Wish Granted Ch. 02

A blast, there was a loud blast of a sound. Her ears seemed broken for a moment. Then Mr. Turo's weight was removed.

She tried to get up. Her right eyelid was swelling up. She could only see out of her left. The muscles in her neck were practically on fire. Her good eye danced from one area to the next, trying to make sense of her suddenly mad world.

"Miss! Miss!"

Danetta didn't recognize that voice, but she was certain it was a man's. It was deep and heavy, like a cauldron of melted gold, but at the same time it was slightly muffled, almost hissing. Two knee length hunting boots came into her vision; a riding crop's handle was sticking out from inside one of them. She looked up at sturdy breeches struggling against thick legs, then up to a tan colored hunting coat stretching across a broad chest, decorated with several shiny buttons. He smelled like leather and horses.

One of the man's knees lowered, and then he knelt down before her.

A cold, emotionless mass of gray fabric met her vision. She couldn't see the man's face, or even his throat. She couldn't see any of his skin. His head was completely wrapped in cloth, aside from two holes for breathing through the nose and two very small holes for the eyes, which she couldn't quite make out anyway. She couldn't even see their color. The throat was hidden by his cravat, which was normal, but only added to the mystery.

A breeze kissed her bosom, and her hand went there, expecting to feel her clothing. She felt bare skin, and her nipple, which hardened from both the breeze and her touch. Her face inflamed from the embarrassment, not necessarily because her nipples were exposed, but because her gown was torn. Sometimes, the most fashionable women would let their nipples peep out from their clothing, usually on formal occasions, and that was why nipple rouge was a thing to sell. Now if a woman's knees or back was exposed, especially if she was caught without her stays, that would have been absolutely scandalous.

Nevertheless, it wasn't normal for Danetta to have her breasts carelessly hanging out like abandoned laundry.

Danetta was in so much shock that she forgot she was injured. She only had two gowns, the one she wore and the blue one in her bag. Now this curious man was looking at her, likely making judgments about her attire. Tears blurred her already weakened sight.

Smooth leather caressed her cheek.

"Hm?" Danetta wiped her good eye.

The man's hand was on her face, but it was covered by a dark brown leather glove. His voice sizzled out to her, "Can you hear me?"

She nodded.

His other gloved hand wavered before her good eye. "How many fingers do you see?"

She creaked out the number three, and then she was coughing from the pain in her throat. She saw one of the gloved hands grip the handle of the riding crop. He pulled it out slowly, as if he was tasting the moment. Then he left her.

Danetta studied the situation more carefully. There were a few unmounted horses, but they were saddled and obediently waiting for their humans. There were a few men too, and they had Mr. Turo, holding his arms behind his back.

And Mr. Turo wasn't fighting at all. He was grinning like a maniac.

The masked man with the leather gloves stood before Mr. Turo, and then he struck out at him with the riding crop. The sound was swift, cutting through the air and impacting the victim's face with a brutal, fleshy thump.

Mr. Turo didn't yelp. His head barely moved from the force of the crop.

"Under normal circumstances, I'd ask why you'd dare to trespass on my hunting grounds." That was the masked man. Danetta's toes wiggled and curled at the raw might of him. His power emitted from not only his voice, but his height, his muscles, his posture, and the way the men holding Mr. Turo looked at him. They were waiting for him to do something. Danetta could tell by their expectant faces that this masked man was their leader.

"These aren't normal circumstances," continued the masked man. "I have no care for your excuses. You will die here, and your body will be left to the birds. But first," and here he rammed his gloved fist into Mr. Turo's nose, "I must release my anger." She heard cracking. She saw blood. Mr. Turo's nose ended up bruised and broken.

And he was still smiling.

The leader pulled a gray cloth from his coat's pocket and wiped the blood off his glove.

Then he said a name. "Hansu."

One of the men, who was probably named Hansu, he pointed a long and thin gun to the back of Mr. Turo's head. The other men backed away. The leader also moved from the scene. He went straight towards Danetta. She was distracted by him, and she didn't see when Hansu pulled the trigger. She heard it, though, felt the great sound vibrate in her ears, aching throat, bosom, belly, and legs. Then she heard Mr. Turo's body fall to the ground with a soft little thud. She still didn't look. She looked at the powerful man who was reaching out to her, palm upwards.

She took the hand. The leather against her flesh was somewhat inhuman. As the fingers closed around her hand, she trembled and thought to pull out of the grasp. He was too quick. He seized her and pulled her to her feet with the most impressive strength she had ever felt. Then his hands went to her shoulders, holding her as if he expected her to collapse. Her gaze descended to the dirty toes of his boots.

"Can you walk?" the man asked quietly.

Danetta wasn't sure how to address him. So, instead of trying to come up with a proper term for him, she nodded and folded her arms across her chest.

"Do you have a cloak?"

Her head turned one way, then another, and she saw her bag on the ground. She nodded again, but she clarified with, "There's a cloak in my bag."

The masked man left her and spoke to the men as she knelt and snatched up her bag. She considered herself to be a genius when it came to cramming things into bags and boxes. Not only did she have the pieces of her blue gown folded up inside, but she had her gray cloak, a spare pair of work shoes, a weathered pair of dancing slippers that used to belong to her mother, an old wooden comb, a thin sewing kit, a gray shawl of wool, and a few wooden hairpins.

As she pulled out her cloak, she paused because she heard one of the men say, "Your Grace." Another called him, "Master." Danetta looked up at the men. The man with the cloth all around his head responded to them, and she understood that he must have been the lord of these lands.

This man with leather gloves and a hidden face was Duke Erdgar Adurant.

Why in the world was he concealing his appearance?

With tense, quivering fingers, Danetta pulled her cloak about herself and tied it closed very slowly. When she tried to button up her bag she had to make a few attempts at it. She was chastising herself for being so rude to a nobleman. After all, she was technically trespassing. She inhaled her anxiety, nodded to herself, and walked over to the group of men, halting close to the leader.

The cloth covered head turned in her direction, and then the man faced her. Danetta curtsied as low as she could, and she kept her face down as she said, "Your Grace, you have my deepest, deepest gratitude. I shall pray to the God of Hunting that your bullets will always hit their target. I shall pray to the God of Agriculture that the farmers among your people will always produce excellent harvests. I shall pray to the God of Medicine that you will live a long and healthy life."

"You must not be very grateful, because so far you haven't offered to do anything useful for me."

Her breath froze. One of her feet pointed inward and the corresponding knee buckled. His words stung her worse than any wasp could have. They were snug words, restless and uncaring.

"I ... I must apologize. I have offended my sublime rescuer. I dare not say what my fate would be if you hadn't come to my defense."

Duke Adurant's proportionally slim hips moved as he shifted the weight in his legs. "Why are you here?"

Danetta's cheeks were flaming from embarrassment at herself. She really was a fool. "I'm ashamed to give the reason. It was entirely my own doing."

"I'd love to hear why you think having a monster attack you was your own doing." Was that sarcasm in his voice?

She took a nervous gulp of saliva. "The man, I knew him as Mr. Turo. We met in Henrisk. He told me he once worked for you, Your Grace, and he wouldn't mind helping me find a position in your estate. Once we were on your grounds, I stupidly followed him into the woods."

"I've never seen that man before. He brought you all this way only to assault you?" He leaned to one side for a moment, his leather gloves making unpleasant swiping sounds against the back of his head as he seemed to rub something. "That sounds like pure asinine, but I've heard of offenders with worse sense." His body straightened, and Danetta thought she heard him mutter an offensive word.

She lightly tapped the swelling flesh around her damaged eye. She imagined there would be a nasty bruise. Proper gentlewomen didn't show off black eyes with pride.

Duke Adurant spoke to her again. "What's your name?"

"Danetta Saivio." She curtsied again, but she tripped as she did so. She didn't stop herself. The nobleman did it for her. His secure grip assisted her immediately and without any hesitation, but Danetta couldn't sense any cruelty in those brown gloves. Her arms weren't in any pain from his touch. In fact, she rather liked the feeling of those gloves pressing onto her. She wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was because she knew the hands inside were so strong. Maybe it was because those strong hands had just given that Mr. Turo a broken nose for her sake. Then again, did it really matter why she liked his touch?

"Come to my home." His voice wasn't as harsh as it was before. "You should eat and rest there."

***