Romancing the Rogue

by Kim Bowman

  Owen muttered his welcomes then left them.

  Marek twirled her with the music, always keeping some part of his body in contact with hers — a lingering palm on the small of her back, a finger grazing her inner arm.

  “How you tease.” She squealed when his hand grazed her breast as he brought her close in an abrupt jerk, dodging another twirling couple.

  “I will take whatever I can get my hands on.”

  “Then take it now.” Brynn commanded, wrapping her arms around his middle.

  In one swift motion he swooped in and kissed her. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to deepen the kiss.

  “Marek,” she breathed, pushing him away. “We cannot. Not here, someone will see.”

  “Let them see.” He licked the exposed pulse on her neck.

  “Please, you do not know how much I want this… but we cannot.”

  He released a low growl from deep in his throat but let her go, settling for holding her hand and continuing with the newly formed circle dance.

  “Where will you be tonight?” he asked, spinning her.

  “Working.”

  “Might I steal you away again?”

  “Perhaps.” She giggled aloud when a blond eyebrow rose in unison with a wide smirk. The music stopped, the air around them quieting as the dancers left the open field. “Come with me.” Brynn tugged on his arm. “There’s no harm in getting a drink. As long as you tip me well, of course,” she added. “And this time you can pour your own.”

  He burst out in laughter. A few swollen rain drops splattered against his flushed cheeks. “We may not have a choice.”

  The skies opened in full abundance as they approached the road to cross to the shelter of the tavern. Brynn squealed with delight as Marek engulfed her frame with his, shielding her from a full soaking.

  A slew of Engel soldiers surged by, shoving those escaping the sudden storm to the side. A man scowled from his perch as he trotted by on a familiar black steed. The horse snorted in protest and sidestepped to avoid running them over.

  “Is that…?”

  “Aye. That is Arran, my horse.” Fury overtook Marek’s playful demeanor. “I will find a way to get him back.”

  “How, by murder? Thievery? You will be caught and hanged.”

  “I will find a way.” Marek squeezed her hand before letting it drop back to her side. “I have to go, but I will find you later.” He jogged down the road, vanishing into a sea of men.

  Alone, Brynn returned to the tavern, her bit of fun over.

  Abby approached. “So how have you faired this afternoon?”

  Brynn couldn’t hide her smile or flushed cheeks from Abby. “It was grand. Dancing was glorious. Now I fear ’tis back to work.”

  “I will do my best to work for you this eve if you so wish it.” Abby gave Brynn’s shoulder a loving pat.

  Brynn spent the better part of the night helping Owen tend the bar, listening to the Engel soldiers brag over how many Archaeans they had slaughtered. It disgusted her how they spoke thinking the Archaean people couldn’t understand their taunts and lewd remarks. Archaeans were not as stupid as Engels thought them to be. “Owen, pour me a drink.” He did as she asked and she downed the brew in several gulps. Several more followed over the course of the evening, each one drowning out her frustrations more than the last. Seeking a bit of air, Brynn escaped to the back alley. Leaning against the building, she exhaled a slow breath. Too much ale made her belly ache.

  “Are you all right?” Marek spoke from behind her.

  “Oh!” She gasped, startled by Marek’s intrusion. “I didn’t hear you approach.” Brynn stood, testing her drunken legs. Her stomach churned. “I… I’m a bit drunk.” She swallowed hard.

  “I see that.”

  “Pissed drunk, I think.” The taste of ale still lingered in her mouth.

  “I don’t envy the headache to follow.”

  “I have a bit of news for you. The Engel soldiers are using the old livery. Arran will be there, but you should claim him soon, while they are still deep within their cups.”

  “Let us go then.”

  “No, I cannot. I am watched too closely. Please, just wait with me awhile. I must return soon.”

  “Who forces you to stay? Is it Daman?”

  Brynn turned from his furrowed brow. She mustn’t let this conversation continue.

  “No, tell me, Brynn. The truth.” Marek leaned in to her, trapping her frame between his arms, his palms clenching the cool stone behind them.

  “Now is not the time.”

  “Then when is the time, Brynn? When we are old and gray and the children grown? Will you speak to me then?”

  “Marek, please don’t say such things.” He was furious, but she couldn’t reveal her secret. Both of their lives depended on it. How was she supposed to tell the man she loved that she could never be his after he had just spoken of children and growing old? If her heart weren’t already shattered, she would have driven a dagger into it.

  “Woman, tell me!” A fist pounded the stone next to her. “What is it that you will not tell me?”

  “I must go.” Brynn inhaled, trapping a sob in her throat. “You won’t understand!”

  “Then I will find out myself!” His anger seemed to consume him.

  He released her, and Brynn scurried back into the tavern. He had scared her. Brynn knew it wasn’t at all his intention, but she couldn’t give him the answers he wanted.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Death of a Man

  A single tapered candle flickered fitfully through the slated cracks of the shuttered window. The warrior pursued his target like a hawk stalking its prey — waiting to strike.

  The front door sat ajar. Marek slipped through undetected. He doubted his target would notice his presence — the almost empty bottle at Daman’s side would see to that.

  “Hello, Daman.”

  “Who’s there?” The man sat stiffly in his chair.

  Marek sat across the table from Daman, twirling a small dagger in his fingers as if it were a mere child’s toy. The dim candlelight cast shadows around the small room, enlarging the dagger’s size as he played with it.

  “Are you here to kill me, Marek?” Daman took a swig from the bottle, leaving his full cup on the table.

  “Aye,” Marek replied. He took the cup for himself and downed it in one gulp. He set it back in its place.

  “Killing me won’t get her back, you know. She doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

  “You made a promise to me, Daman. A man is only as good as his word.” Daman wouldn’t be able to swindle his way out of this lie. Not this time.

  “I promised that no harm would come to her and that she would be taken care of. She has clothes, food… shelter. Just not from me.”

  “Then from who?”

  “She hasn’t told you?” Daman couldn’t contain his pleasure, as loud belly laugh echoed from wall to wall of the shack.

  “You try my patience, Daman.”

  “I know you, boy.” Daman leaned close to the table and whispered, as if sharing a secret with an old friend. “You are going to kill me anyway. I know your kind. Murdering is all you know. I could have paid you well. You should have accepted my offer all those years ago. You would be a wealthy man now.” Daman’s hand shook as he lifted the bottle one last time to his seemingly parched lips. “Let us hurry and get this over with.”

  Marek shook his head in disappointment. There would be no answers tonight. Daman had no conscience; it was futile to try to convince him otherwise. “You swore, Daman, on your own life. Never swear on your own life.” Marek rose to his feet and drove his dagger clean through Daman’s neck.

  Daman’s eyes popped open wide as he gurgled and gasped for a breath that wouldn’t come. His hands reached for his neck, seeking the wound but not finding it. His eyes flittered to the center just before rolling behind heavy lids. He fell dead to the floor.

  Marek sniffed and wiped a bit of spla
tter from his cheek then left the shack as silently as he had entered it.

  ~~~~

  “Are you feeling better, love?” Abby felt Brynn’s cheek with her palm.

  “I’m fine. The bread helped. I just wish the two of you I am seeing would become one again.”

  Abby stifled a giggle. “You love the man but won’t allow yourself to have him. I understand your reasoning, but it hurts to watch you suffer so.” Abby caressed Brynn’s cheek as a mother would a child.

  “Do not fret for me, Abby.”

  The women made small talk as they walked back to Daman’s, relieved that soon things would return to normal. Brynn could only hope that Westmore wouldn’t here of Marek. Pulling her shawl tight, she squinted, trying to focus in the dark. A slender shadow bolted toward them, running as if being chased — running for their life. “Is that…?”

  “Aye, Rina!” Abby called out, recognizing the figure. “Whatever is the matter?”

  The girl slowed to readjust the full satchel she carried. “’Tis a miracle, Abby.” The girl’s cheeks were damp from tears. “We are free. Finally free!”

  Brynn didn’t understand.

  “You must hurry, they are taking everything!”

  What is happening, Rina?”

  “He is dead! The bastard is dead! Someone finally finished the old man off!” Rina laughed, kissed her friends goodbye, and disappeared beneath the cover of darkness.

  Abby and Brynn looked at each other in awe before picking up their skirts and sprinting the short distance to Daman’s home. They arrived to a scene of chaos. Women were cheering, chanting, and looting everything. Several men were enjoying the festivities as well, grabbing sacks of grain, clothing, anything they could carry. Brynn dodged being pummeled to the ground by someone scurrying through the exit as she tried to enter the shack. There in the corner, still oozing on the floor, was Daman’s body. A dagger protruded from his neck.

  “No!” She gasped, clutching Abby’s shoulder for support. This couldn’t be happening. Not now.

  “Daman is dead! The son of a bitch is dead! Just like that!” She clapped her hands in delight. “Dead, dead, dead!”

  “Do you know what this means?”

  “Aye, it means every single one of us can finally go!” Tears freely dripped from Abby’s eyes.

  “No… not all of us.” Brynn shook her head. “No!” Daman’s death meant she was out of work. There would be no more tavern pay and no reason to work fields that no longer had a proprietor. He would surely take her now. Lord Westmore would come to collect his belongings with the caretaker now lying in a pool of his own blood. “What shall I do?”

  “Run. Come, let us get our things before they are taken as well, and you must leave this place.”

  “No, Abby, I cannot run. If someone were to see me, see his mark on my skin, I would be turned in, and… I will return to the tavern. I will beg Godric to give me shelter. Perhaps he will let me stay. You must go, Abby. This is your chance. Take your things and never look back. I will give you what coin I have. It should buy you safe passage back to Engel.”

  “Sweet child. I am an old woman now, and I am no longer Engel. That life ended a very long time ago. I will stay with you, whatever your choice may be.”

  Brynn wrapped her arms around her dear friend. “Please promise me if something should happen to me, please… leave this place.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you. Now, let us go below before this pitiful place falls down around us.”

  The women rushed to the room that felt so much like a prison, only to still be imprisoned by their freedom. Brynn had to wrestle her precious books from a looter, but managed to find her extra clothes and blankets in the madness. Brynn and Abby grabbed what they could from what others had left behind; the linens and clothing would prove useful.

  The sun had risen from its nightly slumber when Abby and Brynn trudged through the tavern door with their possessions. Thankfully, Allina had found other sleeping arrangements for the night, and the women were able to rest in the loft before seeking out Godric to inform him of his brother’s death.

  “We were hoping you would be willing to offer us shelter in return for continued service.” Abby smiled at the surly tavern owner. “You have always been more than kind to us. With Daman dead — may he rest in peace — Lord Westmore may offer you some form of compensation for looking after his… property.”

  It was an appealing offer, despite how it hurt Brynn to hear it. “I have brought you a considerable amount of extra income. It would be a shame to lose such an amount so suddenly.”

  The man stood as stone-faced as ever, his scowl deepening.

  “Please, Godric. You need us just as we need you. Come afternoon, your workers will be gone. Please.” Brynn made a heavy argument. Without them, Godric’s business would surely suffer.

  Godric scratched his head and released a heavy sigh. “Fine. You both can have the loft.”

  “What are they still doing here? I heard you ran for the hills and Daman was dead!” Allina entered from the back door and headed toward the loft entrance, holding a tear in her chemise together with a relaxed fist.

  “Allina, the loft is no longer yours. Find another place to whore yourself. You do not make me enough coin — it now belongs to Brynn.”

  Allina stopped mid-stride. She paused, clenching her free fist by her side. Facing Brynn, she hissed out a warning. “You will pay for this, you conniving little bitch. In the worst of ways, I will make you pay. You will be sorry you ever stepped foot in this place. You will beg for your own death!” Allina stormed from the tavern, screaming hateful words.

  ~~~~

  In a lavish study, Lord Westmore mulled over various unrolled documents, silently arguing with himself over surrounding territories he had yet to conquer. He bent over a large polished desk, his palms askew on opposite sides of a map. The bright glow from several large candles sent shadows spewing over the desk and on to the painted walls, and they danced together in the corners, creating the illusion of company. A knock behind the closed door snapped his attention elsewhere.

  A guard appeared, poking his head through an opened door. “My Lord, there is a woman here to see you. She says she must speak with you most urgently about a matter I am sure you shall find rather interesting.”

  “Send her in.”

  The guard bowed slightly and exited the room. Moments later he returned with a female in tow. “The woman, my lord.”

  “Who are you and what could you possibly know that would interest me in the slightest?” Westmore continued to study the maps splayed out on the desk before him.

  “I am Allina, my lord, your humble servant. I work in Godric’s tavern. His brother, Daman, was recently murdered. Daman was the caretaker of a certain piece of your property, and now that he is dead, I have knowledge that your slave’s lover is planning to steal her away. Why, just last eve I saw the two of them wrapped in an embrace, plotting Daman’s death and planning their escape.”

  His lip twitched ever so slightly. “Lover, you say?”

  “Aye, my lord. A most… intimate one.”

  “I must admit, you have me rather intrigued. I have never met a man who has dared defy me.” He tilted his eyes from his map to the woman’s face.

  “He pursues her freely, my lord.”

  “You seem rather eager to tell me this, woman. Tell me, what is it you are looking for? Money? A reward for being an informant?”

  “Nay, no reward, my lord. Just the satisfaction of seeing her dead.”

  ~~~~

  “Brynn, there is a certain someone waiting for you. How long must you make him wait?”

  “Forever, I’m afraid.” A small frown puckered her lips.

  “Brynn,” clucked Abby.

  “I’m sorry for my foul mood, Abby, but with Daman dead, I fear Lord Westmore will march through that door at any moment and take me away from you.”

  “Just go to him. No one is here to see.”

 
“I will go, if only to end your incessant nagging.” Brynn untied her apron, placed it on the table, and wandered into the bar area to find Marek. She spotted him immediately, seated with his brothers. As if sensing her presence in the room, he glanced in her direction, As Brynn shuffled toward the back door, Marek rose to follow.

  Within moments she was in an embrace — warm and safe and his. He kissed her soft but deep, eager to taste every part of her. Brynn placed a palm to his chest. Already a fire burned within it.

  Cradling her body close to his, he held her in one trembling arm while his other fiddled with his belt.

  “Marek.” She pushed against him, throwing the tiniest bit of effort in with her threat. She hesitated.

  “You have tried my patience long enough.” He growled as if a playful puppy, teasing her with kisses along the soft curves of her collarbone.

  With each touch, it grew more difficult to push him away or refuse his advances. She turned from his kiss, only to have him suckle the tip of her earlobe, sending her careening toward sweet, sinful actions. When he hoisted her skirts and took her possessively about the waist, her body won the battle against good reasoning and rationality.

  With a familiar ease, he lifted her against the wall and braced her with his hips while unlatching his belt from the ever-growing restriction of his trousers. She wrapped her legs around his waist and reached for him, feeling his pulsing hardness against her, drawing his frame in close to hers to stroke the sides of his face. He adjusted her to slide into the moistness eagerly awaiting him.

  Sighing in delight, Brynn clung to him as he sampled the curve of her neck, nipping at her pulse. She threaded her fingers around his neck to pull him to her breast, silently begging for more. She matched his rhythm and nearly reached her peak when his tongue brushed along the delicate shell of her ear, sending her into a sweet distraction.

  “Don’t resist it, love,” he muttered. “Take your pleasure.”

  She let out a soft moan as his mouth found a hardened nipple and rolled his tongue against it. A heartbeat later, Brynn lost all control. Her thighs tightened against his hips, her back arched against the coarse stone holding her secure in a lover’s embrace, and a gushing wave of exquisite warmth crashed full force along the edges of her being. She cried out his name, and he covered her lips with his, silencing her.