Blood Keep

by Wend Petzler

  Rage burned white hot through Nicolas. Charging into the room, he demanded, “What the hell is going on here?"

  Michael's hand went to his sword as he jumped protectively in front of his injured baroness. Otto placed a restraining hand on the younger man's shoulder, stilling Michael when Gabriel burst through the door with sword in hand, causing the occupants to jump again.

  "Stop,” Otto ordered, his voice raw and harsh sounding in the spacious chamber. “Gabriel, shut the door.” His bearded face, lined with worry and age, turned beseechingly to Drago, hoping the honorable knight would listen. “Please, Drago, we need to help Isabella, not fight one another."

  Forcing himself to calm down, Nicolas faced the aging barbarian, appalled by Isabella's ghastly color. Later, he would get his answers, first they must save Isabella. “What can we do to help?"

  The warriors visibly relaxed. Otto turned to Aggie who wrung her hands in worry. “Aggie?"

  Nicolas placed a gentle hand on the anxious woman's shoulder. “My man is well versed in the art of healing. Please allow him to aid you."

  Taking one look at the foreigner, Aggie spat, “No heathen will touch my lass!"

  Isabella lifted her head and met Ahmed's kind, sympathetic gaze for a long moment. Drawing in a shaky breath, her voice came out strong, laced with steel. “Aggie, you will do as Drago's man says. I command it,” she growled, desperate to end the pain she had endured for three days.

  Blushing, deeply ashamed of her actions, Aggie turned to the Arab. “Forgive me, sir. Please, help my Bella?"

  Shaken by the way Lady Isabella seemed to look deep into his soul and judge his worth, Ahmed turned and gently grasped Aggie's hand. “Do not fret. We will save Lady Isabella together.” Accessing the situation, he said, “We must dampen the shirt to prevent reopening the rest of her wounds when we draw it from Lady Isabella.” Ahmed grabbed a bucket and filled it from the steaming pool. Setting it down, he grabbed a woven towel and tore it in two, placing them inside the bucket. “We will work our way down Lady Isabella's back, softening the dried blood by using these.” Ahmed grabbed one of the soaked towels. “Master, you must hold her steady."

  Nicolas beckoned to Gabriel. “Help me remove my armor.” Quickly stripped down to his braies, Nicolas placed his brawny arms under Isabella's, drawing her against his chest. They had to be quick. “Otto, you cut the material when Ahmed says.” Nicolas ordered and then nodded to Ahmed who applied the first steaming cloth to Isabella's bloodied back.

  Her eyes flew open when the hot cloth touched her wounds, yet no sound passed her lips, not even a whimper. Surprised by her strength, Nicolas had not seen such courage in a man as Isabella exhibited. Resting his cheek against her soft hair, Nicolas held her tighter when Isabella's legs buckled from under her. When the second cloth was applied, she barely responded. Otto drew his hunting knife, slicing the damp garment like butter.

  "Allah be merciful!” Ahmed exclaimed when they removed her shirt.

  Alarmed, Nicolas looked down at Isabella's back. Nausea slammed him. Every inch of her back had been lashed severely! Furious, he glared at the men sworn to protect the woman who hung limp in his arms. How could they have allowed such an atrocity to happen to Isabella?

  Drawing back his broad shoulders, Otto met Drago's glower. “Do not judge us for we have already condemned ourselves much more harshly. We had no idea Bella was in danger until we found we were set up."

  "Who did this to her?” Nicolas demanded, desiring to seek and punish the man responsible for inflicting such evil upon the woman in his arms.

  Groggy, Isabella stirred in his strong embrace. Tilting her head back to gaze up at Drago, she whispered, “They have sworn an oath to never speak of what happened. The matter is dropped.” Perspiration gathered along her brow, the saltiness stinging her eyes. The combination of the pool and roaring fire made everyone sweat profusely.

  "Who whipped you?” Nicolas demanded again, his handsome features hard from his anger.

  A mischievous, half-smile curved her soft lips. Her tired eyes held a glint of amusement. “Do you suppose I can bathe? I'm quite sure everyone has had a good look at my backside."

  Otto burst out laughing, heartened by Isabella's sassiness. Pointing to Gabriel and Michael, he said, “Go on with ye both and let the men know the newlyweds will dine in their chamber tonight. They wish to use the time to get better acquainted.” Winking at Drago, Otto ushered the reluctant knights from the chamber.

  Ahmed withdrew a small, leather bag smelling of spicy herbs from his pouch, sprinkling the contents liberally over the steaming bath water, the herbs combined with the heat pungent. “My lord, please help Lady Isabella into the water.” Ahmed's eyes shone with concern for the injured, young woman before him. “My lady, it shall sting at first but soon subsides, allowing you some relief from the pain.” Bowing low to Isabella, he turned to Aggie. “Mistress Aggie, I need to locate several ingredients for a salve. Can you help me?” Aggie nodded, and he followed her out, closing the door firmly behind them.

  For the first time since they met, Nicolas and Isabella were alone. Helping her into the warm water, Nicolas held Isabella steady, grimacing when she inhaled sharply when her laced back protested the healing herbs. Isabella waved him off. Shaking his head at her stubbornness, Nicolas sat down on a nearby wooden stool and removed his leather boots, placing them by his armor. Curious, he wandered around the richly decorated chamber, enjoying the feel of the thick carpet under his feet. Expensive tapestries covered the walls, sealing the chamber from drafts. A spacious bed sat to the far left of a small table and two chairs. A heavy coverlet of velvet plum, gold cord piping decorating the edging, covered the bed. Large, sage-colored pillows sat invitingly against the plain, dark wood headboard.

  His gaze returned to Isabella. Seeing traces of blood in her tangled hair, he decided to do something about it. He picked up a bar of scented soap. She sat on the bottom step, her head bowed in exhaustion. Reaching to draw her long hair out of the water, he accidentally startled her. She attempted to turn and face him, gasping when her back protested the movement.

  "Be still! I wish only to wash your hair,” Nicolas admonished as he entered the pool, ignoring the water soaking his braies.

  She knew she shouldn't allow him to see her in such a weakened state but was too tired to fight him. Sighing, Isabella rested her head against his knee, surrendering to his tender ministrations. Drago lathered the rose-scented soap through her long, thick tresses, massaging her scalp with soothing, swirling strokes of his fingertips.

  Inhaling the rose essence deep into his lungs, Nicolas had to ask the pressing question, “Were you and the Demon Lord close?"

  Bemused by his question, Isabella answered, “The Demon Lord and I were the best of friends. Why?"

  "When he and I fought at Halidon Hill in Scotland, I remember smelling roses that day. I was just wondering how the warrior accomplished such a feminine scent during a bloody campaign."

  Chuckling, Isabella shook her head at Drago. “I gave my dark avenger a handkerchief sprinkled with my perfume to remind him of gentler things than blood and war."

  "Oh. It explains a lot. If the Demon were a lesser man many would have taunted him."

  "If the Demon Lord possessed any weaknesses it was when he risked his life to save yours that day at Halidon Hill,” Isabella snapped.

  "Yea, you are right. I never got the chance to thank him for his sacrifice. Will the Demon return to Blood Keep anytime soon?” Nicolas tried to be subtle, needing to know if the Demon's absence would be a permanent one.

  "The Demon Lord will come if I need him."

  "My lady, you need not worry about your safety anymore. I and my men will see to it. After what happened to you, I dare say we have not come a moment too soon."

  Rolling her eyes, Isabella chose to remain silent. Her men were the best trained knights in the world, and Drago thought he could protect her better? What an arrogant buffoon!

  When he felt
her hair sufficiently clean, he reached for a nearby bucket. Filling it with warm water, he went about rinsing the silky mass free of soap. Putting it aside, he reached for a cloth and soap, a wicked grin curving his sensual mouth. “My lady, do you wish me to wash the rest of you?"

  Shocked by his forwardness, she replied pertly, “I am quite capable of washing myself.” Taking the items he held in his hands, her fingers touched Drago's. Electricity flowed from the innocent contact, sending a jolt of lightening right through her. Wide eyes flew upward, searching his, wondering if he had felt it, too. His eyes darkened, smoldering. Scooting away to a safer distance, having had no experience in matters of passion, she chose to retreat.

  He sighed in mocking disappointment. “Why did you not tell me you were injured? Did you actually hope walking around bleeding to death might escape my notice?” His tone critical, Nicolas straightened to his impressive height and placed his hands on his narrow hips, staring down at her sternly.

  Closing her eyes, she willed the overbearing male to leave her be. When she opened them, Drago had sat again on the stool, his elbows rested on his knees. Her breath hitched in a soft gasp. Sweat gave his perfect, bronze body a glistening sheen in the blazing fire's light. Her curious gaze moved over the heavily muscled planes of his sleek chest, strangely bare of hair when most men in the north were usually covered with it. Lower, he possessed a hard, flat stomach and lean hips. Traveling further downward, her eyes widened at the impressive bulge between his muscular thighs.

  Perfect, white teeth flashed as Nicolas grinned wolfishly at her perusal of his person. “Doth my lady see something she desires?"

  Scowling at Drago, Isabella looked away, embarrassed to her very core by his casual state of undress. Frustrated, she threw the soapy cloth at him. “You have no manners!"

  "None whatsoever, my lady.” Nicolas laughed heartily as she blushed harder. “I do believe you have been in the tub long enough. You need to come out and dry off.” He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at her reddening grimace. “Come,” he ordered, half expecting Isabella to tell him to go to hell. Surprised when she lifted her hand for his help, he rose from the stool.

  Drago lifted her out of the tub as if she weighed nothing at all, surprising Isabella. Self-conscious of her size, not being one of the beautiful, petite noblewomen, she had endured much ribbing from the Earl, her father, because of it. She was well aware her body was undesirable, though not fat. She was large boned. She carefully shielded her front side from his view, self-consciously turning away, not wanting him to see her ugliness. Drago reached for a large towel warming on the hearth and gently wrapped it around her.

  Observing his wife's firm body, her breasts, small and full, had felt absolutely heavenly pressed to his bare chest earlier. Control yourself, he ordered himself harshly. Trying to concentrate on domestic chores, away from his new wife's delicious curves, he thought about the lashes on her back.

  How had she found the strength to endure the whipping and meet him at the gate wearing armor?

  Urging Isabella to face the warmth of the fire, he gently pulled her long hair out from under the towel. “I am not very good at domestic duties. My skills lie in fighting, not bathing beautiful women. But, I feel confident I can learn with practice.” Nicolas winked at her good-naturedly.

  Isabella was floored. Drago called her beautiful? Never had any man thought of her in such a way. Her shock must have been evident because he leaned over her shoulder, his hair spilling onto her, caressing her sensitive skin. She grew increasingly nervous when her fingers actually itched to run through the silky strands.

  "My lady, is something wrong?” Nicolas asked, his brow furrowed when she just stared at him, her jaw dropped slightly.

  "No—nothing is wrong.” Isabella stuttered, bowing her head to hide her embarrassment.

  Straightening, Nicolas looked this way and that at the tangled mass of hair. “Do you have a comb handy?” he asked. Following her pointed finger, he fetched it from the wardrobe. Nicolas drew in a determined breath and began a gentle attack against the knots in her hair.

  Speechless, Isabella sat stone still. The last time a male brushed her hair was Big Otto when she was a child. She tried her best not to wince when Drago yanked a bit too hard, still he knew and would curse softly under his breath. Isabella placed a hand on his muscular forearm, smiling up at him, easing his distress.

  When the long mass was somewhat combed out, Nicolas found himself braiding the silky stuff. The salve Ahmed created was sticky and Nicolas knew from experience the poultice clung to everything it came in contact with. He'd been healed on many occasions from the miraculous concoction. Finished at last, Nicolas stepped back to view his handiwork. Satisfied the braid held, he went over to the bed and pulled back the blankets.

  "Come, my lady, let us get you in bed. Ahmed will be back soon.” Nicolas placed his arm around her shoulders and held her steady as she slowly walked over to the bed.

  A decision had to be made about how she was to climb up onto the bed without reopening her wounds. Isabella was clearly unwilling to allow him to see any more of her naked body. In her mind, he had seen far too much of her already. He solved the problem by lifting her up on the bed. By the time she collapsed on her stomach, Isabella was breathing heavily, wrung out from the day.

  Nicolas carefully removed the towel from around her worn out body, admiring the remarkable strength she possessed to have endured such a brutal whipping as he viewed the red, angry welts. Moving a chair next to the bed, he sat down, rubbing his hands over his tired face. Relaxing, Nicolas looked up, surprised to see Isabella still awake, her green eyes sad. She had the right to be, he thought angrily. Isabella was a noblewoman severely mistreated. And by God, he was going find the wretched man and kill him for his crime.

  His deep voice soothing, he reassured Isabella the best he could under the circumstances. “Do not worry, my lady, your loveliness is not slighted in the least by the whip ... well, let me just say I think you are still beautiful.” Nicolas smiled encouragingly, knowing in his heart Isabella would forever bear the evil marks of her whipping.

  Isabella smiled at his attempt to make her feel better. Scars had never bothered her before. Lord knows she had more than her share of them. But knowing the man beside her thought her beautiful brought forth hot, scalding tears, frightening her more than any enemy she had ever faced.

  Distressed to see the brave woman crying, he took her slender hand in his. “Please, do not cry,” Nicolas pleaded, panicking at what to say to make Isabella feel better. A knock on the door saved him. Ahmed entered the chamber carrying a tray laden with food, followed by Aggie who held a large wooden bowl and a flask of wine.

  "A thousand apologies, Master. We had a difficult time finding a much needed herb for the salve.” Ahmed bowed to Nicolas and Isabella who frantically rubbed away the evidence of her momentary bout of weakness.

  Aggie set the bowl by the fire before pouring a cup of wine and added a drought of a sleeping potion to help Isabella rest. Surprised to see her mistress clean and her hair braided, she looked at Drago. “My lord, did you do this?"

  Turning beet red, Nicolas jumped from the chair, hurrying to the table. “I think I'll have a cup of wine, too."

  Winking at Isabella, Aggie was clearly amused by Drago's embarrassment of performing a domestic chore. Isabella took the offered cup and drained the contents, making a sour face at the horrible taste. “Are you hungry?” Aggie took the cup back as Isabella shook her head, resting her head on her folded arms, watching Drago devour his supper.

  Ahmed stirred the thickening salve in the wooden bowl as he approached Isabella. “Mistress, the salve is very warm. But when the tallow cools, infection is prevented from setting in. Are you ready?” At her slight nod, Ahmed dipped his fingers in the creamy salve and started to spread it over her back. At first touch, her fingers twisted the sheets, her teeth clenched from making a sound. Satisfied the wounds sufficiently covered, Ahmed to
ok the bowl back to the fireplace to keep warm and washed his hands free of the sticky stuff.

  Aggie crossed over to the pool and released the drain. “My lord, do you wish to bathe tonight?” she asked, waiting to pull another lever for water to heat in the reserve cauldrons.

  Yawning, Nicolas glanced at the silent figure on the bed. “Yea, I believe I need a bath, too.” After today, a soak in the pool sounded like a welcome end to it all. If he were to be really honest, exploring his new wife's delicious body would have been better. Under the circumstances, Nicolas could not complain. To become baron and commander of the infamous Black Army, not a better stroke of luck could a man have been given as he.

  Gazing at his armor, Nicolas absently wondered who cleaned Isabella's. A knock on the door announced a red-haired young man, the same who had taken Isabella's horse earlier. Entering the chamber, he bowed to Nicolas and introduced himself.

  "My lord, I am Miles and have come to collect Lady Isabella's armor.” Swiftly, he gathered the gear.

  While Drago and his man watched Miles, Aggie drew the Demon's sword and placed it under the bed, not far from Isabella's reach. Hustling to release the warm water into the spacious bath, she made sure the water wasn't too hot. “My lord, if you need anything, I'll be in the great hall.” She smiled cheerfully and bustled out the door, shutting it behind her.

  Nicolas exclaimed, “I have never seen a castle such as Blood Keep!"

  "They do seem to differ here, but the people of Blood Keep appear to be quite happy.” Ahmed took Drago's sword and paused when he saw the Demon's sword lying under the bed near Isabella's hand. Frowning, he placed Drago's on the other side of the bed in easy reach if need should arise.

  Belly full from the excellent food, Nicolas rose and shed his braies, handing them over to Ahmed to be cleaned. Wearily, he slipped into the hot water.

  "Master, will you need further assistance?” Ahmed asked, bowing when Nicolas dismissed him. “I will go downstairs and observe how our men react to the Demon Lord's."