His brisk pace carried him through the streets without interruption. With business concluded for the day, he preferred not to tarry in the marketplace where more vendors would latch onto his cloak. He'd even pulled up his hood, hoping not to be recognized, but that was so unlikely. Maxwell's carriage and grace were unmistakable and well known in this area.

He reviewed some of the finer architecture along his favorite path to the livery. There were few vendors here and a slower pace to enjoy these buildings allowed time for all his purchases to be collected and loaded. He much preferred the leisurely walk to waiting at the stables.

While looking across the street at some particularly nice stonework, he was hit and nearly spun around by a fellow running past him. With a scowl, Maxwell turned to watch the fellow and made mental note of the detail of him. He was in rich clothing and was perhaps a noble or military of rank, judging from the fine scabbard bouncing at his side. This would be someone to catch elsewhere perhaps. Rudeness was not a privilege of wealth or any other status. The man continued to run further down the street until he was out of sight.

Max turned then toward an odd mewling sound that pricked his sharp ears. He was near the local warrior's guild which had actually become more of an academy for sword training and such. The sound seemed to be coming from a narrow alley between that building and the next. He could not let it pass, so he looked down that way but it was all shadows and broken light. He could see nothing from the street.

Cautiously and silently Maxwell made his way into the alley. He almost had a focus on the sound before it stopped. This raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Such alleys were perfect places for trouble to await victims. He was not so concerned as to turn back though. He continued into the deep alley, scanning the shadows with narrowed eyes. At last he heard a sound, perhaps a hitch in someone's throat, he thought, someone who was trying to be quiet while... crying. Yes, he was sure now that what he'd heard was weeping.

"Come now." he said quietly, although it seemed louder, bouncing between the tall stone walls. "Show yourself. You've nothing to fear from me."

His voice was smooth and confident. It was so tempting to answer it but best not to, was the thought. Best stay in place and keep quiet and wait til this one went away, then... then what? There was as yet no plan of action.

"Please, I heard you already. I know you're here. I know..." He focused with purpose, with senses which few possess, and his heart sank. Such a rush of sorrow and rage and terror washed over him, along with profound hopelessness. That seemed the worst of it. He felt such strong feelings as from a cornered animal, defenseless, nowhere else to run. Instinctively, as though to speak to a small child, to make himself less threatening, Maxwell took one step toward the direction of these feelings and knelt there. Now, despite the shadows, he could see a curled up tangle of pale limbs and a frightened face with wide blue eyes and short firey hair. The naked shivering imp frightened him, more than if he'd come across a band of thieves.

"Pray tell, child. What has happened? How may we correct this?" He wanted to scoop up the boy. His face looked older than his size but so in need of someone to hold him and keep him safe, Maxwell thought. There was a quick darting of blue eyes, looking for escape and finding none. The boy sat all curled up on himself, legs drawn up and arms wrapped around them, in the smallest space possible. The waif shifted and grimaced. Only then did the Maxwell see smears of blood on the lad, as a thin strip of light fell across them.

At last it occurred to Maxwell that he himself was hidden. With his dark clothes and hooded cloak, the frightened waif could not see his face and had only a voice to judge for trust. He pushed back his hood and tried to smile warmly but the flood of emotions tugged at his heart. It was frightening.... and exhilarating. He'd rarely come across one who was both clear yet such a profusion of feelings. Perhaps it was only this dire situation that made the lad so full of emotional energy, but whatever the reason, it was refreshing, if macabre.

"Now, perhaps you can see that I am an honest fellow and have no wish to harm you. In fact, I wish to help. Let us begin with something easier. What is your name, child?"

Wide blue eyes blinked. A heavy swallow delayed the response, then a hoarse and quiet voice whispered only, "Ian."

"Ah, very nice." Maxwell managed a truly warm smile then further prompted. "And how old are you, Ian?"

Another shift and another grimace, another glance this way and that, looking around for escape or was it just fear of further trouble? At any rate, the soft voice finally answered, "Fourteen... sir."

"Hm... and manners as well." Awfully small for a boy of fourteen, Maxwell thought. His hand went to his chin while his brow furrowed. He was looking at the waif but not really looking at him. "I have a notion. I've a cart down at the livery that is being loaded with goods as we speak. Whatever has brought you to this pass, I think it best we get you far from here and soon as possible. Yes?"

"But..." an exasperated sigh was muffled as the head of short red hair dropped forward and rested upon bruised knees.

"Yes. Yes, I know you will need covering, but we shall remedy that easily. Tell me, lad..."

The boy's head shot up quickly and a gasp of pain expressed the error of this move but blue eyes looked up anyway.

The steady stream of emotions spiked for a moment. Maxwell waited for them to settle again to the previous loud hum. "Never mind. You are too injured to go with me." He pondered more, then stood up.

Blue eyes went wide again with a gasp of fear. Whether it was fear that the only present aid was leaving, or fear that the stranger had poor intentions after all, was unclear.

Swirling the cloak from his shoulders, Maxwell gently draped it over the boy's knees. "Cover with this. It should hide you well enough in this dim alley. I will go to the livery and return with the cart. STAY here. Be quiet and very still, lest another should find you. I will return for you." He reached out then and gently brushed a pale cheek. "I promise." The boy's eyes closed as he let his face rest against Maxwell's hand for a moment. Shortly thereafter, Maxwell was gone and the waif beneath the cloak had no option but to wait.

The cloak was warm over shivering limbs and there was a promise of help and waning trauma. It took very little for a weary head to rest on knees and nap lightly.

A cry of protest was a rude way to awaken however. Maxwell was back and trying to help the boy stand up.

"NO!" Ian yelled and then lowered his voice to a plea. "No, sir... I... I cannot."

The gentleman arched a brow then shrugged. "Very well then. You look light enough." With a bit of sarcasm in his voice, he asked, "May I carry you to the cart?"

Ian's face scrunched up with reluctance but what choice was there? "Yes, sir. Please."

As he bent to wrap the cloak completely around the boy, Maxwell noted again how small and delicate he seemed. It was easy to lift him off the ground, even all folded as he was. He wondered too just how badly Ian was injured, for as Maxwell's arms drew him up, Ian let out a shuddered cry of obvious pain.

He easily carried Ian to the cart and settled him gingerly on a few soft parcels he'd arranged together in the back. The goods were wrapped bundles of fine cloth so they should provide the softest ride possible. Before the cart even cleared the edge of the village, Maxwell turned to look at his passenger and smiled. Ian was already asleep, but then Maxwell knew that, because the tidal wave of emotions had trickled to nearly nothing.

~~~

The cart came to rest in front of Double Moon Castle. Servants were quickly on hand to unload and distribute the purchases. Maxwell insisted they leave the curious redheaded bundle to him. It wasn't all that unusual for him to return with company, but this one was different.

Ian awoke upon being lifted. Blue eyes watered with tears. Maxwell shushed gently and promised there would be relief soon. A pale soft face rested against his jacket as he carried his charge down to the Cellar bath. Once there, he set Ian down on a stack of towels. He thought it was curious that the boy made no move at all but still huddled in the cloak.

Maxwell removed his jacket, then his crisp white shirt. He hung them carefully on hooks and started to undo his trousers while slipping off his shoes.

"Might I bathe alone?" came the weak question.

Maxwell had to smile. "I have seen you without clothing already. That is surely not a concern. I will help and assess your injuries."

"Please.... Please, sir."

This one was a curiosity, Maxwell had to admit. The emotions were back but guarded now, more controlled and streamed carefully.

Having stripped to only a soft black leather thong, Maxwell approached Ian and knelt again. His hands reached for the cloak but Ian gripped it tightly and looked straight into Maxwell's eyes with almost a threat.

"Please. Sir. I will bathe myself." Ian clipped the words.

"Fine. I'll just be here in case---"

"No." It was quiet but firm. It was a command.

Maxwell arched a brow. He stared into the boy's eyes and noted that the warm blue was now cold and gray as stone.

"Enough." Maxwell was getting a little perturbed at the boy's cheekiness. He started to wonder what truth lay behind that youthful face. "You will relinquish that cloak. You will climb into that water. We will bathe you and see what injuries need be tended." It was his turn to use the command voice, in his way, soft but clearly to be obeyed.

Very slowly, drawn out, and with only enough volume for someone close as Maxwell to hear, Ian repeated, "No. Sir." The cold gray eyes had not blinked, til now. Ian blinked a long slow blink. There was a flash of something in them, something feral, which Maxwell saw quite markedly, then he was gazing into blue eyes again. For that moment of change, a streak of sharp anger shot into Maxwell's mind, not his own, but directly from the boy. It made him flinch. The corner of Ian's mouth drew into a grin. It was not amusement, more like, presumed conquest. The boy knew that Maxwell was scanning him.

That tore it for Maxwell. His usual even keel was toppled. He quickly grabbed a handful of the cloak. He pulled and stood at the same time for the most leverage. Without thinking, Ian held on, at least long enough to be drawn up to stand as well. Straightening so quickly, and with such force, pushed out a cry of pain from his throat.

"Bless the Moons!" Maxwell was, in one of the few times of his long life, dumbfounded.

Ian's arms wrapped around the slim waist of a shivering body... which was distinctly female. She... looked away, blushed and frightened, and a little angered by this man's audacity but that was hardly more than an undercurrent.

"Ian?!" Maxwell tossed the cloak aside haphazardly, which was another thing he would rarely ever do, even with a spent rag.

She still would not look at him. She was statuesque, a little thin but curved nicely, just exactly as a young woman should be. "My father wanted a boy." was her only response to Maxwell's astonished query.

Maxwell took in the detail of her. Her short red hair was tussled on her head but the color was amazing, like burnished copper. No doubt, she or her father trimmed it off to put forward the ruse. Her delicate features he had noticed before and now it made sense. Her breasts were still developing but firm and softly mounded, and graced with the lightest rose pink he'd ever seen. Maxwell's surprised expression began to twist into sadness as his eyes continued down her body.

He noticed more and more smudges of blood as he stepped in close and pulled her against him. She was stiff in his arms but her cheek rested on his warm chest. He felt a droplet slide from her cheek to his skin. Maxwell's arm supported her at the waist, as his other hand rubbed her back and up to her neck. He could feel her tense body begin to relax. He was afraid she would slip right through his arms as more warm drops trickled down his chest.

She shuddered with a gasp as he kissed the top of her head. He whispered against her hair, "My child, you are bleeding. We need tend to you right away." He had finally seen the trickled drops running down the inside of her thighs. He knew without asking. He knew from the bruises darkening on her fair skin, he knew from other stray cuts and prints and smears of blood, that she had been brutalized.

"Beg pardon for this." Maxwell warned before he scooped her up in his arms. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her groan there. All movement, any movement, made sharp pains shoot up through her body. Even the comfort of the bath stung her at first. Her arms tightened around Maxwell's neck and he slowly submerged them both into the swirling pool.

He let her hang on as long as she would, but he needed to know what had happened. "So now, pray tell..." He felt her shiver in his arms and clutched her to him. He rocked gently with her until finally he heard her choked voice in his ear.

"I am my father's son. Well educated. Trained in battle, swordsmanship, war strategy, leadership... " She sniffled and wiped at her cheek then rested her head on Maxwell's shoulder while speaking against his neck. "But no guilds accept women, so, I go as... I own no dresses, only leathers."

"Yes, and keep your hair short and possibly disguise your voice."

"Aye, at least since an age when most would assume my voice should have changed."

"Yes."

His voice was warm against her ear. She felt it vibrate through his chest as well. The water was beginning to soothe and making it easier to speak but then she was also approaching the part she really did not wish to say.

"Today," she shuddered in Maxwell's arms again and he hugged her to him, lightly kissing her cheek. This prompted her to continue. "Today I sparred with the Viscount, Sir William. We used live fencing steel. It was a rousing match and then..." Her throat seized up.

"He cannot hurt you here, little one." Maxwell reassured her.

She nodded against his shoulder. "I bested him. I surprised him. It was a fine move and legal, but he was not watching me and could not match my speed." Her voice was breaking up again. "I am much younger than he, smaller and more agile."

Maxwell swirled quietly with her a moment.

"The match was over. I am sure I was smiling at my victory but I spoke not a word to gloat." She breathed heavily through a sob. "We'd sparred many times over the last year. This was the first time I'd won. I bowed to salute him and when I straightened again..." Her fingers slipped into Maxwell's hair and closed. She needed to hold on. "... he brought down his steel to slice open my jacket. I'm sure it was only to strike back for the loss but... but then he knew."

"Ah." Maxwell's warm voice soothed her, even in its overt sarcasm. "He'd been bested by youth. Bad enough. But defeated by a woman.... I begin to see." He had been listening with compassion but she let go of the control on her emotional feed to him and he was overwhelmed. Maxwell's knees weakened. He swallowed hard and pressed his cheek to hers. "Oh my child... what damage his pride and arrogance have wrought." He got no images from her mind and no details, but he felt the full force of her raw emotions, from mind-screaming agony down to the smallest nuance.

Her voice was whimpering, "Shocked, angered... determined to show me his power, to win back what he felt I'd stolen from him, to steal from me...." She started to rack in Maxwell's arms. "This is a match one plays only once, and this I could abide... " Her fingers gripped at his shoulders as her sobbing flexed her deeper injuries. "... but not such intimate violence."

Maxwell found a ledge and sat them down on it, keeping them comfortably within the water. Unbeknownst to her, Maxwell's contact with her was already healing her physical wounds. Perhaps he was helping start the other healing as well, just by listening, by understanding.

She released his shoulders and lay back in the water. Part of her was so weary and torn, she would have been relieved to drown, but Maxwell's support beneath her back and neck kept her safely afloat. She closed her eyes and licked her dry lips. "My name, not my father's name for me, is Arianda. He only stripped the middle from my mother's name to make his son. I prefer my mother's whole name, though I never knew her."

"And where is he, this ungrateful father who would deny such a beautiful daughter?" Maxwell softly cupped water over her lovely breasts and let his fingers brush her but in the most comforting way.

"Dead." she said flatly, then opened her eyes to show him the gray feral gaze again. "By my hand." A grin appeared, a crooked one-sided self-satisfied grin. Under her breath she muttered, "As Viscount William shall be when next I see him."

"No doubt. He shall never cross swords again." His tone was sure. He'd see to this task for her. After all, William the Rude had been seen. Maxwell was entertained though by her ferocity. "You know, some would be frightened by that look."

"And you are not?" She softened it.

"Hardly. There is much you do not know about me."

"Indeed, and the converse is true, but to begin, you could at least give me your name."

He chuckled then and ran his thumb along her jaw line while looking down upon her with a gaze approaching love. "Maxwell."

"What? Surely that is not all." She sat up, hitching and grimacing in the act. "Not Maxwell of Someplace or Other? Not Maxwell the Great, the Powerful, the... well... something?" Despite her levity, Maxwell felt the remnants of torment beneath it, but she was once more on guard.

Again he laughed. "No, just Maxwell. It suffices."

"Well, Maxwell, sir. As soon as I am able to travel on my own, I will take my leave of your good graces and relieve you of my babbling woes." She looked away from him. Her tears threatened to return. Her voice continued, thin and fragile, "I thank you. I could only crawl to the alley before being found in such condition. I had no further options."

He drew her against his chest, despite her reluctance. He kissed her forehead. His fingers brushed through her damp hair. "Arianda, you may stay here for as long as you wish. Perhaps you will come to like it. We could use a Fencing Mistress." He grinned.

She twisted with some discomfort to kiss his cheek. "Again, my thanks. Perhaps I shall and... You know, I would still have to wear leathers. I cannot fathom---" She stopped abruptly and jumped to yet another thought. "Where is here?"

He chuckled and hugged her tightly, "Beg pardon, I should have said... Double Moon. This is the Castle of Double Moon and I am Maxwell and there are many others for you to meet. I am certain that Terin will be particularly interested in your arrival."

"Terin?"

"Lady Terin. She is as enigmatic as you are, perhaps a little more."

"Is she your mistress?"

He sighed with a broad grin, "Aye, something like that."

Lady Terin's Chambers

Bedchamber
~ Hungry Eyes Part 1
~ Hungry Eyes Part 2
~ Hungry Eyes Part 3
~ Terin's Pleasure
~ Yo Ho
~ The Highlander

Maxwell
~ Maxwell's Stray
~ Last Dance