Brend looked at him for the first time since Cort had struck him. He leaned back in his chair, studying Cort before speaking. “I understand,” he said. “It does not mean I like it.”
“Nor do I. But I do what I am told, much as you do.”
Brend shook his head. “It is more than that,” he said. “Striking me when I grabbed Dera was not part of your duty. You did it to protect her.”
Cort tried not to react defensively. “You were angry enough to do harm, Brend. While I am extremely sorry about your father and brother, and the fate of your entire family, that does not give you permission to take that anger out on your sister.”
Brend stared at him a moment, his features visibly softening. “She’s not my sister,” he finally muttered, looking away. “I do not know who she is, but she is not my sister. She’s a stranger who betrayed my father.”
Cort glanced at Denys, who looked at him in return. There was concern on the old man’s face.
“She is a stranger who has valuable information about the rebels in Ireland,” Denys said softly. “Brend, whatever anger you are feeling towards her, you must control it. Dera is going to Ireland with us because I want her there, giving my commanders as much information as she can about the situation and possibly being a liaison between the rebels who hold Mount Wrath and my men. She is valuable.”
Brend simply shook his head, disgusted, and grieved. Cort turned to Denys. “You are not going to Ireland, my lord?”
Denys shook his head. “It would be a fine prize to kill or capture the de Winter of Narborough, so I will not go,” he said. “Dillon and Brend will lead my armies and you will lead the de Russe contingent. But I will go with you as far as Blackpool and wait for word there.”
Cort nodded. “As you wish,” he said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will take care of my tasks quickly and return so that we may form a plan of action.”
Denys nodded, waving him off, and Cort turned for the door. But something made him pause as he returned his attention to Brend.
The man was sitting there, sad and dejected. He’d just lost his father, whom he adored, and half of his family. The other family members’ fates were unknown. He felt a good deal of pity for the man and sought to show him more compassion.
“Brend,” he said. “I am sorry that I struck you. But in the heat of the moment, it seemed to me that you might harm your sister. Even now, you say she is not your sister. She is an object of rage to you. I cannot imagine that you would ever hurt a woman because you are not the type, but sometimes in grief, we do things we would not normally do. Will you forgive me for striking you?”
When Brend turned to him, Cort flashed that cheeky smile. He did it on purpose, to loosen Brend’s stiffness, because no one could resist that impish grin. He had weaponized his cuteness against his parents and it had almost always worked. Now, with Brend, he was trying to do the same thing and he was rewarded with a weak grin.
“Cort, you are a magnificent beast still,” Brend muttered. “But you are also a pain in my ass that will not go away. Like a boil, I cannot lance you. But unlike a boil, I love you. I know you were only doing what you felt best and, in truth, I hadn’t even realized I’d grabbed her until you nearly knocked my head off. But I would be lying if I said this whole situation with her has not unbalanced me beyond repair. I do not know if I can recover from this.”
Cort came up behind Brend, bending over to kiss him loudly on the head. “You shall,” he said. “We all shall. But we are about to head into battle and I will not have hard feelings between you and me.”
“There are no hard feelings. And stop kissing me.”
Cort laughed softly, heading for the door. He was a kisser and had been most of his life – he kissed his mother, his father, his brothers just to annoy them, and his friends for the same purpose.
But the kisses were also meant as genuine gestures of affection, especially in a situation like this. He adored Brend and wanted to show the man he was sorry he’d hit him. What he didn’t tell him was that if he had to do it over again, he would do the same thing.
He would protect Dera.
“I will return,” he said, reaching the door and lifting the latch. “My lord, I plan to take Vulcan with me to Ireland. You’d better tell Damey I am taking his horse.”
Denys grunted. Leave it to Cort to lighten the situation, easing the horrible tension that had been filling the chamber.
“You will crush him if you do,” he said.
“That horse will crush him if I do not.”
Denys sighed heavily. “Fine,” he said shortly. “But pay me for the beast and buy Damien any horse he wants upon your return.”
Cort paused, flashing the man a smile before he left. It was a smile that told them all that things were well in the world again, at least between the knights, for what they had to face in Ireland was something that required more unity and strength than most.
The unity to face a rebellion.
Now, he had to make things right with someone else, too.
Part of those “other tasks” he told Denys about.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dera didn’t know how long she’d been sitting against the wall.
Just sitting.
Waiting for… something. Punishment? Death? Her brother to come down those stone steps and yell at her again? It seemed to her that it wasn’t out of his system. But it emphasized to her how much of a stranger Brend really was. He was her brother and they shared parents, but that was all they shared.
Essentially, they were enemies.
It was a depressing thought considering he could very well be her only brother left, but it couldn’t be helped. She saw the world one way and he saw it another.
And then, there was Cort.
Dera’s only thought on him was the fact that whatever fledgling emotions she felt for him had been summarily dashed. He’d been cold and hard when he’d brought her to the vault, but she really didn’t blame him. She expected it. Their passion had been a fleeting moment of glory and nothing more, but she knew without question that she would remember him for the rest of her life. No man would ever kiss her like Cort had and no man would make her feel the way he had made her feel.
She knew it in her bones.
So, she sat in the darkness, propped up against the wall with her knees hugged to her chest, staring into the dim space of the vault. The only light came from the stairwell that led up into the bailey, so it wasn’t completely dark, but dark enough. It was also cold enough that she was shivering, but she had no concern for her personal comfort. Her only concern was the shambles she had made out of her life but, strangely enough, it wasn’t something she regretted. She was as loyal to her country as the English were to theirs, so there was nothing to regret.
Except Cort.
A shadow fell across the light coming down the stairwell, jolting her from her thoughts. She could hear the grate open up above as a figure came down the stairs. As Dera watched, Cort emerged from the stairwell.
His arms were full of things – many things, from what she could see. Blankets and other things meant for comfort. Behind him, two servants were bringing in a frame of some kind. She watched curiously as Cort took the key from the wall and unlocked her cell door.
“Put the bed inside,” he told the servants. “Set it up so that it is sturdy.”
The men pushed into the cell, putting the wood and rope bedframe on the ground between them. As they began to set it up, Cort turned his attention to Dera.
“It is cold down here,” he said, setting the items in his arms to the ground. He pulled a blanket off the top and shook it out, draping it around her shoulders. “Wrap that around yourself. I’ve brought a mattress and blankets for the bed. I do not know how long you are going to be down here, so I will have Bella pack some of your possessions and bring them to you. Is there anything in particular that you want?”
Dera looked at the man as if he’d lost his mind. “My… my possessions?”
“Aye. What do you want Bella to pack?”
Dera didn’t know what to say. She looked at the men setting up her wood and rope bedframe, thoroughly confused at what was going on.
“I… I don’t want anything,” she said, pulling the blanket around her. “I’ll keep the blanket, but that’s all I need. You needn’t trouble yourself, my lord. Just… leave me.”
Cort ignored her request and so did the servants. They finished with the bed, making sure it was sturdy before putting the straw-stuffed mattress on it and the blankets. In fact, it was a very nice bed to sleep on.
Cort had also brought other things with him, one of which was a folding table that was used when the army traveled. The legs were separate from the table, so he put the legs on it, stood the table up, and produced a small stool, which he put next to it. As the servants left the cell, he told them to go to the kitchens and bring back food and a brazier so Dera could have some warmth.
All the while, Dera simply sat there and watched. Cort was being very kind in bringing her all of this, which greatly confused and upset her.
“Why did you bring me all of this?” she asked. “I told you I don’t want anything. You’re wasting your time.”
He looked at her. “Do you really want to sleep on the ground?”
“Aye.” When he simply stood there and looked at her, she shifted away from him so he couldn’t see her face. “Cort, just go. It is false kindness you are showing me and I don’t want it. I am not your duty; I never was. I don’t want anything from you.”
He didn’t say anything. He just stood by the cell door, which was half-open. Enraged that he wasn’t responding and wasn’t leaving, she suddenly stood up and grabbed everything off the bed, tossing it out of the cell. She lifted the bedframe and tried to jam it through the opening, but it was too wide and wouldn’t fit, so she kicked it and shoved at it, thoroughly wedging it into the doorway.
The tears began to come.
Sobbing, she picked up the stool and banged it against the bedframe. It didn’t break, but it cracked, so she threw the stool out, followed by the table, which she had to break apart before tossing it. All the while, Cort stood back and let her. When Dera retreated to her corner and took the one blanket he’d given her, pulling it over her head and weeping, Cort went to stand over her.
“Do you feel better now?” he asked.
Dera sobbed deeply, the blanket over her head. “Go away,” she said. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want to see you ever again.”
Cort crouched down beside her, a few feet away. He watched her struggle, knowing her sobs were the result of several different things. It wasn’t just him.
But he’d come to a decision.
“Dera,” he said quietly. “Take the blanket off your head. I must speak with you.”
She sniffled and sputtered and shook her head. “You do not,” she said. “There is nothing for you to say. There is nothing for either of us to say.”
He watched the blanket wag back and forth. Finally, he reached out and pulled it off her, gently. Her mussy hair came into view, partially covering her face. She didn’t move to reclaim the blanket, but she didn’t look at him, either.
He sighed faintly.
“I know this has been a difficult day for you, but will you please listen to me?” he said.
She grunted. “I have asked you to leave several times and you have not,” she said. “I suppose I have no choice if you wish to speak. Get it over with.”
He could hear self-pity and fear in her tone. Fear of what he was going to say, fear of not wanting to hear it from him again. Fear that he was going to verbally lash her.
But that wasn’t the case.
“I am an English knight to the bone,” he finally said. “I have killed more men in battle than I care to recall. I have done things on behalf of my country that I cannot tell you, but trust me when I say that they were not pleasant. I have learned to harden myself in more ways than you can imagine, to take the emotion out of every situation. But in spite of that, I have a weakness and that is the fact that beneath the steel-covered façade, I do indeed feel things. Sometimes, I feel too much. Just now, I was in the solar with your brother, asking his forgiveness for striking him. I do not like it when there is tension between me and those I adore.”
Dera continued to sit there, staring at her lap. She was no longer openly weeping, but he could see a tear or two drip from her chin. But she remained silent.
Cort continued.
“I should not be upset with you for doing to me what I was doing to you,” he said quietly. “You were trying to glean information and so was I. Henry himself had heard you were some kind of warrior woman, like Queen Maeve, and in Lynn I saw that warrior woman come forth. And she was fearsome. In that moment, I could see that everything Henry had heard about you was true. How many battles have you fought in?”
Tears were still dripping from her chin. “I don’t know,” she said. “A dozen or more, I suppose.”
“And your brothers taught you to fight like that?”
“They did.”
“Then they are fine warriors,” Cort said. He hesitated before continuing. “You should know that you are returning with the English armies to Ireland. Denys believes you can help his men and mayhap even be a liaison to the rebels.”
She looked at him, then, in surprise. But that surprise quickly turned to darkness and she turned away.
“I will not help the English,” she said. “I have helped them as much as I intend to. I would prefer to remain here in the vault.”
“We could be gone a very long time.”
“It does not matter,” she said. “I have nothing left to live for; my family is dead, or missing, and I have betrayed those I was loyal to. But they have betrayed me, too. Still, I will not do anything more than I have already done. You can tell Lord Denys that I said so.”
Cort watched her a moment before settling back on his bum. As big as he was, he filled up a good portion of the floor space, with Dera crowded against the wall a couple of feet away from him. He leaned back against the wall, tipping his head back as he thought on what to say.
“Do you know why I struck your brother?” he asked after a moment.
Dera lifted her slender shoulders. “Because he was angry? Because he was mad with grief?”
“Because he touched you.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment before finally looking over her shoulder at him, curiously.
“Why should that matter to you?” she asked.
Cort’s eyebrows lifted as he stared up at the top of the wall. “I have been asking myself that same question,” he said. “You are a rebel. You are Irish. You can kill a man with such ease that it is frightening. But you are also humorous, gentle, caring, and passionate about what you believe in. I could talk to you all day and night and never grow weary of it because you are brilliant. So very brilliant. I struck your brother because he threatened you and I will kill any man who threatens you, even if it is your brother.”
Dera’s tears were gone. She stared at him, unsure what he meant with his words. “Your chivalry is noted,” she said. “But it was not necessary.”
He flicked his eyes down to her, his head still tilted back against the wall. “It was not chivalry.”
“Then what?”
His gaze lingered on her a moment before looking back up to the wall in front of him as he struggled to explain it to her.
“You are meant to be protected,” he said. “By me. I do not want anyone touching you but me.”
“You are not making any sense.”
He sighed sharply. “I know,” he said. “Do you remember how you told me once that you pitied Brend and Bella because they were in love? Because he is Irish, and she is English, and they can never legally wed in England?”
“Aye.”
“You should pity me, too.”
“Why?”
“Because I think I love you and I am at a loss to
understand how or why it has happened. All I know is that it has, and I cannot deny it. Or you.”
Dera’s eyes widened and her mouth popped open. Gone were her tears, completely gone, and the heart that had been so damaged by the events in Deny’s solar was now coming alive again, thumping painfully against her ribs as she realized what he was saying. She tossed off the blanket, rising to her knees as she gaped at him.
“You… what?” she gasped. “Cort… do you mean it?”
He looked at her, then. “I do not say anything I do not mean,” he said. “I suppose I would like to know what you are feeling. If I was a betting man, I would say that there is a spark between us. I have not imagined it.”
She opened her mouth to reply but the words wouldn’t come forth. She ended up shaking her head, her mussy hair wagging back and forth. “Nay,” she whispered. “You have not imagined it. I sought to bring you to your knees with my charm and wit, but you ended up bringing me to mine. I did not expect it, nor did I welcome it, but it happened nonetheless and… oh, Cort, I can hardly believe what I am hearing. Is this truly happening?”
The warm glimmer was back in his eyes as he looked at her. Without a word, he held up a hand to her and she crawled on her knees over to him, putting both of her hands into his big palm. His fingers closed around hers, tightly.
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
“It is truly happening,” he said. “It was sucking chicken brains that made me fall madly in love with you. A woman who eats garbage shall always have my heart.”
He was smiling as he said it, but she wasn’t giving in to his humor. Not yet. “Don’t tease me,” she said softly. “Are you sure about this?”
“I am sure,” he said, his smile fading. “I have never been one to hide what I am feeling or thinking, so tell me… tell me what you feel, Dera.”
Her eyes suddenly filled with a lake of tears as she gazed upon him. “Everything,” she murmured tightly. “I feel everything for you, everything I shouldn’t feel. I don’t want to feel it because then we will be in the same situation as Brend and Bella are, and they are tormented by the fact that they cannot be together.”
Dark Warrior (de Russe Legacy Book 9) Page 18