Knights of the Imperial Elite Complete Trilogy

by Beth Mikell

  What game was he playing at, pray? She drew back, raising her chin. “Thank you, my lord.” Brenna turned her head away, fighting the urge to flee. Every muscle in her body ached with tension, as her fear escalated regarding what was to come.

  However, her unease was soon forgotten, replaced with a double dose of anger, as Gunther resumed his position, enjoying the attentions of his leman. The woman bowed close to his ear, tracing her tongue over his skin, teasing him. She snaked her arms around his neck, caressing one hand down his chest, moving downward, but he grabbed her hands.

  Brenna wanted to wretch, yet she could not look away.

  The woman moaned in his ear. “When you are weary of her, my lord, I will ride you hard… and fast,” she whispered.

  His eyes glittered, chuckling. He pulled the woman onto his lap, cupping her face between his hands, and plundered her mouth. As quick as he started, he pulled away. “I shall keep that in mind.” Hefting her up, he smacked her soundly on the bottom with an exalted send off.

  Brenna rolled her eyes in disgust, turning her head away from the gleaming eyes of her husband. She picked at her food, casting Gunther hated sideways glances, trying to maintain a semblance of boredom but failing. Anger resulted beyond her control, reaffirming her loathed opinion of her new husband.

  Her eyes were drawn to several new knights that approached the high table, bowing before them. They were impressive and exuded power unlike the sordid knights currently under Gunther’s employ—men who found ale and wenching their true calling.

  ****

  “Lord Gunther, salutations and blessings upon your marriage this fine day! We trust you will endeavor through happiness,” Colin congratulated.

  Darrius stood, pursing his lips at his knight’s asinine smile. “It is good of you to come. I see you brought along other merrymakers to incline the festivities toward jubilation.” He clasped hands with his men, treating them as common friends instead of trained Imperial Knights for the purpose of the crown.

  Colin leaned closer to his lord, whispering, “I see your way with the ladies has not changed.” His eyes followed the whore Darrius sent away.

  The Imperial Arm’s smile never faltered. “Anything for God and country.” His cool eyes reflected on his men standing before him.

  All handpicked by him. Colin the Loyal was witty, good-natured, and known for his ability to blend in with any situation. A strategic genius. Though Simon the Clever tended to be playful and mischievous, he had a gift for cunning distraction and thievery was his specialty. Angus the Strong used the power of his muscle and no man had ever bested his strength.

  Dugan the Bloodsword was tough and hard with a grumpy scowl across his forehead—his deft weapon tactics outmaneuvered all men, but women avoided the dark warrior and his less than hospitable nature. Ian the Mouse was quick and wiry, often hiding in the shadows, using his discreet observation and unparalleled tracking abilities. Thomas the Wise was just that. Nyle of McLeod, brother to Rowan, cousin to Darrius, was the healer of their fine circle. He rarely had much to say—so shy and diffident.

  The knights of the Imperial Elite were unified by brawn, brains, and unparalleled loyalty. Would he trust them with his life? Without question.

  Colin’s gaze slid over to Lady Brenna and all the men bowed to her. “Much happiness to you, my lady.” He winked at Darrius. “My lord.”

  ****

  As Brenna observed the men joining the festivities, her heart thumped so hard her chest hurt. The time of what she feared most had arrived. Deafening cheers went up as the groom stood, reaching for his wife. He hoisted her up over his shoulder, heading for the stairs.

  She was fearful the entire keep would follow and witness her demise. His knights, castle whores, and even her father followed. The clatter of footsteps echoed in her ears, and her body trembled, emphasizing her terror. Gunther carried her up the winding stairs, taking her closer and closer to the bedchamber. She thumped her fists against her husband’s back in protest, but he remained unmoved by her pummeling and kept on his course.

  The darkness of the hallway blurred her vision and those in pursuit of watching the consummation.

  ****

  Clearing the threshold, Darrius set Brenna upon her feet and quickly blocked the entrance to the chamber.

  Sir William thrust his hands against the door. “We had an agreement,” he seethed.

  “The plans have changed.” Darrius stared him down with unflinching eyes.

  The older man hesitated a moment, but finally relented. “I want proof,” he demanded.

  “You will have it.” Darrius slammed the door, bolting it.

  He turned to his wife and studied her as she gripped the back of a chair. He closed his mind to the honorable intentions he should have toward the beautiful woman. A lady who was not his true wife. He was about to convert the nature of the mission—wrong as it would be—there allowed no other way. Or so he justified. Sir William required proof and that was exactly what he would give him. It was too early in the assignment to louse everything up.

  “Now, my lady wife, you can do this one of two ways. Come to me compliant or be forced. The choice is yours, but I would suggest you not fight me.” He had never forced a woman in his life and he was not about to start now, yet a threat could go a long way.

  ****

  Startled, Brenna’s face clouded with confusion. A choice? Gunther had made himself clear. He wanted to force her.

  As her new husband strode closer, he stopped in front of her. Everything went fuzzy. She tried not to notice how his dark hair brushed the soft, black material of his tunic. The width of his wide shoulders eclipsed the room, his stance impressive. Brenna fought her reaction, but his male scent tempted her for another subtle inhale. His vivid stare saturated her nerves. Her heart raced so hard her chest ached. His closely trimmed beard allowed her to see the prominent cut of his jaw, and his were lips, full and tempting. However, he should not tempt her, but something about him lured her closer. He overwhelmed her to the point of terror. She shrank from him, though she had nowhere to run.

  He reached for her hand, stroking her fingers. “What will it be, my lady?”

  She felt paralyzed by her senses, hating how the feel of his calloused hand spiked an odd warmth in her belly. “Compliant,” she whispered, looking away.

  He applied a slight pressure to her hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. “What is your answer?”

  Green fire sparked in her gaze. “You—” she stopped herself, choking back a bitter reply. “I said… compliant,” she murmured softly. God, the urge to fight him burned through her, yet she allowed him to lead her over to the bed, seething with hatred.

  “Lie down,” he commanded.

  Brenna’s distraught nerves wound around her throat, pinching her breath in half, and she swallowed back repulsion. She obeyed his order, taking her place on the bed and squeezed her eyes shut. She could not watch, blocking the vision of him from her mind. Time suspended her in a frozen haze as she yielded her body. She forfeited her flesh as a sacrifice to her father’s greed.

  The bed gave way under his weight and she gripped the bed linens beneath her. Cool air bled over her skin as he pushed her gown up to her waist.

  ****

  Darrius drew in a ragged breath, wanting to pull her closer. He brushed her forehead with his lips, and he closed his eyes against the sweet lavender scent of her skin. Without ceremony, he hastily withdrew and tied up his breeches, pulling the bloodstained bed linen out from under her.

  He gave her pale face another glance, grateful her eyes were still closed. Remorse burned against his sense of right and wrong. What had he done? God’s teeth, he could not justify it, even to himself.

  With a grim twist of his lips, he tucked the soiled material up under his arm—the proof Sir William demanded. The need to escape the tantalizing curves of her body tore at him. He craved her warmth with every step taking him away from her.

  ****

  Brenna c
ould not open her eyes, her body still shaking from his touch. She felt degraded. She clenched her hands, and her knuckles turned white from the death grip on the coverlet. Tears left their solitary tracks into her hair.

  She jolted at the slamming of the door, rolling to her side and off the bed. Making her way over to the garderobe, she emptied what little contents her stomach had, so thankful she fulfilled her duty with a little dignity.

  The new Lady of Dorling could only cry in relief and shame.

  ****

  Darrius stomped his way to his solar, informing Colin to bring Sir William to him at once. Alone, he poured himself a chalice of ale, downing all the liquid in one gulp. Then, he threw the empty vessel across the room. The clang of the goblet hit with a metallic ring, mimicking his out of control nerves.

  God’s blood!

  Darrius experienced something emotionally needy, and he yearned for more. By hell, he was the king’s personal emissary, the master of control, yet he could not even take one inexperienced woman without losing his sanity?

  He placed his hands on the table, breathing deep. He knew Lady Brenna fought her internal response to his touch, mentally and physically withdrawing from him. He felt her tensed muscle even before he entered her softness. As much as she tried to remain impervious, her body responded to his. The sound of her stifled moan still rang in his ears and he could still feel the hot rush of his blood when he pushed deep inside her. The sweetness of her skin and the softness of her body were a rare sensuality. She had lured him more than he cared to admit.

  A brisk knock echoed through the chamber.

  Shaking his head, he drew a deep breath, allowing years of training to take over, facing Sir William as the Imperial Arm.

  As the older man entered, Darrius threw the soiled bed linen at Sir William’s feet. “The deed is done,” he stated, eyeing the man with cool contempt.

  “How dare you go against our arrangement? You agreed to allow the public display and—”

  Darrius cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Spare me your fatherly outrage, if there is such a thing.”

  Sir William kicked the material away. “How dare you use a high-handed tone with me? Do you forget with whom you speak, pray?”

  The Imperial Arm snorted, lifting an eyebrow. “Indeed, sir, I know exactly with whom I speak. Do not suppose now that I have taken your daughter, I must cower down before you. It may have been thus in the beginning, but I have taken all that you had to offer.”

  Sir William snorted. “And does my daughter please you?” He sneered, sniffing the air with a twist of his face.

  Darrius’ eyes hardened, though he did not bother replying.

  The older man continued, “Gunther, I leave on the morrow. Once I reach Carthmore Keep, I will initiate our plans as we previously discussed.”

  The Imperial Arm waited, expecting the man to hang himself with his careless words.

  “I shall align our allies and you will kill King Henry.” Beady green eyes narrowed. “What say you? You are most quiet, which is highly unusual. You owe this debt to me and you better not betray me,” Sir William exclaimed.

  Darrius sneered a smile. “You misinterpret my silence. I was merely thinking of the joy I shall feel when I finally kill him.” Of course, he wasn’t speaking of King Henry, but of this arse of Carthmore. He deserved to die for his crimes.

  The old man inclined his head. “Good. Once I have made contact with our allies, then I shall send word to you. I have what I came for.” Sir William retrieved the soiled linen, exiting.

  Darrius’ hands fisted at his sides. He stared at the closed door, his anger seething, but held in check. Every fiber of his blood and bones screamed to kill the man, but he could not, or at least, not yet. His number one priority was to protect his king and ferret out his enemies.

  The mission was proceeding according to plan. Well, except for Lady Brenna. He had complicated things royally.

  Chapter 4

  Pushing back the heavy curtain on the bed, Brenna peered about the room. The sun blazed strong through the window, indicating late morning and all was quiet.

  As if waiting, Maude appeared. “Good morn, my lady,” she greeted shyly.

  Brenna yawned. “Maude, you should have awakened me.”

  “Forgive me, my lady. I knew you had not slept very well since you arrived and thought you should rest,” the servant replied with a blush.

  The new Mistress of Dorling smiled. “I thank you. I believe I needed it.” She rose from the bed, padding over to the window.

  Her husband walked among his men, his stance and demeanor one of a commanding nature. He wore his armor, the angles of his body impressive and large. His wavy, dark hair was brushed to his shoulders, glinting in the sunlight. She could not see his eyes from her viewpoint, but she remembered the piercing depths and shuddered.

  Everything about him was different.

  She was uncertain what to think of him. A tingle of remembrance fluttered her stomach as she reflected on how he made her feel last night. A sensation heated her blood, though a bitter smack of nausea replaced the pleasure. It was Gunther! How could she feel this way?

  He confused her, especially when he took great pleasure in describing her doomed fate. Other than some soreness between her thighs, she felt fine, quite different from what she expected. Still, her mind revolted at even the thought of him, yet her body told a different story. He had used tenderness. It was if he whispered an apologetic caress across her flesh.

  Brenna gave herself a mental shake and turned to address her handmaiden. “Has my father left?”

  “No, my lady,” the young girl said, hesitating. “He has asked to see you.”

  Panic knocked against her insides, but Brenna stifled the feeling. She must remain calm for Linnea’s sake, yet a familiar dread pitted her belly. “Does he know of my sister?”

  Maude shook her head. “I do not believe so, but you must go to him, my lady. He leaves soon, and he and his knights are gathered in the great hall.”

  With a weary sigh, Brenna changed into a dark green gown, her nerves rattled. As she traveled the dark hallways, she hastily braided her hair, uncertain what the outcome would be.

  Upon entering the great hall, Sir William and his men surrounded her in a threatening circle, dwarfing her. Her muscles tensed and her pulse jumped into an erratic rhythm. When she tried to back away, two knights grabbed her arms, dragging her before her father.

  “So, daughter, you meant to deceive me.” It was not a question.

  “Father?” A panic hit her voice, and her eyes darted around the hall. She pulled against her captors, but their strength was greater, their hands biting into her arms.

  He gave a flick his wrist to one of his men. The knight dropped a blanketed bundle down on the dirty rushes at her feet. Sir William bent and gave the covering a swift yank.

  To Brenna’s horror, her unconscious sister spilled out. The shift she wore barely covered her body, revealing every black and blue mark on her abused body. There was evidence of her previous beating, along with a fresh, bloody wound to the mouth. No doubt compliments of their father’s fist.

  “Linnea!” She fought against the knights holding her, squirming until they let go of her. Brenna fell to her knees, checking for signs of life in her sister. A fever raged her body and she was unconscious. Drawing the blanket across Linnea, she shielded her sister’s modesty from everyone. “What have you done?” she seethed, looking up at the hateful man who gave her life.

  Sir William grunted, yanking Brenna up by her hair, glaring down at her. “Something I will enjoy doing to you. Perhaps you have forgotten what happens when you defy me!” He raised his gauntleted fist as if to backhand her.

  Brenna cried out. She brought up her hands to deflect the incoming blow.

  “Strike her and you will die.”

  ****

  Darrius stood at the entrance of the great hall, his face like granite. The knights of the Imperial Elite filed in behind
him, swords drawn. Fury kindled deep in his stomach at the sight of Brenna bound within Sir William’s grasp. It took every ounce of his ingrained control to govern his unexpected protectiveness toward her without giving away everything he had worked to gain.

  Sir William released Brenna, and she sank to the floor beside her sister, but not before he saw tears cloud her eyes. More anger seethed through him.

  The older man turned his gaze on him. “The girl defied me. I want her punished!” He shook his gauntleted fist with emphasis.

  Darrius crossed his arms over his chest, his lips pulling into a tight line. “Punished?”

  “She brought her sister here—against my orders! Such defiant, willfulness cannot go unnoticed. Even by you.”

  His eyes flickered over the woman, hovering protectively over her sister. Darrius assessed her watery green eyes, and the proud tilt of her chin. His mind flashed on the memory of her soft body. Cursing himself, he veiled the flaming thought. “Is this true?” he asked her.

  Brenna lifted her gaze and met his stare. “Aye. He would have killed her otherwise. I would do it again,” she said, raising her chin.

  “How dare you!” Sir William turned back to Brenna. “She belongs to me! Until I marry her off!”

  Darrius took a step closer. By the fire glowing in her eyes, Brenna wasn’t spineless; she had spirit. He admired her. The moment hung in his hands. He gazed around the room before delivering his final blow to Sir William while holding Brenna’s eyes. “She may stay.” He sliced a cold look toward the older man, enjoying the smile fade from his face. He stepped closer as the Imperial Elite Knights relieved Sir William’s men of their weapons. The clank of metal and grunts of protest echoed through the hall.

  An angry flush of crimson spread high on the older man’s face, his scar standing livid white on his cheek. “How dare you make such a judgment? I am her father! You cannot undermine my right as her protector, Lord Gunther.”

  “Protector?” Darrius gave a half-laugh. “I have seen horses receive better treatment from your hands than this beaten girl.” He glared, fighting the urge to draw his sword. “Perhaps learning the definition of ‘protector’ would benefit you more. Did you actually suppose that I would allow you to raise a hand against my wife and live? You were presumptuous to believe I should reprimand one lady who was helping another. A woman’s honor must be protected, sir. It is a privilege. One you would do well to remember.”