Betrayal and Yearning_A Fantasy Romance

by Eve Redmayne

  Unable to defend himself, Braum hunched forward as Wycliffe struck him across his ribs, abdomen, and face without leniency. Agonizing minutes passed before Wycliffe paused to wipe the blood from his split knuckles on his shirt, then resumed.

  Even as Wycliffe hit him, Braum had the audacity to look over at her and wink. Though his left eye was swollen shut, the right still worked.

  Is he crazy? If Wycliffe saw Braum, it’d only incense him more.

  Fighting the urge to vomit, she watched helplessly, unable to summon her powers. And Wycliffe held nothing back, not seeming to care Braum couldn’t fight back. Finally, Braum fell to his knees, unable to remain standing. Chest heaving, Wycliffe kicked Braum once more, this time firmly on his bad leg.

  The magical battalion that existed within her stirred, leaving her anxious and ready to kill. Instead, she bit her lip and calmed herself. While she hated watching Braum take this beating, she felt it best to wait and save them both under the cover of mystery. But if she thought for a second Braum’s life in danger, she’d find the strength to destroy Wycliffe.

  ***

  Braum took a shuddering breath as Wycliffe’s fury waned. He’d not made a sound during the thrashing and had kept the madman’s attention from Jessica. And while he didn’t believe Wycliffe capable of rape, he’d endure a hundred more poundings to protect his wife.

  “Is that all you got?” He grinned, tasting blood. “I’ve had worse beatings at the hands of my mummy when I was a bad, little dwarf.” He gave Jessica another wink. The man resumed pummeling him, kicking his stomach and back. Still, on his knees, the height made him an easy target.

  The crowd had long ceased cheering. They stayed because of royal decree, but many had turned their heads, and mothers shielded children under aprons or behind skirts. The shock of seeing their prince forcibly strip the woman they’d thought would be their princess had begun a spiral of disapproval. And the relentless beating of a bound man sealed their disgust.

  Wycliffe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of blood in its path. He shook violently and stumbled about, whether from drink or exhaustion, Braum couldn’t tell.

  “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me,” Wycliffe hissed as he took one more off-balance kick, missed, and stumbled down the stairs, colliding with a group of men. They helped their prince up, but he shoved them away. To his guards, he said, “Leave them the rest of the day.” And stomped to the castle.

  “I hate to ask, but how do you feel?” Jessica asked once Wycliffe was out of earshot.

  “How do I look?” Braum asked, half-smiling before wincing at the pull on his busted lip.

  “Like you’ve gone through a meat-grinder.”

  Every movement, every word she spoke caused her breasts to quiver. He scanned the crowd, tamping his rage while trying to see who still witnessed her precious nudity. Fortunately, most people had dispersed, going about their business, ashamed of the spectacle.

  Long brown hair mixed with pink tumbled over her shoulders, mostly obscuring the soft swell of her breasts. Though every now and then a rosy nipple, taught with cold, peeked out at him.

  He liked her new hair, he realized, and only then belatedly remembered Wycliffe saying something about her hands. “Show me your hands,” he rasped.

  She gave him a withering look that plainly said, ‘you’re not the boss of me.’ Then with a sigh, held both hands out for his inspection. First, he noticed the goosebumps dotting her skin. The bastard hadn’t considered the early spring chill. If only he could wrap her up in his arms and warm her with his body. At least they were in Britarre, where spring was gentle and the snow long melted.

  His gaze shifted, and he pulled her to her knees, unconcerned that Wycliffe might see. Still bound by rope, he grasped both her cold hands within his, large and much warmer.

  He traced over the firebrand on her palm. Brands and tattoos weren’t unusual, but he’d seen nothing like this and burned so deeply into her flesh. He rubbed her blue fingers and shook his head.

  Uncertain what to say, he cleared his throat a couple times. “This, I don’t understand. This isn’t dwarven.” His eyes searched hers, and suddenly, all self-doubt disappeared, replaced with a need to protect.

  “That’s a story for another time,” she said, moving to get up, but he gripped her tight, keeping her beside him.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked with emotion. Gods, what to say? He’d stared at those bloody stones in the ceiling for months, thinking about this moment, about what he’d say if only she lived. And here it was, the time for his big apology, and he had no words. Nothing could convey his regret.

  Those stormy eyes of hers watched, waiting for him to continue. So, he just started speaking.

  “I’m sorry you’re here.” His head shook, and a bloodstained lock fell over his pounding eye. “I’m sorry for everything.” A muscle twitched in his cheek as he choked on his words. “I never should’ve tricked you into wedding me. And even though my happiest memory is of saying the marriage vows and then consummating them with you, I’d take it back in a heartbeat, if I could.”

  Exposed, vulnerable, he continued, voice raw. “I won’t defend my decision. I should’ve done things differently. We should’ve left Grayweather. I didn’t help you understand the gravity of the situation, instead, I forced myself on you just like the elf today. I could kill myself for what I did, taking away your humanity, changing you to dwarf. Nobody should make that decision for another. If I’d been forced to become another race, I’d kill whoever had done it to me—”

  He stopped speaking and looked at her, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “How could I have forced you to change without your consent? You’ve been physically altered in every way imaginable. You’re no longer human. And your face, oh gods, your face…” Unable to tear his eyes away from her scar, his jaw clenched.

  CHAPTER 34

  Jessica got to her feet. When Braum moved to stop her, she shook her head. She wanted to hide the scar from him, could see the shame in his eyes. But he hadn’t caused the scar, she had, and it was a part of her now. She embraced it as much as she embraced her fae abilities… which he didn’t know about. How to tell him she’d changed more than he could ever imagine?

  How to tell him she’d forgiven him?

  It wasn’t likely he’d forgive himself, but she knew why he’d tricked her. And after today’s exhibition with Wycliffe, wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t have done the same. Braum had only wanted to protect her. He’d done it in a, me Tarzan, you Jane kind of way, but he’d done it for her.

  “I forgive you,” she said on a sob that had burbled to the surface, catching her by surprise.

  Golden eyes incredulous, he searched her face then lowered them with a shudder.

  He didn’t believe her!

  “Hey!” she said, harsher than she’d meant. Her gaze lifted to see if anyone heard. “I forgive you, do you understand?”

  Nothing. She shivered. The day was chilly. Hopefully, Wycliffe would let them in before too long. “I forgave you long before today,” she continued, deciding now was as good a time as any to get into it. After all, he’d laid himself bare. “I was mad at you for so long. But once I learned to control my emotions the hatred went away, replaced with a sort of understanding.”

  The more she spoke the more he ground his jaw.

  She continued, sensing his doubts, “I’m not unhappy.” Her voice gentled as she reassured him of her feelings, comforted him over what he’d done. Tears pricked her eyes. “I also need to apologize, to you, for what I did.”

  Unwilling to let her take any of the blame, he shook his head. But she’d had months to come to terms with her new reality. While he hadn’t had time to find peace.

  “Do you hear me? I’m happy with who I’ve become.” Her voice grew louder with each word.

  A ragged laugh escaped his lips. “You play me for a fool. I caused your mutilation, who could forgive that?”

&nbs
p; “Stop it!” She took a step closer, and he looked up, eyes anguished. When he tried to pull her next to him, she moved as far away as the tether would allow, arms crossed over her chest. “There are too many eyes. It’ll do neither of us any good to appear cozy.”

  Something urged her to glance back at him. When she did, she saw a tiny smile quirk Braum’s lips.

  “So, you forgive me, then?” he asked.

  Her eyes grew soft. The look he gave her spoke of deep yearning. “Yes,” she breathed and left it at that. She had forgiven him. And she could ignore the part of her, buried deep, that still ached because of his betrayal. “As long as you forgive me. I’m sorry for trapping you in the stones, for causing you months of agony and pain—”

  “Jessica—” he interrupted, only to have her interrupt him.

  “No, let me apologize. Sure, I’d been possessed by magic, but who in their right mind almost kills the man they love when they’re fighting? Well, obviously, I wasn’t in my right mind, but that isn’t—”

  “Psst.”

  Jessica cocked her head at the sound. Feeling strong, she wagged a finger behind her back, and the winds ceased.

  “Psst,” the noise came again, more urgent, from behind the scaffold.

  Feigning casualness, Jessica wandered as far back as the rope would allow. “Who is it?” she asked out the corner of her mouth.

  “Really? Who the hell do you think it is!” Willow huffed, irascible as ever. “We’re here to help.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  Willow rolled her eyes. “Always with the questions. Don’t let on I’m here.”

  “Give me a break,” Jessica sneered. “I’m not a moron.”

  “That remains to be seen. Do not reveal your powers unless necessary, Orrin and I will get you out, just… be patient.” And that was it. Willow slinked away without another word to blend into the crowd, her cloak concealing her red hair and most of her face.

  “The witches?” Braum asked when Jessica meandered back.

  Forcing herself not to scan the busy marketplace for Willow and Orrin, she nodded. They’d be rescued, and it appeared she didn’t have to do a thing. With her strength gaining steadily, she could handle it, but Willow was right, it wasn’t wise to expose her abilities.

  “Hopefully they don’t do a shit job,” he groused. “I hate that witch who fancies himself in love with you.”

  “Hey!” she snapped. “A little gratitude might be nice. Besides, they’ve already helped save your butt once before.” Yes, he was feeling fragile, but lord, she was not in the mood to hear him bad-mouth her friends.

  “Twice,” he grumbled. At her confused look, he said, “Thank you, by the way. For saving my life.”

  Sincerity wrapped his words, so a smile lit her lips. “You’re welcome. I couldn’t very well let you die—”

  “Yes, you could’ve,” he cut her off. “I wouldn’t have blamed you a bit if you let my sorry arse rot along with my legs.” He paused as though searching for the right thing to say. “How—” he stopped and shook his head. “I don’t know how to say this except, you were with me, weren’t you?” He tugged at the frayed rope. “I felt you there with me, and then I felt you go. I thought you were dying, that’s why I came after you.”

  “I was there.” Her words were husky and tinged with sadness. “I needed to be with you, and then I was too weak to save myself.” Trying to convey what she couldn’t yet say with words, she considered his topaz eyes and hoped he understood that she’d stayed for love.

  When dusk finally cast the village into shadows, four soldiers came to retrieve Jessica and Braum.

  Shivering, Jessica gratefully accepted a cloak to cover her nakedness before exiting the scaffold. Braum, muscles stiff and unusable, struggled to stand. His limp hindered his every step, but he shrugged off the guards’ assistance.

  Apparently, Wycliffe had tired of the spectacle as they were led into the dungeon through a backdoor, not paraded through the village as before.

  This was her first time in a real dungeon, and Jessica felt grateful for her excellent dwarven eyesight. In the dim corridor, she might’ve otherwise tripped on the uneven stones. The floor was slippery with damp. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat when she heard tiny, skittering noises. The only other sounds to penetrate the gloom were their shuffling footsteps and water dripping as it pooled in dank corners. She rucked up her skirts to prevent the damp from soiling the hem.

  “Are there any prisoners besides us?” Her voice echoed in the empty cells.

  “No, milady,” one guard said. “We ain’t really ones for keeping prisoners. His Majesty the King, feels it’s better to punish in what he calls a constructive and healing manner.” His words sounded as though they’d been drilled in a classroom.

  “How progressive,” she murmured. “And does the king know we’re here?”

  “No, milady. His majesty’s away presently.” He sounded worried for them. Well, she was worried, too.

  They stopped first at Braum’s cell. Stark, with only a wooden pallet covered in straw, a threadbare blanket draped over one corner, and a pitcher of water on a table. The men weren’t rough with him, merely careless. Before he’d had the chance to gain his balance, they released him. He stumbled and grabbed the bars for support.

  “The accommodations are excellent, gentlemen,” Braum jeered. “Please give my thanks to Wycliffe.”

  “I’m glad you like them.” They all turned as Wycliffe stepped from the shadows. “You’ll be here a long time. Oh, and,” he stepped up to the bars, “I brought your dinner myself.” He revealed the wooden bowl he carried and dumped its contents onto the floor with a splash. “Enjoy.”

  Hands held out, Wycliffe turned to Jessica. She cringed inwardly.

  “Now, my dear, allow me to escort you to your room for the night.” He took her arm.

  Her skin crawled from his touch, but she played along, worried for his sanity. His actions spoke as though she’d come on a social call. And didn’t reflect that he’d stripped her before his people and left her to freeze, earlier.

  They walked around a corner, and her eyes bulged. While unmistakably a dungeon cell, every care had been taken to make it homey, if it could be called that. A dozen haphazardly tossed pillows sat atop a finely crafted bed, draped in a yellow comforter. A woven rug graced the slimy floor beneath a table, stacked high with books. And a small, portable brazier emitted a healthy dose of heat from the corner, a plate piled with food atop it, keeping warm.

  Wycliffe led her to the bed and moved to help her remove her cloak. His clammy hands brushed naked shoulders, reminding her she was only half-clothed.

  “If it’s alright, sir, I’ll keep the cloak on.” She smiled thinly and clutched the fabric to her throat. “I’m a bit chilled.”

  He frowned, not liking being naysaid, then nodded. “Of course, my pet, I understand.” With her hands clasped in his, he knelt before her. But instead of looking her in the eyes, he stared at her scar. “I hope you understand the need for my little show out there.”

  She forced herself to nod, to keep up the pretense of not feeling complete disgust for this man. “Of course, you had to punish… the dwarf,” her stomach roiled, talking about Braum that way, “by punishing me.” With a fake smile pasted on her face, she clutched the cloak even tighter.

  “You’re an angel of understanding.” He stood and placed a moist kiss on her cheek. She fought not to shudder. “It’s too bad about that scar, I might’ve considered allowing you to share my bed but—”

  “No, you’re right,” she interrupted, pulse bounding in her throat, “it wouldn’t do to have you be seen with me, a fallen woman. I was beneath you before, but now…” She shrugged. “Thank you for your kind thoughts.”

  His forced smile didn’t extend to his eyes. “Please let me pour you a glass of wine before I go.”

  Hoping to hurry him on his way, she accepted the goblet and took a small sip. “Mmm…”

&n
bsp; “Such a shame,” he remarked and backed out. “Such a waste of a perfectly acceptable human female.”

  The cell door shut with a clank, and Wycliffe strode up the stairs, leaving two guards behind.

  Jessica let out the breath she’d been holding and approached the door.

  “Would you mind if I gave some of my food to Prince Braum?” she asked the guard. “He’s hurt.”

  Before the soldier could respond, Braum shouted, “Don’t you dare give me your food, woman! You need your strength as much as I do. Do you forget you were near death a few days ago?”

  “No,” she called back, “I didn’t forget. Let me remind you that you were also near death. And it’d make me happy if you didn’t have to eat food off the nastiest floor I’ve ever seen!”

  The young guard squirmed as he considered the request. “I better not, milady,” he said. “If Prince Wycliffe were to hear about it, I fear for my safety.” The pimples across his cheeks and forehead betrayed his youth. Wycliffe felt confident Jessica and Braum couldn’t escape based on the inexperienced pup he’d chosen to guard them.

  “Very well,” she said loudly and sat, “I’ll just enjoy this roast chicken, potatoes, and wine all by myself.”

  Braum snorted from his cell. “I’ll just enjoy a washing with this icy water.”

  A few bites in, the atmosphere changed as a light breeze riffled the dank air.

  Knowing it must be Orrin and Willow, Jessica called to the young guard, hoping to distract him. “Excuse me, but I’m cold. Would you mind helping me with the stove?”

  The boy smiled and opened the door, eager to assist.

  Jessica hid a wince as she heard Willow curse the dark corridors and began, “If you’ll just—”

  A sudden scuffle down the hall drew his attention away. “Is somebody there?” the guard called. “Bilks, you alright?” He waited for a response that never came, then panicked. “I must go!” He swallowed thickly and turned a worried eye on Jessica. “If you’ll excuse me, milady—”