Passion of the Different (3 page)

Morning sunlight shining through the little stained glass window of the back door woke him. The smell of cooked vegetables and hot spiced apple cider made his belly rumble as he changed his clothes. A teal set of shorts and pullover tank top took no time at all to put on and he found her in the kitchen setting the table. She wore a brilliant green and gold patterned knee-length dress, which she knew was his favorite.

“Good morning, Myra,” he greeted her as he had every morning since his first night there. She always greeted him back in the same fashion, but not today. At first he thought she was pissed at him, but that vanished along with one of the largest, kindest smiles she had ever given him. Her smiles before had often been soft or lopsided. This time he saw her pearly white mini fanged teeth and her large lavender eyes crinkled at the edges with everything she put into the moment.

She placed a plate that had more than the usual portion before him and poured the steaming apple cider into a larger mug than he usually got. Then she served her spot at the small table across from him and sat down, eyes flashing again along with that brilliant smile.

“I take it you slept well?” he asked, returning the large smile with a happy chill going down the back of his neck.

“Yes I did, thank you,” she whispered back.

Whispered?

He started to eat and he found everything had a lot more flavor than usual. This puzzled him as to why, then his eyes found the reason on the shelf above the wood burning stove. Jars of spices, labeled and sealed, lined the entire length from one side to the other. He had never seen them before and couldn’t understand the significance of this new behavior. He didn’t let his eyes linger on them for too long, he didn’t want her to notice that he noticed in case it would upset her. Then he rethought that. He
should
notice since she went through the extra effort.

“This is the best breakfast you’ve cooked yet,” Ryan complimented honestly. He took another big bite and winked at her, wondering if at least their occasional mutual winks were still functioning as before. She actually gave a full blush, then as if in afterthought, winked back and smiled beautifully again.

“My lord,” she started to say softly, barely louder than a whisper now. “We’re ready for winter but the winter isn’t here yet. If there’s anything you wish, ask and it’s yours.” Then she started to eat, her eyes watching him, measuring his reaction.

My lord? He wanted so badly to ask, but knew that some of her society’s foibles were based on ritual and routine. Break that routine and she would naturally feel insulted. It was how she was raised. How all of her people were raised. Yes, she knew he wouldn’t know as he was clueless about a lot of it, yet the pattern of her behavior that was set by his previous day’s actions couldn’t be ignored or turned off for a verbal lesson. His status with her changed somehow and now he had to figure out how much for the better... or for the worse.

“Anything?” he verified, keeping his tone light and good natured. Well, as lightly as possible for a baritone.

“Anything,” she whispered back. She stopped eating and paused with her hand halfway to her throat, then put both hands on the edge of the table and those lavender eyes locked with his light blue gaze.

“Tell me if you enjoyed your foot massage,” he requested happily. Again, her entire demeanor changed and her blush returned for an encore performance.

“You can do that to me anytime you like, my lord,” she said, almost breathless. “But next time, you don’t have to carry me over your shoulder, I promise.” Her face softened and her whole body relaxed.

Ryan suppressed a chuckle, fought with his gut to keep from cracking a loud laugh. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hide the fact he was trying not to lose it. Myra noticed all right, paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. She started to giggle and that was all the hint his funny bone needed. They both ended up expressing their shared humor again and it felt good. After they calmed down enough to finish breakfast, and while she was slow at getting back into the swing of their casual friendship, she always referred to him as her lord from there on out.

Two weeks later winter arrived like a bulldozer out to bury the warmth forever.

There was no warning. The air didn’t grow cooler by the day or give a brisk announcement. The wind simply had a sultry warm breath when it blew across his face one day, then it was all gone by morning. The world was covered in white and the large cottage was icy until they pulled in some logs and lit them with the flint wand. The device was designed to have the wand inserted into an iron hole under the pitch filled dry wood. When pulled out quickly, the large sparks would go up through the grille and catch the thin slivers that supported the logs. It took only a few strokes to get the desired effect and small flames licked outwards from under the load of dry pine.

Even though they dressed warm and had a good fire going, Myra grew more silent and shivered unless she was very close to the fireplace. When she cooked meals, she hovered over the wood stove longer than usual. Winters were rough on her, Ryan noticed, and only after a few days of watching her silently suffer did he decide to do something about it.

It was shortly after breakfast when he approached the fireplace with his thick blanket. The roaring blaze filled the whole room with dancing yellows, greens and reds. Myra stood too close as far as he was concerned, certainly he would have felt uncomfortable. So he opened his blanket and while holding two corners up high over his head, stepped between the fireplace and her body while saying innocently, “Excuse me, please.”

Her eyes were wide and bugged out at him. He had cut off her source of refreshing heat on purpose. He smiled back at her over his shoulder to let her know all was going well, but her return gaze was blank. It was then he realized that she should have been angry with him, or at least asking what in the hell was he doing. Instead, she remained silent as if rebuking him was now against her policy. That somehow coincided with her new title for him whenever she wanted to talk or get his attention.

His fingers felt like they were about to be burned off when he turned and walked towards Myra. She didn’t back up but planted her feet, unsure what his plans were. She figured it out rapidly when he wrapped the ultra warm blanket around her and him both, then scooted her to the low couch that had been placed in the room opposite of the fireplace. The lavender pools of her eyes were accepting and absorbing everything about him at the same time. She didn’t say one word as their body heat, with the help of the ultra warmed blanket, kept them both toasty until it was time to make dinner.

The conversation was still light, much to his annoyance, but soon dinner was done and she went back to standing close to the fireplace. She thanked him on a regular basis however, when he ventured outside and grabbed some wood for the stove and fireplace. If the slight nip in the air of a fireplace warmed room did this to her, he could have only imagined how she would have suffered by going out into the snow herself.

That night as Ryan lay atop his own feather mattress, he was beginning to wish he could get back his previous status with her. She was chatty and liked to laugh then, but now it seemed like she was more… formal. That was it. Everything was more serious and had to be perfect for him. He got larger portions that he had been hard pressed to finish, but knew through experience all ready that not to finish all of his food only made her unhappy for the rest of the day. She wouldn’t raise her voice anymore to him, he also realized, and tried to decide if that was an improvement or not. He missed the feisty side of her quite a bit.

While he wrangled with it in his mind and was completely self distracted, he didn’t hear her walk up. When he did finally see her it startled him. She was wearing a loose button up top and a light pair of loose pants. All he had on was a pair of thin shorts. While the house was nippy to her, it was pleasantly warm for him and he wasn‘t even under the covers.

The surprise of seeing her there almost hid the fact she carried a quilt. Without so much as an explanation, Myra climbed into bed with him and pulled her quilt up over them both. Her arm slipped up and over his well defined chest, her naturally cold feet were a slight shock, but made their way in between his calves and quickly became comfortable. She rested her head on his shoulder, snuggled close, and it then registered that she had made the quilt ultra warm by the fireplace. He finally found his voice, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he wondered that she didn’t comment on it.

“Are you warm now?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yes my lord, you’re very warm,” she replied as quietly. Her head slowly nodded against his shoulder and he felt like he was in heaven. She was so light he could barely feel her weight. After a few more minutes of silent contemplation, he picked up his head ever so much and glanced down at her. Those large almond shaped eyes were closed and she was sound asleep. The man inside him that cared so much for her advised caution, that no matter what he might
think
she was there for, it would do far more harm to be wrong if this was some sort of culture difference, or her way of keeping comfortable while feeling safe and secure with him. Probably a combination of both. So there he was, a beautiful woman sleeping on his chest while curled up against him and he was too afraid of being wrong to test her levels of personal affection. He finally fell asleep an hour later wishing she had kissed him instead and erased any doubt.

The winter lasted three months and the sharp frigid wind was unrelenting. Every cold afternoon he warmed his blanket and shared it with her on the couch. Every frigid night she warmed her quilt the same way and snuggled up against him for a deep comfortable sleep. The first day of spring changed their lives again, once more in a way he could have never imagined.

Chapter Four - Providing Proof

Ryan was alone and he was instantly awake. This was the first time in months his eyes opened and Myra wasn’t curled up against him for warmth. Sunlight streamed across his face from the little stained glass window in the back door as he contemplated where she went. While he had gotten used to her being there, the relationship remained platonic. He couldn't bring himself to make any moves for fear of losing what he had in companionship. After all, she was susceptible to the cold and he generated a lot more body heat than she did. While they had snuggled together all winter long, she never made a move that she had wanted more. Wait. Sunlight?

It almost eluded his notice. He swung around and off the bed and gazed out of the side window. As fast as the snow had arrived, it was gone to reveal a darkened wet ground where little green shoots were pushing up through the mud.

He shook his head in wonder and felt the seasons shouldn’t change so quickly. He could feel the warmth all around him, certain there was a summer breeze blowing outside through the trees as birds played from one branch to the other. A clanking of metal from the kitchen area caught his notice and he walked quickly with his shorts on and nothing else. Normally he dressed before going to breakfast, but the abrupt change in seasons messed with his own routine, and he was curious about her actions. Sure enough, Myra had already cooked breakfast and the portions were served, wearing her daily work leathers that were light and cool. Warm weather meant she rose early, cold weather made her slow and a late riser.

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. Still 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.