by Beth Mikell
Choking back a lump of guilt, remorse, and regret, he held onto a vine of hope. “Hold on, little dove,” he whispered under his breath. “I am coming.”
****
Late afternoon beat down on the riders pounding over the cold, grassy earth. Their horses kicked up fat clods behind them at a fast pace. Brenna’s weariness reduced her to a pile of ache. Her thoughts burned a trail through her mind. Her life within Carthmore. Her own abuse by a sadistic father had been transformed by healing heaven with Darrius. An amazing turn of events so powerful, Brenna could only thank God.
Darrius. A man of iron control. A man who had released his cold, desolate spirit over a battered woman, healing her with his inner justice and honor beyond every nightmare. He was indeed heaven sent.
She loved Darrius. Had she told him enough? No, she had not. God, she missed him so much. The sweetness of his kisses or the haunted look of desire in his eyes. Even how Darrius made her body shake for him, tortured her. Would Darrius know how much she tried to stay at Dorling? She prayed he would come soon, but then she was afraid he would be hurt by his disloyal knight who obviously harbored a dangerous vendetta. She vowed to stay strong and see Darrius again. Everything depended on survival, and she was indeed a survivor. Look at her father. No need to say more.
Colin stopped to change their positions, allowing Brenna to lean up against his back. She ignored Gunther’s invitation to ride with him. A visible shudder of repulsion ran over her at his words.
“Not to worry, my lady,” Colin said softly. “I will not feed you to the wolves,” he said.
Brenna did not bother to respond.
They rode until they came to a small village and dismounted. Brenna’s legs trembled under her and Colin kept a firm hand on her arm. He escorted her inside a one-roomed house, and she sank down on a chair.
Colin busied his hand with starting a fire, ignoring her, but Brenna worked up enough courage to speak, “Please Colin, tell me why you have taken me. Why are you so angry with Darrius? I know he is the reason for all this.” She knew he was obviously using her to draw Darrius out.
He shot her a dangerous glance. “Aye, my lady, but how could I add to your shame if you knew your precious Darrius was not as saintly as you envisioned? What if my words diminish his character in your eyes? Would you still want to know?”
A terrible fear settled over her. “What do you mean? My treatment from Darrius thus far cannot compare to what I would have suffered at Gunther’s hands. Please tell me what fault you have found in him.”
He looked away from her, staring into the fire. “Rape and murder, my lady.”
She drew a swift breath. “Excuse me?”
Colin swung back to her, rage filling his expression. “He raped and murdered my sister.” He reached up to pull a piece of fabric from a pouch around his neck. Carefully, he laid a king’s royal guard insignia across his palm.
With a distressed shake of her head, Brenna looked between the torn fabric and Colin’s face with confusion in her eyes. “There has to be a mistake, Colin,” she began gently. “Darrius is not such a man to—” she began, but he cut across her words.
“No, he is such a man!” he exclaimed. “My mother was Gunther’s nurse, a woman brought in to care for Lord Robert’s infant son simply because she was... beautiful.” He sneered the word as if it were a curse never laid to rest. “Lord Robert used her thusly. I am the result, my lady. Me. And my father cared for me less than the woman he sported with so casually. Make no mistake, I am Darrius and Gunther’s half-brother,” he said.
“When Lord Robert finally tired of my mother, he threw both of us out of the keep with little more than the clothes on our backs. My mother came to this village and began a life for us. She had no choice but to whore herself out for money, but she did her best. My sister was the result of one her... indiscretions.”
Maybe hope was not too far out of reach. “Colin, if you tell Darrius he will understand. He would welcome you as a brother,” Brenna whispered, trying to be the voice of reason in a game of revenge.
He sneered, his face so detached and hard. “Nay, my lady, I do not want that. Darrius crossed the line when he attacked this village with little more than women and children within its boundaries. I will never forget how Phoebe fell into my arms, violated and dying. She gave me this,” he said vehemently, thrusting the insignia out toward Brenna. “She died with Darrius’s name on her lips. I vowed to kill him and I will!” He stood, pushing the fabric back inside the pouch he kept next to his heart.
Brenna’s mind raced over all Colin’s words, but nothing made sense to her mind. How could the emissary of the king, a treasured knight, be someone Colin savagely proclaimed? She could not conceive it as truth. Darrius could have hurt her time and again, but he had not. Colin’s version of the truth dripped with revenge and hate, but it was too distorted to be anything but a misunderstanding.
“Colin, you have known Darrius for years, why not ask him about this? Why wait until now?” she asked gently.
His lips curved into a cruel smile. “Because I needed an edge. I needed a reason to cause him pain as he never felt before,” he said, looking intently into her eyes. “I was waiting for you.”
Brenna paled, shaking her head. “Nay, I am not a reason for Darrius to forget everything. Not for what you may be implying.” She looked away, but by no means were her words convincing.
He laughed without humor. “I think you are wrong, my lady. I have watched you together these last few weeks. I have seen a change in him—enough to know how you have affected him. Perhaps, he does not even realize it himself. I am sorry you were caught in the middle, but it was imperative to take you away from Dorling. Believe me, Darrius will come.”
Brenna knew he was right. She panicked. Her heart pounded hard. “Please do not do this. Please, find another way. A vendetta will not change the sorrow of your heart or bring your sister back,” she cried, fearing about what may happen to Darrius. She did not believe for one moment that Darrius could have done what Colin had told her.
He stood, moving toward door and gave his parting comment, “Nay, my lady, Darrius of Blackstone will die—tonight!”
Chapter 12
Brenna waited beside the fireplace. She drowned in worry over Darrius. She was unable to believe Colin’s astonishing account. With a rueful shake of her head, she could not choke down such a gruesome lie. Unless Darrius swore to God, he did something so degrading, she would not believe it. Such a disgusting act went against his very nature and character of tenderness, honor, and decency he exhibited thus far. Her new husband out-shined every man she had ever known. His kindness to her, to her sister, even his own men bespoke volumes against the so-called facts Colin deemed truth. Darrius was the complete opposite of Gunther. Such violence would be of Gunther’s preference, not of the man who was an emissary to the king. How could a right and just king employ a man so unworthy. It had to be a sanctimonious lie.
She was absorbed in her thoughts as Neda came through the door. The woman carried a tray of food and a small bucket of water with a cloth. She watched her approach, noting forgotten tears staining the other woman’s face. Neda did not look at her, but rather set her burden on the table in the middle of the room, turning to go.
“Wait,” Brenna said, and Neda turned slightly, though the other woman kept her face averted.
“Yes, lady?” she asked softly.
She took a step forward and stopped. “Will you not come sit by the fire?”
Shock rode Neda’s face. “Do not be kind to me. I do not deserve it.” She strode toward the door.
“Then be my handmaiden, since I am without.” Brenna sank into the chair beside the fire.
The young woman hesitated a moment before silently turning back and walked over to the table. Neda, known only as a castle whore, quietly picked up the bucket of water and cloth and came to her, kneeling down.
“Your hands, lady, if you please,” Neda said tonelessly.
She offered her hands, watching the other woman without malice. Whatever Neda’s faults, no one deserved cruelty as far as she was concerned. Carefully, as if touching glass, the woman cleansed both of Brenna’s hands of dirt, blood, and the impurities of their journey.
“Why did you come, Neda?”
Stark, empty eyes lifted to look at Brenna, and then she bent her head. “Forgive me, lady, I did not know Colin’s plan. I was not forced to help him at first, but... I did it because—” She paused, drawing a deep breath, “—because I was a fool. I had no idea that the prisoner was Lord Gunther and I certainly did not want him to be free. I hate him so much, Lady Brenna. Lord Gunther has only been disgusting in his pursuit of ill-treatment to me—toward anyone he sees fit to hurt.”
Compassion filled Brenna for the other woman’s pain, knowing all too well how suffering could lead to misguided paths and even mistakes. “Now you have a chance to make things right.”
Neda raised her head to look at Brenna. “What do you mean, lady?” Then, she shook her head. “It is too late.”
“Nay, it is not too late.” Brenna reached out to pat one of Neda’s hands. “It is never too late to do the right thing. Run, Neda, run back to Dorling or where ever you wish to go. Do it now before you get caught up in it more. Death will only await you here.”
“But—but what about you, lady? I cannot leave you. What if Lord Gunther...” she trailed off, looking away.
Brenna understood her words and she had the same dread, but she would not allow fear to win. “Have you heard the name Darrius?” Neda only nodded. “He is coming, but if you leave now, perhaps you will find him. Warn him, Neda. Ask him not to come. Tell him it’s a trap. That is how you may help me. Please.”
The beaten down woman rose to her feet, her expression guarded. “I must leave now, lady.”
“What are you doing here, Neda?” Colin loomed in the doorway, his face hard.
Before Neda turned away, she reached over, squeezing Brenna’s hand, and then grabbed the bucket from the floor. “She needs fresh water,” the broken woman replied, brushing by him without a look or an acknowledgement.
Colin gave Brenna cool glance. “Try to rest, my lady. The end is near.”
****
Neda never returned and Brenna hoped the young woman made a safe escape. No one deserved to walk a path of abuse. Pacing the floor with nervous energy, she could not sleep as Colin suggested. Her nerves were too tightly drawn, waiting for what could happen. She hoped Neda would find Darrius in time to warn him. She knew enough of him to know he would not turn back. His honor, duty, and integrity drove him. Though part of her wished he would come soon, the other part of her wished he would not. She could not imagine a world without him—without his strength—his honesty—or protection. She loved him more than the air she breathed, aching to consume him, yet keep him safe at the same time.
Gunther forcibly opened the door of the small house, slamming it shut with a hard thud. He stalked toward her with an angry-intent gleaming in his eyes. She jumped back in fear, but there was nowhere to run, and no weapon to defend herself.
“What did you tell the whore?” he growled. “Where did she go?” Gunther did not wait for an answer, shoving her viciously back on the bed.
Brenna gasped at his attack. His rough handling would leave marks, but the bed made for a soft landing. Gunther threw himself down on top of her, and she punched his face, body—where ever she could land contact. His hands grasped her fists, trapping them at either side of her head as he pinned her.
“Get off me!” She strained against his brutal vise.
“Tell me, witch! Where is she? Where is Neda?” he sneered.
“I don’t know. She is your whore. I am not her keeper!”
Gunther’s eyes glazed over and he jerked both of her hands up over head, confining them with one hand. He savagely worked her gown up toward her waist.
“Enjoyed being my brother’s little whore, did you? Now, it is my turn.”
Gunther exploited the fabric up her thighs with one hand. Brenna felt the cool air hit her exposed legs. She pulled hard against his grip, but his strength was greater. Within a space of a breath, she felt Gunther’s weight lifted off of her and she watched as Colin slung the other man into the stone fireplace. Gunther righted himself, coming up to face Colin. Rage was drawn in every line of his face. She scrambled up into a sitting position, pushing her gown back over her legs—her body shaking as she watched them.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Colin roared, pulling his broadsword.
“Just giving the wench what she deserves.” Gunther reached to draw his own sword, but Colin prevented him.
“I would not, if I were you,” he said darkly. “We need her alive.”
Gunther grunted. “When this is over, she is mine.” He pointed her direction, but didn’t take his eyes off the sword near his throat.
“Get out of here,” Colin commanded, his eyes following Gunther’s exit.
Only when Gunther was gone did Colin sheath his sword, turning to look at Brenna, but he didn’t speak. The blue intensity of his eyes looked almost remorseful. Without a word to her, he left the small house, shutting the door softly.
Brenna got off the bed and ran over to the window. Colin remained outside the door, his sword drawn again. With a shake of her head, she could not understand him. He still had honor, but his revenge was greater?
Turning her eyes back to the expanse of the village, she saw Gunther knocking over barrels or kicking fence posts. Then everything stilled. She heard the unmistakable sound of sword fighting. Gunther pulled his weapon and mounted a horse, disappearing into the woods.
****
The senseless death of Ian the Mouse and Colin the Disloyal’s betrayal hit the Imperial Arm’s imposing Elite with a surge of pandemonium. But they kept their mental stability without wavering. They were in pursuit of saving innocence with a vengeance. All seven armored knights, followed their lord on the trail left to them, even without Ian’s keen sense of direction to guide them, or Colin’s uncanny ability to second guess the motives of criminal intent. Especially since, Colin was the offender. Even without the talents and abilities of his lost knights, Darrius pushed his horse toward Brenna. The vibration of his energy radiated out among his men, driving him onward.
Darrius eased his horse into a steady walk, and he could see a village in the distance. He assessed the sky—the sun would set soon. The shadows could play in their favor, yet he was worried about the unknown knights Colin secured. Honestly, only Colin may pose a potential threat. He had trained him. The other knights could not be that skillful, yet the Imperial Arm wanted to err on the side of caution. Brenna’s safety was everything. There was no room for one mistake.
Rowan pulled up alongside his cousin.
Darrius flicked him a cursory glance, looking back at the village. The Imperial Arm sat staring ahead, yet his cousin’s gaze was unceasing. “Yes?”
His cousin cursed under his breath. “God above, Darrius, I’m sorry. I did not mean any disrespect earlier.”
Darrius only inclined his head, continuing to walk his horse closer to the village.
“My lord?”
“What Rowan?” Darrius bit out in an exasperated tone. “What would you like me to say? I have bigger issues than worrying about your curt tongue. I thought I understood all my men—inside and out. A man I trusted with the king’s life has betrayed me.” He reined his horse to a stop. All the other knights pulled up beside them. “I have spent this whole journey, turning the situation over in my mind When did Colin lose his head down a traitorous path? Why this way? Why Brenna? God’s teeth, why release Gunther?” Darrius was always the first to have a cool head in every mission. Failure was not an option, even at the expense of his own life.
Rowan shook his head without an answer.
“My lord, how do you want to do this?” Dugan asked softly.
Darrius sighed, turning his attention back to th
e village. “We will wait for the sun to go down to investigate this village. We are only seven and I do not want individual advancement. We enter by twos as silent as possible. If Colin is holding Brenna here, we will discover it. Be mindful of the villagers—they are innocent. Dugan and Simon, take the west entrance. Thomas and Nyle, east. Rowan and Angus center from the south. I’ll take center from the north,” Darrius explained.
“And who is watching yer back?” Rowan objected to his cousin’s order.
Darrius turned his gaze on him. “You have your orders,” he said tonelessly. “We will meet in the middle once we secure the area, and then go door to door. The first priority is to find Lady Brenna and center our attention on locating Colin—he most likely has her. The rest of you eliminate any other threats and protect the people. And for the love of God, whoever runs into Gunther—kill him. I am done with him.”
A snap of wood brought around their immediate attention. Each knight of the Imperial Elite drew their broadswords, ready for attack. Darrius motioned Dugan and Angus to investigate the sound, and the men dismounted. After two minutes, they brought a scared Neda before Darrius.
Surprised, he dismounted, walking to her. She fell to her knees, sobbing in a fit of tears.
She grabbed the cold earth between her hands, crying. “Lord Darrius, please forgive me. I know you are shocked to see me and I am sorry. I know I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I beg you to be lenient with me.”
Darrius sheathed his sword, bending down to grasp her shoulders, forcing her eyes to meet his gaze. “Tell me.”
Neda related all the facts leading up to Gunther’s release. “I swear by God, I did not know it was Gunther, otherwise I never would have helped Colin, my lord. And Lady Brenna...” she trailed off, more tears falling.
He gripped her shoulders. “What about her? How is she?”
“Colin protects her, though Gunther hit her earlier today,” she explained tearfully.
The fading light prevented the heated flush of anger under his beard from being seen. Tightness constricted his chest, forcing his next words out through clenched teeth. “How many men does Colin have?”
