by Wend Petzler
Gabriel felt his heart break for his friend and the situation they were in. “How do you know if you don't tell him the truth?"
Instead of answering, she changed the subject. “You should go back to the hall. Michael is still touchy when it comes to Drago. I need you to be the level-headed one. I fear Michael will lose his temper and all will be lost.” Isabella smiled sadly as her men and servants, whom she considered family, had to bite their tongues as Drago unwittingly insulted her. There was so much at stake than mere pride and acting rashly was not an excuse.
"Michael does have a point. Drago should be consulting you on running Blood Keep. Doesn't the man realize you commanded the Black Army for the last five years?” Gabriel asked, watching Isabella's movements so fluid, smooth and graceful, even injured she was lethal.
She breathed evenly as she concentrated on her movements. “Actually the Demon Lord commanded our army. I just pretended to lead them when he left. You heard him. I am to return to my womanly duties.” Her intense, elfish features winced in pain as her back spasmed in protest. Burying the sharp tip in the dirt, Isabella rested as she waited for the pain to ease.
"What? He really meant what he said?” Gabriel demanded, watching her slowly straighten.
Grasping the hilt, she lifted the blade, slicing the well-balanced sword through the air, side to side, raw anger burned in her eyes. “You heard him last night. I am to return to more feminine pursuits."
Gabriel's rage grew as he realized Isabella's fate held no outlet. Resigned, he knew he must check on Michael who was prone to violence. “I will ensure your husband is occupied but don't over do it!” He warned, heading upstairs through another passageway. His mind grew disoriented as he wildly pondered the fate of the Black Army if the honorable Drago did not accept who his wife was.
Dawn was near to blushing when Nicolas was allowed to find his own bed. Isabella slept on, her features soft and innocent, almost childlike with a hand curled under her cheek, and yet all woman. She sighed when he sat on the edge of the bed next to her. Nicolas leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on her parted lips.
His head spun, having far surpassed his limit of wine, even if it was necessary. A middle ground had to be found with the knights of Blood Keep. Nicolas chuckled to himself at the stories shared during the night. People of Blood Keep loved, lived, and welcomed each day with renewed zest and eagerness, and he found he desired to be a part of them.
He slid under the heavy covers, shifting his weight to lie next to his sleeping wife. When Isabella unconsciously sought his body heat, her firm buttocks wriggled against his growing manhood, causing him to suppress a long-suffering moan. Forcing his body to relax, he curbed his lust, knowing he must bid his time. Slowly relaxing, sleep finally blessed him, Nicolas gratefully sank into oblivion.
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Chapter Six
Bright sunlight poured through the glass panes, colored shards of rainbow glared into his aching skull. Throwing a muscled arm over his eyes, shielding himself from the intrusion, Nicolas groaned from the pain. A throaty chuckle close by his ear diverted his attention as he warily peered from under his arm. Isabella lay on her side, the blanket pulled up to her chin, watching him with amusement.
"My lord, are you ill?” The dazzling lights in her emerald eyes danced devilishly.
"I believe I should have exercised some caution while drinking with Otto.” He yawned, stretching his powerful muscles, displaying a shocking amount of naked torso and leg.
Her mouth went dry as she stared at the rippling muscles along his broad chest and powerful arms. Isabella could not help staring at the trail of black, crisp hair descending from his navel, disappearing under the blanket to a world unfamiliar to her. Her eyes rose hesitantly to Nicolas', startled by his amber eyes darkening to molten bronze, searing Isabella with its intensity. The tip of her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.
Ever so slowly, he reached his hand upward, slipping his long, lean fingers through her silky hair, gently drawing her to him. The hard lines of his mouth brushed hers, testing her willingness, heartened when Isabella's lips softened under his gentle investigations. His tongue teased her full, lower lip, seeking entrance. When she sighed, parting her lips, he delved inside, sweeping, caressing, tasting her sweetness. When she slipped her arms about his sturdy neck, following his lead, he growled deep in his throat, passion inflamed his raw senses. Sliding his rough palms down her satiny skin to grasp her hips, he pulled her supple body on top of him. Soft breasts against the thick muscles of his broad chest heightened his desire, nearly driving him out of his skin. Breathless and amazed, he effortlessly lifted her body up until she straddled his hips. All that separated him from angling his raging shaft inside her was the coiled sheet between them.
Large hands maneuvered her so she could feel the hard length of his arousal pressing intimately along her woman's core. Wild at the exciting, new sensations Nicolas aroused in her, Isabella returned his kisses with an unleashed passion, matching his, trembling when she felt his hands cup and caress her breasts, gliding over the flat of her stomach. The barrier melted away inch by agonizing inch as the sheet was pushed further down.
Nicolas was desperate to end the bittersweet ache they suffered, dying a small death from wanting to thrust into her wet heat. Her exploring hands stroked his sensitive skin, sending flames rippling through him. When Isabella raised her hips for him to remove the sheet completely, Nicolas grinned triumphantly. Gripping her hips, he lifted her up, readying to bury his thick, hard length inside her. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort of not ramming deep inside Isabella's tight sheath.
A pounding on the door broke the two apart, the harsh sound exploded through the room. “What the hell?” Nicolas growled savagely. “Go away,” he shouted at the intruder, his rapt attention centered back on his wife. Isabella's emerald eyes were wide with desire and anticipation of what was to come. Again the intruder pounded on the door.
Ahmed shouted through the heavy door. “Master, your presence is required downstairs. The villagers are demanding to meet with you. They are upset over the rumors Blood Keep has changed hands. They insist on seeing Lady Isabella in person!"
"Damn,” Nicolas swore, crushing Isabella to him, clamping an iron control over his raging desire. The thought of driving his hard shaft deep inside Isabella made his body burn, his blood boil, his skin feel as if it was on fire from her touch. Hell, when she stared at him with those beautiful eyes glowing with her own raging desire, he had grown harder, his arousal painful.
Isabella's fingers dug into his shoulders as she fought for control. On fire from his merely touching her, she quickly came to the sure knowledge only Drago could ease her torment. Swallowing back the frustration, Isabella forced herself to place duty first.
"You must go and meet the people. They have heard we are married and demand an audience to ease their peace of mind. It is the testing ground which they and the merchants will use to see if you are worthy or not.” She rasped out, not recognizing her own voice. Isabella swung off him and went to her wardrobe and withdrew a white shift, donning the soft garment.
"If I am worthy?” Incredulous at the very notion he had to prove himself to mere peasants, he faced Isabella, shocked to find she was very serious.
"You must prove you are wise and able to protect them in times of trouble and more importantly, in times of need. They, in return, will tithe gladly, giving their services without reserve."
Groaning with bitter frustration, he swung his long legs off the bed, striding naked to the wardrobe. She blushed, turning away as he pulled on tanned trousers, covering his aroused manhood. He chuckled at her sudden shyness when just moments before they had lain naked in passion's embrace. He took her slender hand and drew Isabella to him, liking the way her body naturally curved to his.
"You will accompany me and be my advisor with the villagers.” Nicolas smiled as she appeared startled by his request.
She gazed a
t her husband with a feeling of hope, perhaps their marriage could work. “I will try to help you the best I can, my lord.” Slipping out of his grasp, she withdrew a simple, green velvet gown from the closet and pulled it over her head. She made to head to the table where her brush lay when he stayed her.
"My name is Nicolas. It would please me if you called me by my given name.” He grinned wickedly and bent to whisper with erotic intent in her ear, “Later tonight, I want to hear my name on your lips as we make love."
Staring at him in shock, Isabella blinked when she realized Nicolas was teasing her. Grinning impishly at him, she shyly met his humor filled gaze. “We should go downstairs before a search party is sent to find out what keeps us in our room so long."
Cupping her lovely face, Nicolas kissed her soundly, having hope for their future, too. “Aye, we'd best hurry.” Drawing a clean tunic over his head, he splashed water on his face by way of a copper water basin. When Isabella was ready, he took her hand in his and led her downstairs for breakfast. At once Nicolas noticed the servants were more relaxed as were the men in black armor.
Watching Isabella laugh at the antics of children playing with the dogs, Nicolas was amazed by the wisdom and strength the young woman possessed. Being the King's champion was a life long dream for Nicolas, one full of adventure. Of late, he begun to notice his home was either at court, the lists, or on a battlefield. His life had become pretty much what he wished it to be, except he realized now it was empty. Thoughts of home, family, and children beckoned him to a world he had not seen for a very long time. The truth was Nicolas and his men had not experienced family life in many years. Blood Keep was their last chance to break free from war and begin thinking of a life separate from bloodshed.
When breakfast was finished the tables were removed, only the Lord and Lady's chairs remained on the raised dais, signifying their status in hearing petitions. The hostile villagers strode through the open doors, casting wary glances about them. A tall, robust man boldly stepped forward. The others held back. The villagers knew Drago by his reputation, unprepared when they saw the tall foreigner standing by his side. They were further confused when they saw their baroness wearing a dress.
Isabella smiled reassuringly. “Please approach, Myron. You are free to speak your mind."
The big, burly man bowed low to Drago and Isabella, his manner more at ease when he saw for himself Isabella was well. “I apologize for disturbing ye. We worried about your safety. The outer villages heard rumors of Blood Keep being handed over to another lord. We were only recently told it was you, Drago. We meant no disrespect as you will come to know we love Lady Isabella and would gladly give our lives for her.” The man spoke proudly, his words heralded by the group behind him, adding their voices in agreement.
Apprehensive, they stared at Drago when he rose from his chair and stepped down from the dais and towered over Myron. Harsh lines carved his handsome features, giving the knight an air of complete power. Amber eyes, cold and piercing held Myron's steady gaze. When Myron did not back down, to the surprise of the villagers, Drago extended his hand in friendship.
"I am pleased you are a man of honor and bear a deep affection for my wife."
Grinning broadly, Myron took Drago's hand in a firm grip, a sly look in his eye. “You willingly married our Bella, did you? I hope ye are as tough as they say ye are, yer be in for one hell of an adventure tied to the lass!” The man spoke low for only Drago to hear and broke off laughing, motioning for the rest to enter the hall before the new baron questioned him further.
A frown creased Nicolas’ brow as he returned to his chair. What did Myron mean? Bemused, he cast a glance at his wife who tried to hide a grin behind her fist, trying to appear innocent.
Looking away from Drago's censured look, a stranger amongst the villagers caught Isabella's attention, his face obscured by the deep hood he wore. Instinct warned her that the man was up to no good. He pressed back in a corner, wishing not to be noticed. Isabella's hand automatically reached for her sword, finding empty space, remembering she had left it in her chamber when she chose to wear a dress for her husband. The man kept a fair distance from Drago, unable to do harm. Still, she knew he was not at the Keep for good intentions. His legs were bare, wearing a kilt, the brown plaid belonging to the notorious Border Lord, William McLeod. The Black Knights had caught more than a few of his thieving men with cattle and goods belonging to Blood Keep.
More than likely William was searching for discontent in Blood Keep, any weaknesses he could exploit with the change of power. Subtly signaling to Michael, he gave a slight nod and with three of his Demons maneuvered through the heavy throng of peasants and knights toward the Scotsman.
Nicolas glanced down at Isabella, her elfish features hardened, intent on the crowd. Following her stare to the Scotsman in the back, was he the same from Serenity? Why did Isabella watch the man as a she-wolf protecting her lair? Brandon announced the next villager, distracting his attention. When he looked up the man and Michael were gone. His eyes whipped to Isabella who appeared relaxed again as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Suspicious, he turned to Ahmed and whispered, “Go and find out where they took that man.” Ahmed hurried through the crowd and outside. A few minutes he returned and shook his head, appearing quite confused. Nicolas’ frustration grew by leaps and bounds. Rising to his feet, Nicolas lifted his hands. “Brandon, I am finished for the day. Isabella, come with me,” he ordered, taking her hand in his and pulled her out of the hall. When they were well away from the Keep, Nicolas rounded on his quiet wife.
"Who was the man you had removed from the hall?” He watched her reaction to his question carefully, wondering if she would lie to him.
"What man?"
"Don't play games with me! Who was that man?” he nearly shouted, losing his temper at her deliberate lie.
"My lord, you are under a vast amount strain, perhaps you imagined it all?” Isabella smiled sympathetically.
Gritting his teeth from screaming, he decided to ask the other question pressing him since coming to Blood Keep. “Why did you not choose to marry Lord Alden instead of me? Would he not have made a better choice in the respect of furthering your eligibility at court? Is not the man as honorable as his brother, Mordred?” Nicolas spoke casually to gage her reaction, growing alarmed when hatred flared in her eyes at the mention of Mordred's name. The change in Isabella was astounding.
"Before you go on about the noble and just Lord Mordred, I suggest you investigate your hero. Our enemies wear nobility to cover their evilness while we are cursed to.... Never mind. Tell me not how good the man was because I've witnessed the truth. My advice to you, Baron Drago, is to keep to what you know and stay out of matters that do not concern you.” Isabella stormed back to the castle, seeking out Otto and Brandon.
Hating the way his wife treated him like he was some spoiled buffoon, he hailed Leo who monitored their men as they practiced with the sword in one of the smaller arenas. “Leo, I need information concerning Lord Alden, Mordred's brother. I also need to know more about a border lord by the name of William McLeod."
Squinting from the bright sunlight, Leo peered up at Drago. “My lord, I thought you knew Edward had the upstart banned from court due to the numerous charges of misconduct with the maids and several daughters of high-ranking noblemen."
Surprised by the news, Nicolas’ frown deepened. “I hadn't heard. It explains a lot about my wife's aversion to the man. I want you and five of our knights to wander through the town of Serenity and inquire if Lord Alden has ventured recently to Blood Keep.” Nicolas studied his men. “The most important errand I send you on is this. I want you to find out when the Demon Lord left Isabella's services. I believe there is a connection between the attack upon my wife and the Demon's disappearance.” Nicolas’ features hardened. He had been lied to—again.
Hesitant to ask, he glanced at Drago. “Have you been informed of the tournament being held in two months?"
> "What tournament?” Nicolas demanded, his nerves on edge.
"Tournament of Demons is apparently a yearly thing which knights of noble and baseborn blood are invited to pit their skills against the Black Knights and the Demons. The ones deemed worthy are made part of the Black Army, once they meet Gabriel and Michael's standards.” Leo scratched his shaved head, bemused by Blood Keep. “Even peasant boys are invited for squiring to a knight."
Nicolas was surprised at the news. None but noble born hoped to achieve knighthood. Blood Keep appeared to play by their own rules. “Let the men know I encourage them to participate, if they wish to do so. We can use the tournament as another means to solidify our troops.” Tension built in him, making him edgy. Needing to work off the anger and confusion his wife riled inside him, Nicolas stripped off his tunic and took his shield from Ahmed, drawing his sword.
"I need to practice. The Demon Lord will be coming and might decide he wants his position back. I can't imagine the man missing the tournament after five years in service to Blood Keep."
Ahmed smiled secretively, thinking the Demon Lord was closer than suspected.
Isabella walked along the ramparts to calm her anger. Unaccustomed to the weight of the heavy skirt about her legs, it gave her trouble, causing her to trip. She watched Otto ride out to Serenity. He wanted to investigate if the incarcerated Scot had any companions waiting for him in Serenity while Brandon placed the guards on high alert. If trouble was coming, they were prepared.
The sound of swords clashing drew her attention to the practice arena. Drago fought bare-chested, a light sheen of sweat along his tanned skin. Her breath stopped. Fascinated by the play of rippling muscles along his broad back, she noticed the silvery scars of old wounds along his powerful shoulders and bulging forearms. As he paused for a breather, he impatiently shoved back his long, dark hair, slick and wet from exertion and the warm sun. Amber eyes intent on the man in front of him, Drago never allowed his guard down. Fierce and proud, he was breathtaking to look upon, and he was her husband.
