Nine
The gravel crunched under Natasha's feet as she slowly walked down the drive, under the arch of over hanging trees.
The land purred to her, surrounding her, asking and offering protection. From the moment she had stepped from the coach at what was to be her new home, the land had stabbed her. It wanted a Queen. It needed her.
This time, she could accept.
She had been pleasantly surprised at how quickly she had settled in, and how easily Steve, Tony and Clint had found a routine.
The sun was barely up and the air still had the chill of the night. It was refreshing, and Natasha gloried in it. She could be alone, but know that friendship was only a heartbeat away. It was so different to the Red Room, and it was her life now.
The fluttering green leaves overhead rustled, and Natasha hummed a fragment of song under her breath, pulled up from the recesses of her memory.
A cramp across her midsection reminded her of the other reason she had come outside.
This was her moontime, her first since she had met her males. Natasha was a little unsure of how they would react, and just how volatile her Warlord Princes would become.
She knew that they would scold her for going out alone while she was vulnerable, while she couldn't defend herself with the power of her jewels. Part of her actually looked forward to their scolding. She knew that they would only do it out of concern, and it was that concern that made her feel loved.
Feminine laughter rang out from her left, clear and unaffected. Natasha started at the unexpected sound. Automatically she tried to sense who was there, but a scorching burst of pain shot through her and made her double over. Her breath caught in her throat and she exhaled on an audible moan.
The pain ebbed and Natasha made herself stand straight, resting one hand on her abdomen. As she looked up, she saw that she wasn't alone.
A man and a woman stood just beneath the trees. The woman was young and dark haired, carrying a basket on her arm that brimmed with greenery. The man held her free arm gently while staring at Natasha.
The wind gusted, making Natasha's red hair flutter. The man took a deep breath and Natasha felt the air chill as his eyes become glazed and sleepy.
Hells fire, mother night and may the darkness be merciful, she was standing in front of an unknown Warlord Prince, who had caught the scent of her moonsblood and had risen to the killing edge in the span of a heartbeat.
She knew better than to run.
She knew better than to show fear.
They had a silent stand off, with the other woman looking back and forth between them, understanding clear in her eyes, matched by indecision.
The dull ache slowly awoke again in Natasha' abdomen, gradually building in pain and pressure. It crescendoed and washed over her, and she dug her nails into her side and tried to stay emotionless.
Passionately violent and violently passionate, she did not know how this Warlord Prince would react.
When he moved, it was to push his female companion towards her.
“Heal,” he growled, before he started to pace. Natasha steadied the woman, who shook her head.
“I'm sorry about this, Lady,” she said, setting the basket down at her feet.
*Males* was her silent distaff to distaff comment.
“I'm Betty, the Healer down in the village. That's Bruce, my husband. Queen Maria sent word that someone might be moving in up here. She's always allowed us to gather herbs around here.”
Her chatter was informative and soothing as she probed at Natasha with her Craft.
“Is he usually so talkative?” Natasha asked.
Betty grinned. “Usually. If you're finished with your walk, we'll escort you back up to the house, and brew you something for those cramps.”
“I'm finished,” Natasha said.
She suspected that even if she hadn't been finished, Bruce would have dragged her back to the house anyway. Bruce paced around them in a circle as they moved back towards the house, an icy chill seeming to follow him. Natasha tried to judge how close to the edge he was. There were three other males she had to worry about, and she knew that in her current condition they would not take kindly to a strange Warlord Prince.
Any plans that she could have made were moot as Clint appeared further up the drive. She felt his touch on her mind, felt him assessing the strangers.
Bruce growled, and Clint snarled back, the sound becoming more violent and ragged as he picked up Natasha's scent.
“Prince Clint, attend me,” Natasha snapped out. “Prince Bruce, attend your lady.” There was no whip crack of power behind her words, nothing she could use to protect apart from her innate strength. Clint broke off his aggression and moved solicitously towards Natasha. His concern was obvious on his face, and it was that concern that seemed to calm Bruce down.
Betty relinquished Natasha's arm and Clint took her place as another wave of cramps doubled Natasha over.
Clint, wonder of wonders, must have been able to persuade Tony and Steve to stay away, for there was no sign of them in the kitchen, only the fading psychic scents. As soon as they stepped into the kitchen, Betty took charge. Clint escorted Natasha to a chair before he was directed to get water boiling. Bruce was chivvyed into chopping herbs while Betty made sure the right amounts made it into the water.
Natasha simply sat and watched, and let them fuss. It was strange to be fussed over like this, strange to be cared for. No one had ever cared about her moontime before, no one had ever made her a brew for the pain. No one had shown her how to make them for herself. And even though her body was hurting and she was powerless unless she wanted more pain, she didn't feel scared or threatened.
She felt safe.