Chapter 3
596 Words
Genevieve had not gone ten steps before she collided with her father, Tristan, who lurked anxiously near the sheds, his face etched with suspicion.
"Genevieve! There you are. What happened? What did that ruffian do?" he demanded, grabbing her arm with a menacing grip.
"Father, calm yourself. He is wounded. I cleaned and dressed the cut. It is badly infected, but he will live," she replied, trying to free her arm.
"Infected, yes, from fighting! Were you alone with him in there? What did he speak of? Did he try to touch you?" Tristan's voice was a harsh whisper, heavy with fear and anger.
Genevieve winced. "He asked stupid questions and tried to flirt, Father. I ignored him. He is rude, but he kept his distance."
"Flirt? Do not speak of it so lightly!"
Tristan hissed, pulling her further away from the shed entrance. "They are ruffians who hide behind a title and they will ruin you and our family. You go to those sheds only when absolutely necessary, and are never to be alone with that... General. Do you hear me?"
The severity of his scolding, coupled with the assumption that she needed to be protected from herself, made her chest feel tight with injustice.
"Yes, Father," she mumbled, feeling wronged and small. "I hear you."
She walked away, her shoulders hunched. The tension leaving her only when she put a few feet between them.
Inside the shed, Alfred ignored his wound, his gaze fixed on the door.
"That old man truly hates us," Warin observed quietly.
"Good," Alfred replied, his voice low and flat, carrying command. "The village chief wants to see me. Get my gauntlet."
Warin rolled his eyes. "Of course he does. Every village chief thinks a meeting will fix the world."
Alfred pushed himself to his feet, movements stiff with exhaustion. "It fixes nothing, but we will go," he said.
Then he added sharply, "Move out, Warin."
On the village green, the leadership waited. Ealdorman Gareth and his council were bent with age and worry, their eyes wary of the armored strangers before them.
"I require rest. My men and I need secure quarters. We shall pay for all provisions and inconvenience," Alfred stated, his voice ringing with authority.
Gareth narrowed his eyes. "You carry no royal decree. Why do you bring such a shadow to our peaceful village?"
"Why I am here is not for your ears," Alfred said evenly. "My needs are simple: secure lodgings, uninterrupted rest, and silence. Your compliance is the price of your tranquility."
A ripple of protest ran through the gathered villagers. Tristan, rigid with fury, stepped forward, jaw tight. "Sir, you mistake our loyalty for servitude! We are free men, not serfs to be bullied by an unannounced blade! Your demand is an insult to the King's peace!"
Alfred drew his massive two-handed sword with a screech of steel that silenced the green. His warriors mirrored the motion, a wall of shadows behind him. "My patience is exhausted. I am not asking. I am stating terms. Peacefully quarter us, and we leave when we are whole. Resist, and I take what I need. Choose your fate."
Gareth swallowed, defeated, and ordered his guard to stand down. "The abandoned tanner's sheds are yours," he said.
Tristan shouted, voice shaky with anger. "Gareth, you sell our safety for fear! This brigand will ruin us!"
Alfred sheathed his sword with a final, echoing thud, his gaze fixed on Tristan. "Dispute the Ealdorman's authority, old man, and I will be your problem. Move out, Warin. Secure the sheds."
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