by Beth Mikell
Two days ago, Darrius of Blackstone, Ryrie’s half-brother, had returned home after a three-year absence, training in England to be a royal guard. Not many respected the English king or his decisions, but they respected Darrius since he was half Scots. Darrius and Ryrie’s mother, Meryion had been the eldest daughter of Edward of Blackstone Castle in Scotland and he had allowed his daughter to marry to a wealthy lord of England.
After Meryion had given birth to her twin sons and fearing her husband would kill one of her babies, she had fled with Darrius for her sister’s home in the Highlands. But the history ran deeper.
When Darrius had learned of his blood father, Lord Robert of Dorling, he set out for England’s waiting arms, uncertain of the outcome toward meeting his father. Lord Robert had proven to be an abrasive cur, or so Ryrie had heard. Darrius’s twin brother was still alive—a man close to a terrifying nightmare—and her mother’s deepest regret.
Ryrie was not supposed to know anything, but she had heard many things when people thought her only a child. At least Darrius’s arrival had lifted their mother’s spirit. She had been so melancholy these last few years without her son, worried about his health and vocation to the point of despondency. Knowledge that Meryion’s other son became just like Lord Robert had sent their grieving mother into another bout of depression. Ryrie was not sure her mother would soon recover, though she prayed so.
When Darrius arrived, he brought three other knights along with him, Colin the Loyal, Dugan the Bloodsword, and Rowan the McLeod, their cousin. Dugan was all Scots and fast with his sword, tall and muscular. He looked like a walking wall and never smiled much. And Rowan, her annoying cousin, spent all his time pleasuring women. Not that she was supposed to know that either. She was sure if Rowan could profess his wit and charm as a vocation, he would be in prime heaven, but to her, he was a man-whore. Rowan didn’t even try. Women flocked to him like sweet honey over warm bread. It was disgusting.
Colin the Loyal was different or so Ryrie believed. As tall as Darrius with beautiful blue eyes and blond wavy hair to his shoulders like a riveting sun god. Her mouth watered the first time her eyes swept over his lithe body with his endless cords of muscles. She fisted her hands and pounded the ground.
He had been polite, respectful, and rode a horse extremely well, which in Ryrie’s opinion made him exceptional. After only two days since his arrival, Colin had treated her like a lady, and not as a child. He had made her laugh until her spirit shook with more than hopeful intentions. Ryrie had found herself captivated by the intensity of his blue eyes, perfect lips, and the deep sound of his voice, so sure she could not even remember half of what he may have shared with her. If she wasn’t with him, she spent her time daydreaming about his handsomeness and how soon she could escape her mother’s side for another glimpse of him.
She slapped the earth with her fists. Again.
One hour ago, Ryrie had been upstairs in her room, and her mother would not allow her to go downstairs to the great hall—to exactly where all the activity flourished. The whole keep was buzzing with preparations for the evening meal and entertainment in honor of her brother’s return, but Ryrie was shackled to the upstairs for what her mother called “rest time.”
Lady Meryion stood in the doorway, her dark blue gown the same hue as her eyes with her lips firmly set. Her dark, black hair was streaked with gray as she peered at her daughter. Though the years had been kind, her skin reflected a few worry lines on her forehead, evidence of her concern for those she loved.
“Staying upstairs is for the best, Ryrie dear,” her mother had said. “As I always say, a woman’s lost virtue can never be regained and a lady must remain invisible to retain the first.”
Ryrie had inwardly rolled her eyes and looked away from the intense glare of her mother. “I understand.” But, she had not. Her mother did not want her downstairs mixing with all the knights. She was not an idiot or a child. Darrius was down there. What could someone do to her with him standing a few feet from her?
God’s blood!
Once she was sure her mother had left, Ryrie crept downstairs and perched herself in a reclusive position on the stairwell, hidden in the shadows. For long minutes, she watched all the activity and a deep sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes searched for Colin, but he was nowhere to be found.
Suddenly, two hands grabbed Ryrie from behind, and she gasped. In the darkness, she was spun around and pulled up against a hard chest. It took less than a second to realize who dared touch her: Colin. Her fantasy came to life. Her hope soared.
Before Ryrie could protest, hot lips covered hers, moving roughly. She whimpered deep in her throat. Her senses reeled as his large hands kneaded her dizzy. Colin kissed a path down her throat and back up to the shell of her ear—and still she craved his next touch. Despite her young age, she responded fast, curiosity fueling her. Such raw, unexpected warmth fed Ryrie’s youthful body, making her pliant within his embrace and her innocence yielded with complacency. Wrong as it was, she wanted more. She hungered for Colin’s mouth. He stroked a new fire within her. The welcome banner rolled out in a thunderous sweep of pleasure.
“Ellie, love,” he rasped against her ear. “Let us find a corner and partake of each other.”
Colin’s voice penetrated Ryrie’s mind. Ellie? He believed her to be one of the lemans of the keep. Anger surged through Ryrie and she began to struggle within his arms. “Let me go! I am Ryrie, not—not Ellie!” she protested, bringing up her hands and pounded on his chest.
Immediately, Colin released his quarry and stepped back to look at her. He paled and shock abounded inside his expression.
“How dare you!” She pushed against his chest, but her force did not move his body one inch.
“Ryrie? I thought you were… someone else. Please forgive me. I meant no disrespect,” Colin replied, taking a step toward her, but she thrust a hand up to stay him.
Ryrie shook her head, her dark hair swaying. “You thought I was some common whore.”
Colin blanched, his eyes widening, and his expression turned apologetic. “Please Ryrie, forgive me. It was an honest mistake. I would never—that is to say—I would never contemplate such an action upon a child. Especially Darrius’s sister,” he croaked.
Her chin jutted higher as loathing flashed hard within the depths of her eyes “A child?”
His lips flattened in a mulish line, his eyes glittered. “Yes, a child. You are only fourteen… hardly a woman.”
Ryrie blew out an angry puff of air. “Thank you for clarifying my female position in the world. It is nice to know where I heap on a pile of horse dung.” She was seething. “I will have you know that two of my friends recently wed at fourteen and I am sure their husband’s would not agree with you.”
He drew a hand through his blond hair. “That may be true, but I am not in the habit of fondling children in the stairwells, nor am I looking to marry one,” he returned smartly.
Though tears gathered in Ryrie’s eyes, she placed her hands on her hips and stared him down. “I am not a child. And furthermore, Ellie is only sixteen—used by many men and has been since she was thirteen. Used! A leman! You, Colin, have a twisted sense of young girls in your mind, but I guess a whore is a whore after all. Isn’t that right?”
His jaw flexed, yet he made no reply.
Ryrie gave a small laugh. “Shall I mention this to my brother? I wonder how interested Darrius would be to know what you did to his sister.”
He blanched. “God’s teeth, Ryrie! I didn’t mean to—God!” His frustration escalated, if judging by the flush rising in his cheeks. “I said I was sorry and I meant no disrespect. Can’t you accept my words and pardon me?”
“By all means,” she gushed. “Forget anything happened. Consider yourself pardoned,” she sneered. “Go! Go run to your little whore,” Ryrie raged, taking two steps back up the stairs, stumbling in her attempt to flee.
“Ryrie—” Colin began, reaching a hand out to help her.
&nb
sp; Crimson rose higher on her pale cheeks and she righted herself, continuing up the stairs. “No! Not one more word from your vile mouth! I will go back to my dolls and rest time, and forget this ever happened!”
Ryrie ran back up the stairs to her bedchamber, slamming the door. She kept running until she flung herself face down on her bed. Sobs racked her body until she thought her heart would burst in shame and pain.
How dare Colin? He wanted a used whore like Ellie, but not me? Didn’t the stupid man know how I admired him?
Colin changed everything, making an arse out of her and him both. Not only had he embarrassed her, but he likened her to a child, pushing her feelings aside without a care.
The urge to flee climbed inside Ryrie and she scrambled off the bed, grabbing her new harp Darrius had given to her. She made her way through the keep, winding her way down to the secret bolthole, unseen. Within minutes, she was free of her family home, which brought her back to lying on the ground in an angry heap, irritable, and pathetically crying over her lost joy.
Colin ruined everything. The cur! But, in some way, Ryrie knew it was her own fault. She placed him so far and above other men with his kind words, beautiful eyes, and a handsome face. He had turned her numb the moment she saw him. She was such a fool. Now, she knew what kind of man he really claimed to be: an ill-mannered mongrel, sparking lemans. Go to Ellie, she thought. She hoped he overindulged until his man-part fell off. He more than deserved to have his head mounted on a stick outside her window for all time, but she could not bring herself to tell anyone. Especially when her heart was breaking. If she never saw Colin again, it would definitely be God’s blessing to her.
However, as bad luck would have it, Ryrie did see Colin again at the feast. He sat next to Darrius, laughing and bantering like nothing ever happened.
Her brother called her over and said, “Small thistle, where have you been hiding?”
Ryrie cringed at the name he used, reminding her of the small child Colin accused her of being. She did not even spare a glance toward the accused and focused her attention solely on her brother’s question. She could feel Colin’s gaze boring into her. She would allow him to wonder and sweat.
She lifted her chin, and said, “Around.”
Darrius’ lips lifted in an amused smirk. “Around,” he repeated. “And would around also mean that you left the keep through the bolthole again?” His deep, blue eyes narrowed with a disapproving frown.
Ryrie raised a shoulder in a shrug. “I needed a walk.”
“I see. And did you misplace anything during your little escape, small thistle?”
Ryrie looked away from Darrius, suddenly remembering how she shucked her brand new harp into the field before running off, leaving it behind. She blushed profusely, wishing to join the large dogs underneath the table, so she remained silent. Then her brother pulled her new harp into full view, though it did not appear damaged, she was so shamed he found his gift abused and forgotten.
With true sincerity, Ryrie apologized. “Forgive me, Darrius. I was… not myself.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward Colin, who watched her with a shuddered expression. She fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him.
Darrius smiled. “Not to worry, small thistle, what was lost is found.” He handed over the harp to her waiting hands. “Ryrie, promise me you will not leave the keep again without your handmaiden or attendants. It is dangerous and you are not a child anymore,” he cautioned.
She grinned, cutting her eyes toward Colin with a smug I-told-you-so emphasis. “Of course, Darrius. I will be more careful, I promise. And thank you for realizing I am older. It is quite refreshing!” Colin, she noted, rolled his eyes and looked away. Good!
Darrius lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t question her. “Ryrie, how would you like to go riding with me and my friends tomorrow?”
Oh God, how she wanted to go. She adored riding with an absolute passion, but she did not want to go anywhere with Colin, no matter what she loved. “Thank you, brother, but I do not wish to go.”
His jaw dropped open and shocked disbelief rode his face. “Since when? Are you ill, Ryrie? I have never known you to miss an opportunity to go riding. You even rode a horse with a broken arm when you were ten years of age and mother cried hysterically. This is highly out of character for you. Is something wrong?”
She gave another shrug. “Perhaps my interests are changing. I am older after all,” Ryrie said with a smug smile. “Mayhap another time.” She turned to leave, running right into Ellie in her pursuit to flee.
Damn the whore.
“I am sorry, Ryrie,” Ellie apologized, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder.
Ryrie smiled, peering over her shoulder toward Colin, who still watched her before attending the girl-whore who stole her knight. “It is nothing, Ellie.” She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper, “I have heard rumors of an itchy skin malady occurring in women that indulge in impure activities. Perhaps you should take care. I heard some say, one of Darrius’s men brought it.”
Ellie’s face blanched and did not reply.
Ryrie slid her gaze over to Colin, lifting her chin with firm defiance. His narrowed eyes. It served him right, she thought, and she left the great hall. Suddenly, she felt free from the bounds of her immature infatuation with Colin the Loyal. Her woman’s fury dished out an underhanded revenge.
Chapter 1
Blackstone Lands 1258
In the purest form of disgrace, an unceasing anger fed Colin the Loyal. He was but a shell of a human being. The lowest of the low. He knew he was beyond God’s saving grace, having traded his soul in the name of revenge. He had dishonored his name, his vocation, his dignity, and lost the only family he had left: his half-brother, Darrius of Blackstone.
As the bastard son of Lord Robert of Dorling, Darrius’s father, Colin shared the link of blood with his lost friend and leader, the Imperial Arm. His Majesty’s emissary. He soon realized the family connection with Darrius after his sister, Phoebe, was raped and murdered, naming Darrius as her attacker. However, the facts were wrong from his sister’s dying lips.
Darrius had an identical twin brother, Gunther of Dorling, his sister’s actual murderer. If only Colin had realized his error sooner rather than later. Gunther was the true deceiver by character and nature—the vilest human to be granted life. No matter the departed Lord of Dorling’s faults, it was Colin who had made the ultimate decision for revenge. Had he only killed Gunther, everything would be different. His honor would be restored, rather than a resident of the holy damned.
He would never forget Darrius’s words when last he spoke two years ago, “Brother or not, I will never forgive you for this. But, neither will I kill you. You will spend the rest of your pitiful days in regret for your crimes and suffer without penitence as no man has ever suffered… run, as if Satan was bidding for your soul nigh close to hell. If you cross one step along my path, you will taste the end of my sword unto death.”
Colin choked down humiliation as easily as he did water, deserving everything Darrius had said.
His new home became the vast, limitless wilderness with an opportunity to work as a hired mercenary, as long as the tasks were not immoral. Sometimes he found tournaments ideal for a bit of coin, but they were rare. He had nothing except good instincts and excellent sword skills to recommend himself.
He sat on a log, sharpening his sword before a fire, wishing he could forget everything, but Darrius had been right. Penitence was nowhere to be found, no matter how hard he looked for it.
Without looking up from his task, Colin called out, “Come out, Simon. I know you are there.” There was no sound for a moment, but then the rustle of breaking sticks and crushed leaves came to him. Still he did not look up. When Simon drew close, Colin said, “Why have you been following me?”
“How did you know?” Simon replied.
Colin’s lips lifted in a smile, but he was not amused. “I knew the first day you began tracking me six months ag
o. Do not forget, I was a knight before you stole your first loaf of bread, Simon the Clever.” He finally looked up, lowering his sword to his lap. “Besides, tracking was never your strongest ability.”
For a stunned moment, Colin eyed his one-time pupil. Simon had changed in the last two years. The green knight had shed his youthful appearance and metamorphosed into an impressive warrior clad in the familiar chainmail of the Imperial Elite. His blond hair was brushed to his shoulders in dark waves and he was clean shaven. His sword was sheathed, he noted. “So, I ask again, why are you here?”
Simon squatted down by Colin’s fire and his eyes met his. “I want you to come back,” he said simply.
Laughter abounded and not a lot amused the devalued knight, but Simon’s words truly entertained. “Oh my God, I think that was the first time I have laughed in years.” With laughter still shaking his body, his shoulders jostled with true mirth. “In truth, you always knew how to make your point, Simon the Clever. You forget the impossibility within your request. I am in exile.” Colin sobered, a familiar mask fell over his expression, shutting out the world.
Simon’s eyes flashed. “Colin, enough already! We need you. Me, the Imperial Elite, and Darrius, though he would never admit it. He is as stubborn as your stupid hide.”
“Does your lord even know you are here?” Colin leaned forward to watch Simon’s reaction, but the younger man looked away. “Ah, I thought as much. Leave, Simon. If Darrius even smells my foul countenance upon your return, your stupid hide will be in exile,” he said with bitter meaning.
The younger knight looked back at the warrior. “What happened to you?”
Colin raised his arms out in a gesture of ‘look’ around. “Welcome to the end, compliments of revenge. It tends to change a man.” Sarcasm threaded his voice.
Simon snorted “That is not what I meant and you know it. Why the deception? Why did you not speak with Darrius before our mission at Dorling two years ago?”
