Her friend. Tears rose in her eyes as she thought of her betrayal of Garret. She hadn’t believed in him, not since he had faced Kenric those many years ago and lost. Not then. Not now. Because she couldn’t keep her distrust of his skills a secret buried deep in her heart, he had faced Terran... and lost. She was a curse to anyone she called a friend.
Her father brushed a kiss against her temple and moved deeper into the keep.
Bria continued to watch until the procession had moved out of the castle toward the village and finally out of sight. As the Dysen entourage disappeared on the horizon, a fork of lightning erupted in the sky and wormed its way through the darkness, lighting the courtyard.
Across the courtyard, next to the blacksmith’s shop, Bria spotted a dark form. As she watched, another spear of lightning flashed through the sky, washing over Terran Knowles before leaving him in shadow again. Bria’s jaw clenched and she raced out into the blackness of the storm toward him, running beneath the awning sheltering him from the rain.
She stared at him for a long moment, studying his black eyes, the scowl lining his forehead. His thick hair fell wet and heavy over his cheeks. “What are you doing out here?” she demanded. “How dare you offend Garret’s family by spying?”
Terran’s jaw clenched.
“Isn’t it enough that you murdered him? Must you defile his procession, too?”
Terran seized her shoulders and slammed her up against the blacksmith’s shop. “Enough!” he roared. “Enough of your insults. I have endured them from your father and grandfather, even from Dysen. But I will not tolerate them from you.”
Bria’s mouth dropped open for only a moment before her shock vanished, replaced by fury. She opened her mouth to reply, but Terran slammed his open palms on the wall on either side of her.
“I said enough!”
For a long moment, Bria could do nothing but stare at him. And slowly, a realization came to her. She was alone with him. And he was close, very close. His hands were on either side of her, effectively trapping her. His lips were but inches from hers. Her eyes scanned his face, his rugged square jaw, his sensual lips, his dark eyes. Lightning lit the sky above, but Bria barely noticed except for the reflection in his eyes. Was that remorse in them? Or was she imagining it?
He leaned closer to her until his face was beside hers, almost cheek to cheek. Bria stiffened. What was he doing? But she didn’t protest. His hair brushed and mingled with hers. “I didn’t mean to kill him, Bria.”
She felt a soft wave of hot breath on her neck, but his words were so soft Bria wasn’t sure he’d spoken them at all. She turned her head to try to see him, and he shifted his gaze to look into hers with eyes that seemed a little lost.
In the next moment, he was brushing his lips against hers, seeking, exploring. She was unsure of what to do and found herself frozen, half wanting him to kiss her, half wanting to flee. His touch was gentle, almost soothing. Not at all what she had expected.
He pulled slightly back to look into her eyes, studying them as if waiting for her to deny him.
But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to.
He cupped her neck and pulled her to him, claiming her lips with a more urgent need. A fierce, reckless desire seared through her. His arms pulled her tight against the length of his body.
Her world spun out of control. He coaxed her lips open to his exploration and when his tongue entered her mouth, warring with her own, Bria felt the ground rumble beneath her feet.
He kissed her fully, expertly exploring every part of her mouth. Then he pulled slowly away, ending the kiss, leaving her weak and confused.
He stepped back, taking his strength and support with him.
Bria’s knees buckled and she almost fell, but he reached out to steady her. Humiliated and awed by her reaction to his kiss, she expected to look up and see him laughing at her. But when she gazed into his eyes, she found no laughter there. He appeared just as baffled as she.
Before Bria could comment, he whirled away from her and stalked across the courtyard. He did not hunch against the rain, and as if by his command, the downpour faded to a light mist. Bria stared after him. Her heart was still floating in her chest, her body strangely separated from her mind. She knew she should feel ashamed and manipulated, but she didn’t. She’d enjoyed his kiss. And what scared her the most was that she wanted to feel his lips against hers again.
Suddenly, Bria saw a dark shadow moving across the deserted courtyard. She recognized the figure immediately as he began to slowly climb the stairs toward the castle walkway. What is he doing?
Bria glanced at the sky and the dark storm clouds once more before hunching her shoulders against the weather and heading out toward the stairway. She sloshed through the puddles and mud of the courtyard, racing toward the stairs. He shouldn’t be out in the rain, Bria thought.
Bria held a hand up to protect her eyes and saw the shadow pause at one of the crenels. She ran up the stairs, slipping once on a slick stone, but quickly righted herself and moved after him. As she approached him, she saw he was staring out at the fields just beyond the walls. Bria looked out over the battlements, following his gaze, trying to see what he was looking at.
Looming on the field, marring its perfect green grass, were the white tents of Lord Knowles and his followers. His red flag drooped beneath the rain.
Bria glanced back at the man. “Grandfather,” she called over the loud whistle of a sudden gust of wind. “You shouldn’t be out here,” she added as she reached his side.
“Bria,” he answered, and she heard the utter agony in his voice. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right.” She tried to soothe him, blinking back the rain as it splashed her face. “Let’s go inside and we’ll talk about it.” She gently tugged his arm.
But he remained motionless. “You don’t understand, child,” he said softly. “This is all my fault.”
“Don’t be silly,” she replied. “I can’t –”
“But I’m going to stop it,” he said. “You won’t have to marry someone like him.” He stared with icy eyes at the white tents below.
Bria shuddered at her grandfather’s cold tone. She removed her hand from his arm, trying to see into his eyes. “What have you done?”
Thunder crashed around them, shaking the castle.
Harry turned his eyes toward the tents. Bria followed his gaze. He was waiting for something to happen. But what? She held her breath, anticipating the worst, expecting the sound of agony or the scream of murder. But for a long moment, nothing happened.
Bria began to doubt the intent in her grandfather’s words. Maybe she’d misread the threat in his voice.
But then, suddenly, she saw a man running frantically from the rear of Lord Knowles’ tent toward Castle Delaney. Confusion and trepidation flared to life inside Bria. She anxiously brushed the water from her eyes. What had her grandfather done?
Suddenly, bright flames erupted up the back of one of the white tents, dancing in defiance against the rain.
“No,” Bria gasped. She looked at her grandfather and saw a satisfied grin on his lips. “No,” she repeated.
Flames burst to life behind another tent, then another.
Bria turned and ran across the walkway and down the stairs. She raced through the courtyard toward the inner gatehouse and then the outer gatehouse. She slipped once, falling in the mud, and then climbed to her feet. She shouted orders to the outer gatehouse guards to bring buckets of water before running into the fields toward the burning tents.
As she approached, she saw the fire had grown to engulf most of the tents. Men, coughing and hacking from the heat and black smoke, were milling about. Bria headed for the first tent. The flames snapped and cracked, reaching toward her. She stumbled back beneath the heat, holding a hand before her face. She glanced at the other men -- servants, by the looks of their clothing -- and shouted, “Is anyone in there?”
Their befuddled looks caused her to take action. She
dove into the tent, screaming over the roar of the fire, “Is anyone in here?”
Through the thickening black smoke, Bria saw a pile of blankets. She dropped to her knees and crawled over to it, feeling around beneath them, but the blankets were empty.
The thick smoke encircled her, trying to cut off her air. She coughed and lifted her arm to her nose, trying to breathe through the fabric of her dress. Her eyes watered and she brushed at them with the palms of her hands. She turned to leave, only then realizing that the black smoke was hiding the exit.
Panic welled within her, but she fought it down, desperately searching for escape. Above her, the roar of the fire reached a crescendo and she looked up to see that the fire had already engulfed the top part of the tent. With a loud rumble, the entire tent began to shake.
A scream welled in Bria’s throat. A burning piece of wood landed beside her, making her leap to her feet.
Suddenly, from out of the black smoke, a dark shape emerged. It was the devil himself, his eyes glowing red. She reared back, but he caught her arm and hauled her into the smoke and the burning walls.
Bria clenched her eyes tight against the smoke and a blast of hot air assaulted her face. Then, suddenly, a cool mist sprayed her forehead, her cheeks, her neck. She opened her eyes and found herself outside the burning tent, standing in the light rain. She coughed harshly, gasping for breath.
It was a long moment before she was able to lift her watery eyes to the dark shape standing at her side, a moment longer before she realized the man who stood before her, lit from behind by a dancing red light that could come only from the fire, was Terran Knowles.
Her fogged mind pieced together the quick turn of events leading her here, and she finally whispered in shock, “You saved me.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “And you burned my tents.”
His accusation came as a blow and her mouth dropped open. Then her brows drew together as her anger reared, her narrowed eyes matching his. “What would I be doing in your tents if I set fire to them?”
“Caught in your own trap,” he snapped.
Hurt and disbelief constricted her chest. How could he believe that after the kiss they’d shared? With a snarl of frustration, Bria attempted to turn away, but was stopped short by a shackle-grip on her arm. His large hand was wrapped around her forearm. She turned her gaze to meet his furious eyes. “Let me go,” she commanded, trying to break free, but his grip was tight, his large fingers digging into her flesh.
“So you can try to poison my drink or hire someone to kill me?”
“I did not try to kill you.”
His eyes narrowed even further. “No. Killing me wouldn’t achieve your goal.”
“What are you talking about?” Bria demanded, stilling her vain attempts to free herself.
“The papers. That’s why you set fire to the tents.”
“What papers?” Bria asked.
“The betrothal papers,” he snarled. “You hoped the papers would be gone, too, burned with the tents.”
“What betrothal papers?” Bria demanded, confused.
“These papers.” He reached inside his black tunic and produced two sheets of parchment that he held in a clenched fist. He pushed them at her, leaning close to her face to growl, “You didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to let them out of my sight, did you?”
Bria stared at the papers. Betrothal papers. No wonder all of the other suitors had left without so much as a word.
Terran stepped back from her, releasing her arm. He quickly put the betrothal papers back inside his tunic, sheltering them from the rain.
A shiver raced along her shoulders as she looked into his black eyes. Those are the eyes that showed no emotion when you tried to tell him of Mary’s murder by his dog of a sheriff, she reminded herself. Her gaze dropped to his lips. But those are the lips that kissed you with such warmth and passion.
“Bria!’ a voice called from behind her.
Bria forced herself to turn away from Terran to see her grandfather racing toward her across the fields as fast as his old legs would carry him. He lost his balance and fell to one knee a few feet from her. For a moment, Bria couldn’t move. Shock held her immobile. How could she marry Terran? How could part of her want to?
Harry’s gaze remained on her as he knelt in the mud, and for a moment he looked like a penitent man, begging for her forgiveness. Then he scrambled to his feet, reaching for her. He grasped her arms desperately. “Are you all right?”
Bria nodded, searching his eyes for answers.
“Since our tents have been so grievously ruined, I’m sure Lord Delaney will have no objection to our staying inside Castle Delaney,” Terran said from behind Bria.
Harry looked up at him, his mouth open as if in objection, but no words came forth.
“Good.” Terran marched away from them toward the castle. Two servants followed him, as well as the men he had arrived with. All glared at Bria as they passed.
When they were well away from them, Harry swept Bria into his arms. “Bria,” he whispered as he held her tightly against him, “I never meant... you could have been killed.”
Bria pushed away from him so she could look him in the eyes. “Grandfather, am I really betrothed to Knowles?”
Harry looked away from her, and Bria could see the agony etched in his furrowed brow. “I never meant for this to happen. When I was lord of Delaney, old Lord Knowles, Terran’s grandfather, was a powerful man. We wanted our lands united. I was just as greedy as he was. We pledged our first girl to his son, or the other way around. Knowles and Delaney lands would be united. But he had a son, and so did I. You were the first girl on either side.” He looked into her eyes. “Do you understand? I was young then. I wanted more power. I wanted more wealth. I didn’t care about the future. I didn’t care about... anything. Bria,” he said desperately, “I would give anything to destroy those papers, to take back the betrothal.”
Bria stared at him for a long moment. He seemed infinitely older, the weight of her destiny on his shoulders. Finally, sympathetically, she patted his hand. “It’s all right. We’ll find some way out of this.” She took his arm and together they followed Terran into the castle.
Tonight it begins, Bria thought. Her grandfather leaned on her as they moved up a slope. Betrothed to Terran or not, it begins tonight.
Terran watched Bria enter the hall, holding on to her grandfather’s arm. Her face was covered with soot and her hair was in a wild disarray of curls, but she still managed to hold her head high, her back straight. Damn, he thought. She still manages to look beautiful.
He shook his head, trying to see beyond her beauty. He’d underestimated her. He wouldn’t have thought her capable of burning his tents. She was an opinionated woman, yes, but it took strength of character to act on such beliefs, a strength no woman he’d met thus far had. She’d be a difficult woman to keep firmly beneath his rule, a woman who would need to be watched every moment of every day.
He found his eyes lingering on the way her brown curls reflected the light of the fire from the hearth, found his gaze captivated by her lips as she spoke soothingly to her grandfather. And he remembered their kiss. It had fueled the spark she’d started with her defiance -- passionate, uninhibited.
He had thought briefly that one kiss, one taste of her lips would be enough. Far from it. That one dangerous kiss only made him want to taste the rest of her. It was a feeling unlike any other woman had given him, and there’d been many willing to give themselves to the victor of the tournaments. One taste of their practiced lips and bodies had been more than enough.
But Terran could watch Bria every moment of every day and never be bored. He shook his head, trying to free himself from the spell she was casting on him.
That wasn’t why he wanted her as a wife. He needed her dowry. If she were the ugliest woman in the universe, he’d still marry her in order to pay the king’s tithe, to save his lands. It didn’t matter she had eyes as infinite as a clear blue sky,
eyes he could lose himself in, or that her kiss was earthshaking.
The only thing that mattered was her dowry.
“Stupid peasants,” the tax collector muttered, weighing the sack of coin in his hand as he glanced up at the half moon high in the night sky. All of their pleading for leniency, all of their groveling for mercy, had made him very late. His wife was going to yell and curse him, accusing him of stopping at the inn for a round of ale with the boys. It was almost midnight already.
If Kenric wasn’t paying him so well, he’d be damned if he’d do this dirty work. He spit on the ground in front of the farmer’s house he’d just left. He turned to his horse and was about to mount when he heard a sound behind him, a soft sound like the fluttering of cloth. He whirled toward the noise, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. But the field before the farmer’s house was empty. He shrugged slightly. Probably just the wind.
He turned back to his horse and put his foot in the stirrup. Again the muffled sound of fluttering clothing, now louder. Closer. He whirled and drew his sword. “Who’s there?” he demanded of the darkness.
But no one stood before him. A gentle wind blew about him, moving through the trees with a whispery softness. The shadows thrown by the trees shifted and transformed as the moonlight filtered through the swaying branches. He relaxed slightly. He was hearing things.
Then he felt something sharp against his throat. He shifted his gaze to his side and his eyes went wide as he saw a man dressed all in black, a cloaked hood concealing his face. Where had he come from? He wasn’t there mere seconds before. It was as if he’d formed out of the darkness itself. Fear gripped the tax collector’s heart.
“Drop it,” the masked man said in a firm whisper.
The tax collector held up his sword and released it. It thumped against the earth.
“The bag,” the masked man ordered again in a whisper, holding a black-gloved hand palm up.
The tax collector began to tremble as he handed the bag to the robber. The robber palmed it, then grabbed the tax collector’s hair and shoved the tip of the blade against his throat.
Daring Damsels Page 73
