if only because of Agnes' usual resentment toward authoritative figures. Somehow the qualities she loathed in men at court - entitlement and over confidence - seemed...endearing. It didn't make any sense.

Peter's posture was strikingly noble, his arms raising gracefully into a position that was well known to the girl. He almost seemed a proper gentleman in that moment...and in the following, when he perfectly executed a formal bow. He could've been a Lord for all his graces and elegance. It took only the surrounding of peasants and the packed dirt beneath them to remind her that the musing was pure fantasy.

She responded in kind, her head bowing slightly as she gave a curtsy to her partner. It was the first time she performed such an action with a genuine smile upon her lips. Balls were boring, after all, and were made no better by suffering dances with old, fat men. Being that she was betrothed at such a young age, those had been her only dance partners - no one ever near her age, no one handsome enough that she might consider sneaking off with them. Just married men, mostly friends of her father's, who knew well enough to be cautious with the placement of their hands and mindful of their manners.

Agnes soaked in Peter's devilish grin as he took her hands. "Let's dance."

"Let's," she repeated with a broadening of her already wide smile.

She wasn't prepared for the sudden increase in tempo, but despite this she quickly synced her movements with that of her partner. At first she felt rather silly, moving far to quickly for any dance she knew. She broke out in a short laugh as they skipped and twirled. Gods - it was more fun than she had ever had, and while it could be a bit of the drink talking, it was mostly for her sheltered existence.

The entire village sprang to life. The young noble marveled - not necessarily that everyone was participating, but that they did so so well. Sure, collisions happened now and again, even to Peter and herself, but considering the speed in which they pranced, the amount of alcohol in most of the participants, and the formal lack of training for...well, everyone... It was an impressive feat.

The Dark Prince of the Forest Rogues drew Agnes towards him, with such subtle skill that she hadn't even noticed until it was their bodies touched. She welcomed it, even as she knew that she shouldn't. She was his captive, after all, and anything developed between them would be doomed from the start.

...And it would be her first. Did she really want her maidenhead taken by a...

She wasn't even certain what he was anymore.

The press of their bodies increased. Agnes' breasts were mashed between them and she could feel the outline of his hardness press against her stomach. It was impossible for her to not wonder what it would feel like, delving between her legs.

She pressed herself harder against him, her face flushed and her eyes avoiding his as they continued to dance. As the music winded down, however, she found herself briefly nuzzling her face into the crook of his throat.

You can't look at him. She told herself. He'll see right through you.

...But you can't not look at him, either. It's not as if she could stay nestled against him, here, forever.

She lifted her face reluctantly, her green hazel eyes finding his darker ones.

"Peter..." she spoke just above a whisper. She could feel herself lifting onto her toes in an attempt to match his height, even as she told herself it was a bad idea. The wrappings of her arms about his shoulders tightened slightly, as if trying to draw the man down to meet her.

 

[BigBubblehead]

The pair swirled around and around, bounding in skips, then spinning once again. And all the while, the pressure between their bodies only increased as Peter slid one hand lower down her back and more to the center, holding her tightly to him.

"Peter..."

He was staring down into Agnes' eyes as she whispered his name, and he so wanted to lower his face to her and kiss her passionately. And yet even with the far-too-familiar proximity to which the dance had led them, Peter knew this was neither the time nor the place to take that step.

Lady Agnes was his hostage. She was ransom material. She would be leaving soon. Peter would never see her again. To kiss her now while her joy was lifted and her inhibitions were lowered -- by both the alcohol and the frivolity surrounding her -- would be the greatest sin he could commit upon her being.

Peter could have continued dancing with Agnes like this for hours, their bodies pressed together, her womanly flesh pressing to his chest, his rock-hard erection rubbing against her torso. But ...

He couldn't do this to Agnes. He couldn't do it to her, because ... because ... because he didn't just want her now! He wanted her always! They had only been together a few hours -- and not all of it actually together! -- and yet Peter had already decided that if he was to have Agnes once, he'd have her always.

And while she may allow the Dark Prince some latitude in proper behavior while her guard was down, tomorrow she would be ashamed and -- in her words -- ruined, and she would never be able to look him in the face again.

No, Peter had a choice to make: have Agnes once, now, tonight, this instant; or not have her at all.

He suddenly released the grasping hand at the small of her back and allowed her to spin away from him, dangling at the end of his other hand like a fish on a line until she flew away from him and landed in the grasps of another dancing couple who erupted in laughter and incorporated Agnes into their own, lively dance.

By the time Agnes was able to escape their grasp and look for Peter, he'd already snatched a female peasant, pulled her to him, spoke to her over the music, and sent her Agnes' direction.

"We must go," the woman told Agnes, grasping her hand to drag her away from the dance and toward Peter's home. She met resistance, but she tugged again -- forcefully -- and said with great concern, "M'lady, please! We must leave here at once!"

Peter didn't look back, instead snatching up a shapely peasant with her breasts almost flying out of her low cut dress and returning to the animated dance that he'd been so enjoying with Lady Agnes of the Great Forest...

 

[AnyOtherName]

Agnes gave a small cry of surprise as her dance partner spun her away from him - although she was not yet entirely alarmed. He'd spin her back, take a hold of her lithe frame and tilt her romantically as he placed his lips on her own. She could see it, in her mind... Because he wouldn't... He couldn't reject her. She was so certain of it that she even gave a playful laugh as she reached the full extension of his arm. Again, she had been naive enough as to believe she was invincible. "My coach cannot be set upon by rogues" had not been enough of a lesson. No, instead she added "My heart is sacred and no one would dare shatter it" to the painful reminders of the ultimately level playing field of humanity. Her prestigious bloodlines gave her an advantage, certainly, but it did not safeguard her from the harms of life.

In the moment that Peter's hand released her own, a look of confusion flooded her face. She found herself enveloped in the embrace of a couple of strangers. They laughed and latched on to her, in a gentle yet 'drunk and over friendly' fashion, guiding her to turn in to face the triangular arrangement. She strained to turn, to look to Peter, but found her arms securely held. They spun in a circle, and for a moment she was certain that she found the rogue's back. His back. Where was it that he was going?

It was only but half a spin later that Agnes extracted herself. Still, she felt disoriented - a natural response to the combination of alcohol and spinning. The young noble hadn't had all that much, as it was...but she was not only small, she also had nothing of a tolerance.

She turned to and fro, looking for Peter. She nearly shouted for him --

"We must go," she heard as an unknown woman grasped her hand. As if Agnes would listen - she jerked back, only to find the woman capable of holding on to her. The peasant tugged her with more force than was expected, forcing Agnes to take a step lest she fall forward. "M'lady, please! We must leave here at once!"

Agnes' expression was a combination of confusion and hurt. "What do you mean?" she demanded. Despite the influence of the amaretto the lady kept her voice well below a shout - no doubt a courtesy that had been deeply implanted in her mind during her youth. "You can't make me leave! Not now..."

The woman wasn't even going to try to reason with her. She turned away from Peter's former dance partner, continuing to hold her hand, pulling her forward with the determination of an ox with a plow.

Agnes thought to scream. To throw a tantrum, make a scene. But as she glanced back, as if expecting Peter to save her, she got just the slightest glimpse of him dancing with someone else.

She felt the sting of tears. Very suddenly she was entirely too willing to follow the stranger, looking forward and keeping her head up while hoping that her eyes were not staining themselves red already.

She was such a fool. Likely everyone here knew it, too, which made it all the worse. You should've just stayed locked up, like the prisoner you are! What were you thinking, trying to associate with this...with this filth!

Anger welled inside of her just as her vision started to blur. Thankfully the two women were well away from the center of events and quickly nearing Peter's house as the first tear fell. When they reached the door Agnes was released, the peasant woman stepping ahead to open the door for her. The blonde did not hesitate to place herself inside, sealing the entrance after her.

Her back struck the door, as if she needed to barricade herself. Slowly, she slid downwards, finding rest on her bottom with her knees bent and near her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face.

She felt too many things. Wounded. Angry. Embarrassed. Surely half of the camp had seen her try to kiss Peter, saw him reject her and so easily take the company of another woman.

Eventually she found rest, but she did so in the middle of the floor. She couldn't stand the thought of Peter - of sharing his bed, or even accidentally inhaling his scent from his blankets. She kind of hoped he would die. Drink too much and fall into the fire pit...or grab the wrong woman and receive the wrath of her lover. Agnes didn't even care if it was an honorable fight, he could get stabbed in the back for all she cared. In fact, such images helped to lull her to sleep.

It hadn't been a restful night. She took forever to calm enough to sleep, and once there she found herself waking frequently to adjust her position on the cold and hard floor. It wasn't until the door opened and the morning light spilled upon her that she truly woke.

Agnes tried to open her eyes but the blinding light quickly countered the plan. She lifted a hand to block the painful rays, sitting up from her half curled position on the floor to look at who it was stepping over the threshold.

Her eyes narrowed. Despite a throbbing of her head she managed to find her feet in a matter of moments. She brushed at the fabric of her skirts in an effort to straighten them - and to distract herself from him.

 

[BigBubblehead]

Peter plunged his cock deeply and quickly, again and again, then -- as orgasm neared and without realizing what he was doing -- called out, "Agnes! Oh... Agnes...!"

As soon as his consciousness caught up with his faux pas, he stopped and looked with horror down into the face of the naked young woman moaning below him.

Lola had heard Peter's error, just as his own brain finally had, but she didn't care as much as he did. She reached her hands to his bare buttocks, grasping them tightly in work-worn hands, and pulled his body into her as her she accelerated the rocking of her hips.

"Is okay, m'lord, no stop," she reassured him in the accent so unlike his own, her gestures and words only too obviously showing she wanted to proceed. She kissed his mouth, almost attacking him with her lips between excited breaths. "No stop! Please, m'lord. Is okay call me her name..."

But Peter simply stared down into the woman's face, uncertain of why he was even here. It wasn't their first time together, of course: she had been an on again, off again lover of his for most of the year that she and her family had lived in the Rogue Village. But it was the first time he'd ever fucked her with his body while he was fucking someone else with his mind ... and heart.

"Is okay," she repeated again, now eagerly working to push him off of her and to his back, as she herself rolled to mount him, reaching between her thighs to put him in his place. She smiled broadly between kisses and excited breaths, drew a deep breath as she forced him inside again, and anxiously returned to pleasuring her master. "We finish, yes?"

And even though Peter did little more than stare up into her face, Lola did finish them, the Dark Prince first, then herself. She collapsed upon him, panting, fulfilled, and expecting to stay right here against him for the night, keeping him warm and happy.

But it was only a minute or two before Peter slid out from under her and off the barely large enough, straw mattress bed. He began preparing to depart the near total darkness of the tiny hut, donning his scattered clothes and searching for his boots. As he dressed, Peter could see Lola's face in a sliver of moonlight. She wore a slight smile, but it wasn't the normal post-coital expression she had for him.

"You come back again?" she asked. When Peter didn't respond, she decided to move onto the final step of their love making sessions. She placed her hand, palm down, upon the top of an empty wooden box that served at as a table. "You enjoy?"

Peter hesitated, then searched his pockets, found her payment, and placed the coins atop the box. He said only, "Yes."

"But ... you no come back?" It was obvious in her tone that she already understood the effect that this noble woman's presence was having on Peter.

"Me also?" a second voice asked.

Peter looked to the other bed, to Lola's cousin, also an occasional lover of the Dark Prince. He only smiled politely to her, then back to Lola again, before turning and making his way out of the little hut the pair occupied specifically to give Peter a place to fulfill his needs away from the rest of the two girls' family.



As the sun rose, Peter was again redressing, this time after a painfully cold bath in the creek to remove the smell of the woman who'd filled his ache. He was shivering so hard he could hardly use his fingers. All he could think of was being in bed ... warm ... with Agnes.

He shouldn't have abandoned her the night before. He should have rushed her away from the celebration to his bed, stripped her beautiful clothes from her, and made passionate love to her all night long.

But ... of course ... he couldn't have. It wasn't what Peter wanted from Agnes. Actually, it was! But, he wanted more from her than just a quick, hard fuck. That's what Lola and Fiona were for. Peter couldn't have done that with -- or to -- Agnes.

He headed back up to the village, slowing as he passed his own home, wanting so badly to go inside and slip into bed next to Agnes. He couldn't know, of course, that she was laying on the ground, trembling and stiff, refusing to partake of the comfort of Peter's bed.

He sped by instead, returning to the Village Square. There were already people out and about, beginning their days. A woman whose main duty was serving Peter -- out of bed, this time -- prepared a platter of food at his request, and soon he was heading back to his home.

He opened the door and was shocked to find Agnes laying on the hard, pseudo-concrete floor. And despite seeing her like this, Peter still couldn't help but imagine laying there beside her ... up close ... naked.

She stirred and stood, squinting against the harsh morning light spilling in behind him. She smoothed her clothes over her body, which -- from Peter's point of view -- only served to emphasize her curves further ... curves he yearned to grope and caress.

"I brought you breakfast, m'lady," he said politely. He was embarrassed with the way their evening had ended. His intent had been noble, of course: he'd been protecting Agnes from himself! But ... he'd done so very poorly. He stepped inside, using his foot to swing to door shut and cut off the sun blinding her. He looked to the platter, which had everything from venison to boiled eggs to mushrooms to a half dozen variously cooked vegetables. "I have goats milk on the way ... and water. Is there anything more I could provide for you ... Agnes?"

 

[AnyOtherName]

She couldn't stand to look at him. The young noble did not entirely turn her back, but her hazel-green eyes were assuredly elsewhere. On the table, or the wash basin...or something in that general area.

He spoke of bringing her breakfast and she didn't even bother to counter that she wasn't hungry.

"I have goats milk on the way ... and water," he continued. "Is there anything more I could provide for you ... Agnes?"

Her gaze reluctantly met his, her eyes full of anger and hurt. "No."

Arms crossed under her chest, her posture straightening and shoulders squaring back. She leered at him in silence and waited for him to leave.

 

[BigBubblehead]

Peter sensed Agnes' disappointment with him. That wasn't difficult at all. And, of course, he didn't blame her for being this way. At the height of their fun and flirtation, he'd simply tossed her aside...? sent her away...? literally had her dragged to, of all places, his home?

He entered to set the platter on the table, then turned to face her. "I should apologize for last night, m'lady ... Agnes. I..."

He hadn't prepared an explanation, so he didn't really know what to say now that he was here. He stepped just a little bit closer, studying her expressions, trying to determine what was going on inside that mind of hers. He couldn't.

He decided to be blunt and honest with her. "Agnes, if I had not sent you away last night ... I would have ... I would have done something ... would have taken from you ... something you would likely prefer to retain."