by Kim Bowman
Marek was torn between the two battles. Did he attempt to fight the man he engaged, praying Brynn could fend off her attacker until he could reach her, or did he make a run for her, hoping to surpass his own battle? Given another few minutes, Marek would slay his opponent. Another scream sent him reeling. The Engel held a blade high above her.
Damn, she won’t be afforded another few minutes. He was out of time, and no risk was greater than that of her life. Narrowing his eyes, Marek charged his opponent and wrenched him to the ground. The soldier, caught off guard, slid from the saddle, dropping his weapon. With one swift jerk, Marek’s sword slid along the man’s throat, severing it. A wild fray of blood spurted at the sky as the body slumped to the ground. Marek spun on his heels to race across the field.
Losing his footing to the slick mud, he skidded to his knees, realizing he’d never make it to her side in time. The soldier would have the dagger in her chest before he could intercept. Marek fumbled for the protruding handle of the knife still wedged in his boot. Finding it, he pulled the blade from its sheath. With his heart racing and his hand oddly trembling, he whirled the knife into the back of the soldier’s skull.
~~~~
The soldier froze mid-swing, his mouth agape in a bellow that didn’t come. A sickening gurgle erupted from his throat as blood began to flow from his nose and mouth. The soldier’s beady eyes rolled back behind saggy eyelids just before he slumped forward, pinning her against the tree.
His weight crushed against her. Every breath was a struggle. Brynn shoved his chest to no avail. His body only slumped further. She pushed on his shoulders trying to slide out from beneath him, but the massive man’s head snapped to the side. His lifeless white eyes stared back at her, his grim expression of death only accelerating her terror.
A mixed cry of sobbing and screams welled in her chest as thick, sticky warmth dripped from her palms. Blood. A fearful cry left her lips when the weight ascended from her chest. Two hands gripped her shoulders, and Brynn thrashed aimlessly, too exhausted to continue to fight.
“Brynn.” A voice echoed through her.
She opened her eyes. Kneeling before her was her warrior, her rescuer. At the sight of his familiar face, she rose to fling her arms around his neck, crushing him with all her might. “He’s dead!” she cried, in hysterics. Brynn pulled Marek to her chest in a fitful embrace, trembling in his arms.
Marek peeled her clinging frame from his to brush the hair from her face. “Aye, I know, I know,” he breathed. “I killed him.”
Anguish overtook her, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, weeping uncontrollably against him. She wove her fingers through the waves of hair at his nape, never wanting to let go, to be separated from the safety she found in his arms.
Drawing her tight against him, he knelt with her, letting her sob. He didn’t speak nor try to hush her weeping — he simply wrapped his warmth around her lithe body when she pulled him close. He placed tender kisses on her eyelids, attempting to stanch her tears. He could do nothing to console her but surround her trembling frame as the rain fell upon them, washing away the screams of battle, the smell of freshly spilt blood, and the hot tears of fear.
Only when her crying slowed and her breathing calmed did he break away. Tilting up her chin with his thumb, he looked into her eyes and murmured, “Come, we must leave this place.”
Her voice quivered. “You…” Brynn’s gaze lingered on the soldier with the small knife still protruding from his skull. The body lay motionless, submerged in a reddened puddle, still and stone-like. She dared not believe the ease and accuracy with which Marek had ended him. Her mind drifted back to when she had held the dagger to his throat. He could have killed her one-handed. “You’re injured,” she gasped, spying the large crimson stain on his left side.
“’Tis not mine,” he reassured her, rising. “Come. We must find the others.” Marek helped Brynn to her feet then crossed over to the corpse and placed a muddied boot in the center of the Engel’s shoulders.
Brynn averted her eyes when Marek retrieved his boot knife from the man’s skull. A quick sucking sound was followed by fresh crimson that oozed and gurgled from the open wound.
Marek wiped the knife on the man’s tunic before tucking it back inside his boot. “Fucking Engels,” he cursed low under his breath.
The Archaeans were busy searching the bodies of their opponents and recovering weapons when Brynn and Marek reached the center of the clearing. Ronan sat on the ground, inspecting his injured shoulder. Gavin was busy looting the dead soldiers, taking anything that could be of value.
“Ronan, where is Aiden?” Marek inquired, approaching his brother.
“He’s gathering the horses.” With an exhausted sigh, Ronan fell to his back in the grass.
“Are you hurt?”
“Eh, nothing that won’t heal.” Ronan chuckled, fingering a fresh gash on his thigh.
“Need anything sewn back on?”
“Och, no, I’m well.”
“Brynn, make sure his stitches have not let loose, would you?” Marek turned to Brynn, his eyes expectant.
A shout from Gavin turned everyone’s head.
“What did he say?” asked Brynn.
“He says a few are still alive,” answered Marek.
Brynn’s lips formed a circle, but she made no sound.
“Kill them all,” Marek purposefully replied to Gavin.
Brynn watched from a distance as Gavin grinned with delight, drew his sword, and plunged it into the chest of a barely living Engel soldier. The bone-crunching noise reverberated through her body, and she let out a small cry, horrified by the brusqueness and ferocity of it all. These men cared nothing for the lives of others. She watched as Marek found another and ended the man’s life with a quick slit of the throat. The last man alive caught her attention. Oddly, the soldier looked familiar. “Wait!” Brynn commanded.
Marek cocked his head inquisitively, lowering his arm when she approached the sputtering soldier. “Who sent you?” he asked the soldier. “With what army do you ride?”
The dying soldier spit blood at him.
The Engel was just a boy, sent to do the bidding of some nobleman. Brynn stepped closer and kneeled beside the mortally-wounded man. With the corner of her skirt she wiped the blood from his face. “William? Oh, William… what have you done?” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. Just days before, he had been a strapping young lad with a bright future under the command of her betrothed. But now he lay broken and dying.
She wanted to comfort him, see to his wounds, but he was badly damaged. His body was a mangled mess, even with the armor he wore. He’d been slashed as if his attacker toyed with him — used him as target practice — and he bled heavily from his nose and mouth. Death was imminent.
William struggled to breathe. When attempting to speak, blood, not words, spilled from his mouth. Brynn placed his head in her lap and stroked his matted hair as tear droplets fell onto his distorted face. “I am so sorry, William. I cannot mend this.” She caressed his cheek as his chest gurgled.
“The militia called out… Lord Dugray murdered… by… Archaeans.”
Stunned, Brynn paused to put his words together. “W-what?” Everything that had happened suddenly seemed to piece itself together. The Engel arrowhead, the alliance, Archaeans deep in Engel lands. They had murdered Lord Dugray.
Slowly, Brynn raised her eyes to meet Marek’s.
That fiery blue told her everything.
~~~~
She knew. Marek had never been ashamed of what he had done until that very moment, with that look she gave him. He wanted to thrust his sword into this boy called William for spilling his secret, but the tones of Brynn’s hushed weeping told him the boy was already dead. Marek fetched the boy’s sword and placed it vertically on his chest, crossing his arms over it ceremoniously.
“It is an honor to die in battle,” he told Brynn. “Even as an enemy.” He placed a gentle palm on her shoulde
r, but she pushed him away.
“An honor?” Brynn was furious. “He was just a boy, barely older than me! And you slaughtered him like an animal!” Despite her temper, Brynn lowered William to the ground with the gentleness befitting a friend. She kissed his bloodied forehead in farewell before standing to confront Marek. “You honored this man, but did you even glance at the others?”
“If I took the time to honor every man I have slaughtered, I would be long dead by now! Aye, he was just a boy, but there are hundreds more just like him that will fall. War is upon us, and he will not be the last to die. I’m thankful it was him and not one of my men! You should be thankful he’s dead — he could have killed you!” Marek turned from her, feigning interest in his armor to avoid her hateful glare.
“Tell me, Marek,” she persisted, “why were you in Galhaven? Why my father’s door? That arrowhead was Engel. Even a girl like me knows the difference.”
“Don’t try me, woman. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Marek gritted his teeth, trying to hold his tongue. She was beautiful when angry.
“I know you’re capable of murder!” Brynn snagged him by the arm. “Tell me! Why were you in Galhaven that night? To murder my father? He is no rich nobleman like Dugray was, but I’m sure you could get a hefty price for his head!”
“I suggest you hold your tongue.” She drove him to the brink of madness, and there was nothing left to distract himself with but her.
“Why? Are you going to kill me now, too? I mean nothing to you — why will you not slit my throat and be done with it? I have no purpose to you other than your own personal amusement!”
With three paces he was in front of her, eyes narrowed and clenching the pommel of his dagger so tight his knuckles bore white.
She countered his steps backward, searching her surroundings in an uncomfortable silence.
Marek paced toward her until she could back away no further.
She stood rigid against the trunk of a large tree when he finally reached her. The color drained from her face.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.
His lips touched the shell of her ear. “You should be,” he muttered, his voice husky, as his finger grazed over the curve of her cheek. When his thumb reached her chin, he trailed a finger the length of her neck, feeling her swallow hard beneath the hollow of her collarbone. “Never trust a man,” he warned her, his Archaean lilt thick and guttural. “Especially one like me.”
“Why do you touch me so? Do you think me beautiful, Marek?” she asked, her eyes rising to meet his.
His fingers lowered to her breast, and he traced its outline. “I would cut down any man who dared speak different.” He cupped her shoulder, pushing the tunic to the side with his fingers to expose delicate skin. His lips burned hot as he tasted her cooled flesh, nipping at her collarbone. A small moan escaped on a breath, but she made no attempt to stop him. Marek placed four lingering kisses, each growing higher, with the last finding her eagerly awaiting mouth before he garnered the courage to push himself away.
Frustrated by his willingness to give in to temptation, Marek cursed himself before turning his anger on Brynn. “Why do you have to taste so good? Damn you, girl!” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn you and your… ugh!” He could not even find the words.
“I have done you no wrong. I am not here by my own doing. You are the one who brought me here, remember? If I recall, you plucked me from my home without even asking if I cared to join you on your little romp back to the Archaean highlands. I have seen you butcher my people. You have… taken your own familiarities with me and I unashamedly let you.” She blushed. “Why must you treat me like this? Why are you so bitter toward me? I don’t understand!”
He could see her desire for him. Her body pleaded for more, as did his. “Why? Why am I bitter? Why can I not make up my mind about you? Because you are making it nearly impossible to stay faithful to my wife!” His truth had been told. Aggravated and upset with his own actions, Marek snapped at her without choosing his words wisely. “You don’t realize just how… damned tempting you are! And not just to me — no — to every fecking one of us! Hell, if I didn’t have her waiting on me, you would be mine by now! Mine!” Marek pounded a fist against his chest, spitting his frustration.
~~~~
Brynn could feel the life drain from her body, and she stood dumbfounded in front of him, not sure if she should stay or run away in shame. She was a fool. How stupid she had been to think there was meaning behind those kisses. He’d given her a taste of passion, and she’d welcomed it, new to the wonderful feelings he stirred in her. She had fallen for his tactics, completely and entirely — and she chose to say nothing… she couldn’t find the strength. Tears carved a trail down her cheeks while she nodded in acceptance.
Marek stormed away, cursing. He didn’t glance back at her; he did not return to comfort her. His touches had ended.
Strangely, her heart felt heavy with emptiness. He was married. He had a wife. Somewhere there was a lonely woman eagerly waiting for her warrior to return, not knowing if he was still alive or rotting in the ground on some distant battlefield, and all the while he had been lusting after Brynn. No, she was fooling herself. Marek was just a man, and no man was worth such heartache. Straightening her skirts and wiping her cheeks, Brynn walked toward the group in the clearing, wishing her lips didn’t still burn for him.
~~~~
He trotted his horse in circles around her, but Brynn focused on the path in front of her toes as she walked. “You may ride, we have extra horses.”
“And bring me that much closer to my fate? I’m quite fine with walking, thank you.” How her feet ached. The rain had chilled her to the core, but there was no way she would continue to accommodate the man. She was, after all, his captive — a piece of property to be bartered for profit. She would keep telling herself that, no matter how dashing he looked dressed in his armor perched on his impressive black mount.
“Just a stubborn little girl,” Marek hissed through his teeth.
“Stubborn I may be, but at least I’m not a heartless beast that preys on innocent little Engel girls.”
“You liked it just as much as I,” he told her.
“Do not speak of what you know nothing about.” Brynn bit her lip, hoping the pain would keep her mouth from turning into a telling smile.
“What I know nothing about? What I know is that if you keep up your prissy little attitude I may just pull you up on this horse and smack that curvy little bottom of yours.”
“Tell me, Marek, why did you choose this life?”
“What life?”
“To be a warrior.”
“I did not choose this life. I was born, and this is what I am.”
“Every soul has the opportunity to choose his or her fate.”
“So you chose to marry a man to please your father, to be beaten, and pay for the sins of your mother?”
Brynn opened her mouth to speak but quickly closed it at the realization of her contradiction.
“We shall arrive soon.” Marek left her side, trotting ahead to ride beside Ronan.
Brynn walked in silence, pondering what had become of her in days past. With each step, the forest path changed to a trodden mix of pebbles and dirt. Reaching the Crossroads finally became reality.
The horses started to snort and paw at the ground, alerting Brynn they were close.
The men were home again, back on Archaean soil.
Chapter Eight
The Crossroads
Brynn learned the Crossroads was a large village centrally located en route to all areas of the highlands and purposefully used as a trading post. Merchants with large wagons peddled their goods, shouting at anyone who would pause long enough to listen. A blacksmith hammered horseshoes in front of a large forge with smoke billowing to the sky. Taverns filled with drunkards were bustling with activity, while scantily clad women haunted the doors, trying to earn a few coins.
An uneasy feeling crept its way into Brynn’s stomach and chest. It tightened its hold on her with each breath she took. She noticed every head was covered with the same golden hair; very few people had darker locks like her brothers. These Archaeans were like nothing she had ever seen. Their words were like beautiful songs, just as Marek spoke to his men. The women wore brilliantly patterned woolens over their heads with full skirts and long billowing sleeves under colorful bodices — not a gown in sight.
They rode through the village streets until they reached a small stable. Marek took a firm grasp on Brynn’s arm, pulling her close to his side whenever a man passed or glance in her direction.
Irritated, she lashed out at him. “Leave me be!”
“Not a chance,” he replied as he unsaddled his horse. He scratched Arran’s neck firmly, gave it a pat, and turned the animal loose to graze in a small fenced in area with the other horses.
“Clearly, my safety is not on your list of priorities, since you are selling me to a stranger, so stop treating me as if you care.”
Ignoring her, Marek turned to Ronan. “I’m leaving her in your charge, brother. Do not let her out of your sight.”
“You have my word.” Ronan nodded.
“I’m trusting you. No more sympathies.”
Ronan sighed. “Aye, Marek. I understand.”
“Gavin, Aiden. Gather as much as you can sell and get what you can for it. Sell the lame horses, keep the coin for yourselves. I will meet you later in the tavern.” Donning a sword, Marek turned once more to his brother. “Wait here for me. I shall not be long.”