Page 2 of The Unencumbered Warrior
A sharp cry pierced the air, yanking him from his thoughts. It came from the bend in the road ahead. He moved swiftly, his hand instinctively reaching for a sword that no longer rested at his side. He cursed under his breath. He had no weapons, nothing beyond the dirk at his belt. He was no longer a warrior—just a man with no past and no future.
As he rounded the bend, he saw them. A group of men had surrounded a woman near a wooden cart. She stood defiant, her chin lifted, though Raff could see the tremor in her hands as she clutched a basket to her chest. Her dark hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, and her green eyes sparked with anger and fear.
“The wool is mine,” she declared, her voice steady despite the fear flickering in her eyes.
One of the men, broad-shouldered and clad in a tunic too fine for common thieves, sneered. “Aye, and it’s owed to Laird Chafton. Simple as that.”
“Laird Chafton was given his share,” the woman argued.
The man sneered. “Laird Chafton decides what you get to keep.”
Raff’s blood heated. He had tried to help when seeing injustices in the past year, but people ignored him, turned their backs on him as if he wasn’t there as if they didn’t even see him. But something about the woman’s defiance stirred something deep inside him and whether he would be ignored or not, he could not leave her to face the group of men alone.
“Seems to me the lass has made it clear she does not wish to part with her wool,” he said, his voice calm but laced with warning as he walked out of the woods.
The men turned, their glares taking stock of him. He was taller than most, broad, and battle-worn, though he looked nothing like the warrior he had once been. His hair had grown longer, wilder, and while he had decent features no woman nor man had taken note of them. It was as though people looked right through him like he was, a man of no consequence, just as these men did now.
“Be on your way,” the leader said with a dismissive wave. “This does not concern you.”
Raff got angry at being endlessly dismissed and his lips curved into a humorless smile. “Aye, but it does when you mean to steal from the lass.”
The woman’s gaze fell on him, confusion and hope warring in her expression. She did not know him, just as no one else did. Yet, for the first time in a year, he thought he caught a flicker of attention like she actually noticed him, and he wondered how that could be.
A sliver of hope filled him, and he had to find out why it was she looked at him as if she truly saw him and, if so, was there any way this woman could somehow help him banish the wish.
The leader took a step forward, his hand drifting toward the sword at his waist. “You looking to die, stranger?”
Raff didn’t answer. He shifted his stance, weight balanced, his muscles coiling in preparation. He had no claim to this fight, but his body remembered the rhythm of battle, the way to anticipate an enemy’s next move. Had her look awakened it in him? For the first time in what felt like forever, he had a purpose.
The leader’s lip curled as he drew his blade. “A fool’s choice.”
The other men followed suit, steel flashing in the muted light. Raff remained still, and his heartbeat steady. He would have tobe quick, precise, and use their numbers against them. A better weapon than the dirk in his belt would have been useful, but he had learned long ago that a warrior’s deadliest tools were his instincts and his fists.
Then, the woman moved. In one swift motion, she flung the basket she had been holding at the leader’s face. The unexpected attack startled him, causing him to stumble back. It was all the distraction Raff needed.
He lunged, grabbing the closest man’s arm and twisting it hard enough to make him drop his weapon. With a swift kick, he sent the man sprawling into the dirt. Another came at him, slashing wildly. Raff dodged, driving his fist into the man’s gut before wrenching the sword from his grasp.
The remaining men hesitated, reassessing their odds.
The weight of the sword in his hand brought back memories of long-fought battles and victories and he felt a sense of himself returning. But he had felt such twinges before, and they faded soon after.
“Think twice. Is this the day you want to die?” he asked, the man stepping back as if stepping away from death.
The leader, droplets of blood popping out of the scratches on his face from the basket, snarled. “This isn’t over.”
He gestured to his men, and they retreated, disappearing down the road. Raff watched them go and did not turn to the woman until they were out of sight.
She stared at him, her eyes wide with something between admiration and wariness. “Who do I offer my appreciation to?”
For a moment, he considered telling her the truth… that his name meant nothing, that he had no past, and no future. But instead, he said, “Raff.”
She studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Well, Raff, I’m Ingrid, and you just saved the villagers’ livelihood. May I repair you with a hearty meal before you go on your way.”
Raff hesitated. It had been so long since someone had offered him anything other than indifference, being ignored as if he didn’t exist as if he was nearly invisible all because he wished to be free. So, how was it this woman saw him? That she did, continued to have him curious and dare he be hopeful?
He nodded. “A meal sounds good.”
CHAPTER 2
