by Beth Mikell
The younger sister gasped, squeezing Brenna’s hand. “What do you propose we do?”
Pushing her tears away, Brenna took a deep breath. “St. Arrington Abbey is just beyond the river crossing. If we could make it there, the sisters would give us sanctuary. Do you think you can travel? It will not be easy and I cannot leave you behind. But, one word from you and I will—”
“Shh… I will go. For you.” Linnea pulled Brenna’s hand to place a kiss in the middle of her palm. “What about the sentry outside the door? He will not be easily swayed to let us walk out of here.”
Brenna bit her lip. “No, but…” Looking around the room, her eyes landed on the logs beside the hearth, and then she smiled. “How ill do you suddenly feel?”
Linnea’s lips curved into an answering grin. “How ill would you like me to be?”
“Very.”
****
“Help! Please, help,” Brenna cried, as Linnea doubled over, holding her sides. “More thrashing,” she whispered to her sister. “And a little more groaning.”
There was a brisk knock on the door before the oversized sentry poked his head around the doorway. “My lady, is—”
“Please come. It is my sister!” Brenna said frantically. “I do not know what is happening.”
He blanched, pushing the door open wider. “Nay, let me fetch a servant or Nyle of McLeod or Lord—”
“No! There is no time!” Brenna grasped Linnea’s arms, acting as though she was trying to subdue her. “I must try to calm her first. Please.”
With a grim twist to his lips, the warrior sat down on the bed to offer assistance. Brenna inched away, her hands seizing the firewood resting under the mantles and gowns. As Linnea kept up her wild display, the sentry tried to still her movements. That was all the opportunity Brenna needed. She smashed the log down on his head, and she watched in horror as the knight collapsed across her sister’s legs.
“Did you kill him?” Linnea asked in a breathy whisper, pushing her long hair over her head, staring down at the warrior.
“Dear God… I hope not.” Brenna cupped her hand around his mouth, and his breath hit her palm. “He still breathes,” she said, sighing with relief. If she had killed him, she hated to think what Lord Gunther would do to her. Dropping the log, she ran to the door and peered down the hallway. No one was there. She closed and bolted it. “What should we do with him?”
Struggling to move, Linnea was pinned to the bed. “I do not know, but help me move him. He is dreadfully heavy!”
Brenna pushed with all her strength, rolling over his massive body and Linnea pulled her legs out from under him.
“Take his purse,” Linnea said and the Mistress of Dorling gave her sister a look of disbelief, and her mouth dropped open, yet the younger sister rushed on, “We may be in need of coin.”
“Good idea.” Brenna grabbed the knife sheathed at his belt and cut his purse off. “We have to restrain him.” She scanned the room for anything that would suffice as bindings.
“The linens,” Linnea suggested. “Pass me the knife and I will cut strips.” As she went about the task, they bound the knight.
“Hurry,” Brenna said with urgency, her heart thundering. “We must make haste!” Thoughts of Gunther filled her mind. It was if he already knew of their treachery and would meet them at the gatehouse and throw them both in the dungeon.
Quickly, the women donned the scratchy, simple gowns. Brenna tied Dugan’s purse round her waist and sheathed his knife at her back. Cloaked in simple mantles, they appeared as servants.
“How shall we leave?” Linnea’s hands stilled in the midst of braiding her hair.
Brenna already made considerations. “Make our way to the kitchen. We will take some food and a couple of baskets, and then pretend we are fetching firewood. It should not be overly difficult to get through the gatehouse.” She opened the door of the chamber, checking the hallway, and not a soul lurked in the passageway. “Come.” She grabbed a hold of Linnea’s arm.
Time was closing in and everything depended on them getting out of the keep before the sentry wakened or if one of the servants found him. However, as they drew close to the great hall, boisterous laughter echoed.
“A fiery wench if ever there was one!” one knight boasted.
“Was she as good as she looked?” another asked.
A knight snorted. “Better! I have her claw marks upon my back to prove it!”
Bawdy male laughter increased in volume as Brenna and Linnea crept closer.
“Lord Gunther, tell us… is Neda the best or Mary?”
Gunther.
Brenna stilled, hearing her husband’s name, and her heart slammed hard against her chest.
“I can tell you naught,” he replied.
Many groaned, whined, and scoffed. “Oh? Why?” The group asked in unison. “Tell us.”
Gunther laughed, his rich laughter stung Brenna’s nerves with an odd warmth. Covered by shadows, she stepped closer, and her eyes caressed over her husband who was surrounded by several knights. He appeared more handsome, if that were possible. She swallowed hard.
Her husband sat relaxed in a chair beside the fireplace, his legs thrust out before him and crossed at the ankles. His unrestrained position intrigued her from the way his eyes glowed with humor to the easy smile hovering so accessible to his lips. A flush spread over her, warming her from the inside out. She remembered how his mouth tasted, and how his rich, succulent flavor bled over her tongue. Every part of her flamed hot. She ached to fist the wild strands of his hair while he took her on another mouth watering quest. Her breasts tingled and the odd sensation traveled straight between her legs. Clearly, she was not thinking straight, yet she waited for his answer, though she was supposedly loathed to care.
“Come… we must know,” the knights pleaded.
The Lord of Dorling shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “You have your claw marks—you have your answer,” he replied with a wicked smile.
A pang of wild jealousy snaked around Brenna’s heart, pinching tight in her chest. She should not care how many lemans he had bedded. He was nothing to her. She clenched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She hated him. Truly. Yet, a wave of unexpected misery swept over her. What was wrong with her? She did not want him, so why did she care about his obscene practices? Soon, she would be free of him.
The knights continued to rib their lord. “Oh, we see now… his wife must be the best over any for him to keep so guarded.”
More rounds of laughter rang through the hall.
“Come, we have training,” Gunther commanded, ending the subject with a quick jerk of his head.
Brenna and Linnea both breathed a sigh of relief as the knights emptied the great hall. “We must hurry,” she whispered, trying to forget him.
They made it to the kitchen, grabbing bread and cheese for their journey. No one gave them a second glance. The evening meal preparations were underway and everyone was too occupied to notice a couple of “servants” taking baskets and heading for the outside.
When they rounded the left side of the keep, both women stopped. Gunther and his men stood in formation for their afternoon training exercises. They spun around and strode to the other side, staying close to the curtained wall, walking quickly.
“Halt!”
Both Brenna and Linnea froze.
“Where are you two going?” a man called out.
They held their breaths, so sure they were caught.
“That wagon goes over there, you empty headed louts. Not there. If you cannot follow directions, then I will find someone who will!”
The stable master was chastising two boys for their mistakes. Brenna and Linnea slowly let out their breaths, their eyes meeting with an expression of relief. They continued walking until they arrived at the gatehouse. The entrance was crowded with several men and knights, but Brenna and Linnea continued forward, halting only as the gatekeeper stepped out to block their path.
“Firewood,” Brenna said, trying to disguise her with an unrefined voice.
“Go back with you, woman,” he said with a wave of his hand. “There is enough to be had within the keep.” He dismissed her, turning back to his companions.
Taking a tentative step forward, Brenna pleaded, “Nay, sir. Please. The pantler has made a special request for several large logs from the forest. He will be in ill temper unless we come back with them.”
He turned back, rubbing his chin, thoughtfully. After a hefty contemplation, he gave his answer, “Go then, but the portcullis will be lowered soon. If you are not back, you will spend the night in the cold,” he said with a laugh, waving them through.
“Thank you, sir,” she said with a curtsy.
With elation and victory, Brenna could almost taste freedom—emancipation a breath away. She could not contain her smile as she and Linnea made their way to the forest, not looking back.
Chapter 6
“My wife and her sister are missing?” Darrius thundered, placing his hands on his hips, eyeing the handmaiden with Colin.
Near fainting, Maude collapsed into tears. “My lord—” she started.
“To the chamber. Now!” He pounded up the stairs to Linnea’s room, and he found Dugan sitting on the bed with Nyle of McLeod, dressing an open wound on the Bloodsword’s skull. He eyed the heap of shredded bed linens and his injured knight with black fury.
“Well?” Darrius scowled at Dugan.
The Bloodsword drew himself up to report. “My lord, they escaped.”
He snorted. “Escaped? Or should I even ask.” His patience had expired.
Dugan looked up into the face of his lord. With a deep breath, he related the facts, “Your lady came to visit her sister, and then called for help. I rushed in—Ah!” Dugan exclaimed, jerking his head away from Nyle, glaring up at his clansman.
“Keep still,” Nyle said flatly, binding Dugan’s head with deft hands.
“Go on,” Darrius added with dark impatience.
Dugan continued, “Lady Brenna hit me on the head with a log.”
Disbelief clouded Darrius’s expression. “What?”
Colin laughed without restraint. “How? Did she stand on a chair, pray?”
Dugan stood up quickly, but he swayed on his feet, sinking back to the bed. Colin soldiered on with insults, “The mighty Bloodsword was bested by women! My lord, mayhap you should ask them to join us. It would seem their ways would take down many knights as you can see.” He dissolved into more laughter.
“Enough!” Darrius shook his head with agitation, pushing a hand through his hair.
“Forgive me, lord,” Dugan said with a dejected tone.
Simon entered behind Darrius and immediately gave his account, “My lord, the gatekeeper allowed two servants, as he described, to leave almost an hour ago. They told him they were to gather firewood for the kitchen, but never returned.”
Darrius rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed. “I am in hell,” he whispered under his breath. “What of their trail?” he asked Simon.
“The Mouse is tracking them now, my lord. Since they are on foot, it will not take Ian long to find them.”
The Imperial Arm grunted. “Colin, gather the men. Dugan’s bewitching fugitives cannot have gotten far,” Darrius said dryly.
Colin winked at Dugan and the mighty Bloodsword flushed with embarrassment.
****
Darrius’s warhorse pounded the snow-covered ground hard and fast. His senses fed on the rage thudding his heart. Damn the woman! Was she so hell bent on dying that she would risk her neck and her sister’s? Fury drove him to find her. And what? Why was he so angry?
A damned sense of betrayal.
His mind scoffed at the thought. In order to feel such a personal emotion, it would mean caring for her, which he did not. He knew differently, though. From the moment he sank into her lovely body and warmed himself at her fire, he found an unimaginable connection unlike anything. He had a cold, empty soldier’s heart, working mission after mission with no meaning other than his king, but he had finally been breached by the beguiling softness of a woman.
She was running from him. He could not stifle a measure of fear. What if she died? He pressed the idea away and concentrated on finding his captives.
His gauntleted fists tightened on the reins of his horse, driving his mount on their trail that would end with his hands ringing Brenna’s beautiful neck.
The riders found their trail. They were close.
****
Breathless, Linnea stumbled over a log. “Leave me. I have only slowed you down. Lord Gunther will be after you, not me,” she whispered, drawing another ragged breath, clutching the folds of her mantle together.
Brenna dropped down beside Linnea, facing her with worried concern. “No, I will not leave you. He would only inflict his torture upon you,” she said, shaking her head. “Nay! We will rest a moment.”
As the sun tipped into the horizon, her breath fogged in the wintry air. The snow-covered ground seeped into Brenna’s clothes, soaking her to her bones. However, her fear was colder. She huddled close to Linnea, peering at her sister with knowing eyes. Pale and sallow, Linnea’s face beaded with wetness. Brenna knew she suffered and a sense of unease fell over her.
****
“My lord, the ladies are resting over that crest.” Ian the Mouse pointed to the thick rise beyond the trees. “Lady Linnea is weary. I saw her stumble and fall several times.”
Darrius’ eyes scanned the woods, stamping down his anger, but it was an effort beyond anything he had ever tried to accomplish. How could the woman be so careless? Shaking his head with annoyance, he looked up at the fading light and knew they would have to move quickly if they wanted to capture them before night fell. If not, the darkness would only impede their capture. He would not rest until they were found.
“Ian, stay with the horses.” Then, he addressed his other knights. “The rest of you fan out full circle and close in at my whistle. One lady is injured and the other will not dare risk her life,” Darrius commanded. “Nyle, once we have our quarries, assess Lady Linnea’s injuries, but be quick. She will ride with you. We need to get back to the keep. I will deal with Lady Brenna personally.”
The Imperial Elite turned in different directions to carry out their lord’s orders.
****
“Linnea, we must keep moving,” Brenna whispered, urging her sister to stand, yet her weakness was obvious. She was fading.
“Leave me. I cannot go on,” Linnea muttered, her head rolling back against the log at her back.
Panic banged inside Brenna. She knew they did not have long. “Nay! You must try, dearest. You must.” She pulled on Linnea’s arm, but her sister was too sick to move. The combination of illness and cold had reached its toll. Guilt and shame swept through Brenna. Linnea could die and it would her fault, all because of her fears and her own selfishness. Tears stung her eyes, obscuring her sight.
A shrill whistle broke the forest silence, but Brenna dismissed the sound as Linnea succumbed to nausea, vomiting. She held Linnea’s shoulders, keeping her from collapsing forward. When her sister finished, she helped her lay back against the log, and she bit her lower lip. What would she do now? They had at least another twenty minutes before they reached St. Arrington’s Abbey. Time was not something they had.
“My lady, did you find the firewood you were looking for?”
Brenna stilled, then hung her head at the brutal-edged voice. She was unable to meet the cold, knowing eyes of her husband.
“What I do not understand is… why?”
Infuriating man. In a rush, Brenna rose to her feet, facing Gunther. “Why? I should think that was obvious,” she said crisply. He wasn’t wearing his armor, but clothed in a dark tunic and breeches stuffed in his boots with his mantle secured at his left shoulder. He exuded authority, and his large body radiated power and dominance. The
instinctive need to shrink away rose up in her, but she raised her chin despite her cowardice.
“Apparently, our earlier discussion went unheeded, my lady,” he began. “I am sure some time alone in your chamber will revive your recollection.”
Brenna’s pupils darkened at the reference of what transpired between them. Her heart pounded. Her frozen lips tingled, her eyes fastening on his mouth. His beard framed such beauty and ruthlessness, and she shivered.
“Surely, you are above such cruelty?” She didn’t believe he was above any hideous act involving pain. Brenna feared he actually would lock her up, alone.
His lips curved in a sardonic smile. “Am I above such cruelty?”
She watched in horror as his knights moved in closer, and panic washed over her. Brenna sprang forward, running, but she knew she would lose. It was impossible to win her freedom by her impulsive action, but she followed her instinct to flee. Her legs burned, and she kept running. Her heart thumped, yet she forced herself. Everything in her screamed to find the source of all freedom, a place she had never found. As her gown and mantle weighed her down, Brenna heard his pounding boots crunch behind her. His pursuit deafened her ears, making her queasy.
She gasped as his arm snaked around her waist, cutting off her breath. He turned her in one swift motion within his arms, and she came up hard against the solid wall of his chest. Her breath sawed in and out, her body firing in traitorous pleasure. Her fingers curled into the warmth of his body, though her mind seethed in rejection, hating him.
He held her tight, hugging her close. “Do you surrender, my lady?” His warm breath caressed her ear.
A sensual tingle shivered through her as tears pooled in her eyes. Her physical reaction to him disgusted her, and yet, she wanted to melt into his strength. His familiar male scent provoked her arousal, making her shake. She took another deep inhale, relishing his gifted essence, so fresh and earthy. She knew she was falling inside a spellbinding, lusty death over him. A frenzied desire warred within: one to enjoy him and one to repel him.
