Their Wife

Chapter 2

Letting go of the crumpled material within my quivering fists, I drove them through the dampened hair beneath my hood instead and closed my eyes for a moment to collect myself.

When they opened again, they automatically searched the crowds in hunger of finding the redhaired beauty. It was like a curse.

Many of the villagers refused to look at Iris, even when she bought from their stalls. Her coin was always welcome, but she never was. Most were too afraid, the stories told could be true. Others just didn't want to clean their own house, so they looked at hers, ceaselessly showing her in some shape or form that she wasn't one of them.

And she really wasn't. 

Not in my eyes.

Rejection usually planted bitterness in human hearts but apparently not in Iris's. The knock-backs never stopped her from doing what she evidently thought of as right. I found it intriguing. It was a priceless quality. One, I appreciated.

Her and I, we weren't that different.

Finally, my eyes spotted her siren figure across the market, approaching someone who was always happy to see her and never afraid of showing it. The baker's battered donkey gladly received her nails' scratches along its protruding spine whilst the redhead's lips murmured secrets, meant only for the animal's ears.

Many times, I'd tried to read her curved lips from afar, coming up with nothing that would've made sense as if she hadn't even spoken our tongue.

And maybe she hadn't. Nobody knew much at all about the Moor's daughter, apart from her becoming an orphan when she'd barely been an adult. Before his controversial death, her father had made a name for himself as one of the council's advisors and had left his only child with a small fortune, enough, it would've lasted till her dying breath. Only days after their passing, Iris had sold everything inherited, leaving the security of Forstal for a life of isolation in the Ganlan Woods, and that was the end of the official story.

The unofficial one continued with an entire sack of gulden which had been left on the steps of the orphanage, the night Iris had left. Lord Merek's templars had shown not long after, seizing all coin after he'd gotten wind about it.

But, the majority of the village conveniently ignored that part. In their eyes, Iris Moor was the witch who had cursed her own blood and was now sucking Satan's cock. In my eyes, she was a witch, alright, but one who should be sucking mine.

Once again, short nails dug into the flesh of my legs in an effort to control the rising urges and punish the strain in my groin. This time, it took a lot more willpower and self-command to suffocate them, before anyone could notice. An uncharacteristic laugh escaped. As if anyone would give a shite. I was invisible to them, a nameless, worthless man, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Living by herself at the edge of the Ganlan Woods, Iris spent most of her time away from Forstal and its inhabitants. Relatably, the woman kept to herself and I couldn't blame her. I was no different, when also for vastly different reasons.

Jumping off my distractive train of thought, I shifted my focus back onto the stall across the market. Now, the donkey stood bored on its own and her coin had just dropped into the miller's impatient palm, paying for the sack of grain thrown over her shoulder.

Iris's next stop of routine was the stone well centring the circular fair. Slender hands dipped into the bucket by the side of the ancient structure, holding it out for the dog to lap up, before washing the summer's sweat off her neck and face. Seemingly taken by the moment, her provocative lips parted in sheer pleasure for earth's tears upon her flushed skin and it made my mouth run dry. Another attribute, I appreciated observing about her. Her gratitude for the little joys in life, most of us had long forgotten to pay attention to.

Countless times, I'd watched the innocent drops run down her sharp jaw and over her fragile throat, disappearing beneath the linen of her blouse. Once, and only once, I'd caught and allowed myself to imagine, she would be dressed in what most women of Germania squeezed themselves into.

Stays, a garment, worn to shape unfavourable torsos into acceptable form, gaining its user pretentious self-worth and longlasting health issues. The more it pushed a hag's tits up and ribs in, the more pride in a stride one could expect. It was sick. Even the thought of her wearing such cheap trend was sick.

Oh, how I despised population's fashion and the creatures worshipping it. What hid beneath the mediocre fabrics and false smiles didn't matter to them. One of the many reasons the world turned out as pitiful as it was.

But Iris never participated in such pointless customs. Her oversized blouses left it all to the imagination. Yet, she was the only creature capable of catching and holding my attention for more than a decade.

I wasn't married and would never be, according to Father. Couldn't say I didn't agree with him, though. God had a purpose for all of us, and I gladly accepted mine.

That didn't mean I didn't fuck once in a blue moon. If I felt I needed to, I did, but it was of no priority for me, unlike others I knew. I could never share their enthusiasm for the desires of flesh. Not those kinds, at least.

Needless to say, I never fucked Iris.

And I never would. She was known not to give a rat's arse for romantic courtship, not to mention sexual pleasures. And even if, I knew she'd be my undoing as much as I would be hers, should I allow my self-control to slip further than it already did when she was around.

Whenever she passed my seated form, I shifted my focus on the sandy colour of her sandals or the bronzed skin of her ankles, religiously counting the number of steps it took until she, and that feral follower of hers, left my frame of view.

Mostly, it took nine. Sometimes, eight. Occasionally, the dog slowed down and growled.

Animals weren't as numb as humankind; I couldn't fool the dog. It could sense the predator behind my carefully crafted exterior. One look of mine made it retreat without hesitation, so I didn't have to bother with Iris's attention, even though, I'm certain she noticed.

Maybe the conscious redhead felt it too, but I wouldn't know. Despite my concealed fascination with her emerald orbs, our eyes didn't meet. I never allowed it. I couldn't.

To my fortune, it was a choice I didn't have to make often. I wasn't usually supposed to be here. Only if necessity demanded, and even then, I'd fight tooth and nail having to step foot into this hollow part of society.

As much as observing Iris fascinated me, it disgusted me even more so, reminding me of the greatest weakness left within me.

I couldn't even begin to fathom what the future held in the winds for us.

That our paths were meant to cross under such dire circumstances, everything I believed to know about myself would soon be tested, beyond my wildest imagination.