Lone Woman

Emelia stirred from her sleep, her senses coming alive in a comforting way. The scent of a man’s musk wafted up from the sheets, and a strong arm was draped across her waist. She tilted her head up to find her face pressed against Leon’s broad chest, his skin hot and soft beneath her cheek. His breath was deep and steady, and his grip on her tightened as she moved. A low, satisfied murmur rumbled through his chest, “No, that wasn’t nearly long enough,” he groaned languidly without fully being awake.

Her eyes never left Leon’s, and her thoughts raced. She could feel his skin against hers and wondered what it would be like to surrender to the sensations coursing through her body, to be finally married and experience the night she so deeply desired. Emelia felt her cheeks burn as she extracted herself from Leon’s grip, “I have to go,” she said, hesitantly getting off the bed and scrambling to put her clothes back on. Her hands trembled as she pulled the fabric of her dress over her head, feeling the intense gaze of Leon’s eyes on her. The room was filled with their shared electricity as he followed her example, sliding on his shirt. Both of them aware of the tension and desire lingering in the air.

She tucked some supplies into her pack and took a deep breath, reading herself to head into the vast unknown.

Leon’s brow creased with worry as he watched her from across the room. His gaze was gentle and caring, and she knew he could tell that her mind was taking her away from the present moment. He slowly approached her, and his strong arms wrapped around her in a comforting embrace. His voice was low and gentle as he whispered, “Please come back safe.”

Emelia grasped her longbow’s well-worn handle, the weapon’s weight familiar in her hands. She slid it over her back, her practiced movements swift and sure. She draped a dark cloak over her shoulders, concealing the bow, and met her companion’s eye with a reassuring smile. “I promise,” she said, “Don’t worry.”

Emelia emerged from the tent, her arm linked with Leon’s. King Edward stood at the mouth of the camp, a sack dangling from his hand. He dipped his chin in a solemn nod as they approached. Emelia took the bag with a trembling hand and winced at its heft. She peered inside and saw a bundle of arrows tucked beneath a small mound of quinces and tree branches; the sack contents were designed to muffle any sound as she carried them.

A group of battle-worn soldiers surrounded Emelia, some with fresh bandages and gauze peeking out from their uniforms. The tallest of the group stepped forward and said, “Emelia.” He hawked a wad of mucus from his throat before continuing. “We know we give you a hard time, but we want you to return alive. So…” his voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “Give ’em hell.” The rest of the soldiers echoed his sentiment with a chorus of shouts.

Emelia smiled and nodded her head, “I will.”

Edward wrapped her in a tight and reassuring embrace, then stepped back and looked deep into her eyes. “Good luck,” he said. Emelia gave a determined nod, and then she started to walk, her steps becoming increasingly confident as she approached the edge of the forest and her battle alone.

* * *

Emelia crept into the forest, her eyes darting around as she swept her gaze over the trees, taking in the gentle sway of the boughs and the soft rustle of the leaves. The sun shone through the clouds, dappling the forest floor with a blanket of warm light that made Emelia’s steps seem almost silent as she walked, only the occasional tap of her rubber-soled shoes on fallen pine needles to mark her presence. Birds flitted across the sky, disturbed by the soft sound of her approach.

She approached a tall tree and noticed a crossbow mounted above her head. Its bowstring was already drawn taut, an arrow ready to be released. She saw a rabbit on the ground, its nose twitching amidst the dense brush. Without hesitation, she unslung her sack and spread her cloak against a nearby tree trunk. She stepped onto the trap wire, feeling the tension as she firmly placed her foot on the trigger. The arrow shot forward, piercing the fabric of her cloak and lodging itself in the ground. The rabbit quickly darted away, its ears twitching in fear.

Walking slowly, Emelia maneuvered around the dense forest underbrush until she found a bush large enough to hide behind. She peered through the leaves, spotting a soldier patrolling further down the path. She steadied herself, making sure to keep her breathing shallow. Carefully, she pulled out a quince from her sack and, summoning her strength, rolled it down the path. The quince stopped at his feet, and the soldier stared at it in confusion before he yanked out his bow and an arrow, ready to fire at any sign of an enemy.

The leaves rustled as Emelia stumbled out from the bush, her eyes wide and hands shaking. She clutched a coarse burlap sack, and it fell to the ground with a thud as she shouted, “Wait! Don’t shoot!”

The soldier cautiously lowered his bow, squinting through the dimly lit forest. His grip on the arrow stayed tight, and he was ready to draw instantly. He expected an attacker - possibly a bandit - but certainly not a woman. He cleared his throat and barked, “What is your business in these woods?”

Emelia smiled politely, trying to look friendly, though her heart raced as she spoke. “Just passing through, sir.” She gestured to the large quince at his foot. “I’m just harvesting quinces.” She slowly bent down and reached for the fruit. She felt his gaze on her the entire time.

The archer pulled a dagger from its sheath and held it dangerously close to Emelia’s throat. He squinted his eyes and leaned closer to her, his hot breath heavy on her neck. “What’s in the sack?” he growled.

Emelia grounded her bag, the other soldiers gathering close to see what was inside. She drew them close and opened it to reveal several ripe quinces, their golden-orange skins gleaming in the sunlight. “Just quinces,” she said, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

The soldier slid his dagger into its sheath, his leather-gloved hands gentle with the metal. He peered carefully into the bag, pausing to take in its contents before the other soldier stepped forward. He was tall, his expression curious and questioning. “How did you make it past the traps?” he asked.

Emelia stepped back, holding her cloak open to reveal a gaping hole, “I was almost skewered by one.” She said with a frown. “You should be more careful,” her voice was tinged with worry. He gazed at the hole before scrunching his eyebrows in mild irritation and placing his bow back on his shoulder.

The soldier’s intensity was palpable as he pointed away from the battlefield, his face twisted with anger. His voice was sharp and unforgiving. “We’re fighting a war! What were you thinking? Don’t come back! If you’re looking for fruit, stay away from the forest and buy it at the market.”

Despite the menacing soldier before her, Emelia’s voice was strong and confident. “Not everyone in the kingdom cares for this war,” she said. “And it has caused taxes to double since it was launched. We don’t have the money to get our goods from the market, and that’s why I’m here.” The guard growled again, clearly unimpressed. Emelia stood tall and unflinching, her eyes burning with determination.

The soldier’s voice was cold, his face like stone as he glared at Emelia with a hard, unwavering stare. “You need to clear out,” he commanded, the authority in his voice enough to make his point. “Step one foot back here, and you’ll be considered a spy.”

Emelia’s bag weighed heavily on her shoulders as she marched forward, knowing the soldiers’ stares were burning a hole in her back. She could feel their eyes lingering even after she had stepped into the protective embrace of the trees and been swallowed up by the darkness of the woods.

Emelia’s slow and steady steps were deliberate and quiet as she stepped over roots, angled around boulders, and picked her way through the underbrush. She maneuvered through the forest carefully and silently, taking advantage of the camouflage provided by the dense foliage. Pressed against the rough bark of a nearby tree, she surveyed the soldiers standing in formation as they faced outward and away from her. The light had started to shift, the sun filtering through the canopy in warm yellow and orange patches, casting dancing shadows on the woodland floor.

All of her senses were heightened as she surveyed her surroundings, and with a heave, she threw off her sack, and its contents tumbled out onto the ground. Reaching inside, she pulled out her bow, quiver of arrows, and a coil of rope. She looped the rope around the tree trunk, then expertly tied the other end to a thick branch. Hand over hand, she hoisted herself up the long rope like a spider scaling the wall of its web. When she reached her destination, she perched upon the sturdy limb like a tender bird, her bow and arrows in hand.

From her vantage point, Emelia squinted in the sunlight as she peered across the battlefield, her breath catching as the wave of soldiers came into full view. She nocked the arrow, drew the bowstring back to her cheek, and aimed carefully. Just before releasing, a gust of wind blew the arrow slightly off course, and it bounced off a soldier’s helmet and struck another in the neck. “ARCHERRRRRR! “One of the men roared, his voice drowned out by battle cries as the soldiers shifted. Emelia steadied herself and then let another arrow fly, this one with deadly accuracy as it pierced through the soldier’s skull with a sickening thud.

“DEFEND!” The soldiers bellowed as one, raising their shields in front of them as they turned towards the trees where the danger lurked. Emelia leaped from the shadows of the trees, landing from branch to branch like a cat, her bow drawn and ready. Hidden among the trees, she let a dozen arrows fly in rapid succession. They sliced through the air with a singing sound, and the soldiers scrambled against the sudden attack. But Emelia was a master archer and seemed to have the advantage, firing arrow after arrow, just barely missing their defenses.

Emelia watched as the two groups of archers moved into action, one group retreating deeper into the woods while the other pursued after her. She grabbed her bow, pulled an arrow from her quiver, and took a steady aim at the closest pursuer. She fired the arrow and watched in satisfaction as it thudded into the target’s chest. Before she could draw another arrow, she heard a loud signal horn ringing out from her battalion in the distance. Relief washed over her; her plan had worked, letting them advance.