"Isn't the King of Breoch quite old?"

Baudwin looked over at Rhiannon, who was sitting next to him on the perch. After the other day she had taken to doing so for at least part of the day, and he found that he enjoyed her company. Even if she was still quiet and moody most of the time.

"It's his son," he replied. "The former king was dethroned two years ago."

"Oh." She looked down at her hands. "I didn't know that. I don't get a lot of news of the world in the swamp."

"How long have you been in the swamp?" Asking personal questions seldom yielded answers, but Baudwin kept trying. He was curious about this woman and her past.

"What is the son like? Have you met him?"

"Eh..." He really ought to tell her the truth and was definitely suffering some guilt from keeping the truth from her. But at this point he wasn't entirely sure how to tell her. 'Oh, by the way. I'm the king.' She wouldn't be happy. Not that he could blame her. So he kept quiet. Turns out, the decorated war hero, the man who had dethroned his own parents... was something of a coward.

"I wonder what type of person he is if he seized the crown from his own parents," she mused, not having noticed his hesitance.

What type of person indeed. Baudwin grimaced. It wasn't as if his parents had given him much choice. They'd used the excuse of having to rebuild the kingdom after the war against the Dark Disciple and his army to over-tax its citizens to a point where they could barely afford to feed themselves. Something had to be done. Especially when it came to a point where they were ready to attack their own daughter, his sister Braithe, for going against them to help the citizens.

"I don't think they left him much choice," he muttered. "They weren't good people. Sometimes you have to stand up to someone, even if they're your parent."

She was silent for a moment, with her gaze on the horizon. Then she nodded slowly. "Yes, that's very true. Anyway, you never said if you've met him."

"I have on occasion." In the mirror.

"What's he like?"

He shrugged. "They say he's a good man. Maybe a bit of a grouch at times."

"A good man willing to marry a complete stranger. What is he getting out of it?" She glanced at him and made a face. "I beg your pardon. Of course, you wouldn't know this. I'm thinking out loud."

Baudwin hesitated a moment, then sighed. "I've heard things. There's talk of rebellion. Your parents were close to the old king and queen and are not happy with changes made by their new ruler. They used to have a lot of influence. Now, not so much."

"That does sound like my parents." She scoffed. "So, by marrying me he's giving them at least the illusion of some influence and will stave off a rebellion. I can see why he would agree. Unfortunately for him, I won't go along with it."

"Why not?" He couldn't stop himself from asking the question. It intrigued him she was so opposed to the idea. Most women of his acquaintance would love to become the queen. It wasn't as if he expected her to answer, anyway. She never did.

"I never intend to marry. And I certainly do not want the attention you get as a queen."

Baudwin quickly closed his mouth. An actual answer to a question? Was she not feeling well? "That's unusual," he said carefully, not wanting to spook her.

"It's not the first time they've tried to marry me off. They've not succeeded yet." She was staring unseeingly straight ahead, her posture tense.

"Is that why you left a decade ago?"

"In a way." She shuddered, and he suddenly felt guilty for bringing forth whatever bad memories lurked in the dark abyss of the past. "It was the catalyst, I suppose."

Watching her, he wasn't sure whether to probe further. This was the most open she'd ever been with him, and he wasn't sure if she wanted to talk about it, or if he'd just been lucky and caught her at a vulnerable moment. In which case, he didn't want to take advantage. Or he did. But his honour wouldn't let him.

"So, what happened?" Apparently, honour was overruled by curiosity.

He could tell the exact moment she realised she'd given away too much, as her eyebrows knitted and she turned her face to glare at him. "What's with all the questions?" she asked. "If you work for my parents, I'm surprised you don't know."

"It was a decade ago. People forget."

She scoffed. "I doubt they'd forget this. Unless my step-father got rid of everyone around back then."

"I don't actually work for your parents." This was his chance. He could come clean. Tell her who he truly was. But the angry, wounded look in her eyes made the words stick in his throat. "I... I travelled from the royal castle."

"Of course. My parents would want the king to do the grunt work." She rolled her eyes. "You're a knight of the royal court, then?"

"Yes." It wasn't entirely untrue. He was a knight. Sort of. Only he was a king first and foremost.

She stared at him for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "When you return to your king. Tell him I'm sorry. I don't want to cause a rebellion, but I also cannot marry him. Once I speak to my parents to make it clear, I will disappear again."

Baudwin nodded. He wanted to ask why, but she had turned away from him and had brought out a leather-bound journal she was leafing through. If that wasn't a sign of being dismissed, he wasn't sure what was.

As dusk settled, they reached another village and Baudwin made quick work of finding them rooms at the local Inn. Or he would have. They'd been lucky throughout the journey, but tonight their luck had run out and the Inn only had one room available. Realising that his aching leg and body wouldn't handle the two hours to the next village, Baudwin hesitantly paid for the single room. Rhiannon was standing a few feet away, ignoring the patrons who were casting shy glances at her.

From her frown, he suspected she might think they somehow knew she was the Swamp Witch. Which was impossible. No one in Breoch had ever heard of her. It was much more likely that her beautiful, golden red hair had them spellbound.

He nodded towards the stairs in the back of the room and she followed him as they made their way to their room. As he stopped outside the door, she looked at the single iron key in his hands.

"Where is your room?" she asked, a note of suspicion in her voice.

"They only had one available." When she blanched, he smiled grimly. "Not to worry, I will sleep in our carriage in the stables. But I would appreciate it, if you would let me rest my leg for a bit. And maybe have something to eat."

She nodded stiffly. "Fine. But after supper, you're leaving."

"As you wish, my lady." He sketched a bow and opened the door, smiling to himself as she brushed past him with a huff.

Closing the door behind him, he surveyed the room. It was surprisingly large, and fit with two single beds rather than one larger. The furniture was worn, but everything seemed to be clean and well-tended to. Rhiannon had dropped her knapsack on the bed furthest from the door, so he sat down on the other one and stretched his leg out. He was too tall to do so properly in the carriage, so it was a relief to now. Using his hands, he massaged the leg, trying to ease the pain.

Rhiannon was watching him thoughtfully.

"How did it happen?"

He looked down at his fingers kneading the aching muscles. She wasn't the only one who didn't want to think about the past. "In the war."

"Here in Breoch or elsewhere?" She was looking at him with clear eyes, and actually seemed interested. The last couple of days were a pleasant change to how their interactions had begun.

"I was at the Battle for Messina. When we took it back from the Dark Disciple."

When he met her eyes, she averted her gaze and started rummaging through her knapsack. "If you're still in pain this much later, it must never have healed properly," she muttered, almost to herself. "Was it a big injury?"

Baudwin shrugged. "A tower toppled over and I was caught by it. They think every bone was broken," he admitted. "It's healed, and I can use it. But it aches every day. More if I put too much strain on it."

"A building toppled over?" Her eyes were wide, and he frowned.

"Yes. It happens. I assume an attack from a trebuchet hit it. We had built several to aid the attack, but they're not discriminate about where they land their loads."

"Could you not get out of the way in time?"

"It would have fallen over one of m—" He stopped himself before he could betray himself. "One of the other knights. I pushed him out of the way. We both avoided the falling tower, but my leg was crushed underneath some falling debris."

She was still staring at him. It was unnerving. "Look, it's not that bad. I'm a cripple, but I can still move around. It could have been a lot worse."

"But you have pain every day?"

"I can handle it," he muttered. He hated talking about his injury. People would see his cane and his limp and judge him without knowing him, without knowing what he was capable of. Or not capable of. They just assumed the worst.

Her lips pressed together as if annoyed. "Yes, I'm sure you can. But living with constant pain is not pleasant for anyone."

"It is what it is." He shrugged. Closing his eyes, he rolled his shoulders. Somehow the pain always seemed to extend to other parts of his body. Tension creating knots in his muscles and causing dull aches just about anywhere.

When he felt a pair of soft hands on his thigh he nearly jumped out of his skin. Opening his eyes, he found Rhiannon kneeling in front of him, her moss-green eyes fastened on his leg as she poked and prodded. He swallowed. This felt far too intimate.

"I—" He stopped himself short as his voice came out as a croak. Clearing his throat, he tried again, "What are you doing?"

"I'm assessing your leg," she stated matter-of-factly. As if she was handling a bag of wheat and not one of his limbs. As if her hands weren't inches from his crotch when she traced the withered muscles of his thigh.

May the Gods have mercy. He stared helplessly as she kept touching him, sighing with relief as she moved down to his shins, while praying that she wouldn't notice the response her touch was eliciting from his treacherous body. It was embarrassing, but her simple touch was more intimacy than he had allowed himself for years, and his body was responding as if it was a starving beast finally allowed a sliver of pork.

"I can feel where the bones have not set properly." She finally pulled her hands back and stood up. "If a proper healer had seen to you straight away, you might have been fine. As it is, no one can correct the bones that have healed badly."

"There weren't really any around." He watched her as she went back to her bed to pick up a small leather pouch. "We only had one sorcerer with us and it was Sorceress Isobel. As I'm sure even you've heard in the swamps, she was busy saving the world at the time."

"True healers are rare in any case." Rhiannon moved over to a small table where a bowl and jug of water stood. Pouring the contents of her pouch in the washbowl, she added water to it and used a hand to stir. "Even more rare than sorcerers."

Baudwin frowned. "I thought all sorcerers could heal?" In truth, he wasn't well-acquainted with magic. It was a rare gift from the Gods, granted very few.

"Yes, and no." She smiled grimly. "Every sorcerer can do some semblance of healing, but only a true healer with an affinity for it can excel. I suppose like I could pick up a sowing needle and mend a tear, but a seamstress could make a beautiful dress."

"That's a good analogy." He watched her pick the bowl up and come back to kneel in front of him. "You seem to know a lot about magic."

She glanced up at him. "Take off your breeches."

"Excuse me?" Surely he had heard wrong.

"Take off your breeches." She nodded towards his legs as if he was a daft child who didn't know what breeches were.

He shook his head. There was no way he was stripping in front of her. She scowled, her lips pressing together in annoyance.

"Don't be an honourable fool," she said. "I have seen legs before. This ointment will help with your pain."

That did sound tempting. Especially as his leg was bothering him more than normal. At least, his traitorous body had calmed down. With a frustrated huff, he tugged his boots off and put them to the side. Then he stood and unbuttoned his breeches, while trying not to look at the woman kneeling on the floor in front of him. Pulling down the breeches, he stepped out of them and laid them on the bed as he sat back down.

"It will feel cold to start with," Rhiannon warned him, and he nodded.

He kept his gaze at a spot a foot above her head as he felt her hands on his calves again. He didn't want to see the look of pity on her face as she saw the sad state of his leg. The knotted muscles and scars that created a patchwork on his skin. The cool ointment wasn't as bad as he'd thought, and having her massage it into his aching muscles was surprisingly pleasant. When she didn't comment on his leg, he relaxed and closed his eyes.

As she reached his thigh, he was thankful for the flowing edges of his white shirt hiding the state of him. His body was betraying him again, finding her touch a little too stimulating. He was so relaxed that he didn't realise how high her hands had moved until her knuckles accidentally brushed against the part of him that was very obviously appreciative of her massaging his leg.

Straightening, his eyes flew open to stare at her in horror. "I beg your pardon!" he burst out. "I... I didn't mean to. My body isn't... It's been awhile..." Feeling heat creeping up along his neck, he quieted. This was humiliating. And inappropriate. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but apparently his body had not received the message.

She didn't even look up at him, just kept massaging the ointment into the muscles of his thigh. "It's nothing," she said, sounding as if she might as well have been discussing the weather. "It's a natural reaction."

"Still, it's... I shouldn't."

"No need to speak of this again." She flashed one of her rare smiles and it silenced him. Taking her hands off him, she stood up. "It's done. Leave it to dry, and it should offer you some relief. I will go downstairs and ask them to bring our supper to the room."

After quickly washing her hands off with some remaining water in the jug, she disappeared out the door, leaving Baudwin to stare after her. Most women would have been mortified by what had just happened, but Rhiannon didn't seem fazed at all. Who was this woman?

~~~~~~