Blood Keep

by Wend Petzler

  "Isabella, I know how you hate falsehoods, but we feel you should appear more lady-like with such illustrious company in our midst. Drago's men are not like us and do not understand your manner of dress, or special abilities.” Michael shifted his feet nervously, awaiting Isabella's reaction.

  How could she pretend to be someone weak when so many people depended on her being strong? Suppressing the helpless rage roiling inside her, Isabella nodded slightly, unable to muster her voice.

  With duties to attend, Michael bowed to her and left. Gabriel held back. “Are you feeling better?” His bright, blue eyes were concerned, mingling with shame. He was sworn to protect her and, to his way of thinking, he had failed miserably.

  Isabella swallowed hard, unshed tears burned her eyes and throat. Her greatest, most noble knight's brave facade nearly crumbled in shame and self-loathing. Ignoring proper etiquette, she threw her arms around his lean waist. “Gabriel, you are a brother to me in all ways but blood. Let it go. None of us knew the evil bastard had it in him to commit such a vile, treacherous deed upon me. I survived because you were quick of wit and saw the ruse. I am alive because of you!"

  Owing this fierce creature his very life, Gabriel whispered past a throat tight from emotion, “I'd gladly give my life to you as would every person in Blood Keep."

  She smiled, heartened by her friend's assurances. “As I to you and our people."

  "What shall we tell the Baron when he asks about the Demon Lord's absence?"

  "Tell him the Demon left Blood Keep to attend family affairs. If need arises, I shall be in my chambers resting.” Assured the Demon Lord was near if she had need of him, caution stepped in. When Alden had whipped her, he had demanded she summon her dark avenger home. His plan to kill the Demon Lord and take command of the Black Army had failed for she had refused. Saved in the nick of time by Gabriel and Michael, she shuddered at the memory of Alden frothing at the mouth as he whipped her, infuriated by her stubbornness. What a monster her brother-in-law truly was, much more than Mordred.

  Somber, Gabriel left in the opposite direction of Isabella, unaware they were being watched from the courtyard by the new baron.

  Scowling fiercely when he'd seen them together, a strange, foreign emotion flooded him, leaving Nicolas in a great need to rip things apart with his bare hands. He would personally deal with his wife and her lover. Their affair ends, he vowed. Christ Jesu, Isabella was a baroness! What the hell was she thinking by sleeping with a mere knight?

  Ahmed eyed his master warily, dreading the direction Nicolas’ anger headed. “My lord?” Ahmed asked when Nicolas spun on his heel, leaving Brandon to stare at them in confusion.

  "I have a matter to settle with my wife,” Nicolas ground out, storming back to the castle.

  Hastening after Drago, Ahmed stressed in a harsh whisper, “Master, you must not act rashly. Many things are not what they seem! Do not let jealousy cloud your judgment."

  Drago skidded to a halt. The very idea he could be blinded by jealousy was like a bucket of cold water thrown in his face. “I am not jealous! Isabella acts in a manner degrading to her station. She must be brought to heel!"

  "Like a dog?” Ahmed replied in a cold voice. “Might I remind you, my lord, someone else had already tried. Lady Isabella accepted the whipping as no more than a hindrance. You cannot afford to make a hasty judgment or alienate the Black Army by attacking their Baroness, too.” Ahmed's tone insistent, he urged Nicolas to reconsider his course of action.

  Ahmed's wisdom sank through the red haze Nicolas saw when Isabella embraced Gabriel. Taking in several calming breaths, Nicolas strode back to Brandon, ignoring the man's questioning gaze. “You were telling me of the new barracks?” Perturbed, Nicolas glanced at Otto, feeling that the old barbarian was laughing at him. Tonight, he'd speak privately to Isabella about her comportment and command her to act more appropriately.

  Calmer, Nicolas stared at the building before him, awed by the monster of construction. Brandon continued to explain its purpose. Here lay the problem, Nicolas thought, following Brandon inside. How were his men going to fit in with the Black Army? On the main floor, the entire level was dedicated to the warhorses and squires who personally attended the magnificent animals. The horses, all black and sleek-coated, stuck their beautiful heads out of their spacious stalls, inspecting the newcomers. One in particular drew Nicolas’ interest. The remarkable stallion tossed his fine head majestically, a king amongst the others.

  Brandon affectionately patted the thickly muscled neck of the snorting animal. “This be Lucifer, Bella's mount. He is our second lead stallion, the first of course being Satan. Many of our warhorses are his sons or one of his sons."

  "Why do you allow Isabella to ride such a spirited animal? Ought not a noblewoman to ride a gentle palfrey instead? It appears I must make some changes where my wife is concerned. Isabella needs return to gentler, more womanly pursuits and leave matters better left to men.” Nicolas warily ventured near the explosive animal.

  "Allow?” Brandon sputtered in outrage. “My lord, I know compared to most demesnes we are most unusual. But in terms of allowing or not, Lady Isabella is our Baroness and commands us. It is not for us to command her. Excuse me, I have matters to attend.” Brandon stomped out of the stable very disappointed in the man.

  Nicolas’ brow furrowed at Brandon's strange behavior. A silent figure parted from the shadows. Michael! The swarthy featured man shook his head in disgust before he followed Sir Brandon out of the stable.

  Otto cocked his head to the side, accessing Drago. “Well, you sure do have a way of clearing a room. Come, Drago, I will take you to your men. We've reopened the old barracks for them.” Leading the way back toward the castle, Otto veered left and the courtyard opened to a spacious field extending over twenty acres. To a low roofed, stone building, Otto took Drago and his man.

  The nearest part of the field consisted of training arenas for the black armored knights. Barns, corrals, and hay shelters were set far downwind from the Keep. The sheer size of the inner area of Blood Keep was astounding. The high wall encircled the grazing fields, stretching beyond the training arenas. Cattle and sheep grazed unconcerned as soldiers walked the ramparts, fully armed and ready.

  "Why did you construct the larger building when you already had barracks available?” Nicolas asked, hoping not to offend the jolly Viking like he obviously had the others.

  Otto halted in his tracks, staring hard at the younger man. Deciding Drago actually wanted to know, he answered the question. “We have here a social order of sorts, my lord. The Black Knights are the elite. Boys are sent here from the finest families to squire with one. Gabriel instills honor and loyalty in the young men, training them to become the best of the best for Blood Keep and England.” He left out the fact many were illegitimate but what the hell, Drago would eventually find out, if he survived Isabella.

  "The Demons, on the other hand, are feared for their ruthlessness and cunning. Michael enlists only the meanest, most dedicated men who prove their loyalty at all costs for the rank of being a Demon. The men who accomplish the honor of being initiated into the Brotherhoods are fanatical about it."

  Understanding lit Nicolas’ face. At last, he had the knowledge of the inner workings of the Black Army.

  "If I may have your leave, I must be about my duties.” When Drago nodded, Otto bowed and left, heading back to the castle.

  Continuing on, Nicolas found his men leaning against the wooden fence, watching the Black Knights ride the lists. His second in command, Leo Smart, pushed away from the fence, wearing a rueful smile upon his scarred face. Nicolas grasped his long time friend's shoulder in a warm greeting.

  "How fares the men in our new home?” Nicolas asked as he, too, watched the mighty warhorses launch down the lists. The determined knights hit the small, wooden target every time.

  "They are thankful we did not fight the Black Knights yesterday. We've been watching them train and find they are perfection in all
ways of war.” Leo made to say more but stopped, holding back.

  Nicolas urged the man to continue. “Speak your mind. You know I value your opinion."

  "My lord, I have heard the Black Army take their orders only from Lady Isabella.” Leo rushed on, “Many of our men were offended to see her in armor, carrying a replica sword. They resent the fact you have not put her in her place. Some have voiced their disdain in the presence of the Black Knights and Demons, who fortunately handled it rather well. But, I fear a conflict if a position is not taken soon."

  "I am Baron of Blood Keep! The Black Army is mine to command, and I make the decisions, not Lady Isabella.” Nicolas replied, exasperated. No woman led knights of the English Realm! He must speak to Gabriel and Michael, making it perfectly clear they took their orders from him and not Isabella. “Let us examine our new home and see where their defenses need attention.” Nicolas walked to the battlements and up the steep stairs. Inhaling the cool, fresh scent of the spring air, he gazed at the wild beauty of the lands stretching beyond the second wall.

  Faithful, Ahmed took his place beside Drago. Observing the practicing knights below them, he commented, “We are outsiders."

  Frowning, Nicolas also noted the open distrust from the men in black. “We will have to change that, won't we?” Determination etched his hardening features.

  Blood Keep was his! The Black Army will accept his command and serve their new Baron, as would Isabella.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Four

  Hours later, Nicolas found Isabella asleep in their chambers. Tilting his head to the side, he studied the rise and fall of her bared back. The red, angry welts were a stark reminder of her vulnerability. And yet, she was fully capable of riding a warhorse and ruling Blood Keep, all at the mere age of twenty-one. Noticing the sword resting within her hand's reach, Nicolas thought of the Demon Lord. Was it the real one or a replica as she indicated? Had it all been for show? None of it made sense. Renowned for his viciousness on the field of battle, the Demon never stopped until Edward ordered him to do so. Why had the Demon Lord suddenly left Isabella defenseless? Leaning his shoulder against the bedpost, he watched her sleep. He would never abandon her, Nicolas swore, not like the Demon had.

  An uneasy feeling invaded Isabella's sleep. Opening her eyes slowly, she focused on Drago staring at her, a brooding frown creasing his handsome face. Yawning, she gathered the sheet about her body. “What do you want?” she asked sleepily.

  Entranced by sleepy, luminescent emerald-green eyes, Nicolas felt his body harden, watching her lay warm and inviting in the oversize bed. “Supper is almost ready. Will you join me or rather a platter be sent up to you?” Nicolas sat in the comfortable chair beside the bed. Long, golden brown hair tousled and swirling about her shoulders gave her a wild appearance. His manhood swelled.

  Isabella glanced at the window, noting the sky dark. “Why was I allowed to sleep so late?” she spoke sharply as she carefully sat up, distrustful of Drago. “Do you mind? I need to dress.” Her breathing quickened when she realized Nicolas was fully aroused. His hot, amber eyes burned her, a yearning no one had expressed to her before, shocking her.

  A lazy smile curled his sensual mouth. “I don't mind, please feel free to dress."

  She glared at him, her clothes under his large frame. “My clothes?” Isabella demanded, holding out her hand impatiently. Inside, she was shaken by the heady knowledge of arousing Drago.

  Sighing in mock disappointment, he lifted a hip, forcing her to use both hands to jerk her clothes out from under him. Angry, Isabella stomped over to the dressing screen and jerked on her clothes. Walking back stiffly, she sat on the edge of the bed, struggling to pull her boots on.

  Scowling, Nicolas had enough. “Isabella, you are not to wear men's clothes anymore. Blood Keep is my problem. It is time for you to return to dresses and more womanly pursuits."

  She stared at her husband in stunned disbelief. How the hell was she to respond to such an arrogant bastard? Taking several cleansing breaths, Isabella grated out, “My lord, I regret to inform you but I do not own a single dress.” She smiled sweetly, although the sincerity did not quite reach her cold, hard eyes.

  "None? Why not?” he asked incredulity in his voice.

  "Because I must be strong, and one cannot be taken seriously in a skirt."

  "There is no further need to act as a man, not with me here to protect you. Besides, your rare beauty can only be enhanced with a lovely dress.” His voice deepened, grew husky. Unfolding his long length from the chair, he approached her. Isabella rose defensively. Their bodies brushed slightly as he lowered his mouth to taste her surprised, parted lips.

  Isabella reeled at Drago calling her beautiful again. In the span of two days, Drago saw her as a woman and not a leader of warriors. Startled when his warm mouth touched hers, Isabella went rigid when the tip of his tongue teased her bottom lip, patiently waiting for her to respond. She relaxed, giving him permission to explore her more intimately. He drew her closer, mindful of her back. Hesitant, Isabella's arms crept around his lean waist. Senses reeling, Drago wove unfamiliar sensations of pleasure and taste around her. Never had she felt so completely alive, her body aflame, attuned to his taste and touch.

  He was on fire! Her soft breasts crushed against his chest, Drago felt her nipples harden, tempting him, begging to be released and tasted. Common sense kicked in. He had to slow down, wanting to explore his new wife more leisurely when she was completely healed. Nicolas found it far more difficult to separate from Isabella's luscious mouth. Drawing in much needed air, he gazed at her as she stared at him. Her green eyes fairly glowed in the candle-lit chamber. He nearly bent to kiss those sweet, swollen lips again. His raging body demanded he take his wife to bed while his mind warred, commanding he leave her alone, at least until Isabella was completely healed.

  Shame flushed her pale features. Isabella jerked away from Drago, abhorred by her outrageous actions, afraid of the wild sensations she felt in his arms. Drago confused her. Family and honor were what she lived for, not personal pleasure. Desperate to place distance between them, she abandoned the chamber, not looking back. Get control of yourself, she commanded herself over and over.

  Stunned, he hastened after her, barely catching up to her before she started downstairs. He roughly captured her arm, swinging her around to face him. “Isabella, you are legally mine, but I wish our marriage to be of mutual consent. I want you as I know you want me. There is no shame in our desire for one another.” Voice raspy from the hot fire running rampant through his veins for the strange woman in his grasp, he tried to soothe her fears.

  Blushing bright red, her eyes confused, Isabella answered in a voice belying her predicament. “Drago, I have never wanted to be married to anyone, not ever again. Edward gave me no choice in the matter. All I want is to be left alone!” She tried to jerk her arm away, but he held her quite firmly. Alarmed, she his eyes darkened in rage. His big hands shifted, grabbing her shoulders in a brutal grip. He jerked her to him, knocking the breath out of her with his hard chest.

  He forced her to face him, nose to nose. His lips, so warm and delicious moments ago, curled into a snarl. His harsh voice brooked no disobedience. “You are my wife! I will be the only one to share your bed. Never again will you sleep with Gabriel. Do you understand me?” Nicolas roared, jealousy riding him hard.

  Isabella was speechless! Her and Gabriel? She wanted to laugh hysterically. Lord, she was in trouble. However, the fighter in her rose up. Anger coursed through her veins, making her reckless. Nose to nose with Drago, she growled, “Yea, you are my husband, legally bound, but mark my words—without my cooperation, the Black Army will be useless to you! Remember, you need me much more than I have need of you.” Isabella ripped her arm from his grasp and left him to stare after her in frustration.

  Raucous laughter and overly loud conversations assaulted her as she strode through the crowds waiting for supper. Her men watched her as s
he stood beside the chair she had sat in before Drago's arrival. With great effort, she calmed her anger and appeared more sedate for their peace of mind.

  Michael's sharp eyes missed little. Drago finally took his place by her side, and all took their seats. Father Abraham blessed the meal set upon the tables and dinner commenced. Isabella drank dry the glass of wine Otto poured for her and held it out for more. Distressed by Drago's accusations and the ever present pain from her back, she ate little and drank more.

  Aggie personally brought them another trencher of cut meat. Nicolas halted the housekeeper before she rushed off. “Do we have a resident dress maker?” Before she answered, he continued, “I want Isabella clothed in what a noblewoman is required to wear. Make sure her wardrobe is replaced by dresses, and then take away those manly garments she has."

  Stricken, Aggie stared at him, her wide eyes darting to Isabella who paled at being publicly humiliated. Swallowing, Aggie squeaked out a reply. “No, my lord, we don't, but there's a master tailor in Serenity."

  Nicolas stood, making sure all heard him. “I command Blood Keep! Lady Isabella is no longer involved in matters of defense and war. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” Glowering at the men in black, his raging gaze dropped to Isabella. For the briefest of moments, emerald eyes blazed with a fury borne of pure hatred. Nicolas felt as if he had glimpsed into Hell itself and just as quick as shadows dropping, Isabella's face became blank. Deciding it was only the candles’ light reflecting in her eyes, he returned to his seat and ate his meal in silence, ignoring the angry grumbling amongst the Black Army. When he took a good look around the hall, he realized the long tables to the right of the Lord's Table sat the Black Knights, the Demons to the left. Renewed anger surged through him when Nicolas realized his men sat alongside the salt of Blood Keep.

  The hall grew steadily silent. Michael rose to his towering height, his stern features flushed with outrage. Knights and servants grew heartened that Michael would take the baron to task for insulting Lady Isabella.