Midnight Warrior

by Iris Johansen

  The man disgusted him. It was true women slaves were often used for bed sport, but he found Richard’s callousness toward his wife repulsive. He reminded Gage of Hassan, the head auctioneer of the slave market in Constantinople. His voice was cold as he said, “I have no desire to bed the slave. I want only her healing skills.”

  “Oh, of course.” Richard immediately backed away. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew Brynn’s full value.”

  And to try to ensure his own safety if Malik died at the woman’s hands, Gage thought cynically. It was not a bad ploy; a woman’s body was always valuable for barter. The Saxon had merely erred in thinking the bedding of a woman was high enough compensation for losing a friend. “You have told me. Now you can feel free to leave here.”

  “I thought I might stay and—” Richard stopped as he saw Gage’s expression. He rose to his feet. “If you wish.” He smiled again. “I’m sure that we will meet again, my lord.”

  Gage didn’t answer as he settled himself before the fire. He was barely aware of the man leaving. His thoughts were once more on Malik lying near death in the tent.

  And that damn woman who had dared to bar him from Malik’s side.

  The sun had barely cast the first pink shadows in the east when Gage entered the tent.

  The woman was sitting by Malik and stiffened as she saw him. “What are you doing here?”

  By the saints, she was wary. What the devil had she been doing to Malik? She had been with him all night, leaving his side only to hurry back and forth to the campfire for water and the preparation of her salves.

  “It’s dawn,” he said harshly. “I promised you that you would have him to yourself only until the first light.” He strode over to the pallet. “How is he?”

  “Alive.” She wearily ran her fingers through her hair. “Better, I think.”

  “Better? He looks the same to me.” He studied Malik’s face. “Did he wake?”

  “No.”

  “Speak?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you say he’s better?”

  “I just … feel it.”

  He smiled sardonically. “Astonishing.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot explain.” She shrugged at his skepticism. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. It is true. He’s growing stronger. He’ll wake before sunset and I’ll give him a strengthening broth.” She yawned. “And now I intend to go to sleep.” She settled down beside Malik. “I suggest you do the same. You look more haggard than he does. I have no time to tend two patients.”

  He frowned. “You can’t sleep. He may need you.”

  “I have not slept in two nights. If he needs me, I’ll be here beside him.” She put her hand on Malik’s chest above the wound as she nestled closer and closed her eyes. “He is healing. He has no need of either of us right now. Go away.”

  “Have you forgotten this is my tent?”

  “Then lie down somewhere and be silent …”

  The blasted woman was already asleep, he realized with frustration. He reached down to shake her awake and then stopped. Was there the faintest color in Malik’s cheeks? He couldn’t be sure, but his breathing seemed the slightest bit easier.

  Christ. Tears stung his eyes as, for the first time since he had seen Malik struck down, he allowed himself to hope.

  He stared eagerly at Malik, searching for some other sign.

  Nothing.

  He turned and spread a blanket on the ground across the tent and sat down. The woman might feel safe enough regarding Malik’s condition to rest, but he did not. He would sit there and keep guard over Malik until she woke.

  • • •

  “Who …”

  Brynn drowsily opened her lids at the whisper.

  Dark eyes staring into her own only inches away.

  She was immediately awake. The Saracen had come back!

  “Who …” Malik whispered again.

  “Brynn,” she whispered. “I am Brynn of Falkhaar.”

  He frowned in puzzlement. “I know it is rude, but I do not … remember … our coming together.”

  “Shh. You must rest.”

  “He’s awake?” Gage Dumont was suddenly towering over them like a huge, dark cloud. “Gage?” Malik asked.

  “Yes.” Gage knelt beside him. “How do you feel?”

  “Bruised. Pained.” He tried to laugh. “And weak as an infant just out of the womb.” His glance shifted back to Brynn. “And so I fear I did not give this lovely damsel a fitting ride. You are new, are … you not?”

  “She’s not a whore.” Gage smiled. “And it grieves me to inform you that your wound rendered even you incapable.”

  “Impossible.” He frowned. “Wound?” His brow cleared. “The battle.”

  Gage nodded. “The battle.”

  Brynn stared at him in amazement. His hard expression had softened miraculously, and he looked almost boyish. It was clear the kinship between the two men was both deep and long-standing and she felt a twinge of envy. It had been a long time since she had felt such a bond with another. “Stop talking. You will tire him.” Brynn rose to her feet. “I’ll go prepare the broth.”

  Once outside the tent, she moved quickly to the campfire and exchanged the pot of hot water she had kept simmering all night for another. Keep busy. Don’t think of the death and pain that lie beyond this hill. While she had been with Malik she had been able to submerge the sorrow, but now it came back as strong as ever. No, not quite as strong. If she steeled herself, she could keep back the tears. Perhaps when Malik was stronger she could convince the Norman to move him from this dreadful place.

  She glanced to the north, wondering how Adwen was faring. Surely Richard would not let her die since he believed he held a threat over Brynn only while his wife lived. She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. It was hard to believe that only yesterday she was at Redfern, calmly going about her duties. A battle had been fought and suddenly everything in her life had changed. She had been torn away from all familiar surroundings and cast here in this brutal place with a Norman who called her his slave. What was going to happen to her?

  Well, she would not stand there and whimper. This change of circumstance might not be as bad as it seemed. It might even be possible her opportunity to escape and return to Gwynthal would come sooner with the Norman. It was not as if she cared about Redfern.

  But she did care about Adwen. She had fought to keep herself apart, but she felt a deep affection and pity for the girl. She knew she had to help her.

  She wearily shook her head. She was too bewildered now to assess the situation and make plans. She must live from moment to moment until she saw her way clear.

  Malik stared after Brynn in bemusement as she left the tent. “She does not hesitate to speak her mind, does she? I’ve never heard a woman order you about before. Who is she?”

  Gage’s lips twisted sardonically. “My slave.”

  Malik blinked. “Extraordinary. Has anyone imparted that information to her? Perhaps she is confused regarding the relationship. I would have sworn she thought you her slave.”

  “I intend to set that right quite soon.” Gage straightened the cover over Malik. Christ, he was going to live. It was too good to be true. “You should not be talking.”

  “So she said.” Malik’s gaze was still on the tent entrance. “But I feel much stronger now and my curiosity is aroused.”

  “Heaven help us.” Gage sighed and then answered, “She was the slave of Lord Richard of Redfern. We captured him during the battle and he bartered the woman for his freedom. He said she was a fine healer and it seems he told the truth. I would not have given a breath for your chances of living through the night.”

  “She saved me?”

  “It would appear so.”

  “Ah, an angel at my side,” Malik said. “I should have known when I saw her face. There is a radiance about her.”

  “Radiance?”

  “Did you not see it? When she smiled it was�
�”

  “She didn’t smile.”

  “No?” Malik frowned, puzzled. “I was sure she smiled. I felt as warm as if the sunlight touched me.”

  “Fever.”

  “No.” Malik’s brow cleared. “Oh, well, it is of no matter. I will know when I see her again.”

  “Know what?”

  “If cupid’s arrow has struck me to the heart.”

  “Dear God. Not again.”

  “This is different.”

  It was always different for Malik, and Gage could already see trouble on the horizon. He said with precision, “She is not an angel. When not tending Lord Richard’s wife, she plies her whore’s tricks on her master. He assures me she is very well taught in that respect.”

  “Poor maid.”

  “That poor maid has a tongue sharp as a dagger.”

  “What other weapons does a slave have? Her tongue, her body …” He looked questioningly at Gage. “You are not usually this intolerant with those less fortunate than you. Why does this woman—”

  “I told you not to let him talk.” Brynn strode into the tent, a wooden bowl in her hands. “But I walk out of here for only a short time and I come back to find you chattering. Do you wish to undo all my work? I should never have left you alone with him.”

  “He said he felt stronger.” Christ’s blood, he was actually on the defensive with the wench.

  “Of course he feels stronger. They always feel stronger than they are. We have to nurture that strength.” She knelt beside Malik’s pallet. Her voice changed, softened as she spoke to him. “Now, I’m going to feed you this broth and you must eat every bite. I know you have no hunger, but every morsel you eat will strengthen you. Do you understand?”

  Malik nodded, his intent gaze fixed on her face. “I understand.”

  She began to carefully spoon the broth into his mouth.

  Gage remained by the pallet for a few moments but began to feel completely unnecessary. The woman was ignoring him and Malik was totally absorbed in the broth and his angel. He rose to his feet and withdrew to his own pallet across the tent. He doubted if either knew he had gone.

  He settled himself cross-legged on the pallet and watched the woman feed Malik.

  Radiance? It must have been fever that had led Malik to use that word in referring to Brynn of Falkhaar. He could detect the fire of vitality, but her expression held no glow of human kindness. She was intent, almost stern, and he could sense the indomitable will of which he had been aware since she had walked into the tent. However, now that he studied her, he could see the comeliness that Lord Richard had tried to use as a lure. Her pale brown hair, tied carelessly back from her face, was of a fine thickness and fell nearly to her waist, and the loose brown gown she wore clung to her full breasts and broad shoulders before skimming the lines of a slim, strong body. Her mouth was large but well formed, and her other features had a pleasing symmetry. Her skin was not the pale alabaster lauded by troubadours, but its gold-toned clarity was near luminous in the dimness of the tent. Perhaps that luminosity was the radiance Malik saw in her.

  She must have sensed that he was assessing her, for she lifted her eyes from Malik’s face and met his glance. It lasted only a moment before she focused once more on Malik, but an impression remained with him.

  Defiance and … fear?

  As Malik said, she had few weapons and her situation was extremely vulnerable.

  If she did feel fear, she would not let him see it.

  He felt an unreasonable surge of irritation as he realized he wanted her to fear him. It made no sense. Malik was right. He didn’t make war on the helpless. Even though she had annoyed him, he should not feel this overwhelming urge to dominate and subdue.

  Yet he did feel it, blast it. From the first time she had looked at him he had experienced that tingle of antagonism.

  “There.” She put down the bowl and gently wiped Malik’s mouth with a cloth. “Now you must go back to sleep.”

  “I don’t wish—” Malik broke off and then said wearily, “Perhaps … I am a little tired.”

  “Of course you are.” She gently stroked his temple. “Your body has too much to do. It needs to rest.”

  “You’ll be here when I wake?”

  “I won’t leave you.” She settled down beside him and put her hand over the wound. “See, we will sleep together.”

  “Only sleep? What a waste …” He touched her cheek with his index finger. “Radiance …” He closed his eyes and the next instant was deeply asleep.

  But she was not asleep. Gage could feel her tension reach out to him across the room.

  “Why are you staring at me?” she hissed.

  “Because it pleases me. I find you … unusual.”

  She stiffened, and he was once again aware of the wariness of the woman. “There’s nothing unusual about me, and I don’t like people staring. Your friend is safe now. Have you no duties to attend?”

  “None more important than Malik.” He stretched out on his pallet, facing her. “And I’m tired too. You and Malik may have slept all day, but I didn’t.”

  “That was your own fault. I told you he was getting better.”

  “I didn’t trust you.”

  “I think you trust no one.”

  He smiled. “You’re wrong. I trust Malik.”

  “Then it’s good that he will live.” Her face clouded. “It’s a terrible thing not to be able to trust.”

  She was talking of herself, he realized. “Is there no one you trust?”

  She started to shake her head and then stopped. “I trust Selbar.”

  “Who is—”

  “Never mind.” As if regretting revealing a weakness, she hurried on. “And it is very foolish of you not to trust in me when you clearly know nothing of healing yourself.”

  “I know enough not to give up when a fool of a priest tells me there is no hope.”

  “That is true. It is important never to give up hope.” She closed her eyes. “Perhaps you are not so ignorant as I thought.”

  “Many thanks,” he said ironically.

  She did not answer, but he knew she was not drifting off to sleep. She was closing him away from her.

  Anger and annoyance flared in him again. He was happy Malik was on the way to recovery, but something about both the situation and the woman chafed at him unbearably. Just the sight of her lying there with Malik made him want to reach out and—

  What?

  He did not know, but the impulse was both primitive and violent. It could be he merely felt helpless. It was his custom to shape events in the way he wished them to go, and now he could not do it.

  Well, these circumstances would not last. Malik would heal and then Gage would once again be in control.

  He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. Selbar.

  Who in Hades was Selbar?

  Three

  October 16, 1066

  Redfern, England

  “I beg pardon for disturbing you, my lord,” Delmas said hesitantly. “I would talk with you about my wife.”

  Richard looked up from his goblet with a scowl. Christ, was his lot not bad enough without being approached by this whining rabbit? The slave had been hovering around him for the entire two days he had been back at Redfern. “Go away, or I will skewer you like a pig for roasting.”

  Delmas flinched but did not move from the doorway of the hall. “You must return her to me.”

  Richard took a drink of ale. “Must?” he repeated menacingly.

  “It’s not right to part husband and wife.”

  “Indeed?” Richard rose to his feet and moved a trifle unsteadily across the hall. He briefly regretted the amount of ale he had imbibed. It would impair his pleasure in punishing the impertinent swine. “You dare to tell me what I should do?”

  “It is only …” Delmas moistened his lips. “No, my lord. Whatever you do is proper. I’m sure you thought giving her to the Norman was for the best. It is only …” He suddenly burst o
ut, “I must have her back.”

  “A young wife is too full of juice and fire for a man of your years,” Richard gibed. “She will be much more content with the Norman.”

  Delmas hesitated. “What of your lady? She may have need of her.”

  Richard’s hand lashed out and knocked Delmas to the ground. “My lady is my concern and mine alone.” God in heaven, he was weary of the reproachful looks these minions had given him since he had returned. Even Alice had dared protest when he had taken her away from serving Adwen to use in his bed. Well, he had lessoned that slut and would teach respect to this whining rat. “Mine!” He kicked him in the stomach. “Keep your mouth and your—”

  “Forgive me, my lord.” Delmas skittered across the floor out of reach. “I merely thought Brynn would serve you better here than with the Norman. If you believe her to be of more service …” He got to his feet and stood gazing at him with desperation as Richard started toward him again. Then, as if coming to a decision, he said, “I sought only to save the treasure for you. The Normans have taken enough from us.”

  “Treasure?” Richard stopped. “What treasure?”

  “My wife knows where there is a great treasure trove.”

  “Liar.”

  “No, truly.” He took a step back. “I have not been able to force her to tell me where it is, but you are far more skilled. Think, my lord, William will have knowledge only of Redfern and your present wealth. When you retrieve the treasure, you could secret it away from him and use it to barter back your former stature.”

  The slave was probably lying, but a few questions would not hurt. “Where is this treasure?”

  “Gwynthal.”

  He did not recognize the name. “Wales?”

  Delmas frowned uncertainly. “I don’t think it is in Wales.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I found Brynn in the small village of Kythe in Wales. As I said, I could not force her to tell me anything about Gwynthal.”

  “Then how do you know about it?”

  “Everyone in the village knew of Gwynthal and the treasure. Her father boasted of it when he had too much ale. He was always mumbling something about an island.”