Suddenly, Thatcher spun on his toe and stormed toward the woods. His cold, hate-filled glare was the last image of him that Miranda witnessed before he disappeared. She rushed into the palace before collapsing in sobs.
She could hear the shouts of Brunon’s men as they captured her uncle and the rest of the knights. She never moved as they dragged the captives past her toward the dungeon. She flinched at the curses Thaddeus’s men threw her way. Her betrayal had sealed their doom.
Finally, a pair of boots stopped behind her. Mock applause filled her ears.
“Very well done, my sweet,” Brunon crooned. “You certainly convinced Thatcher that you do not love him. Your performance was beyond compare.”
“Please, leave me alone,” Miranda whimpered.
“Never, my love. If I leave you, you will dash into the woods after your lover as you have the past few weeks. You will tell him the truth. I cannot allow that to happen. You belong to me now.” Miranda burst into fresh tears. Brunon violently lifted her to her feet. “To your room, Miranda. I will not waste time marrying you. Before the sun sets the day after tomorrow, you will be my wife, I will execute your uncle, and we will be made king and queen. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Brunon,” she sniveled.
“What did you call me?”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard against the disgust that filled her. “My husband.”
“Very good. Now off to your room, pretty little wife.” Brunon tossed her ahead of him. Miranda caught herself before she fell. She glared at him as four of his men flanked her on all sides. They shepherded her to her bedchamber.
Miranda rubbed her arm through her sleeve. Without a doubt, her skin would bruise deeply from Brunon’s grip. His man threw open her chamber door and shoved her inside, slamming it behind her. Miranda crawled across her bed and collapsed against the soft mattress, her body shaking as she sobbed.
Chapter Five
The tavern was dark and dank. The only light was an amber glow from the fire in the hearth. The only thing the grimy glass windows let through was the scent of the salty sea air. Thatcher growled as he clenched his large, powerful hands around a mug full of ale. He couldn't believe what a fool he had been. Miranda had betrayed him from the start with her pleas to become his wife.
Had I only known then what a harlot she is.
He glanced up at the beautiful, buxom, blonde barwench as she sashayed by. Women all over the kingdom threw themselves at him, vying for a spot in the bed of one of the king's valiant knights. But Thatcher never gave them a second glance. His heart belonged solely to Miranda. The viper.
The barwench smiled at him and giggled, her tongue lingering a second longer on her lower lip than it needed to. Thatcher stared at her ruby lips. He wondered how they would taste. He wondered how her soft curves would feel pressed against his body. Suddenly, he pushed the ale away. He wouldn’t drown his broken heart in drink tonight. He would drown it in her.
And tomorrow morning, he would take the first ship that would get him far away from this kingdom. And Miranda's lying mouth.
He stood on command as the blonde scrunched her finger, beckoning him to her. But then, a weathered hand clamped down on his shoulder and forced him back on his stool.
"Lad, you want none of that," a deep, cracked voice behind him scolded. An old man slumped on the seat next to him, his gray eyes peering at Thatcher through dirty glasses.
"I most certainly do," Thatcher barked. "What makes you think I do not?"
"Because if you do, you will break the heart of the woman who loves you, the woman who needs you to return to the palace to rescue her."
Thatcher scoffed as he studied the old man with stringy, dirty, gray hair and grubby clothing. "Miranda does not love me. She said so with her very own lips."
The old man sighed. "Let me tell you a story, lad. I was once a count governing a beautiful land. I had married a beautiful girl. My life was blissfully happy. That was, until my maniacal brother arrived and demanded my title. We had both been gifted with magic, but he had increased his by studying the black arts. I laughed at him and told him to leave.
"In front of me, my brother cut the arm of my beloved with a dagger. He collected her blood in a vial. Then, he cast a spell over it. She began to cry out in pain and convulse. She was dead within moments. Once I was broken, my brother took my title then set his sights on the crown. If you do not hurry, he will succeed when he marries your Lady Miranda and executes the king."
"Brunon. But Miranda—"
"Did my brother cut you? Collect your blood? Was there any time since that you felt an excruciating pain you could not explain?"
Memories of the dungeon flooded Thatcher's mind as he instinctively lifted his shirt and touched the scar left by Brunon's dagger. His thoughts quickly fled to the battle before Miranda had spoken. He had felt as if he was being set on fire from the inside. But there was no fire, no wound.
The old man continued softly, "Yes, she lied to you. She lied to appease my brother and save you."
Thatcher shook his head to clear it. "The wedding and execution is tomorrow," he breathed.
"Then, I suggest you hurry."
Thatcher reached into his coin purse and slapped five gold pieces on the dirty, wooden counter. He dashed for his horse before turning back to give a final word of gratitude to the old man.
But he was gone.
Thatcher rode through the night, not bothering to rest. There was too much at stake. Pulling his horse to a stop at the base of the cliff that bore the castle, he frowned. With so much fanfare, due to the wedding and execution, there was no way he could sneak inside without anyone detecting him. A smile spread slowly across his face as he led his steed into the woods.
He ran his hand along the hard rock face of the cliff wall. His smile grew wider as he felt the crack in the stone. He wedged his sword in it then grabbed the handle. Grunting, he used his strength to pry open the door to the dungeon. After a few moments of hard labor, it obeyed.
Thatcher re-sheathed his sword as he slipped into the darkness. He listened carefully. He was not alone. There were people in the cells, scratching for freedom.
Thatcher snuck to the end of the hall, preparing himself for the uneven fight he was about to have. He was correct. There were three guards keeping watch, waiting for the moment to haul Thaddeus to his death.
Thatcher attacked, unarming one of the men before the other two realized he was there. The fight was brief. Thatcher stepped over the unconscious bodies with the dungeon door keys in his hand as he made his way back to the cells.
William glared at him hard as Thatcher unlocked the first one. "You deserted us," he accused.
"I know," Thatcher admitted. "What I did was unforgivable. But we need to free Thaddeus before he is executed. And I need your help rescuing Miranda."
William laughed. "After what she said to you?"
"She was lying to save me. Brunon's brother informed me of the ruse."
"What if he was lying?"
"William, I do not have time to argue this with you. Are you going to help me or not?"
William exhaled slowly. He extended his hand to Thatcher as a symbol of solidarity. "Aye, little brother. I am with you."
Thatcher shook it. "Good. And thank you. Now, let's free the others. I have a wedding to stop."
* * * *
Miranda shuffled through the hall with her maids flanked on either side of her. The open windows ushered in the deep scent of the evergreen trees that surrounded the palace. She was drowning in the many layers of white satin that enveloped her. Brunon was so thirsty for rule that he had demanded they be married in the throne room. The wedding then Thaddeus's execution then the coronation. Everything was neatly planned.
She sniffled as the doors were tugged open to announce her arrival. It did not matter. Thatcher was long gone. The hate-filled glare in his beautiful, blue eyes haunted her dreams. She was alone, dwelling on the thought of the torture that Brunon would
subject her to for the rest of her life.
Miranda froze as she caught sight of Brunon standing beside the bishop. She scowled at the clergyman until she noticed his leg chained to the heaviest candelabra. He was no more a willing participant of this circus than she was. Her small, silk-clad feet instinctively retreated as her heart pounded in her chest. I do not want this. No. This has to stop.
Brunon's eyes locked tight on hers as he pulled the vial of Thatcher's blood from his shirt. Miranda's thundering heart suddenly seized in terror. I have no choice. She approached those waiting for her, her head hung low in defeat.
She murmured her vows to Brunon quietly, refusing to look at him as she did so. He forced her to gaze into his cold, gray eyes as he pulled her to him for a kiss. She glanced quickly at the glass vial dangling freely from his neck. A slow, seductive smile graced her lips as she pulled Brunon to her, sealing their bond as husband and wife with a slow, deep, passionate kiss.
As her lips wandered over his, her hand grazed his chest. Carefully, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the silver chain. Then, she tugged on it as hard as she could, smiling triumphantly as it came loose. Miranda pulled free of Brunon's arms as she clenched the bottle in her fist.
His voice was cold as he calmly reached his hand out to her. "Miranda, give that back to me."
"No," she refused, as she let go a sob. "You have what you want. Thatcher is gone. I am now your wife. You can do with me as you please. You win. But I will not let you hold his life over my head every time I upset you." Raising the vial over her head, she plunged it to the stone floor. The glass shattered into shards, leaving tiny puddles of blood among the iridescent pieces.
Brunon laughed as he raised his hand in the air. "That was futile, Miranda. I can easily..."
Miranda glared at him, her green eyes defiant as she curtsied, soaking the drops into the skirt of her gown. Then, she shoved one of Brunon's men into the railing leading to the thrones perched on the platform. She stole the man's dagger, quickly cut free the material, and then rushed to the fireplace, throwing the stained fabric into the greedy flames.
Brunon flew across the room, wrapping his gaunt fingers tight around her neck, cutting off her breath. "You insolent wench. You will obey me. Every word I say. You will bear me sons to rule after me. The knight is a distant memory. Do you understand me?"
Miranda fought to pull his fingers from her throat as she struggled for air in her lungs. But he was far stronger. Her vision began to fade as her knees buckled. Dimly, she could see the silver tip of a sword appear against Brunon's own throat.
A deep voice from her most cherished memories echoed in her ears. "Let her go, Brunon. Miranda belongs to me."
Miranda greedily gulped air as Brunon released her. She crumpled to a heap on the floor. Rubbing her neck, she looked up. Towering over her with his sword drawn, stood Thatcher, his beautiful, blue eyes filled with hate that was directed at the count.
Brunon chuckled. "Isn't this sweet? Miranda's valiant knight coming to rescue her. Except she does not need rescued. She is my wife. And once Thaddeus is dead, I will be king."
"I would have to be your captive, Brunon." Thaddeus's voice boomed as he stepped from the shadows, flanked by his other twelve knights. "Clearly, I am not."
Brunon sneered at Thatcher. "It doesn't erase the fact that I have what you want."
"Miranda will no longer be your wife when I kill you."
Thatcher's threat sparked the battle. Miranda clenched her arms over her head as the sound of steel clashing against steel erupted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her husband stagger. Then, her body was suddenly ripped from the floor. She lost her focus as something dashed with her and dropped her on a hard seat.
Everything became clear again as Thatcher stared into her eyes. "Stay here. Do not move," he commanded before he re-joined the fight.
Miranda watched the bloody skirmish from the safety of her uncle's throne. One by one each of Brunon's men fell. The final casualty was Brunon himself, courtesy of Thatcher's sword. The knights and Thaddeus took inventory of each other, checking each other for wounds. All of them but Thatcher. His gaze locked tight on Miranda. He dropped his sword and ran to her, scooping her in his arms.
"You are safe," she breathed.
"Aye. And you are free," he replied.
"Thatcher, what I said. I lied. I had to. Brunon would have killed you. I love you with all my heart. Please, do not leave me. Ever."
He placed a victorious kiss on her lips. It was the sweetest that she had received in a long time.
* * * *
Miranda breezed down the sun-filled corridor of the palace, her pale blue gown whispering across the stone floor with every step she took. The happy chatter of the occupants of the castle floated from everywhere she turned. Even the birds in the garden trees sang joyfully. Everything was back as it should be. Her uncle was back on the throne. Peace was restored. His brave knights were out securing their kingdom.
She sighed. And Thaddeus was once again searching for her husband and the next king. He had been gone from the palace for the past two days. When he returned, a relieved look was etched deep in his face. He had just summoned her to the library to talk. She feared it was not good news for her.
Thaddeus stood as she entered the room. "Miranda, you look lovely today."
"Thank you, Uncle," she murmured.
He motioned her to a soft, plush, chocolate brown chair near his. "Please, have a seat. I need to speak to you." Miranda settled herself in the seat, fluffing her gown around her. She watched Thaddeus's chest rise as he took a deep breath to prepare himself. "Miranda, I have found you a husband."
She swallowed back a sudden sob. "I see."
"Let me explain. When your father was your age, I was searching for a bride for him. Little did I know, he had eloped with the daughter of the lord whose castle you can see from your bedchamber window. This gave him a lordship, along with being a prince. When he died, I did not give the title to anyone. I held it for you. I, Miranda, am the king. If there is title available to bestow, I can give it to anyone I wish. They need not have noble birth."
She stared at her uncle, confused. He chuckled. "Maybe someone else can explain it better. Ah, Miranda. Here he is. Meet your betrothed."
Miranda turned to the boot steps at the library door. She gasped. She did not know it was possible to laugh and cry at the same time, but she did it.
Standing in the doorway was Thatcher, dressed in the finery of a lord of the kingdom. His midnight blue tunic was finely woven with a gold thread and embossed with a royal crest. A linen shirt tufted from beneath it. His trousers were made of the finest material. His boots were handcrafted of the best leather. But the close-cropped, black hair and beautiful, sapphire blue eyes belonged to the man she had always and would always love.
Thaddeus continued, "I'd like you to meet Lord Thatcher, your husband."
Miranda jumped out of her chair, dashing to Thatcher. He caught her in his arms, wrapping them tight around her. He parted her lips with his in a warm, sweet kiss.
"But you rode out with the knights," she protested.
"Thaddeus recalled me. We've been talking for two full days about my new position. I've been to our new home. It is large enough to move our families in as well."
"Our families? You have a family. I have my uncle, and he has this palace."
"I invited your father, also. It does not matter if you do not share the same blood. He treasured you as a daughter. And you loved him as your father."
Miranda beamed at him. She could not believe he could ever be more perfect. With those few words of devotion about her and her father, she fell even deeper in love with him.
She was distracted as Thaddeus cleared his throat. "I will leave you lovers alone and start the preparations for the wedding."
Miranda pillowed her head against Thatcher's chest. "Thank you, Uncle."
"You are welcome, Miranda. There is no better choice in the kingdom t
o succeed me than Thatcher. He has proven that. He is the bravest of all my knights. Or was, now that he is a lord of the kingdom. If you will excuse me."
Miranda watched her uncle go before Thatcher placed another deep kiss on her lips. She sighed as they parted. Even though her life had made such an abrupt change, her dreams still came true. Her kingdom was at peace. She was soon to be reunited with the man who had raised her, the man she would always know as her father.
And her brave, handsome knight was safe and in her arms forever. Her life would be blessed and joyful. She would cherish every moment of her happily ever after.
*The End*
About the Author
Tricia Andersen lives in Iowa with her husband, Brian and her three children – her sons, Jake and Jon, and her daughter, Alex. She graduated from the University of Iowa with a Bachelor of Arts in English and from Kirkwood Community College with an Associate of Arts degree in Communications Media/Public Relations. Along with writing (which she loves to do), Tricia coaches and participates in track and field, does kickboxing, reads, sews and is involved in many of her children's activities.
Other Novels By Tricia Andersen
Black Irish (Black Irish #1)
Heartland (Black Irish #2)
The Troubles (Black Irish #3)
Trial By Fire (Black Irish #4)
The Assassin (Black Irish #5)
Queen of Savon
Breaking The Cycle (Hard Drive #1)
Breaking the Silence (Hard Drive #2)
Innocent ‘til Proven Guilty
The Heartbreaker (Hearts of Braden #2)
The Thirteenth Knight Page 6
