Maids with Blades

by Glynnis Campbell

  It didn’t matter that she’d turned on him like a rogue hound, snarling and snapping at the hand that had once offered her loving caresses.

  It didn’t even matter that the instant he dropped his sword, she’d sweep it up to slay him.

  Gazing into her smoldering eyes, he remembered they had once looked upon him with love. In her company, he’d known delight. In her arms, he’d known affection. In her bed, he’d known acceptance.

  He couldn’t destroy those memories, even if memories were all they were, with a slash of his blade.

  Though he held his own assassin cornered, at his mercy, a whisper away from death, his fingers trembled upon the hilt of his sword.

  “Nay,” he whispered. “I can’t.” He lowered his sword, then carefully placed it between them on the pallet.

  As he’d predicted, she instantly took advantage of his weakness. She seized the blade in both hands and turned it on him.

  He lowered his eyes then, wanting to remember the once sweet adoration of her gaze, unable to face the bloodthirsty gloating that doubtless resided there now.

  He made no resistance as she prodded his throat with the point of the sword. It hurt no worse than her hatred.

  But as the moment dragged on, as the silence lengthened, and she did nothing, keeping him in agonizing suspense, his melancholy curdled slowly into anger.

  Had the wench no kindness left in her heart to grant him a swift and merciful death?

  “Be done with it!” he muttered.

  The sword point jerked against his throat. “Do not order me about!”

  “If you would slay me, slay me!”

  “I won’t be…rushed.”

  He wasn’t about to submit to slow torture for her pleasure. He’d send his soul to hell by impaling himself first. “What do you want?” he growled.

  She hesitated.

  He sniffed once through his battered nose, and the pain made his eyes water. “Bloody hell, wench! What do you want?”

  “I…I want to know what you did to Sung Li.” She raised the blade beneath his chin. “And for once, see if you can tell no lies.”

  “Lies?” He gave a humorless chuckle. “You’re a strange one to speak of lies,” he said, raising his eyes to pin her with his gaze, “Lady Shadow.”

  A flicker of guilt flashed through her eyes like lightning, there one instant, gone the next, and the sword point jumped in her startled hand, nicking him.

  She lifted her chin with false bravado, but her eyes she lowered. Her voice trembled, and he almost felt sorry for her. Almost. “What did you do to him?”

  Rand blinked. Him? Did Miriel know that her maidservant was a man? Was this yet another of her deceptions? “Who?”

  “Sung Li!” she said impatiently.

  “Sung Li?” He scowled. “Sung Li?” So outraged was he that Miriel had known all along, that he’d worried for her for nothing, that in his vehemence, he almost stabbed himself on the blade. “You mean your maidservant?”

  He could tell she was blushing, even if he couldn’t see the pink hue of her cheeks.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” she said lamely.

  “Aye,” he retorted, his anger fully engaged now. “I wouldn’t understand how an innocent maiden would willingly sleep with an old man disguised as a wench!”

  “I never slept with him!”

  He didn’t bother to guard his words, snarling nastily, “No doubt you were too busy swiving to sleep.”

  He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d run him through then, but instead she withdrew the blade and slapped him across the cheek with her open hand.

  He moaned as the blow jarred his injured face, wondering if impalement might be less painful.

  Her voice was a harsh whisper. “You know better, you son of a—”

  “Aye.” Already he regretted his rash words. After all, she’d come to him a virgin. “I do.” He dabbed at his bloody lip with the back of his hand. “Unless you lied about that as well.”

  She gasped and raised her hand to strike him again. This time he caught her wrist.

  “Listen, my lady,” he ground out, “I’ve had enough of your pummeling and enough of your lies.”

  “My lies? What about your lies?” she hissed. “What about, ‘I am Sir Rand of Morbroch’? What about, ‘I’ve come to court Mirabel’? What about, ‘I was knocked witless in the melee’? What about, ‘Miriel, I love—” She choked on her words.

  He narrowed his eyes. “That wasn’t a lie, Miriel. I swear it.” She tried to pull her hand out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t let her go. “I swear it. I loved you.” He swallowed hard, glimpsing the hurt in her eyes, manifesting now as real tears. “God help me, I still do.”

  Chapter 25

  Miriel’s throat swelled. She tried everything to stop the tears. She forced her brow into a fierce scowl. She steeled her jaw. She tightened her fist around the hilt of the sword. Using the skills of concentration that Sung Li had taught her, she repeated over and over in her mind that Rand’s words were only manipulation. Manipulation. Manipulation.

  But her chin began to tremble, her hand grew limp around the weapon, and against her will, hot tears started to spill over her lashes.

  “Why should I believe you?” she whispered.

  “Look at me,” he murmured back. “Look into my eyes.”

  Against her better judgment, she did. It sickened her to see the mess she’d made of his face, evidence of the violence of which she was capable, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

  “’Tis true I deceived you about many things,” he said. “My name. My title. The tournament. My purpose for coming to Rivenloch. My skill with a blade.” His gaze turned fierce with emotion. “But I never deceived you about this. I love you, Miriel, with all my heart. What I did, I did to protect you. I thought Sung Li was a threat to you.” His jaw tensed. “I knew that even if I removed that threat and saved your life, you’d never take me back. But I couldn’t bear to leave you in danger.”

  She averted her eyes. Was he playing her for a fool again? How could she trust the adoration in his gaze when she, too, was able to feign emotions she didn’t feel?

  As if he was privy to her thoughts, his fingers loosened around her wrist in chilling realization as he breathed in wonder, “My God. Did you never love me?”

  She paused. Admitting her love would leave her vulnerable to betrayal again.

  He took her long hesitation as assent. “I see.” With a bark of self-mockery, he let go of her hand. “Then you’re a better liar than I am, my lady.”

  She frowned. She couldn’t let him believe that. Aye, she had a talent for deception, but not about this. She had loved him. She had.

  At her lack of response, he murmured bleakly, “Sung Li is in the dungeon. I didn’t hurt him.” With a rueful smile, he added, “He might be a master of Chinese warfare, but he’s still a wee old man.”

  Miriel felt a tear spill down her cheek, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “I did love you.” Then, mortified by her rash confession, she added, “Before.”

  He stared at her, wavering between belief and disbelief, as mistrustful as she was. “Did you?”

  Hell, how had it come to this? How had she become a slave to her emotions? That wasn’t at all what Sung Li had taught her. He’d taught her to be strong, indifferent, unflinching, focused, a perfect warrior.

  At the moment, she was none of these. Her energies were scattered like chaff in a whirlwind, her thoughts ran rampant, and her chi…

  She felt so unaligned, so out of balance, that she feared she’d never center herself again.

  She brusquely wiped away the tear and adjusted her grip on the sword, determined to pull herself together.

  What would Sung Li do? How she longed for his wisdom at this moment.

  “I pray you don’t torment me with waiting, my lady.” Rand let out a ragged sigh. “Kiss me or kill me. But make me wait no more.”

  Miriel knew then she had no wil
l to murder Rand. Varlet he might be. And knave. And cad. Deceiver. And cheat. And liar.

  But he was the man she loved.

  And in all fairness, who was she to judge him? Hadn’t she told just as many lies, deceived him just as surely, misled and manipulated and coerced him? She had no right to fault him for his sins, for she was just as guilty.

  She lifted her chin, took a deep, steadying breath, and studied his face.

  Did Rand la Nuit love her? Truly?

  For Miriel, there was but one way to find out.

  She cast aside the sword, letting it rattle upon the floor. Then, careful not to injure him further, she moved close, cradling his damaged face between her hands, and lifted her head to bestow upon him a kiss.

  His mouth was swollen, his lip was split, and the scent of his blood was heavy in her nostrils. But there was no mistaking his tenderness as he responded to her tentative caress.

  She carefully tilted his head, weaving her fingers into his mane, and pressed light kisses along his lips in soft apology for each cut, each bruise.

  His arms came slowly up between hers to cup her face. With his thumb, he gently coaxed her jaw wider, opening her mouth so she could receive the full measure of his affection. His tongue ventured within to taste her more intimately, and he seemed to pour the nectar of his soul into her mouth, imbuing the kiss with every ounce of love he felt for her.

  Her unguarded heart was no match for such a tender assault. Relief rushed over her, draining the dregs of resistance from her bones. The ambrosia of his soul was pure and delicious, and she sobbed at the sweetness of it, drinking deep and willingly of his passion.

  Miriel knew the truth now. Their tongues might lie, but their hearts spoke true. It wasn’t only desire that burned brightly between them. It was love, as pure as white-hot flame.

  God help her if she was wrong, for she was well and truly lost in it now.

  Rand could no longer think.

  It was just as well. Even if he’d been able to string together two thoughts, they’d likely have been a contradiction.

  Miriel hated him.

  Nay, she loved him.

  As long as she was pressing her soft lips to his, combing her fingers through his hair, murmuring sweet promises against his mouth, he didn’t care which.

  Later they could untangle the complex web of lies. Later they could make confession of their sins. And later they could decide whether Miriel loved or hated him.

  For now, it was good enough that he held her in his arms when he’d despaired of ever seeing her again.

  At least, he’d thought it was good enough. Until the wanton lass gasped out a lusty request.

  “Make love to me.”

  That was when he knew he was definitely a man. For despite his battered body, despite his smashed face, his pierced palm, his wounded shoulder, his cracked head, even his bruised ballocks, all suffered at her hands, there was nothing he desired more.

  He nodded his assent, and both of them began tearing off their clothes as if the garments were afire.

  If it was a fool’s path he followed, so be it. He’d never known such contentment as that he found in Miriel’s embrace. So if Fate planned that he should die in her arms, at least he’d die a happy man.

  Having believed that he’d never touch her silken skin again, never taste her luscious mouth, never suckle at her sweet breasts, he now glutted himself on her body. He spread her out on the bed, and there wasn’t an inch of her he neglected as he swept his hands carefully over her scraped flesh, damp and warm from battle, and bathed the salty sweat from her with his tongue.

  He breathed softly into her ear, relishing her shivers of desire. He taunted her nipples with his lips, drawing them to stiff points. But just as he was about to move lower to taste the dark, moist secrets of her womanhood, she suddenly stiffened.

  “Sung Li!”

  Rand whipped his head around. Bloody hell, was the old man here? Had he escaped the dungeon? It would be just like Miriel’s vigilant guardian to appear now.

  But the chamber was empty.

  Miriel, her eyes flashing with urgency, sat up on one elbow and raked back her disheveled hair. “I have to save him.”

  Rand frowned, trying to shake the cobwebs of desire from his brain. “’Tis the middle of the night.”

  Miriel’s mind was no longer on coupling. She slipped from the bed, then cast about, gathering her clothes. “He’s going to the gallows in the morn.”

  His ballocks still aching with need, Rand nodded reluctantly. She was right. They could hardly tryst while Sung Li yet languished below the keep. “But he’s locked in the dungeon. How are you going to—”

  “I don’t know!” she cried in frustration as she began to dress. “But I have to try.”

  Rand winced from his wounds as he sat up and reached for his own cast-off clothing.

  She slipped one of her lovely legs into her black braies. “You needn’t come.”

  He arched a brow in challenge, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his tunic. “’Tis my fault he’s there.”

  She hopped on her first foot, wiggling the second into the leg of her braies. “I do my best work alone.”

  He glanced pointedly at the bed, saying under his breath, “I’d have to disagree.”

  She pulled up the braies and tied them about her waist. “I’m serious. I have much more experience slinking about the shadows.”

  He hauled the tunic over his head. “I won’t let you go alone.”

  She scowled, snatching up her own tunic. “Let me?” She thrust her arms through the sleeves. “How do you propose to stop me?”

  He shrugged, shaking out his braies. “Guilt.”

  She started to poke her head through the tunic, then lowered the garment again, staring at him askance.

  As he sat on the bed, shoving his legs into his braies, he explained. “You wouldn’t be so cruel as to deprive a man of righting the wrong he has done, would you?”

  Cursing under her breath, she burrowed her head through the tunic, then jabbed a finger toward him. “You’d better not get in my way.”

  “Believe me,” he said, gingerly pressing at his bloodied nose, “I won’t.”

  Moments later, against Rand’s better judgment, they were creeping through the dark halls of the keep. Miriel had reclaimed her weapons, though how she’d managed to cache them all in the folds of her garments he couldn’t begin to guess. He kept his broadsword drawn as they stole past slumbering servants and hounds softly yipping in their sleep.

  When they found the steps leading under the keep to the dungeon, Rand took the lead, whispering, “Stay close behind me.”

  But the impertinent lass ignored his command, slipping past him like a shadow, hurrying down the torchlit stairs before he could snatch her back, and he had no choice but to follow.

  He’d wanted to warn her there was likely a guard manning the door. If she wasn’t careful, she’d barrel into him and trap herself. Then Rand would have to come to her rescue.

  But by the time he rounded the last curve of the stairs, she’d already met up with the guard. To his astonishment, the poor wretch lay crumpled at her feet, unconscious. Rand’s jaw dropped. “How did you…?”

  Mistaking his awe for horror, she tried to explain. “He’s not dead. It was only a pressure point.”

  He shook his head and whistled low. “By the Saints, you must teach me that.”

  Miriel gave him a ghost of a smile, then dropped to the lowest part of the door, pressing her cheek against the oak. “Sung Li,” she hissed. “Are you there?” She rapped softly. “Sung Li!”

  “Miriel?” came Sung Li’s voice beneath the door.

  “Are you all right, xiansheng?”

  “What are you doing here? You must go,” Sung Li said. “It is not safe for you.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “You must. Listen to me, Miriel. Your bridegroom is not who you think he is. He is not a knight. He is a…mercenary.” He mutter
ed the word like an oath, as if a mercenary was someone who drowned kittens for a living. “A man whose whose loyalties shift with the wind,” he continued, “who hires out to the highest bidder, who preys upon the misfortunes of—”

  “I do not prey on anyone’s misfortunes,” Rand said with a scowl, having heard enough. “I lend my sword to those who cannot fight for themselves. I hunt down outlaws. I right wrongs.”

  “You brought him with you?” Sung Li hissed, incredulous.

  “’Tis all right, Sung Li,” Miriel assured him. “He’s here to help.”

  Rand, still irked, muttered under his breath, “Unless you wish to hang tomorrow.”

  “Miriel, you foolish child!” Sung Li scolded. “You cannot trust him!”

  Miriel’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I am not a child.”

  “You are acting like one.”

  “And you are acting like—”

  “Cease, the two of you,” Rand bit out, “unless you would summon all of Morbroch down on our heads.” They complied, and he blew out an impatient breath. “Now, we need to find the key.”

  “You cannot,” Sung Li said smugly.

  “Why?” Miriel asked.

  “The Lord of Morbroch wears it about his neck.”

  Miriel chewed at her lip. “Then I’ll steal into his chamber and—”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Rand told her.

  She lifted her chin. “I’ll do as I please.”

  “Not while I’m here to protect you.”

  “Listen to him, Miriel,” Sung Li said.

  Rand’s brows lifted. Was Sung Li actually allying with him now?

  “He is right,” Sung Li said. “You must not endanger yourself.”

  “Endanger myself? Was it not you who pretended to be The Shadow so you’d be caught in my place?”

  “Shh,” Rand interjected.

  “Would you make my sacrifice in vain then?” Sung Li asked her.

  “There will be no sacrifice,” Miriel insisted.

  “Hist!” If the two of them didn’t stop their quarreling…

  “I knew what it would cost,” Sung Li said, “but I am an old man. Better I should die—”