Bakra Bride

by N. J. Walters

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Bakra Bride

  ISBN # 1-4199-0499-X

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Bakra Bride Copyright© 2006 N.J. Walters

  Edited by Pamela Cohen.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication: January 2006

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Bakra Bride

  N.J. Walters

  Dedication

  Thank you to all the readers who wrote asking, pleading and demanding more tapestry stories. This one is for you.

  As always, a big thank you to my husband for his never-ending supply of patience, and his continued support and encouragement.

  And to my editor, Pamela, thank you for always bringing out the best in my work!

  Prologue

  Sweat rolled down his forehead and temples, stinging his eyes. Zaren blinked furiously to clear his vision, but he dared not take his eyes off his opponent to swipe it away. All around him, men were yelling and swearing as steel struck against steel.

  Raising his arm, he stopped his opponent’s blade with his own before it bit into his shoulder. Giving a thundering battle cry, he thrust forward, attacking and driving the other man back. Every footstep was carefully placed, as there was nowhere to step in the meadow that was now littered with the blood, limbs and bodies of the dead and dying.

  Was it just this morning that he stood in the courtyard of Bakra Castle, sparring with his brothers? It seemed like so long ago, more of a distant memory really. He and his youngest brother, Jarmon, had been fighting, while Garrik and Bador had shouted their encouragement from the sidelines. After the rain of the night before the air had smelled fresh and clean. Now it stank of death.

  They’d seen the rider coming hard and had stopped their training. No one drove a horse that mercilessly unless there was trouble. He recognized the horseman immediately and his blood had started pumping swiftly as the messenger from Castle Garen pounded into the courtyard. Dust flew everywhere while the man all but fell from his horse. Gasping for breath, he’d uttered two words, “Craddock brothers.”

  Zaren had immediately called for their horses and weapons. The castle sprang to life as men raced to and fro, readying themselves to ride. The exhausted rider spat out the details although Zaren could guess most of them.

  There were six Craddock brothers, each one more vicious than the next. Warring and stealing was what they did best. They were cruel to their own people, taking whatever they wanted according to their right as lords of the land. Coveting the wealth of others, occasionally they crossed over their own borders to raid and war on surrounding lands. Usually, they were sly and covert with their nefarious activities, leaving little evidence and no witnesses. But this was an all-out attack.

  Women were scarce in their world and highly prized. His friend Jarek, of Castle Garen, had recently married Christina who was not only a beautiful, desirable woman but a tapestry bride as well. A tapestry wife was worth her weight in gold and as such she was a prize worth dying for. The Craddock brothers would be unable to resist trying to claim her for their own.

  At their wedding, Zaren had pledged the sword arms of his house to protect Christina and Castle Garen if trouble came. He’d known that it was only really a matter of time, and it had come quickly, less than a month after the wedding.

  Swinging up onto their horses, they thundered out of the courtyard. With his three brothers and a contingent of trained warriors beside him, they’d ridden hard for several hours, driving their horses as fast as they’d dared. Erupting out of the woods, they’d attacked immediately.

  That was hours ago and still the air echoed with the clash of steel and the moans of the injured or dying. The horses had long since been abandoned and now all the fighting was on the ground.

  Zaren slipped, almost losing his footing on the slick grass. His opponent lunged at him and Zaren allowed himself to fall to one side, bringing his sword up and impaling the other man on it as his momentum carried him forward.

  Rolling to the side, he sprang back to his feet just in time to avoid a sword in the back. Glancing wildly around, he tried to see his brothers. Bador was off to his left beating back his own opponent. But where were the twins? Garrik and Jarmon were still young men and hadn’t fought many battles. He caught a glimpse of Garrik next to Bador and was satisfied he would look after their younger brother.

  A cry had him swinging around to the right. Jarmon was locked in a battle with Leon Craddock, the oldest and meanest of the brothers. Battle was too kind a word. The older warrior was toying with the younger man. Blood was running down Jarmon’s left leg and hand and also covered one side of his face.

  Zaren raced towards them but was stopped every few steps by another challenger. His chest was heaving like a bellows as he struck blow after blow, desperately trying to get to his brother. He could see Jarek running from the other direction, but deep in his gut he knew they would both be too late.

  He saw the death strike coming. Powerless to stop it, he watched in horror as the sword descended on Jarmon. At the last second, Jarmon seemed to jerk to one side. Time seemed to stop as Zaren saw the surprise in his brother’s eyes and then there was nothing. His young body seemed to crumple, his legs giving out as he fell to the ground, his sword still gripped tight in his bloody hand.

  Leon Craddock spit on Jarmon as he kicked his still body. Raising his head, Leon turned and stared straight at Zaren. Then he smiled.

  Something snapped deep within Zaren. A madness that clawed at his heart, his belly, indeed, his very soul. Never taking his eyes off Leon, he hacked his way through anyone who tried to stop him. Like a man possessed, he pushed on toward his goal—Leon Craddock was a dead man.

  Something of his intent must have shown in his eyes for Leon stopped smiling and started slowly backing away. Zaren could feel the corners of his mouth turning up in a grim smile of his own. The bastard was afraid. And so he should be.

  Leon shouted to his men and many of them broke away from the fighting and raced toward the horses. The pounding of hooves filled the air as they galloped across the meadow. One of the Craddock brothers spurred toward Leon with another horse in tow and, when he was close enough, Leon swung up into his saddle, racing away with his brothers. They never looked back.

  Zaren came to a stumbling halt beside Jarmon’s body. Part of him wanted to race after the Craddock brothers and kill every last one of them. But the sight of his brother’s still body stopped him cold.

  He didn’t remember dropping his sword or falling to his knees, but somehow he had his brother gathered into his arms, rocking him as he had when Jarmon was but a boy. The boy was long gone, the man, no more. Tipping back his head, Zaren howled. The bloodcurdling sound echoed through the surrounding hills.

  He felt someone beside him but didn’t bother to look. Nothing mattered at this moment but the lifeless body of his brother. Zaren had failed him. Time passed and finally he turned his head and stared into the tear-stained face of his brother Bador. “How will I tell our mother that I allowed her youngest son to be killed?”

  “It was not your fault.” Bador wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulders, but Zaren shrugged it off.

  “Was it not?” He ignored Bador and stared again at the lifeless body in his arms. Jarmon, the youngest, always laughing, always happy. Now
, silenced forever.

  “I am sorry for your loss.” Zaren looked up at Jarek and nodded, acknowledging his words. “The House of Garen will honor your brother’s sacrifice and we pledge to help you avenge his death.”

  A thread of unease went through Zaren, sending a cold shiver down his spine. “Where is Garrik?” He stood with Jarmon’s body still clutched in his arms. He couldn’t lose another brother. The thought was too much to bear.

  Bador gripped his arm and pointed to his left. Garrik sat on his knees a few yards away where he’d fallen when the death stroke had killed his twin. He was totally still, except for the slight rise and fall of his chest.

  Reluctantly, Zaren handed Jarmon’s body to Bador, watching as his brother bore it carefully away. Kneeling next to Garrik, he took his brother’s face in his hands and raised it. It was frightening, the absence of any emotion. It was as if his brother was simply gone. “Garrik,” he whispered softly. “I know it hurts, but I cannot bear to lose you as well.”

  His brother stirred slightly, his hand coming up to rest over his heart. “What am I to do without him?”

  That innocent question broke Zaren’s heart. The twins had been inseparable their whole lives. Each very different in temperaments, they were like two halves of a whole. “I don’t know. But you are not alone.” Garrik shook his head and said nothing more.

  Bador’s sudden shout had them all on their feet, racing towards where he stood some fifty yards away. Zaren could see the tears in his brother’s eyes as Bador carefully knelt on the bloodstained ground with Jarmon clasped tight in his arms. “I think he moved.”

  Zaren almost didn’t dare to hope as he placed his fingers against his brother’s neck. At first he felt nothing and feared it was only Bador’s wishful thinking. And then, he felt a tiny beat of a pulse. The carrion birds cawed from overhead where they circled the meadow, waiting to feed off the dead. The wind whistled through the trees, the sound a sad lament. Zaren didn’t move. He kept his fingers tight against his brother’s warm flesh, willing it to happen again. His eyes shot unbelieving to his brother.

  Jarek stood next to them. “Castle Garen is closer. Mara and Christina can tend to him until your mother can come.”

  Zaren nodded, helping Bador to his feet and leading him towards the waiting horses. Practically hoisting him and his precious bundle onto his horse, he ordered him to hang on tight as he slapped the horse’s rump, sending them towards Castle Garen. Garrik swung up onto his own horse and raced after them, leaving Zaren alone with his men. He watched until his brothers disappeared from his sight.

  He looked back at the field, at the blood and the carnage and the sheer waste of it all. Jarek and his brother Marc were seeing to their own dead and wounded and he knew that they’d burn any bodies from Castle Craddock.

  As much as Zaren wanted to be with his brothers, he knew that he was responsible for seeing to his men. He trusted Bador to take care of their younger brothers. The first chore was tending to the wounded. Then he would gather the slain. All would be returning to Bakra Castle, both the living and dead. He would leave none of his men behind to provide food for the vultures.

  Swinging up onto the back of his own horse, he nudged it towards Jarek. “Christina is safe for now, but they will be back.” Zaren felt every single one of his thirty years at that moment. His body ached and his heart was weary. But outwardly, none of it showed. The world saw only the implacable warrior, sword ready, eyes cold as death.

  “I am truly sorry for your brother.” There was the unspoken understanding that Jarmon would likely be dead by the time he reached Castle Garen, as his injuries were so extensive. But neither man said it aloud. “But I thank you for coming to my aid.”

  Zaren nodded, turned and rode away in silence. His men fell in behind him and they began the long, slow ride back home.

  Chapter One

  Jane Smith turned off her cell phone as she walked down the long corridor. She thought about tucking it into her shoulder bag along with her voice-activated tape recorder and laptop, but she had one more phone call to make before her day was done.

  It was well after seven o’clock in the evening and most people had already left Trenton Industries for the day. But this was normal for her. As personal assistant to CEO Richard Trenton, her day started earlier and ended later than any other employee’s did. Not that she minded. She’d worked hard to get this position and her current boyfriend understood the responsibilities that came with her career.

  Richard was a demanding boss, but a fair one. And from her very first day, he’d insisted that she call him by his first name, at least when it was just the two of them working together. In front of clients and other staff, she was always careful to call him Mr. Trenton. In fact, he’d told her to go home an hour ago and she’d really meant to, but one thing had led to another and she was still here. She knew he was still in the building because she’d seen his car parked out back when she’d gone to the vending machine for a chocolate bar, which she’d devoured in quick order. It had surprised her because he had his own parking spot out front and was usually very careful with his imported European sports car.

  She’d chased down the problem they’d been having with one of their suppliers and if she could catch Richard before he left, she’d be able to find out how he wanted to handle the problem. Reaching into her shoulder bag, she shoved aside the empty candy bar wrapper, dug out her mini recorder and slid it into her jacket pocket. It was a godsend to her everyday work. After working for over three years as Richard’s assistant, she found it was easier to tape his reply and transcribe it later. Once he started, he might think of five or six other things he wanted her to take care of. This way, she kept everything straight.

  Her sensible pumps made no sound on the carpet as she hurried down the hall. She heard voices as she neared Bob Simpson’s office. As head of the finance department, his hours were as erratic as hers were. Seems she wasn’t the only one working late.

  The closer she got the louder the voices got. Obviously there was some kind of disagreement. She slowed down but didn’t announce herself. She didn’t want to get involved, but she decided she should know what the trouble was just in case it was something Richard needed to be informed about.

  “You won’t get away with it.” She recognized Bob’s voice even though it sounded shaky. “You can’t embezzle millions from a company without someone finding out.”

  She froze near the door. Embezzle? Millions? This was definitely something her boss needed to know. She hesitated, torn between going for security and staying and listening. That choice disappeared the moment the other person spoke.

  “But I will get away with it, Bob. That’s the beauty of it. All the evidence points to you.” Jane couldn’t believe what she was hearing and crept closer so she could see through the partially open door. “In a moment of remorse you committed suicide. I will be suitably distraught, along with everyone else, and the company will be seen as a victim of your greed.”

  Bob was tied to his chair. Sweat rolling down his temples as he struggled against his bonds. He was a slight man who wore wire-rimmed glasses and had thinning hair. The man standing next to him holding a gun in his hand was younger, stronger and wore a smile that chilled her. Her fingers tightened around the phone she held clasped in her hand. She looked down at it and stared. Before she could even think about what she was doing, she’d raised it and clicked a picture.

  It was time to call the police. This was bigger than security could handle. She turned but stopped when Bob began pleading. While she watched, the man with the gun put the gun to Bob’s temple and fired. It made hardly any sound at all. Just a little pop. Bob jerked back in the chair and then slumped forward.

  Jane froze at the sight of the blood and the gore, but somehow she automatically snapped another picture. The other man calmly untied Bob, pocketed the restraints and wrapped Bob’s fingers around the gun. It was only then that she realized he was wearing gloves.

  Her
stomach lurched and she knew that she was going to be sick. It was a miracle that she hadn’t even cried out. It felt as if her whole body was frozen. It was the slight clicking noise that shook her out of her stupor. She looked at her hand, amazed to see that she was still taking pictures. Her head jerked up as she heard the man getting closer.

  Apparently self-preservation was stronger than fear because her feet were moving before she could tell them what to do. Quickly and silently, she hurried down the hall and ducked into the ladies room. The door had barely closed behind her when she heard the sound of a door closing down the hall. Almost afraid to breathe, she stood there and waited. The sound of the heavy door of the stairwell opening and closing seemed loud in the almost unnatural quiet.

  As if her body had been just waiting for that moment to set her free, her legs gave out and she slid down the wall and sat down hard on the floor. Her stomach lurched and she scrambled on her hands and knees to the toilet, barely making it before she retched. Shaken, she sank back onto the cool tiled floor and curled up into a tight ball.

  The phone was still clutched tight in her fingers. Taking a deep breath, she raised her phone to eye level and checked her pictures. Sure enough, there were several of them that were very good. The police would definitely need them. Rolling up onto her knees, she tucked the phone in her pocket. Her hand hit the recorder and she sucked in a breath. Was it possible? Pulling out the small device, she hit the rewind and then the play button. It was low, but she could just make out the conversation.

  Her mind started working frantically now as an unnatural calm descended upon her. Pushing to her feet, she swiftly and quietly walked to her office, packed up her belongings and left the building. She wouldn’t be back. After all, once she’d turned her boss in for murder, she doubted she’d have a job.