Knock. Knock. Knock.
Brynn turned her head toward the thumping but made no attempt to answer the door.
“Milady, are you in?” Magda called before opening the chamber door.
“I’m here,” replied Brynn, watching the people go about their day in the courtyard below. Several carriages loaded with wardrobe trunks waited near the gate. Their guests would be leaving soon; for that, Brynn was thankful. She often wondered about the company her brother Michael kept. The group was a sordid bunch, particularly the young ladies. Just last eve, Brynn had heard them gossiping about her when she passed their chamber.
“Who does she think she is, taking our men like that?” the one named Meredith had said.
“Well, she is very pretty,” another commented. “And she does have a higher ranking title than you.”
“Do not say such things,” Meredith hissed. “Have you looked at her? She is not like us. That hair can only mean one thing. And for Julian to even contemplate a match with her… she must have put some sort of spell on him. Her kind are all like that. Everyone who has been introduced into society knows Julian is mine.”
“I heard he only wants the property from her dowry, and he’ll most likely use her as his whore,” whispered another.
“I will be his respectable wife.” Meredith cackled. “I have a feeling Julian will not be finding her delightful for much longer.”
Magda spoke, bringing Brynn back to the present. “Julian is waiting in the hall. The Archaean is ready for you.”
“Thank you, Magda. I shall be down shortly.” Brynn rose from her balcony seat and took one last look at the courtyard, wishing she were in a carriage leaving on the wind.
The hall buzzed with a fretful chatter when Brynn entered. Whispers of war and the safety of the guests with Archaeans roaming Bertram’s halls floated from ear to ear. Julian conversed with his companions on a nearby settee, sipping wine and looking regal in a short coat and trousers. Flames from the fireplace reflected on polished boots. His feet were crossed at the ankles. Meredith, doting on him as if she were his servant, cast Brynn an evil glare.
Julian turned, his mouth curling up in a constrained smile. “There she is now. My betrothed.”
A man snickered beside Julian. “Awaiting your wedding night, Julian?”
Brynn curtsied to the others before addressing Julian. “If it pleases you, I am ready for your escort.”
“Another glass of this fabulous wine would please me, but I suppose I will make do with your company, my sweetness.” Julian handed Meredith his cup. “Have this filled for my return.” He rose, teetering to one side before finding balance. “Damn good wine!” He laughed, took Brynn by the arm, and led her from the hall.
Magda met them at Michael’s lodge, carrying the tools Brynn needed. The evening sun seared the sky with tawny reds and pinks. Brynn bid Julian farewell and ducked through the entrance. The wounded Archaean was sitting on a stool when she entered, his shoulder propped against the wall.
“You’re looking better,” Brynn commented, setting down the basket. “Come closer.” The man looked to his brother, who translated the words; the warrior shuffled the stool away from the wall.
Brynn sat in an empty chair near her patient. A closer look showed much of the yellow ooze had retreated from the wound. Her treatment had worked well enough and had most likely saved his arm. Brynn peeled away the soiled bandages and tossed them to the floor. Using the tips of her fingers she opened the wound just enough to remove the packing. “It looks grand,” she told him, smiling.
Marek translated and the brother grinned back.
Brynn prepared a poultice in a small earthenware mortar, grinding her precious healing herbs with the pestle as the men watched with rapt curiosity. Once finished, she massaged the thick paste into the wound, gentle as a mother’s touch. “Tell him this will help it to heal on the inside,” she instructed Marek.
Never having sewn a man before, she took a long breath to steady her nerves before digging through her goods for her horsehair and bone needle. Her hands shook as she tried to thread the needle and missed once, twice… three times. The injured man watched her uneasily, furthering her nervousness. She gave the needle and hair one last attempt before Magda huffed, took it from Brynn’s twitching fingers, and threaded it for her.
Finally, she was ready to begin. The warrior sat quite a bit higher and at an odd angle. She stood to pinch the skin together, but it wouldn’t close properly. She rotated him to one side and started again but stopped when she realized her torso blocked what little light she had. Frustrated, she pushed a loose curl from her brow. How could she explain in what position she needed him in if she couldn’t decide herself? Unable to communicate, she acted on impulse and tugged the Archaean to her lap so his shoulder was directly in view.
Michael lunged toward Brynn. She briefly turned her attentions toward him and the argument that ensued behind her but continued her ministrations despite the two warriors stepping from the shadows toward her brother.
With every poke of the needle, the Archaean squeezed his eyes tighter and grit his teeth. Just as she did to comfort her horses, Brynn sang a soft, soothing tune to drown the sound of needle piercing flesh. The room was quiet when she finished. Magda helped wrap fresh bandages over the wound. “He must immobilize the arm for a few days, but he should heal quickly. Pull the stitching out when the skin has fused together. Some clean bandages if it seeps.” Brynn handed the cloth to Marek while the patient inspected her work. Testing his mobility, the man laughed and spoke to her.
“He says you would be most useful to have after battle.”
Brynn looked at the imposing figure in the shadows. “Tell him… thank you.” She wiped her brow with her sleeve before gathering her supplies to leave.
The brothers spoke to each other in the thick brogue of their country, the tone harsh and troublesome. The injured brother pointed at her insistently. Brynn stepped away from her place between the two brothers and sought the door.
With a definite scowl present, Marek turned to Michael. “He wants to know how much for the slave girl?”
Taking hold of her middle, Michael swung Brynn around. “She is not for sale,” he growled. “Get to the manor.” He shoved Brynn through the door, Magda at her heels. The door slammed, leaving them in darkness.
The women held hands, following the stony path toward the manor.
Slave girl? Did they make a habit of selling off their nobility? Uncivilized, just as Julian had warned.
What beasts.
About the Author
Melissa grew up surrounded by dragons, fearsome creatures, and damsels in distress from the wonderful world of make believe. She soon found her ideas on paper, littering her desk with world maps and character biographies. Study hall was used not for homework but for writing. Although she pursued a career in theater, the written word never left her. Melissa now leads a full life with her husband and children (five amazingly adorable clones to be exact), though she still finds time to write in her “spare time.” She sports a Military Wife badge of honor and is lucky enough to have her own knight in camo armor.
Melissa enjoys reading everything from sexy, sword-toting heroes to spit-out-your coffee funny romantic comedies. Her passion lies within the ancient walls of fantasy and historical fiction, where anything is possible.
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The Archer's Daughter Page 17
