by Tj Shaw
Not knowing what to do, she let him grab her waist as she swung her leg over DarkStar. Gripping his shoulders, she slid into his arms, which promptly folded and pressed her against his chest. From the safety of his possessive hold, the shock shielding her from the brunt of what had happened slipped away. Uncontrollable tremors racked her body. Tears welled and tumbled down her face. She clung to his shirt and leaned into him to remain standing on rubbery legs. She ignored the surrounding stimuli bombarding her senses by burying her head in his shoulder, but still cringed when Sampson approached.
“What happened,” Marek hissed.
She’d never heard such venom in Marek’s voice. An undercurrent of promised vengeance swam within his tone, and instead of frightening her, she welcomed it. Marek would make things right, Sampson would pay.
“Sire, I have terrible news. Carina betrayed you by bedding another man.”
Marek’s body stiffened. “What?”
“The coward ran when he heard us approach. And when Carina stumbled out of the bushes, her hair was a mess and she’d missed buttons on her shirt in a poor attempt at covering up.”
Marek’s muscular arms unwrapped themselves and her solid wall of safety disappeared as he gently pushed her away. She watched with helpless despair as his eyes traveled down her, and swallowed a moan when his thumb touched the empty button hole at the bottom of her shirt.
She wanted to defend herself, but the anguish in his eyes silenced her. Her heart twisted as a pain worse than anything Sampson had just ravaged on her body shot through her core, ripping her in two. Marek believed him. Her alleged betrayal splashed across his face in an agonizing, vulnerable openness. How could Marek believe him?
Her eyes pleaded, willing Marek to see the truth, but he turned away and gripped Sampson’s shoulder, acknowledging a deed well done. “Thank you, my friend,” he said in a clipped tone.
She crumbled inside, standing alone in her wet, filthy clothes—bruised and broken. She glanced at Damon and the two soldiers. The soldiers still refused to look at her, but Damon’s brown, shrewd eyes saw her. She focused on Damon. He had saved her from an indescribable horror. Although she should’ve been grateful, she couldn’t draw any comfort from his noble act that would quell the hollow ache devouring her. A cold numbness enveloped her, buffering her against the devastating pain Marek had just inflicted without ever raising his hand.
Marek spoke, but in her ears his voice floated in the distance. “We’ll have to expand the search area,” he snapped. “We must find him, Sampson.”
Sampson nodded. “We will.”
She peered at her muddy shoes. Without doubt, she knew Sampson would scour up some poor soul to be her lover to complete his charade. She closed her eyes and exhaled a ragged breath. Except for her battered pride, she had nothing left. She gathered up her wounded soul, and although it hurt to do so, stood tall. She looked at Damon. He did save her, after all. But when she nodded in thanks, he glanced away. She’d been branded, a mistress who had sacrificed her virtue for a lover.
With Damon’s dismissal, she decided to leave. She’d been accused and found guilty. Now, she just awaited final judgment. With shuffling footsteps, she turned for the castle. She felt their eyes slicing into her back as if stripping the flesh from her body. She used every ounce of courage to keep her posture straight and stride measured. Only when the thick, redwood timbered door was latched behind her did she allow the tears to fall as she struggled up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room.
****
When Marek first glimpsed Carina’s tear-streaked face and torn clothing, insuppressible rage tore through his gut, flooding every muscle in his body with adrenaline. Like a chain reaction, power surged inside him and hardened his mind to the task at hand—annihilating the person who had dared touch her. The rage overloaded and suffocated his mind from rational thought. But when she crumpled into his body, a sudden need to protect her curbed the pounding anger.
Her body melted into him. He wanted to hold her and tell her she was safe. But guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders as her every tremble crashed through him, every hot tear scorched him, and every whimpered breath ripped apart his soul—piece by agonizing piece.
He shouldn’t have left her alone for so long, but matters of his kingdom had been very demanding. Even though he hadn’t spent much time with her since returning, she filled his mind during those rare, quiet moments when no one required his attention. So, after dispatching Criton riders to Dalia, he’d decided to focus on what he wanted…Carina. Knowing her propensity for adventure, he hadn’t been concerned that she was away from the castle until Sampson had returned and told him of the betrayal—shattering his world.
At first, he refused to believe Sampson’s claim. But when he saw the ripped blouse and disheveled hair bespeaking of an over anxious lover, his anger had turned inward. Marissa had warned him, but he chose not to listen. He had found himself wanting and hoping when in reality, he’d been a fool.
Carina’s treachery seared his heart, shriveling it into a charred, non-beating organ. With Carina, he’d been willing to reveal himself, to share and expose his concerns as a king, desires as a man, and hopes for a family. How could he have been so blind?
Justice controlled his heart now, filling the terrible black void. He had to calm down. But every time he thought of another man touching Carina, his rage exploded into a twisted mass of darkness. The rage blurred his vision, turning everything into drab shades of grey, and pumped hot blood through his body, fueling his need for revenge.
Carina’s lover would die for his indiscretion. The traitor could run, but Marek would find him. He could hide, but no inn, house, or stable would shelter him from Marek’s wrath. The coward had forfeited his life the moment he’d laid hands on Carina, and Marek would personally send the bastard on his journey to Haden.
Marek inhaled a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. After Carina had disappeared into the castle, Stirrlan’s protective walls had become too confining. Storming through the main entrance, he’d left the gatehouse and everything behind and now stood at a pasture fence where coursers grazed. A stable boy would soon drive them inside the walls for the night.
He placed a boot on the bottom rail and crossed his arms over the top bar, gazing at the sun as it kissed the horizon in the distance. Sampson had gone to ready FireStrike. They’d only have a short search window before sunset, but he needed to be in the air. He hoped the cooling wind in his face would loosen the vice-grip hold of the unseen hand constricting his chest so he could breathe again.
“Excuse me, Sire.” Damon’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Marek forced the pain into a corner of his heart and stepped away from the fence. “What is it?”
“Sire, DarkStar and I searched the area at Sampson’s request and found nothing.”
He frowned. DarkStar and Damon were his best trackers and if they found nothing, it usually meant there was nothing to find. “Sampson said—”
“Aye, I heard him. But I can assure you, we found no one. DarkStar didn’t even pick up a scent. Nothing.”
Marek stared at Damon as he processed this new information. Why would Sampson accuse Carina of such treachery? And why did she look like she’d been through a tornado? His mind whirled. If she wasn’t with an overzealous lover, then what had happened?
Damon stood at attention, refusing to look him in the eyes. “You should also know I offered to stand as witness.”
Marek shook his head. “What in Criton’s breath are you talking about?”
“Carina denied Sampson’s accusation that she betrayed you, even after Sampson struck her. He was going to prove her denial a falsehood, so I agreed to determine who was…correct.”
Marek glanced toward the castle, his eyes skimming over the curtain wall and traveling to Carina’s window. Her room remained dark, a black eye in a house full of light. Although Sampson had been disappointed when he chose Carina, even hotheaded Sampson wouldn’t
commit such an act against him…would he? No, Damon’s words couldn’t be true. Sampson was captain of his army, a bonded Criton rider…his best friend. Sampson would never dishonor him in such a manner.
“Damon, why do you make such allegations against your captain?”
For the first time since speaking, Damon’s unflinching eyes locked onto his. “Sire, I’ve pledged my life to you as my king. My wife and girls live within the protection of your walls. I haven’t made any allegations, only spoken the truth. But if you feel I’ve lied, then take my sword because a warrior you cannot trust shouldn’t remain within your service.”
Damon reached for his sword, but Marek stayed the blade by placing a hand on Damon’s shoulder. Marek scanned Carina’s window as conflicting emotions raced through him. “Why didn’t she say something when Sampson spoke against her?”
“Sire, if I may…as a man whose house is filled with women?”
Marek nodded.
“Sometimes a woman speaks without words. You have to learn to hear what she doesn’t say to truly understand her.”
When he remained silent, Damon continued. “What did her body tell you when you held her?”
Marek pressed his lips into a firm line and strode toward the main gate and castle door.
30 – EXPLANATION
Marek tapped on Carina’s door then knocked again when she didn’t answer. Deciding she had ample warning, he opened the door and entered. The last resilient rays from the setting sun bathed the room in a fading light.
Still in her torn clothes, she huddled in a bow window with her arms wrapped around her knees. An onset of nerves forced him to light a lantern on the dressing table and another near the bed before he could approach her. He sat on the narrow ledge beside her. Tear tracks trailed down her cheeks, the only evidence that she’d been crying. He clenched his teeth at the purpling bruise on the side of her face near her hairline. His eyes roved over her, absorbing every detail. Although coated in dirt and mud, the defensive bruises and scratches on her arms were still noticeable.
His chest tightened at the forlorn expression on her face. He needed to touch her and take the pain from her eyes, but she shrank away when he reached for her. She had never shied from him before and watching her press herself into the corner of the window to avoid his touch, ripped through him like a blade slicing into his stomach. Not sure what to do, he dropped his hand as the imaginary knife in his gut twisted.
“Carina, I’m going to leave and send a servant to attend you. Once she’s finished, I’ll return and you will talk to me. Do you understand?”
She bobbed her head.
He would’ve been satisfied with that minor acknowledgment, except for her defeated manner. Eyes that once captivated him with exuberant life, stared out the window, dull and empty…and it terrified him. He resisted the urge to grab her and hold her close, to provide the comfort he should’ve given when she dismounted DarkStar.
Guilt rifled through him like a rat scavenging for food, leaving devastation in its wake and carrying a rising rage that refused to be tempered. The rage encouraged him to confront Sampson, but he had to make things right with Carina first. He scrubbed his hands over his face. She didn’t react when he stood. Like a fragile doll, motionless with her lips slightly parted, she gazed out the window. Yet despite her tattered appearance, he couldn’t stop looking at her.
Walking out of Carina’s room took every ounce of willpower he possessed, but waiting in the main hall was a true testament of his patience. More than once he had to stop himself from bounding back upstairs until the servant appeared to inform him of Lady Carina’s readiness.
He entered to the glow of lanterns filling the room with soft light. Carina sat in the middle of her bed in a clean, white dressing gown. Her hair, still damp from bathing, draped over her shoulders. And her hands, which were folded in her lap, must have been particularly intriguing because she wouldn’t look at him.
Marek sighed, knowing this would not be easy for either of them, but he needed to know the truth. He sat on the edge of the bed while she twisted and tangled her fingers in a nervous dance.
“Carina,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
Her heart sputtered and tumbled into her stomach. His velvet voice wreaked havoc with her inner resolve. How could she stay safely tucked away within herself when his mere presence beckoned her to drop her carefully constructed defenses? Summoning all her courage, she raised her head and peered into his penetrating green eyes—eyes that infiltrated her every safeguard, that exposed too much of her, and could condemn her in a blink of dismissal. To her surprise, anger didn’t greet her. Instead, concern plagued his face. She gasped when his hand clasped hers to stop their fidgeting.
“You must tell me.” Marek hesitated as if it pained him to continue. “Tell me what happened. No matter the truth or who it might hurt. Will you please…tell me?”
She glanced down. Marek’s hand covered both of hers. Mesmerized, she watched his thumb caress her, rubbing back and forth.
The truth? How could she tell him the truth when it would vilify his captain and best friend? Sampson would say she was lying and Marek would be forced to choose between them. In the end, he would side with Sampson since they’d grown up together.
She should just accept her fate. She was a mixed blood after all and undeserving of the honor he had bestowed upon her. Why had she even allowed herself to hope? That’s what hurt the most, to believe she could’ve achieved something beyond her station in life. He should just send her home. But the thought of leaving Stirrlan and Marek to go back to her old life caused an ache to spiderweb throughout her body, choking the air from her lungs and constricting her already struggling heart. She knew he waited for an answer, but could only stare at his thumb stroking her hand, her voice failing her.
Marek’s tone dropped, a king demanding an answer. “Were you with another man today?”
Her head jerked up and her eyes glistened with tears. Anger and frustration filled her chest. How could he ask such a question? Her voice quavered, although she didn’t know if it was from anger or the pain of his question, but it definitely wasn’t out of guilt or shame.
“I’m yours. You chose me. There is no other and never has been.” She spat out the words with a bitterness she couldn’t hold inside anymore.
Exhaustion pulled at her body leaving her irritable. But she refused to remain silent while others accused her, and she wouldn’t continue justifying her actions when she’d done nothing wrong. “If you don’t believe me, or if you intend on questioning me every time I go for a walk, then you should return me to my father.”
Marek’s back straightened and his grip tightened. “I’m not sending you back.”
Her heart stammered at the possessiveness in his voice. She glared at him unwavering, but his all-seeing eyes were too powerful and her bravery evaporated on a silent exhale. “Then you must trust me,” she whispered with lowered eyes.
He sighed. “I know, Carina. And I do, but from now on you must promise me one thing.”
She glanced up with an arched eyebrow.
“You must speak out the next time I travel down the wrong path.”
The corners of her lips twitched.
“What?” he asked.
“I’ve never been accused of not speaking my mind.”
He smiled. “Well, I’m forewarned. Do you promise?”
“I promise.” She smiled softly.
“Good.”
Her smile faded when she noticed his eyes darken. He reached out to touch her face. Fear squeezed her heart and her protective defenses slammed into place. She scooted away until her back hit the headboard.
His hand paused in midair. She could hear the reassurance layered in his voice. “Carina, you ask that I trust you, so you also must trust me. Know that I will never hurt you. But I need to see the injuries Sampson inflicted on you, so I will touch you.”
Tears rimmed her eyes, but she nodded.
He edged
closer and leaned forward, imbedding his fingers in her hair before brushing the wet strands off her shoulder. He could smell her—wild roses and the sweet, dazzling expectation just before a winter storm. Their closeness would’ve aroused him if not for the growing bruise traveling from her jaw to her temple.
The rage consumed him, blistering hot in his veins. “Where else?” he asked in a voice he barely recognized.
Carina frowned before answering. “I guess along here.” She motioned down her side.
“What?”
“That’s where he punched me,” she said with a halfhearted shrug, refusing to look at him.
He splayed his fingers the length of her ribcage. His hand was a hairsbreadth away from the beautiful swell of her breast. He tried to be careful as he probed, but she shivered at his touch.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head as a blush rose in her cheeks. “No, just startled me…that’s all.”
Under different circumstances, his fingers traveling over her body would be driving him insane with desire. Instead, the rage pounded him and crashed into the bars of the cage he kept it locked behind as images of Carina curled up on the ground while Sampson beat her, invaded his mind.
“Did he…” Marek inhaled a deep breath. He struggled to keep his hands from shaking.
She stared at him with innocent eyes.
“Did Sampson…did he…”
“No,” she answered quietly. “He would have, if Damon hadn’t been there.”
He strained to hear as Carina’s voice trailed off to an almost inaudible whisper.
“If Sampson had persisted, I think Damon would’ve stopped him.”
He traced the bruise running along her jaw, trailing his fingers to her temple before resting his palm against her cheekbone. His chest labored in a feeble attempt to draw sufficient air into his lungs.
How could he have believed Sampson? How would she ever forgive him? He cupped her bruised face and closed his eyes. He was so undeserving of her, but had to try to make amends. With a ragged exhale, he spoke. “Forgive me for doubting you…and for not being there to protect you.”