At the Warrior's Mercy

by Denise Lynn

  Intent on covering as much ground as possible, they rode with little conversation and Beatrice soon found herself being lulled into a semi-sleep state of being by the steady gait of the horse beneath her.

  ‘Beatrice.’

  She jerked awake, startled by a hard grip on her shoulder. It took her a few heartbeats to realise Gregor was shaking her.

  ‘What?’ She sat up straighter on the saddle and adjusted her grasp on the lax reins.

  ‘I know you got little sleep last night, but I didn’t want you to fall off the horse.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  She was far from fine. The woman was clearly exhausted, but it was too early to stop for the day, so to keep her awake and discover more about this woman he would soon wed, he asked, ‘Are you anxious to arrive at Warehaven?’

  ‘I’ve been gone so long that, yes, I am eager to return.’

  ‘How long have you been away?’

  ‘Nearly three years. My sister was taken captive and held on Dunstan Isle. Since nobody knew why at first, my parents sent me north to stay with my brother and his wife as a precaution.’

  ‘She’s been held all this time?’

  ‘No. Since she ended up married to the man, I can only assume she hasn’t always been a prisoner.’

  Surprised by her scathing tone, Gregor turned to look at her, asking, ‘You don’t approve?’

  ‘I have never met him, nor have I heard directly from Isabella, so I fear she may not have become his wife willingly.’

  Willingly? Was an agreeable marriage so important to her that she balked at what might have been an unwilling one for her sister? He stared at the spot between his horse’s ears, seeking a moment to put his question into words that wouldn’t alert her to the plans already in motion for her future. Plans which would unquestionably force her into an unwanted marriage.

  Finally, he asked, ‘Such an arrangement is common, is it not?’

  ‘Being kidnapped and then forced to wed the knave?’

  ‘Perhaps not the kidnapping part, but have you not known others who were defeated in some manner and forced into a marriage for convenience, to establish peace between the families involved, or even at the order of their lord?’

  She laughed softly as if he’d told an amusing story before answering, ‘My parents fit that description.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘King Henry sent my father to take control of Warehaven and to wed the oldest available daughter, which was my mother at the time.’

  ‘Did that not work out for them in the end?’

  ‘According to my father, he was smitten the moment he sallied his horse through the bonfire and landed at her feet.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  Beatrice’s burst of laughter startled the other men, who turned to her until Gregor’s glare forced their attention elsewhere. ‘My mother claims that she is still unwilling and is only biding her time until he finally gets bored enough to leave.’

  Certain this was nothing more than teasing between the older couple, Gregor commented, ‘This must be a jest between your parents.’

  ‘Of course it is. My mother knows that she is fooling no one. She would be heartbroken were my father to leave her.’

  ‘Then their forced marriage did work out for them.’

  ‘Perhaps. But regardless of how they spin the tales of their meeting, the beginning wasn’t as idyllic as they’d like us to believe.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Instead of arranging our marriages, they gave each of us the gift of choice, because they didn’t want us to go through what they did before finding someone to love. And I worry that choice was stolen from Isabella.’

  Gregor blinked. He could understand Warehaven giving his adult children a say in the arrangements made for their future—to a point. As their lord and father it was his responsibility to ensure their continued health, wealth, safety and security.

  Love—or any shared emotion—was something that could develop and grow over time. But said emotion was not something that needed to be considered beforehand. Love, attraction or even lust would prove a sorry substitute for food, shelter or safety.

  ‘Perhaps your sister is better off.’

  She jerked straighter on the saddle, then shot him a look of disbelief. His comment had obviously angered her. ‘Why would you say such a thing?’

  ‘If this man was cunning and bold enough to capture her without being caught in the first place, he will most likely be strong enough to keep her fed and protected.’

  ‘Fed and protected?’ Her tone rose with each word. She paused to swallow before continuing in a milder manner. ‘That is all that should matter to her?’

  ‘Considering she would die without either food or safety it should matter greatly.’

  In answer, Beatrice turned away from him and directed her frowning stare at the top of her horse’s head.

  Gregor knew he was right, but knowing so didn’t help dispel the sudden heaviness in the pit of his stomach at her silent response. He felt compelled to explain. ‘My lady, I freely admit to not understanding this fascination you seem to have with putting love before all else.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you are King David’s Wolf. His heartless warrior without the capacity of feeling, or caring.’

  He cared about many things—his family, men, ships and the future. But love and tenderness was something that should be allowed to grow slowly, naturally between two people who’d learned to know each other well. It was not something to be taken lightly or rushed into blindly like a starry-eyed lackwit.

  Instead of learning what he could about his first bride-to-be, he’d focused on hopes for their future. He’d dreamed of falling in love. In doing so he’d been unprepared for her weakness of spirit and had ultimately failed her. His wife’s safety had been his responsibility alone and he’d let hopes and dreams distract him from what had truly mattered.

  He felt deep sorrow for Beatrice. She would be denied her gift of choice. She would not wed for love, nor would she ever have the chance to discover love with the man she would have as her husband.

  Would he fail her, too? In the end would she choose to take her life rather than endure a loveless marriage to a man with so many stains upon his soul that he would spend his eternity in hell?

  A shiver of dread made him shift on his saddle. No. He could not—would not permit the past to repeat itself.

  Gregor felt her expectant gaze and replied to her comment about his heartlessness in the only way he could. ‘Yes. What you say is true.’

  ‘Please, my lord, I have been in your company an entire day and I have yet to see this cold, uncaring warrior that all have spoken about. I think the tales carried are a bit overblown.’

  While that also was true, she would soon learn first-hand that some of those tales were based on nothing less than solid truth. It would be a lesson she wouldn’t enjoy learning any more than he would take pleasure in the giving of it.

  ‘You think that you know me with only a day in my company?’

  ‘I know enough.’

  Before he could debate this subject further, one of the men behind him shouted, ‘My lord!’

  Gregor turned to look in the direction his man pointed and saw four riders coming up quickly from behind them, with their weapons drawn. He swatted the rump of Beatrice’s horse, ordering, ‘Ride. I will catch up to you.’

  Chapter Five

  Beatrice tightened her legs along the sides of the beast and gripped the reins securely as the horse bolted ahead.

  She didn’t fear falling from the animal, but she did worry about something happening to Gregor. Even though she’d only just met him, she didn’t want him to get injured, or killed. He was kind, brave, and strong—in short, he was everything her parents
would consider worthy. And maybe, with time, someone she could easily come to care for.

  Selfishly she thought that it would be a great shame for anything to happen to him before she had a chance to find out if that were true. More selfishly she knew her own safety would be in grave danger should anything happen to him.

  Soon the sound of hard, rapid pounding of hooves behind her sent her heart racing. What if it was the attackers who followed at such a brisk pace? Worse—what if it was Charles? Oh, please, let it not be the scoundrel she had once hoped to wed.

  Beatrice’s mind conjured terrifying images of what that man would do to her once he had her again in his grasp. He would make her pay dearly for not only escaping, but for the beating he and his friends took at Gregor’s hands.

  She gripped the reins so tightly that her fingernails pressed into her palms as she hung on for dear life.

  ‘Beatrice!’ Gregor’s familiar voice rang in her ear as his gloved hand clamped down over hers.

  Relief flooded her body, leaving her shaking uncontrollably as he pulled on the reins, slowing the horse to a stop. After a quick glance down at her, Gregor dismounted and stood at her side. He wrapped a hand around the calf of her leg. ‘All is well.’

  ‘Those men?’

  ‘Those men were thieves who will never seek to harm another, at least not in this realm.’

  Without a second’s thought she threw herself from the saddle and into his arms. Arms that instantly closed around her, giving her a renewed sense of safety and chasing away the shivers of combined fear and relief that had beset her.

  Over her head, he ordered his waiting men, ‘Find some place to camp for the night.’

  Beatrice leaned away from the warmth of his chest and looked up at him. His eyes seemed to glimmer behind his half-closed lids. The frown that normally creased his brow had softened. It was a pleasing expression, one that she would like to see more often. And one that hinted at restrained passion, setting tremors of nervous anticipation to skitter along her spine. ‘I am fine, there is no need to stop for the day.’ She glanced at the sky, then back to him, adding, ‘There remains a few hours of daylight.’

  Gregor brushed a hand along the side of her head before cupping her cheek for the briefest moment. ‘No. We break for the day.’

  ‘Truly, I am fine and well able to travel further.’

  When she started to turn away, intent on remounting, he grasped her shoulders. ‘You are still trembling.’

  Before she could admit it was his nearness that had set her nerves aflutter, she swallowed hard, then said, ‘It is nothing more than the lingering exhilaration of the ride. I am fine, truly.’

  He laughed softly. ‘You are such a bad liar, Beatrice of Warehaven.’

  Overcome with a sudden embarrassment at his assessment, she looked down at the ground between them. Somehow he knew that his touch, his nearness, caused the tremors teasing at her. Why did she have to be so easy to see through? And why did he have to be so observant?

  With a shake of her head she claimed. ‘No, you are mistaken. Never have I ridden so fast with such a dire need to get away.’

  Without responding to her outright lie, he retrieved the dangling reins to both horses and handed her the ones to her mount. ‘Since it’s doubtful my men went far, we’ll walk. It’ll give you a chance to calm the over-excitement from your hard ride.’

  Beatrice ignored his teasing tone. She knew he still didn’t believe her explanation and was grateful he wasn’t intent on pursuing the truth—especially since she would never be able to explain how, or why, his nearness and his touch set her heart racing.

  In truth, she was also grateful for the opportunity to regain her composure before joining his men. Doing so right this moment would only alert them to something odd having happened between the two of them. The last thing she needed, or wanted, was one or more of them noticing the flush still warming her cheeks.

  If his men were anything like those at Warehaven, they would leap on any opportunity to start tales and poke their noses into things that were best left undisturbed.

  She walked alongside of him. Neither of them seemed willing to speak—she had no idea what to say and he appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. Unable to bear the uncomfortable tension or the deafening silence, she said, ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘It seems I have upset you in some manner and I am—’

  He cut her off by briefly raising an arm. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Apologise for something that is not your fault.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘How is my reaction your responsibility?’

  ‘But—’

  Again the raising and lowering of one arm stopped her words.

  ‘There are no buts, Beatrice. I am solely responsible for the way I do or don’t react to something. It’s not up to you to walk on eggshells, making certain your words, or actions, upset me not. My moods are not your responsibility. They are mine alone and I’d thank you to leave them to my care.’

  If that wasn’t the strangest thing she’d ever heard, she didn’t know what was. ‘You are an odd man, Gregor of Roul.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘My mother would never say anything she knew would anger my father. She’d find a way to sweeten her words, or say nothing at all.’

  ‘So, you have learned to think that speaking your mind is a bad thing?’

  ‘If it only serves to upset someone else, then, yes.’

  ‘It must be hard living your entire life afraid to speak the truth.’

  ‘In my case I wouldn’t say it was fear exactly. Respect, perhaps. Besides, I think there’s a difference between truth and kindness.’

  ‘Having never had the luxury of choosing kindness, I am not in the position to say if you are right or wrong.’

  His statement gave her pause. She doubted that his life in King David’s service had been anything close to kind. If even a small portion of the rumours about David’s Wolf were true, there had been no kindness to greet him anywhere. But he hadn’t always been that man. At one point he’d been a boy without cares. Surely there’d been some measure of kindness then.

  ‘Are your parents alive?’

  ‘My mother died birthing my youngest brother. I have very little recollection of her.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘Had four boys to raise on his own, along with the responsibilities of his holdings.’

  Meaning his father had little time for any of them. Beatrice’s heart tugged with sympathy for the child he’d once been.

  He glanced down at her. ‘Oh, no, you don’t.’

  ‘What? I am doing nothing.’

  ‘You are feeling sorry for me and what you think was my hard life. Don’t waste your time.’

  ‘It had to have been hard without a mother and a father who was only there a little of the time.’

  ‘I suppose it was a harder life than some had and a better one than many experienced. We were boys. We played, got dirty, fought, acted like boys do. When we became men, we acted like men.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Sure. Sure.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Beatrice sighed. ‘Gregor, when was the last time someone hugged you just to make you smile?’

  ‘Now who is the odd one?’

  She did feel sorry for him. These last couple of years at her brother’s keep had been made harder due to the simple fact that there’d been no welcome touch from a loved one. She’d been so used to sharing a chamber, a life, with Isabella that she hadn’t realised how much she had depended on a hug, or touch, or a kind word from her sister on a daily basis.

  It was nearly impossible for her to envision an entire life spent in that manner.

&nbs
p; Thankfully she didn’t have to. Soon, she would be back at Warehaven and if they weren’t already there, her parents would shortly arrive. Both her mother and father were demonstrative people and she would quickly find herself the beneficiary of more embraces than she could ever hope for in a lifetime.

  Gregor nudged her arm with an elbow, tearing her from her thoughts. She answered his last query with a small, unfelt laugh. ‘I do not think myself odd. Simply loved.’

  Before he could respond in what she assumed would be a negative, or derisive, manner, his man waved to them from the side of the road just ahead.

  Without another word, they led their horses into the small encampment and tied them near the other animals.

  Beatrice reached to unbuckle the saddle only to have Gregor gently grasp her shoulders and steer her towards the fire. ‘Sit. The men will see to the horses. I need to speak to Simon.’ He glanced at his men before adding a little louder, ‘You are safe here.’

  He eased her down on to a log before the flickering flames and handed her a leather flask. ‘It’s just water.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Grateful, she took it from him. ‘Water is more than welcome.’ Beatrice waved her hand at him. ‘Go. I am fine.’

  She watched him walk away and wondered at the sudden longing washing over her. She understood lust and desire, as both were fleeting and readily dismissed. But this...this was something more—something deeper than just a physical reaction.

  It was more a yearning of her heart. A need—a desire she didn’t quite understand—as if her heart knew something she’d yet to recognise. Which was ridiculous considering she’d only known the man a very short time. Unfortunately, no matter what her head said, what logic dictated, neither seemed to be in control of her heart.

  Beatrice took a long drink of the water, nearly spilling it on herself when a loud thud hit the ground behind her. All four of Gregor’s men dropped their saddle bags at once and sat on the other logs ringing the fire facing her.

  The older two had the cold-edged appearance of men well used to the duties they performed as the Wolf’s men. Hard, unyielding were words that could describe them. They were men she wouldn’t want to run into if she was alone.