Hidden

The roar of laughter could be heard throughout the convent. w:st="on">Paris sighed and knocked
softly on the small door leading into the room which all the younger girls
slept in. He knew they would all be down with the soldiers, as it was so rare
that they saw a real man. None of them thought of w:st="on">Paris as anything but a young boy and he knew
it; he was only sixteen after all. But he couldn’t help wonder if they thought
that because in the year he had been there, not once had he thought about a
girl, even though many of the younger girls joining the convent were all but
throwing themselves at him.

Liv opened the door and a bright smile crossed her face when
she saw Paris
standing outside her door. “Paris!
Come in, I have not seen you since I was sent to my room! Oh what a lovely
necklace! Did you buy it in the market today? I envy you. I am not allowed to
leave this place. Sister Eliza says it is for my own good. She says the world
is a cruel, wicked place.” Paris
smiled and took a seat on Liv’s bed. She sat down across from him by the
headboard.

“If you like these beads you may have them. Although I think
you would enjoy these much better.” Paris
pulled one of the strands of beads from his pocket and clasped it around her
neck.

“Oh Paris,
they are lovely!” she squeaked, running a finger along the clay. “I will never
take them off,” she vowed.

“Liv, have you heard how long the soldiers will be staying?”

“No, they will not tell me. Sister Eliza says that because
they are traveling with royalty they are allowed to stay, otherwise they would
not have been let through the gate.”

“Why are you always asking Sister Eliza? She can barely hide
her contempt for us, Liv.” Liv giggled.

”That is not true Paris.
Sister Eliza is quite a nice woman; she is not fond of men is all.” w:st="on">Paris smirked.

“Then I will not be a man if it means I will not have to
kiss her shoes when we disagree.” Liv fell into a fit of giggles. “What is so
funny?” he asked, playing indignant. Liv only shook her head and laughed
harder. Paris
climbed on top of her and started tickling her sides, sending her into a
laughing fit so fierce, tears poured from her eyes.

“Paris,
stop that at once! Liv, fix yourself up and get back to studying. Boy, come
with me.” Paris
lowered his eyes to the floor and climbed off his friend, tagging along behind
a fuming Eliza.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Paris
entered the supper hall about ten minutes later. All eyes turned to him and he
wasn’t sure if it was because he carried a tray filled with freshly cooked
pheasant or because they were soldiers… he had heard stories about their
strange ways… bedding each other… Paris
shivered. He looked up and found a pair of intense blue eyes raking over his
body as if inspecting a horse. He had never had another person look at him like
that, let alone another man… a man who seemed more attractive that anyone Paris
had ever laid eyes upon. He shook his head, not allowing himself to think such
wicked thoughts and leaned over the table to place the tray on the oak board.
The man sitting at the head of the table grasped his wrist and looked at him
carefully. Paris
stared down into the blue eyes. “You name boy, what is it?” w:st="on">Paris swallowed hard and pulled his wrist
back.

“Paris,”
he said quietly.

“Paris…
do you have a last name… Paris?”
He blushed and shook his head.

“Not since I joined the convent a year ago. What is the need
for one? I serve God, and if the Lord has no wish for two names, why should I?”
The man laughed and nodded, waved a hand, and dismissing him. w:st="on">Paris hurried through to the cellar, only to
be greeted by a gaggle of young girls.

“Did you speak with them?”

“Are they really from the army?”

“What do they smell like?”

“Did you see the one with the blue eyes? What is his name?” w:st="on">Paris pushed passed the
giggling girls to get rid of their questions. He ran out through the plaza,
bare feet padding across the cobble and he flung himself through the door to
his room and onto his bed, trying to block out the feel of his fright at almost
being caught…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

ONE YEAR EARLIEAR

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He ran, rain pouring down on him, his bare feet cut and
bleeding as the delicate skin caught on the rough, wooden bridge he was running
across. Tripping over one of the uneven planks, he smacked the side of his head
on the railing and crashed to the ground. A choked sob escaped his throat as
tears poured down his face, mingling with the new blood streaming from a cut
just above his eye. He pulled himself up with the little strength he had left
and took off down the street again, broken arm clutched against his chest. His
brown curls were plastered to his head and black circles had formed under his
eyes from the weeks without sleep. Finally, off in the distance, he could hear
the thunder of horse’s hooves over the rumble of the rain pattering down on
slate roofs. He ran faster and finally saw the faint, flickering candlelight
from the windows of the convent. A relieved sob tore from his abused throat and
he banged desperately on the door. “Open the door! Please! Open the door!” he
screamed desperately. “Oh please, in the name of God’s good glory, please open
the gate!” He could hear a lock click and the doors opened, allowing an old,
withered looking nun to appear through the rain.

“My dear boy, what has happened to you?” she exclaimed, taking in his bloodied
and decrepit appearance.

“Please, I need sanctuary! Please!” The woman nodded and took him by the
shoulders, helping him through the gate and across the plaza. “Thank you,
Mother,” he whispered softly.

“Do not speak child. We shall get you cleaned and bandaged and you’ll be as
good as new.” She pushed a small door open and led him into the small bedroom.
She laid him down on the soft bed and placed a cool hand over his forehead, not
noticing when he flinched as his abused bottom hit the sheets. “What is your
name, child?” she asked gently. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again.
After a pause, he answered.

“My name is Paris,”
he whispered before darkness descended upon him again. He was thankful for the
rest of his abused body.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

ONE YEAR LATER

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Paris
awoke, eyes wide and fearful, searching in the darkness…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Did you see that young one?” one of the soldiers asked
later that night.

“Which one? The blonde? She really was quite the young
lady!” laughed another one, rolling onto his back on one of the many beds in
the winter room.

“No, I mean that young boy… w:st="on">Paris was his name methinks? Quite the
fireball. Wouldn’t mind getting into that piece of flesh.”

“You are all crude, do you know that? I suggest you keep
your mouth shut Sean, else the Sisters hear you and we are all thrown out in
the middle of the night.” Sean laughed and patted the man on the back.

“Ah, my lord Viggo, have you already claimed him for
yourself? Just be careful when you take him. He’s very small, and my guess,
still a virgin.” Sean reached down and grabbed his crotch in a vulgar manner.
The men laughed but Viggo just rolled his eyes.

“Get some rest!” he ordered and the men settled down for the
night.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A.N.: See?
I promised chapter two and here it is!

Thanks to:

Mystkyten – I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long! I
tried to finish this as soon as I could! I hope you like it!

Whoever voted! Thanks so much for the 5 stars! *hugs and
kisses*