She swallowed carefully and looked around. The room was much the same as she had last seen it. There were fewer men moving about and her master's body was covered with the hearthrug, but the tables were still overturned and the red-haired man still sat in the master's carved chair. Her captor made his way directly to this man. Pausing in his approach, a few feet from the man, he bowed and shot her a glare. Getting the idea she was supposed to show respect, Brice managed a weak curtsy. She would have fallen over if he had released her hand.
“Ah, Darius, a successful pursuit, I see,” the red haired man said. “Rise and approach; I wish to question the girl.” Lifting her head, Brice found the new man's eyes on her face. They were dark brown. After a gentle prod from her companion, Brice stepped closer as the man looked her over.
“What is your name?” He was looking with interest at her bare feet. She felt her ears warm. They were probably muddy after the trip through the garden.
“Brice, sir,” she answered.
“Sire or your majesty,” her captor informed her.
Brice's eyes flew to the red-haired man's head; only then did she see the gold circlet among the dark curls. She immediately dropped her eyes and wished the ground would swallow her. “Pardon me.” She had no doubt her ears were red. Thankful they were beneath her hair, she corrected herself, “Your Majesty.”
“'Sire' is fine, child.” The king actually smiled. He then addressed the man behind her. “Where did you catch her?”
“The garden, Sire,” the man answered. “She was making for the back gate.”
The king nodded and then asked, “Slave or free?”
“Slave,” the man said. Brice almost touched the heavy leather collar around her neck, but managed the last minute to restrain herself. It was well hidden beneath her clothing.
“Whose?” The king returned to looking her over.
“I would guess she was a lady's maid from her hands. The calluses are not hard enough for a kitchen wench.” Brice felt the man shift. “But she runs like one accustomed to running.” The mercenary's thoughtful tone sent shivers up her back. What else did he know?
“What do you mean, Darius?” The king asked. Brice felt his eyes leave their survey of her and meet the man's over her head.
“She was not always a lady's maid.”
“Well, then, lady's maid,” the king said engaging Brice's eyes. “Were you in contact with the lord's daughter, Gwendolyn?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Was she well?”
“Yes, sire.” That was an odd question to ask her.
“And the babe?”
This time there was no mistaking the oddness. Brice was confused. “What babe, sire?”
“Has not Gwendolyn recently given birth to a child?” The king's face was at total odds with his tone. His voice was inquisitive, but his eyes were calm, cold, and calculating. “Or perhaps she has suffered a miscarriage within the past few months?”
“Is she large with child?” the man behind her asked.
“None of these things are true,” Brice found herself saying. Had these men gone mad?
Surprise crossed the king's face as he dropped his eyes. After a moment, he rose from his chair in one smooth movement and crossed to the covered body only a few feet away. “Micrey,” the king said to the corpse, “You were too crafty for your own good.”
“There was no child.” The voice behind her was weary sounding. Brice turned to look at the man the King called Darius. When he met her eyes, she was surprised to find them to be sorrowful.
Just then, the main doors opened with a crash and the other Ratharian and a large group of men entered dragging a young farmer.
“Sire, we found this man hiding in the wine cellar.”
The king nodded and waved them away. “Have my horse brought up to the entrance. We are returning to camp.”
The men retreated and the Ratharian paused long enough to bow and say, “Yes sire,” before disappearing after them.
“We break camp tonight.” The red-haired ruler abruptly declared. “Darius, see that the orders are spread.” Turning to leave, the king would have left the room, except Darius, her captor, spoke.
“I wish to have my claim be made legal.”
The king paused and turned to regard Darius. “Why? The other men…” he broke off. “Very well,” he said as he turned back toward the door. “When we reach camp, I will see what I can manage.” He disappeared through the open door.
“Come.” Darius directed the order toward the girl. She turned a puzzled face toward him.
“Why did you attack us?”
Darius blinked. It took him a moment to realize that she wanted to know the purpose of the siege and the attack. Obviously, she would be aware of the drama playing out around her and would have questions.
“Later.” He started toward the door the king had just used. Turning back to see if she was following, he found she had not moved. He clarified, “I will answer your questions later; I promise.”
For a moment, Darius wondered if he was going to need to use force again to bring her along. Wishing with all his heart there was more time to reassure her, he took a step back in her direction. “I will come,” she said. He looked up to see her eyes watching him with a mixture of fear and confusion.
“Then, come,” he replied. He crossed to the door and swung it open as she approached. Obediently, she followed.
Darius put his arm protectively around her shoulders the moment they stepped into the hall. He drew her along with him as he made his way to the main courtyard, where the king would be preparing to ride out to their camp outside the walls.
~~~
Part II
Brice initially was uncomfortable with the mercenary's arm across her shoulders. He was very tall and the closeness of his frame made her feel even more insignificant and weak. He seemed to be making his way to the main courtyard, which was probably where the king was preparing to leave. After assessing that fact, Brice concentrated on keeping up with the man's long strides.
“Have you ever ridden?” Darius asked suddenly.
Shaking her head, Brice managed a breathless, “No.”
“Then you best ride with me,” he announced as they approached the main doors. Pausing before they reached them, he turned her to face him and glanced quickly up and down her body. “No shoes, no cloak,” he muttered. “Guess we will have to make do.” He smiled down at her and Brice felt her mouth drop open. His smile was amazing when it involved his whole face.
Ignoring her reaction, Darius swept the door open and stepped out into the courtyard. The air had cooled considerably and an instant chill traveled up Brice's legs from the cold cobbles beneath her feet. The space was loud with the chaos of a departing troop. Horses neighing, men shouting, and the sound of metal horseshoes on stone echoed against the barren walls. The raw volume made Brice want to cover her ears, but she found she could not. His grip on her forearm was too strong.
The mercenary pulled her with him into the wild madness and she soon found herself praying he would not lose her. He was the only stable island amid the sea of horses' legs, rushing men, and dogs. Where did the dogs come from? She hadn’t noticed any signs of dogs before. Suddenly she was thankful her captor had prevented her from running. She witnessed enough hunts in her lifetime to know how an animal was brought down by a pack of hounds. The insane fear of the hunted creature was frightening to see let alone experience.
“There you are.” A voice broke through the loud clamor from above them. Looking up, Brice could just make out the outline of a man on horseback. “Your horse is over by the stables.” The horse stepped sideways with a plaintive whinny as a man next to his head hollered a curse at the top of his lungs. A massive hoof came down heavy, only inches from Brice's foot. Instantly she shrunk back against the very solid form of the man behind her. Without looking from the horseman's face, Darius enfolded her within the fall of his cloak and almost completely behind his body.
&
nbsp; “Meet you back at camp,” the stranger called as he urged his beast into the churning mass, and then he was gone.
“Which way are the stables from here?” her protector asked without looking down. “We need to leave before the looters are all that are left.”
“To the left of the main entrance,” Brice offered. She had no idea where they were now, so she could not offer more detailed directions. Thankfully, the mercenary did not seem to need them. He nodded and started to move through the madness.
In a matter of moments, Brice found herself standing by the flank of a caramel colored stallion. Darius made quick work of the knotted reins. Throwing them over the horse's head, he turned back to her. Without a word, he wrapped his hands around her ribs and hoisted her onto the horse's back. Before Brice could even begin looking for something to balance herself with, he was behind her. Clamping a hard arm around her midriff, he took the reins, and with a shout, the horse beneath them lunged toward the gate.
Closing her eyes against the rise of her stomach, Brice was sure she was going to be bounced apart. The arm around her waist tightened. “Relax,” he demanded. “The ride will be much easier if you relax and move with the horse.” With all her concentration, Brice tried to obey, but there was little change. Just as she thought she was getting the hang of the rhythm, the beast slowed. She opened her eyes to the sight of passing tents and hurrying men. The horse slowed even more as they approached a larger tent in the center of the mass. The Ratharian from the castle was just exiting when the mercenary brought them up to the front.
“Ewian.” Her captor swung down and reached up for her without looking to see if the man had stopped. “I need you to take care of the horse.” Lifting her effortlessly, he placed her on the ground and made sure she was steady on her feet before turning to other soldier. “Is the king ready for me?”
Ewian nodded, “Yes, but you must hurry. His aides are already packing up and will get to the documents soon.” The man caught the horse's bobbing harness and began leading him away.
“Come,” Darius said as he turned toward the canvas structure. “You will be safer if I have legal claim.”
Still confused as to what the man meant Brice obediently followed him into the dark interior.
The girl was tense and in spite of her obvious exhaustion, agitated. Fear was evident in her every motion and Darius did not blame her. In her position, he would have been spitting mad and demanding answers. But as much as he felt for her, he had to go through with this to protect her and her future.
The king was indeed waiting for them. His scribe, an older man, was the only other in the small foyer of the tent. Although visually they were alone, scuffling and voices from behind the curtained doorways into other parts of the structure reminded Darius they were not.
“There you are.” The king greeted them as soon as they entered. “Come closer.” He waved at them to move deeper into the room. “Keiter needs your full names for the records. Darius, you go first.” Walking toward his portable council seat, the king left them to the scribe.
“Darius Aarin Laris,” he told the man, who quickly scratched the letters onto his parchment. Darius did not bother spelling it. His witness was needed on enough documents and treaties that Keiter knew the letters. Turning to the girl, Darius nodded toward the scribe.
“Brice Wrlyn Ashlyn.” She formed the sounds as if they were a treasure reluctantly relinquished. “What is this for?” Her voice wavered, but the question was clear.
“Darius wishes to make legal claim as your protector and provider,” the king answered from his seat beyond them. “He wishes to marry you, child.” Darius stepped back to give her clear view of the king, but kept his eyes on her face. He needed to know how she reacted to this revelation.
She stepped toward the king. Darius could no longer see her face. “Why, sire?”
The king smiled at her. “You are going to have to ask him that.”
Darius waited in silence. For some strange reason, his chest ached and his throat was tight. Instead of turning to face him, the girl answered her own question, “To protect me. To have legal claim.” Her voice was thoughtful but uncertain.
“Let me give you some insight.” The king leaned forward. “Darius always has a reason, but rarely does he share it. From experience, I have learned to accept that and trust him.” The candid praise settled uneasily on Darius, but the girl turned to look back at him with a measuring shadow in her green eyes. Then the king asked the essential question. “Are you willing to bind yourself to this man?” Darius held his breath.
Brice's eyes lowered and Darius' heart sank. Instantly his mind began working out alternatives. He had to keep her near and safe; that was certain. If he established her with the servants at the castle when they returned, she would be relatively safe, but he would rarely see her. A position as a lady's maid was even more isolated from his world within the castle.
“Yes,” Brice answered.
Darius' eyes focused once again on her doubt-filled face.
“Then let us get this finished so we can all go home,” The king declared, pushing himself wearily to his feet. “Approach me.” The scribe produced a small package and handed it to the king as they obeyed. “Join hands,” he instructed as he turned to face them.
Darius offered his right hand, palm up, to Brice. She looked at it uncertainly and then shot a brief glance at his face before timidly placing her right hand there. Slowly and gently, Darius enfolded her small fingers in his much larger hand. I promise to take care of it, he thought. Brice did not raise her eyes from the joining. She just stood there silent and motionless as the king began to intone the words that would bind them forever.
He is so much larger than you. He is a complete stranger. Why do you trust him? Why are you doing this? Weakly, Brice answered her inner voice. Because I have no other choice. Then, she desperately attempted to concentrate on anything other than the tall, dark man standing beside her. She also desperately tried to ignore the tender way he was holding her hand. She was concentrating so hard that when the king started to wrap a long piece of silk around their joined hands, she startled. The soldier's hand tightened around hers and the king stopped mid word. Even if she wanted to withdraw her hand, the man's grasp would have prevented her. Somehow, though, Brice knew if she asked, he would let go.
An uneasy silence hung between them for a moment. All she could hear was the servants’ movement on the other side of the curtains.
Finally, the king continued. “Bound together until time is no more, bound to each as to none before.” The silk wrapped around for the second time. “Bound before man, sovereign, and God.” A third strip fell into place, completely covering their clasped hands. Taking the ends, which now dangled unevenly, the king knotted them over the point of union. “With a binding that will never break.” He pulled the knot snug. “You are man and wife before God, king, and man. May it be a blessing and never a curse.”
With great effort, Brice raised her face to her husband. She found him silently watching her with a look in his dark gray eyes that she could not yet interpret.
They left the king's tent and Darius immediately noticed the sag of his new wife's shoulders. Then remembering her bare feet, he leaned over and lifted her into his arms. He half expected her to fight or at least vocally protest, but she did neither. Her head fell to his shoulder and the small body in his arms relaxed against him. “Thank you.” She sighed and he guessed she fell almost instantly asleep.
When he arrived at his own tent, he found his armor bearer busily packing. The boy's name was Timothy and he was an energetic young man with a quiet disposition much like Darius'. The two of them were companions of many years now and comfortable with each other's habits. As expected, Timothy was not anticipating this.
“Who is that?” He finally managed as he stared at the motionless form in Darius’ arms. Darius watched as the boy took in the bare feet sticking out over his arm. “Where are the shoes?”
“I don't know.” Darius jutted his chin toward the larger of the two cots. “Clear off the cot. After I set her down, I will explain.”
Clearing the cot took only a moment. Timothy watched with wide eyes as Darius gently lowered Brice onto it. “So it is a girl?” The boy asked.
“Yes.” Darius took off his cloak. With his usual efficiency, Timothy had already packed the blankets. Spreading his cloak like a covering, he said, “She is my wife.”
Timothy dropped the armor-cleaning satchel he removed from the cot. Darius winced at the clatter it made hitting the ground and looked over at the girl. All she did was turn her head to face the tent wall, and then, with a sigh, her breathing settled back into the slow cadence of sleep.
As soon as he was sure she was not going to wake, Darius turned to his shocked assistant. “Show some care,” he hissed, waving at the heap at the boy's feet. “She has had a long and traumatizing day.”
“I am sure marrying you had nothing to do with it.” The boy shot back in a low tone. “Where did you find her? Why did you marry her? What is wrong with your head?” The willowy boy gestured emphatically.
Holding up a hand to slow the flow of questions being hurled at him, Darius put his finger to his lips and gestured toward the door. The boy obeyed with a frown. Darius followed.
Camp was settling down a bit as most of the men completed their packing and were trying to catch a few hours of sleep before the dawn move out. Darius and Timothy faced each other across the entrance to their tent and conversed in whispers.
“I found her in the castle,” Darius began. “She was a servant to the lord's daughter.”
“Gwendolyn's maid, ay,” Timothy interrupted. “She knows something you or the king needs?”
Shaking his head, Darius said, “She already told us all we needed to know. Gwendolyn was never with child.” Timothy's eyes got large as the implications of the statement dawned on him.
The Mercenary's Marriage Page 2
