by Kim Bowman
The corner of his mouth twitched, briefly curling into a grin. “Aye, I will.”
“Thank you.”
“Turn around,” he told her, taking the cloth and water bladder. Marek wet the fabric and used it to cleanse her wounds, washing away the dirt and caked on debris from the small of her back. His fingers grazed the curve of her neck, sending a shocking surge of heat reeling down her spine. He pushed her hair to the side, stroking her skin in delicate waves with the cloth.
Closing her eyes, Brynn exhaled, savoring every touch, not wanting them to end. Marek worked with a quiet diligence before Brynn broke the uncomfortable silence. “Why did you take me?”
His hand paused near her shoulder. Water trickled down her sides, curving around to seep into the hems of her clothing.
“Take you? I thought of it more as a rescue, myself. That Engel was going to kill you.”
“The gods would have protected me.”
Marek released a brusque laugh. “Your gods? Where were your gods on the stairs? Where were they when you were being whipped like a horse? Where were they when you were busy throwing yourself off a cliff? I heard your prayers. They did nothing.” He grasped arms. “Any moment might be our last. We should cherish our doomed lives.” A heat flickered in his eyes. “You underestimate your beauty, Brynn. I have never seen your equal, and you must protect yourself. You will only grow lovelier by the day. Do not depend on gods to save you. Your gods do not exist.”
Brynn bit her bottom lip, brushing a curl from her eyes. “You speak as if you know much… but you do not. You shamed me in front of my people. I deserved my punishment, and I accepted it for dishonoring my father and my betrothed. You should have just let me be.”
Marek continued with her bath. “You dishonored no one. You accepted a punishment for a wrong you didn’t commit. Your people follow strange beliefs. You must get them from your gods. No one in my country would be flogged for touching a man.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I do. Your men take many wives. They so do for money, not for love or loyalty. Women are treated as property. We Archaeans honor our women. They are not inferior to men. We cherish them, love them, and make babies with them. We do not do as your Engel men do. Now women… they are gifts from the gods.”
Brynn cracked a smile. “I thought you said there were no gods.”
“Do not contradict me, woman.”
“Your people attack ours, raiding and taking the women. You have burned villages and killed children for simply being in your path.”
“You have heard the stories.” Marek smiled. “Grossly exaggerated by Engels, but having a fierce reputation in battle keeps the men on your side. Put your arms up.”
Brynn raised her arms, and Marek removed the tattered fabric. “This might sting a little,” he warned before placing a finger along one of the many gashes in her flesh.
Brynn hissed, arching away from the searing heat. “What is that?”
“‘Tis a salve for your wounds. You will need it if you want to heal.”
“Whatever is in that, I don’t need it.”
Marek continued, “You of all people should know of treating wounds.”
“Don’t put that on me. It hurts.”
“I’ve been using it all along and it’s healed your wounds immensely, so hush and hold still.”
“I’ll be fine. Just pass me the tunic.” A crisp autumn breeze wafted through the gaps in the tent, settling on her dampened skin. Brynn pinned her arm across her chest, covering her breasts from view. She reached behind her, waiting for the clothing to be placed in her hand.
“Those are fine manners for the help I just gave you. You want it, you come and get it.” Marek dropped the tunic behind her then crawled to the opposite side of the tent beside a bit of bread and meat. He brought them to Brynn. “Eat.”
“Do you enjoy provoking me?” She huffed. “Would you please pass me that tunic so I might cover myself? No woman, even your kind, would ever enjoy being subjected to this type of indecency.”
“So you say,” he grumbled, kicking the tunic closer.
Brynn snatched it before he changed his mind then patiently waited for Marek to turn around. When he didn’t, she scowled at him. “Would you please turn around?”
Marek ripped off a large chunk of bread with his teeth and slowly turned his back to her.
When Brynn was sure his view was blocked, she found the neck hole in the tunic and slipped it over her head. The covering hung from her like a dress but was still warm from his body heat, and in one piece. She fumbled with the neck strings of the tunic and managed to tie them before Marek faced her. He pushed the food at her, and Brynn ate until she couldn’t stomach any more. She ignored the Archaean while she chewed, wondering why he stared at her so.
Sleepy, Brynn watched the flickering of the torch. A rustling near her head startled her, and she propped up on an elbow to see Marek settling down in front of the curtain. “What is it you think you are doing?”
“Making sure you don’t go throwing yourself off another cliff.” Marek tucked his arms under his head for a makeshift pillow and sighed.
“Am I your captive?”
“Go to sleep.”
Chapter Four
Speak
“Get up.”
Still groggy, Brynn forced her eyes open. Marek towered over her, fully dressed in leather armor with his sword strapped across his back. He looked stunning with his sun-bleached locks and defined muscular build. Being a warrior fit him well. Her makeshift tent was tucked away, and the horses saddled and ready for travel. Morning dew littered the ground, and a blanket of fog had settled over the valley. Brynn rose and handed her blanket over to be packed. She wrapped her arms around her middle against the chill. The fog swirled about, coating her skin with a fine mist.
The men talked amongst themselves, occasionally pointing in her direction. Brynn staggered toward Marek. “Where are we going?” she pressed, her heart pounding.
“Heading north, going home.” He avoided her eyes and turned his horse from her.
Brynn circled the horse, seeking Marek’s face. “You are not leaving me here, are you?”
“You clearly prefer the Engels over your own kind, Brynn, and have nearly succeeded in killing yourself. I have no desire to see you achieve it. And no, I will not leave you here.”
“You must to take me back!”
“I owe you nothing.”
“You must take me home! To Galhaven.” Brynn gripped the horse’s bridle, preventing the animal from moving.
Marek laughed. “After all that has been done to you there, you want to go back? What makes you think you are still wanted? Women and children will throw stones at you. The earl has disowned you, and you want to go back? Do you even hear the words coming from that pretty little mouth of yours? You really do welcome death, girl.” He jerked the reins, and his mount stepped to the side, freeing itself from Brynn’s grasp with a shake of its head.
“But…” Brynn’s bottom lip trembled. “I do not wish to go north.”
“By the gods, don’t cry,” he muttered.
“I only wish to return to my home.”
“You are not my problem anymore.”
Brynn stomped her foot. “Your problem? Why is it I am always somebody’s problem? I was unconscious when you brought me here. Had I been conscious, I would have demanded you leave me! I have never been outside the walls of my village before now! Take me home.” She reached for his horse once more. “Please.”
“Let go of my horse.”
“My fate is in your hands, Archaean. You decide.” Brynn matched her eyes with his as hot tears rolled down her cheeks, but she stood her ground.
~~~~
Marek’s eyes locked on hers. There was no time to take her to Galhaven, as too many days had been lost having Ronan mended after the rebels’ ambush. They were already months overdue at their highland homes. He looked forward to traveling home to his wife and young
son. Nearly three years had passed since he’d seen their faces. His men were just as anxious to return. They enjoyed the coin the bounties brought, but no man should have to wander aimlessly for another’s cause.
Marek sighed. Neither should this girl. “We are at an impasse, Brynn of Galhaven, for I cannot take you with me, and I cannot take you home.”
“Then what am I to do?” She looked up at him, those blue eyes burning a hole in his heart.”
“Ride with me?” Marek offered his hand.
“I’d rather walk.” She huffed in defiance.
“You better keep up.” Gathering the reins, he nudged his horse with his heels and it bolted forward, leaving Brynn trailing behind.
Brynn kept her distance as she followed behind the horses. The morning fog lifted, and the remnants of a warm summer breeze played with her hair as she plotted a path behind the Archaeans. Marek frequently glanced back, and when Ronan reprimanded him for turning around so many times, Brynn smiled. Marek countered her with a scowl.
~~~~
She sang little tunes of love, and the others seemed content to listen.
After dismounting to rest his horse, Marek fell back from the group to walk beside Brynn. Her songs had sparked his curiosity. How could a naïve little girl know so much about love? “I didn’t think you’d make it this far,” he told her, casting a lopsided grin.
“I didn’t think you were going to stay seated on your horse.”
“Just making sure you weren’t falling behind.” Marek kicked a rock from his path with the toe of his boot.
“I am able to manage.”
“It would seem so.” He walked beside her in silence, listening to the patter of her feet as she matched his pace.
“How did you learn to speak my language?” she asked, breaking the monotony.
Marek was silent, recalling a distant memory. He was back in his croft, a roaring fire warming him as his wife snuggled beside him, book in her hand, teaching him to read and write. His young son, nearly two at the time, sat cross-legged on the floor next to them, listening intently to the stories. “Someone close taught me.” She didn’t question him, so he let it be. The less she attached to him, the better for them both.
~~~~
On the bank of a river, the group stopped for water and a bit of rest. Stretching out on the long grasses, Brynn let the warmth of the sun radiate through her aching body. She closed her eyes, wishing she had the time to fit in a nap — a light doze, even — but the sounds of the Archaeans proved distracting.
Ronan struggled with his horse, attempting to unpack supplies from the saddlebags. The animal veered in wide arcs, backing away from Ronan’s one-armed foraging.
Rising, Brynn strolled in his direction, clicking her tongue at the horse. Its ears perked forward, and she took hold of the bridle to stroke its muzzle with the tips of her fingers. “There, there,” she cooed, puckering her lips to give it a kiss. “How may I help?” she asked Ronan.
He rattled off in Archaean, digging several empty water bladders from the saddlebag. Upon finding them, Ronan thrust them in Brynn’s hands.
“You want me to fill these with water?” Brynn pointed to the river, and flashed him a wide smile when he nodded his head in response.
After hobbling the horse, Ronan gave its neck a swift pat and turned to the river.
Brynn scampered after him. Following his lead, she knelt beside him and plunged the bladder in the frigid water. Her hand tingled as the water gushed through her fingers, but she did as Ronan demonstrated and waited for it to fill completely. She picked up a smooth stone and showed it to Ronan. “Rock,” she said holding it on her flattened palm.
Brynn laughed as Ronan stammered out in his thick brogue, “R-r-rock.”
“Very good! We will get along, you and I.”
A slight blush colored Ronan’s cheeks, and he muttered in his own words.
He was a handsome man, she decided, with a boyish charm and eyes that twinkled. They taught each other words while filling the rest of the bladders and splashed one another in playful banter. Brynn looked to Ronan for help, having difficulty corking her water bladder, but as he pushed on the cork, Brynn accidently squeezed the pouch, spurting a gush of icy water down his front. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.
Ronan bellowed out a deep belly laugh.
Bursts of giggles spewed between her laced fingers as Brynn tried to keep a snort from escaping.
~~~~
Marek scowled from his perch.
Ronan had always been quick to make friends, even with those who could potentially hinder him. Ronan’s likability was his downfall; he was entirely too trustful. Put a pretty girl in front of him, and Ronan turned into a drunken puppy. Marek couldn’t push his men onward with their tongues wagging behind her every step. She was too much of a temptation for them all — himself included — and he couldn’t allow it. The girl would have to go, and soon. He was anxious to claim his payment and return home with his spoils. Bounty hunting had finally taken its toll, and walking the entire way home was going to make for a very long journey.
He dragged his palm down the side of his face, cursing himself. How could he be jealous of his brother? What in hell had come over him? Marek tried to picture his wife, but instead found himself focusing on his own tunic, the same one covering the most delicious curves he’d ever seen on a woman. His clothing did her delicate body no justice. By the gods, what he wouldn’t give just to see her out of it. Her profound allure still shocked him, even now. He’d never seen blue until he’d lost himself in her eyes.
Those same eyes now looking at his brother with the adoration Marek craved. An ache rooted itself deep within, imploring him to readjust his seat. Those flirtatious smiles should be his, damn it. Watching Ronan push a long curl behind Brynn’s ear made Marek’s insides explode.
Deciding Ronan had lusted after the girl more than to his liking, Marek determined he’d seen enough. He called out to his men, “Come on, lads, time to go.” Helping Ronan with his bags, Marek commented, “You seem to be having fun. Are you enjoying yourself, little brother?”
“What is it you’re getting at, Marek?” Ronan tugged on a leather strap to fasten a bag. “Help me up.”
Marek held the horse still while Ronan heaved into the saddle. “Just keep away,” Marek warned, gathering the reins for his brother.
Ronan cocked an eyebrow. “And why is that? A bit jealous that your little brother has the lady’s favor and she prefers me? Miss your wife?” Ronan tugged the reins from Marek’s ever-tightening grasp. “It’s not my fault I was born with this face,” Ronan teased, heckling his brother.
Marek mounted his own horse. “Hold your tongue before you lose it.”
“The lads and I have decided.” Gavin grinned like a fool, trotting his feisty mount around the brothers.
“Have you, now?” Marek paused.
“We have agreed…” Gavin stroked the patch of hair covering his chin and chuckled, a sinister smile enveloping his mouth. “You should just fuck her and get it over with. This tension is driving us mad. Be a man and do it, or let the rest of us have a go. We have been out here a long time and never seen anything so fine and tempting.” Gavin’s smirk could have spread from ear to ear as he teased. “Your lust for her is too obvious.” He cantered off laughing before Marek could pull him to the ground and tackle him for his arrogance.
Chapter Five
Nothing Would Be Easier
“Marek, a word?” Ronan approached his brother, testing his temper.
“Is this what I think it is about?”
“Well… aye, it is.” Ronan matched his brother’s gait, reining in his mount near Marek’s. “We are wondering — I was wondering… What are you going to do with her?” Ronan shifted his weight in the saddle. “Have you had time to gather your thoughts about her?”
“Take her to the Crossroads,” answered Marek.
“Wait… what? Still?” The shock in Ronan’s voice made
even Marek question his decision.
“A pretty little thing like that?” Ronan shook his head in disbelief. “’Tis shameful.”
“She is a distraction to us all, and one more mouth to feed. We don’t need her slowing us down.”
Ronan cleared his throat and muttered, “What if I buy her from you when we get our money from Brockington? You may take my share.”
Marek grunted. “But what would you do with her? Cart her to the Highlands, have a cozy little croft together? She is of noble upbringing, Ronan. Brynn wouldn’t survive a week in our country without someone to coddle her. What would you do when we get another offer? Would you leave her alone in your crumbling home to tend to the fields and care for your babes? How will you explain to her what we do? We murder for a living, brother. Try explaining that to a woman you cannot speak to. Would you have her wash your bloodstained hands before she serves you the evening meal? No, she will be better off with some wealthy family where she will have food in her belly and clothing on her back. She will be safe and out of harm’s way. They will provide for her.”
“Perhaps you are right.” Ronan sighed, avoiding Marek’s eyes.
“You know I am right, Ronan.”
“But do you have to sell her? Could we find someone—”
“Selling her will ensure her safety, Ronan. Only the wealthy will be able to afford her.”
The brothers traveled in silence. Marek couldn’t shake their conversation. Would selling her really be for the best? Ronan had planted the seed of doubt, and for the first time in ages, Marek questioned his own actions. If Ronan hadn’t taken the hit by that arrow, they would never have stopped in Galhaven. Marek wouldn’t be burdened with such guilt and temptation. He would not be burdened with her. Yes, he must leave her behind, but would at least make sure she would be well taken care of.
“She could stay with Nya.” Ronan’s optimism cracked the silence. “Your Nya would be able to communicate — help her to learn our language, just like she did you. She seems to catch on well enough, I bet with some—”