“Come then, Demon,” he taunted, “let us see who has the most sins to bare.” Waiting for the other man to slash at him again, Elric widened his own stance, raising his sword arm level with his chest.
When the man stepped forward, aiming his dagger at Elric’s belly, Elric blocked the move easily, the metal clanging discordantly. Again, the man slashed at Elric’s belly, and Elric blocked, moving to the left to seek an opening.
Damn, the darkness is helping him. And it was. It seemed as though the man were at home in the dark, moving with a gracefulness that was unearthly.
The man followed Elric’s sidestep before lunging, aiming for Elric’s chest. Then another lunge aimed at his neck, which Elric blocked. Back and forth, lunge and block, slash and parry. They were dancing in a circle with sharpened steel against steel as their music.
Honed for battle, Elric was prepared for every move the man made, but he noticed that the man’s movements were slowing, getting sloppy.
He is tiring.
A crooked grin lifted his lip as he, once again, waited for the man to make his next strike—and he did, grunting as he lunged forward, stabbing at Elric with a hiss. Taking that opening, Elric blocked the attack, and when the man’s arm was flung high from the rebounding, Elric sliced at the man’s belly, cutting him deep enough that Elric could feel the end of his blade hit something semi-solid.
The man squealed, doubling over. “No. Tis impossible!” Holding one arm to the wound in his side, the man threw his entire body at Elric, who just missed being tackled. The man, seeing the open doorway before him, made for the opening, disappearing into the darkness outside.
Raising his sword and making to go after him, Minnette’s whimper of pain stole all other thoughts but her from his head.
Whoever that man was, he was not what was important. Sheathing his bloody sword, he flew to Minnette’s side, kneeling beside her to slide an arm under her and cradle her against him.
“Elric,” Minnette’s trembling voice shattered his resolve. Something warm and viscous flowed over his hand.
Panic slithered through him but he couldn’t see enough to know where she’d been hurt or how serious it was.
“Elric,” Minnette murmured. He could feel her heart racing as she shuddered. “That man…he wanted to…me couper la tête …” Her words died off on a whisper and she went still in his embrace. The man had wanted to decapitate Minnette. What sort of madman attempted to do that with a knife? It was messy, laborious.
Minnette’s breaths became shallow as her body went completely limp.
“Damn it. No!” he yelled. He turned toward the door, frenetic in his search for something. He knew not what. Then he heard the sound of a familiar whinny. Bellerophon had followed his master’s trail right back to the cottage, and there was dry wood on his back. Dry wood meant he could feed the fire and use the light to see by.
He cursed the sun for its slow ascent.
Carefully, he laid Minnette on the floor, hating that any part of her had to touch the filthy ground. He jumped to his feet and ran from the cottage, spotting his horse just beside the end of the building. He gathered the wood and hurried back to the hearth, kneeling to place the wood just so for the best burn. In minutes, the wood caught, immediately brightening the room.
Returning to Minnette, he picked her up and carried her closer to the fire.
There was a hideous dark stain on her upper arm, the sleeve sodden from her blood. Without hesitation, Elric ripped the fabric, baring her wound to his gaze.
There was a deep slash, about six inches long, and it was bleeding profusely. Satisfied that this wound wasn’t life threatening, he continued his search of her body for any other wounds.
He nearly collapsed with relief when he found no others.
By the light of the fire, he examined the cut. She had lost a good amount of blood, which probably explained her unconsciousness. Much had happened over the last two days. It was no surprise she could no longer fight against the wear on her body.
The thought that she wasn’t fighting, that she had succumbed, made everything within him revolt. She was a warrior in her own right, battling against those who sought to hurt her. Even him. He saw it now, that she had been fighting for her life when she escaped him at Bridgerdon. That she’d been fighting for her right to be heard when she’d refused to actually speak to him.
Always fighting, my little Kitten. Are you not tired of fighting alone?
Using a bit of rainwater he’d collected from a concave rock, he washed her wound using scraps of her dress from the day before. She would be angry that he’d used her clothing in such a way, but he would buy her a hundred more dresses. Beautiful, elaborate dresses that would pale in comparison to their wearer.
You think to keep her? He ignored the spark of interest that thought aroused and focused on the wound.
Now that the wound was clean, he examined it again. The edges were cut clean which would make healing that much easier, but there was still the potential for infection to consider.
“I need to get you back to Bridgerdon. Bell Heather will know how to treat you,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms as she lay there limply. At least she was warming up, her flesh no longer clammy to the touch. “I promise, Kitten, I will take care of you.”
But for how long? She is not yours, you cannot promise forever.
In the silence that followed his proclamation, his thoughts turned inward. Memories of the last time he’d made such a claim surged.
“I will protect you, Whelp,” he had said to his brother. But he hadn’t protected Elton. Elton had died because he, the eldest brother, the leader of heralded knights, hadn’t seen the warning signs. He’d been too busy puffing out his chest to notice the impending ambush. He had lost seven men that day. He had lost everything that day; his little brother, his birthright, his family.
How dare he even consider offering the same promise to Minnette, a woman in far more danger than he ever thought. He and his men had been prepared for reiver attacks. They had no inkling that the attack would come in the form of a midnight stalker who slipped in and slipped out without being seen. A man sent by their own Prince of the Church.
Bile rose into his mouth. Calleaux had already proven himself a craven bastard, seeking to end Tristin’s life because of the threat he posed to his position in the Church. But ordering the death of your own kin? It was unthinkable. It was inhuman.
He’d be damned if he let the cardinal get away with this.
Her head throbbed something awful, but at least she wasn’t dead. At least, she didn’t think so. Opening her eyes, she waited for the blurry haze to dissipate before she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.
She was lying on what felt like a metal pillow, staring up into a blue sky through the ceiling of the cottage. Minnette tried to raise her arm to shield her eyes from the gleaming sunlight but a sharp pain near her shoulder made her cry out.
“Shhh, Kitten. Do not try to move. You were wounded last eve,” Elric implored, appearing beside her. Very close beside her. Had he slept beside her through the night? She stiffened.
“Once you are awake enough to travel, we will make haste to Bridgerdon.”
She launched herself upward, ignoring the pain all over. “Non! I will not return there! I cannot. I will not let you take me to Glidden.” She began shaking, her limbs as dead weights. The tears that she’d been holding in check over the last several days burst forth, pouring down her cheeks and over her chin to fall in between her breasts.
Elric grabbed her, hauling her back until she was wrapped in his strong arms. He held her in place as she sobbed, murmuring inarticulate words into her ear. He rocked her as a mother would her babe, and Minnette realized how much she truly enjoyed being right where she was.
Several heartbeats later, the reality of her precarious position dawned. She was wrapped in her enemy’s arms, showing weakness through tears. She closed her eyes as the heat of humiliation washed over he
r.
Minnette tried to pull away, to put distance between them so her mind would begin functioning again. But Elric held her fast, the muscles in his arms flexing against her.
“Release me,” she ordered, her voice less than convincing in its strength.
Elric hesitated, his warm breath fluttering over her ear and to the base of her neck. She shuddered, the sensation reminiscent of his touch in the kitchens when he thought her a maid.
As if reading her thoughts, Elric tensed, a slight tremor passing through him. She felt it, her breath catching. She was not alone in her remembering of their fleeting connection. Fleeting because the chance at more had fled.
Taking a deep breath, Elric released her, dropping his arms to his sides which seemed awkward in the position in which he was sitting; his legs drawn up sideways and his body turned toward her. He was holding himself upright using only the muscles in his abdomen.
He was wearing a tunic that covered all of his masculine form, but she easily recalled the ridges and valleys of rippling muscle on display when he’d discovered her in the stable playing with the kittens.
Kitten…his moniker for her was both grudgingly endearing and annoying. She wasn’t a kitten. She was far from soft and snuggly. But she was fierce when she needed to be.
Sensing his gaze on her, Minnette’s eyes sought his. At the look on his face, Minnette didn’t know whether to run or to fling herself into him and beg him to love her. His golden eyes were darkened to the point of being black, and there was a lethality simmering there in deep pools of concern. He was both deadly and wary, a dangerous combination.
Those eyes burned into her, flaying her then piecing her back together.
“Are you hungry?” he finally spoke, his voice thick.
She was hungry, ravenous, but dare she take what he offered? If he still meant to deliver her to Glidden, she would rather arrive in Lorne near death than hale. A wave of apprehension crashed into her, her good hand flying to the wound on her arm. Even the slightest pressure made the thing throb.
A low growl made her turn to Elric. Anger, stark and vivid, shone in his eyes.
“Take care, Kitten. The last thing we need is for you to injure yourself further,” he ground out. He rubbed at the back of his neck, the movement making the bulge of muscles in his arm bunch, drawing her eye.
Heaven but he was well made.
Coughing to hide her sudden rush of awareness, Minnette remarked, “I had not planned to be injured the first time.”
A half-smile graced his lips for half a second before he rose to retrieve a packet wrapped in linen from beside a pile of his armor. Looking over her shoulder, she realized that the metal pillow on which she’d been slumbering was actually Elric’s breastplate. It had not been uncomfortable, exactly, but it wasn’t the down-filled pillows she was used to.
Elric unrolled the packet revealing a cluster of dried fruits, some cheese, and what looked like smoked meat.
He took a piece of the fruit between his fingers and held it out to her.
“Peace offering,” he drawled, his gaze searching her face.
“What if I do not want peace? If your peace means I willingly go along with you to Glidden, then there will never be peace between us.” She tried to cross her arms, but the sharp pain in her left arm reminded her she probably shouldn’t do that. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap, drawing her legs up under her skirts. In this position, less of her body was in contact with his. It was better that way.
Elric dropped the fruit back in the linen and sighed, running his fingers through his already mussed hair.
“You can stop worrying, Kitten. I do not plan to take you to Glidden,” he admitted.
She couldn’t believe what he was saying, so she didn’t.
“You lie,” she blurted and immediately regretted it. His expression darkened, making the blood coagulate in her veins. Her heart thudded which made her breathing hitch.
Elric crouched beside her, his face inches from hers. Minnette gasped when he took her chin in his hands, forcing her to look him in the eye. It was like staring into a prison of her own making.
“I do not lie,” he bit out every word. “When I say I will not take you to Glidden, you can count my word as truth. After last night, I have no doubt that you were never meant to make it to Glidden alive.”
She gasped again as realization struck. “You mean this arrangement marriage was a ruse? I was never meant to marry Glidden?” The words stuck to the roof of her mouth.
How can this be?
“No. You were meant to be murdered en route,” Elric said, his voice made of brimstone.
Numb, unable to make the words make sense, Minnette whispered, “But who would want such a thing? I have no enemies.”
Elric’s grip on her chin tightened and her gaze moved up his face to meet his. She was struck a hundred times over by the utter hatred that flowed from his gilded eyes.
“Your uncle, Cardinal Calleaux.”
All strength left her body and she fell back against Elric’s breastplate, her body vibrating with the pain of the impact. But she didn’t care about the pain in her body, her heart burned to ash even as she watched. The scorching black fire of betrayal consumed her, ripping another sob from her body.
“Uncle Remi…”
Elric was above her, around her, his arms wrapping her up in his warmth and vitality. She trembled against him.
“Shhh, Kitten. Do you not remember this from last eve?”
She shook her head, her voice trapped behind another sob.
“The man who came here, he told us that your uncle had sent him to kill you.”
Running through her memories of the previous night, she recounted waking up to find that Elric had left, then the man’s appearance, and then…the searing pain. Sharpening, her thoughts landed and stuck to one thing.
“You left me last night,” she accused. “Why did you leave me?”
Stiffening, Elric’s chest froze as if he were holding his breath.
“I woke up and you were gone,” she continued with an edge of rage. “And then that man came. He—he said that he had seen you leave, that he had used that chance to come and take what was his. You abandoned me and I nearly died!” She pushed at him, flinging herself away from him and crawling backward until her back hit the wall. “Je te déteste et je ne te pardonnerai jamais!”
Elric said nothing as he gazed unblinkingly at the floor where she had once been sitting. It was like he was staring at the ghost of her.
And if he had not returned, I would be a ghost in truth.
Overcome, she held her face in her hands and let the sorrow take her.
Chapter Twenty
“I hate you and I will never forgive you.” Minnette’s vitriolic words echoed in the chambers of his chest. They were nearly identical words to the ones spoken by his stepmother when he had returned home and his brother had not.
“How could you let this happen? How could you be so careless? I never want to see you again. I will never forgive that you did not die with him. Your father wants you gone! Leave and never return!”
Those words, spoken in terror and anguish, haunted him. They were a daily reminder of his failure as a man. As a son and brother.
Elton had been a lad of seventeen, barely able to hold the sword Father had commissioned for him. It was a beautiful sword, made of the finest steel, sharper than any sword Elric had ever wielded. At first, he’d been jealous of the favor shown his brother. He was a whelp, not even old enough to hold his liquor, so why was he the favored of sons? Hadn’t Elric proved himself in training, and then in battle? Hadn’t he proven himself a man worthy of his family’s pride and honor?
All those years ago, those were the thoughts driving him to go faster, do better, capture more of his father’s enemies. His hunger for glory and his father’s blistering arrogance had caused a rift between his family and the neighboring families. Families that banded together to plan and execute an ambush.
>
His heart curled into a wretched ball in his chest. These thoughts never failed to twist him into knots that no sword could cut.
I am not that man anymore. The more he thought it, the truer it would be. That is what he wanted to believe. Tristin, a man he called “brother”, had put his faith in him to lead the Homme du Sang in his stead. Tristin was a man of honor, insight, and loyalty. Elric wished he were half the man Tristin was. But Tristin trusted him to lead their brothers, even knowing the truth of Elric’s past, the mistakes that cost him the lives of others.
If Tristin can trust me, can I not trust myself?
Bellerophon tensed to jump over a fallen log and the woman in front of him on Bellerophon’s back startled, tensing immediately. She must have fallen asleep. It was not a surprise that she was still fatigued. The pain in her arm was no doubt wearying and she still hadn’t eaten enough to replace the blood she had lost through the night.
That morning, once the sun had risen and before Minnette had awoken, he’d re-cleaned the wound and then wrapped it as best he could with clean linens from his own pack. There was little else he could do about the wound until they reached Bridgerdon and the capable hands of Bell Heather. And once they arrived there, he would have the terrible task of telling Tristin of the cardinal’s newest act of evil.
His arms tightened around Minnette and she hissed. Startled by the sound, Elric looked down to find that his arm had brushed her wound.
Damn!
Guilt and concern tied themselves around his gut, and he let out a pained breath.
“We will stop and rest,” he announced. “I can take a look at the wound.”
“I would welcome the rest.” Her voice was as stiff as she was, and he didn’t miss the fact that she hadn’t commented on his checking her wound. No doubt, she’d rather him not touch her.
Unfortunate for her.
Spying a large, old willow, Elric directed Bellerophon toward it. Once he’d drawn the horse to a stop, he dismounted easily and held his hands out for Minnette. She stared down at his hands as if they were made of snakes.
The Fire and the Sword (Men of Blood Book 2) Page 21