by Kim Bowman
“Brynn, behind you!”
She turned in time to see the guard reach for her, dagger still protruding from his neck. Tumbling backward, she avoided most of his assault, but his elbow caught her shoulder, sending her spinning to the floor.
Marek managed to swing his legs enough to wrap his thighs around the guard’s neck and pin him. The more than man struggled, the tighter Marek squeezed. “Brynn, climb.”
She hesitated, not fully understanding. “You mean climb the guard?”
“Yes, Brynn, just like you would a tree.” Marek locked his ankles together, trapping the Engel.
“We both know I am no good with trees, Marek.” Placing the key ring between her teeth, Brynn hiked her gown and placed her foot on the man’s thigh then grabbed his chest armor, pulling herself upward, finally high enough to reach the locks. The first key she tried wasn’t a match. She tried the second. No luck.
Marek grunted as the man shook beneath him. “A bit faster, Brynn.” Smoke seeped between the wooden slats, filling the air around them. A steady heat bore down on them from above.
“I’m going as fast as I can. I’ve been mostly dead all day,” she chided, trying the third key. The lock clicked and the iron ring released Marek’s wrist. He grasped the loose chain to keep his balance. Using the same key, Brynn unlocked the other cuff. The three of them tumbled to the floor in a heap.
Marek scuffled with the guard but managed to grip the dagger. He pulled it free for only a moment before readjusting its position, this time through the Engel’s vertebrae, finishing him.
Brynn collapsed, clutching her middle.
Crawling to Brynn’s side, Marek lay beside her. “Am I in hell?”
“I would hope not,” she wheezed.
His palm hovered above her, hesitating.
Brynn grasped his hand, bringing it to her heart. “Feel how it beats.”
“I don’t know what sort of trickery this is, but you are alive.” Marek took her in his arms, pulling her close. “You are alive.” He kissed her lips, her eyes, her cheeks with a fervid purpose.
“Aye.” She glanced up at him, her smile weak. “But not for long, I fear.” Marek shifted his gaze to the patch of red under Brynn’s palm. Her stitches had torn through. “Do not fret for me.”
Rolling to her side, Marek let out a cynical laugh. “What a sordid pair we make, wife. Look at us. You were dead, but have risen to rescue me, only to be trapped in a fire together.” Taking in a smoke-filled breath, he found the strength to rise. “I believe it’s time we leave this place. There is no need to die twice.” Kneeling beside her, he lifted Brynn to his chest. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in the crook of his neck, content to breathe in his scent. “Westmore,” she whispered. “We must find him before the potion fades.”
“And why is that?” he questioned, leaving the cell and heading to the stairs.
“He must die for me to live.” Her voice hitched and she coughed. A spurt of blood splattered against Marek’s skin, mixing with his sweat. “The longer he lives, the sooner I die. When he is dead, the spell will be complete, and my wounds healed.”
~~~~
Reaching the main stairwell, Marek wrenched open the door with a great urgency. Thick, black smoke gushed into the corridor, clouding his vision. He turned, shutting the door with his hip. “The fire has reached the exit,” he told Brynn. Searching each cell, he looked for another way out.
Instead, he found a ladder and a few pieces of a broken sword in an abandoned cell. After returning Brynn to her feet, he placed the ladder against a wall and climbed it, testing the damaged ceiling for heat. Finding it cool, he rammed the jagged blade against the wood. It splintered but not enough to break it. Marek rotated the sword and assaulted the barricade with the hilt. Letting out a fierce scream, he thrust his shoulder against it, cracking the board. He hacked at the pieces with the blade. Marek managed to create a hole large enough to fit his fist through by pulling at the edge of the boards until he could squeeze through the hole.
The splinters grated his skin as he wiggled his way to freedom. “All right, your turn,” he told Brynn, reaching his arm back through the hole.
She scaled the ladder, taking his hand. Marek pulled her through the opening. Fire roared above them, rippling from beam to beam, consuming anything within reach. Marek lifted Brynn in his arms before working his way to the front of the stronghold. Dodging a piece of burning wood as it fell from above, he ducked into an alcove to catch his breath.
“Which way, love?” he panted, wiping his brow on his arm.
“The main hall is through one of those corridors,” she told him, pointing him in the right direction. “We must find him soon.”
Braving the smoke and fire once more, Marek worked his way over the falling rubble. Choosing the first corridor he saw, he jetted through the exit, freeing them from the fire. “We are almost out, love,” he muttered, planting a kiss to her forehead.
Rounding a corner, Marek nearly tottered to the floor as he unexpectedly collided with Westmore.
The Engel drew his sword, circling the pair. Confusion settled in his brow. “Well, if it is not my whore and her mongrel. You… are supposed to be dead. My men killed you… they saw you die.”
Marek lowered Brynn to her feet.
“You are the third raven, Westmore. It is you who must die,” she said.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Westmore spoke through his gritted teeth.
Marek pulled Brynn behind him, positioning himself between her and Westmore. “Brynn, you need to leave now. Let me do what needs to be done.”
“But you do not have—”
“Now, Brynn.” Marek circled the Engel in a twisted battle dance.
Hiking up her skirts, Brynn found the strength to leave. She clutched her middle as she staggered down the corridor.
“Are we dead, Archaean?” Westmore surveyed his surroundings.
“Not yet,” answered Marek.
“Then how is it she lives?”
“That is for the gods to answer.”
“It looks as though you are sadly unarmed, Archaean.” Westmore swung wide, testing Marek.
“Looks that way,” Marek replied, dodging the swing. “I don’t suppose you will throw down your blade and fight me like a man, Engel?”
Westmore shook his head.
“You Engels never could fight fair.”
“What fun is there in fair?” Taking a long stride forward, Westmore stabbed his sword frontward, following the movement with a blow meant to strike.
Marek leaped out of the way, spiraling around the Engel. Seizing the opportunity, Marek shoved his foot between Westmore’s legs, tripping him. Balling his fist, Marek planted a solid blow to the Engel’s jaw.
Westmore swung wildly, the tip of his sword connecting with Marek’s chest. “Another mark to add to your list of injuries, Archaean, if only to help you bleed a bit quicker.”
“I will fight you until the very last drop is shed, Westmore.”
“Then I fear this battle will not last very long.”
“Then drop your sword and best me as a man, not some sniveling Engel that needs to hide behind a blade.” Marek held up his fists, planting his feet.
“Very well, Archaean.” Westmore tossed his sword to the side and removed his overcoat. He circled Marek then stepped to the side, delivering a punch to Marek’s ribs.
Marek hunched forward. His body near submission, his recovery was slow. Westmore delivered two more strikes before Marek could retaliate.
The Engel backed away, emitting a sinister laugh. He held out his arms gesturing toward the burning embers and blood splatters. “All this… for a woman?”
“My woman. She is my constant, the reason my heart beats. I will die to protect her. Without her, I am nothing.” Marek charged Westmore, locking his arm around the Engel’s neck. They scuffled, each trying to best the other in a never-ending battle of blows.
Westmore freed himself
from the grappling and took a step back, sucking in a breath. “You are never going to best me, Archaean. Give up now, and I promise you a swift death.”
“I must kill you, Westmore.” Marek wiped the sweat from his eyes. “Her life depends on it.”
“She is already dead! They killed her in the forest!” the Engel argued. “Three arrows, Archaean — you were there! That thing cannot be mortal!”
“We shall end this now.”
Westmore bent over his sword, picking it up. “Well, seeing as I’m the only one with a weapon… let us get this over with, shall we? I’ve become rather bored.”
Marek dodged Westmore’s assault using what he could to defend himself — pieces of broken timber, hanging tapestries, and the occasional wall torch. Without a weapon, he stood little chance of becoming the victor. Making the decision to rid Westmore of his sword, Marek charged him, intending to knock him to the ground. Instead, his face met with the pommel of Westmore’s sword, sending him careening to the floor.
Westmore tossed his head back in a wicked laugh. “That was too easy, Archaean! What a delight it will be to watch the life leave your eyes.” The Engel raised his sword high, ready to plunge it into Marek’s chest.
“I will see you in hell.” Marek said.
Westmore took a breath, gripped the hilt of his sword, and plunged. His death blow came to an abrupt halt inches from Marek’s heart. Eyes wide, they traveled to his chest, and to the bloodied blade protruding from it.
From behind, Brynn released her grip on the sword.
Westmore floundered from his stance over Marek, lurching violently against the corridor wall. A sickening gurgle caught in his throat as he slid to the floor, leaving a blood smear on the gray stone as he fell, dead.
Marek let out a long breath and chuckled, which developed into a full belly laugh.
“Are you all right?” Brynn towered over him.
He smiled up at her. “I thought that was it… that I was going to die. You, my love, are my angel. My savior.”
From the end of the corridor, battle cries cut through the heat of the fire. Gavin and Ronan charged, swords fully drawn. When they reached the scene, their attack slowed, morphing into visible disappointment. Gavin turned to the body of Westmore, nudging it with his boot. After casting his sword to the floor, he threw his hands up in disgust. “I missed it? What the hell, Marek?”
“The spell is complete.” Brynn smiled at Marek, surveying her wounds. “It is finished. We did it.”
Marek rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around his wife. “No, you did it. You succeeded where I could not. You returned for me.”
“I will always come for you,” she told him, tightening her grip on him.
Pushing a lock of matted hair behind her ear, he kissed her, full and unyielding. “Let us go home, aye?” he told her, his breath hot on her skin. “I have a lot of making up to do.”
Epilogue
Marek pulled the wagon to a stop just over the crest of the gentle slope of a hill. Below, nestled quietly in the valley, his family awaited his return. His heart raced at the simple thought of holding them again. His horses grazed in the meadow, lush and green from the summer rain. Nearby, the frame of an unfinished house stood tall against the tree line. He was home.
Beside him, Gavin trotted next to the wagon, peering below. “This is yours?”
Marek nodded.
“Och. What a right proper homesteader you are, Marek!” Gavin laughed. “And is that monstrous beast of wood the project you enlisted our services for?”
“Aye, need it finished before the winter.”
“Ambitious, Marek?” Ronan snickered, joining his brother.
“Do not complain, brother, for when it’s finished, you and your brood get the croft.”
“Truly?” asked Ronan’s wife, Ireni, from the back of the wagon.
“Aye. Your lads are big enough to help now, and they will stay out of trouble here in Dunlogh with me putting them to work.”
Ronan couldn’t hide his astonishment. “Thank you. You are too kind.”
“You are welcome.” Marek clicked at the horses and flicked the reigns.
The sweet sounds of giggles wafted on the breeze, greeting him at the top of the drive. Three golden-haired children chased after a hound, running barefoot through the grass.
The smallest, a little girl with rosy cheeks and curls bouncing with each step, beamed a smile when she saw him. “Da!” she shrieked with delight, leaving her two older brothers to race to the wagon. Marek had barely descended from the bench seat when she leaped into his arms, placing her tiny little hands on his cheeks. She planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I missed you so much!”
Wrapping his arms around her frame, Marek twirled her in a long hug. “Oh, my little Brienne, I missed you more than anything.”
“More than Mum?” she remarked, coy and cute.
Marek laughed. “Almost. Did you terrorize your brothers like I told you to?”
“Excessively so.” A devilish grin curled one side of her perfect little mouth.
“That’s my girl. Brienne, say hello to your Uncle Ronan, your Aunt Ireni, and your cousins, Phinn and Cameron.” Marek gave her one more squeeze before returning her to her feet. Gavin cleared his throat. “And your uncle, Gavin,” Marek added.
Brienne bowed her head in greeting. “Welcome.” She flashed a wide smile before whirling in the opposite direction and racing away, giggling.
“Sharp as a whip, that one, and her tongue even sharper.” Marek laughed. “The gods help me when the courters come calling. Takes after her ma, I suppose. Lads!” he called to his boys, beckoning them to his side. The two boys dropped their wooden swords and jogged over to their father. Marek ruffled Talon’s hair. “Swords are more important than greeting your da now?”
“Sorry, Da. I was winning,” Talon replied.
“Talon, Owen, show your cousins to their room and take some bags with you.”
“Hello, Da,” said Owen, giving his father a slight hug.
Talon hoisted himself into the back of the wagon, grabbing a bag with each hand. “You could help, you know.” Talon glared at Gavin, who leaned on the wooden rail, watching.
“I will duel you with that little twig you call a sword and loser empties the wagon. Deal?” Gavin offered.
“Deal.”
“You had better be careful, Gavin, Talon is a mighty fine swordsman. Where is your mum?” asked Marek, scanning the grounds for Brynn.
“She is resting in her room. Want me to fetch her for you?”
“No, I shall find her. You best beat your uncle or you have a lot of work in your future.” The back of the wagon was loaded down with Ronan’s household goods. Marek left the two to argue over who was better with a sword, heading toward the croft at a quickened pace.
Familiar sounds and smells greeted him as he opened the door. Freshly baked bread cooled next to the hearth, and his stomach growled just looking at it. Fresh flowers in delicate vases lined the windows, and Brienne’s doll lay on the dining table — turned operating table — with a freshly stitched arm and a tiny bandage wrapped around its threadbare head. How he’d missed the womanly touches during his absence.
As he rounded the corner to the back bedroom, her scent flooded his nostrils, consuming his thoughts. Sweet like honey with a lingering hint of her precious milled soap. Marek kicked off his boots, not bothering to unbuckle them. Grasping his tunic by the neckline, he tugged it over his head and discarded it to the floorboards as he walked. Pulling back the corner of the light linen covering her frame, Marek slipped into the bed and curled up next to his wife.
Brynn stirred, stretching beneath his warmth. She sighed, nuzzling her backside against him. “Do I dream?”
“No, love, I am home, and eager to taste your sweetness on my lips.” He brushed away her hair with the tip of his finger, exposing her neck. Placing a gentle kiss on her skin, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer to him. His pa
lm traced the curves of her hip and down her thigh until he found the hem of her chemise. He slid his hand beneath it. Her skin was silk beneath his callused fingers, and he molded it to fit in his palms, kneading it with his fingers, eager to sample it with his tongue. He gravitated toward her middle, taking his time to trace every curve, every line. When he cupped her belly, he slowed his exploration of her. “What is this?” he murmured, caressing the fullness of the new life within her.
Brynn rolled to face him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed his slackened mouth. “You left before I was sure the seed had taken. You have been gone many months, husband.”
“Mmm.” He pouted. “My apologies for being gone so long. It took forever to track Gavin down. We found him losing a game of dice in a pub, and he was about to be pummeled by the bastard he cheated. And then Ireni couldn’t decide what she wanted to bring with her, and the boys, well… I’m sorry. I should have sent a courier.”
“You mean they’re all here?”
“Aye. Ronan’s croft was in disrepair. Even with my help, he wouldn’t have been able to fix it. So I brought them all instead of just Ronan. I am truly sorry I didn’t tell you, my love.”
“It matters not. You are home now and in my arms again.”
“What have I done to deserve such a gift as this life?” Marek kissed her with a heated passion, unrestrained and hungry for more.
Brynn returned the kiss, but pulled away from his advances.
“I cannot enjoy the pleasure of my wife?” he growled, nibbling on the shell of her ear.
Brynn let out a small laugh, pushing him from her. “Not until you take a bath.” She wrinkled her nose. “You smell.”
“Oh, that’s how ’tis going to be then, eh?” Grabbing two handfuls of buttocks, he tugged Brynn against his hips, gliding his knee between her legs.
“Until you wash the stink away and shave that stubble from your face, aye.” Taking his chin in her fingers, she shook it gently before rolling away from him. “Besides, I have plans to visit Abby this afternoon.”