The Fire and the Sword (Men of Blood Book 2)

by Rosamund Winchester

  “Then we will go.” Elric suddenly felt happier than he had been in months. That is, until Glenn opened his fool mouth.

  “And, that is, if the lass doesna object.”

  Damn! Elric hadn’t thought about Minnette and how she’d probably be averse to taking the time for an extraneous stop along their journey, especially for something personal to him. But he’d be damned if he missed the christening of Tristin and Bell Heather’s first son. Though Bridgerdon was only a day’s ride away, Elric couldn’t bring himself to visit. Every time the idea came to mind, he’d slash it, telling himself he hadn’t the time, or that the two didn’t need his bloody arse hanging about. But he knew that what he was really doing was avoiding seeing the painful happiness and love that would be evident on their faces as they stared at one another as they had at their wedding, nine years ago.

  Realizing Glenn was staring at him, Elric grunted. “She will have to do as we do,” Elric intoned, knowing full well that the fiery Minnette would fight him the whole way to Bridgerdon. He looked forward to it. “Reeds, you will find a clean cot in the next room. The men there will grumble but they will welcome the company. There is stew in the pot. Have you already stabled your horse?”

  Reeds nodded, appreciation making his features relax. “Aye.”

  “Good then. Thank you for bringing such glad tidings.”

  With a salute, Reeds made his way to the room he’d share with four other men.

  Glenn stared after him, the usual distrust for strangers clearly written on his face.

  “You’d best follow after him. You should get some rest as well. There’s much to be done on the morrow.”

  Without a word, Glenn left Elric standing there, staring into the fire as the flames ate at the logs. The letter from Lord Kentwithe still in his hand, Elric thought about Kentwithe’s son, Tristin, Tristin’s wife, Bell Heather, and how truly momentous their celebration of life would be. It was to be a celebration of two hearts that had battled much to be together. Elric was happy for them. They deserved many blessings.

  And what of you? that small, raspy voice prodded from the hollow beside his heart.

  What of him? Did he deserve the same blessings? As if in response, the specter of his brother’s smiling face appeared before him; young, hopeful, overflowing with the joy and promise of youth. But in a blink, the specter decayed into a slimy, pale, bloated, putrid creature, the once joyous smile transformed into the horridly misshapen grimace of death.

  Gore rose into his throat, choking the last of his energy from him. Elric stumbled back to his chambers and collapsed on his bed, reconciling himself to a sleepless night.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Minnette pouted at the pile of clothes on her bed.

  I will have to sort through this and find something to wear on my journey south.

  With little time to sell the better gowns and cloaks for the money, she was left with only the few jewels she could hide on her person. She’d stop in a town, sell them, and then use that money to complete her journey. But until then, she had only the small bag of coins her maman had given her on her departure from France. Her maman told her to use it wisely, that there would be little more of it before she found herself a husband to support her.

  Well, her maman would be sorely disappointed by Minnette’s decision to follow in her aunt’s footsteps, right to her aunt’s door—if she could get there.

  Groaning she slammed her fist into her thigh. Frustration sizzled through her.

  What a poorly planned escape, Minnette, she chided herself, but there wasn’t time to plan in more detail. She only knew that Chatteris was south, her fiancé was north, and her escort was preparing to leave on the morrow. She had only now to decide what to take with her and what to do on the way.

  The day before, after her humiliating ordeal in her uncle’s study, she’d taken refuge in the kitchens. Enid and Twila, Enid’s assistant, took pity on her, plying her with sweets and conversation. She discovered that darling little Twila was a romantic, that she and one of the stable boys had a flirtation. It wasn’t until Minnette was laying in her bed later that night that she realized she could use that to her advantage.

  She’d simply ask Twila if she could ply her stable boy with sweets for a favor, perhaps arrange to have a horse saddled and ready, just after dark, so she could ride off into the gloom and never look back.

  First, though, she had to pack the small satchel she’d “borrowed” from Dorla, the ever sour-pussed chatelaine. Because the woman only ever looked at Minnette with disdain, Minnette didn’t feel an ounce of remorse for taking what belonged to her. If anything, she could have taken more, but she didn’t need more. And she wasn’t a thief exactly.

  Minnette selected a simple frock in pale yellow and shoved it into the satchel, along with a clean lightweight under tunic, and stockings, and her brush. What else will I need? Thanks to her conversation with Enid and Twila the day before, she knew the larder contained several loaves of freshly-baked bread, a slab of salted pork, and two bushels of apples. Before she headed to the stable, if she could get Twila’s stable boy to help, she’d stop in the kitchens to take a bit of the food for herself. No one would miss it, and she’d need something to fill her belly until she could risk appearing in a village along the way.

  There would be eyes in every village, and she knew the Homme du Sang wouldn’t take kindly to her slipping from their grasps—especially their commander.

  A vision of Sir Elric appeared in her mind; his wolfish smile, his commanding presence, the hardness of his body, the wickedness of his hands on her skin. But then she remembered how he looked standing before her uncle, that sharpness of his features, the coldness in his bearing, the blankness in his expression when he promised to deliver her to Glidden.

  Two different men resided in the same incredible body. What a pity.

  Determined to put the man from her mind for good, she rang the bell for Elspeth, ready to put her final ruse into motion. Before Elspeth arrived, Minnette made sure to hide the satchel beneath the armoire. There was no need to raise the girl’s suspicions.

  Thankfully, Elspeth arrived quickly, entering the bedchamber to aid Minnette in packing a trunk that would be traveling in the opposite direction of her final destination. If she were a woman of material arrogance, the loss of her belongings would bother her, but she had no care for the trappings of money or nobility. She longed for a simpler, happier life.

  It took several hours of packing and listening to a chatty chambermaid go on about how exciting the journey north would be, especially as her lady was being escorted by the “oh so gallant Homme du Sang.” Minnette stopped listening after that, letting the girl go on as she pleased. All the while, Minnette thought of what she must do next; procure a reliable mode of transportation. And if she couldn’t do that, she’d damned well walk all the way to Chatteris. By the time her trunk was packed, Minnette was mentally exhausted, but she didn’t have a moment to waste.

  Once Elspeth was gone, Minnette slipped from her chambers and headed down into the kitchens, not surprised to see the corridors empty of her uncle’s men. For guards meant to patrol the manse, they were becoming scarcer as of late, as if Uncle had sent them elsewhere.

  Entering the kitchens, Minnette was happy to see Enid and Twila again. As expected, they were working assiduously on dinner preparations.

  “Mistress, what’re ye doin’ in here again?” Twila asked, her hands wrist deep in fresh bread dough. “Never tell me yer uncle has done somethin’ again?” Minnette offered the girl a smile, grateful that she had a safe haven deep in the keep, where her uncle’s presence couldn’t touch her.

  “Non. I wish only to ask you something…” Minnette hesitated at the weariness in Twila’s eyes, even as she tried to look interested in whatever Minnette was about to say. You must ask her, this is your last chance.

  “Mistress,” Enid interrupted, “ye must be excited ’bout yer journey to Bridgerdon.”

&nbs
p; Minnette snapped her mouth shut against the sharp retort that arose. No, she wasn’t excited about her journey to—wait! “What is Bridgerdon?” she asked, her heart lurching.

  Enid looked at Minnette curiously. “Never say ye haven’t heard ’bout the change in plans?”

  Minnette crossed her arms, a pout forming on her lips. “No one tells me anything.”

  “Tis no surprise. Sir Elric asked that I not share the information, so that it doesn’t get to yer uncle.”

  Shocked, Minnette blurted, “But why ever not?” What was Elric hiding that her uncle needn’t know about? Was the wicked man planning to sell her rather than do his duty by her?

  “He didn’t say,” Enid replied, unaware of the panic coursing through Minnette.

  “And what are these plans?” she finally had the mind to ask.

  Shrugging, Enid informed her, “Sir Elric received word that the former commander, Tristin, and his bride are christenin’ their son within the week. They reside at Bridgerdon, ’bout thirty miles southeast. Sir Elric was asked to attend, and he gladly accepted. He and the men are excited ’bout the chance to see Sir Tristin and his bride again.”

  Minnette couldn’t stop the sliver of hope from moving through her blood. Sir Elric was planning to take her somewhere other than directly to her fiancé? That meant her opportunities for escape had increased.

  “Tell me of Bridgerdon? Who is this Tristin?” she asked, her mind spinning with new ideas.

  Twila giggled, her face flushing. “Sir Tristin tis as handsome as sin and as noble and fierce as an archangel.”

  Unsure of what to think about that, Minnette simply asked, “What of his bride?”

  Pulling a pan of bread loaves from the large oven, Enid placed the pan on the table and wiped her brow with the end of her apron.

  “Sir Tristin and his bride, tis a wonderful tale. He was sent to capture her for the Church, but they fell in love.”

  Twila sighed. “She was the village apothecary, and was accused of bein’ a witch. But no one believed a word o’ those lies.”

  Surprised by what she was hearing, Minnette remarked, “He married a commoner?”

  “Aye,” Enid replied. “And they make their home at Bridgerdon with the old earl.”

  “And Sir Tristin and Sir Elric are close?”

  Enid and Twila both nodded. “As close as brothers,” Enid answered. “When Sir Tristin renounced his place in the order, he handed the command over to Sir Elric.”

  “One cannot be married and remain within the order?” Minnette asked, her curiosity taking control of her tongue.

  “Nay. Ye can’t be married. But that is not why Sir Tristin left…” Enid seemed to pause to take measure of Minnette’s reactions. “Yer uncle tried to kill them both.”

  Minnette gasped, her blood turning to ice. “What? Why?”

  “Yer uncle didn’t like bein’ crossed, and since he’s the one who ordered Bell Heather—that’s Sir Tristin’s wife—arrested, he didn’t like that Sir Tristin stood against his wishes.”

  “So he tried to have them killed?” Minnette still couldn’t believe her uncle could be so heartless. Yes, you can.

  “Thank the Lord, Sir Tristin was only made to renounce his place in the order rather than die by hangin’.”

  Her hand flew to her throat, her breath choked. “Mon Dieu,” she murmured. A thought occurred to her then. “Why is Sir Elric still commanding the order if the order all but betrayed his closest friend?”

  Twila finished kneading her dough and placed it in a bowl, coving the whole thing with a moist towel.

  “It wasn’t the order that betrayed Sir Tristin,” she muttered. “The Homme du Sang nearly tore down the keep to get their commander back.” Twila refused to meet Minnette’s gaze, and Minnette realized why. Her uncle had been the betrayer.

  Her heart thudding, she swallowed the sick in her throat.

  “I am glad to hear that Tristin and his Bell Heather have found happiness.”

  As the ladies continued dinner preparations, the conversation turned to the coming Michaelmas festivals, and Minnette’s thoughts turned to how she could use the change in travel plans to her advantage.

  Back in her chambers, she sat on her bed, her thoughts continuing to spin through ideas and plans. Rather than procure a horse and risk escape while still at Cieldon, she could escape while everyone was preoccupied with the christening ceremony at Bridgerdon. Certainly, finding someone willing to give her a horse would be much more difficult, but she’d make do with her two feet. Recovering the satchel from beneath the armoire, she opened her travel trunk and slipped it inside. She’d retrieve it again once they were settled in for the night at Bridgerdon, where no one knew her face or her uncle, and she could slip out without anyone taking notice.

  She smiled, her hope growing despite the haziness of her plans. When her thoughts suddenly turned to the man who’d forced her to change her plans, she grunted. She hadn’t seen him since that day in her uncle’s study, but that hadn’t stopped her from thinking about him when she shouldn’t. He was the enemy, the man who would dispose of her like a parcel without a moment’s consideration for what she wanted.

  He is a knight, he is duty bound to do as commanded. Except that the previous commander hadn’t. He’d gone against her uncle for a woman. Perhaps…

  Non. Sir Elric didn’t love her, and she certainly had no desire to change that.

  With her mind still on the wretched Sir Elric Gadot, she settled down to sleep that night and dreamed of sweaty bodies, writhing together on a bed made of down and silks. She dreamed of a man’s hands, strong yet gentle, touching her, sliding callused palms over her heated flesh. She dreamed of moaning, and sighing, and explosions of pleasure. And when she awoke the next day, she remembered the face of the man who’d pleasured her, how utterly satisfied he looked—and how arrogant. She cursed his name.

  Elric, in full armor, rode beside Leon, who had taken up the rear position in the procession in order to watch for danger at their backs. Pierre and Glenn rode in the forward position, their eyes on everything, their bodies tense, alert. Bear rode on the left of their charge, his large sable destrier making the big man seem like a giant with four legs.

  And in the middle of them all, hedged by the kingdom’s most dangerous knights, rode Lady Minnette Calleaux, the woman who’d aroused him so greatly in his dreams the night before that he’d awoken that morning with more arousal than sense. He hadn’t done that since he was a green lad, fresh from his first tupping.

  Damn Calleaux! Both of them, the uncle and the niece. Damn the cardinal for his order and damn Minnette for getting under his skin and into his blood.

  Throughout that morning, before their departure, the men had jested with one another about how long they would have to wait for her ladyship to bless them with her presence. She was a highborn lady, after all. She would expect them to pander to her every wish and need. And not the kind Elric had dreamed of the night before. Moving from jesting to casting lots, they’d taken wagers. Pierre hadn’t wagered, but Glenn had wagered she’d make them carry the trunks on their backs, Leon had wagered, most modestly, that she’d arrive fifteen minutes late, and Bear had wagered she’d arrive on time but then refuse to depart until she had a proper send off.

  Knowing gently-bred ladies as he did, his own stepmother was a fussy bird, he’d wagered that she would arrive with at least five trunks, a haughtiness to match the extravagance, and would do so two hours after their scheduled departure time.

  They’d all lost.

  Lady Minnette was waiting for them when they made their way to the keep from the barracks. She had a single trunk. She acknowledged them with a simple nod, allowed Pierre to help her onto her mount, and said nothing to Elric. Not a single word.

  And it grated on his nerves more than any haughty word could.

  “Where is your maid, milady?” Bear asked when no one else exited the keep.

  “I have none,” she’d replied in accent
ed English. “I bring with me only what you see.”

  So the lady speaks English then? he’d realized. Immediately following, he refused to acknowledge the heat that blasted through him at the way her sultry voice moved over him. He thought her voice decadent when she spoke French. But her voice, accented as she spoke English, nearly made him groan. What he’d give to hear her speak thus as she lay beneath him, murmuring his name, telling him how good she felt and how incredible he felt inside her.

  How far I have fallen, that a voice could reduce me to this.

  They rode all afternoon, which surprised Elric, since they hadn’t stopped a single time. The lady, Minnette, hadn’t required a rest.

  Will she forever baffle me? Bewilder, frustrate, entrance. Enthrall. There was nothing about the woman that didn’t interest him.

  “We should stop, rest the horses, give the lady some time to refresh herself,” Leon said, dragging Elric from his lascivious thoughts.

  He grumbled, “Why? She seems perfectly capable of continuing on. She hasn’t said a word otherwise.”

  Leon huffed. “She is not the only one who might be in need of a rest.” Elric knew that his men would tire. They were weighed down by the encumbrance of their armor, but they were used to long, hot hours on horseback. Still. Sighing, he called out, “Glenn, ride ahead. Find someplace for us to stop. We will break for a rest.” When he’d begun to speak, he couldn’t miss the way Minnette’s shoulders tensed, and when he mentioned stopping for a break, those same shoulders seemed to sag a bit.

  She was tired. Despite the façade of silent strength she wore for them to see, beneath it, there was a woman desperate for respite. For a flicker of a moment, he wondered if she would deign to speak with him once they weren’t moving.

  The group rounded a bend and Elric spotted Glenn’s horse, Sluagh, grazing beside a grove of trees. As Pierre neared, he signaled a halt, letting them know they could dismount.