Macayla Marie Mone’ and the Dark Horseman

Edging her way deeper into the tent, Macayla crouched even lower nearly yelping aloud when she stubbed her toe on one of the old wooden trunks. Reaching under the trunk her hand touched the cold hard steel and relaxed around the handle of the dagger. She’d found the blade earlier when searching for her clothes and had decided to hide it under the edge of the trunk, just in case. Blood rushing, heart pulsing, she slowly made her way to the front of the tent. Keeping her eyes focused on the light that was now only a few feet away from her. Reaching the flap that separated her from the blinding light and her enemy, she carefully studied the shadows that played across the cloth wall. Satisfied with her enemies’ proximity she sprung out into the blinding light, silent and deadly as a snake. She approached the back of a huge burly man dressed in red robes. Seeing him whirl around, blade in his powerful hand, Macayla wasted no time lunging for his throat and slitting it open from ear to ear. Her lunge threw both her and her adversary forward knocking over the lamp that had been lit. With a loud crash it smashed into a small table engulfing flames licking up the edge of a silk curtain. Before Makayla could react a loud chorus of Arabic curses reached her ears. Five men entered the tent and took in the sight of her small body on top of the bleeding dead man, the small dagger poised in her hand. Four of the men ran forward and extinguished the flames. The fifth man, looking at her in disbelief, stood frozen in his tracks. Matching him stare for stare, Macayla grumbled, “Well, Scalawag, don’t just stand there. Help me up.” Hard muscled arms wrapped around her pulling her up. She felt like a rag doll as she was spun around in the air and placed on her feet. She looked up right into the blackest pair of eyes she had ever seen. An immense figure of a man looked right back at her. Suddenly he burst into jolly laughter that traveled fast and caught everyone else up into it. Seeing she was eyeing him the burly man spoke in deep thickly accented English with a sheepish grin plastered on his face.

“Do not be afraid. We are merely laughing at ourselves, for it has taken a woman, and not a large one, to accomplish what we have all tried to do and failed. The man whose blood is upon your hands is a known thief and murderer. He sneaks into your tent plunders what he pleases then for pleasure he lays await until you sleep and he cuts you into tiny pieces. You are a victorious warrior and we will honor you with a celebration, a feast in which you will be my honored guest.”

Looking at him in disbelief, Macayla glances up at The Dark Horseman. Seeing the anger play across his face puzzles her. She wonders why everyone else seems so happy and her Scalawag has such a long face. Feeling the burley man’s grip tighten possessively around her shoulders brings an idea to her. “Hmm, could it be jealously that causes that grimace upon his face?” Leaning into her captures embrace, Makayla flashes him her best smile. “I’m sorry, I seem to be feeling a little overwhelmed.” Before she could finish his grip loosened and he gently pushed her in front of him.

“Forgive me for my impulsiveness.” The deep voice ground out his words, “I am Kadier. My brother over there and I are head of this tribe.” Following his pointing finger, Macayla is amused to see The Dark Horseman blush at his brothers casual words. Mustering her most seductive smile she flashes pearly white teeth and big dimples in Kadier’s direction. “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Macayla Marie Mone’, my friends call me, Mac. I would be honored if a gentleman, such as you, would consider me his friend.”

With a huge smile playing across his rather handsome face Kadier accepts the honor. “Mac, it is a great thing for a man like me to have such a warrior as yourself for a friend. I am the one who is honored.”