PART 1/3

HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO 2: A Dream Come True

On the day that you were born
The angels got together
And decided to create a dream come true

CLOSE TO YOU
The Carpenters

CARTERIUS CASTLE
The next morning

There was a flurry of activity at the rear of the castle on the day of the banquet. Wagons from outlying areas of the vast estate arriving and being unloaded. Dozens of animals, sheep and cattle and pigs and birds of all types and sizes, destined for the banquet tables were penned, awaiting slaughter. House slaves carried large baskets away on their heads, filled to overflowing with the freshest, ripest produce available.

The wagon carrying slaves released temporarily from the mines came to a stop inside the slave compound, surrounded by a cacophony of sights and sounds and smells never before witnessed by many of them. Lord Gareth had decreed all slaves should be freed from non-essential labour for the duration of Lady Kaneesha's birthday celebrations. Rather than being concerned for his slaves' welfare, it was a blatant attempt to impress the visiting nobles, to show how civilized the Royal House of Carteria was. Once the celebrations were complete, new alliances formed and old ones strengthened and the various Lords and Ladies, Dukes and Duchesses were on their way home, the slaves would be returned to the same dreadful conditions as before. Worse perhaps, according to rumors that had begun to circulate. Whispered mutterings claiming that the Lord of the Manor had not long left to live, and that he had begun to transfer more power and authority to his Master-At-Arms Rajiv, not believing his only son and heir, (the mostly absent Lord Jaxtar) capable of ruling Carteria.

Morten was alert, his sensitive mind open and searching, trying to absorb all he could, knowing that he would be sent back to the hellish mines once the celebrations were over. A tinkling in his mind that was tantalizingly familiar caused him to glance at one of the latest wagons to arrive. He recognized Imram and his squad. Watched them dismount from horses that had obviously been ridden far beyond their limits; stable-hands quickly coming forward to lead the animals away to be watered and rested. Immediately the guards began dragging slaves from the wagon, whips used frequently to strike those who failed to move quickly enough.

One of the last slaves to set foot on the hard sun-heated ground could barely stand. His right leg was clearly infected, the exposed skin as black as the strange looking breeches he wore, a crude-looking dressing hanging off his thigh. His back was facing Morten, his shirt torn to shreds with diagonal slashes revealing bloody welts that criss-crossed honey brown skin. Other slaves sported small wounds but this one's were more numerous and fresher, blood still oozing from many of them. It was clearly an enormous effort for him to remain upright.

There was something odd, almost familiar about the slave, that captured Morten's attention even as his own chains were removed and a fresh, clean tunic was thrust into his hands. He searched for the slave's mind, ignoring the dozens of others around him, until he could feel the stranger's emotions and thoughts as clearly as if they were his own. Suddenly everything became clear.

*You may treat me like an animal to be beaten and broken, but I refuse to behave like one.* The thought dripped with emotional venom as deadly as the most poisonous snake.

*Oh Holy Creator, it's him. It's Fox. He's here*

Morten's group was being herded towards the large semi-open bath-houses on one side of the courtyard, taking him away from where the new slaves were lined up. He could only watch helplessly as Imram's men unlinked the slaves' neck chains. Fox finally lost the battle to stay on his feet, his injuries and exhaustion taking their toll and he collapsed to the ground. The guards surrounded him quickly, whips cracking in an useless effort to force him to his feet.

He entered the bathing area, Fox now out of his sight, but not out of his mind, the stranger's agony and despair imprinted forever on his soul. He was certain Fox would be dead by the time he emerged.

***********

"Okay, sweetheart. You can open your eyes now."

Kaneesha heard the pride and joy in her father's voice, could picture his deep blue eyes, so much like her own, sparkling with affection. She had a good idea of what awaited her, the sweet smell of fresh hay and manure evident in the air around her.

She opened her eyes slowly to see her father's gift being led toward her. High-spirited and long-legged with glossy dark hair and the biggest brown eyes she had ever seen.

"Oh, Daddy. He is absolutely gorgeous. Thank you so much." She threw her arms around her father, squealing with delight. "When can I ride him?"

"Not for a time yet, precious. He'll have to be broken in first and trained so he'll be safe for you."

"But I don't want him broken and trained and safe. He's got spirit in his blood and fire in his eye and I want to feel that as we ride through the fields and forest, jumping hedges and crossing rivers. I want him ready for the next hunt." She had approached the colt; showing no fear, no apprehension at being so close to a wild animal. Extending one steady hand, she giggled as it was nuzzled, ignoring the gasps from her father and the assembled servants at her recklessness. All her life, she had had a way with animals, able to soothe and calm the most untamed creatures she encountered. It was a gift she had shared with her mother, spending many hours out riding together, exploring the wide expanses of their home, sketching the various animals and scenery they came across or just talking.

The sudden, loud crack of whips startled the frisky colt, causing it to rear up on spindly hind legs. One of the servants pulled Kaneesha out of the path of flailing hooves whilst others tried to bring the spooked animal under control.

There was a commotion taking place in the slave compound adjoining the stables. Kaneesha saw overseers converging on one spot near the wagons, whips striking something that lay on the ground. Cries of pain could be heard over the sounds of the whips that had spooked her gift. She started in that direction without really understanding what drew her, an ever-present retinue of servants following closely behind.

"Father, make them stop. They are scaring him. He won't settle with all that noise." She had reached the middle of the compound, slaves and their guards automatically moving out of the way, heads bowed, eyes lowered.

"Overseer," Gareth called out, not really wanting to become involved but needing to placate his distressed daughter. "What seems to be the problem?"

Imram gestured for his guards to stop as soon as he recognized his Lord's deep voice. The damage had already been done, however. Small pools of fresh blood were clearly evident on the sand underneath the beaten body as the guards backed away. He was moaning softly, muttering words that were unrecognizable to those close enough to hear. He rolled over, exposing his wounded back to Kaneesha, who flinched at the sight of deep, blood encrusted lash marks.

"My Lord, he collapsed and refused to get up," Imram explained weakly, trying to put the full blame on the barely conscious slave.

"It looks like he had little choice in the matter. How did he come to be in such a poor state? He has been whipped and I want to know why." Kaneesha demanded, her eyes shifting from the wretched creature at her feet to the SlaveMaster in front of her.

"He attacked me, M'Lady. At the auction yard in Gilliania. I had to punish him as an example to the other slaves. They need to learn their place, to be shown who is in control."

"If I ever see you mistreating any slave again, then you'll end up in shackles yourself. Now, have his wounds tendered to. I don't want our guests to think we are savages." Orders given, she headed back towards the stable where her startled horse was still pacing nervously.

She had only gone a few steps when she heard five words that caused her heart to miss a beat or two.

"It's him, M'Lady. It's Fox."

She stopped instantly and turned around, seeking the owner of the voice, wondering who would play such a cruel trick on her.

Slaves and guards moved about the compound, resuming their assigned tasks. No-one else seemed to have heard the words. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Morten looking directly at her. He was coming out of the bathing-house, wet and bare chested. She hadn't even been aware that he was back at the castle, having not given him the slightest thought since his failure a few days before.

"I'm not lying, Mistress. It is him, I swear." She heard the words not with her ears but with her mind. The force of emotion wrapped around them, and in her former bed-slave's eyes, forced her to look once again at the wounded slave being tended to by some older women.

*It can't be possible.* she thought. *He's dead* The dirty, smelly, pathetic looking creature could not possibly be the person who had haunted her dreams for so long.

Suddenly Morten was running toward her, a bucket of water sloshing in one hand.

Before he could be intercepted, he threw the cold water over the slave lying on the ground, washing away some of the accumulated dirt and blood, causing the battered form to open his eyes in shock.

Kaneesha was transfixed at the eyes that met hers. Pain-filled hazel eyes connecting with hers for a second that seemed to last an eternity before closing again.

She dropped to her knees beside him, ignorant of the mud staining her forest-green dress. "Oh Fox, it really is you," she whispered.

She reached one shaking hand toward him, still not quite believing her eyes and wiped dirt-encrusted, wet hair from his forehead. He flinched back as far as he could, agony and fear flooding his bloodied face.

"It's all right, my pet. You are safe now. No-one will ever hurt you again," she whispered soothingly, in the same soft tone she used on her startled colt.

Fox tried to back away, even the smallest movement causing daggers of pain to radiate through his tortured body.

A hand on her shoulder started to draw her away. "Move away, M'Lady. Master Imram said he is dangerous." It was an old woman, the same one who had nursed her since childhood, a bundle of clean rags in one wrinkled hand, concern on her aged face.

"Don't talk nonsense, Amah. He can't even stand, let alone attack anyone." She used the sleeve of her dress to wipe sweat and dirt and blood away from Fox's face. He seemed to realize he had little choice but to accept her attentions, surrendering to lay still on the muddy ground.

"Clean his wounds and get him bathed, Amah then have a litter brought. I want him taken to my rooms." Kaneesha ordered as she stood.

Lord Gareth and Imram were coming towards her. Her father had begun walking back towards the castle, but then turned and followed the overseer when he heard Kaneesha's orders. *Just like her mother, poor child. Attracted to every stray or orphaned animal.*

"I don't think that's wise, M´Lady. He has shown that he can be violent. He was captured attacking an old man in one of the outlying villages." Imram was saying.

"I don't recall asking your opinion, overseer. I expect you to carry out my orders."

"All slaves are my responsibility. New slaves are not assigned house duties until they can prove themselves worthy. He has to be shackled properly and branded." Kaneesha could hear the eagerness in Imram's voice as he spoke, revealing his pleasure in the more gruesome aspects of his job.

"But he's not a slave, therefore he is not your responsibility. And he is most certainly not going to be branded. He has been hurt enough already." She had moved in front of Imram, protecting her pet from future abuse.

"Kaneesha, you should listen to the SlaveMaster. He is only concerned for your safety. We don't know where this.. this.. he comes from." Her father's voice and words revealing that it was impossible for him to acknowledge Fox as a person.

"I know where he comes from. He was sent by the gods to me... for me as a gift. It is my birthday after all. Surely the gods would not send me anything that could cause me harm." Kaneesha was growing more excited, unable to contain her delight at the unexpected turn of events.

"Are the servants still filling your head with those silly ideas? There are no gods, just made-up stories and superstitions to put you to sleep as a child. Now, his wounds will be tended too, but he is to go the slave barracks where he belongs. We can decide what will be done with him after the banquet." Seeing the disappointment on his daughter's face, he softened his next words. "Besides, you'll be too busy showing off your new horse to be spending time on things that others can take care of." Bending down, he kissed her forehead, wiped a solitary tear from her cheek and headed back to the castle.

"But Father.."

"We will discuss it later. Now run along and get yourself ready. Your guests are due to arrive tonight."

Kaneesha was shocked that her father would deny her wishes, aligning himself instead with the very person who had caused Fox so much pain. She had known from an early age that she could wrap him around her little finger. He had never refused her anything before, her smallest whim his pleasure to grant her. She was sure she could talk him around, that he would let Fox stay in her rooms to heal.

"If he lasts that long," Amah was saying as she examined Fox's many wounds. She was unwrapping the leaf and cloth dressing that was now little more than rags, only adhering because of thick, brown puss that seeped and bubbled from the hole in his leg. The smell of rotting flesh almost emptied her stomach and caused a couple of the other house-slaves present to back away, their faces tinged green. It had been a long time since she had seen a wound as bad as this, and that had been on a horse that was gored by a wild stag. The horse had died an agonizingly slow, painful death.

"What are you saying, Amah?" Kaneesha asked although her mind was still wondering how she could change her father's stubborn attitude.

"This wound on his leg, M'Lady. It's spoiled, like week-old meat, wasn't tended to properly. The poison'll spread and he'll die." The old women said, absolutely no doubt in her firm voice. She turned him over as she spoke to look at his back. He screamed in agony, opening eyes that were glazed and unfocussed. "Can't even tell what made that wound, knife maybe, but it must've been a big one to go all the wa..."

"Arrow...... tried to treat.. as best he could...need hospital......need Scully." Mulder tried to sit up, but the pain was too much and he could only lie on his left side, taking some pressure of his lacerated back. He looked up to see bodies and faces, fuzzily out of focus, a couple vaguely familiar, their voices distant through the haze of throbbing pain that threatened to send him slipping back into unconsciousness.

"It speaks." Someone gasped, as amazed as if one of the horses had suddenly spoken. "If you can call gibberish speaking."

"Of course he can speak," Kaneesha snapped, "and he's not going to die." She slipped quickly into the role she had been born to-that of giving orders and expecting them to be carried out without delay. "Morten, I want you to clean out that small hut near the stable. Amah, collect your herbs and potions and start healing him. You two," pointing to a couple of the guards that had grabbed Morten after he revealed the slave's true identity, "bring a litter and take him to the stable."

They hesitated, looking to Imram for confirmation, but he was nowhere to be seen. Seeing the wild look in their mistress' eyes, they released their captive and hurried off to carry out her orders.

Morten glanced at Kaneesha as he passed her on his way to the stable-hut. He saw a look that spoke of apology and asked forgiveness. He didn't need to probe her mind to know that she was sorry for her actions of a few days ago. Things had worked out in the end and he was now back in her confidence, though he knew enough not to get too comfortable, knowing that she could change her attitude (and his life) in the blink of an eye.

**********
Stable Hut
CATERIUS CASTLE
Mid-day

*I must be in hell. That's the only logical explanation.* Mulder didn't know how long he had been hearing voices and seeing shadowy forms moving in and out of his blurred vision. He didn't really care, preferring to just lie back and wait for the pain to take him under again. Hopefully the next time he opened his eyes, Scully would be the first and only thing he saw, would feel his hand in hers, would sense her eyes lighting up, a smile on her face as he slowly turned his head towards her.

He recalled being lifted and carried from bright, warm sunshine to cool, musty shadows that smelled of grass and horses; laid face-down on something soft after what was left of his shirt and jeans had been cut away. Firm fingers spread something warm and soothing into the cuts on his back, the pain soon fading to a distant throb. He was rolled gently onto one side, someone whispering softly into his ear, long fingers sliding through his hair, a gentle breath on his cheek.

That someone must have noticed that he was awake, for his head was lifted, a rough wooden cup pressed to parched lips that parted automatically at the taste of sweet liquid.

The cup was removed before his thirst was quenched and he reached out to grab it only to grip an obviously feminine hand instead.

"More......water.. please..Scul.." he choked, his stomach already cramping.

"Sshh, pet. A little at a time and let it settle," the owner of the hand said.

"I want more.."

"Not yet, Fox." Harsh tone overlaying something else. Concern? Pleasure?

*"Not Fox. Mulder."* He unconsciously compared what he was hearing now to what he had heard in a hospital room a little over 3 years ago and came to a conclusion that he didn't want to acknowledge but couldn't deny. *That's not Scully*

Mulder forced his eyes open, not wanting confirmation of his fear, to focus on the face that filled his sight. Clear blue eyes, long, honey blonde hair held back from a youthful face with gem encrusted clips. Full red lips opened slightly to reveal even white teeth. He knew her from somewhere, it was on the tip of his tongue, just beyond his reach. A second face, this one a young man that bent to whisper in her ear, unlocked the door in his memory, freeing the image he sought (and many that he didn't):

..........Hood and straps; Haley and the gimp; bone snapping; "It´s all right. I´m here. You are not alone.."......

And then:

..........Bremer and the gimp; damp ground under his knees; a gun being cocked; a tunnel and a light; a woman asleep on a cot linked to a bald boy/young man by a rainbow; "I am Morten, son of Magnus. You are in grave danger. I am here to help you."..........

"Morten?"

"Yes Fox. Finally we meet." A half smile that reminded Mulder of a cat eyeing a wounded mouse swept over Morten's features and was gone in the blink of an eye.

"You br..brought me here......wherever...here is." It was a statement not a question, Mulder's dazed eyes searching his surroundings for clues. He was fighting a loosing battle to stay awake, whatever medicine that had been in the sweet-tasting water beginning to send him to sleep. "Why? What do you want..?" Sleep claimed him before he could finish. He didn't miss Morten's reply because Morten had no reply to give him, at least not one that he was willing to reveal in front of his mistress.

**********

A solemn slave and a delighted mistress were bustled out of the way by Amah, her experience telling her that any attempt at healing the young man in front of her would be a waste of time and hard to find medicinal herbs. She had better things to occupy her, such as tending the new born babes of some of the slave women. At least they had a chance at life, even if it was one of life-long bondage and servitude. It was a roof over their heads and food in their guts, more than many of the so-called free people had.

She placed a damp cloth on her patient's sweat drenched forehead. She could feel the heat radiating from him as if he was made of fire and yet he was shivering, goosebumps covering his exposed skin.

"Oh, Morten. I can't believe he's finally here. And on my birthday as well. I couldn't have hoped for a better present." She grabbed an amazed Morten, placing a wet kiss on his cheek.

Amah looked up in surprise, wondering if her Mistress had received a blow to her head when her colt panicked. She was definitely acting strangely.

"Miss Amah, you said his leg is spoiled. I think I know how to stop it spreading." Morten informed her, coming to kneel at the bed, but staying out of her way. She had heard of his reputation as a healer, unusual among males, remembering the care he had given to various injured and orphaned animals Kaneesha had taken to mothering until she lost interest, usually within days.

"The only way to stop it is with a blade at his throat, kindest way as well."

"I won't allow him to die. You can't let him die. I order you to make him better." Kaneesha demanded, towering over her nurse.

"It's not something that is dependent on your will or mine, M'Lady. He looks young and strong despite what's been done to him, he might live, but that leg'll be useless." *Why am I giving the girl false hope?* She wondered, *Because you want to keep your head on your shoulders a little while longer.* She then spoke to Morten but her eyes never left Kaneesha's. "You can try your cure, boy, but don't expect a miracle." She rose stiffly to her feet, age-weary joints protesting and turned to leave.

Morten took control immediately and called a slave over, told him what he needed and sent him away. Another slave retrieved several lengths of rope, and a scrap of tough old leather from the stable, dropping the items on the floor near the cot. While he waited, he began mixing herbs and powders and water together in a large bowl, creating a bluish gray paste and tried to ignore the anguished moans and gut-wrenching stench coming from the cot against the far wall.

Kaneesha silently took Amah's place at Fox's side, wetting the cloth and wiping his face and chest, her hands gliding lovingly over taut skin and toned muscle, seemingly immune to the heat and smell that filled the air around her.

Morten gestured to Amah, explained what he was going to do and suggested that she escort Kaneesha back to the castle.

"The treatment is very harsh. He'll be in a lot of pain for the next few days, if all goes well. I don't want her to have to witness it."

She didn't move, didn't object until she felt her nurse's hand on her shoulder, urging her to her feet. "But I want to stay. He needs me."

"Come, M'Lady. All your guests are arriving tonight. You want to look your best when you welcome them, don't you?" Amah said as she firmly led her mistress to the door. "You can come again tomorrow. He's not going anywhere in the meantime."

"Go, Lady Kaneesha. I'll be sure to send you reports on his progress." Morten assured. *I won't fail you again, M'Lady.*

Kaneesha's acceptance of Amah's hand on her arm told Morten that she had received and (more importantly) believed his secret message. He smiled and returned to start the treatment he hoped would save Fox's leg and his life.

Kaneesha entered the castle with Amah, annoyed at being denied time with her pet, but at the same time she was happier than she could ever recall. She felt as if she was floating, couldn't feel the stone floor beneath her feet or her nurse's hand on her arm. *He's here and he's real and he's as beautiful—no- MORE beautiful than in my dreams.* She wanted to shout her joy to the world, to let everyone share her happiness. But she also wanted to keep him a secret, lest someone stole him away.

Before she realized it, Amah had opened the door to her chambers, ushering her inside. Several servants busied themselves, arranging clothes and food and wine and flowers. They departed quickly, leaving Amah to prepare Kaneesha for rest. She removed her mistress' dress and replaced it with a pale green night-gown. "Are you hungry, M'Lady? I could fix a plate for you," she asked, turning to place the muddy garment on a chair for cleaning later.

*Oh yes. I'm starving, Amah. But not for food*

When she turned around again, she saw Kaneesha lying on her bed, a far away look on her face, a scrap of cloth clutched in one hand. She smiled and headed for the door, closing it softly behind her.

Kaneesha didn't sleep, she was too excited, too emotional to relax. She simply stared at the cloth image, holding it for what she knew would be the last time. The real flesh and blood version would be in her arms tomorrow night and for every night thereafter.

**********

That evening final preparations for the banquet were still underway even as the magnificent coaches and carriages of the various noble families made their way up the torch lit main boulevard toward Caterius Castle. Huge banners bearing the crest of every important Royal House fluttered in the light breeze. The procession stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see. Each Royal carriage was escorted by mounted Carterian Knights, Lord Gareth's personal guards carrying blazing torches. They were outfitted in their finest dress uniforms of black and gold, boots polished to high shine, buttons and swords gleaming in the moonlight. Their horses were kitted out with brand new saddles, gold-edged bridles and reins; manes and tails braided with colorful ribbons. Trumpeters and drummers led the procession, heralding their arrival.

Waiting at the castle to greet them was the Carterian Royal Family; Lord Gareth and Lady Kaneesha. Gareth fumed silently that his only son and heir, Lord Jaxtar, was absent, off on some safari somewhere with other young lords and dukes in a blatant disregard of his duties. He knew his children did not get on well, but had expected his son to put aside his ill-feelings and show a united front by joining in his sister's birthday celebrations. Even Rajiv, his Master-At-Arms was missing, hurriedly explaining a few days earlier that he had to supervise preparations of something that would make this gathering truly spectacular, something that would be talked about for generations to come.

However, one look at his beautiful daughter banished all his anger. She was sitting beside him, talking quietly to one of her ladies-in-waiting. A vision of beauty that reminded him so much of her late mother, Notissa, that he almost cried. She was wearing a velvet and silk gown of deep blue that complimented her golden locks and pale blue eyes to perfection. On her head was a glittering tiara, the same one her mother had worn on her wedding day and long diamond and sapphire earrings reached down almost to her pale bare shoulders. A matching necklace was around her slender neck, nestling between her breasts.

He knew that quite a few young men, heirs to neighboring kingdoms had begun to notice Kaneesha, visiting her and taking her on rides and picnics. He suspected that one or more of them might approach him after the banquet or the following day, seeking her hand in marriage. Most of them would be seeking closer alliances, with Kaneesha as an added bonus. After all his own wedding had been arranged by his parents with very little input from himself. He had only been introduce to his bride, the daughter of his father's youngest brother, a few weeks before the ceremony, but he had fallen in love with her upon first sight. Her beauty was breathtaking but it was her spirit and tenderness that had captured his heart.

He studied his daughter, taking in her relaxed posture, talking happily with servants that she normally ignored unless berating one of them for some minor mistake. While he welcomed the change, he wondered what had caused it. He recalled the scene he had witnessed at the slave compound this morning. She had never really shown much interest in the slaves before, as long as they did what they were told, performed their assigned tasks. What was it about that one badly beaten slave that had touched some part of her, a caring side so like her mother? Sure she taken an interest in injured or sick animals that she found on the estate from time to time, the smaller, cuter ones actually holding her attention for a few days or even weeks. She had never asked for a slave to be taken to her rooms before. So why this one? Imram had said the man was violent and dangerous, needed to punished and controlled. Although Gareth didn't agree with the overseers excessive use of force, he was concerned for his daughter's safety. As much as it hurt to see her upset at not having her wishes granted, he couldn't allow anything or anyone to harm her.

He had left then promising himself to make it up to her after the banquet, perhaps taking her riding somewhere, just the two of them, no servants, no guards. She needed to be distracted while the more unpleasant tasks were carried out, the slaves being branded and separated from family and loved-ones. He hoped that her interest would be on her new colt, something she had been begging him to get her. But, having set her eyes on the injured slave, she had paid no attention to it, leaving the animal in the hands of the stable-slaves. He knew she spent a great deal of the afternoon in the small hut by the stable, only leaving to get ready for the banquet. She was still her father's child and she knew the importance of looking one's best in front of others of her own kind. She had always loved to dress up in her finest clothes and her seamstress were always busy making new gowns for her.

Once long ago a slave had told her a frightening story, claiming it was how the slaves really were acquired; a tale of death and pain and misery, in which healthy young men and women were stolen from their homes and families, often in midnight raids by her Father´s own guards. Those who resisted were slaughtered where they stood, their throats cut with the sharp curved blades that the soldiers carried. After a sleepless nightmare-filled night, she had approached him at breakfast the following morning. He had listened to her story and, lifting her onto his generous lap, told her that the slave was only trying to frighten her, and by the looks of her had succeeded. He had assured her that all the slaves were homeless drifters, cast out by their own people, and that a life of servitude was better than one living in the woods, cold and hungry, having to fight other wanderers for the smallest scrap of food or a hole-filled blanket for warmth. The slaves that ended up on the estate were well cared for, housed in warm, dry barracks and fed regular meals. As long as they performed their assigned duties, they were treated fairly.

He had taken her on a picnic that afternoon, to a remote corner of the vast estate, just the two of them, no servants, no bodyguards. When they had returned to the castle just before sunset, the slave master had whispered in his Lord´s ear that everything had been taken care of and that the unfortunate incident would not occur again. He remembered telling her that the slave had died after being thrown from a horse.

CONTINUED