The Fire and the Sword (Men of Blood Book 2)

by Rosamund Winchester

  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. This was it. Her freedom was cut from her before she’d had a chance to know its full beauty.

  Damn you, Elric!

  “Non!” she screamed. She would not give up now. Not caring where she went, she took off at a sprint, running alongside the stream before jumping over the narrow water to continue her flight.

  “Minnette!” Elric bellowed, but she refused to look back. She kept going, her eyes ever moving, seeking something that would help her. There was nothing. It was as though the very countryside had come to Elric’s aid. Biting back a bitter yell, she ignored the dizziness that invaded her mind. She was quickly running out of strength.

  Thundering, pounding, the horse and rider had gained on her and were only a few strides behind.

  Her feet kicked in the air, her breath caught in her chest, as she was wrenched from the ground. Stunned, she only recovered when she collided with a breastplate. She glanced up to see Elric’s face covered with a visor, but she could still see his eyes. They were nearly black, ringed with gold, like a disk of gilded hatred.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but the arm around her squeezed, pressing the air from her body. She choked on her breath. Non! Non! I will not be a captive again! She struggled, using every last ounce of her strength to pound with her fists and kick out with her legs, but the bastard held fast, giving no indication at all that she was fighting for her life in his arms.

  Positioned as she was, she couldn’t see where they were headed. No doubt, he would carry her directly to Cieldon, where her uncle would lock her in her chamber until preparations could be made for her exile in a Scottish nunnery. No matter what, she would be trapped—whether in marriage to Glidden or by slavery to the Church.

  Have I no choice? Have I no voice of my own? Tears pricked at her eyes but she refused to give them pardon. She would not cry, not now, and especially not in front of him.

  “Put me down! I demand to be released!” she commanded, her gaze pinned to the sliver of his face she could see through the visor. He didn’t even look at her again, his focus on the path ahead, as he carried her like a sack of onions toward a future she didn’t want.

  Suddenly, the panic and rage gave way to the fear and desperation and sorrow.

  A sob choked her. “Please,” she whispered hoarsely. The word was a plea that fell on deaf ears. “Please,” she tried again, “let me go. Do not take me back. I cannot…” Her voice broke. “I cannot marry Glidden.”

  Elric didn’t even blink. The darkness in his eyes only grew deeper. His continued silence was like a death knell, heralding the passing of her hopes. The arm around her tightened further, choking off her last pleas.

  Stringer smiled.

  His target was within sight. He was worried that his tarrying with the old crone would steal precious time, but it was as though God had shown favor. He had arrived just in time to see the knight snatch the woman as she attempted to flee.

  They were headed toward a small cottage beside a stand of oaks. It almost looked like the crone’s home, but that was impossible, since he’d set the place ablaze with her body inside. He might be doing God’s work, but he still needed to rid himself of any potential obstacles…like family members searching out who killed their mother or wife. Even now, he could see the pillar of dark gray smoke as it rose into the sky. His smile grew.

  Turning back to watch his target grow smaller in the distance, he knew he had to follow without being noticed. There were two of them. He didn’t know where the other knight had gone, but he counted it a blessing that there was one less to bother with. Though, he wouldn’t have minded slicing one more throat. He shrugged. There were more than enough throats in the world.

  A prickling awareness tingled over the back of his neck. It was a feeling he recognized, one he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since that day his life fell to pieces at his father’s enemy’s feet.

  He inwardly shook himself, thrusting the memories away with every scrap of will he had.

  They were being followed. Had been since leaving Bridgerdon. But he didn’t know who or why. His immediate thought was a reiver, but he dismissed that quickly. Whoever was following them was alone. Reivers moved about in bands, marauding on the strength of numbers, with a thirst for destruction and chaos. So if not a reiver, then who? And why were they following him?

  I do not have time for this! He needed to get his captive to Lorne, to Glidden, before the cardinal found reason to punish him and his men. He thought of Minnette…the terror in her eyes when she looked back at him, the desperation in her expression after he captured her. Her soft, wretched pleas falling from her trembling mouth.

  Never did he think she would ever beg—not the proud and fiery Minnette. But she had. It scratched at his mind, her vulnerability, but he could not allow that to determine the way forward. He had a duty to his men, and that meant following orders.

  Damn. He hated being at the mercy of a man like Calleaux, a man who used his power to seek his own ends, to grow his own influence—and not for anything as noble as the salvation of his people. No. The man couldn’t care less about the parishioners in Cumberland and Westmorland, not unless they bowed at his feet and kissed his goddamn ring. And even then, their lives were forfeit to his whims—like a demi-god playing with the souls of those who worshipped him.

  He hated Cardinal Cristian Calleaux with everything in him. But he could not act on it, not as long as the man was in the position as the lay cardinal over the order. After Tristin left, he’d entrusted the men’s lives to him—him!—the man who couldn’t even protect his own brother. But he’d taken on the mantle, determined to protect his men with his life. If he failed to complete this mission, Calleaux would seek to replace him, which left his men at the mercy of someone who wouldn’t hesitate to put a blade in their backs.

  I cannot fail them. Not like I failed Elton.

  His mouth filled with a bitterness, but he couldn’t spit it out because his visor covered his face. It did well to hide his expression from the woman in his arms, so he left it in place. Let her wonder, let the fear he’d seen in her eyes grow. Her fear was a living thing, a barrier between them he was loath to dismantle. For when the fear wasn’t there between them, he knew the desire would return.

  Fool, it never left!

  Minnette shifted in his embrace, struggling to get upright. A sense of triumph suffused his blood. Finally, he’d captured her, the rush of the chase nowhere near as heady as the fire that roared through him as he snatched her from the ground, crushing her into his chest. He’d wanted to stop, to rip the breastplate from his body so he would feel the heat of her against him. But that was madness. Pure madness. Aye, it was better that she fear him.

  He focused on the area just above Bellerophon’s head as the horse galloped toward a cottage he’d spotted. He didn’t want to return to the cottage where the man and woman had attempted to aid in Minnette’s escape, because he knew she would just find another way to slip through his fingers. No, it was best to keep moving.

  On suspicion of the man and his wife’s deceit, he sent Bear back to Bridgerdon, thinking he’d move out of sight and watch for Minnette’s appearance. But something whispered in his ear, telling him to look on the other side of the cottage. He didn’t know what made him listen, he could only assume he had somehow heard her, but that was impossible. By the time he’d rounded the cottage to the back side, she was so far away he could only make out her figure as she ran. But he knew it was her, he could feel her. It was as though her body called to his, and he was more than willing to answer.

  And he gave chase, the excitement of the moment roared into the sky. She’d run faster, frantic to escape the inevitable.

  But now, he had her right where he wanted her.

  Liar. There are far too many clothes between you for that.

  He grunted and she stiffened further at the sound. He thought that if Bellerophon jerked, Minnette would shatter to pieces like a stained glass wi
ndow in a hailstorm.

  By the time they reached the cottage, there were several people outside, staring at their approach. The man he assumed was the patriarch stepped forward, placing himself between Elric and his wife and their four young children.

  “Ho there, sir knight!” the man called, raising his hand in greeting. There was a wariness about him, but there was also a welcoming warmth Elric appreciated. He would need the man’s welcome this eve. And some rope. “Do ye bring good tidin’s or ill?” the man asked.

  Surprisingly, Minnette remained silent though still stiff. His fear of her pleading with the man as she had with him remained in his thoughts. He couldn’t stay here long, but he needed to give Bellerophon a rest, and they needed food and water.

  “I bring no tidings, but I do seek shelter and food for me and my companion,” he said, his voice carrying over Minnette’s bowed head. He couldn’t see her face from his angle, but he knew she was stewing, angry that her plan had failed, that he had caught her.

  Again, a swelling of triumph filled his chest, just before Minnette turned her face slightly, offering him a glimpse of her cheek. It was tear-stained.

  Damn!

  “And who are ye, and who do ye bring inta my home?” the man inquired, his wariness more apparent in the way he spread his feet, preparing himself for whatever may come.

  “I am Sir Elric Gadot, Commander of the Homme du Sang. And this woman is none of your concern.”

  At the announcement, the man’s head snapped up, his eyes growing wide.

  “A knight of the Holy Order?” he murmured, awe in his voice. “Ye are welcome here as long as ye need.”

  “I will need only food and water, and a place for my horse to graze.” Now that he had Minnette, he wasn’t going to give her time to flee again, which meant not staying in one place long enough for her to regroup. He refused to believe that the tears on her cheek were real, that she felt anything other than rage at him.

  No, his Kitten was all claws and fangs.

  In no time at all, the man had produced a basket of dried meat, apples, and crusty bread before escorting Elric and his captive to a small shed.

  “Ye can…err…keep her here, iffin ye need ta.” The man, whose name was Albert, still seemed wary, but there was also concern on his sun-beaten face. He was a farmer, a man of hard work. He obviously cared for his family, so it was natural that he be worried for a vulnerable-looking woman.

  But she was far from vulnerable. Even now, she was probably weaving together another plan of escape. Elric wouldn’t give her the chance.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Physically exhausted, Minnette allowed Elric to lead her into the small, windowless shed. Inside, he forced her to sit on an overturned bucket. While she was thankful for the chance to rest, she prickled at the man’s forcefulness, his command over her.

  Since plucking her from the ground like a hawk did a field mouse, Elric hadn’t spoken a word to her. It was as though she weren’t really there, that she wasn’t a person to which he owed an explanation or apology.

  If he will not speak to me, then I will not speak to him. Besides, there was little she wanted to say to him that wouldn’t make him angrier, and there was nothing she could say to him that would make him release her. So, she remained silent, refusing to let another plea escape her lips. It had been a mistake to show him her vulnerability, and an even greater mistake allowing the silent tears to fall.

  Never again.

  After leaving her in the shed, Elric shut the door, latching it from the other side. Though she wanted to scream and throw herself against the door, she remained where she was seated, quietly shaking with rage. She bit her lip to keep from letting the curses fly, curses her father would have never approved of. She was a lady, even if she was wearing old farmer’s boots and was locked in a shed that smelled of moldy oats.

  As they always did, thoughts of her father made her breath catch. He had been her hero, the man she admired above all else. He had been gallant and kind, thoughtful and brave, and when the sickness had rendered him weak and bound to his bed, he still thought only of her and her mother. She could remember sitting at his bedside, reading to him from the Latin translations of the Greek epics. She remembered how the tears scorched the back of her eyes, but she hadn’t let them fall—she hadn’t wanted her dear papa to see her cry for him.

  For long hours, they’d remain in silence, but often that silence was broken by his questions about her day. Sometimes he would ask about her dreams, about what she wanted from this life. She offered inane answers about marrying and bearing children.

  “Only ever marry for love, darling one,” her papa had murmured to her, his breathing ragged. “I never want you to swear vows you cannot keep. If you cannot love him or if he cannot love you, it is better to remain unwed. Promise me, darling one.”

  She had taken those words to heart, burying them deep where they took root. Those words, her promise to her father, were just a part of the reasons she absolutely could not marry Glidden.

  Tell Elric…mayhap he will understand. Maybe he will let you go.

  She snorted, rolling her eyes. Non. Elric cared only for his duty to her uncle; two men who cared nothing for her but what they could gain from her. Her uncle sought a connection to Glidden, and Elric sought to bolster his reputation—for what other reason could there be for him to follow such an order?

  Minnette didn’t know how long she sat there in the pitch darkness waiting for Elric to return, but once she heard the crunch of his boots just outside the door, she stiffened, preparing for battle. He’d demanded food from the farmer but hadn’t offered any of it to her—not that she would accept it. She would eat nothing he offered her. She would rather starve than be fed by someone only seeking to keep her well long enough to dispose of her properly.

  She listened, tense, as he unlatched the door. As it swung outward, the light shone through the opening, blinding her. She raised her arm to shield her face which kept her from seeing what he held in his hand.

  A hand grasped the wrist on her raised arm, pulling it down to press both wrists together. Momentarily stunned, Minnette didn’t realize what was going on until the coarseness of a rope was wrapped around her wrists.

  “Non!” she screamed trying to kick out, but Elric simply knelt on her feet, trapping them beneath him. Her legs, shaking from her run, didn’t have the strength to stand let alone shake off a full-grown man. Her arms, already trapped between his hands, could only jerk violently as she tried and failed to pull them from his grasp.

  “Hold still. You brought this upon yourself,” Elric ground out, his hot breath blowing against her face. She tried pulling away, putting some space between her and the man determined to bind her, break her, but he only tugged harder, nearly making her topple into him.

  The rope was wrapped around her wrists three times, then knotted beneath her arms, out of reach of her teeth or her fingers. Damn him! Of course, he would know how to secure prisoners so that they couldn’t untie themselves.

  “Damn you!” she screamed in French, “you will not win! I will escape you again!” Deep down, she knew she was only pushing him, heightening his suspicions and therefore increasing his alertness. If she wanted to escape now, she would have to incapacitate him somehow.

  Without a word, Elric hauled her to her feet, but because her legs were like unbaked bread, he had to crush her to his chest to keep her upright. She grunted, hissing when his hands spanned her waist, his thumbs far too close to the underside of her breasts.

  She could well remember this position from another time, another place, but she forced that memory away. He was not that same man anymore, the one of heated whispers and wicked promises. Now, he was cold and rough, like a stone encased in armor.

  “Believe what you will, milady, I will not let you go again,” he drawled, his voice thick.

  Minnette peered up, her eyes now accustomed to the daylight, to find that he had removed his helmet. His face, his beautiful
, hateful face was on full display. His gold eyes glinted down at her, and his lips were drawn into a straight line. Hard, unyielding, and yet heartbreakingly beautiful…like a diamond.

  She turned away from him, her gaze landing on two small children who were watching from behind a tree. Their eyes were wide, their little faces filled with fear and wonder. They were awed by the fearsome knight in their presence, but also fearful of him.

  As you should be, that niggling voice muttered in her mind. Oui, she should be afraid of Elric, but it wasn’t fear of him that had made her run, but rather where he would take her, and what she would endure once there; a marriage she did not want to a man who allied with her uncle. A man like that could only be as heartless as her uncle.

  As if she burned him, he let her go and she landed with an umpf in the dirt. Shocked but angry, she didn’t make a sound of protest despite the agony that thrummed in her muscles. Over the last twelve hours, her body had been abused beyond what she ever believed possible, and it had survived. She had survived. And she would continue to do so. She had to.

  Do not let him know the extent of the pain. She had no doubt he would use it against her.

  Refusing to be ruffled by his rough handling, she simply pulled her legs in under her skirt and placed her hands in her lap, holding back a groan at the burn in her thighs, making sure to keep her chin high and her eyes peering through him, as if he were nothing but an angry ghost, wailing for her attentions.

  He stood there, as still as a mountain, staring down at her. He was watching her, more than likely looking for signs of weakness. He would find none with her.

  Finally, he let out a long, heavy breath, cursing deep in his throat. Then he crouched before her and held out a small chunk of bread.

  “Hungry?” he asked, lifting the bread to her mouth. She twisted away, not once allowing her eyes to focus on his face. “Planning to starve yourself?” he sneered, his tone humorless and biting.