Betrayal and Yearning_A Fantasy Romance

by Eve Redmayne

  Locating Braum, Orrin positioned his knife to strike as he listened to the battle rage around—the grunts of effort, thuds of fists hitting flesh, and the hiss of metal. The smell of blood was strong. He paused to spit and rid his mouth of the taste.

  Men battled nearby and yet he paid them no mind. Vivid reminders of long ago battles assaulted his senses, forcing him to catch his breath before he could move any further.

  Neither Braum nor his opponent had a blade at this point and grappled, hand to hand, mere feet away. Braum met a solid fist to the kidney and hunched over, gasping for breath as the elf scrambled to the side to come up with a sword. Orrin waited, the feeling of dizziness gone. But he hesitated before entering the fray in hopes the elf would simply solve his problem and leave him with very little moral ambiguity. There was a good chance he needn’t bloody his hands at all.

  The elf stood tall above Braum, sword raised above his head. Braum’s eyes focused as he waited. Whether to greet death or to strike, Orrin couldn’t tell, but the bastard needn’t bother. Orrin’s grip shifted in readiness, and he lunged.

  “What the…” Braum said as the elf’s decapitated head struck his leg then rolled away.

  “Try not to fucking die!” Orrin snarled as he shoved the dripping knife into its scabbard. On impulse, he leaned over, fist clenched, and punched Braum in the nose with the force of loathing behind the swing. “That’s for Jessica.”

  He looked up at the drifting mist, and the heat behind his eyes cleared. Voice cold, he said, “Our cover’s blowing away with the wind. I’m going back to the house to maintain the illusion of innocence, and you don’t stand chance with one to thirteen odds. So, swallow your pride and surrender, dwarf.” Then he sneered, “But don’t worry, I’ll come for Jessica, and if you’re still alive I’ll save your pathetic arse, too.”

  Orrin strode into the house, cursing himself for promising to reunite Jessica with Braum, and watched the battle come to its conclusion as the sky cleared. Elves, dead or dying, stained patches of snow and the brown earth red, alongside Braum’s dwarven companions.

  With a brace of elven arrows pointed his way, Braum raised his arms in the air, knelt, and surrendered. The elves surrounded him, secured his hands with rope, and none-so-gently threw him on a horse.

  Willow joined Orrin in the shattered doorway to watch as the group left the glen, prisoner in tow, and bodies of their fallen comrades secured over their horse’s backs.

  Braum watched them as he exited the yard, his eyes pleading for help.

  Willow raised a hand in acknowledgement, while Orrin turned away.

  ***

  Wycliffe strode into the reception hall of Britarre, his blue cloak billowing behind with every step and boots clacking. “Where is she?” he demanded.

  Nobody answered.

  He ground his teeth. It’d been half a year since Braum had taken her—far too long for him to look the fool. His jaw relaxed. But, Braum had gotten his just rewards. According to the latest dispatch from Vastian, the dwarf lay near dead from putrefaction.

  The bastard had been a thorn in his side since he could remember. His eyes flashed. Since Eadha had chosen Braum to be her champion over him—her own sweetheart—ages ago on that fateful tournament field. And Braum had bested him in every athletic competition since.

  Wycliffe ran a hand over the back of his neck. He did not like coming in second best, especially when it came to his future bride. So, it was either Jessica or he’d have to sodding find another human. He laughed mirthlessly at the vow he’d made as an impulsive thirteen-year-old, to never marry a woman from Orygin after Eadha’s betrayal.

  “Gods be damned; somebody bring her to me.” His words grew in volume. Servants and guards alike scurried to fulfill his wishes.

  “Wine,” he yelled.

  A serving girl scuttled into the hall, bottle of wine in one hand, and goblet in the other. Hanks of dull, blonde hair hung over her face.

  “Give me that.” He ripped the bottle from her and eyed the goblet. Unnecessary, and tipped the bottle back.

  He’d been more or less drunk since the dwarf had taken Jessica and didn’t see any real reason to sober up now. He emptied the bottle in one long draught.

  Stolen, right from under his nose. Then, to make matters worse, his father had refused to sanction a war over the human. He spun and threw the bottle against the wall. It shattered in a burst of glass.

  An undercurrent of fury had run through his veins since. Though he’d rejoiced when word reached them that Braum was gravely injured and Jessica in the witches’ hands.

  The fury had returned when the witches council turned his agent away, denying his request to return Jessica, last autumn. The witches had even gone so far as to refute any knowledge about Jessica. Then curiously enough, had sent a representative to him last week, asking him to meet with them. And a couple days ago, she’d returned, but he’d chosen to make her wait.

  “Hold still a moment while I finish tying you into your gown,” a woman said from the hall. “I didn’t expect sire to ask for you before mid-afternoon… Oh, heavens be, I didn’t get your hair dressed properly… And your face, your beautiful face.”

  What the hell was Fyona prattling on about? Of course, Jessica had a beautiful face. He wouldn’t have consented to marry a hag. “Come in. Come in!” His shout reverberated through the hall.

  “Begging your pardon, Sire.” His sister’s maid slipped through the doors and curtsied, her face almost touching the floor. When she stood, she wiped away tears, using her apron. “May I present, Lady Jessica.” Fyona backed away with a sob, her stout frame giving way to the tall, curvy figure of his runaway bride.

  A lilac gown hugged Jessica’s waist. And as the maid said, her hair hung loosely which suited him fine. Her lush bosom pressed enticingly over the bodice, bouncing with every step. While not the female he’d have personally chosen, she pleased him. A vision from the hem of her gown up to her lovely fa—

  “I’ll be damned, what happened to your face?” He strode from the throne and reached out to trace the vivid scar.

  She opened her mouth to explain when he stopped her, be-ringed finger pressed against her lips. “But wait, that’s not all, is it?” he questioned, nearly nose to nose as he scrutinized her.

  “I’m sorry—” she stammered, but he cut her off again.

  “Shut up!” he snarled. She’d come back altered. He could see it as clearly as if she had a sign attached to her neck, proclaiming it for all to read.

  “I won’t—”

  The look in his eyes silenced her. He pressed his thumb to the scar as his other fingers spread across her slender throat. “You’re no longer human,” he said, rubbing the ragged edges. “You wed the dwarf when you knew you were meant for me?”

  Jessica didn’t answer, though her body trembled as he stared.

  “She wed the goddamned dwarf!” He cackled and lurched away, swaying unsteadily.

  When he turned back around, his expression morphed into a sneer. “You betrayed me, too,” he hissed, fingers digging into the flesh of her shoulder.

  CHAPTER 32

  The throne room echoed silence as Wycliffe’s face got redder by the minute. Jessica tried not to weep, but still weak, couldn’t summon her magic to overpower him.

  “Your majesty,” she tucked shaking hands behind her back and sank to her knees before him, “please forgive me.”

  A sudden calm soothed her. This asshole didn’t frighten her. She’d feed him a bunch of lies, take the blame on herself, then leave when she was strong enough to fight. And hopefully, he’d leave the dwarves alone. “I ran away from your hospitality because I wanted to go home. So, I tricked Braum into taking me with him. After forcing him to succumb to my charms, I betrayed and tried to kill him, so I could escape.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she spoke of her wickedness and how in her haste to hurt Braum, she’d caused the injury to her face. “Will your princeship please forgive me?” Delicate
ly weeping on the outside, inwardly, she chuckled at her cheekiness. Princeship?

  “Majesty!” A man burst into the hall, interrupting Jessica’s big scene.

  Her eyes widened as she recognized Lyzelle’s personal guard, Drake. Red hair waved about his shoulders, and while not as tall as Braum or even Wycliffe, he had a broad chest that narrowed to muscular thighs, encased in tight leather pants. He bowed her way.

  “What do you want, Drake?” Wycliffe turned to glare at the freckled man.

  “I must ask you to release this lady into my care.”

  “Are you mad? She’s my bride.”

  “As you can see, Majesty, she’s no longer human. You cannot want her for a bride,” Drake continued despite Wycliffe’s face returning to that mottled red. “I failed to save her from the dwarf and would like to take responsibility for her wellbeing.”

  “My sister put you up to this, didn’t she?” Wycliffe looked around the hall. “Where is she? Lyzelle?”

  After a pause, Lyzelle strode into the hall, tall and blonde as ever. “Yes, Wycliffe?” she spoke quietly, violet eyes piercing.

  Jessica wasn’t sure what to do. Trying to remain unobtrusive, she hoped they didn’t mess things up. While she appreciated them looking out for her, she already had a plan. Couldn’t a damsel rescue herself?

  “Why’d you send Drake to fetch Lady Jessica?” Wycliffe rumbled.

  “Lady Jessica and I should travel to the country. Then you can decide what to do with her once she’s had time to heal—send her home or what have you.”

  Wycliffe sat on the throne with a sigh, cloak pooling about his lap. “You may be right.” He looked back at Jessica, eyes distant. “I no longer find her desirable, being as she’s now dwarf and hideously scarred at that.”

  Jessica bristled silently.

  After scrutinizing her a long while, Wycliffe surprised her by saying, “I suppose she’s a victim of circumstance.”

  Lyzelle smiled agreeably and approached the throne.

  Wycliffe went on, “Of course, I’ll let her—”

  The hall doors flung open. His words stilled as several soldiers marched in, bloody and battered.

  “What happened?” Wycliffe demanded and hurried forward. “Where’s your commander, where’s Ellys?”

  “Dead majesty,” one man wheezed as he drew off his helm, revealing matted blonde hair.

  Jessica’s brows shot up, in recognition. Vastian. Wait, did he say Ellys was dead? She covered her mouth with a hand, stifling a cry. There was no love lost between her and Ellys, but she didn’t wish him dead.

  Vastian swayed, struggling to stay upright. “Dead along with half our men. But we found him!” An exhausted smile revealed a mouthful of broken teeth.

  “Found… Who?” Wycliffe asked, blue eyes gleaming as he searched their ranks.

  The men parted to reveal a bloodied figure. Somebody pushed the man. He stumbled and landed at Wycliffe’s feet.

  “No!” Jessica whispered, ice filling the pit of her stomach. She stepped forward, unwittingly drawing Wycliffe’s attention. He didn’t even spare Braum a sidelong glance.

  “What’d you say, pet?” Wycliffe asked, placing a booted foot on Braum’s neck, and forcing his face down.

  “Don’t hurt him,” she warned. The barest tingle of magic warmed the tips of her fingers. If Wycliffe tried anything, she could hopefully save Braum, if not herself.

  “Hold him!” Wycliffe ordered and strode back to Jessica, but not before purposely stepping on Braum’s neck, grinding his face into the floor. As if seeing her for the first time, he grinned cruelly and grabbed her by the jaw. “When did you come to be so hideous?” His eyes swept over her; then his hand snaked out to yank a lock of pink hair.

  As if the curl physically sickened him, he dropped it. “And your hands?” He snatched her left hand, blue as a summer sky. “Is this some freakish dwarf perversion?” He snickered and grabbed her right, revealing the brand on her palm. “Hideous. You, dwarf, are hideous.”

  She tamped down the magical rage swirling inside.

  “Wycliffe, stop this!” Lyzelle hurried over, separating Jessica from her brother.

  “Go, now.” Wycliffe kept his deadened eyes fixed on Jessica as he spoke to his sister.

  “What’re you going to do with her?” Lyzelle asked, still trying to block Jessica from her brother’s view. Violet eyes wide, she gaped as Braum struggled to his feet.

  At Lyzelle’s horrified look, Jessica turned. Bloody from head to toe, Braum blinked at her through blood-encrusted eyelids.

  “I won’t leave Lady Jessica,” Drake broke in, moving in front of Lyzelle who stood in front of Jessica.

  “Then I’ll kill you and imprison my sister,” Wycliffe stifled a yawn, finally looking their way. “Jessica’s my concern, not yours.”

  “Wycliffe—” Lyzelle began when he shoved Drake aside with a brutal backhand to the eye.

  “I said, leave!” Spittle flew from Wycliffe’s lips.

  All color fled Lyzelle’s pale cheeks. “Very well, but I’m going to father.” She turned to Jessica with sad eyes and hurried away.

  Hand clutched to his injured eye, Drake glared at Wycliffe, bowed to Jessica, and prepared to follow in Lyzelle’s footsteps, but not before mouthing, Be careful, Jessica’s way.

  ***

  With every nerve firing down his spine, Braum ached to bash the bloody bastard’s face in. Nobody mistreated his wife! She was anything but hideous, possessing an otherworldly glow which highlighted her beauty. Her eyes shimmered, gray as the stones of Grayweather after a rainstorm. And the furious pink of her cheeks revealed her ire. But now was no time to consider the mysterious changes Wycliffe had pointed out.

  Unable to withstand it a moment longer, he shoved against his guards and managed to break free, ramming an elbow into one man’s nose and upper-cutting another. “Leave her alone!” he shouted, lurching forward, murder in his eyes. Several guards tackled him from behind before he could get close to Wycliffe, but at least he’d brought the attention back to himself.

  “I have an idea—” Eyes blazing, Wycliffe left Jessica’s side and knelt by Braum, now buried beneath four elves. He removed a knife from its bejeweled scabbard at his waist and scraped it against Braum’s cheek. The stroke so light, it left naught but a thin, red line. Wycliffe stood and snarled to his guards, “Take him to the scaffold!”

  Body straining against the men intent on dragging him away, Braum gaped as Wycliffe placed a hand against Jessica’s face, caressing the brutal scar as if unable to help himself. “You’re invited as well, bride.”

  The man’s words chilled Braum to the bone.

  CHAPTER 33

  Jessica flinched as the crowd, packed into the street, jostled into her. Unaware Wycliffe, himself, was amongst them, they heaved and pushed, fighting to move forward. But, Wycliffe’s iron grip steered her through the chaos.

  The town crier had gone ahead, and it seemed every man and woman jeered at Braum, a length of rope about bloodied wrists and his shirt hanging in tatters around his waist. And yet, he stood defiantly on the platform, despite the vulgarities spewed from the mob. Able to walk several feet in any direction, the rope didn’t restrict his movements so much as it kept him atop the scaffold.

  The assembly delighted in his punishment. Braum was an enemy of the state, and they called for more brutality. But as individuals became aware of Wycliffe, leading his former intended towards the scaffold, the shouts quieted. In hushed tones, people questioned his actions, some, shouting for mercy.

  Dragged up the scaffold steps, Jessica’s breath caught when Wycliffe tethered her wrists to the same post as Braum. Rough hemp flayed her flesh, and her eyes grew round.

  “Don’t do this,” Braum warned. “Do what you want to me, but don’t harm her.” His body was tense, ready to strike. The bands of muscle on his chest and arms strained against skin. She could count each individual striation, they were so defined. He was so lean, following his illnes
s.

  Wycliffe strode over and spat in Braum’s face. The crowd gasped and leaned closer. “Never fear,” he turned back to Jessica, “I won’t marry her after I’ve killed you. She repulses me now, ugly and unfaithful.” Wycliffe’s blade sang free of his scabbard and Jessica flinched, pulling away as he positioned it against the unmarked side of her face.

  Afraid to move, she blinked back tears.

  “Let her go!” Braum shouted, face red, as he strained against the rope. Blood streaked down his hands, yet he pulled harder, desperate to get to her.

  “No, no,” Wycliffe reassured her, ignoring Braum. “I’ll not hurt you.” He repositioned the knife to her breast and began slicing through the silk gown “Hold still my pet, else I could cut you on accident.” Layer by layer, her clothes split, first gown then stays, and finally linen shift.

  “Don’t touch her!” Braum roared, raw and hoarse, as he fought his bonds, shredding his wrists. “Damn you, let her go!” His face contorted as a nipple popped into view.

  “Now, this part of you is lovely,” Wycliffe’s eyes gleamed. Using the knife’s edge, he nudged aside the fabric to reveal her other breast. “Mayhap I’ll rethink marrying you, so I can bed you.” He pursed his lips. “But, then, I can bed you without a wedding, now can’t I?”

  Her face burned. He was trying to punish both her and Braum with her nakedness. Fully aware she could destroy him with one finger, Jessica stood tall, unwilling to grovel. If only she could muster the strength…

  “Why aren’t you begging for mercy?” Wycliffe spat, voice trembling, and with a brutal yank, tore the top half of her gown down about her waist.

  Yet she stayed silent, spittle sliding down her cheek in a moist trail, certain he wouldn’t hurt her.

  Purple with rage, Wycliffe drew still and considered his options. A cruel smile crossed his lips. “I know.”

  Afraid she’d misjudged him, Jessica stiffened in anticipation of a strike. But Wycliffe strode to Braum, pulled back, and slammed his fist into the dwarf prince’s stomach. He’d not gotten the satisfaction he’d wanted from her, so this would be her punishment.