A Lover's Kiss

IN PROGRESS - I WIIL POST MORE EACH WEEK

A LOVER'S KISS

FIRST ENTRY - 11-3-07

Bronte inspected the vine. The wood looked healthy with no discolorations or fungus. Late Fall was the perfect time of the year for taking a cutting and she’d waited for many months since finding the rare grape vine for just this moment. The best wood, Bronte knew, was the first one to two feet of the base of the shoot where the buds are closest together, but any healthy, well matured section of the cane would suffice. She followed the curve of the plant up from the ground and found the area that looked the best and made a clean cut with her knife.

Bronte removed the damp cheesecloth from her sack and gently laid the cutting down before folding the material safely around it. Just as she closed her pack with the vine safely stowed away, she heard the sound of horses.

As she peered through the leaves where she knelt, to her surprise she saw a young woman struggling against the grip of a mammoth man on horseback. They were followed by two additional riders. The group was obviously in a hurry and as the dust from the road swirled up and filled the air, Bronte cursed under her breath. Her plan today had not included rescuing anything but the vine she carried with her now. She sighed and ran toward the tree where her horse was securely tied.

“Are you ready to run?” she asked her mare. The horse blinked at her with long lashes.

11-5-07 - NEXT BIT

Bronte Malloy was an anomaly in a world where women rarely travelled alone. She understood from an early age that in order to have the freedoms that were afforded the male gender she would need to make certain adjustments. Now at the age of twenty-two, she was very accustomed at passing as a man.

Her horse nickered as Bronte mounted and gripped the reins. Her tall, lean frame hunched forward as she firmly hit her heel against the mare’s side.

Within minutes Bronte made up the distance between her and the trio of riders ahead. The rear horseman looked of average size and Bronte formulated her plan. She reached for her fighting stick that was protruding from her saddle bag and held it firmly in her right hand. Seconds later she was neck and neck with the rider.

“Going somewhere?” Bronte shouted.

Wide-eyed the man fumbled for his sword but Bronte struck him soundly across the chest with her weapon and he landed with a thud in the middle of the road. The man’s horse now rider-free, passed her and she knew she didn’t have much time before the other two in the group recognized that something was wrong. She pushed her mare harder and just made it to the next rider as he spotted his mate’s horse go by alone.

“What the . . .” he turned back to look and Bronte clubbed him across the forehead. He was thrown clear from his mount.

The large man holding the obviously frightened woman heard the encounter and turned. His eyes narrowed and he slowed his horse to a stop. Bronte pulled back her reins hard, stopping short of the giant in front of her. Fighting this behemoth hand-to-hand was a daunting task she did not relish. She waited to see what his next move would be and was met with a black-toothed grin.

“You thinkin’ of stopping me?” he asked.

“Well, it does rather look like you’re holding that woman against her will,” Bronte quipped. “If you let her go, we can both be on our way. What do you say, mate?”

He dismounted still holding the woman in front of him. Bronte looked into young women’s face and saw a mixture of terror and relief. Without a second’s thought, the mammoth man turned the woman around and slapped her hard across the face. She fell, unconscious into his arms and he dropped her, unceremoniously to the ground.

“Hey!” Bronte yelled and dismounted. “Pick on someone your own size you over-sized tub of horse dung!” She threw her fighting stick to the ground and reached for her sword. When she looked up she saw him coming at her, his own sword drawn and ready.

The man snorted in contempt. “You’ll pay for those words. Nobody calls me names.”

His blade thrust at Bronte’s chest and she was barely able to deflect it. His strength was more then she could handle and she knew it. She had to rely on her speed and flexibility. Bronte jumped to her left as the long sword came at her again, swinging like a scythe. It only missed its mark because of her quick reactions.

The man spit on the ground. “The next one’s gonna slice you open.”