Dark Warrior (de Russe Legacy Book 9)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Cort fell silent, caressing her hands with his big fingers, acquainting himself with warmth he never thought he would feel under circumstances like this. He always thought that when he married, it would be an arranged one. A proper English marriage with a proper English lass. He never imagined it would be for love. But given that his parents married for love, he shouldn’t have been so cynical. In fact, his situation wasn’t unlike his parents’ situation had been, once.

  “When my father met my mother, they were both married to other people,” he said. “My father’s first wife was an arranged marriage and they hated one another, and my mother’s husband was a bastard of a man. He abused her terribly. When my father fell in love with my mother, he went through great lengths to annul both of their marriages and was met with the strongest opposition imaginable. He took it to the king, to the papal envoy, and pleaded his case before anyone who would listen. But no one did. My parents resigned themselves to the fact that they could never marry, but they did. Miracles happened to allow them to marry. You have never in your life seen any two people more in love than my mother and father. My point is that if we are meant to be together, then we will find a way. I will not stop until we do.”

  Dera felt a great deal of hope in that declaration, but also great deal of trepidation. It was all happening so quickly. “Mayhap you need time to think about this,” she said. “I would understand if you acted on impulse. It has been an emotional day for us all.”

  His head came off of the wall and he looked at her. “I do not act on impulse,” he said. “Rash decisions will kill a man, so I do not make them. Everything I told you was true and I shall stand behind that decision until the day I die.”

  She wanted so badly to believe it. “But I am Irish,” she said quietly. “And you serve Henry. Both Dillon and my brother have told me that you are the most elite of all knights. What on earth is the king going to think of you, taking an Irish wife?”

  Cort shrugged. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “That is a situation I will deal with when the time comes. There is no use worrying over something that has yet to even happen.”

  Dera could see that he meant it. He was resolute in all things, unapologetically so. She admired that quality a great deal.

  But it also terrified her.

  Without another word, she scooted over to him, sitting down next to him and tucking herself into the crook of his big torso. As she cuddled against him, drawing on his heat and strength, Cort wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. That moment, that sweet and precious moment, was the culmination of the proper English knight and the Irish rebel who had found common ground, and common feelings, with one another.

  It was a moment seared into their hearts and souls, knowing what they would be facing because of it. Hardly believing any of it was real.

  But it was.

  Cort should have been lamenting this turn in his life. He should have been kicking himself for it. But he couldn’t, not when feeling Dera in his arms was the most natural thing he’d ever known. She belonged there, as surely as the sun belonged in the sky. It was the natural order of things and something he would fight to defend to the death.

  He found himself praying it didn’t come to that.

  Come what may, he belonged to her forever.

  They were still waiting for Cort to return to Denys’ solar, but Brend told the man he needed to take a piss.

  That wasn’t the total truth.

  It was an excuse to leave the solar to clear his head and try to come to grips with everything that had happened. His father and brother were dead. Two more brothers and his mother were possibly hostages.

  And Dera had confessed everything with hardly a moment’s hesitation.

  That’s what had him so angry.

  It wasn’t the mere fact that she’d confessed. He didn’t care that she’d betrayed the rebels who had clearly betrayed her by capturing Mount Wrath. He didn’t give a lick about those bastards. What he did care about was the fact that in divulging the information she knew, and in telling Denys who she was, she took away Denys’ bargaining chip with Brend. Denys’ had offered Brend permission to marry Arabella in exchange for information on his sister.

  Now, that bargain was no longer needed.

  Aye, Brend told Denys that he didn’t need to be bribed but, deep down, that wasn’t the truth. The more he’d thought about it after the fact, the more he intended to accept Denys’ offer. Why shouldn’t he? The death of half of his family had him thinking that he didn’t have a family any longer. His life in Ireland had been so long ago, people he’d only seen a handful of times since he’d been sent to England as the legacy knight.

  All he had was Arabella and he wanted her badly.

  But he was afraid that Dera had ruined all of that.

  So, he wandered out to the bailey in search of the garderobe near the gatehouse that overhung the moat. But there was a horde of soldiers in the bailey as the posts were switched for the coming night and he had no desire to talk to anyone, so he turned and headed back into the garden that was behind the keep. It was quiet back there and he could take a piss in the bushes. He could also think.

  Think about a future that was slipping away from him.

  As he entered the garden with its flowering vines and pond of silver fish, he immediately caught sight of Arabella. She was sitting in the rays of the afternoon sun, sewing on something. She was always sewing on something. Their last words had been so very harsh and his heart ached at the sight of her, wondering if he should simply turn around and leave.

  But he couldn’t.

  At this time of year, the roses were in bloom and he could see Arabella’s head over the tops of the pink roses with the lavender spears planted between them. He stood there a moment, staring at her, feeling deeply grieved over their harsh words in the stable. Even if she never wanted to speak to him again, he had to make the attempt to at least apologize. He couldn’t leave the situation between them as it was.

  Taking a deep breath, he made his way towards her, his focus never leaving her. The wooden bench she was seated upon was backed against a hedge and her head was down, concentrating on what she was doing. Brend was about ten feet away from her when he spoke softly.

  “Greetings, Bella,” he said quietly.

  Her head shot up, startled by his appearance. For a moment, her expression suggested that she was glad to see him. But quickly, she suppressed her natural reaction to him. She fought off any joy his presence might have brought.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, returning her focus to the fabric in her hands. “You do not normally come to the garden.”

  “Not normally,” he agreed. “But today… today is different.”

  “Why?” she asked, resuming her sewing.

  “Because we received a missive from Ireland,” he said. “Mount Wrath has fallen. My father and one of my brothers were killed.”

  Her head snapped up to him, her eyes wide with shock. “Oh… Brend,” she said, her hard manner suddenly gone. “I am so sorry to hear that. Please accept my sympathies.”

  He forced a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “May I sit, please?”

  She nodded without hesitation, setting her sewing aside as he planted himself on the bench next to her. She was looking at him with great concern.

  “What of your mother and your other brothers?” she asked. “Are they well?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “We are told they have been captured, but there’s no way to know if that’s true. Your father is preparing to assemble a great army to leave for Ireland within the month. I suppose we shall discover what has become of my mother and Declan and Finn at that time.”

  “So it was Ardie who was killed,” Arabella said. She knew the MacRohan family by heart. Reaching out, she put her hand on his big forearm. “Truly, Brend, I am very sorry for you. I can only imagine how grieved I would be to lose Dillon or Damey.”

  Brend looked
at the hand on his arm, feeling the heat from her palm through the tunic sleeve. But he made no move to touch her. Still, her warmth against him broke him down. The emotions began to pour forth.

  “Bella,” he murmured. “As I live and breathe, I cannot be without you. I am sorry for the things I said to you in the stable. I love you; I have always loved you and I will always love you, and there is no one else in the world that I love more than you. I should not have made it sound as if you were not important to me, for the opposite is true. Therefore, I must ask you a question.”

  The hand on his arm turned soft and caressing. “There is no need to ask my forgiveness,” she said softly. “You know I do not stay angry with you very long. I never could.”

  He looked at her, giving her a crooked smile. “That was not what I was going to ask you.”

  “What, then?”

  “Will you become my wife?”

  It was her turn to smile, a gentle smile that turned rather soft and giddy. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

  “Tell me. Please.”

  “Of course I will.”

  Brend lifted her hand, kissed it, and put it back in her lap. That was usual when they were together, in public where anyone could see them. Contact between them was very limited.

  “Your father made a bargain with me earlier,” he said. “He offered your hand in marriage and the command of Chateau da Garosse in Bordeaux if I provided him with some information he was interested in. I am going to accept his offer but I wanted to ask you first if I have your permission to do so.”

  Arabella was looking at him in astonishment. “My father offered you my hand in marriage?”

  “Aye.”

  “But… but he does not know about us!”

  Brend snorted ironically. “Bella, he knows much more than you give him credit for. He knows and he is surprisingly untroubled by it. He knows we cannot wed here in England, so he wants us to go to France where our marriage will be legal.”

  It was everything they’d ever spoken of, toyed with, and dreamed of. Arabella could hardly believe her ears. A hand flew to her mouth and tears filled her eyes, overcome with emotion.

  “Is it true, Brend?” she whispered tightly. “Did you tell him we had discussed that, time and time again?”

  “I did not tell him. The suggestion came from him before I ever said a word.”

  “Then he knows it is the only way, too,” she said, growing excited. “He knows the only way for us to be happy is to go to France. Can we finally live the dreams we are always speaking of?”

  It was an effort for him to not reach out and pull her to him. He wanted to so very badly. “I believe so,” he said. “But first, there are things you should know. Your father is amassing an army to go to Ireland to regain Mount Wrath, as I told you, and I am expected to go as well. I will fight to regain the home I was born in. That means we cannot go to France until your father’s properties in Ireland are settled, which may take some time.”

  “How much time?”

  Brend shrugged. “I have no way of knowing,” he said. “It could be a year. It could be two. Or it could be six months. I am asking you to be patient and wait for me to return because I must do this first. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “I do,” she said. “But I would wait a thousand years if it meant we could be together in the end.”

  He smiled. “As would I,” he said. “But each passing hour will be like torture until I see you again. Until I am able to take you in my arms without fear.”

  Arabella looked around the garden; they were quite alone. Boldly, she turned to him. “May I ask you to kiss me, Brend? We are celebrating our betrothal, after all. It is not too much to ask, is it?”

  His smile grew. Instinctively, he looked around as well, making sure there was no one to witness their clandestine and illegal action, and he cupped her face in his big hands and slanted his lips over hers tenderly. It was enough to cause the tears in Arabella’s eyes to overflow, so sweet and gentle was his kiss, but he ended it quickly. He had to. Arabella wiped at her face, feeling the emotion of the kiss down to her very soul.

  “I long for the day when we will not have to hide what we feel for each other,” she said.

  “As do I,” he said, feeling rather lightheaded after such a delicious kiss. “It will come soon enough and these days of hiding our love will be only a memory.”

  Arabella wiped the last of her tears away, smiling brightly at him. But her smile faded as she spied something on the left side of his face.

  “Brend?” she said, peering at his jaw. “What happened to your face? Where did that bruise come from?”

  Brend knew what she meant. With his pale skin, any blemish was quite obvious. “There is more to the missive about the fall of Mount Wrath,” he said, gingerly touching the sore spot. “The castle is in the possession of Irish rebels. I am not sure how much you know about the rebels, or their supporters, but my sister is one of them. Dera is part of the rebellion. Did she ever tell you that?”

  Arabella’s shocked expression returned. “Nay,” she said. “She has never said a word. Are you certain?”

  “I am.”

  Arabella shook her head. “She never said a word to me, not a word,” she said. “Does my father know this?”

  “He does now,” Brend said. “When we were told news of our father’s death, I will admit that I blamed Dera. The mark you see on my face is from Cort striking me.”

  Arabella’s eyes bulged. “Cort?” she repeated. “De Russe?”

  “Do you know another Cort?”

  She shook her head, her expression full of disbelief. “Nay,” she said. “But Cort would not hit you. He loves you!”

  Brend shrugged. “I know,” he said. “But he thought I was threatening my sister.”

  “Were you?”

  He shook his head. “I grabbed her arm, though I do not recall doing it. I suppose I was going to take her to the vault and lock her up, infuriated that she would help the rebels that killed our father. I don’t even know why I grabbed her, but I did. She is in the vault now, in fact.”

  “God’s Bones,” Arabella gasped. “She is a prisoner?”

  Brend nodded. “I know she is your friend, Bella,” he said. “But she hates everything English. You would do well to stay away from her until the situation eases. It is far too volatile, so it would be best if you simply stayed clear of it. That goes for Damey and your mother, too, though I am sure your father will tell them. Do you understand?”

  Arabella nodded solemnly. “Of course, Brend,” she said. “But Dera… are you truly certain she is a rebel?”

  “I am.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “Since she arrived.”

  “And you never told me?”

  “It was not your business,” he said. “Besides, she had made a friend of you and you seemed to like her a great deal, and I thought… I hoped… that might ease her fearsome hatred of the English.”

  Arabella was greatly distressed over Dera, but it brought their most recent conversation to mind.

  “She told me just the other day that I had changed her mind about stuffy English lasses,” she said. Then, she sighed heavily. “Oh, Brend, I am greatly troubled over this. Dera is in the vault, you are going to Ireland…”

  He shushed her gently. “I know,” he said. “But you are strong. I know you will continue to be strong. Now, I must return to your father before he comes looking for me, but I wanted you to know what has happened. We must all be strong from now on. Promise me?”

  She nodded sadly. “I do.”

  He smiled encouragingly as he stood up, looking down at the top of her blonde head. “There’s a good lass,” he said softly. “Smile for me, now.”

  Arabella looked up at him. She was completely prepared to comply with his request and bid him a fond farewell but, somehow, she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t. Her eyes began to well and she lowered her head.

  “I c
annot,” she wept. “You are going to war and I cannot pretend that all will be well. We’ve endured two years of our love and I’ve only kissed you twice. I am sorry, Brend, I am truly trying to be strong, but I simply cannot do it any longer. What if you go away and never come back? Are two chaste kisses the only things I will ever have to remember you by? Is that what my life will become? Mourning a man I never fully knew?”

  She was becoming loud and Brend looked around to make sure no one could hear them. He didn’t see anyone, but it only emphasized what she was saying. They’d always had to hide their feelings from one another, being so close but yet so far.

  It had been a painful existence.

  It wasn’t something he was content with, either, but there wasn’t anything they could do about it. She knew that, but that didn’t help her distress. It only made it worse. He took a step closer to her, greatly concerned that she was so upset.

  “Please, Bella,” he said softly. “I know this is difficult, but…”

  With a heaving sob, she stood up, covering her nose with the sewing in her hand. Weeping, she ran off, heading towards a small room that was tucked into the thickness of the garden wall. It was where the servants kept their gardening implements, guarded by an iron door because sometimes they stored things in the room that could be considered valuable, like flower or vegetable seeds. The door could be locked to guard the precious stores.

  Against his better judgment, Brend followed. He simply couldn’t leave her like this. She rushed into the small room, sobbing as if her heart were broken, and he stepped in behind her, watching her as she stood over by a dirty table shoved up against the wall where plants were often kept. There was a small, barred window above the table, allowing light to enter.

  With a heavy sigh, Brend closed the door behind them.

  Silently, he made his way over to her, thinking of what to say. This was an extremely rare private moment, with no eyes or ears to be fearful of. In fact, he could take her in his arms if it pleased him and the thought was not only unfamiliar, but terribly exciting. There was never a moment in time between them that they were alone enough to do as he pleased.