“I appreciate you telling me about him. Giving up information about friends can be difficult.”
I laughed. “Tyront and I have never been friends, my lord. More like enemies who tolerated each other’s existence. I broke his nose, both times.”
“And the eyebrow?”
“Loren.”
This time he laughed. “I shall have to warn Quaren not to wrong his new wife; a spitfire lurks beneath her serene surface.”
I watched the play of his laughter cross his face with fascination. He appeared almost boyish in his mirth. His whole face eased away from its usual hard lines.
“Tyront deserved it.”
“I am sure he did.” He grew sober again. “Any associate of Orwin most likely deserved worse.”
“You speak as a man who has had dealings with my cousin.”
“Orwin lives to torment anyone he can. Of late he wishes me to incur our new king’s disfavor.”
“Why? No, disregard that question. Orwin needs no motive.”
“No.” Irvaine’s expression grew serious. “Never assume an enemy simply hates. He always has a reason to hate. Illogical or not, he has motivation. Seek out the reason behind the hate. Understand your enemy. Only then can you truly defeat his hold over you.”
“Why does Orwin hate you?”
He weighed the question carefully. “As he fell from favor, I rose. He attempted to win King Mendal’s ear and I stood in his way. I believe he despises my role, not me, but I am not certain. Why does he hate you?”
“I was born. If I had not lived, my father would have accepted him into our household sooner. Growing up, I refused to submit to his schemes, partake in his cruel games, and stop undermining his plots.”
“Did you break Orwin’s nose too?”
“No, but I did hit him once. He rammed me into a fence post, lamed my favorite horse, and then refused to put my horse out of her misery. I asked him. He laughed in my face.” I could still hear my mare’s agony, the whinnied screams ripping at my heart. Her leg, contorted beyond repair, thrashed across the bloodied grass.
“What did you do?”
I had forgotten Irvaine was there.
“I slapped him, took his knife, and did the deed myself.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
The forest deepened around us. Trees, some as thick around as my horse’s girth, arched twisted branches over the path. Their barren hands darkened the way despite their lack of leaves. The weak autumn sun cast their lacy shadows over the trail.
“I have a question.” Irvaine guided his horse so close that our knees almost brushed. “Who used to call you Red?”
Grief crawled from nowhere and clawed my chest. I forced the words past my constricted throat. “My father.” The memory of his vigor for life warmed my middle as the agony of him being gone ached in counterpoint.
“I am sorry.” He sounded genuinely regretful. “How long has he been gone?”
“Three years.”
“The pain is still fresh then.”
I wrestled the storm back behind my defenses. “What about your father?” The question slipped past my lips before I remembered his illegitimate origins. He probably didn’t know who his father was.
“My father is well and healthy. I have seven half-brothers and a half-sister. They don’t know it, of course. No one knows of our connection.” He turned and pinned me with his gaze. “I won’t call you Red again.”
Then he heeled his stallion forward, signaling simultaneously for the crier to approach. After a few moments of conversation, the crier fell back. I suspected one of his men would be heading back to the village to investigate Tyront before the noon meal.
I retreated into my own thoughts, remembering a happier time when my parents lived, the holdings prospered, and Orwin was nothing more than a distant annoyance I dealt with once a year for a week.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Seven
Evening fell quickly. As the shadows lengthened and my limbs protested their long time in the saddle, my anxiety rose. The men carried nothing that looked like a tent. Kyrenton lay another two days away. I would be sharing Irvaine’s bedroll tonight.
Despite his profession of restraint the night before, I doubted any man would continue that way. To do anything less than share a bed would demean his manhood before his men and expose me to scorn. Still the thought of lying within his arms all night knotted my stomach. Fear and anticipation twisted me with equal pull.
My fingers sought my eating knife at my waist. Would I have the strength to use it? Should I use it? I had promised him. To hold him off would be a denial of that vow. I pulled my hand from the worn hilt with determination. I honored my vows. Duty bound me. I must submit. Kurios’ law and my own conscience demanded it. I groaned.
Irvaine rode with Antano. He listened to the older man, the tilt of his head betraying his interest. Not that he had anything to hide among his friends.
Loud voices brought my attention back to Irvaine and Antano. Irvaine threw his head back and laughed without shame. Shoving playfully at Antano’s shoulder, Irvaine grinned broadly.
The crier called for a halt. Men broke formation in all directions. I guided my mount to a nearby tree and climbed down next to its trunk.
Pain shot through my thighs. Muscles protested first at the movement and then the lack. Blood rushing through my limbs brought a third kind of sensation, prickling agony. My knees wobbled and threatened to give out. A deep ache spread across my already sore back. I closed my eyes and concentrated on remaining upright. Kurios, please give me strength.
“Need help?”
I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know it was Irvaine. I gripped the saddle, straightening my back despite its piercing protest. The horse shifted and I wavered.
His arm encircled my waist and pulled me back against him.
“I can stand on my own.” I attempted to push his arm away, but encountered a solid band of muscle.
“Not likely. When was the last time you rode for more than an hour? You were hurting when we stopped for the noon meal. I suspect your knees quiver like jelly now.”
I refused to admit my weakness. “At least let me try.” His solid warmth began to penetrate my cold body. The refreshing nip of the morning air had long ago lowered into a biting wind. Part of me yearned to just lean back and let him carry me. I ached in places I’d never hurt before. “If you hold my elbow, I am certain I could walk.”
After grunting his disbelief, he slowly released me so I stood alone. Only the vise grip of his hand on my elbow connected us. “Take it slow.”
I took a tentative step. My limbs obeyed my command with screaming protest. Knees feeling like noodles, by some miracle my balance held.
“Where are we headed?” I scanned the campsite more closely. Men moved with purpose around us. Some built fires and others worked on small frames of wood. I blinked. It looked like they were erecting little tents.
“Over to the left. Jarvin is setting up our tent and Antano will see to the food.”
“It is good to be a noble.”
“A title has its purposes, yes. Don’t let your expectations get too high. We will eat the same food as the rest of them.”
My stomach rumbled. “Most anything would sound good right now.” Noon seemed so distant.
“Bread, cheese, herbed broth, and mulled wine, lean fare for now, but by tomorrow morn, we will have meat. Our trackers find game even in the leanest times.”
“I will be content with whatever we have.”
He settled me on a fur-lined cloak someone spread on the ground. He left, striding over toward the nearest fire. After adjusting my legs into the least painful position, I looked around. I counted twenty tent structures, each barely high enough off the ground for a grown man to crawl into on hands and knees. One structure would contain two men lying full length with squeezing. After the closest tent appeared completed, a series of men approached it, toss
ing saddlebags between the flaps.
“What are the tents for usually?” I asked Irvaine when he returned.
He spread our feast before me, scarred wooden bowls of steaming liquid, metal tankards smelling strongly of wine and herbs, hard rolls speckled with bits of green and brown, and two hunks of cheese. I reached eagerly for a bowl.
“Careful, the pot was bubbling when I filled them.”
I breathed in the steam, savoring the scent as it warmed my face. I tested it with a finger and found it too hot.
When I looked up to ask him again about the tents, I found him watching me. His dark eyes invited me to lose myself in their depths. I resisted, moving my gaze lower. The choice proved just as dangerous. His strong mouth, scruffy cheeks, and firm chin reminded me of the sensation of his kiss. It had only taken one. Quick, unexpected, and fiery enough to make me wonder what another would taste like. I shook the thought away.
“So, are any of the others going to be sleeping in a tent?” I reached for a roll, examining the strange flecks. They were baked through the bread, not just sprinkled on top.
“It is only parsley, garlic, and pepper.”
I shot a glare at him. “Are you going to answer my question or is it some state secret?”
He chuckled deep in his chest. “Not many of the men will sleep in the tents. They prefer the open unless it is raining, snowing, or blowing. Then we erect a tent for every two men.”
“We will be sleeping in a tent?”
“Yes. I figured you wouldn’t like the whole world to know we are not acting as other married couples do.”
My cheeks flamed with heat. I bit into half my roll to hide my embarrassment. A wondrous medley of tastes blossomed on my tongue.
He laughed again. “Never tasted anything like it, right?”
“It is so delicious. And fresh.”
“It still tastes good stale, trust me. It is Antano’s recipe from his travels. He picked up some spices when he spent time in Ratharia and brought back samples and recipes. When I first encountered it, I ordered all our waybread be spiced. It makes even the stalest of rations a bit more palatable.”
He bit into his own roll with vigor. “The broth is his creation as well.”
“I will make a point to thank him.” I tested my broth again before drinking. The fragrant liquid soothed my throat and warmed my middle. “What do you plan to do once we reach Kyrenton?”
“Assess the situation.” He swallowed a gulp of wine and explained. “You might as well know, your cousin is a terrible land manager.”
“I lived with his neglect, remember.”
“True, but even then, I was stunned at the level of his laziness. The ground is fertile. The clerk’s records indicate you had more than adequate rain for four years, yet for some reason the village barely scraped by each winter. I haven’t figured out why.”
“Orwin.” Anger pressed against my breastbone. “For the past four years, he and his men came immediately after harvest, removed a quarter of our provisions, and left. We ate some of the seed stored for the spring planting to make it through the winter months. When he took our men with him last spring, I knew the end would come this year. We didn’t have the seed or the hands to plant enough crops to make it through the winter.”
He stilled. “What did you plan to do?”
I stared down into my bowl. The broth resembled the gruel we consumed the last month before the first harvests last year. Without the supplement of bread and cheese, it provided inadequate fuel for the hours of labor necessary for bringing in the harvest. A familiar pinch of hunger came with the memory. “The only thing I could do. I taught the boys and able women to hunt. We went out daily. Your arrival came just as we were assigning hunting rounds for the week.”
“That explains the freshly smoked meat. You would have driven off the game for miles around by mid-winter.”
I lifted my chin. “We would have lived one more year.”
After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Who taught you to hunt?”
Unexpected emotion choked me. “My father.”
“Because Orwin wasn’t interested?”
“No.” Memories of my father’s hands guiding my ten-year-old fingers into position on the bow almost brought tears to my eyes, but I willed them not to fall. “’Every woman should know how to fight and hunt. Men are not invincible.’”
“Was this before or after Orwin entered your household?”
I choked on my cheese. Coughing violently, I gasped for breath. He whacked my back abruptly, jolting the bit free. It flew into the grass beyond the cloak.
“Are you alright?” He rubbed my back infusing warmth and tension with each stroke.
I nodded, blinking away tears, not all brought on from choking. “It was after Orwin came to live with us.”
“Your father was a wise man.”
“He had no other choice. Orwin became his heir by law. My mother could bear no more children. She was young enough, but after seven stillbirths neither of my parents possessed the heart to try again.”
“I don’t blame your father, Brielle. He did the best he could by you. You are a strong, wise woman, a worthy wife for any man.”
“I fight, figure numbers, and hunt. I don’t dance or flirt. I am not a noble’s wife.”
“I am not a noble.” The tone in his voice sent shivers along my spine. I didn’t dare glance his way.
“My lord?” Jarvin’s voice came to my rescue.
“Yes?”
“There is a disagreement over the watch rotation and the men request your guidance.”
“I will join you in the tent, Brielle.” Irvaine rose and strode off.
“Let me clear the meal, my lady, and then I will guide you to your tent.”
“Just point me in the right direction.”
He indicated the tent and cleared away the bowls and tankards. I waited until he had turned away before beginning the painful process of gaining my feet. My thighs protested every movement. With great relief, I crawled into the tent and sank to the fur covered ground. Pulling the thick blanket over me, I curled up and fell instantly asleep.
I dreamed of mother and father before Orwin entered our lives. Their love caressed me. I woke to dawn lightening the canvas inches from my face. Warmth from the fire radiated at my back. Loren must have stoked the fire early. My blanket lay heavily against my ribs. Shoving it aside, my hand encountered resistance, not of wool but the weight of a man’s arm.
Instant full awareness dawned.
Irvaine shifted. His hand moved to my hip. My fully clothed hip, I reminded myself. The small fact slowed the panic in my throat.
Calm. He won’t hurt you. This is his right.
His breath stirred the hair on my neck. It tickled. The regularity and slowness of his respiration reassured me he still slept. I cautiously rolled over, easing his hand off me as I turned. Finally free, I contemplated how to extract myself from the tent without waking him.
“First call!”
The crier’s voice startled me so that I brushed Irvaine’s chest.
His hand caught mine before I could pull it away. Powerful fingers gripped my wrist, the pressure painful for only a second before his eyes focused on my face. Recognition filtered through their depths. The intensity of his grasp eased.
“Good morning, wife.”
“Good morn.” I silently praised the Kurios my voice didn’t break.
“Sleep well?” His thumb stroked my inner wrist. An answering tremor shook my fingers.
“Aye.”
He smiled. After placing a lingering kiss in the palm of my hand, he released it abruptly. “We have a full day ahead.” He rolled away to reach for his gear.
“When will we reach Kyrenton? How soon?”
“Tomorrow. Shortly after noon should we travel at the same pace as yesterday. Then we shall discover the true state of our holdings.”
The closest town, our destination, was the previous Earl of Irvaine’s seat of p
ower. Before the war and endless death, he and his sons ruled as quiet neighbors. They remained on their side of the border stones and we on ours. Only tradesmen passed between us and a dwindling number of those as Orwin’s abuse impoverished us. Our village, Wisenvale, struggled to keep mind and body from starving. We offered little to entice a man selling goods and services.
Feudal law kept us from seeking help from them. We were of Lord Wisten’s domain thus none of Lord Irvaine’s concern. Until now.
“Come, wife, we have miles to cover before our noon meal. Best get to your feet and seek out your breakfast before they put out the fires.”
I scrambled awkwardly out of the tent behind him. All the aches from the night before had stiffened to dull pain during the night. A bitter blast of air whipped the loose hair of my ruined braid into my face and pressed frozen hands against my back. The wind howled in my ears, momentarily blinding me and stealing my breath.
“Here, I forgot to give this to you yesterday.” A heavy cloak settled over my shoulders, blocking out the assailing wind. He fastened the ornate clasp beneath my chin. “It will help you stay warm until I can warm you again tonight.” He spoke slightly louder than necessary.
My cheeks burned despite the chill.
Then before I could protest, he smoothed my hair back from my face, effectively trapping my head between his large hands. “Don’t freeze up, Bri.” His obsidian eyes scanned my face, fire in their depths. “Remember our agreement about showing affection.” Then he kissed me.
The firm pressure of his mouth on mine brought unexpected heat in contrast to the frigid air around us. Then he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. Liquid fire filled me from head to toe. My knees threatened to give way and leave me hanging from his hands by my head. I grasped the front of his tunic out of pure self-preservation.
He drew away.
Leaning his forehead against mine with his eyes closed, he simply breathed for a moment. My blood pulsed. My mind frantically went everywhere and nowhere at once.
“You are enough to drive a man mad,” he whispered harshly. Then suddenly I stood alone. He strode away in the opposite direction as the campfires.
Duty: a novel of Rhynan Page 4
