by Kim Bowman
Marek tightened his grip on her bare buttocks, seeking his own release. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, biting the exposed skin there to keep from shouting out as his body shuddered beneath her, spilling his seed into the warmth of her womanhood.
The moments before Brynn was able to speak seemed like a lifetime, and even longer before she found the courage to look in her lover’s eyes. By the gods, she was in love with this man. So truly in love with him and the reason why she must tell him to leave — to keep them both alive. Hot tears welled below a thick layer of lashes. A slight fluttering of her eyelids sent them tumbling down her flushed cheeks. How the gods tortured her so. The man of her dreams had just given her the sweetest of all pleasures, and she couldn’t even relish in it.
His thumb gently wiped the tears from her skin. “My love, why do you cry?” Marek returned her to the ground, fixing her skirts along the way, and planting a tender kiss atop the golden head. She nestled against his chest.
“Tears of joy, is all,” she said, trying to steady her voice.
“Liar.” A boyish smirk revealed his playful mood as he pushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. “We must teach our babes to be better liars than their mother, or there will be no saving them.” He latched his belt and laughed to himself, his thoughts seemingly lost in future memories.
Brynn choked back a heavy sob and covered her mouth with her palm, forcing the cry to stay concealed. His words were complete torture to her ears. “I must go.” She turned to leave.
“Brynn, wait. Please don’t go.” He snagged her wrist as she turned, twirling her frame about to face him. “Don’t go back in there. Come with me. Let us leave, right now.”
“You know not what you ask of me,” she whispered, trying not to meet his gaze lest she agree to the one thing she wanted most in life. That hadn’t been the answer he had been expecting from her. She could tell by the confused look contorting his face.
He took her hands in his. “Come with me. We will leave this very night and no one will be the wiser. By morning’s light, we’ll be halfway to the horizon. We will find a place to live out our days and grow old… together.”
“You would give up everything… for me? Your travels, your quest to hunt down those who have wronged the Archaean people? Your brother — your men?” How could she convince him they could never be, that this was for the best? “You would give up your pursuit to kill Lord Westmore?”
“Everything. All I want is to give my life only to you.”
Brynn hung her head to hide her grief.
“I don’t understand,” he growled. “Do you not want to be with me? Have you not longed to be free of this place? Of this mess I put you in?”
“More than anything.”
“Then what troubles you? I cannot look at you. I cannot touch you for fear of someone will see. I cannot make amends with you — you will not allow it. Do you not understand what I have done for you? What I will give up for you?”
“Once again you have condemned me, that is what you have done! Daman is dead and now I have no protection!” Brynn dug her nails into the fleshy part of her palms, trying to keep her mouth from running away from her.
“I am your protection! There will be no escape for you — I’m your last chance! I realize you are afraid. I see it in your eyes, but you do not know what you are saying. If I leave, I will not be returning. My people need me. We cannot be together here, so you must come with me.”
Brynn didn’t look at him in hopes he couldn’t see how painful the words were.
“You don’t want to escape, is that it? Do you like it here — being a tavern wench for men to wank off to? What is keeping you here?”
“I cannot leave, not now, not ever! I cannot leave Abby here to fend for herself. The gods protect her should they find out I’m missing. I couldn’t put a burden like that on her. They know she is my closest, dearest friend, and they would do… just unthinkable things to her to get to me!”
“Then we shall bring her.” He shrugged, as if that was all it took to solve the conflict between them. “Brynn, look at me. Look at me.” He placed his palm to her cheek, and she pressed it close with her own.
“Please forgive me. If this resisting is because of what I have done, please don’t think that I haven’t suffered dearly. I’m a broken man, Brynn, and I need you to forgive me. I know what I did to you was wrong, but I didn’t mean to hurt you so. I had to do it. No — I made myself do it. It hurt so much to hurt you, but things were different then. I am a man of honor, and I could not go against all I had fought for. I cannot live this life without you by my side, Brynn. I need you with me to survive, to be whole once again. Take what is left of this man, and come with me. Just choose to — ’tis that simple.”
Her entire world was crashing down around her, and she could do nothing but weep. She suddenly found herself in the sick depths of hell. More than anything she had wanted to hear those words from him, and now, standing before her, he was spouting such beautifully poetic words she couldn’t bear to hear. She could only shake her head while she cried, dampening the seam of her chemise and replacing the lingering trace of his kisses with bitter tears.
“Please forgive me, Marek. Heed my words — I cannot be the cause of your death, and you will surely die if I leave here with you. You must leave this place alone. Someday you will forget me.”
She looked up at him then, measuring the anger in his eyes. “Don’t let your duty and honor cloud your judgment. There is no debt to settle. I know where your heart lies, and it is not with me. You will forever yearn for battle, to raise your sword and fight. And although I would give anything just to know you love me, I know you never will… not like you do the destiny you were born for. You are a great Archaean warrior, and it is your duty to fulfill that. Without you in this world, there will be no one left to fight for your people.”
Marek opened his mouth in protest, but she continued before he could speak. His face grew red at each passing word, but he would listen. She would make him. Brynn placed a palm to his cheek. “I will sleep just to dream of you. My waking moments will be for you, and if I die, know my last thoughts were of you.”
“But you are mine!” His hands gripped her shoulders and shook her, as if trying to wake her from a terrible dream. “You will come with me, whether you like it or not. I know what is best, and this is not it!”
“No!” she snapped, pushing herself from his burning touch. “You had your chance, and you rid yourself of me! You gave up all your rights the night you left me to rot in Daman’s prison! I belong to Westmore now!” The words slipped off her tongue before she realized what she was saying. Words breathed out of anger and spite, and now he would know the truth she never meant for him to learn.
Brynn watched raw unbridled emotion flood through his body. Shock. Pure terror.
Hate.
Panic.
Grabbing for her in a chaotic frenzy he took hold of her and jerked up her sleeves. There, in black ink was the brand of Westmore. He dropped her arms as if they were poison.
“He was going to kill me if I did not yield to him,” she told Marek, tugging down the fabric.
“I would rather see you dead than in the arms of another man, especially him!” Marek brought up his fists, pounding them against his forehead.
“You left me, what was I supposed to do? I hoped there was still a chance we would cross paths again, so I kept myself alive!” She placed her palm to his chest, but he backed away.
Numbly, she withdrew her hand.
“And here I am, standing before you, and you still will not go!”
“He will kill you, Marek! He will hunt us down no matter where we go, and he will kill us both. He will never let me go. His men watch my every step. I’m never far from some Engel brute ready to step in and crack a man’s skull if he should look at me wrong. You left me by myself, Marek. All alone in your country. It is not as if I chose this! We can never be together while that man is alive
.”
“And does that pain you so, being protected by an Engel?”
“Do not speak to me of pain! I died the day you left me!” The words spat from her lips like lighting crashing to the ground. The day he had left her, she’d shattered like broken glass, each little piece splintering in her soul, left to fester.
“There are worse fates than death, Brynn.”
She belonged to another man now, his worst enemy. She tried to spare his life the only way she knew how, but he was dead already. “A life in hiding is no life at all, Marek. We both know this. Do not come back for me.” She turned, unable to withstand the hurt in his eyes.
Marek stumbled from her, finding his way to the corner of the alley and disappeared into the night.
Brynn stood in the alley for moments on end before she allowed herself to accept that she was alone. Marek was gone. He was safe now. She could only hope he would ride from the Crossroads never to return. They would never live in peace for fear Westmore would find them at any moment. That was no life to live. She could at least spare him the pain now before…
She couldn’t bear to finish the thought. Instead, she returned to the shadows of the tavern to cry herself to sleep.
Chapter Twenty
Saviour
Brynn awoke with a start, sitting up in the small bed she shared with Abby.
“Whatever is the matter, child?” Abby yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She pushed open the shutters — just barely sunrise.
“I thought I heard something below.” The eerie feeling growing in her stomach made her feel ill at ease, and its lingering effects didn’t sit well. “It gave me a fright.”
“‘Tis probably just Godric readying for the day. No need to worry yourself.”
Abby lowered her head to her pillow and continued to rest her eyes, but Brynn was unable to settle herself. She had dreamed a terrible dream of ravens and it still haunted her, fresh in her thoughts.
Her heart fluttered, as if a new bird taken to flight. Perhaps it was Marek, returning for her, but all hopes of being rescued were quickly stamped out when the door to the loft burst open and three soldiers from Lord Westmore’s army rushed at her and forced her to the floor. She crumbled beneath their strength.
Brynn could hear Abby’s screams and pleas and wanted desperately to calm her, to reassure her everything would be all right, but she couldn’t get the words out. When she didn’t rise quickly enough, another man yanked her to her feet and thrust her toward the stairs.
Brynn just barely caught the edging on the floor, saving herself from tumbling down the steep stairwell while the men trudged behind her. Her arms were forced behind her back while another checked for the branding mark.
“This is the one.” The tall one laughed, bringing his palm to her breast and squeezing it between his fingers, roughly rubbing a thumb over the nub under her chemise. “I can see why he is upset.”
Brynn bit his arm, unable to defend herself in any other manner.
The tall man scowled, backhanded her, then ripped the ties to the front of her chemise open, exposing flesh to his greedy eyes.
“We have not the time, Bruce. We must deliver her to the square at once.”
“I shall be quick.” Bruce sneered, tracing her collarbone.
“Later,” the other replied. “We will all have our turn.”
“I will be all right,” she mouthed to Abby as Brynn was towed from the tavern.
A large crowd gathered in the square at her arrival. Lord Westmore stood tall and regal against the others — very much Engel in his features against a sea of Archaean heads — as he addressed the people.
The soldiers brought her to him, using her body to push a path through the gathering of townspeople. “Do you all see this?” Westmore asked in Archaean while fingering the torn fabric of her chemise. “This is my property.” He held up Brynn’s arm so that her brand was exposed. “My brand claims her, which means she belongs to me and only me. Someone… has spoiled my property!”
Brynn gasped. Her life had come to an end.
~~~~
They were to head out before daybreak, but Marek had drunken himself into such a stupor that Ronan had been unable to wake him. When the effects of the drink finally wore off, they hustled to pack their gear and head into town to purchase a few supplies before moving on to regroup and plan. The blacksmith’s shop was their last stop. Ronan tapped his brother’s shoulder before entering. Marek paused at the threshold, curious as to what commotion lay just beyond the marketplace at the square.
“Perhaps it is another damsel in distress.” Gavin let out a chuckle before Marek’s fist found its way to the center of his belly.
Marek continued his way into the shop, not interested in the gathering. His head pounded to the beat of a silent drum, his very being was crushed to the core, and he wanted nothing more than to leave the cursed place.
“Let us have a look, shall we, lads? Oh, I do love a good hanging.” A morbid glint lit up Gavin’s eyes.
“The gods damn you, Gavin,” Marek cursed, reluctantly following his men into the crowd. As he reached his men near the middle of the crowd, Roman thrust out his arm, blocking Marek from proceeding further.
“What?” growled Marek, pushing against Ronan.
“You won’t like what you see, brother. I give you fair warning.”
Marek elbowed himself to a viewing point. There before him under a tree was his Brynn, battered and bleeding, her head lowered in defeat as Lord Westmore confronted the crowd.
“Someone… has spoiled my property!” Lord Westmore accused. “And I want to know who dares to defy my ruling!”
“No, my lord! You have been misinformed! No one has touched your property, no one!”
Westmore paused, searching the crowd. There were no confessors, only confused faces searching for the guilty. He nodded to the soldier at his side and caught the long rope the man tossed to him, swung one end over a low branch, and slipped the other end — a noose — over Brynn’s head. “Very well,” he calmly told his audience, “she will die instead.” With one swift pull, Brynn was on the tips of her toes, clawing at the rope tightening around her neck.
Marek lunged forward, only to be restrained by his men. He tore at their grasps, fighting every step of the way as they dragged him into the depths of the crowd. His roars went unanswered as the cheers from the townspeople smothered any hope of his cries reaching her precious ears.
“No, Marek, it is too dangerous. We are greatly outnumbered here!” Ronan used all his strength to keep his frantic brother away from the girl.
“That Engel is going to kill her for my deeds, and she will let him, the stupid girl she is! Let me pass!”
“Marek!” Gavin shouted. “Listen!”
From the crowd there came a voice — a steady, unfaltering confession of guilt. “Please do not harm her, my lord. ’Tis I who have betrayed you and touched her against her will. My lust for her has taken over my mind, and I cannot deny it any longer.”
“Owen, no!” Brynn sputtered against the rope. “He lies, my lord! There has been no man! He only tries to protect me. Do not believe him.”
Marek watched the interaction between the two in horror. Owen stared at Brynn, searching her eyes for some sign of hope. A sign she had loved him just as much as he loved her. Only Marek saw a different love — the love that belonged to him alone — the one who couldn’t save her now. Brynn’s life rested in the hands of another. Owen wouldn’t let her die.
Westmore paused between the two accused. With the flick of a finger, two soldiers were upon the Archaean, taking the noose from Brynn’s neck and securing it around Owen’s.
He did not struggle.
With a swift jerk, Owen’s feet were dangling above the ground, left to die a slow and agonizing death in front of the woman he sought to protect.
“No!” Brynn sobbed, uselessly beating the chest of the soldier confining her. In desperation, she searched the crowds, seeking absolution
for her friend. Her eyes fluttered over faces, searching to no avail.
“Aiden,” Marek sighed, watching the man hanging in the tree struggle. He took his brother-in-arms by the shirt collar and muttered low in his ear, “Strike fast. Strike true.” He knew what must be done. Aiden was, by far, the best bow in the Archaean highlands, and if one were to want their life ended, an arrow to the heart would be the swiftest way to die. Marek had some compassion in his heart for the man; Owen had protected his woman when he didn’t. He owed Owen a swift death, at least. There was nothing more he could offer. Engel soldiers guarded every corner.
Aiden darted to the outcropping of buildings beside the crowd. Bursting through the front door of the closest building, he removed a single arrow from his quiver and nocked it in his bow. He bound up the stairs two at a time to find an open window facing the makeshift gallows. Squaring himself with the window, Aiden drew his bow, bringing the bowstring level to the corner of his mouth, steady and focused.
He took a breath and held it, aimed, then released the arrow.
It struck true, piercing Owen’s heart. The target went limp, and his struggle ceased, confirming death. As silently as he had entered, Aiden ducked out of sight and escaped into the shadows of a back alley.
~~~~
Owen was dead. Her sweet, dear friend had given his life for hers, all for naught. Marek was gone, Owen’s death being the proof. She stood and watched in a clouded daze as the crowd dissipated in all directions, taking Owen’s body away with it.
And then all was quiet.
Chapter Twenty-one
Reborn
Brynn wiped her brow with the corner of her apron, dabbing at the fine beads of sweat gathered there. Her stomach churned, tying itself into twisted knots, and she covered the pang with her palm. For days on end, she hadn’t been well. A sickness had found its way inside her body and wouldn’t offer respite. Perhaps it was her undying grief eating away at her insides and finally working itself to the surface. Maybe if it wretched itself from her body she might know a bit of relief.