You've ridden since you were a girl, but leisurely weekend rides through the French countryside with your father did little to prepare you (or your buttocks) for this never ending journey. The pain from weeks of travel has set in and you find your day-to-day is little more than an exercise in controlling the pain. Your backside and thighs are so sore that every step the horse takes results in pure agony.

"Do you need to stop?" Peter inquires, trotting up beside you with a hand on his hip. He is truly in his element.

You hired two men when you fled France, offering them just enough money to ensure loyalty, or so you thought. Peter had been a member of your father's personal detail, a former knight of the king's inner circle. When your brother took the crown he retired Peter, an act the old knight is unlikely to forgive in the near future. He'd been all too happy to assist you, eager to leave the past behind him and, although he's getting on in years, it appears that he can still wield a sword and take a punch.

You'd given him the liberty of choosing his second.

Peter chose Luther, a young blacksmith whom he trusted. Luther swore he'd traveled to Scotland so many times that he could make the trip without a map. Now, as you wander lost somewhere near the border, it's becoming increasingly clear Luther often exaggerates his navigation skills.

"I'll be fine for a little while longer." You force a smile, flinching as the horse jerks forward.

"I think we should stop here for the night, it will be dark soon and you're in pain, m'lady." Peter slows his horse and you follow suit. Dismounting with an grunt, legs chattering.

"We should find the river by midday tomorrow," Luther's looking at a hand drawn map that you're fairly sure he has upside down.

"I certainly don't want to be the one to shake your confidence, Luther, but we've been moments away from this elusive river for days now." You shake your head as Peter takes the reins, leading your horse to a small tree.

"She's right," Peter confirms. "We can't keep investing time in a plan that doesn't seem to be working. I'll ride ahead at first light and scout our path. If we fail to cross the river to the east, we'll head west instead."

Luther builds a fire and Peter divides what's left of your food rations, which is little more than bread and water. You unroll your pack, finding a patch of thick moss for padding and make your bed for the evening. Sleeping on the ground doesn't get any easier. If your thighs aren't throbbing from the ride there's a twinge in your back that takes over.

You unpack your things, subtly checking the small sack that contains all the wealth you have in the world. You absconded with your late mother's collection of jewels and enough gold to start a comfortable new life if you can just lay low for long enough.

Making your bed for the evening you settle in as close to the fire as one dares. The meager heat helps your bones from chattering in the night and you drift off to sleep on the naked ground under the wide, open sky.

The thieves come in the middle of the night. You're awakened to the sound of shouts in the dark, rolling to your feet in a panic. Two men have Luther by his arms, dragging him across the ground.

"Don't kill me! I can help you. She has gold in her pack!" Luther cries, pointing to you. That little shit.

While his defection isn't a complete surprise, you're in awe it happened so quickly.

"It's in her saddlebag." Peter confirms, turning on you just the same as Luther. There's a man behind him with a knife to his throat, and you might've forgiven his treacherous words if he'd put up at least some fight. The old man's betrayal is just as swift as your useless blacksmith-turned-guide.

This is how you find yourself alone in a strange land at the mercy of ruthless marauders.

The man behind Peter drives the knife into the knight's gut and you scream in horror. Two men flank you when you try to run. In the blink of an eye there are hands on your pulling and tugging as you thrash, fighting as hard as you can until it becomes a futile effort.

The rock to the back of your head abruptly ends the struggle. It's a quick blow that doesn't hurt, more confusing as your vision goes blurry, then dark. You don't feel your body hit the ground with a soft oomf.

If one were to look for a positive in the situation perhaps it could be found in that the men who robbed and beat you had no interested in dominating you physically. After the hit to the back of your skull they could easily taken advantage of your limp body. Whether they assumed you dead or simply had no interested in rape, they leave you bleeding and lifeless.

And that's exactly how Dean finds you.

-.-

Your mind wakes up before your eyes open.

The smell of the hearth is overpowering and the flames are close enough to warm your arm. You blink once, twice, then wink all the way open. The world is blurry, the muted outline of shapes moving the shadows. Groaning and twisting you try to sit up only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder pushing you back down.

There's a rush of panic and confusion. You try to move again only to be held down as two rough hands hold you place. You can feel the touch of calloused palms on your bare shoulders. The voice that speaks to you from somewhere in the ether is low and distinctly male. "Try not to move yet, you were hit on the head."

"What…" you mumble, blinking again and this times it shakes the clutter free. Your vision clears and the crackling fire in the dark of the room comes into focus. Suddenly, there's a face above you, that of man. He tucks hair behind his ear and looks down with a grimace.

"How many fingers do you see?" He asks holding up two digits.

"I, uh," your throat is on fire and you sputter before answering. "Two?"

"Two is right.. Are you thirsty?" You nod empathically and his disappears from view. Feeling a tad more lively, you begin to take stock of your situation. You reach up to explore the throbbing at the back of your head and wince when your fingers make contact with a sizeable goose egg. The man chastises your immediately.

"Don't touch it." He instructs you as if he's quite used to giving orders that are summarily followed without question. While you're not accustomed to being spoken to so harshly it's the least of your concerns as you begin to inspect the rest of your body only to find that you're stark naked under the thick blanket. Panic rises in your chest at the scent of this man who's apparently taken such liberties.

He's an Alpha.

He must be watching your realization because he snorts from across the room. "Your clothing was in tatters and you had wounds that needed to be dressed. I have clothes for you but they needed to be washed. They'll be dry by morning."

He kneels beside you again and this time you get a better look at him. He's tall and imposing with wide, strong shoulders, he's no doubt a manual laborer. His face is handsome if one prefers a jugged, scruff of a jaw. When he hands you a cup of water his gargantuan hands dwarfs yours and you gulp. He could take anything he wanted from you with minimal effort.

You drink the water, sputtering before pulling yourself together and tipping back the entire glass. When you're finished he takes the mug from you and offers you a hand sitting up. You're weary but in no condition to refuse him so you accept the offer. His palm is wide and rough against your soft skin and you curse your Omega biology when your body responds to the contact, eliciting a low stir in your belly.

"Thank you," snatching your hand away you hold the blanket over your chest, determined to preserve what little modesty you have left, sitting up straight. Your mother always said that personal fortitude in the face of adversity could make any situation better. So, you gather what confidence you can muster, lifting your chin. "May I be so bold as to ask who removed my clothing?"

"I did" he retorts, sitting on the floor next you, his arm draping over a bent knee. You pray that he doesn't see the blush in your cheeks.

"You found it necessary to leave me nude on the floor of your…" you look around taking in your surroundings, "your small hut."

His eyes twitch. It won't be the last time you manage to insult him without a second thought.

"Yes, I did." He states, watching you intently.

"Well, I can see you are a man of many words." You quip refusing to be intimidated.

He forces a strained smile. "My brother found you in the woods along with two other men, both of them died. It would appear that you were left for dead as well. He brought you to me. I dressed your wounds and did my best to keep you alive."

"Oh," You feel a bit foolish, but the reality of the situation is that you're an unclaimed Omega in the presence of an Alpha who's motives remain unconfirmed.

"I wouldn't have expected you to be a healer."

"I'm not." He shrugs. "I'm a forrester, a woodcutter."

"There is no healer in your village?"

"There is," he nods "but I wouldn't trust him with a my brother's pig."

He just compared you to a barnyard animal.

"Well, I am glad that to know that I hold the same value as your brother's beloved swine."

"You are quite bold, madame," he runs a hand over his mouth.

"Would you prefer it if I were more timid?" You raise an eyebrow toward him.

"No. I would prefer that you don't speak at all." He appears to enjoy the look of shock on your face. He stands up and hands you one of his oversized shirts. "It's clean enough. I'll let your dress yourself."

He moves to the other side of the room and turns his back to you, offering privacy. You pull the shirt over your head, wincing as the sore muscles of your arms strain with the effort. Gathering your strength you stand one wobbly legs and the tunic drops down neally to your knees.

He is large indeed.

Glancing to make sure he's not watching, you lift the hem of the linen and twist, inspecting the massive, dark bruise on your buttock. There's a bandage around your thigh just above the knee and it aches enough for you to know the gash must be deep. Satisfied that with state of your injuries you look to him, "I'm dressed, you may turn around."

"Good. Are you hungry?" He asking moving to stir the pot over the fire.

Your stomach clenches at the mere mention of food, making you realise that you're starving. "Yes, very much." You watch him stoke the fire. "May I ask your name?"

"Sam Winchester, and may I ask yours?" There's an air in his tone that irks you, but you chose to let is pass.

"Y/N," you offer only your first name with no details, and he doesn't press the issue.

"Take a seat," Sam gestures toward the small table.

You sit gingerly in the chair. Your bottom is bruised, not only from days of riding, but from the fall you took during the attack. You've got sore parts you didn't know you had.

"Samuel," you begin.

"Sam," he sets a bowl of rabbit stew in front of you. It's been more than a day since you last ate, and then it was only a meager amount of flat bread. Your stomach growls as you watch him carefully prepare his own meal before settling in across from you.

"Eat, you must be hungry and you need your strength."

"Samuel," you start again. You think it's best to stay formal, there's no need for such familiarity with a stranger, especially an Alpha. It's important to set boundaries. "How long have I been here?"

"One night, two days." He tears the end of a loaf of bread and hands it to you. "Eat."

"Would you mind telling me exactly where I am?" Picking up a spoon you stir the soup, finding chunks of meat along with carrots and potatoes. It's a heartier meal than you imagined from a man with such meager surroundings.

"A village just north of the Midsomer outpost. You're in Scotland."

"Thank goodness," a sense of relief falls over you. Peter was sure your were out of England, but he couldn't be sure. You'd been lost for days wandering in the wilderness. "My party was lost when the marauders attacked. Even our tracker wasn't sure if we had crossed the border. The men that I was traveling with were both…less than courageous when the assault took place, I thought for sure I'd be killed, or worse."

"You want to tell me what you were doing lost in the woods with two men who barely knew where they were?"

"We were," you stumble over your words. The cover story you prepared fades away as your head wound throbs. "On our way to visit relatives."

"You're a long way from France, Princess."

You freeze, dropping your spoon back to the table. "You know who I am?"

"Yes," he replies casually, shoveling stew into his mouth.

"How?"

"I tended to the man that was with you, the younger man survived for nearly a day. Once the fever took him he said a lot of things. I thought maybe he was delirious until you started talking. You're clearly accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. "

"Well, I-" You're also not used being spoken to in such a brazen manner. "So much for discretion."

"Drink your wine." There, he does it again, telling you what to do. You hesitate, it's been days since you've eaten a full meal and wine always has effects on you. No, it's best to keep your wits about you.

Sam seems rather subdued, but you've heard stories your whole life about Alphas of his stature. The very nature of an Alpha is that of barbaric fulfillment, or at least that's what you've been lead to believe. In your circles the few Alphas that exist have spent their lives learning the finer points of refinement, they're fastidious in their gentlemanly arts, restrained and polite but only because they've had the restraint of social obligation to do so.

A man like the one across from you has had no such civilized training, and, although he's not yet tried to mount you like an animal, you don't know that he won't.

"My head hurts quite badly. I don't think wine will help."

"The nights here are very cold, you'll do well by drinking now to keep warm later."

"And I am to spend the night…here?" You look around at his small cottage, the thatched walls and dirt floor. Sam watches somewhere between wonder and amusement as you lower your voice and lean across the table, whispering. "I'm not sure it's appropriate for me to be here with you…in the night."

Sam chuckles, it's a good thing he's the only one here, and he already knows your true identity, because there is no way you'd last in the real world. You're as out of your element as a fish on dry land. "It's here or it's the barn, your choice."

"I don't, well I…" you sit back in your seat. He might be teasing you or he might very well serious but you're not having either one. "I hate to point out such an obvious circumstance but you are an Alpha."

"I'm aware," Sam nods trying to hold back a smile.

When he doesn't have a reaction you shake your head and look around as if there might be someone hiding in the corner. Whispering again, as if you're telling him a secret, you explain "And I am an Omega."

"Yes, I had noticed that." He sits back in his chair. You're struggling to explain what's concerning you but he has a pretty good idea. "Are you worried what people will think? Or that I'm going to take you like wild beast in the middle of night?"

"Both." You admit looking at the uneaten dinner in front of you. Embarrassment doesn't begin to describe the regret you instantly feel. Here is a man who's brought you into his home and done nothing except for tend to your wounds and feed you. The fact that he's already seen you naked notwithstanding, he's mostly been a gentleman save for a few cheeky remarks.

"Not to worry," he stands up and moves to the pot, refilling his bowl. "My brother and Martha are the only ones who know you're here. And as far as my uncontrollable urges, I can assure you that I've no interest in someone like you."

Someone like you? You're partly offended by his statement and you want to ask him to clarify exactly what he thinks you are. Are you not desirable? And royalty at that? But you force down your objections and set your jaw. "Well, I am pleased to hear there will be no misunderstandings."

Sam picks up his mug and reaches over the table, clinking it into yours. "Now drink so that you don't freeze to death."

Taking a small sip, you look to the nest of fur on the floor by the fire where you woke up. "Won't I be alright by the fire?"

"The fire dies down in the night. Besides, you sleep in my bed tonight, I'll stay down here."

"I'm fine on the ground."

"Your body is covered in bruises, the ground is only going to make it worse. I only had you out here because I had to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn't die in the night. You'll sleep in the bed, I won't have a woman sleeping on my floor like a stray dog."

Sitting in silence you fill your belly with stew and allow yourself two glasses of his questionable wine before excusing yourself for the remained of the evening.

As you climb the ladder to the small loft at the back of the cottage you're glad you didn't protest. The entire platform is a giant soft bed lined with layers of wolf pelts. You stretch out in the soft nest closing your eyes and running your fingers through the silky fur. After weeks of sleeping on the ground this is a welcomed indulgence. You turn onto your side as Sam's smell washes over you. While your rational mind doesn't desire him, his Alpha scent is undeniably consoling. The Omega in you purrs at the comfort of his smell enveloping you as sleep sinks in fast and deep.

You sleep hard, better than you have in ages. When you do awake it's to sunlight streaming through the small window above the loft. You roll to your side slowly coming back to reality. Stretching your arm above your head you forget where you are as the warm and comfort of the soft bedding cradle.

It's a combination of Sam's scent and your sore body that wakes you up. Opening your eyes, you lie still, listening to the silence and the distance chirping of birds. If given the option, you'd sleep for days, curled up in this secret refuge but you need to get your bearings and attempt to formulate a plan.

You allow yourself a few more minutes of leisure, rubbing the side of your face into the fur and drawing in a deep breath of the Alpha scent. It's been an agonizingly long time since you've shared a bed with a man and woke up to his aroma…and even then it was not an Alpha. You'd be ashamed if anyone knew you were rolling around like a happy kitten in the bed of a man you hardly know, but as long as it's your secret you'll allow the indulgence.

Clad only in the woodman's enormous shirt you descend the short ladder to find the dim cottage still and tranquil in the morning light. The fire is nothing more than embers and the makeshift bed where he slept the night before has been folded into a neat pile stacked beside the hearth. On the table there's a mug of milk and a bowl with two boiled eggs. You take an egg, feeling the weight before rolling in on the table and carefully peeling the shell. You sip the fresh milk as the morning chill leaves goosebumps up and down your legs.

You're not sure you've ever eaten in complete solitude. Even when a meal was brought to your chambers you ate while maids prepared to clean and dress you. There was always someone nearby waiting to fulfill your next request. Finishing your breakfast in solitude you pick up a cloak laid over his chair and wrap it around you.

Sam is nowhere to be found, a fact for which you're thankful. Last night left you feeling like a newborn fawn, confused and weak, trying to stand for the first time. Taking advantage of his absence you explore the small cottage. While it's certainly of humble means, everything is in order, herbs placed with care above the fire and tools lined along the wall.

Above the stone mantle of the hearth there's a mighty sword affixed to the wall. It looks to be heavy and old, uncleaned from it's last use which was no doubt long ago. You wonder if it belongs to Sam, if in a former life he was an infantry man or perhaps the weapon has deeper meaning.

Much to your surprise you find a narrow bookshelf hidden away in the corner, it's shelves lined with many titles you recognize. It's nothing compared to the grand library where you completed your studies as young girl, but it's certainly more than you expected to find tucked away in the shadows of a Scottish cottage.

You jump as the heavy wooden door groans open and Sam ducks under the doorframe. He sets a satchel on the table, it's contents clanking together. It takes him a moment to spot you and when he does you detect a subtle look of displeasure across his masculine features.

"You found the food I left for you?"

"I did, thank you." You smile, determined to be more charitable than you were last night. Perhaps you've gotten off on the wrong foot. For an unattached Alpha of a certain age he seems to have a remarkable lack of interest in you, which is fortunate but surprising. You're not exactly as young as you once were, but you're a Princess after all and there have been many songs written about your beauty. It's an allure that seems lost of the man in front of you. "I was just taking a look." You gesture to his bookcase.

"You're welcome to borrow any of them."

"Thank you but I doubt I will have the time to invest. I don't plan on staying long." You chatter, unsure of exactly why you're nervous. "And that's not a testament to your hospitality. You have been more than generous with me and once I have established myself I will be sure you're compensated in full."

"Repayment is not necessary," Sam wipes his hands on his trousers and comes to stand beside you. Feeling the need to shift his focus your finger trails over the leather spine of a thick volume of Chaucer.

"And you are able to read?" The questions falls carelessly out of your mouth. The delicate wrinkles around Sam's eyes crinkle.

"Quite well, actually." He nods stiffly.

You've insulted him and the realization makes you feel ashamed at your assumption. You've always fancied yourself a better person than your brothers, who often compare the commoners to livestock. If there's one thing your father instilled in you it's the importance of refined social manners, no matter the station of person before you.

You square off your shoulders, holding you head high. "When I hit my head it must have knocked my manners right out of me. What I meant to say was, as a man who spends his days in the wood, working with his hands…I'm surprised to find that you have the occasion to read. Perhaps what I should have asked is: how is that you read so well?"

You seem very proud of the way you've reworded your insult. Sam would be irked if he wasn't partially entertained. You've spent your life surrounded by dandies and handmaids, he doubts anyone's ever corrected you before.

"When I was a boy my mother worked for a Lord in the south country. When their son's tutor came my brother and I were permitted to observe the lessons. They had a vast collection of books stacked floor to ceiling and I read whatever I could get my hands on."

You smile, imaging this tall brute of man as a tiny boy with a novel in his hand. "And now you have your own collection."

"A meager one, yes." Sam turns toward you, "this may surprise you Princess, but it's difficult to get one's hand on literature out here in the countryside."

"It does not surprise me," you seems to miss his sarcasm and it entertains him all the more. "And you should not call me Princess."

"There is no one here to overhear us. I will refrain if we suddenly have an audience."

"Still," you continue. "You've made some very fine selections. I love Chaucer." Sam watches as you take the books from the shelf and look over the worn bindings.

"I haven't read it in years," he comments.

"Time and tide wait for no man." you recite and then look to him. "It's a quote."

"Thank you for clarifying." Sam narrows his eyes and smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, "I believe he also said Women desire six things: They want their husbands to be brave, wise, rich, generous, obedient to wife, and lively in bed."

Your mouth falls open at his forward statement and a wide smile spreads his face. You blush and Sam grunts.

"I'm not sure this is an appropriate conversation."

"You slept in my bed last night, we've moved past royal piety." He takes the book from you and sets it back on the shelf, the apples of your cheeks glowing red. "If your plan is to fit in among us common folk, you'd better get used to a crude word from time to time. You can't walk around with that look on your face."

"What look?" You snip.

"You wouldn't like my description." He turns, picking up the sack off the table. "I've brought you clothes. You can dress, then we can discuss where we go from here."