The Maiden and the Mercenary

by Nicole Locke

  If someone came upon either of them now, there was no difference between them. Granted Ian’s clothing was finer, but both of them were conversing in the middle of the day while servants rushed to the evening service and meal. All quite civilised as if they were acquaintances and not enemies.

  A quiet life, and a home to withstand generations. That was Louve’s goal. That was what he wished. Moments in Ian’s insidious presence and he could feel himself moulding into something murky.

  ‘Is it so terrible your wife is gone when it allows for younger, sweeter temptations to be by your side?’

  Ian chuckled. ‘You speak of my mistress. Do you find her a temptation? I have to admit she is interesting to watch. But not as interesting as that woman at your side.’

  Louve inwardly cursed. Ian couldn’t link Bied and Margery together. After Ian’s response in the Hall, messengers had been sent out, likely to discover Bied’s history. He intended to free the sisters before a messenger returned.

  ‘You speak of an insignificant kitchen servant? You must not have done much research on me to know my tastes,’ Louve said. Or Ian would know that Bied was every fantasy he had and many ones he didn’t know.

  ‘As if I want to know your tastes. My mind is full of useless information. Games are exhausting enough.’ Ian exhaled roughly. ‘The one between Reynold and I was at a stalemate until you arrived. If Reynold didn’t listen to my messages, maybe he will listen to you when you return to him.’

  What to believe when everything appeared to be opposite? Ian now wanted his survival and Balthus visited with his mother and father. ‘Is my continued well-being agreed upon by your family as well?’

  ‘I can’t speak for them,’ Ian said.

  ‘I have to admit, I’m seeing a different side of them from the stories. Your mother has a charming laugh and your father a fine sense of humour. Do you miss them?’

  Ian huffed. ‘Why are you alive and freely roaming my home?’

  ‘Because you want to be my friend.’ Louve smirked.

  ‘A word I can’t use around you without your waiting for a dagger to be thrown, remember?’

  Louve lost his humour. In truth, he hadn’t fully appreciated Ian’s instability, but why had he said such a thing?

  ‘There are other words we could start with,’ Louve said.

  Ian’s eyes narrowed before he dropped his gaze. ‘I know what you’re doing here and what you want. I invited my family to thwart you from ever getting an opportunity to search my rooms.’

  The parchment. Ian knew he was here for the parchment. If so, how? Had Reynold sent a message ahead, or was Balthus right? That Warstones had ears everywhere and always knew?

  He was frustrated at Bied for not trusting him, yet could he blame her? For years, the company he’d kept was riddled with mistrust and malevolence until he didn’t even know who he was any more.

  He didn’t know who he was with her. He certainly wasn’t carefree as he had been with any of his childhood friends, but he wasn’t joyless, dark or scarred like the Warstones.

  He was a playing piece that was being moulded by the game. He knew it, too, when he questioned everything. Could he believe the parchment was here simply because Reynold said Ian had it, or because Ian reported he didn’t want him searching rooms?

  It would be like them to not have the parchment here so his searching could amuse them. In the end, however, it didn’t matter if the parchment was here or not. It would be impossible to obtain with Ian’s family here. The parchment would have to be abandoned. Now, it came down to Balthus’s safety. What would it take? Trust between him and Ian?

  ‘Why would I want anything to do with your rooms?’ Louve said.

  Ian huffed. ‘Games are all fun until you realise you’re stuck on board with the same players who won’t ever let you stop.’

  ‘When we win, the game will end.’

  ‘You...like the games. Now, that is unexpected.’ Ian exhaled roughly and waved in front of him. ‘It might be too late for you, but I’ll give you this warning—get out before you’re as much a prisoner as I am.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Are you certain you want to stay?’ Tess said not for the first time since the Warstones had arrived yesterday morning.

  ‘I’ll merely prepare a few more dishes before tomorrow. To help Cook in case he arrives again.’ Bied wiped her brow with the back of her arm. The kitchens were much cooler than they were all day, but still warmer than the rest of the fortress. Now that everyone was gone, however, she piled her hair on top of her head and loosened some of the ties holding her gown.

  Cook’s presence immediately helped even though he only directed. His first order was to light all the ovens. The heat at its peak was unbearable, but to see him standing, aware, even if his shoulders sloped, was heartening. He was there for several hours before he walked out again as silently as he’d entered.

  Tess gaped at the mess still to be cleared. ‘I’m exhausted and can’t believe you stayed here the entire day.’

  Other than to wash her hands and face, and to cool the back of her neck with a wet linen, Bied had stayed in the kitchens. She hadn’t been lying when she told Louve she hated the kitchens, she did, but she’d do anything to help her sister. Louve had told her to stay here and she would.

  ‘I’ll leave soon enough, don’t wait up.’

  Tess was already shuffling towards the stairs. ‘I couldn’t wait up, even if I wanted to. Not only am I tired, this place isn’t...pleasant when everyone is gone.’

  The door closed behind her friend. Isolation echoed off the timbers and through the empty rooms. When was the last time she was this alone?

  There was more to do for tomorrow, and though the kitchens weren’t quite clean, she had no intention of doing much. In fact, she didn’t want to do any of it. She was here because she waited.

  With any hope, Louve would not make her stay much longer. He had been one blessed distraction to the monotony of cleaning pans and sweeping. True to his word, he had stayed close most of the day. Distracting, welcoming. Comforting with that strength of his, though he’d avoided looking her way.

  She’d been here for so little time, and she’d known him even less than that. A handful of conversations with him. Both of them oddly laced with secrets she’d never told before. She’d blame the fact she told him so much on her worry for her sister, but she also knew part of it was him.

  She knew better than to believe in anyone other than her family, especially men who took advantage of such trust, but...there was something about him that eased her mistrust.

  It was in the way he was there and every time she wanted help, he offered it. She still flushed to think of the questions she’d asked him and of the answers he’d given her. Never in her life had she been so bold. Because she’d travelled, she’d kept most of her life private and didn’t pry into others.

  But within moments she was demanding an absolute stranger something of himself just so that she could trust him. Her belief in her father was broken, but not in her family, so her asking anything of him was unfounded. Yet, equally confusing, he did it. He told her far more than about a love for a sister or a shame that Margery was taught by wealthy benefactors, and all the connotations that meant. Because there wasn’t a benefactor in all the land who would teach a beautiful girl her letters without expecting something in return. To this day, Margery never confessed what she’d done to learn to read and write.

  Louve knew it was unusual, his eyes had widened when she told him. He understood. But he’d been compassionate, too, and kept his counsel.

  These matters she had told him and in return... He could have told her nothing of import, he could have told her nothing at all. It wasn’t he who was in trouble, it was she. Would she truly have denied his help? She couldn’t. Thus, her demands weren’t because it risked her sister, but her pride. Which was laug
hable, for even that she would have sacrificed for his help. He had to know this, yet over and over she played his words to her.

  He’d left a home he loved, a friendship he cherished because he hadn’t felt as if he belonged. He hadn’t said all as such, but it was in his eyes, in the facts. It was that woman. Bied wasn’t prepared for the jealousy that scraped through her when he told her the name. Had he loved this Mary?

  The more she asked herself these questions, the more she realised her fascination with Louve might be more than the way his dark hair fell across the back of his neck, or the way he dipped his chin when he looked at her. A worrisome prospect when she watched Ian take Louve away and she hadn’t seen him—

  ‘It’s warm in here.’

  She spun as Louve descended the kitchen stairs.

  His movements were graceful strength and she loved that he didn’t hunch in her presence. But the way he moved his body reminded her of the other thoughts that had snared her all day. The way his hand felt as he held her gently, firmly, the self-deprecation when he told her the story of the two women. Who did such a thing?

  He told her there were mercenaries, but where were they when...? Oh, she couldn’t think. Her imagination kept imagining and wouldn’t stop. Not even as Louve slowed his pace, his brows rising, his expression turning quizzical.

  It was warm in here. ‘Cook ordered all the ovens fired since we were behind in roasting and pies,’ she said.

  A few more steps and he was there before her. His eyes were still as blue, his hair just as dark, his shoulders—did she notice those shoulders before? He was so much taller than her, but in a way that only made her want to—

  ‘Is there something on my clothing?’ he said.

  She snapped her eyes to him.

  ‘Nothing is amiss,’ she said. ‘You seem fine.’

  One brow rose. ‘I was not aware my condition was in question.’

  His tone was strict, but humour fanned from the corners of his eyes. Too many conflicting facets to this man. Laughter, fierce frowns. A kiss meant as punishment and then, in the linen room, that almost-kiss...

  The way he said he’d protect her and her sister. The way he had been protective of her all day. She might not understand why he did the deeds he did, but she felt them. Despite her past, she wanted them.

  His humour eased. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘Nothing of import.’ She couldn’t stop.

  ‘Your cheeks are flushed.’

  ‘It’s the heat,’ she blurted. ‘Where did Lord Warstone take you today?’

  Pivoting away, he walked around a table. His profile was no less intense as she watched him take in a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t certain I’d see you here after your telling me you don’t like the kitchens.’

  ‘I wasn’t certain I was going to be here, but I stayed all day until the end.’

  Why did she feel this way around him? Louve might not have told her where he went, but he had returned. Just as he said he would. Such a simple thing truly. It wasn’t as if he traversed great lands or fought dragons, but he was here. He was here and she felt a ridiculous amount of comfort from that.

  He ran a finger over the table that was barely wiped down and lifted the grubby digit towards her. ‘What have you been doing all this time?’

  She wanted to laugh. But the undercurrent between them that had started in the cellar and flared in the linen room was tightening. In the dark kitchens, with faint sounds of doors latching closed and the crunch of rushes as people strode towards their sleeping chambers, anticipation, not laughter, ruled her.

  ‘I know you talked with him. Tell me.’

  ‘We didn’t talk of your sister.’ He took a step, the scrape of his boots against the spilled grain overtly loud in the cavernous rooms. ‘Why didn’t you leave the kitchens today?’

  ‘What do you mean you didn’t talk of her? Are you intending to negotiate with him?’ Bied didn’t dare say Margery’s name. ‘I thought—’

  ‘You can’t negotiate with him unless you have something to negotiate with.’

  ‘The ale,’ she said.

  ‘Won’t work,’ he said. ‘Because Ian of Warstone has numerous people trying to kill him every day of the year. If he showed favour for any who tried to save him from a murderer, what’s to prevent the very killer from setting up a scenario that he can pretend to save Ian from and therefore profiting from it?’

  ‘That’s—who thinks like that?’

  ‘Warstones do.’

  ‘Who is spoiling the brew, then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘We might never know. I will try not to serve any to your sister.’

  It wasn’t good enough. ‘Then what—what do you intend to do?’ She almost trusted this man. Why? Because he said he’d help, because he stood around the kitchens and came back tonight? She was a fool trusting any man. ‘You don’t have a plan, do you?’

  ‘There’s a chance we can free your sister, but we have to choose the right moment. Talking to Ian then wasn’t it.’

  ‘A chance! I’m not doing it on a chance.’

  ‘I will help you, I will,’ he said. ‘But there are other matters here, everything must be balanced.’

  She crossed her arms. ‘There’s no balance when it comes to my family! I gave you a day. That’s more than I should have given you.’

  He took a step back. ‘Everywhere I’m surrounded by impatience. I did talk to Ian and gleaned some information. Your sister is in danger, but so are you.’

  To turn or not to turn. She tilted her head and almost saw him in the corner of her eye. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He sent out messengers to find information on you. As of now, I can’t guarantee he doesn’t know who you are and, with the entire family present, it’s not safe. There’s a war here, Bied. You might not see it, but you and your sister are a part of it.’

  Part of what? She waited for him to continue, but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t. It was just another enigmatic remark from a secretive man. He was a mercenary who couldn’t be trusted. ‘Then I’ll take my sister and leave.’

  ‘Wait,’ he said. Then she felt him, right there, right behind her.

  ‘I don’t have patience either,’ he said. ‘I’m here to prevent further harm, but my thoughts, my very soul, were preoccupied by this woman who’s fierce, protective and so damn lovely, my breath catches.’

  His warmth, the sunlight scent of his, the rumble of his voice, she took it all in.

  ‘I know so little of you,’ he said. ‘Is there a husband somewhere, Bied? Do you have a man waiting for you?’

  Physically, she didn’t need to ask what was happening between them. He’d occupied all her thoughts today. They weren’t even facing each other and she felt the need, the want, of that almost-kiss.

  ‘No husband,’ she said and stuck her tongue in her cheek before she added. ‘Nor two men in my bed.’

  A huff of breath. ‘Now, there’s an image I don’t know if I like or hate.’

  She tried to turn around for that, but firm hands held her shoulders. ‘You can hardly complain when you told me.’

  ‘You want to know why I hate it?’ He lowered his head, his breath just behind her ear. ‘Because if you have had two men... I wasn’t one of them.’

  That stilled her. This man...didn’t mind she wasn’t a maiden? ‘You would...’

  ‘Share? No, I couldn’t, I am too hungry for you to share.’ His words fell against her cheek, her neck, her ear. ‘I love that you aren’t contained. If I’m honest, I’m half-hard with your recklessness and the need to taste your lips.’

  What were they doing? Louve was different, but this wasn’t the time, and yet, when else? ‘I’m not claimed by any man.’

  ‘Except by me,’ he said.

  She wrenched around and Louve let her, but only so he could skim h
is hands over more of her. Only so he could see her reaction to his words.

  Her eyes, such an unusual colour. Not clear like her sister’s, but complex and layered with emotions. He liked that very much, liked the darkening of them as they searched the sincerity of his words. He liked that she didn’t step back so he could feel the brush of her breasts with each breath she took.

  Sweeping his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs caressing across her collarbone, simply that movement was all he’d allow himself until she allowed more.

  ‘I don’t let any man claim me,’ she said.

  He sensed that. Generous, loyal. Fierce, and yet along the way her trust had been tested. And he’d given her nothing to trust him on, not yet. They should wait. But he wanted more with her. Whatever was between them, he was incapable of ignoring it.

  ‘What if you let me...borrow you for a bit?’ he said instead.

  Her lips parted as she comprehended what he meant. A flick of her tongue against a plump lip and he could not tear his gaze away. A slight flush beginning along her neck again and he wanted to know where that flush started. Did it begin at the tender place her heart pulsed, just there in the lines of her neck, or lower?

  He didn’t think he could wait. ‘There are matters here that demand me to be one kind of man, but with you, I want to be that reckless male who kisses you...lies with you.’

  He wanted more than that from her...for a lifetime. So little time, but what he did know, what she had inadvertently shown him as well, everything pointed to this being the woman. She knew some of his past, hadn’t flinched when he told her he was a mercenary, seemed to have some humour of her own. Her protection of the people she cared for, her generous body which he’d work to feed every known delicacy to—he wanted everything about her.

  He always wondered when or how he’d fall in love, how it would feel and what he would do. He’d watched in amusement as his friends struggled against it, but he already knew he’d run after it. He craved that one person to spend the years with, but he could never find her.

  Until now. And, as Bied stayed in the almost-embrace of his arms, as she took in his words and the burn of his body, it seemed she shared at least some of his want and need.