Held For Ransom

by Rose, Renee

  When the last game had been played and one of the knights held his wrist up in the air as champion, he blinked in confusion. The sound of the throng seemed deafening, his feet moving automatically as soldiers led him to the dais.

  He should not go.

  And yet, Ariana was there and he could not make himself stop. He stumbled forward, as if in a dream.

  “What is your name?” the king asked, his smile full of congratulations.

  Ariana sat only a few feet away, but she had not noticed him.

  “Gorran,” he said, unable to wrest his eyes from the princess.

  Though he had never revealed his real name, she surged to her feet at the sound of his voice, her eyes widened in horror. Only then did the spell break and his good sense return. His instinct for self-preservation made him run, leaping from the dais and dashing through the crowd. The king bellowed orders after him and the crowd closed, men blocking him from all sides.Goddess help him, he could not fight any of them to save himself. It was not right. Soldiers tackled him, taking him to the ground, and when they pressed blades to his neck and hauled him to his feet, he allowed it, docile to their will. If this was how he was meant to die, so be it. He had escaped death hundreds of times, his luck was bound to run out eventually.

  The soldiers marched him back to the dais, where he dropped to his knee and lowered his head, offering his neck. The cool steel of the king’s blade pressed against his bare skin.

  “Ariana?”

  The mere sound of her name on the king’s lips sent a shudder of desire through him. He longed to lift his head to see her just one last time before he met death, but he resisted.

  “No.” Her single word sent a jolt of lightning through his body.

  She wanted him spared. Why? Was it possible she cared for him? Or just did not want his death on her conscience?

  Soldiers hoisted him to his feet, and he looked to her, questioning, but she did not return the gaze as he was marched out and to the dungeon. The guards placed him in shackles and he sank against the stone wall wondering how long it took before a man went mad. He lost track of time, several days passing in the same stone monotony before the sound of the guard yelling, “Comes the king!” caused him to automatically scramble to his knee in a gesture of respect.

  The king stopped in front of him. “Stand, soldier.”

  He jerked to his feet, the chains not quite long enough for him to stand comfortably.

  King Broderick acknowledged his difficulty with a sideways tilt of his head. “Who are you, Gorran?”

  “Gorran, grandson of Sir Bedwyr, son of Rulf, a Saxon immigrant.”

  “Why did you enter the games?”

  He hesitated. Why, indeed? He shook his head. "I know not."

  The king looked incredulous. "You do not know? That answer does not satisfy, Gorran."

  He looked up. Part of him resisted the king and his authority, as the man who had thrown him in the dungeons. And yet, he knew he deserved it. But even more, Broderick had Ariana's green eyes, and the softness of gaze, as if he, too, mined the unseen for information. He did not doubt it, as he had received Ariana's telepathic message the day of the ransoming. In the moment their gazes met and held, he willed the king to understand him.

  "You could not stay away from her?"

  Gooseflesh stood up all over his limbs.

  He gave a small shake of his head.

  "Has she come to see you here?"

  The mere question cut him–to hear a visit from her might have been a possibility. What he would not give to speak to her, face to face, to ask her forgiveness. He shook his head.

  "Did you kill the duke?"

  He kept his face perfectly blank. Being tried for crimes you have been known to commit was one thing. Admitting to new unproven ones was another.

  The king's lips curled at the edges. "I know you did. You chose a cowardly way to do it."

  He almost nodded his agreement, catching himself as his chin lowered.

  "I cannot let you go free, Gorran, no matter how bravely you played the games, or how much my sister may care for you. To allow you to walk sends a message to every man that abducting my sister for ransom is fair game. She would never be safe again. You would not wish such a fate for her, would you?" He asked the last question softly, with no hint of derision or malice.

  He shook his head. "I would not wish such a fate for her, no."

  "No," the king repeated, giving him a nod and walking away.

  He stood, his blood pumping, not from fear, but from the king's words, ...or how much my sister may care for you.

  ****

  She could not make herself return to Avalon. Not without knowing Broderick's intention for Crow, or Sir Gorran, as she now knew his name. She spent day after day at Stonecroft sweeping about the corridors and fretting with her fingers in her lap. Broderick missed none of it, her restlessness seeming to irritate him.

  "What does he mean to you?" he asked her one evening after supper.

  She narrowed her eyes to convey her dislike of the topic of conversation.

  "For over a moon you have drifted about like a wraith. I recognize the state, as I have suffered it in recent years as well."

  She lifted her eyes, surprised. "Of what do you speak?"

  "You cannot remember a time I acted like you?"

  The hairs on her arms stood up when she realized, a clear confirmation of truth. "When Abigail died."

  "Aye."

  His brother's marriage had been arranged, like her own, yet he had found affection with his wife. When she died in childbirth, he had turned to stone, appearing lost for several months.

  "‘Tis the shock, nothing more."

  "And seeing him cured you of the shock?"

  She pursed her lips. "You mean I am no longer a wraith?"

  "No. Now you are like a lady whose knight is off to battle."

  She scowled. "You do not know of what you speak!"

  "Do I not?"

  She stood from the bench. "Goodnight, brother."

  "I did not give you leave," he said softly.

  "I am taking it!" she snapped.

  In the morning, Broderick announced he would hear cases in the throne room and he required her presence. She found a seat, her mouth dry, her hands clammy. He heard several cases of minor import before he called for "Gorran, disqualified winner of the tournament, abductor of the princess of the realm."

  Soldiers brought Gorran forward, where he knelt before Broderick. He did not look at her, and yet she sensed his attention by the way her skin turned warm and prickly.

  "Gorran, what do you have to say for yourself?"

  "I beg your forgiveness, my lord. I committed treason against you and I violated the sanctity of the Goddess. I deserve to die."

  She drew in her breath, her heart jumping in her chest like a bird against rafters. She shifted forward in her chair, a pressure growing behind her face as if she might burst into tears at any moment.

  "You do deserve to die, I agree,” Broderick said. “And yet, despite your treason, you honored my sister with your chivalrous care and gentle handling."

  She sensed every eye in the throne room turned upon her, adding to her great distress.

  "And so, I shall ask my sister to sit in judgment with me, today. Princess Ariana, I give you the choice: Take Gorran's head, or order him to a lifetime service as your slave."

  The room stilled, every mouth gaping, then a slow buzz of whispers swept through, as if all occupants verified they had heard correctly.

  "I need not a slave," she stammered. "I return to Avalon, where men are not allowed."

  "A man could be of use at Avalon," Broderick insisted. "If for nothing else, to protect it from any further breaches. A slave of his worth would be useful to the priestesses of Avalon–there are many duties too difficult for the gentle sex–chopping wood, shearing the sheep, repairing the thatched roofs of the buildings."

  She stared at Broderick, understanding he had made up his mi
nd and laid before her the only two options: Crow's death or his life in her service.

  "I think it to be a punishment befitting his crime. He deserves to serve as your slave for the rest of his days, just as you deserve retribution for the sennight you spent in his keeping."

  She had the ability to save Crow's life once again. And once again, she would not see it taken. But curse him for coming back, because she loathed the idea of bringing him to Avalon.

  She sucked on her lower lip, her fingers twisting in her lap. "Very well," she said, refusing to look at Gorran, who had lifted his head when she spoke. "But what makes you sure he will obey? Could he not overpower me again?"

  "Look at me, Gorran," Broderick commanded.

  He lifted his head to gaze up at the king in his throne.

  "Will you obey every order my sister gives you, by penalty of death?"

  "I give you my word, as a knight and an initiated warrior of Avalon, I will obey."

  Broderick nodded, looking satisfied. Then, as if divining she might simply order him forever out of her sight, he said, "Your foremost duty is to protect the princess. You may ignore any orders she gives in contrary to fulfilling this duty. You must obey all other orders. Understood?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "You are hereby stripped of your status as a knight of the realm. You are nothing more than a slave. You shall, however, be permitted to carry weapons to fulfill your duty as my sister's protector."

  She sighed, leaning back against her chair, a mixture of relief and defeat making her arms feel leaden.

  "Return the prisoner's weapons to him."

  Gorran replaced his sword belt–the one he had used to whip her bare bottom just two moons before. The sight of him handling it caused an unsettled flutter in her belly. He seated his swords in their scabbards and walked forward, dropping to one knee before her. "At your service, your highness."

  She flushed and stood, walking past him without a word, sensing his presence two paces behind her. She marched straight to the stables, where she asked the stable hands to saddle a horse for her return to Avalon.

  “Do you want the slave to go on foot?” one of the men asked, obviously already aware of the morning’s events.

  “And walk my horse to keep pace? No.”

  “He could arrive later.”

  She considered. “But he is bound as my protector,” she grumbled. “No, he will have to ride, but I imagine we can bring fewer escorts with him along.” She eyed her new slave, the expanse of his wide chest, the bulk of his arms.

  “We will take two escorts,” he said with the command of a leader, rather than a slave. The soldiers looked to her for confirmation and she nodded. Aye, he made a capable guardian, she had no doubt. And she held no genuine fear of her safety with him now. But a curse on Broderick for saddling her with him this way. She imagined her brother thought himself quite clever.

  The stable hands readied the horses and Crow stood at her side to assist her to mount. She refused eye contact as she took his proffered hand and swung into the saddle. She spoke not for the hour’s ride, discomfort growing between them, though she knew well Crow out-mastered her at silence.

  They left the horses and escort at the edge of the lake Avalon sat upon, taking a small rowboat across to the island. Crow rowed with elegant, silent strokes, the water scarcely dripping from his oars as the craft sliced through the water. He pulled it to shore with similar ease, offering his hand to help her climb out. Guests were not allowed on Avalon, except by special permission, and it felt odd to be treated like a lady there, when she was accustomed to being merely one of the sisters. Still, she did not speak nor look at him.

  She walked the path toward her cottage, then stopped. “The druids are on the other shore. You will sleep with them.” She pointed in the direction of their buildings across the water.

  He gave a single nod.

  She turned and began the ascent again to her small hut. She had moved out of the House of Maidens when she turned twenty-one. Lilian, the high priestess, elevated her status, though she had not completed the sex initiation. She walked to the door now and stopped.

  “You cannot come in,” she snapped, looking at her companion for the first time.

  “I will just light your fire,” he said mildly.

  Feeling foolish, she stepped aside to allow him through. He built the logs and struck the flint until a spark caught the kindling and began to burn.

  When he stood and turned, she slapped his face.

  ****

  He caught her hand, holding her palm to his cheek. “Forgive me, Ariana.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Do not use my given name.”

  “Forgive me, your highness.”

  “Nor should you use that title here at Avalon.”

  “What should I call you, my lady?”

  She blew out her breath. “Do not call me anything,” she snapped, glaring at him.

  He nodded, appearing sorrowful.

  “Why did you enter the games? And win?”

  “You deserved your justice.”

  Her lips tightened. “Justice is for men, full of hard edges and hate. I have no need for it.”

  He lowered himself to his knees. “I beg forgiveness, then.”

  She made no sound and he did not dare lift his head. “Get up. Do not speak to me unless you must. I will take you to the druids.”

  He could not blame her for not granting him forgiveness, but it pained him just the same. He rose to his feet and followed as she swept out the door before him.

  The distance to the druids’ buildings was far, too far to watch over her adequately. They took the rowboat across and entered the longhouse, where every head lifted at their arrival.

  “This is Gorran,” she said, addressing the men. “He was initiated with the crow. The king sent him to protect me by royal decree. Can he sleep here with you?”

  He noted she asked permission, rather than issuing her own royal decree, and understood her status was not special at Avalon. The druids eyed him, looking suspicious. “Aye. If he pulls his weight with chores.”

  He bowed his head. “I will do anything asked of me.”

  “Very well,” the head priest said. “You may join us for evening meal.”

  He glanced at Ariana, who had already turned to depart. Sitting with a sigh, he ate a bland meal of gruel and followed a young boy to the bunkhouse where he would sleep. Once he had seen it, he set back on the path to the water, rowing back to Avalon and planting himself outside the longhouse where the priestesses took their meals.

  The first maidens exited and stopped short, staring and giggling. In a matter of moments, priestesses gathered around to see the cause of the commotion.

  “This is Gorran,” he heard Ariana explain to an old woman. “The man who abducted me. My brother's sentence made him my slave and protector for the rest of his natural life.” Her tone conveyed her frustration.

  The old woman peered at Ariana. “I see," she muttered, as if she saw everything. "But he cannot stay here. Look at the effect on the maids.”

  Ariana’s face tightened. “I know. I understand. And yet, I cannot free myself of him, except by ordering his death.”

  “Yes. Yes. Very well. We will discuss it later. Go on, girls. Back to the House of Maidens. Do not speak to the guardian.” She whirled on him. “Do not look at, touch, or speak to any of the maids or priestesses.”

  He bowed his head. “I will not.”

  Ariana turned and walked away without a word and he followed dutifully behind. When she reached her cottage, she stopped and threw him a baleful look. "You may go back to the other side. I shall not leave my dwelling for the night."

  He nodded, waiting until she closed the door to settle against the door, sharpening his dagger. His duty was to protect the princess and the only manner he had of making amends was to serve loyally to the best of his ability. He watched the mists swirl about under the moonlight, increasing the impression of magic presence all around
. The air was chilly, but he was long accustomed to weathering elements in his years as a soldier. He dozed off until dawn, when Ariana threw the door open just moments after he heard her stir.

  She gave a startled shriek when she saw him. "What are you doing?"

  "Guarding you." He bit off the "my lady" that rose to his tongue.

  "Were you here all night? You were, were you not? I sensed your presence but I thought..." she trailed off, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.

  His cock stirred at the sight of her blush. What had she thought?

  He gestured. "Do not allow me to disturb your morning walk or whatever you were about to do."

  She frowned. "You did not have to sleep outside my hut."

  "I chose night for your abduction," he pointed out.

  She blanched. He gestured her forward again.

  "You must have been cold?" she asked uncertainly.

  "No," he cut her off.

  She rolled her eyes and picked up the skirt of her blue wool gown. "Very well." She traveled down the path to the edge of the lake, the smooth surface glinting with the orange tinge of sunrise. She stood staring into the water for a long time, then lifted her eyes to the rising sun. He stayed back, not moving, not wishing to disturb her communion with the Goddess. What did she see in the glassy surface of the water? Did she read it like a scrying bowl?

  She rubbed her face and moved on, wending her way to the longhouse. He stopped when she entered, finding a place to lean against the wall. She emerged from the door a moment later, looking angry. "Go to your own longhouse to eat," she snarled.

  "My needs are not your concern."

  "You are to obey my orders," she gritted, her green eyes darkening with anger. The way she lifted her chest thrust her breasts forward and he had difficulty not lowering his eyes to take in their shape. They were smaller than before, he realized, as if she had lost weight since he saw her last.

  "Aye, but only if they are not in conflict with my protection of you."

  She took another step closer. "You cannot be with me every moment of the day. You are a man and not allowed the majority of the places I will go."

  He tried not to smile. As if he were not painfully aware of his manhood with her standing so close he could snatch her up against him with one arm. "Aye. It is a dilemma for me to sort out. My intention is not to disturb your daily solace here, princess."