Baudwin cursed as a mossy vine slapped him across the face. The swamps of Lyndor lived up to their reputation. Awful. Just bloody awful. It was hot and humid, with moss-covered trees and slippery ground. His horse was used to their northern climate and did not appreciate the knee-deep water if one took so much as a step off the beaten path. When there was a path at all. 

Why would anyone choose to live here? It even smelled differently. Was damp a smell? It smelled damp. Sometimes he passed areas that smelled like rotten eggs, and it made him gag. He missed the clean, fresh air of Breoch and its deep pine woods.

A splash made him look into the murky water to the left of the narrow path his horse followed. Black eyes stared back at him. Was that a crocodile? Not wanting to find out, he spurred his horse on. It let out an annoyed huff, as if questioning his sanity in bringing them to this place. He didn't blame the animal. He questioned it himself. Maybe he should have sent someone else on this errand.

Truth was, except for the swamp, he'd enjoyed his journey. It was freeing being away from the castle and the oppressing role of ruler. His sister could easily deal with anything in his absence, and her husband had a decent head on his shoulders. Between the two of them and the advisers, he couldn't imagine that there was anything they couldn't handle. 

If he'd felt guilty about leaving his duties, it had been expelled the moment he cleared the city walls and laid eyes on the beautiful woodlands of his kingdom.

Before taking the throne, he'd taken daily rides to clear his mind, something he had struggled to maintain since due to the demands on his time. It felt like wherever he turned there was someone waiting with a question or proposal. Now that he was thinking about it, maybe the swamp wasn't too bad.

If only he'd ever reach his destination. According to the locals in the last village he'd passed, the hut the Swamp Witch—their name, not his—lived in should be around here somewhere. He looked around, but all he could see was the murky swamp water and moss-covered cypress trees. No, wait, between the trees ahead there was a hint of a wooden structure. It could be a hut. Or the remains of one.

Urging his horse on, they made it into a small clearing where there was actually solid, dry ground beneath them. A small hut huddled beneath the tall trees, looking a little like a fat frog with its moss-thatched roof and lichen-covered wooden walls. 

Baudwin dismounted while looking around. There was no sign of human life around, only dragonflies, mosquitoes and—he suspected—the odd crocodile. He knocked on the door, but no reply came from inside and he could hear no sounds of anyone moving about either.

There were a few vegetables and herbs growing in a little vegetable patch, so someone must live here. Deciding to wait, he watered his horse and then sat down on a low bench outside the hut with his own water-skin. He stretched out his aching right leg in front of him. 

Riding was no worse for the pain than anything else, but the many hours in one position was always a problem. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as he massaged the aching limb.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The belligerent voice startled Baudwin from his sleep, and he jerked upright. Across the small clearing stood a woman with long golden-red hair staring at him. No. Scowling at him. She had her arms full of twigs. He assumed for starting a fire.

"I beg your pardon." He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tight muscles. "I am here to deliver a message to Rhiannon of Delen. Are you her?"

"No." Her gaze avoided his as she replied.

He stood up. Not the most graceful motion when you only had one fully functioning leg. The woman watched him warily as he took his cane from its place attached to the saddle and walked a few steps towards her. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, looking as if she might bolt at any moment, so he stopped.

"I'm Baudwin," he said, extending his hand. When she said nothing and made no attempt to shake his hand, he tried to give her a reassuring smile. "And you are?"

"Not having visitors!" she snapped and darted past him towards her hut. Without looking back, she added dismissively, "You may leave now."

Looking up at the skies, Baudwin calculated the odds. It was possible that he had the wrong person. But how many redheads could there live in the swamps? Taking a chance, he turned around.

"Your parents sent me."

His words slowed her steps, but she didn't turn around.

"They wish to see you. I'm here to escort you home."

"Home?" There was no mistaking the derisive tone. She shook her head and turned around to face him. "That has not been my home for many years."

"Can you please return with me? I don't wish to fail in my mission." Baudwin leaned a little heavier on his cane than he needed to. It did not escape his notice that she glanced at his bad leg. There was no hiding that it was thinner than his other one, the muscles no longer as strong.

"Why have they sent you?"

Why did they send a cripple? She didn't say the words aloud, but Baudwin could hear them clear as day. Maybe he wasn't the impressive knight he had been before his leg was crushed in the battle for the city of Messina, but he also was no longer the broken man he'd been the first years after. He had taught himself new ways to fight and exercise. His body—other than the bad leg—was in excellent shape.

"I'm fully capable of escorting a lady to her family home," he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

The woman waved away his protest as if it mattered none. "No," she said. "What do they want? Why have they sent someone to fetch me?"

She didn't seem to know who he was. His name was fairly popular in Breoch, as it wasn't unusual to name your child after royalty, and if she'd not been in the kingdom for years, she wouldn't know what the former prince looked like.

"They have struck a deal with the King of Breoch." He watched her to gauge her reaction. "You are to marry the king to join the two families."

Her eyes widened, and he noticed that they were green like the moss covering the roof of her hut. She dropped the armful of twigs she had been carrying. "Absolutely not!"

"You do not wish to marry a king?" That surprised him. Even as a crippled king there was usually no lack of women interested in becoming his queen.

"I don't want to marry anyone. And you can tell that to my parents."

"You may have to do that yourself. I have very strict orders to bring you home."

They stared at each other, and Baudwin had the distinct feeling that she was sizing him up to see if she could beat him in a fight. Or maybe she was contemplating stealing his cane and running away. He wouldn't be able to catch her on foot.

Eventually she sighed, her shoulders drooping. "Fine. I will come with you." She gave him an annoyed look. "But only because I suspect my parents would send a whole party the next time."

"Quite possibly. They are quite keen on this match."

"I'll be ready to leave on the morrow." She made a vague gesture with her hand, indicating the clearing they were in. "You're free to make camp here."

"Thank you." He'd no more than uttered the words before she'd entered the hut and slammed the door shut behind her. Staring dumbly at the closed door, he wasn't sure what he'd expected his future bride to be like, but this wasn't it.

~~~~~~