Passion of the Different Page 4

  Her smile was pleasant and her sexy lavender eyes twinkled as she greeted him with a blessedly normal tone - though she stuck with his new title, “Good morning, my lord. I opened the seed bags to let them breathe so we can plant the day after tomorrow, it will take us at least a full day to turn the ground over. Peach juice with your fried potatoes and greens?” She stood by the pantry door, waiting for his reply. Her silken light blue hair seemed a little longer and started to reach past her shoulder blades. She casually ran her hand through it to brush a few stray strands from her face.

  “Y… yes,” he started to stammer. “Yes please!” His excitement at seeing her old self got away from him and a beaming smile wouldn’t leave his face. What she had just spoken were more words in one minute than she would speak in three days of winter. It had gotten so silent in the large cottage at times, he was sure she was unhappy with him for some reason. Then she would do something nice, even make him an extra winter outfit and smile back at him, her thanks at his enjoyment a mere whisper.

  He mentally reviewed every night she cuddled to him tightly and would fall asleep fast. She would be slow to awaken, but got things done around the house quickly when she shook the sleep off. He did most of the talking and she would either nod yes or shake her head no. When asked outright if something was wrong, she would seem puzzled and would verbally tell him no, but wouldn't say anything beyond that single word. Now she was back to being the talkative woman he first met.

  She poured his peach juice and placed the cup next to his plate and announced with a happy tone in her melodic accent, “I feel we need a new look, my lord. Suggest a color and I will see if the town spinner can make the cloth.”

  He thought for a minute, then suggested, “How about black?”

  Myra screwed up her face as if she bit into something sour. “Yuck my lord, that is an evil color fit only for funerals. Try something else.” Then she joined him for breakfast and toyed with her food as she gazed at him, her luminous eyes touched with the playful glitter of a prankster.

  He considered a moment longer. “How about silver?”

  She giggled, but grew thoughtful. “If the tax collector is nice to me today, I’ll see if I can afford it for you, my lord.” She continued eating but what she said caught his attention quickly.

  “Tax collector?” he asked kindly. This sounded important.

  “That’s right,” she mused while picking at her food. “I didn’t find you until summer was almost over. You wouldn’t know.” She refilled his glass before continuing. “On the first day of every spring the tax collector goes to each home. All town mayors send them out. He keeps a tally of what is paid. Then our gold and silver goes to the king. If I am short on the fee, he can confiscate any goods he sees to pay the tally.”

  The thoughts swam in his head and a flock of ideas stuck their tongues out at him as they fluttered against his thinking machinery. It took him a few moments to find his question. “And if this so called tally can’t be met for this king?” He kept his voice inquisitive, not letting on that he found such a system horrible.

  She made two fists and crossed her wrists to demonstrate her reply. “Then that person goes to the slave pens to be auctioned.” She watched him with growing interest as he sat back in his chair, stunned.

  “Slavery should be illegal,” he said, wishing now more than ever she would have talked far more with him over the winter.

  “Why?” she replied easily.

  It took him another few surprised seconds to realize her question was serious.

  “Because it’s wrong,” he explained. “You have rights, Myra, just because you exist. Nobody should make people into slaves, everyone is equal.” He watched her eyes flare, but not in anger. Those concepts were truly alien to her. He continued, “People have feelings, hopes and they strive to achieve them. Nobody should be taking that away from anybody.” The fluidity of what he spoke and how it came out surprised him. A painless gift from the back of his amnesia laced mind? He couldn’t tell, but the words felt right and it had a profound affect on her.

  “Your people must not have slaves then,” she exclaimed, amazement on her pretty face. “You must come from a true paradise, my lord.” While she continued to eat, his fork paused halfway to his mouth.

  Paradise.

  It didn’t hit him like the word 'crying' did. There was no pressure, no pain. No memory wanted to surge forward. A piece of him was attached to that word, he realized, but couldn’t understand or see why. He then finished his breakfast and filed the word away for future consideration.

  The morning dishes were cleaned and she was her playful self, nudging him with her hip while he passed her with an armload of wood for the stove. He grinned and nudged back, determined to get more information about her culture. Before he could say a word however, there was a clang of metal from outside, then a high tenor from a man calling out, “Taxes!”.

  Myra scrambled towards her bedroom, pausing only long enough to wag her finger at Ryan and give a stern look. That was her warning not to let other people see him. A moment later, she exited her room and then the house with a small wooden box in her hands. She left the front door cracked open in her haste.

  Interested yet careful, Ryan went to the side window and peered out at an angle. This was the first time he had seen anyone else other than Myra and she was absolutely correct about his looks. He wasn’t of her people in any way.

  Three men, one on an armored horse and two others seated on a horse-drawn cart with a team of four. The two men sitting on the wagon also wore armor and had spears, but the third man, the one on the war-horse, wore a long silken yellow robe. He also had the look of a rabid politician. His expression of aggravation made Ryan uneasy.

  Their hair was a mixture of red and blue with varying shades. Besides having light colored skin, he could tell the guy in the robes had gold eyes, and the two guards had dark eyes. They were of a thin build, but the guards were laced with wire like muscle. Nothing even close to his own rocky build but seemed strong for their own kind. He would have been surprised if they weighed more than one hundred fifty pounds. The guy in robes had no muscle at all. While they were close to the house, they couldn’t see him with the sun in their eyes and because of his angle, would have been hard pressed to notice him if the sun was elsewhere.

  The man in the robes got down off his horse as Myra approached him with the box. “It’s about time,” his high-pitched tenor snapped, and something went out of Myra’s casual stance. It was some type of disappointment, but Ryan couldn’t see her face. All she had on were her green leather trousers and tank top.

  “I apologize,” she replied, her tone as sweet as possible. “I have the tally here, Tax Collector Avrohom, please accept it with my gratitude and thanks for the protection of the king.” She offered it to him and he all but snatched it out of her hands. Ryan could tell as he watched that this wasn't normal. Something was wrong and he didn’t know enough to understand what.

  “On your knees,” Avrohom snapped as he handed the box to one of the armored men. “You know I hate it when I have to look up at you, wench.” She did as ordered and Ryan’s muscles tensed. He could feel his teeth start to grind. Wench? A hot bolt of anger flared in his belly, but he controlled it, letting her handle it. The tax collector continued with a fierce tone once he could look down at her, “What is your tally?”

  “Twenty five silver, Tax Collector Avrohom.” Myra stated without emotion, flat and rehearsed. “Twenty for our king, three for you and one for each guard.” Her face dropped as she looked at the ground, her gesture for being rebuked. Ryan could see her silky light blue hair part and reveal the back of her slender neck, which he noticed was red with blush. She was paying for protection as well? A form of extortion?

  “You’re ten silver too short,” Avrohom complained bitterly to the top of her head. “Go get it this instant.”

  “We agreed on twenty-five,” she said, her pretty tone now filled with fright and surprise. St
ill looking at the ground, she further explained why she had to refuse the increase. “I only have seven more, please take it and I will make up the difference at first harvest.”

  “No,” Avrohom barked back. His gold eyes grew narrow, filled with a mix of lust and anger. His hand shot out and grabbed her violently by the chin and he forced her to look up at him. “Maybe I should take it out of your too tall peasant ass.”

  Ryan had heard and seen enough. Knowing he had only the shorts she made for him on and nothing else, he strode out of the front door with grim determination. Both guards in the wagon were busy snickering at Myra’s plight to each other and didn’t immediately notice him. Avrohom was giving her a nasty stare and also didn’t notice the huge physical form exit the house. They heard him when he spoke with a frightening level of authority, his deep angry baritone ripping through the air like rolling thunder.

  “Nobody touches Myra,” Ryan boomed. “Hands off! Now!”

  Avrohom’s hand snatched back as if he had burned it in a fire. His face reflected horror as the giant man with long wavy brown hair that could only come from hell and way too many bulging muscles stopped next to Myra. He reached down and gently helped her to her feet. Once he was sure she was steady, he faced both guards as they jumped down out of the wagon, highly disturbed expressions mixed with sudden fear.

  Myra cried out, more in surprise than anything else. “My Lord Za'Ryan, please no!” He ignored her as he gestured to both guards as they fumbled to lower the points of their spears, shaking in their armor.

  “You have the tally taken and accounted for,” Lord Za'Ryan barked at them. Then he turned his anger and thunderous voice on Avrohom while he kept an eye on the two armed guards. “You got what you agreed on. Leave. Now.”

  The tax collector was made of sterner stuff than Ryan realized, gathering his wits to issue orders to his guards while stepping back out of harm’s way. “Kill that thing!”

  New instincts flared into life, ones Ryan didn’t expect. There must have been some type of combat training in his past. A pattern of triggered reflexes rose unbidden in his mind and served him well when the first guard let out a high-pitched holler. He charged with his long spear. Ryan waited for it. Calm and serene as if this was nothing to worry about. Even Myra’s scream for his safety didn’t make him jump or flinch as that deadly sharp point closed in on his six-pack abs with frightening speed. Before it could even come close to biting into his flesh, he grabbed the spear shaft behind the sharp point and yanked it out of the guard's hands.

  It was almost too easy. With the stunned guard still looking on in horror, the other one still clutching his spear with his mouth open in paralyzed fear, Lord Za'Ryan raised the weapon high then brought it down and cracked it into two over his knee. He gave the broken pieces back to the soldier he had disarmed and the terrified idiot took them.

  The second guard almost rushed him. Lord Za'Ryan’s calm demeanor and bored shrug, as if to say, ‘Go ahead and do it, but it won’t help’ to the second guard, robbed the little guy of his will to fight. Both of them jumped back into the wagon and looked to Avrohom, expecting the order to get the hell out of there.

  The tax collector frowned and regained some of his anger as he sat on his armored horse, he had remounted while the guard distracted the demonic looking man. Ryan wasn’t sure if it was due to the fact the small evil guy was higher off the ground and gave him some false sense of hope or not. With a flick of his reins, he trotted up close and raked the horses flanks with his boots to make it rear. The animal jerked up and flashing hooves made Ryan skip to one side. When the beast was down on it’s front legs again, his huge bronze fist slugged the war-horse on its exposed jaw.

  It went down with a wild whinny, long equine head turned to one side. Avrohom was thrown from the saddle, but Ryan didn’t give the little bastard time to get up. His large hands grasped the kicking and screaming tax collector by the back of his neck and his waist belt. With a hoist and toss, Avrohom landed inside the wagon and tumbled among the various small boxes while groaning in pain. Coins clattered everywhere on the wooden wagon bed.

  The guards regarded all of this in terrified awe. They continued to watch as Lord Za'Ryan got a double handful of water and splashed the unconscious horse in the face. It woke with a grunt and a jump to get standing. Then he slapped its flank and made a hissing sound and the horse bolted down the small dirt road that ran next to Myra’s home.

  His light blue eyes focused on the guards one last time and he flexed his muscles and yelled, “Get going!” The wagon lurched and vanished in less than a minute around the bend. Once he made sure they weren’t turning around for anything stupid, he pivoted and went to Myra. She was staring at him wildly.

  He didn’t care at this point what she would think. He folded her into a hug and was shaking as much as she was by then, wondering just what all of his skills were and how long they would continue to hide until something called for them. “I’m sorry,” he started to whisper into her pointed ear as he inhaled the scent of her light blue hair. “I couldn’t stand it. I held back until he grabbed you. I’m so sorry, but he was wrong to do that.”

  Myra’s slender hands came up and framed his face, and she pulled back only far enough to stare up into his eyes. “You defended me,” she told him in the same tone he used with her. Her large lavender eyes grew glossy and announced the start of tears. “Nobody has ever defended me, my lord. You put your life in front of mine. How could you do this and not love me?”

  He felt dizzy and she sensed it immediately. He leaned against the large cottage walls and took in deep breaths of warm air. Her tears started to fall as concern mixed with her own confused feelings. She tried her best to understand him and felt like she was failing. He got out another set of words and he was careful with his tone, she was all ready crying and he didn’t want that to get worse. “I do love you,” he replied softly. “From the first day we met. I was all confused as to where I was, who I am, what to do and didn‘t know how to tell you or even if I should.”

  “No, you don’t love me,” she insisted, but not with anger. Her face was bewildered and she placed her hands on her hips. Then she stared at him with one eyebrow cocked high. A gesture she picked up from him.

  “Yes, I do love you,” he insisted back as earnestly.

  “No you don’t.”

  “Yes I do.

  “No,”

  “Yes.”

  “Prove it, then,” she demanded, her tears stopped but her eyes still glossy.

  “Haven’t I already?” he replied, matching her tone and watching her carefully.

  “You’re driving me crazy,” she announced sternly, still confused. “From the first day I thought you loved me, you drove me clean up the wall with your antics. I didn’t know what to do or say.”

  “Tell me of that first day,” he asked, his deep voice filled with such caring that she couldn’t resist his request.

  “When I said the word 'crying' and you had a fight with your mind,” she recalled quickly. “During our discussion afterward, you told me I was beautiful and the other men were fools. That one day you would prove it to me. Then the time came that you threw me on my bed,” she added, and the memory jumped forward for him at last as she went over the details. It also reminded him this was the price for having such a different culture, even if he couldn’t recall his own upbringing and had to react on basic instincts and vague feelings alone. “My feet were throbbing from trying to work as hard as you did. I was mouthing off and you knew it. As I looked up at you, I was ready. I thought then that you would take me into your arms, but no. Instead of affection you did something to my feet I never knew was possible.” He opened his mouth to speak but she placed her hand gently over his lips. “Hear me out, you asked for it.”

  He listened like he never had before.

  “I knew our people were different from each other,” she explained, her tone starting out neutral but becoming more fond as she spoke. “When you rubbed my
feet, I thought that is how you start making love to your women, because it felt so good. I was still ready for you, ready for the promised proof. But your hands wouldn’t stop and I got so relaxed. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I did.” She started to tap her foot and crossed her arms, another trait of his she picked up, and kept her eyes on him as she continued her flashback.

  “I decided to cook for you as if you were my husband,” she told him. His eyes grew wide and she nodded. “Yes, spiced food is the good stuff for a reason. I figured if you saw and heard me treat you like mine, you would prove your love and take me. I even told you to ask anything of me. Anything. But you made no move and I thought you didn’t love me after all. Then the cold came.” She stopped for a second, held up her hand for a moment to her forehead, then continued with her narration, melodic tone heavy. “I hate the cold. It’s hard for me to get warm. It hurts me. I get pains in my bones when it’s too chilly. You knew this, somehow, as if you could look into my soul. Like I was made of glass. Then you heated up your blanket, wrapped me up in it on the couch and kept me warm. I was ready for you then. You still didn’t take me. Your body… powerful and warm, called to me. I could no longer sleep under a chilly quilt. So I came to you in your own bed and still you didn’t prove anything of love." She hesitated.

  "But," he started, and she shushed him.

  “I'm not done," she continued. "You didn't understand me and I didn't realize that. So I thought you just pitied my suffering and that was all there was to it. When the cold went away and I felt much better, no more pain from the chill, I was ready to accept another summer of me eating my heart out for you.” She gestured to the road where the scuffle happened. “Then you stop Avrohom. I don’t know what changed him, but he has a lot of power in collecting money for our king. He never really abused it much until today, and never this badly before. At least with me. And you put your life in danger, telling him that nobody touched me like that. I almost passed out! When I thought you were going to get stabbed and die, I felt like dying with you. Do you understand what I’m getting at?” She flew at him, but to embrace and he gladly held her. She started to breathe in short gasps, trying to control her emotions and finally finished, “I’m a woman who lives with a handsome powerful giant of a man who can do anything but love me. I’m sorry if I cry, but I can’t help it.”