...His...

His
Chapter 03

Three days after that first night, I was bringing herbs to the manor and as I left the kitchen entrance, I felt the thud of a snowball in the back of my head. I turned to dress down the little miscreant, only to discover the scoundrel was Éomer himself. He laughed and pointed at me as if he had done something amazing, until I set my now empty basket down and began to scoop up my own firmly packed snowball.

“You cannot hit me,” Éomer smirked. “You are a wimpy girl.” Members of his éored, who stood about in the snow, leaning against the wall, apparently agreed with him.

My wimpy snowball hit him square in the chest. Before he could protest, his jaw hanging agape, my second wimpy snowball hit him firmly in the nose. There were several appreciative male whistles. “She has good aim, Marshal!” one of his men called out. “Perhaps she should join your éored!”

“Aye,” another called out. “She could pick off many a toad with that excellent of a shot!”

I knew I was in trouble at that point. Both mittened hands went to my mouth in horror as I watched him scrape the remnants of the snow from his face and beard, unmindful of the good-natured insults being hurled at him by his men. His gaze fell upon me with a retaliative gleam. Under that gaze, I felt like a hunted rabbit.

“My lord,” I began, backing up. Éomer’s finger was up, pointing at me and he began to move in my direction, closing the distance between us. “I meant no harm…”

He was bearing down on me; his hair and cloak were billowing behind him. My empty basket was forgotten as I turned and ran, keeping to the well-trod paths. For a moment, I thought I might get away, but suddenly, I was scooped up, brought close to a mighty chest, before being slung over that wide shoulder I admired and caressed a few nights before. A well-padded hand smacked down on my equally well-padded posterior. “Saucy, saucy wench!” Éomer proclaimed loudly. Several of my neighbors came to their doors, to see what the commotion was about, and when I realized what a ruckus was being created, I quickly shut my mouth! Éomer made his way through to my front door and carried me inside. He set me gently on the floor before shutting the door.

“My lord, I am so sorry! I did not mean-“

He kissed me. It was not a sweet, lingering kiss; it was one that held many promises.

“My lor-“

He kissed me again.

I gave up and allowed myself to be wrapped in his embrace. Finally, he set me back. “You have a strong arm, for a woman. Remind me not to be on the swinging end of your frying pan!” He laughed at the paltry plummeting of my fists. “Do you have plans for the evening?”

“Yes!” I was irate. “I plan to roast a chicken and clean the mess afterwards. Then I intend to feed my cow and take a bath in front of the fire place!”

His smile was almost feral. “Good! I hope the tub will hold two. Plan on company!” He threw my door open, one of his men standing outside looking as if he was caught licking the cream from the churn. He held my forgotten little basket. Éomer took it from him, thanking him graciously and handed it back to me. “I will see you tonight at dinner. Wear my gift!”

I do not know who looked more startled; me or the young rider.

He did return that evening, with another bag that went into my cold box, as well as a largish animal skin rug – I did not recognize the animal – for the floor in front of my fireplace. He said the flooring was chilly and as he planned to enjoy me, neither he nor I should catch our death on a cold floor.

~*~

Over the course of the winter, we spent much time together. He would disappear on occasion for a week or two at a time – always when his éored was on patrol. Normally, he would warn me before time that he would not be around for a span and I should not worry and he always returned starving for home-cooked food, company and time in my bed. He made no secret of our relationship, much to the ire of some of the young women in the town. I was content for the time being and ignored their barbed, cruel whispers.

It was not uncommon for me to find food, sweets hidden deep in my cold box, the occasional skin of wine. On more than one occasion, I discovered extra pallets of hay and scoops of sweet feed in Áblysian’s feeding trough.

One cold morning some weeks after our first night together, I found a heavy wagon horse in the stall next to my cow. She was very large and shaggy, with heavy, hair-covered hooves. I put my foot down.

“My lord!” Both hands were clenched in fists that evening as I glared across the table. “I cannot take the gift of the horse!”

He was bent over his portion of the deer haunch he brought this particular visit. We had spitted it and slow roasted it over the fire. Only his eyes rose. “What horse?”

“The large draft horse that magically appeared in my stable this morning!”

Éomer’s hand clenched and tightened around the haunch in his fist as he glowered back. “Are you seeing a sorcerer behind my back?”

“A… sorcerer?” I took my spoon and scooped up a few peas, flinging them at him.

He looked down before redirecting his gaze to me. “There are peas on my pants. You will have to clean this mess up!”

“About the horse-“

He was now busy swatting the peas into the floor. “You will need the horse to plow your fields in a few weeks.”

“My lord! I cannot accept the gift, nor can I afford-“

“The horse,” he wiped his hands on the napkin, “is a loan. Her name is Fléotigu.” I barked in laughter at such a large, cumbersome creature being named ‘Swift’. He now stood up, taking care to slap all the crumbs and remaining peas to the floor. “You will find extra feed in your feeding bins and hay each week; enough to feed the beast.” He now came around the table, the look in his eye becoming quickly familiar. “There is no room in my stable for her and she could use the exercise.” He took my hand and lifted me from my chair, a familiar gleam in his eye. “Speaking of exercise…”

~*~