Fantastic Tales: Volume 2

The Crippled Hawk: Part 1

Scullery maid, Fera, is in love with Lord Tyron, but he doesn't even know she exists. That is until he's gravely wounded and she's forced to take care of him. Will he love her in return or will he be consumed by his injury?

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Fera tripped and stumbled. She fumbled for the dish, but it slipped from her grasp, shattering against the floor with an almighty crash. She jumped away as hot soup and ceramic shards flew everywhere.

'Clumsy girl!' raged Cook Weira, flailing her wooden spoon, cheeks flushed, hair wild and frizzy from the steam. 'No, you damn fool, clean it up later. Lord Tyron is waiting. Here.' She grabbed another dish, ladled out more soup and handed it over. 'Drop it again, and you'll be scrubbing chamber pots for the rest of your life. Well, what are you doing? Don't just stand there like a lackwit. Go!'

Fera handled the dish as carefully as a newborn as she climbed the twisting servants' stairs. She had been a servant at Appelwhite Keep for the last two years, ever since the barbarians had murdered her parents and stolen her voice and maidenhead. Where once she had worked on a farm and been loved, now she slaved away at a host of gruelling tasks, all beneath the cold hard eyes of Cook Weira and the other senior servants.

She had climbed her fair share of stairs during her time, so when she reached the great hall she was barely puffed.

Only rarely was she sent to serve Lord Tyron directly; 'If she can't speak, what use is she?' Analise, the head maid, had sneered. She was supposed to keep her eyes to her shoes, to focus on her task and mind her own business, like any good servant. But Fera couldn't help but look around her, at the colourful tapestries, the polished furniture, the brass candelabras, at the great wooden table where Lord Will Tyron and his men sat. It was a small gathering, only five, including Lord Tyron himself. All knights and all his closest friends.

As always, they ignored her. She placed the soup in the centre of the table without notice, refilled their mugs without thanks, as they ate and drank and laughed.

She tried not to stare as she circled the table. Lord Tyron sat in the middle, hair loose and wild, eyes as green as a forest lake. He was broad-shouldered and tall, and Fera would oft daydream what it felt like to be lost in his strong arms, to feel his stubble scratch lightly against her face. She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. I must stop thinking like this. He is a lord, I am a maid—and a damaged one at that. He will wed a noble Lady, and I a commoner from the village. It can never be.

And she knew it was true by the way those green eyes stared through her, like she mattered less to him than the half-chewed gristle on his plate. It was only fitting. It was her place.

When she had completed her tasks, she climbed back down the stairs, tugging at the scarf wrapped around her neck, her scar itching beneath.

'Back are you?' said Cook Weira, looking up from her pot. 'Good. Now clean up your mess, and when you're done you can do the washing.'

Fera glanced at the tower of pots and plates in dull resignation, then sank to her knees and began gathering up the pieces of broken dish.

Early the next morning as Fera scrubbed the keep's cold stone floor, she lifted her head at the sound of clashing swords coming from the courtyard. She put down her brush and hurried to the window.

Lord Tyron laughed as he parried Sir Chaprey's blow, the blades sliding against each other with a loud scrape. They circled each other, the hot sun beating down on their heads. They wore light chainmail and gripped leather shields. Their iron swords gleamed in the sunlight. Sir Chaprey thrusted at his abdomen but Lord Tyron dodged and circled behind him, so fast he was almost a blur. Before Sir Chaprey had a chance to defend his back, Lord Tyron kicked out and the young knight was sent sprawling to the ground. Lord Tyron laughed again, his deep voice echoing around the keep. Fera's heart skipped a beat. He looked so beautiful with his face lit up like that. His hair was loose and blew lightly in the wind. She loved his hair. She loved everything about him, from his muscular calves to his slim hips to that sexy little dimple at the left corner of his mouth that deepened whenever he smiled.