Everything had changed since her father left, at least in Aylee's mind. True, her mother still managed the home for the past week, and her brothers still ran amok - her sister still hid in her mother's skirts. The mill still churned across the stream, the carts still cricketed by, and the old women still gossiped in the streets.

Unfortunately, the gossip had changed its tenor. Only a few weeks before, gossip had revolved around the town youths and which maid had won whose heart. Now the whispers that floated past Aylee's ears carried with them news of poverty, injustice, anger. A mad ruler. An exiled heir. Raids and incursions. In her lifetime, she had never sensed such unrest and disquiet in her little society, and the Steeplers numbers had swelled in her town – she hated it.

Aylee's latest tidbit of gossip came from the mouth of Lady Willen, and so Aylee did not really doubt it. As far as Aylee knew, Lady Willen had not received the title of "lady" due to birth or nobility, but the townsfolk had bestowed the honor upon her based solely on her age and her wisdom. For nearly a century, Lady Willen had flitted between the boundaries of the marshes and the town, never fully identifying with either population.

Like Malchus, Lady Willen possessed the greenest of eyes, but they squinted bright and clear through a bundled mass of skin that otherwise would have little to distinguish it besides wrinkles. Still, no one could deny her appeal, and everyone in both the village and the marsh sought her out for words of wisdom. Aylee doubted that the simple townsfolk knew half of the woman's value. Because the gossip had emitted from Lady Willen's mouth, Aylee held no doubt of its veracity.

Historically, a murmur of political unrest would hardly have registered in Aylee's mind, since it was usually stirred up by bickering between nobles, who as a group had little influence in Bennigton. Only recently had a couple of dissident groups crawled out of the mire of the regional criminal element. Lady Willen, though, had passed on to Aylee a much more shocking tale than political intrigues and community agitators. Sanctioned tyrannical oppression seemed much more concerning than what amounted to small skirmishes among limited powers.

Apparently, a small battery of the duke's soldiers had set up camp on the far side of the marsh. Used to the provincial values displayed by their southern neighbors in Bennigton, the marshers had approached the soldiers for trade, looking to earn a few extra dollars for selling trinkets or necessities.

Aylee herself would never have approached a group of unfamiliar soldiers, as she would not approach any group of unfamiliar men, but the marshers had mixed their inexperience with a little greed, throwing caution to the wind to gain a few coins. Apparently, the soldiers had not desired the interchange, and the marshers had suffered for their boldness.

Though she tried not to, Aylee could clearly picture the bodies of the men who lay dead or dying amidst the tall, seepy grass and reeds of the marsh – perhaps some men she knew. Had the soldiers, as happened in many of the histories she had read, taken the women as bounty? Torn them from their homes and carried them away to some unknown region far from the familiarity of the marsh?

Sadly, an event of that sort might still have escaped mention by Lady Willen, since she had lived long enough to encounter many travesties and disasters. The consequences of what happened in the marsh, though, strayed far from the norm. In the past, men who inflicted such injustices would have found themselves wanted by the law, a pariah among their countrymen. According to Lady Willen, no one planned to hold the infamous troop of soldiers responsible for their cruelty. On the contrary, the government had sent out word that no one should bother the men, that they had acted against a domestic enemy who threatened Banda's “usual way of life.”

Such an assertion could not avoid raising numerous questions among Lady Willen and those who wavered between the worlds of Bennigton and the marsh. How could anyone label the marshers a domestic enemy? Since when had oddity equaled enmity? More disturbing, if the duke could label the marshers a domestic enemy, who would he target next? What injustice could he excuse by calling someone a threat? An excuse from on high often removed society’s restraints on the depravity of the average man, and therefore atrocities increased manifold times. Aylee could not imagine anyone would condone murder and kidnapping, much less the equanimous authorities who had governed her district during her entire life.

As she trudged from Lady Willen's cottage to her own home, Aylee could not feel the nip of the breeze or sense the darkening clouds. So completely had her thoughts engulfed her that she had reached the narrow streets of Bennigton before she became aware of her surroundings. When she did notice, she recognized a percussive drumming that erupted a few feet behind her. More than hearing, Aylee suddenly felt the thundering of hooves which shook the ground beneath her. Abruptly, she reacted to the barrage of sound and sight by leaping adroitly to one side, moving from the animal's path just before it reached her. With heart battering inside her chest, Aylee spun to see who would materialize from the cloud of dust that arose behind the pounding of the hooves. She should have expected to see Malchus. Who else would barrel through the narrow streets disregarding the safety of everything in his path?

When his eyes locked on hers, Malchus pulled his horse up to an abrupt halt, and her breath caught. It amazed her that she could process the fact that Malchus bore a remarkably attractive face and form, but that despite that, she could feel only repulsion for him. His consistent behavior among the townsfolk – especially those who did not recognize how he had affected them – infuriated her, and it rendered all of his beauty an unnatural mask, as if distorted through shards of glass. Staring at him in the alleyway, the distortion magnified, and her heart spasmed in her chest.

She could not imagine what he wanted, though she felt certain she would not like it. Aylee had always hated the short walk home from the marsh at night, laden as it was with hidden nooks and unavoidable shadows. On this evening, brisk and darkening rapidly, she could not have met with a less desirable set of circumstances: completely isolated, the deepening twilight around her, and Malchus Lorne before her, a look of fire in his eyes.

"Aylee Hembry," he panted, his white teeth flashing against the grey night.

"Mr. Lorne," she nodded, ducking her head as if against the cold and refusing to meet his gaze.

Malchus brought his horse around directly in front of Aylee, and as her heart pounded against her ribs, Malchus slid off the brown leather saddle, planting himself directly in her path. Since the horse blocked the entire way, Aylee had no choice but to stop, and as she kept her head down to avoid meeting his eyes, she almost jumped at the sensation of his breath slithering past the collar of her cloak. She would never have expected him to steal so close or move so swiftly.

"Not so fast, Aylee Hembry," he hummed in a low voice. Aylee couldn't miss the intimate way his voice stroked her name, as if he owned it and would soon hold it in his hands. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

Aylee would not betray her fear to any man, but especially not Malchus Lorne. What advantage could he manage over her if she gave him even one inch of ingress past her defenses? She spun around to exit the path from the way she had entered. "I would like to get home before the storm," she sassed. "If you hadn't noticed, the day grows cold."

Though she hadn't thought it possible, an even more intense expression molded Malchus's features into a darker-than-menacing grin as he moved to cut off her retreat. "Don't fear the cold," Malchus rose up inches in front of her, so close that when she stepped away from him, her back pressed against the heat of the horse's hide. "I will make sure that you do not feel the cold for a long while."

Aylee could not control her rapid breathing. Never in her life had she felt so in danger of some direct attack from animal or human. "Just let me get to my house, Malchus. Please," her voice quavered, and she kicked herself for showing weakness.

"Eventually," Malchus simpered, and he raised the back of his hand to stroke gently down her cheek. Despite herself, Aylee caught her breath at the unfamiliar sensation, and her eyes riveted to his in shock.

"Stop this," she whispered, but her voice held no resolve. Aylee didn't know how to overpower him, and her fear had sapped the strength from her limbs.

"I think not, Miss Innocent Aylee," he murmured, and he leaned his face so close to hers that his lips brushed against her temple. "I think that I plan to continue this," he pressed his lips against her cheek as she turned from him, "for a long time."

"No," she whispered again. "I want you to stop."

"I've long considered," Malchus grinned, punctuating every few words with another kiss to another portion of her skin. "that you are the only woman in this village worthy of me. And no one else could give you the life you are used to."

For the first time in several minutes, Aylee's fear fled her, and her deep appreciation for irony reared its head. Malchus spoke as if he intended to marry her! Did he think that such a proposal would entice her? Aylee laughed out loud at the thought. "Master Lorne, since I can only assume you aren't serious, I must bid you stop tormenting me and let me go. I have had enough standing around and would like to return to my mother who needs me."

In an instant, Malchus's countenance darkened, and Aylee recognized her mistake only a moment before the consequences tried to knock her off her feet. Malchus, unused to such blatant rejection, seemed to gather himself into a towering tornado of intent, powerful, uncontrolled, and bent on destruction. He forced Aylee up against the horse, constricting her motion between his body and his steed's. Though Aylee had mentally accepted the strength of men as fact, she had never experienced the significance of that fact. With one hand, he grabbed Aylee by the face and turned her toward him, and with the other, he grabbed her waist to pull her against him.

"I will show you how deathly serious I am," he growled. Before she could protest again, his mouth had enveloped hers in a kiss. For a moment, Aylee could think of nothing but blind panic. Once her reason returned, though, her mental rejection became a physical rejection, as she began to twist and wriggle to escape his vice grip on her. Beneath his mouth, Aylee screamed her protest, finally wrenching herself free as she slipped aside to extricate herself from the viced position against the steed.

Malchus grinned as he panted from exertion and excitement, but Aylee's anger pulsed from her, offering unexpected strength. Before she knew what she had done, Aylee's fist had curved into a ball, and she couldn't hide her astonishment as her knuckles made sudden contact with the side of his jaw. Malchus stood shell-shocked, open mouthed and agape with surprise, and Aylee, after an instant's recovery, took the opportunity to escape from his grasp.

As quickly as she could fly, Aylee bolted past the remaining few feet of the narrow street and into a copse of trees that announced the edge of the forest. A tree had bent upon itself, creating a convenient niche that faced away from the road.

Watching from her hiding place, Aylee experienced a surge of satisfaction as pain distorted Malchus’s face. He recovered quickly, and spinning in a circle, his eyes searched for her through the deepening gloom. For her part, Aylee would much rather commune with spiders, ants, and whatever other fauna called the tree home than spend another moment with Malchus. Regardless, she could not stop the quaking that had overtaken her once she had stopped moving, and she felt no strength in her legs to escape.

She could not decide if she feared some murderous rage from him or just a social retaliation. Perhaps it would depend on how large and deep the bruise on his cheek. When he finally halted his search, roaring in fury, he stormed back to his horse and leapt upon it with terrifying agility. After the thunder of hooves faded into a distant rumble, Aylee peeked out from her refuge. She spied the cloud of dust in the distance, and she found new strength. Rather than follow her normal route home, she plunged deeper into the shelter of the forest. She would follow it to the barns at the back of her father’s property just in case Malchus chose to confront her at her home.

I will not cry, she admonished herself as she brushed aside branches and ducked under vines. When she had first escaped Malchus, her spirit had risen against the danger before her, but as she sensed the retreat of the peril, her bravery fled as well. Her legs lost their power again, and she had to force herself forward. In truth, the whole experience with Malchus had not as yet affected her as much as the fact that she had hit a man. The possible ramifications on herself and her family filled her mind as she flitted through the foliage and hurdled the roots that rose from the forest floor.

When her mind finally returned to the moments in the alley, she could not call up the events in clarity. She could only repeat to herself the intentionally unanswered question: what would he have done to her if she had not hit him? If he had anticipated her and stopped her hand, would her violence have excused him in his mind to take greater liberties? What if he had recovered more quickly or she had not managed to escape? The clearing that fronted her house suddenly opened before her, and tears sprang to her eyes again, this time from relief. As she broke the plane of the trees, though, her relief hardened into a heavy stone of terror.

Mere feet before her stood Malchus, his horse hitched to the post beside her house. In order to maintain her obscurity, her trek home had required almost double the normal time – scurrying from hiding place to hiding place, and taking time to assess each clearing for any potential ambush – and Malchus’s possession of a horse had offered him expanded opportunity to intercept her. He wore a murderous expression, his brows nearly meeting between his eyes, and his teeth bared in a hissing, heavy pant. Fortunately, he had not seen her, and she scuttled backwards toward the trees without taking her eyes off of him. With him stood the new young portreeve, and they seemed poised to unleash a tirade - two very angry men.

One angry man, Aylee corrected herself. When she had a chance to look further, she saw that the portreeve wore a complacent expression, as if intent on calming his companion. From her position within the trees, Aylee could not hear the words spoken among the party, but the tension strung tautly across the open space, and Aylee did not dare show herself. Instead, she skirted the clearing until she reached the edge of the marsh behind her house.

"Ye have raised quite the stir, Miss Aylee," creaked the familiar voice of Lady Willen from behind her. "I believe that bruise will heal before his pride will."

An instant sense of respite fused through Aylee, and she threw herself onto the bench that rested against the wall of the barn. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth to calm herself. Lady Willen took a seat next to Aylee and began stroking the younger woman’s hair.

“Thou art safe, dear girl. Take a breath.”

For several seconds, that is all that Aylee managed. Eventually, she could inhale through her nose and push the air slowly from her mouth. After several of the calming breaths, she lowered her legs to the ground and sat up straighter, turning toward Lady Willen. “Why are you here?” Aylee wondered.

"Ye did not take thy money, child. I owe you a pretty penny for thy service today." Lady Willen explained. "If I am correct, ye might be needing it soon."

When she answered, Aylee remained intent on maintaining her taciturn expression. "You did not need to travel all this way to bring my money. It would have kept until morning."

"Your money is not the only reason I came," Lady Willen grinned. "The reeds whisper rumors, dear child, and they have carried me a giant. So, you dared refuse Malchus Lorne?"

Glaring across at the gathering of men, Aylee tried to stay calm. How she wished she could speak to her father! "Refuse is hardly the word. He offered me little choice, Lady Willen! If I had not punctuated my resistance, my permission would have grown moot." Her words spilled over themselves, not entirely in her control.

"Surely he would not have pressed the issue?"

"I believe he would have," Aylee insisted. "He had me trapped, and he had already imposed on me to an unacceptable degree."

For a moment, Lady Willen said nothing, all hint of amusement faded. "If that is the case, I fear that you have wakened a terror that you did not intend to wake, my dear. You may find that the steps he takes to justify or fulfill his intentions toward you will expand and grow rather than fade away. Ye had best find a respite away from home."

Aylee scoffed, rubbing her hands up and down on her arms. "I have to get to my mother. No doubt she will find a poor report from the servant, and I don't want her to worry."

"I'm afraid we're beyond that, Miss Aylee."

"No, I am sure she will worry. You don't know her like I do." Gathering herself, Aylee stood to her feet.

Lady Willen gripped Aylee's arm with a surprising strength. "I have known your mother her entire life, child. And I know that she will worry, and she should. You have made an enemy with new power, and new power is the most volatile."

The thought took Aylee’s breath for moment - she had sensed something different in her would-be suitor's eyes, but she had not really considered its source. "What new power?"

"I see you recognize the truth of my words. Yes, new power. Power bestowed by a new portreeve."

Although Aylee had taken comfort in her father's earlier words about portreeves, she could not dismiss the possibility that a new one might bring trouble. She had always expected the trouble to spring from within the Lorne family, but not from Malchus himself. Malchus had historically been trouble's son, not the source himself. "He is merely a nuisance," Aylee tried to shrug off Lady Willen's insinuation. "My father has seen eight portreeves come and gone."

"But he did not have a daughter to threaten by the others. The last rotten portreeve left when you held less than a dozen cycles."

Aylee tried to ignore the woman's words, despising the fact that she might prove her father's weakness. In defiance against the thought, Aylee spun back toward her house, indignation fueling new strength. She would not let a man of such horrid character manipulate her father nor threaten her mother.