Romancing the Rogue

by Kim Bowman

  ~~~~

  Marek stepped out onto the street, his head clear, in search of the trade master. He had done business with him before — never for this, but he had bartered for weapons and horses. He had no reason to distrust Daman. The merchant always treated Marek’s pocket well. He found the heavy-set man in the marketplace. “Daman,” Marek called, approaching the trade master.

  A wide smile crept across the old man’s weathered face. “Marek, my friend, it is good to see you.”

  “Aye, it has been a few years.” Daman clasped Marek’s forearm in greeting. “Listen, Daman, I have a proposition for you, not one you would usually barter for. I have a girl, she… she needs to be taken care of.”

  “You wish to be rid of her? I know a man who would gladly chop off her head for just five silver.” Daman wrung his hands together in delight.

  “She is the result of an unfortunate circumstance. She is to live.”

  “And you wish to sell her?”

  “Aye, I do, on one condition.”

  “Conditions for barter, Marek? You humor me.” Daman let out a hearty laugh. “And what might those be, boy?”

  “She is not to be branded a slave. She is a good girl, Daman, and so should be treated as such. I will not have her spoiled. She is to be sold to a family, a wealthy one, as a nursemaid or tutor, or the like. She is not to be touched.” His words were firm as he stared Daman in the eyes. Marek knew all too well what Daman thought of beautiful young women. Many Archaeans thought that way as of late. Traditions had been rapidly fading into the past as the Engel ways crept into those of the once segregated Archaeans.

  “Well, I am not in the service of bartering people,” he replied smoothly. “You have to understand they require upkeep. They need to be fed, housed, clothed… protected.”

  Marek took hold of the man’s tunic with one hand and started to draw his sword with the other. “I do not think you understand, Daman.”

  “B-but,” the man stuttered, “there is a very rich man in the village seeking help, I believe. He has several children and an ailing wife. They seek a young girl, one who will be taken in as one of their own to help with the children. I believe I can negotiate a deal for, say… twenty silver?”

  Marek’s grip tightened, this time around the man’s airway. “Not good enough.” The more Daman had to spend, the more likely he would be to protect his investment, and the higher the purchase price.

  “Forty,” replied Daman.

  “Fifty.”

  “Fifty silver and I swear she will be well cared for.”

  “Swear it.” Marek shoved the man back a few steps with his grip still firm upon him.

  “I swear it on my own life,” the merchant replied. “The utmost care.”

  Satisfied, Marek released the man’s chubby neck. “Give me the coin and I will bring her.”

  “I will give you half and give you the other twenty-five when you deliver the girl.”

  “Agreed.”

  ~~~~

  Darkness had fallen when Marek returned for Brynn.

  “Did you find someone?” Ronan inquired in Archaean.

  “Aye, there is a nobleman seeking care for his children.”

  “Ahh, that would explain the fancy horses the lads were eyeing earlier. I had to convince them they weren’t worth stealing.” Ronan chuckled.

  Handing his brother a pouch full of coins, Marek instructed Ronan to buy a few drinks. “I’ll be around later. Come,” he told Brynn, taking her by the wrist.

  “Where are we going? Stop pulling me!”

  Marek’s grip grew increasingly tighter as he led her out into the moonlight.

  “Stop!” Yanking her arm free, she stepped away from him. “So this is it? This is where we part? You have bartered me away and in doing so condemned me to death? Why could you not have just let me take my punishment and let me be?”

  “To have left you there would have been to condemn you to death! Why can you not see that?”

  “At least I would have had a chance. You took that chance from me when you felt the need to rescue me. It doesn’t have to be like this, you know. If you would only take your eyes from me for but a brief moment, you would be rid of me for good. Why rescue me to only condemn me now? Whatever it is you feel you must do, please, do not do it.”

  He shook her shoulders, wanting to make her understand. “From the moment I first set eyes on you, you have tortured my soul. I would have spent the rest of my days wondering if you lived or died, and I will not have your death on my conscience. Letting you go off by yourself would only reassure your death. You know nothing, Brynn. You would only be feeding some very hungry wolves. There are no sheltered manors here. I am doing the best I can for you.” Conflicted, Marek raised his hands to his head and paced a few steps away from her. He wanted to tell her everything would be all right and take her in his arms and never let her go, but he knew that was never meant to be. It could not be.

  “But what am I to do?” she whimpered. “You are right… I know nothing.”

  Marek gritted his teeth. The girl never had to lift a finger in her years of life. If she wanted food, she ate. If she wanted to soak in a bath, she bade her servants draw her one. She dined with nobles. Even when taken from her home in Galhaven, Marek had seen to her wellbeing. How would she ever survive on her own? She knew not where to begin. Even he could not offer her these things.

  “There is a wealthy man here seeking a companion for his children. He is more than likely from an affluent Engel line and you will stay with them. You will have food in your belly and clothing on your back. You shall be able to marry, to have children of your own. You will have a good life, Brynn.” How he wished she would turn to face him. “It may not be with the luxuries you are accustomed to, but—”

  “A good life?” she scoffed. “A life without my brothers, without my home… A life without…” She sighed, releasing the choking in her throat.

  “I have spent most of my life away. My men, they are my family out here. They are my brothers. I do it so that one day my family may live in peace, away from the fighting, away from these bastards that call themselves nobility. I have not seen my wife in three years. Three damn years! My son was just a wee little thing when I last saw him. Life is one big torturous pain in the ass, so get used to disappointment!”

  “I wanted children, you know, many of them, and a fine husband that would cherish me. I was engaged to be married before you came barging into my home and took away all hopes of that ever happening. He was a fine man that actually wanted to marry me, until you… ruined everything.” Her voice was thick with spite.

  Yes, he had ruined her life, tarnished her reputation, but was trying his damndest to fix it the only way he knew how. He had kept his hands mostly off her — her virginity was still intact at least.

  “In a few days time I should be a bride, not… here.” Brynn turned from him. “You said you have a son? I bet he looks just like his father. A fine warrior he will be someday.”

  Kicking a rock from his path, Marek shuffled his way beside her, picturing his little boy as a strapping young lad. “Aye, a fine one.” Ewan looked more like his mother, tall and lean with angelic eyes and fine straight hair. His Nya, she was draped in sunlight when he was near. A smile breached his lips. The things he would teach Ewan — how to wield a sword and aim a bow. How to set a snare and skin his catch, just like his father had taught him.

  His mind was distracted for only a moment, but it was all the time she needed. Brynn was gone.

  “The gods help you, woman, when I find you,” he muttered, scanning a corner for his missing Engel. He would never live this down if his men were to hear of it. He hadn’t even noticed her leave. Instead, he’d kept right on walking like a blundering fool. Never in his life had a simple woman done this to him before. Marek, the mighty warrior, had somehow been reduced to a smitten boy. No sooner had he rounded the next corner did he find her, hissing like a wildcat and surrounded by a mixed group of men
looking for something to play with.

  “Get your hands off me!” she screeched, pulling her skirts from the toying grasp of the man circling her.

  The Engel tossed his head back and laughed. “Oh, come now, sweetling, just one little kiss?”

  “Never!”

  “Oh, well do ye fancy a fuck, then? I could do wondrous things between those legs, darling.” He paced toward her and she counter-paced his steps.

  The Engel cornered her against a wall. “If not, then I will just have to come and get it myself,” he snarled, reaching out for her. “I’m sure the others would like some as well, eh, boys?”

  They cheered behind him, snickering and taunting her with a mixed jeering of words.

  Brynn cuffed him across the cheek. “If you touch me, I swear I—”

  “You’ll what?” The man raised his hand to strike.

  Marek caught the Engel’s fist mid-swing. The force of the jerk spun the man around to face his attacker.

  In one swift motion, Marek brought his clenched fist back then set it loose. Bone crunched beneath the crushing blow. Blood spattered in all directions as the Engel’s body twirled unconscious to the ground at Brynn’s feet. Another approached, drawing a blade and wildly swung for Marek’s chest. He dodged it easily, flitting to the side and tripping the assailant to the ground beside his unmoving friend. Marek stomped on the dagger. It released from the Engel’s grip. Marek picked it up and held it to the man’s throat.

  “Give me a reason,” Marek growled, pushing the blade deeper.

  The man barely shook his head, but it was enough to make Marek understand he wasn’t ready to die. Marek withdrew the blade and tucked it beneath his belt. He gave the others surrounding him a glare, seized Brynn by her arm, and pulled her back down the alley.

  When she tried to pull away, Marek yanked her body to his, wrapped an arm around her waist, and slung her over his shoulder.

  “Marek!” she screeched, kicking in a mad battle against herself. “I hate you, you… gluttonous dog!” She clawed at the arm pinning her. “I wish I’d never met you!”

  “Good!” A toe dug deep into his ribs. He slapped her backside with his palm in warning, wishing he were touching it under different circumstances. She squealed in objection and demanded release. When her fit got her nowhere other than higher up on his shoulder, she reiterated just how much she hated him as he made his way to Daman’s.

  Marek returned Brynn to her feet before a rickety wooden door. He helped smooth her skirts before realizing his inappropriate actions.

  “Please, Marek, I beg of you. Please do not do this. Please…”

  “I am so sorry.” He could only whisper. “But I cannot take you with me. As much as I want to — I cannot.”

  “Then let me go, before you make the biggest mistake of your life. Look at me, Marek.”

  He could not. If he looked at those beautiful pleading eyes once more he would surely split into irreparable pieces. He bent down and untied the boot knife and its scabbard, then reached his hands under Brynn’s skirt and trailed his fingers up to her lower thigh. “Here,” he told her, securing the straps around her leg. “Always keep this with you. Do not let anyone know you have it. Protect yourself if you must, and always remember where it came from.” Returning her skirts to their proper place, Marek stood and cleared his throat. “Do not be afraid to live.”

  Brynn searched between the ties of her skirts. Upon finding an object, she untied the securing knots and pulled out a charm. “It belonged to my mother,” she told him, running the pad of her thumb over the design. “My brother, Michael, told me it had been blessed and would always protect me — that it contained my destiny — but it has brought me nothing but sorrow. My mother is dead, Michael is gone, and now you are leaving me. I have kept it with me every day since I was six years old. Take it. Perhaps it is only a curse. May it bring you better luck than it has brought me.” Her fingers lingered on his for a moment as he took it from her palm.

  Round in shape, a never-ending star was etched on its surface. Though a bit dull and smooth from years of wear, the etching still caught the light of the moon and reflected the glow like the constant star in a winter’s night sky. He looked at it curiously before tucking it away.

  The rickety door swung open, nearly flapping into Marek’s side. “Is ’is ’er?” A very drunk Daman burst through the door. “‘Outa my way, girl, let a man piss.”

  “The rest of the money, Daman, or did you drink it all away?”

  “I got yer money, Highlander, so do’n go gettin’ yer skirts in a bunch.” When he finished, Daman turned to Brynn while fixing his belt. “A pretty little thing, aye? What’s you called?” he slurred. When she didn’t reply, he stomped closer to her and grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking her into the torchlight and closer to his beady eyes. “I asked what you was called!”

  Marek pushed Daman to the side, causing him to lose balance. As soon as the man let go of her hair, Brynn scurried to safety behind Marek’s frame and he slung a protective arm around her. “She doesn’t understand you,” he growled.

  “Is she a dumb girl? You’re rich man won’t take no girl like that! What you mean she don’t understand me? She’s Archaean in’t she?”

  “Only by blood.”

  “How’s she supposed to—?”

  “She will learn,” Marek interrupted. “Now go get my money.”

  Daman returned with a small pouch containing the extra coins. As soon as he handed over the pouch, Marek grabbed Daman by the shirt collar and pulled the man up to his towering eye level.

  “She is not to be touched,” Marek told Daman, snarling in his ear.

  “I… I… She will not be touched,” Daman sputtered.

  “And the rich man? Where is he?”

  “He’s comin’ in the mornin’. Quit yer fretting. And put me down.”

  Marek released his hold on Daman. He gave Brynn one last long glance, burning her image into his memory before Daman pulled her to the door.

  “Marek!” She screamed for him, struggling through the archway. Daman tightened his grip around her arm and jerked her free of the threshold, pulling her deeper into the darkness. “Please, I am begging you, do not leave me! Take me with you, Marek, I promise to behave. I’m sorry for what I said! You are making a mistake!”

  “You would not be the first!” A deep scowl hardened his mouth. Marek had never been one to second-guess himself. A flash of panic shuttered through him. He twisted his steps, but all that stood before him was an empty black hole. “Fuck!” He bellowed in frustration. “The gods be damned to hell!” He kicked at the dirt, continuing his cursing tirade as he made his way to the tavern to drink away his aggravation and disappointment.

  Part Two

  Chapter Nine

  Abigail

  Brynn’s eyes adjusted to the absence of light. Staring back at her were at least ten pairs of tired eyes.

  “Get up,” Daman called to one of them, slowly making his way through the room. Immediately, the frail girl he addressed exited her bed and rushed over to him, head hung low. “Clean her up,” Damon ordered. “I want to see her in the morning.”

  The girl nodded and stood with feet planted. She was dressed in a long, flowing chemise dotted with several holes with her hair neatly pinned back in tight plaits.

  Daman’s footsteps thudded back up the stairwell, and a lock clicked.

  A dark-haired woman revealed herself in the light, carrying a small oil lamp. She was an older woman, worn by the world and hardened by life. Her appraisal swept over Brynn and her muddy, blood-stained clothes. Her eyes met Brynn’s when the small lamp’s light passed over her face. They were dark and deep, like earthy caverns. A few wrinkles had taken up residence under her heavy eyes. She spoke with hastened words, expectant.

  Brynn had no understanding of the Archaean words.

  The woman pointed to her chest and smiled. “Abigail.”

  “I am Brynn,” she told the woman, recognizing the E
ngel name.

  “Ah, I see. From Engel, I assume?” Abigail spoke familiar words.

  “Galhaven.”

  “Galhaven, eh? Did ye serve there? I lived in Kirkwood once. How in bloody hell did you get here?”

  “I am to be a nursemaid for a rich man’s family. I will not be here long.”

  Abigail shrugged, chuckling. “That is what we were all told, silly girl. Come, let us get you cleaned up. You look as though you were dragged through a swamp.” The woman held out her palm.

  Abigail led her to a small washtub in the corner of the room where the women set to work finding Brynn fresh clothing, a comb, and a few parcels of food.

  Abigail promptly stripped Brynn of her clothing. “What is this, now?” she questioned, spying the boot knife strapped to Brynn’s thigh. She looked closer and followed with more questions. “What is an Engel servant doing with an Archaean warrior blade? How did you get this?”

  “’Tis very valuable to me. Please don’t take it.”

  “And let you kill us all in our beds?”

  “No, I would never!” Brynn gasped, shaking her head. “It was the last thing that… it was a very special gift. Do not take it away. ‘Tis all I have left.”

  Abigail allowed her to keep it after giving Brynn strict instructions to keep it out of sight and away from Daman. While Brynn bathed, Abigail chatted away in Engel, asking for news of the royal family, about the wars, and if the raids had made their way east.

  The bath was bitter cold, but Brynn paid it no mind. Her thoughts fluttered about. She hadn’t realized Abigail was still chatting or that another woman was busy trying to get a comb through the snarls in her hair. Brynn simply stared at the dark wall in front of her, wondering if Marek would burst through the door to rescue her. But as the women dressed her and plaited her hair, the door stayed firmly shut and locked while the hours rolled late into the night.

  “You will sleep here. Rest, as tomorrow will be a long day.”