Dark Warrior (de Russe Legacy Book 9)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Softly, he knocked.

  “Lady Dera?” he said quietly. “May I enter?”

  There was no immediate reply, but he heard movement. Suddenly, the door was flying open and Dera was standing there, quickly wiping the tears from her red-rimmed eyes.

  “If you’ve come to shout at me, don’t bother,” she said unhappily. “Brend did an efficient job of it.”

  Cort cocked an eyebrow. “I did not come to shout at you.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “To see how you were feeling.”

  Dera had her defenses up. “I am feeling well, thank you.”

  “You have blood all over your dress.”

  She looked down at herself, quickly, as if only just realizing that was true. There was blood on her arm, her chest, and down her skirt.

  “I… I will wash it away,” she said. “You may go, Cort.”

  He didn’t budge. Instead, he folded his enormous arms across his chest and leaned against the doorjamb.

  “You realize that Brend had every right to scold you,” he said quietly. “So do I. It was my opponent you killed.”

  She stiffened and turned away from him. “I told you that I didn’t need another scolding.”

  “And I am not scolding you,” he said. “I am simply making a point. Where did you get the knife?”

  She was at the window by this time, looking out over the blue expanse of sky. “The same place you purchased the garbage.”

  “They gave it to you?”

  “I took it.”

  Cort watched her as she gazed from the window. Honestly, she didn’t look like any warrior he’d ever seen. She was pale and beautiful, with slender arms and lovely hands, and nothing like a warrior legend. She looked like any sweet, delicate lady he’d ever seen.

  But the truth was that she wasn’t a delicate lady.

  She was a killer.

  “Your motives were noble,” he said as he came into the chamber, quietly shutting the door. “I understand you only meant to help. That is an honorable intention. But the reality is that you plunged into a fight of six fully armed knights and you could have been killed. That is why Brend scolded you; he was terrified that he was going to lose his sister.”

  Dera could hear his voice, soft and sweet and low, behind her. She’d also heard the door shut quietly so she knew they were alone in the chamber. Something about that was terribly exciting, which distracted her from the hurt she was feeling. Now that hurt was coupled with the thrill of being alone in a chamber with Cort de Russe. He was handsome and charming, brilliant and strong. He was an elite among men.

  But he was also English.

  If only…

  She couldn’t even entertain the thought.

  “Before the fight started, you said you wanted to know about Ireland from my perspective,” she said, turning to look at him. “Do you still want to know?”

  He looked at her, surprised at the change in subject. “Now?”

  “Why not?”

  After a brief moment’s thought, he sat down on her bed. “Go head,” he said. “Indeed, I do want to know.”

  When he sat down as if making himself comfortable, Dera eyed him. “Standing by the door is one thing,” she said. “But sitting on the bed is quite another. If Lady Alais finds you here alone with me, she will not go easy on you.”

  He grinned. “I know,” he said. “But the old girl needs something to liven up her dreary life, so let her fume if she finds me here. It would be worth it.”

  Dera struggled not to smile. “Worth it to see her angry with you?”’

  “Worth it to be alone with you.”

  The humor in Dera’s eyes faded. “Me? Why me?”

  Cort simply shrugged, giving her one of those flirtatious looks that seemed to work wonders on every woman he met. “Tell me about Ireland,” he said, avoiding her question. “Let me learn something from you that I did not know. Let me learn what they teach women in Ireland that would cause a woman as beautiful and strong as you to risk her life in a fight.”

  Dera was unsure what to say, mostly because she was starting to become nervous. Worth it to be alone with you. Is it possible he could have meant such a thing?

  Surely, it was only idle flattery.

  … wasn’t it?

  She came away from the window.

  “I am happy to tell you of my land,” she said. “But I cannot believe you would call me beautiful and fine after everything that has happened today. Truly, the entire day has been filled with disaster.”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “But I haven’t,” she said. “Can we start over? Can we pretend we just met one another and start over?”

  He smiled at her. “I do not want to start over,” he said. “I want to remember a courageous lass who ate garbage.”

  She started to laugh. “It was shameful. I should not have done that.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Are you? Why?”

  “Because I do not know many English lasses who would have had the courage to do that. I told you that you have my respect. I meant it.”

  “Eating garbage has your respect but killing a man does not?”

  His smile faded. “I will repeat what I told you,” he said. “You came to a swordfight with a knife. Was that foolish or brave?”

  “I went to help,” she said seriously. “All I wanted to do was help. I could see you fighting a man who wanted to kill you and it made me want to kill him, and I did. I do not regret it.”

  He stared at her a moment before his smile returned. “My lady, how chivalrous,” he said. “You wanted to kill for me.”

  Her cheeks flushed, realizing what she’d said. “You have been very kind to me, Cort,” she said. “May I call you Cort? Not many people have been kind to me since I arrived. They hear my Irish speech and immediately turn their backs on me. As if I am lower than the earth they walk upon.”

  There was sadness in her words. He could hear it. A young woman transplanted into the land of strangers and enemies. Rebel or not, he could only imagine how she must have felt. It certainly didn’t help the situation. He patted the bed next to him.

  “Sit down,” he said softly.

  Dera did, looking at him attentively. He took a moment to study her, the gentle slope of her face, the brightness of her eyes. Truly, she was an exquisite creature in every sense of the word.

  “You may call me Cort,” he said quietly. “And you are not lower than the earth we walk upon. You are an equal as far as I am concerned, and so is your brother. But I want to know about this lady who knows how to use a knife so well. Who taught you such skill?”

  “I have always known how to defend myself,” she said, averting her gaze. “I learned to fight from my brothers. Declan didn’t think it was seemly for a woman to know how to fight, but Finn and Ardie would fight with me and teach me things.”

  “What about your parents? What did they think?”

  She shrugged. “My father let me do as I please, but my mother tried to balance my education,” she said. “As my brothers let me fight, she would teach me to cook and sew. She tried very hard to make me a lady.”

  “I think she did a fine job,” he said. “But given what is happening in Ireland right now, I do not think that learning to defend yourself is unseemly. From what I’ve seen, you’ve had the opportunity to use those skills.”

  He was a man with an eye for battle and he recognized someone who had fought before. Dera realized that and she wasn’t going to add any more fuel to the fire. He saw her in action; she couldn’t deny what he saw. But she wasn’t going to confess to anything. Not even if it was true.

  She lowered her gaze.

  “Ireland is in turmoil right now,” she said. “As a MacRohan, I am viewed as a traitor, you know. Everyone thinks my family has betrayed Ireland.”

  “Why?”

  She looked at him, sharply. “Because we have sworn an oath to de Winter,” she said as if it were completely ob
vious. “That makes us traitors.”

  “Do you think you are a traitor?”

  She shook her head without hesitation. “I am not a traitor to my country,” she said. “But it is difficult with the MacRohan name. Do you know there was a time when our oath to de Winter was respected? Our family was viewed with prestige and honor. There have been at least fourteen legacy knights with de Winter and almost all of them have married English brides. Marriage between the English and Irish only became illegal recently, you know.”

  Cort nodded. “I know,” he said. “Had Bella and Brend’s romance happened at any other time, it would not have been an issue.”

  Dera sighed faintly. “I feel so badly for Bella. She truly loves my brother.”

  “You do not feel pity for your brother?”

  She simply shrugged. “After today, I am sure he is not happy with me, so I am not certain what I feel for him. He’s… he’s different than what I had expected.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve only seen Brend five or six times in my life. We did not grow up together. He’s very…”

  “English?”

  She nodded. “Aye,” she said slowly, as if that was something to be ashamed of. “English.”

  The latch on the door suddenly lifted and in came Arabella, holding a tray with a pitcher and cups. She frowned when she saw Cort and Dera sitting next to one another on the bed.

  “Cort,” she hissed. “Be gone with you. My mother is on her way here.”

  Cort stood up quickly. “Lady Alais would not be beyond boxing my ears.”

  Dera was still sitting on the bed. “You just told me that you hoped to get the woman riled up because her life was so dull. Was that only talk, Cort?”

  He flashed her a grin. “Of course not,” he said. “I am happy to face her with my sins, but she would scold you as well and I do not think you could take another scolding today.”

  Dera smiled. “That is more than likely true,” she said. “Thank you for coming to speak to me. I am grateful.”

  He was moving to the door. “This is not the end of our conversation,” he said. “I will return another time and we shall continue this.”

  “How about later today?”

  “Tell me when and where and I shall be there.”

  “The kitchen yard in an hour.”

  Cort didn’t question her. He simply nodded. “If that is your wish, I shall be there.”

  Arabella had set the tray down and now she was waving her hands at him. “Cort, go,” she said. “Go before you are in a world of trouble with my mother.”

  Cort winked at Arabella and cast Dera a lingering glance before slipping from the chamber. He didn’t take the stairs immediately, however. He remained hidden in a doorway until Lady Alais made her way up the stairs and into Dera’s chamber. Once she disappeared, Cort quickly descended the stairs and headed out into the day beyond.

  He had a date in an hour with a particular Irish lass he didn’t intend to miss.

  Dera didn’t think Lady Alais and Arabella would ever leave.

  Both women remained in her chamber for nearly an hour and they only departed when Dera pleaded exhaustion. It had been a trying day, she said, and she needed to sleep. They left her to rest, going about their business, but rest was the last thing Dera had in mind.

  She had a man to meet.

  Why on earth she should be so eager to meet Cort in the kitchen yard was beyond her. It was increasingly confusing. Certainly, he was handsome and her goal had been all along to charm the man into spilling his guts but, unfortunately for her, the reverse seemed to be happening.

  He was charming her.

  It just wasn’t possible!

  Dera talked herself into believing that he was simply falling for her somehow. Perhaps he felt pity for her or perhaps he was simply bewitched by her beauty, for certainly nothing she did today could have charmed the man. But that was of no matter; she had his attention and she intended to keep it.

  She had a plan.

  The day before Cort had come to Narborough, Dera had spent the day in the kitchens with Lady Alais and Arabella, making several special Irish dishes that Dera had been longing for. The remains of some of those dishes still lingered in the cold storage of the vault, as she’d hid them away so she could enjoy them in the days to come.

  She was going to give them to Cort. If the man wanted to learn about Ireland, she was going to start with the food.

  After Alais and Arabella had left her, she’d quickly changed out of her bloodied gown, a garment Lady Alais hadn’t even commented about. The woman either pretended not to see the bloodstains or she really hadn’t noticed, which Dera found hard to believe. In any case, she had said nothing.

  After a quick wash in cold rosewater, she changed into a dark green dress, one made from sturdy wool, gathered under her breasts and free flowing. It was easy to move in as well as being comfortable. She’d hurriedly run a comb through her hair and braided it. Tossing the comb aside, it fell onto the floor but she didn’t bother to pick it up. She fled the chamber for the kitchens.

  The kitchens of Narborough were built into the vault level, meaning they were essentially under the keep with one heavily-fortified door that had steps up into the kitchen yard. The walls of the kitchens were earth, supported by stone, which made the two big rooms quite insulated and quite warm. They were also attached to the vaulted storage area by a heavy door that remained closed in order to keep the vaults cool for storage.

  Dera descended into the steamy warmth of the kitchens, greeted by the two female cooks, sisters with a great deal of experience in cooking just about anything. They were busy with preparations for the evening meal and Dera proceeded into the vault where the Irish food was stored in covered baskets.

  The first dish she came across was something called crisps. They were flat circles of dough that had been brushed with honey. When warm, they were soft and delicious, but these had been cooled for a few days, so they were hard but still delicious.

  The second dish was a type of cherry bread. Literally, it was cherries, butter, wine, eggs, and breadcrumbs that had been mashed and mixed and baked so it puffed up. The top was then brushed with honey. It was a MacRohan favorite and Dera had seen it made a hundred times, usually in the summer after the fresh cherry harvest, but Narborough had bags of dried cherries in the vault that had worked just as well.

  The last dish had been her favorite. It was made from fowl, in this case chicken, which had been roasted with a coating of rosewater. The chicken was then cut into little pieces and baked in small pies that were then sprinkled with cinnamon. There were a few left and Dera ate one as she piled everything into a big, straw basket. With her culinary booty in-hand, she fled from the kitchens and out into the yard.

  Cort was already waiting for her.

  He caught sight of her as she came up the stairs from the kitchen lugging a big basket. With a smile on his face, he headed towards her, holding up his hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun.

  “I thought I was going to be alone, left to my sorrows and solitude because you did not come,” he said as he went to her. “Instead, you join me with baggage in your hand. Where are you going?”

  Dera realized that she was glad to see him. Just the sight of him was enough to make her grin like a fool. She rather liked the feeling that Cort seemed to give her, something giddy and warm. As if she had birds fluttering around in her belly.

  It was a sweet feeling she’d never experienced before.

  But, oh… such a dangerous feeling. She should have fought it. Ignored it at the very least. But she couldn’t bring herself to. Not when Cort’s charming grin was succeeding in melting her heart.

  “We are going someplace away from Narborough so I can tell you about Ireland,” she said. “You wanted to know and I’ve yet to have the opportunity to tell you. We keep getting interrupted.”

  He had a smile on his lips even if he didn’t seem entirely sure what was going
on. “Where do you wish to go?”

  Dera nodded her head in the direction of the postern gate. “There is a very big lake out there that is fed by the River Nar,” she said. “There are trees surrounding it. I thought we could sit by the lake until the sun sets and continue our conversation.”

  He shrugged. “As you wish,” he said, reaching out to take the basket. He peered inside. “What are you bringing?”

  She leaned towards him. “Irish food,” she said with a wink. “I’m going to tell you about Ireland and feed you some of the food we like to eat.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  “Then let us hurry.”

  With that, she headed out of the postern gate, followed by Cort and the basket. Narborough Castle sat in a clearing, surrounded by several lakes and streams, and a good-sized river feeding the extreme amount of water in the area.

  As they headed to the lake, they passed through groves of trees, embraced by the willows that surrounded the large, bucolic lake. The lake itself was thick with reeds and floating lilies, and fish could be seen darting about just below the surface. Dera sat right at the edge and Cort sat beside her, putting the basket between them.

  “I have not been out here in years,” Cort said, looking over the lake. “I’d forgotten it was even here. I always enter Narborough through the gatehouse and the walls hide the beauty that is back here.”

  Dera was looking over the lake, also. “This was the very first place Bella ever brought me when I arrived,” she said. “It is one of the few places I am allowed to go.”

  Cort glanced at her, his conversation with Denys rolling around in his mind. She is a hostage. But he didn’t want Dera to know that he knew that.

  Not just yet.

  “I am certain it is for your own protection,” he said. “You are in a strange land. Sir Denys does not wish to see you come to harm.”

  Dera smiled thinly as she turned to the basket and pulled back the cloth that partially covered it.

  “I am in a strange land, that is true,” she said. “But it is not for my protection.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I am a hostage, Cort. Surely you realize that.”