by Beth Mikell
Darrius appeared to have grown quite still. “Well, I see you have not lost your elegant manner of speech in the two years you have been gone.”
Colin inclined his head in a slight bow. “Nor have you.”
Simon interjected. “May I say, perhaps this is a good idea.”
“No, you may not,” Darrius and Colin said in unison and the young knight’s eyes widened, but he kept quiet.
Darrius pursed his lips. “If I allow you to do this, what assurances do I have that you will not betray me again?”
Colin eyed his half-brother with lazy regard. “You do not have any assurances. You will have to trust me and I know that is a hard for you, but there it is.” He waved his hand in the air for emphasis.
“And what do you know so far?” Darrius ignored Colin’s sarcastic comment.
He sighed with tired reluctance, knowing that was all he was going to receive out of Darrius as acceptance. “Yesterday, a man, calling himself Silas, approached me after the tournament ended and asked me to join the Gray Legion,” he began and he saw a flicker of surprise cross Darrius’s face before he veiled it. “I told him I needed more specifics on their activities and he said he would let me know.”
Darrius listened and digested the information carefully, mulling over the words with precise care before he spoke. “Just so we are clear, if you do this, you will be helping your king and will be rewarded thusly. However, I still do not trust you. And furthermore, I expect to be informed the next time they make contact. No decisions will be made without my approval.”
Colin chuckled. “I would expect nothing less.” He straightened, and then he bowed.
****
Happiness radiated over Ryrie the following morning as she readied herself for the next day of the tournament. She wanted to run down the stairs immediately upon waking, but decided that would bad form and would probably insight Darrius’s innate nature of suspicion. Ryrie did not want to draw any attention to herself and planned to take her time with dressing.
She donned a gown made of soft linen plaid, bearing the signature colors of the clan McLeod tartan of green, blue and black with attachable white, full cottony sleeves. A long sleeveless velvet overdress of dark blue fell over the gown, securing at her waist with five shiny black onyx buttons winking in the light underneath her breast line.
Traditionally, Ryrie would allow her hair to hang loose at home. Considering the guests present within Blackstone, Ryrie would have Hannah intricately braid her hair in several small braids, then braid all them together with a strand of black onyx stones. The effect within her midnight tresses was stunning. She did not wear a circlet or a veil and chose black onyx drop earrings as her only adornment. Finally, she wound a small swath of tartan over one shoulder and pinned it at her waist—and by right, she looked the noble Scots woman.
Pleased with the result, Ryrie left for downstairs, but found the great hall empty except for Angus and Thomas, two of Darrius’s Imperial knights.
“God bless my eyes, lass, but you look a sweet slice of heaven in that dress,” Angus said in robust Scots brogue, nudging Thomas in the side.
Thomas smiled and bowed slightly. “Aye, you do, my lady.”
“You’ll give Sir Robert of Chevington a fair heart seize in that dress, lass. Just last night he made rude comments on the Scots and I was flat ready to pummel him, but Thomas prevented me,” Angus said, punching his friend in the arm instead.
Ryrie flashed a bright smile, her violet eyes shining with amusement. “‘Tis lucky that I show our McLeod colors so grandly then. It would indeed be a pity—should something happen to the man that makes my skin crawl.”
Angus shouted with laughter and Thomas smiled. Ryrie liked Thomas the Wise very much, but he was a quiet man that kept to himself, making Nyle’s shyness loud and boisterous by far. He was refreshing in that he did not ramble on as some men tended to, and Sir Robert was definitely a man that fell into the over speaking category—not to mention a bore.
Ryrie curtsied at their praise. “Indeed gentlemen, I thank you for your compliments, but where is my brother?” She looked about the hall.
With Angus still shaking with the last of his laughter, Thomas replied, “Lady Brenna and Lord Darrius asked us to convey their apologies, but he and his lady have left for the tournament. He asked us to escort you.”
“Well, I shall be escorted by two of the finest Imperial knights. Shall we?” Ryrie said with a knowing smile, hardly able to contain her excitement at the thought of seeing Colin again.
They walked through the keep toward the tournament.
****
Colin played two events and lost both of them, his mind affected by Ryrie’s absence. He was beyond irritated. Never in his life had a woman distracted him. She had definitely bound his affection and heart, not to mention she was out of reach for the sake of purity and being Darrius’s half-sister. God, he thought, he was tied in knots, but then he saw her and heaven opened.
He blew out a rush of air that he had not realized he held as she walked up to the galleries with Angus and Thomas at her side.
She looked amazing, wearing her Scots heritage like a badge of honor—her presence was like a smoky moonlit evening, floating over his consciousness. She sounded a war of emotion locked deep within him. Ryrie met his eyes and Colin was smacked in the gut with full-on desire as her lips curved in a smile—only for him. He preened under her gaze and felt a renewed burst of energy.
****
Ryrie walked up the gallery steps, and she smiled at the look of irritation that crossed over Sir Robert of Chevington’s face before he recovered. Good, she thought, he needed a reminder that he was not the only soul upon the earth within his shallow existence. She took her seat, greeting her family and Lady Adara as she sat.
Darrius leaned over, flashing a smile. “Small thistle, you look wonderful as always.”
Ryrie smiled her appreciation, turning her attention to the games and observed Colin with unflinching eyes. She was unable to turn away from his tall, sleek body. He thrilled her, making her warm despite the cool nip in the morning air. She was informed by Lady Adara, Colin had lost the last two events, but as Ryrie noticed, his luck changed for the better. He won every event thereafter, but Decimus, Lady Adara’s knight, won the final for the day—an intricate broadsword as his prize.
The nobles scattered here and there after the tournament and Ryrie made her way down the exit stairs, strolling over to Lady Adara, who was standing with her female knight next to a powerfully large, black warhorse. She gave the women a warm greeting and Lady Adara was dressed in a similar gown of yesterday, only in black with sheer sleeves and leather bodice and flowing black skirt, along with her weapons fastened securely at her waist.
“Ryrie, I must say, I really love your tartan—you look regal and wholesome this fine day.”
“Thank you Lady Adara, but you outshine all women with the uniqueness of your dress. I simply find them beautiful,” Ryrie said, and she was rewarded with a gracious smile from the woman of dark red head and black eyes.
“Where I live in the borderlands, it is better to dress for functionality rather than beauty, although I try to find ways to hopefully infuse a bit of loveliness. You never know what enemy you may happen upon in the border where life remains uncertain.”
“I understand.” Ryrie reached up to stroke the large warhorse, and the female knight made to protest, but the animal simply nuzzled Ryrie in the neck with obvious delight and she chuckled under her breath.
“God’s teeth, Isidore has never done that before,” Cylah murmured under her breath.
Ryrie raised an eyebrow and Lady Adara smiled. “What Cylah means is that my horse, Isidore, is fickle about whom she likes or dislikes. Usually she is very temperamental, but you seem to have gained her affection.”
“She is outstanding.” Ryrie stroked Isidore’s nose as the horse nibbled at her skin. “You’re a sweet lass, are you not?” she whispered and Isidore continued her
velvety nuzzle.
“Ryrie, how would like to go riding with me and my knights tomorrow? I would enjoy the reprieve, but unfortunately, I am unable to go today. How about after the tournament ends on the morrow?” Lady Adara requested, her black eyes shimmering in the late afternoon sun.
Her eyes lit with pleasure. “I would indeed love that, Lady Adara. I would happily accompany you. I honestly enjoy riding very much, but have not gone in some time. Thank you for the invitation.”
Ryrie watched as Lady Adara and the female knight walked away, leading Isidore away. She did not see her brother anywhere, but a few of the Imperial Elite were among the people and she walked a little, though not far, considering what happened on her last stroll. As she was about to return to the keep, a strong arm pulled her inside one of the pavilions.
She gasped, ready to scream, but to her surprise, she realized the strong arms that held her were Colin. He molded her up against his strong body, wearing his leather armor. His long blond hair was unbound, making him dangerous and primal. He spun her around until his back was to the entrance door for privacy, in case anyone should enter.
Her violet eyes flashed in sweet anticipation. “Are you—”
“Insane? Yes, I think we have established that last night, sweetness,” he finished, his blue eyes sparkling, his warm hands holding her close. “Besides, I wanted to keep my promise to kiss you today and I always keep my promises.”
Ryrie smiled. “You must really have a death wish,” she said with a rueful shake of her head, but her heart thumped hard. She ran her hands up his chest, sinking her hands sank into his long hair.
He chuckled under his breath. “Well, I am armed now. I can safely take my chances.”
“So, you feel yourself confident within the presence of your swords—for you have many?”
Colin laughed heartily. “My dear lady, I am shocked,” he teased. “Such naughty words.”
Ryrie rolled her eyes, grinning. “You know what I meant!” She understood his naughty banter and she flushed despite herself.
His blue eyes dilated. “Do I?” he whispered.
“I really do not know…” Her playfulness faded.
“You will know, sweetness.” His lips touched hers.
****
Colin’s mouth sought and moved with meaningful intent, sliding over her warm mouth, which met his with eager intensity. Nothing upon nothing felt this wonderful within the space of her silken taste. She drove him over the edge of sanity within seconds. His body vibrated the depth of his overwrought senses. He wanted her, needed her, and he ached to lay her down and place his claim upon the woman that tasted of spicy earth and resembled moonlight.
“Colin…” she rasped. “What are doing to me?” He brought one hand up to cup her breast and Ryrie whimpered deep in her throat.
“Only a kiss,” he groaned against her lips, but he knew it was more than that.
His broken, ill-used heart plumped in revitalization the moment he saw her—the moment he touched her. It was not only a kiss, but also a fragile destiny winding them deeper into a forever road he had never thought to travel. He knew within this moment, he would never willingly let her go. Ryrie anchored him inside the storm that fueled his broken soldier’s heart… and her purity was his atonement.
“Do you know sweetness, every kiss of your lips burns—a fire hotter than hell, but sweeter than heaven?” He pulled back to look at her face, her violet eyes glazed over, her mouth red and swollen from his kiss.
“I want to taste more of the heaven and hell you speak of.”
A ripple of desire spun through him, shaking him hard. “I want that more than you know, sweetness, but…” he trailed off, leaning forward to brush his lips across hers.
“What about tonight?” She pulled back slightly, staring deep into his eyes with clear meaning until there was no mistake in her words.
She wanted him.
He closed his eyes against her sweet expression, aching to take everything she offered so freely. “Sweetness, you are not a woman to take so… impulsively.”
She laughed huskily. “I am happy you realize that, but I was not really asking.”
Colin’s formed a reply, but the pavilion flap opened behind him, and he tensed.
“There you are, my lady. How did I know?” Simon said dryly.
Colin shook his head, looking at Ryrie. “He is always worried about Darrius taking his head, but he never once thought that I might do it for him.” He turned to face the young knight.
Simon grunted in response.
“Your timing is impeccable as always, Simon,” Ryrie said, taking a step out to face the young knight, her eyes narrowed. “Is Darrius looking for me?”
Simon nodded his head. “Yes, my lady. He sent me to find you.”
“Wait for me outside. I am coming,” Ryrie said to Simon, who rolled his eyes and she waited until he left before turning her attention to Colin. “I meant what I said… about tonight.”
He smiled slowly, full of meaning and full of sadness. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I know, sweetness, but I will not ruin your pure heart, no matter what I feel. When this is over, I will make good on everything—and restore my honor. I will not dishonor you—I just cannot,” he whispered and it pained him to say that.
Her lips tightened, and she lifted her chin. “We shall speak later.” She turned to go, but Colin caught her hand.
“Do not leave angry, sweetness.”
Ryrie smiled sadly. “It takes a lot more than this to make me angry, Colin.” She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed the inside of his palm. “Later.”
Then she was gone.
Chapter 7
Colin stayed in his pavilion, indulging in self-deprivation. It was a bitter ale to choke down, but heavy nonetheless. Everything sloped toward a steady hill, a peak of the unknown, and he was not sure he knew right from wrong.
Darrius, Ryrie, and his own past actions filled him with immense guilt and shame. The cataclysm of contemplating the right path stared at him, taunting his emotions. He had lived two years a prisoner of his wrong choices, and he was not entirely certain how he should proceed. There was only one person in the world that saw any good within his rotten soul.
Ryrie.
Her sensual dark beauty beckoned him, her purity fortified every wrong, and he wanted her. Not for a night, not for a day, but for always. However, one question in his mind remained: would that be enough? Would she wake up one day and regret her choice, regret her decisions? On the other hand, could he handle losing her if her answer were… no?
Tired of his inner battle, Colin ached to see her. No matter his desolation, Ryrie was his lighted footpath. He readied himself to leave for the keep. The flap of the pavilion fluttered, and his eyes narrowed on a shadowy outline outside his tent. He pulled his sword, ready as the warrior he was honed to be.
A hiss sounded and Colin inched forward, using the tip of his sword to flip the material back. A very nervous Silas stood outside, gnawing his lip.
“It is not best to sneak up on an armed man, Silas. I promise it can kill a man quicker than death,” Colin said with a biting tone.
“My apologies, sir. May I come in?” Silas asked, looking behind him.
Colin lowered his sword, but did not sheath it, stepping back to allow Silas to enter. The nervous man stepped in quickly, his face quite pale.
“Why you are so distressed?” Colin observed the other man for all manner of strange behavior.
Silas shook his head. “‘Tis nothing. I wanted to come for your answer.”
“And my reply is the same, unless you have more information? I am not so generous with my time without a reason.”
Silas took a few steps inside the pavilion, turning to face Colin and he drew in a deep breath. “I represent a group of knights called the Gray Legion. We are a band of reputable knights that—” he trailed off, gasping for breath.
The man had just been impaled on a sword from
the outside of the tent in his back. Colin moved quickly, pulling the flap back to see a dark figure fleeing, but rather than pursue him, he reached for Silas. The man sank down to the floor, his breathing ragged.
“Tell me quickly! Who do you work for?” Colin said urgently.
Silas shook his head. “I cannot…”
“You have nothing to lose now! Speak!”
The man began to convulse, death’s eminent embrace upon him. “He is… dangerous. All the work of the Gray… Legion was raising money. He wants… border… lands.”
“His name!” Colin hissed, shaking the man.
Silas gurgled, drowning in his own blood. “Sir…” he said as he breathed his last, dying in Colin’s arms.
****
Simon met Colin as he entered the keep, long after the evening banquet had been served.
“Where have you been? You missed all the festivities.” The young knight lifted his eyebrows rapidly and gave a half-smile.
Colin dragged in a deep breath. “I was busy taking care of something. I need to speak with Darrius regarding the Gray Legion situation,” he informed the young knight.
Simon’s playfulness vanished, giving a curt nod. “At once,” he said, but then he turned around, and said, “By the way, what did you say to Ryrie?”
His blue eyes narrowed at the mention of her name. “Why do you ask?”
The young knight shrugged. “No particular reason. After Ryrie came back from the tournament, she never came down for the banquet. Darrius had me check on her and her handmaiden said she was ‘indisposed.’ Whatever that means.”
Colin pursed his lips, contemplating Simon’s words, but he chose to forgo commenting. “Tell Darrius. It is urgent.” He was curious about her too, but he had business to attend, and he could not indulge himself with thoughts of her.
“I am going…” Simon grumbled, and he strode away.
