Timothy was directing the unloading the wagon. Deciding she could be of some use in that area, Brice carefully climbed down from the seat. Going around to the back, she scanned the bundles for one that looked like she could manage one-handed. Her broken arm no longer pained her all the time, but Kurt had been very clear in his instructions not to use it yet. Spotting one that looked small enough, she reach across the gate for it only to have someone else grab it first.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Timothy declared. “If Darius caught you, he would have my head.”
“Then what else can I do?” she asked.
“Go see the steward.” Timothy nodded in the direction of the main doors. “I saw him go in there.”
Brice worked her way across the yard, dodging carriers and soldiers. When the heavy oak doors smoothly closed behind her, Brice heaved a soft sigh into the welcome emptiness of the entrance hall. It was much dimmer than the bustling space outside. High above, slits in the thick walls allowed a mean measure of afternoon sun to enter. Debris and over turned furniture littered the floor. Picking a way carefully around the tapestry that had once hung opposite the entrance, Brice headed for the opening on the left. Darius would have most likely wanted to see her master’s former chambers. If the estates old records had escaped the looters, he would have a much easier time assessing his new property.
The halls were dark and she heard voices dimly from other parts of the castle. She saw no life in this wing until she reached her old master’s quarters. Lord Micrey had enjoyed all the luxury his income and lands could provide. As a child, Brice had been inside his private rooms. Entering the sitting room area, Brice could see very little changed since that one time so long ago. The steward’s voice came from the direction of the bedroom instructing someone on what had to be done before the new lord retired for the night. He continued speaking as Brice tried to determine what to do. Darius was not here.
Suddenly the man burst back into the room and came to an abrupt halt. “My Lady.” He regarded her with raised eyebrows. A frown flickered across his features so briefly Brice was not certain she had not imagined it. Bowing stiffly, he said, “Your quarters are in the opposite wing, my lady. Do you need a guide?”
Brice suppressed the frown she felt and pulled every up last ounce of dignity she had left. “I know the way, thank you, steward. I was looking for my husband.”
The man stared into space for a moment and then said, “He did not say where he was going.” Then he pointedly turned his back and left the room.
Brice had a sudden urge to scream, but she figured it would only make things worse. Turning on her heel, she stepped back into the corridor. Figuring she could continue to look for her elusive husband on her way to her new suite, she made her way the opposite direction. She was taking the long route.
An hour later, she found herself outside the familiar doors of her mistress’ rooms. She had seen almost every member of their party except her husband and her feet hurt. Tentatively she pushed the door, which opened with a low groan. In the light from the lamp she acquired in her wanderings, the splintered wood of the doorframe littered the stone floor.
Evening was turning into night and if she wanted to make sure she had a bed she had better investigate her new home. Stepping carefully, she moved further into the room and lifted the lamp. The shadows receded and revealed the remains of chairs and an overturned table. Shredded tapestries littered the floor and her former mistress’ personal belongings were thrown about. Sighing, Brice reminded herself that she had been looking for something to do. Setting the lamp on the floor, she started with righting the table.
Darius rested his forehead against the wall of his new hall. The cold stone felt good against his skin. His head was throbbing and all he could think of was of finding Brice and a soft place to sleep. Now where had that man said my quarters were? Pushing off from the wall, he took the lantern off the table and headed in the direction his foggy brain told him was correct.
He had not seen his steward since they arrived and the slacker sent Darius to evaluate the defenses. Darius finished that task hours ago. Since then he had been going from one job to the next and people kept popping up asking him favors. They always premised the request with “Your steward said.” Here it was about midnight and his steward had not even shown his face. Wasn’t he supposed to be helping Darius with his duties, not disappearing and sending more work Darius’ way? Deliberately pulling his mind away from the subject, Darius pushed open the door that supposedly led to his rooms and entered.
Candlelight illumined a large high-ceilinged room. The great fireplace that dominated the far wall glowed and a meal was spread out on the table before it. A large chair stood waiting for him to sit and eat, but Darius was more eager to see his wife. It would be their first time alone in a week and there was much he wanted to tell her. “Brice,” he called as he walked to the open door leading to the bedroom.
“She is not here, sir.” Timothy appeared in the opening with a concerned look on his face. “I had hoped she had found you.”
“What do you mean?” Darius frowned. If that steward had anything to do with this, he is going to be thrown out instantly. “I have not seen her.”
Timothy frowned also. “The steward said something about her looking for you and then grumbled something about a lady’s place is in her quarters.”
Darius gritted his teeth. “Where are the mistress of the house’s rooms?” he demanded.
“I believe they are in the far wing. I thought it odd the two were so far removed.”
“It was common knowledge that Micrey did not like his wife, Timothy. I thought you knew that.”
“Yes, but I would not have guessed…”
Darius did not let him finish. “Find that steward and bring him here.” Then turning, he strode toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Timothy asked.
“To get my wife.” Darius slammed the door behind him and stormed back toward the other wing. He did not even pause to wonder how he would find the correct suite until he realized he was walking in darkness. It is too late to go back now. He decided and pressed on.
It took only moments for him to reach the other side of the fortress. None of the rooms he passed were occupied. Doors hung off their hinges and reminders of the attack only a few months before were everywhere. Darius was just beginning to wonder if he should have hesitated long enough to find a guide when a meager glow appeared under a door farther down the hall. He quickened his step.
Brice shivered and pulled her traveling cloak closer around her shoulders. Leaning over the grate of the fireplace, she adjusted the chair legs so they lay closer to the sputtering flame she coaxed into life by burning a piece of the ruined tapestry. Then she watched anxiously for the fiery tongues to lick at the raw wood where it had splintered. It caught tentatively.
Satisfied that it would burn if she gave it time, she leaned back on her heels and carefully rose. Her back and her arm hurt, but the floor was clear. She had found a broom and swept. Now it was a clean barren space, and she was going to tackle the task of making herself a bed. The feather mattress on her mistress’ bed was slashed beyond repair. The thought of the gutted thing sent shivers down her back. Darius had saved her from more than she had realized.
Turning, she walked slowly into the other room and began looking for the maid’s cot. She found it behind the wardrobe and was in the process of trying to pull it out when she heard the groan of the outer door. Letting go of the cot, she immediately went to investigate.
“What are you doing here?” Darius demanded the moment she appeared.
Caught between the overwhelming delight of finally finding him and concern because he was obviously irate, Brice found she could barely manage to speak. “Trying to make a bed,” she finally managed. “I found the old maid’s cot behind the wardrobe in the bedroom and was trying to pull it out.”
Darius grimaced. “Leave it there. You won’t need it. Come.” Holding out hi
s hand, palm up, he waited for her hand. “I went to my new rooms expecting to find my wife waiting, and found she was not there. I don’t know why you are here, but you are coming with me.”
“I thought you wanted me here.” Brice did not take his hand. Instead, she watched his face. “Your steward said I was to come here. I looked for you, but no one would tell me where you were, so, I assumed you wanted me here.”
Darius dropped his outstretched hand with a sigh. His face did not relax, but he was no longer grimacing. “Brice, you are my wife.” His voice was deep and thick with accent. “That makes you more valuable to me than any position, property, or servant. I can always get another steward—in fact, I have already set my mind on it—and I can live happily without lands and title.” He pinned her with his eyes, “You, on the other hand are not replaceable and I want no other wife.” He paused and watched her for a moment. “I don’t know how to say it more clearly,” he said softly and dropped his eyes.
“I love you, too,” Brice whispered.
His head snapped up at the words and then slowly he smiled. Brice could not help smiling in return. Darius did not wait this time, but crossed the space in a few strides and enclosed her within his arms.
His embrace was painfully tight and Brice was almost smothered in the folds of his tunic, but she found she did not want him to stop. Finally, after a moment, he stepped back. “Come, I am hungry and I am sure you have not found much to eat in this mess. I left a wonderfully smelling meal and a soft bed to find you. Will you come share my meal and my bed?”
“Aye, my lord,” Brice answered and Darius laughed.
~~~
Author
Rachel Rossano loves hearing from her readers. Come and visit with her on the web.
Email – [email protected]
Blog – http://rachel-rossano.blogspot.com
Website – www.anavrea.webs.com.
Other Books by Rachel Rossano
The Crown of Anavrea
Coming Soon
The Theodoric Saga – Book One
The Crown of Anavrea
Labren is in a bad spot. Injured and losing blood with a patrol on his tail and a price on his head, he begins to wonder if he should just give up. After all, he tried to run. Or, maybe that was the fever speaking.
Eve faces a decision. Help the severely injured stranger she stumbled upon in the depths of a Braulian forest or return home to her slave master on time and possibly avoid a beating.
Her choice will change both of their lives forever.
Excerpt from The Crown of Anavrea –
Eve continued to cover her head and crouch low in the raspberry patch. She concentrated on not making a sound. The blare of the horn and the cries of the hunters faded. Lowering her hands, she strained her ears. Not even the echo of their crashing in the distance remained. The birds were silent in the trees, but considering the recent ruckus, they might have all fled.
A groan broke the unnatural silence.
She froze and listened, heart in her throat. A pained, male grunt came from about three feet to her left. Cautiously she turned her head. A stranger stared at her through the tangle of bushes between them.
A wild mess of brown hair fell over his dark blue eyes as he regarded her in alarm. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. He observed her with more of a feverish glaze than true understanding. Pain etched lines about his eyes.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then shook his head. Falling forward, he then rolled onto his back and laid still.
Eve hurried to untangle the thorns from her tunic.
Free at last, she crept out of the patch and approached him, crawling. Fear and instinct screamed she should flee. Instead she paused. If she stopped to help him, she would be beaten. Her master ordered her to stay away from the king’s men.
Well, the king’s men or not, the pursuers were gone. As their prey, he could hardly be one of them. Was he worse?
She inched forward and a twig snapped under her knee.
“Go away and leave me be,” he ordered.
“What will become of you?” she asked.
He stared into the sky above the trees. “My pursuers return.” His chest still heaved from his recent exertion. “I die.” Restlessly some of his limbs moved about as though urging him to rise up and run.
“I know of a place where you can hide.” She watched his lean form for a reaction. “It is nearby.”
He stopped moving. Finally, as though sensing she would not leave, he spoke. “Come over here. I want to see you.” She crept to his side. As soon as she drew close, she could see the source of his pain. A shallow gash ran across his left arm above the elbow and an even more serious injury marred his right leg above the knee. The leggings, torn and caked with a combination of dried and fresh blood, trailed filth in the wound. The damage to his arm appeared very recent. She was calculating how she could slow the bleeding when he commented.
“You are only a child.”
She brought her eyes to his face and bit her tongue. This was not the time to argue her age. She returned to assessing his injuries.
“If you are wondering whether or not I am able to walk, stop.”
“I will help.” She met his eyes with a cool determination that left no room for doubt.
After a moment, he broke from her gaze and returned to staring at the sky.
“What if I want to die?”
She was still thinking about the best reply when she grew aware of his scrutiny. Their eyes met. “Why would you?”
His lips compressed as he swallowed his reply. Instead, he offered, “I understand I do not have a choice.”
He resisted as she reached for his wounded arm.
“You need to promise me something first.”
She frowned and didn’t reply.
“If we are spotted or do not make it into hiding, you must kill me.”
She looked away from the pleading and pain in his eyes. “I promise.” Her voice was barely audible, but he seemed satisfied. Thankfully he did not ask her to say it again. She concentrated on ripping strips from her petticoat. It made her nervous to repeat a promise she didn’t intend to keep. Kurios, don’t make me keep the promise, she prayed.
She bound his leg and arm. After numerous false starts, they managed to gain their feet. He towered over her by a good foot. His leg threatened to give out, but otherwise he could easily support himself on his other limb despite the obvious loss of blood. The weight he draped over her shoulders made it clear she wouldn’t have been able to budge him on her own.
Conversation reduced to grunts of pain or effort, Eve began to consider the seriousness of her decision. Mridle wasn’t going to allow her to nurse this man and no possible way to do it without his knowledge. Escaping her master would be the only way she could care for this man. And if he persisted in his fatalistic outlook, she might not succeed. She shook the thought away. He must live, Lord. He must live.
The usual three-minute walk took them forever. Dusk dimmed the sky when they finally reached the broken-down door of the old shed.
The last steps were brutal. A few feet from the door, his good leg gave out. Eve could not carry all his weight. She stumbled under the sudden shift, tripped, and came down painfully on her knees in the mud. Realizing that he might crush her, the man rolled to the side and landed on his back in a small patch of grass. After his stifled cry of anguish, they fell silent. She waited until her knee ceased throbbing before she crawled over to where he lay.
“I will go in and clear a place for you to lie down before we try to move you again.”
He nodded his agreement. He had no breath to speak.
She moved as fast as her sore muscles allowed and stumbled inside. A hermit’s shack, the one-room structure did not offer much comfort. A fireplace took up most of the right wall. A small cupboard-like lean-to added for storage hid behind a rickety door to the left of the hearth. Leaves and bugs littered the floor and swaths of spider webs rustling w
ith carcasses filled the room. Movement among the clutter and the rotting window coverings did not help her first impression. The only thing resembling a bed crouched along the length of one wall. In essence it was a wooden shelf with an old straw mattress on it. She pulled off the decaying mess and, using her skirt, she brushed off the bugs. Now came the harder part.
Upon returning outside, she almost cried at the sight of him. He managed to prop himself against the wall. In this position, he dozed. Every line of his body screamed discomfort.
Gently, Eve woke him. Together they got him to his feet and through the door. He fell onto the hard pallet. She winced as his face contorted in pain. She knelt near his shoulder to work on making him more comfortable. The gash in his arm needed stitching, which required thread. She glanced at the single window. Twilight veiled the sky and there was much to do.
“What is your name?” His voice wavered so weakly she barely heard him. She met his eyes, dark and glassy with pain and fatigue.
“Eve.”
With a shallow, bitter laugh, he said, “How ironic.” Then, as if the strength to fight unconsciousness drained from him, his eyes closed, and his head rolled to one side.
For a frantic moment Eve feared she had lost him, but his weak pulse reassured her. She watched his chest rise and fall and tried to decide what to do next.
The Theodoric Saga – Book One
The Crown of Anavrea
Coming Soon
Table of Contents
Part I
The Mercenary's Marriage Page 11
