heartlesskitten
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Oct 12, 2014
- Location
- USA
“Hilda, please, I am a man of God. I’d like to speak with Elizabeth,” Cerdic said, giving the old woman a bemused look before turning back to the blonde. “Mercia? Well, I’m afraid much of what I know is just by way of passing through. First with a sword and then with a Bible. I’m assuming the coast since you were taken.”
He slipped the tunic back, stretching his arms over his head to slip on the garment. As he stretched, his hard toned stomach rippled slightly and he caught sight of her expression when he tugged it into place. Cerdic bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking at her obvious want in order to preserve his monk identity.
“You do not speak Norse? It must make it extra difficult, I learned enough on the boat ride over to get by and I practice, you should, too,” the man said, looking into her dark blue eyes, “It would help.”
He frowned slightly, wondering how the woman might know so many rumors or secrets if she could not even speak the bloody language. Maybe she was just full of lies and such to make herself feel important. Cerdic could hear in her accent that she had a refinement and suspected she had been no peasant’s daughter. “Ahem, as for the man who is my master, he did not defeat me in battle. I fought his brother, Sven, and two others. I had a staff, they had shields and blades and I was wounded in the battle. I got away from them and my master found me lying in the herb garden, bleeding badly. He took me and mended me, I am now a slave though I could have chosen to die. I did not for it would have been a sin to throw my life away, it is a gift from God.”
Cerdic was very direct and his storm colored eyes held her gaze intently. “Would you walk with me, perhaps you would like to do confession?”
He wanted to get away from Hilda so Elizabeth would feel more comfortable as clearly the saucy old woman antagonized her. He would rather not be interrupted as he questioned her, to see what she really knew.
He slipped the tunic back, stretching his arms over his head to slip on the garment. As he stretched, his hard toned stomach rippled slightly and he caught sight of her expression when he tugged it into place. Cerdic bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking at her obvious want in order to preserve his monk identity.
“You do not speak Norse? It must make it extra difficult, I learned enough on the boat ride over to get by and I practice, you should, too,” the man said, looking into her dark blue eyes, “It would help.”
He frowned slightly, wondering how the woman might know so many rumors or secrets if she could not even speak the bloody language. Maybe she was just full of lies and such to make herself feel important. Cerdic could hear in her accent that she had a refinement and suspected she had been no peasant’s daughter. “Ahem, as for the man who is my master, he did not defeat me in battle. I fought his brother, Sven, and two others. I had a staff, they had shields and blades and I was wounded in the battle. I got away from them and my master found me lying in the herb garden, bleeding badly. He took me and mended me, I am now a slave though I could have chosen to die. I did not for it would have been a sin to throw my life away, it is a gift from God.”
Cerdic was very direct and his storm colored eyes held her gaze intently. “Would you walk with me, perhaps you would like to do confession?”
He wanted to get away from Hilda so Elizabeth would feel more comfortable as clearly the saucy old woman antagonized her. He would rather not be interrupted as he questioned her, to see what she really knew.