by Kim Bowman
Yet there he was — rendered powerless against a captivating girl who simply held a blade to his throat, and a small one at that. He could easily toss her with one arm, but every time he looked at her, his thoughts contorted into utter distraction. She intoxicated him like rare wine, and drove him mad for more.
His fingers found her ankles, encircling them in one smooth caress. She caught a breath in her mouth and the dagger shifted. The silent warning, however, didn’t deter his intentions of exploring her calves with his palms.
Marek stared up at her, never shifting his gaze. A torturous ache gushed through him, tingling with gluttonous pleasure. He lingered along her calves, exploring every new curve in thorough adoration. In deliberate disregard of her feeble objection, Marek hooked his thumbs under the hem of her skirt, and manipulated the fabric to her waist. His hands arched around the fullness of her thighs and squeezed tight, kneading her flesh with a demanding urgency.
He jerked her forward onto his chest.
“Do it,” he commanded.
~~~~
“I will do it.” Brynn could barely breathe. What had he done to her? She wanted to touch him, to quench the thirst for him. With every passing moment, he took her deeper into oblivion. Steadying herself, she placed her hand on his chest. She needed to see the fear in his eyes, to know she was still in control. But as she leaned into him, what looked back at her wasn’t fear. She saw something that she had never before seen in a man’s eyes… hunger.
She didn’t resist when his wandering embrace somehow found its way to her middle, up her torso to graze the swell of her breasts, and over to her shoulders to the delicate length of her neck. Marek brought his face to hers, the dagger still pinned against his throat. With one hand on her nape and the other possessively on her waist, he pushed her lips to his and parted them with his tongue.
Her body betrayed her, and she collapsed against him. In one swift movement, he locked his arms around her, rolling her body to the ground beside his. His fists tangled in her hair. Marek pulled her close and tasted her. She lay helpless in his arms, fully welcoming his exploration of her mouth. She moaned, edging closer to the verge of losing herself in his embrace.
He teased her tongue, nipping at her lip while muttering fervently in his lyrical lilt and hungrily devouring her kisses. Lost in the moment, Brynn released the blade.
The dagger clinked to the ground, ripping her back to the present. He had enchanted her, made her lose focus. He took advantage of her innocence to free himself from death. The tips of her fingers found a loose rock and she clasped it in her fist, brought it up from her side, and cracked it against Marek’s skull.
He dropped her with a painful shout, covering the wound with his hands. Brynn scrambled away from him and staggered to her feet. She leaped for the mouth of the cave, still reeling from her very first kiss.
Chapter Six
Take My Hand
Marek roared.
Brynn veered toward freedom by leaping over a saddle blocking her exit. She took the next barrier in stride.
Gavin caught her in midair, and Brynn crashed into his chest. Kicking and screaming, she knew she must escape. The rain poured from the skies with a constant drumming overhead, and she could lose herself in it, if only she could break free from his tight hold. With a one swift kick between his legs and a bite to the arm nearest her face, Brynn wriggled from Gavin’s hold. She bolted from the cave and into the downpour.
Her heart didn’t slow until she was a great distance from the cave. The Archaean’s must have chosen not to follow, as there was no sign of them. The rain receded with the rising of the sun, and Brynn hummed a melody in time with the chirping of a song bird. Enjoying her solitude, she plodded along the soft forest floor, careful to keep a watchful eye. But soon, as she felt no threat, she let down her guard, singing to lighten her spirits. Touching her bottom lip with her tongue, she was still able to taste Marek on her mouth.
The sound of water splashing on rocks sang with her, growing louder as she approached a clearing. Before her, a babbling brook called to her, its tune beckoning her to stay for a bit — to taste the sweet nectar of the spring. Surrendering, she complied, lifting her skirts to step into the pool. The warm liquid was a relief and soon she was fully enveloped in it. The caked dirt dissolved; the water cleansing her skin and clothes. She peeled the garments from her body then placed them on the bank to dry.
With eyes closed, she imagined herself on a breezy hill tumbling with her brothers. For an instant — just a small one — she saw her mother’s glowing face. How beautiful she must have been. Sinking lower into the pool, she contemplated her fate. A certain lopsided grin flashed through her mind just before she returned to the surface.
Brynn stood, a bit unnerved that the Archaean’s face had appeared in her thoughts. Rubbing the water from her eyes, she took a calming breath. Running her fingers through the tangles in her hair, she set to work on the difficult task of grooming herself and passed the time by singing. Words flowed from her lips like the softest of silks.
~~~~
Before daybreak, Marek set out on his horse to find Brynn. He couldn’t push her from his thoughts. Her face lingered fresh in memory as he picked his way through the woodlands. He’d lost control — how had that happened? He’d kissed her fully and thoroughly, and he liked it. Hell, he still craved it. He cursed, knowing full well his conscience would eat at his soul until he was safely home in the arms of his Nya.
The best thing for him would be to get as far away from the girl as possible. His body had taken over in the cave. He couldn’t let it happen again. He would transport Brynn to the Crossroads, see to her safety, then be on his way and forget all about her.
If only he could.
Small footprints along the edge of a puddle caught his eye. Perhaps she was still close.
A light breeze toyed with his wavy locks, bringing with it sweet smells of wildflowers and the faint sound of… singing? Marek crouched on the edge of the trees with head cocked to the side. He gazed at the maiden in the water. If a war were to wage on behind him, he never would have noticed. A branch cracked under his weight as he moved closer.
Stunned, she stood facing him. His eyes burned into her flesh as they followed the shapely lines of her pose. Brynn plunged into the water. Surfacing, she screeched at him, “Turn away!” She rushed to the embankment and quickly dressed.
Not sure in which direction to turn, Marek bowed his head, pivoted on his heels, and climbed back up the embankment to fetch his horse. “Please, don’t run,” he warned. “I’m not up for a chase today.” He towered over her from atop his large black mount, offering his hand. “Just take my hand.”
~~~~
Those eyes. They stared at her with such earnest honesty.
How could she do anything but accept his offer? Marek grasped her wrist and lifted her to the saddle. For a moment she sat facing him with her legs wrapped around him, straddling so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. She wanted to touch him, to trace the lines of his roughhewn jaw — wanted to feel his lips against hers once more. She yearned for him to brush his fingers against her skin, to make her body quiver the way it had the night he’d first touched her, when he so gently tended to her wounds. How could she have such sinful feelings about the man who had sealed her fate?
Why did the gods curse her so?
The horse on which they rode jerked its head high, flaring its nostrils and snorting. Wrapping her arms tightly around Marek to remain steady, all thoughts of sin drifted from her mind when a familiar voice floated by on a breeze.
“Marek!”
Pulling the reins taught, Marek swung Brynn to the back of his saddle. With a kick, the horse whipped around then burst forward. They darted between trees, over rocks and roots with effortless skill as Ronan’s urgent call filled the air.
Upon finding Marek, Ronan leaped from his horse. Word spewed from his mouth. “Marek! Riders… from the south. They have found us.”
“How many?” Marek asked.
“Ten… maybe more.”
The brothers switched their words to Archaean and Brynn could understand them no more. She could sense the nervousness and severity of the situation by the low tone of Marek’s voice. Her heart quickened with every strange word they spoke.
“What’s happening?” she whispered.
Marek hushed her with a wave of his hand.
Turning his attention to Brynn, Marek cinched an arm around her middle and dropped her to the ground before dismounting.
“Ouch!” she cried, landing on a rock. Brynn staggered to her feet. What was wrong? “Marek…” She grasped him by his shoulder. He was too busy digging through the leather satchels on his saddle and talking with his brother to pay her any attention. Not getting a response, she tugged again. This time he turned toward her.
“What in hell do you need, woman?” He withdrew a long sword from the saddle’s blanket roll. He spun it full circle with a flick of his wrist, parting the air with ease.
Brynn stumbled backward, tripping over her skirts and unleashing a frightened scream. He was going to kill her. Terrified, she buried her face in the moss-covered ground and trembled, but the fatal deathblow didn’t come. Peering between the crevasse of her arm and the ground, she noticed Marek was busily buckling his back scabbard across his chest.
He smiled down at her and winked, adjusting it to its proper place. Marek pulled the sword from the scabbard and gave the blade another full swing before sliding it back into its sheath and pulling more leather from his bags. While strapping a baldric across his chest, he muttered a few words to her. Not receiving an answer, he turned to her with eyes narrowed.
“I don’t understand what you are saying!” She pouted, returning to her feet with a frustrating sigh. “You speak to me as if I should know, but I do not!”
“It would be wise to learn.” Marek shoved his dagger under his belt and continued to dig through another satchel.
“When would that be? In my leisure time?” she quipped, placing a hand on her hip. As Brynn brushed stray hairs from her face, she realized Ronan, too, had donned his armor and weaponry.
~~~~
Marek turned to his brother, addressing him in their native tongue. “How much time, Ronan?” he pressed.
Ronan wiped his brow. “If we don’t find a way out of this valley we will be slaughtered for sure.”
“And the others?”
“They will be here. They must have tracked her, Marek.”
“How is your arm?” Marek asked his brother.
“Still attached.” Ronan winced while sliding his wounded arm through the hole of his leather brigantine. Strapping the vest tight on the sides, he pounded his chest with his fist.
“Can you fight?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Ronan checked the clasp on his greaves.
As Marek buckled a leather arm guard, his thoughts turned to Brynn. He had to hide her somehow, keep her out of reach of the riders. But how? There were no walls, no strongholds — just trees and sticks. And certainly no time. Irritated, he rubbed his palm over his hair. He winced slightly as he brushed over the fresh bruise from the rock. He looked at Brynn. “That really hurt.”
She averted her eyes, toeing the dirt.
In all honesty, he was left with a sore head and a bruised ego — nothing everlasting. How foolish he was to let her run off in the rain. Damn his stupid pride. Now they faced a nightmare of a battle because of his haughty arrogance. Marek closed his eyes, gathering his wits. To survive he needed to focus — absolute concentration. He couldn’t possibly fight well with her safety consuming his thoughts. Hoofbeats in the distance grew louder. He paused, counting the thrumming. His men were approaching.
The battle would soon begin.
Chapter Seven
A Great Warrior
“The only way out is to the east. It will bring us into the open, but it will give us the high ground advantage. Their horses grow tired, and if we stay centered, we’ll have a better chance.”
“Can we outrun them?” Marek asked his scout.
Aiden shook his head. “They are mercenary. It seems to be that bloody bastard we dispatched was well liked.”
“So we’re outnumbered.” Marek huddled with his men, devising a course of action to keep them all alive.
“Let us not forget our tart,” Gavin added.
Marek glanced at Brynn, unaware of the danger approaching. “You know I never back down from a fight, but—” His words were cut short by a whinny in the distance. “They are close.”
“Well, somebody bloody well come up with a plan.” Gavin smiled, slapping Marek on the back. “I don’t feel much like dying today.”
The party headed east, finding an advantage point near a row of trees to ready for battle. Marek galloped to the farthest tree possible. “You must hurry.” He told Brynn. Marek searched the distance for the riders. “Climb high, and don’t come down no matter what you hear, do you understand me?”
“I… I…”
He cupped her flushed face in his hands, searching her eyes. “Soldiers are coming from the south.” Brynn’s eyes lit, but Marek seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. “Listen to me. These men will not care who you are or where you are from. They are riding for one purpose and one purpose alone — to kill anything in sight, and that includes a little yellow-haired girl from the south lands. They are not coming to chat over tea. These men will kill you. Stay in the tree, Brynn.”
Fear reflected in her wide eyes. She nodded.
“No matter what you hear, climb high… and stay there.” And then he kissed her, hard and fast, stealing one more bit of pleasure that damn well could be his last.
“I will,” she told him.
“I will come for you.”
Marek hoisted Brynn into the tree, where she climbed, one limb at a time. With a shout from his men, Marek galloped away, leaving her in the safety of the wooded canopy.
~~~~
The fierce howl of steel grinding against steel pierced through the thick fog. Murderous cries — cries of unbearable pain and certain death — echoed through the trees like ghosts, carrying the sickening smell of blood and sweat.
Men were dying.
The screams and grunts edged closer to her as the battle dragged on, the familiar language of Engels among the shouts. Perhaps they were coming to her rescue, but from the sound of the death screams, Brynn didn’t believe they would be at all successful.
Engel pleas of mercy met an abrupt end.
A sickening wave of nausea lingered precariously high in her throat as she envisioned the ruthless slaughter. Archaeans didn’t show mercy.
A horse shrieked far too close to her hiding place. It was nearly beneath her. Frightened, Brynn let go of the tree branch she had steadfastly clung to. She covered her ears and clamped her eyes shut. It was all just a nightmare, and if she could only wake, she’d be back at the manor picking wildflowers. Raindrops splattered against her, and she huddled closer to the tree, picturing the vivid image of home. A powerful gust crashed over her and Brynn heard her name ambling in its wake. The call of her rescuer? Her bothers, perhaps? They had found her at last.
She must be ready. If they were searching for her, they would never see her hidden in the clouds. Descending to a lower branch in hopes of catching a glimpse of them, Brynn was ready to signal them if the opportunity arose. She wanted to be sure her brothers would hear her call when she recognized them.
The devastation took her breath away. Bodies littered the clearing, most severely damaged to the point of being unrecognizable. Brynn scoured the horizon for familiar faces. Desperate, she sought Marek, but couldn’t locate him. Perhaps if she lowered herself a bit more, she could assure herself he still lived. Bryn left the safety of her tree nook.
As Brynn lowered her frame to a rickety branch, a horse and rider bolted from the right, slamming into her perch and knocking her loose. She scrambled to ke
ep her footing and regain her grip on the branch above, but the tree was wet and the bark slippery. With a shrill scream and a solid thump, she was on the ground.
“Well, well, what have we here?”
Brynn turned toward the snarling voice. A large man with a devious smirk stalked toward her. She turned to run.
“A little sparrow, fallen from the tree.” He laughed, reaching out for her. His hand caught her by the hair and pulled her to the ground.
“Let go of me!” she screeched, clawing for his eyes.
Despite her effort, he hunched over her — dagger in one hand, her neck in the other.
“Never have I encountered such a prize during battle,” the Engel growled, rubbing the gray stubble on his chin against her cheek. He inhaled deeply, edging the blade under her chin.
“Please, no,” she begged, trembling beneath him.
The soldier laughed, his lips pressed tightly against his rotting teeth. “Please, yes,” he corrected, jerking up her skirt.
“Beast!” she spat, raking her fingers along his cheek.
“You little bitch!” The blade pushed deeper. A stinging warmth fanned along her skin.
His mass was too much for her to maneuver, even when he moved to spread her legs with his. Brynn let out a blood curdling scream as she brought her hands to his, trying to pry them from her body.
He raised the dagger above her chest.
~~~~
It was the scream that caught his attention, the sound of pure terror. A woman’s ultimate terror — he’d heard it many a time throughout his hardened life. For a quick moment, Marek’s eyes shifted in search of the treeline instead of the soldier he battled. The swing of an Engel sword narrowly missed his shoulder and sent him staggering backward on his heels. Marek barely escaped the bone-crushing blow. The soldier advanced on horseback, whereas Marek battled on foot. Regaining his stance, he blocked the Engel’s next blow with only seconds to spare. He couldn’t focus — he worried for her safety. Damn woman. He was going to get himself killed.
