Darcy Branwyn

Worth Fighting For:

England, 1192

…Jennifer, formerly of Ashton, now of nowhere at all, waited until the stable boys were lined up outside the hall to greet the return of Lord Matthew after having spent the summer with his sister, Alana and her new husband.

It was the perfect time for something Jennifer almost never had the chance to do. Bathe. She made quick work gathering up her extra tunic, bar of soap, and only towel, and then snuck out the back of the stable and down the hill into the forest.

She looked back a few times, her usual paranoia setting in. That paranoia had kept her alive over the last few months, so maybe there was something to be said for it. Sure that no one was following her she ducked a low hanging branch and then picked her way down a ravine to the creek below.

It was little chilly for this but it would only get colder from here on so she figured she’d might as well get it done while she could. Damn but she missed hot baths in her own private chamber, her lady’s maid waiting on her with a fresh towel and a linen shift.

Jennifer dumped her things onto the ground and then pulled off her boots, setting them aside. She wiggled her toes, sighing at the hole that had worn through one of her woolen stockings. Maybe she could beg some thread and a needle off of a household servant to sew them with.

She rolled them off of her and put them with her boots. She added her trousers and braies to the pile. One last quick look around assured her that she was still alone. Lastly, she pulled off her tunic, and then untied the strip of cloth around her breasts and let it drop to the ground. She took a deep breath. The worst part about all of this wasn’t the pretending, or the lack of hot water, or of a servant. It was that binding. It was just her luck that she’d not only find herself in this position in the first place, but that she’d be just round enough to make hiding her breasts a royal pain in the ass.  

She took up her bar of soap and waded into too cold water, gasping in shock. A numb tingling began in her toes. She’d have to work fast.

Jennifer soaped her body, face, and shoulder length hair down, scrubbing with her hands until she’d gotten most of the filth off. Best not to be too clean, lest the boys suspect she wasn’t one of them. 

She sloshed out of the water, shivering onto the bank. She shifted her foot off of a pesky rock and then grabbed hold of her towel, drying off quickly.

She pulled her tunic on first. It came to her knees and it made her feel better to be covered. The binding was next. She glared at it for a moment. “I hate you,” she told it.

“I thought there was something off about you,” she heard behind her.

Jennifer dropped the cloth, bending to pull the knife she had strapped inside of her boot free even as she turned to face the voice.

“Cedrick,” she said darkly, careful to keep her voice to the lowest end of its range. “What the hell are you doing?”

He leaned casually against a tree and shrugged. He was nothing to look at. Maybe eighteen at best, tall and straggly with hair the color of horse manure.

“I knew you didn’t smell right,” he said.

Oh, now if that wasn’t the most disgusting thing she’d heard in a long time.

“You don’t smell like a boy,” he continued, pushing away from the tree…

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