A Darling Corpse, For Your Viewing Pleasure

So ... Boot and I saw the podiatrist. I'll post a full update after the Easter weekend. Boot is being very smug about the whole debacle, and honestly, I just don't have it in me to write about it yet.

In the meantime, as I mentioned a few posts ago, I've had to cut several beloved scenes from my untitled manuscript-in-progress. I am sorry to see this darling go, but it's been sacrificed to the word count gods. I love the interplay between the three main characters in this snippet -- Jaim, Bowen and Lyanne. You can see each of their different strengths as they cope with this stressful situation.

Looks charming and benign, doesn't it? Just wait ...

Tucked into the dell was a small homestead. The cottage could not have held more than a room or two, but smoke filtered through the chimney and a serviceably sized barn stood close by. Jaim drew the other two down the opposite side of the hillock, out of sight, and reined his horse close to Bowen's.

“It’s a small house. They likely won't have food to sell,” he said.

“The horses haven't eaten properly in three days,” Bowen replied. “Maybe if we offered enough money – ”

“That’s just the kind of attention we don’t need to invite.”

Before he finished speaking, Lyanne slipped off her horse and crept toward a thicket of bushes. Bowen opened his mouth to ask what she was doing when he saw what had drawn her attention: a flutter of movement in the bare underbrush.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said, grinning at the little blond girl crouched in the bracken. Covered in mud and wearing a simple brown dress, she nearly disappeared into her surroundings. If she hadn’t moved, none of them would have noticed her. She stared at Lyanne with wide eyes, her gaze darting to Jaim and Bowen. Lyanne leaned closer. “Don’t worry; those two aren’t nearly as frightening as they look.”

Bowen glanced at Jaim and shrugged. Jaim brought his leg over the side of his horse and landed on the ground with a solid thump. The girl stumbled back in panic and Lyanne whipped her head around. She shot Jaim an irritated look, holding out her hand toward him before composing her face and turning back to the girl.

“Don’t be afraid,” Lyanne repeated, still smiling reassuringly. “My name is Breah. What’s your name?”

“Arundel,” the girl said in a whisper.

“Arundel, would you like to meet my horse? Her name is Arga.” Lyanne held out her hand. Arundel vacillated for another moment before emerging from the bushes. She had to be around nine, Bowen guessed, and her eyes didn’t stop moving as she surveyed the group of travelers. She wasn’t used to seeing strangers; this place received few visitors. Her instincts told her to be wary, but she was enthralled by the unfamiliar; the girl’s curiosity was most definitely to their advantage.

Bowen decided to let Lyanne deal with Arundel for a few more minutes before stepping in. The girl wasn’t a threat, but whoever lived with her in the cottage might be.

Arundel could not hide her interest in Lyanne’s dapple gray. Her hand tentatively found Lyanne’s and she let herself be led over to Arga, where the mare nuzzled her palm in search of a treat. The girl giggled as she stroked the velvet-soft nose.

“Such a pretty horse!” She looked to Lyanne again and blurted out, “Your redingote is very fine. Are you a lady?”

Lyanne leaned down to whisper in her ear: “These are my guards, but I’m traveling in disguise. Will you promise to keep my secret?” Jaim's mouth flattened at the lie, but he kept his peace.

The girl broke into a wide grin, her eyes shining with excitement. “A lady?”

“A secret,” Lyanne reminded her with a wink. “Poor Arga is very hungry. Do you live in that cottage over the hill?”

Arundel nodded eagerly. “We have hay.” She was excited and distracted, enough so Bowen dismounted and came to stand behind Lyanne without frightening her.

“Would your family be pleased to meet us, do you think?” Lyanne asked.

Arundel chewed her lip. “Papa doesn’t like men in the house."

“We can wait outside,” Bowen said, gesturing to himself and Jaim.

Lyanne twitched in surprise but didn’t turn to look at him. “You may ride Arga to the cottage if you like; she’s tired of carrying me."

“Caris will be so jealous!” Arundel squealed.

Bowen moved swiftly, picking up the girl and settling her into Arga’s saddle. Startled by her sudden change in location, Arundel tentatively smiled at Bowen and he beamed back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She blushed and giggled. Lyanne was rooted to the spot, her gaze flickering between the girl and Bowen, her surprise palpable.

He leaned close and said, “Shall I show you how to ride like a lady?”

The girl's head bobbed with the energy of a dog's tail. “Yes, please!”

He handed her the reins. “Hold them loosely; she’s a gentle horse. Now tap your heels to her sides.”

Arundel obeyed enthusiastically, drumming on Arga with her bare feet, but the mare only huffed a little. Bowen kept hold of her halter and led her over the hill to the house. Jaim fell into step on the other side of Lyanne. They crested the rise and found the cottage just as it had been it before, except a woman was walking toward the barn. She caught sight of them and her eyes widened in horror.

“Arundel!” she shrieked, frozen as she tried to decide whether to run into the house or toward the girl. Lyanne glanced at Bowen and he cut his eyes toward the woman, indicating Lyanne should speak first.

She called out, “She said we might visit if I gave her a ride on my horse. I’m sorry; I meant no harm,” she called out.

The woman scurried to meet them at the base of the hill. “Get down this instant!” she gasped to the girl, her attention dancing nervously between the two men and Lyanne.

“The horse is hungry, Caris,” Arundel pouted. “We have hay.”

“There’s nothing to be fearful of, miss,” Bowen said with a benign smile. Caris reached up to drag Arundel from the saddle, but Bowen gently set her on the ground first. Caris stared up at him, her face reflecting the myriad of emotions running through her, none of them pleasant.

“Get your papa!” she ordered, shoving Arundel’s shoulder. The girl hesitated, opening her mouth, but Caris’ expression brooked no room for argument and she set off toward the cottage at a run. The woman looked to Lyanne and Bowen again, her eyes lingering on Jaim and his weapons. “I don’t know what the girl told you, but we have very little here. We’re hardly able to support ourselves.”

“We’re not looking for trouble. We’ve been lost,” Bowen said. He glanced at Jaim’s bandaged shoulder, and Caris did the same. “We ran into wolves a few days ago and barely made away with our horses. Our animals are hungry.”

The door to the cottage banged open and a large man came barreling out. He might have been around Aren’s age, and he gripped an antique matchlock musket in his hands. The match-cord was lit – Bowen could smell it from across the yard – and the man was ready to fire.

Jaim moved with lightning-fast precision, snatching his horse pistols from the holsters on his saddle and cocking them as he brought them into position. He had one trained on the man before he could take a second step from the cottage. The other was trained on Caris, although at a strange angle, aimed from his elbow because his injury wouldn’t allow him to raise his arm properly.

He was grimacing in pain – he’d already moved his shoulder too much in retrieving the guns. In spite of that, his voice was steady as he barked, “Drop it, or I’ll drop you both where you stand!”

Careful not to block Jaim’s line of fire, Bowen immediately stepped in front of his companions with his hands raised in the air. “Peace!” He ruthlessly squelched the overwhelming instinct to draw his knives. Jaim would shoot well enough if the need arose.

“They want food for the horses,” Caris called out in a faltering voice, her eyes huge as she stared at Jaim. The man’s charge slowed into a loping shuffle and he began to lower his musket.

“We’re not here for anything not belonging to us,” Bowen said, keeping his expression mild. “We wouldn’t expect hospitality without something in exchange. We have a little money.”

The man squinted at them, letting the muzzle touch the ground. “We have very little,” he said gruffly.

“I told them that,” Caris said tremulously.

“It would be wise of you to drop that relic,” Jaim repeated through clenched teeth. The man’s hands tightened on the butt of the matchlock musket.

“We’ll move on,” Bowen said, dipping his head. He turned, touching Lyanne on the back of the neck and propelling her so he stayed between her and the man with the gun. She was breathing fast, her shoulders rising and falling under his hand. Jaim hadn’t moved one inch; he had hardly blinked since the other man appeared.

The man licked his fingers and pinched out the smoldering match-cord. The musket made a soft thuck sound as it fell to the slushy earth. When Bowen turned around, the man squinted at him.

“We have hay,” he said, “but we have nothing else.”

If you made it to the end, you're a rock star! This was a 1,300-word scene, part of a larger 6,500-word subplot I cut. Woe! But the major storyline still functions without it, which means it was extraneous and had to go. 

Have a blessed Easter!