The Sanction

by Reeyce Smythe Wilder

  He spoke words she did not understand. His voice was deep and husky, and grated along the nerve endings of her skin, agitating her, making her wonder if his touch would do the same. He draped the fur around her shoulders and pulled it together so that her entire form was shielded from the chill and his view, and went about the business of donning his clothes. Every movement and effort was done so languidly. He took his time, ensuring that each seam and crease of his tunic and breeches were faultless, and that the straps of the sheath that held the weapons he donned were tight and secured. He washed his face and rinsed his mouth, and only when he dried his hands did he once again turn to give her his full attention.

  “Where am I? Who are you?”

  Was her virgin barrier breached? She felt sore, yes, but not in the way she had heard it said from the elder women of her village. There must have been panic in her tone, for he cocked his head and waited, studying her the way one would an unusual thing. Ever so slowly he advanced. Brenna stepped back and stumbled upon a woven rug, righted herself, and found her back pressed against a table. He did not stop his advance, and only when he was a hair’s breath away did he pause to finger her hair. Brenna craned her neck back as far as possible. What made this man, this stranger feel as though he had a right to touch her? Granted that she woke up naked in his bed, but she did not recall having gotten there. There was nothing threatening about him, nothing violent. Still she was wary, for he towered above her, and although he moved with grace, there was no doubt a dangerous edge that spoke volumes his words could not. Slowly he traced the cuts on her face until his attention was drawn to her aching arm. The frown that twisted his forehead was pronounced. She considered the teeth marks upon her flesh and the memories assailed her all at once. Eyes wide, she lost all feeling in her feet. He was there, offering his strength as he swept her to his chest and settled her on the nearest chair. A warm mug of cider was offered and she drank greedily. He asked another question and she shook her head. She could not understand his words. He touched his fist to his chest and grinned boyishly.

  “Rhys.”

  She met his eyes and clutched the fur tighter still before mimicking his movements. “Brenna.”

  His eyes fell to her lips and stayed there for a long time. “Brenna,” he repeated, testing it upon his tongue. After a moment he stood and turned to the door, and met her eyes one last time before he made an exit. “Brenna.” She frowned, and when he motioned for her to stay, she nodded quickly. He inclined his head in approval and closed the door at his back. For a moment she waited, listening to the sound of his footsteps as they faded before scampering about the room, searching for her garments. She found them neatly folded and dried to a crisp, and wasted no time in getting dressed haphazardly.

  She had thrown herself in the river with a dog latched onto her arm. That was her last memory. Maybe he had found her, had given her warmth when she might have otherwise died. Though she was indeed grateful, she could not linger in this place for too long. The only way to thank him was to leave before he too was killed.

  Rhys located Bjorn where he left him the night before, but instead of being bleary eyed and drunk, he was well rested and indulged himself in a hearty breakfast.

  “Ah, so you took yourself to bed off early last night,” the man offered with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Oh aye, after I discovered the woman half drowned in the river.”

  Bjorn frowned and licked his fingers slowly. “What happened?”

  Rhys sat and shook his head, still amazed that he had been lucky enough to be the one to stumble across her, and met his hosts eyes for an intense second. “She is my mate.”

  Bjorn’s stunned expression turned into an all out grin, and it was with a thunderous laugh did he clap Rhys on the shoulder so hard that he jerked forward and winced. “This is indeed a time for celebration. What a grand thing is Fate! You have travelled far to claim a mate here in my lands boy. I am truly happy for you.”

  Rhys smiled. “Aye. But I come to you with a request.”

  “Anything.”

  “She does not speak my tongue. It makes communication difficult.”

  “Ah. I will send one of my men to you – but before that, one of my mate’s maids will attend to her. Let us not offend her more delicate nature by not seeing to her needs first, shall we?”

  Rhys nodded agreement and thanked him again. “I will see her fed first.”

  Bjorn himself arranged an overflowing platter and a large mug of warm cider and waved him off with a smile on his face. Rhys wasted no time in returning to his chamber and paused outside the door when no sound was forthcoming. Upon entry he froze cold. She was gone, her clothes and her worn boots with her, and the fur they had used to ward off the cold the night before was folded and placed neatly upon the bed. He shot a glance toward the half opened window and deposited the platter before snatching the fur and following suit. He recalled her bruised body and his ire heightened. She was in danger, and instead of staying with him where it was safe, she had chosen to face it on her own. It might have won her his admiration if she was not his mate. From the moment his feet hit the muddy ground he picked up her scent. She was in the process of sneaking out of the stable when he blocked her path, but it was not with a horse in tow, but a small satchel packed with dried grains and fruit. Her eyes widened when she spotted him and she froze. A flicker of fear entered her eyes. She appeared composed enough, but the waves of panic coming off of her worried him greatly.

  With slow intent, he offered his hand and a smile. She was so very beautiful and delicate. Whatever she feared, he would keep her safe. He would protect her, would kill for her, maybe even die for her. It was no use trying to explain these things though, because she was not Were. Instead, he would have to try and woo her, and for Rhys, it was the biggest challenge yet. She could not understand him, but maybe it was better this way. He had no sweet words he knew women loved to hear. All he had was the knowledge that she belonged to him. For that alone he would grow to love her.

  She stepped away and shook her head, gesturing to the door at his back and spoke with urgency and, despite her fear, determination. It was clear she did not want to linger. He offered the fur and gestured once more, encouraging her to accept the gift. With much hesitance she did, and faster than lightening he snatched her wrist and dragged her to his form. She struggled against him, battling his chest with her fists, and he looked at her again for the first time. She had a temper to be sure, and her eyes were the lightest hazel he had ever seen, flecked oddly in blue. It was captivating.

  “I will not hurt you,” he offered with tender infliction. As the stroke of his fingers along her back increased in pressure, she sagged against him and met his eyes, not smiling even when he did. Her words were hurried, barely a breath in between. He did not need to know the specifics – she wanted to leave, needed to desperately, and he was detaining her, a fact she did not like in the least. No sooner had she finished did he lift her to his chest. She gasped and clung onto him, face still red.

  “Whoever you’re running away from cannot hurt you as long as I am here,” came his husky promise. “You will eat, then you will tell me what you are so afraid of.”

  She shuddered and swallowed hard, eyes frantic even as she tried to explain. Rhys shook his head and held her tighter when she tried to struggle out of his grasp. A whimper he took as a plea caused his chest to tighten. He could not release her, would never do so, and the sooner she became reconciled to the fact that he was now her protector, the sooner he could get along with the business of wooing her. The task would not be easy if she did not learn to trust him. She spoke again, this time giving vent to the fury he had only glimpsed in her eyes, and drew attention to herself from passersby. He scowled, and when she insisted upon struggling, did the only thing he could to keep her contained.

  He kissed her. Abruptly, quickly, nothing more than a hard, quick peck. It stunned her into complete submission, or maybe it was simply shock. By the time she f
ound the courage to glower at him, they were already in the great hall. Luckily, Bjorn had yet to complete his hearty meal. Rhys took her with him upon his lap when he sat, and was so amused by the look of horror on her face all he could do was smile.

  Chapter Three

  Brenna wriggled, a vain attempt at removing herself from his embrace. Instead, she heard him hiss, felt stiffness beneath her rump and froze instantly. He said something to her, face pulled tight, and she blushed to the roots of her hair with the knowledge that he responded so quickly – that he responded at all for that matter. In all her twenty-five years, she had managed to keep every male away from her. Heat burned in his gaze and there was longing in his eyes such that she’d never seen before. When he touched her, it was with tender fingers, with gentle words, with a confidence that spoke about a man in control and knew as much. And he was stubborn, in all his tender ways. He would not even allow her to sit on her own chair. Instead he and the man dressed in a richly ornamented fur spoke deeply, seriously. All the while his hand stroked her hair as if she were a favored pet. Her ire heightened, and when she attempted to rise again, he hugged her around the waist and applied pressure there. The older man bellowed, causing her to jump out of her skin, but was attended to instantly by a man tall and yellow haired and a ready smile. More words were exchanged, and the newcomer met her eyes boldly. There was perusal in his gaze, and maybe approval, for the man who called himself Rhys stiffened and growled.

  Growled?

  She blinked and frowned. She must be still suffering some kind of after effect from the fall. The yellow haired man spoke to her, and when she frowned, he tried again. They were wasting their time and hers. She needed to get out of here. Now.

  “I can’t understand any of you,” she grumbled with an impatient huff, though her voice still trembled. His eyes, as blue as the sky, brightened instantly.

  “Can you understand me now?” Stunned, she gasped. He nodded in satisfaction. “I take that as a yes.”

  Rhys shifted uncomfortably and made a soft statement.

  “My name is Daagan. This is King Bjorn and his guest, General Rhys.”

  Her eyes darted from one to the next until she turned to look at Rhys. He frowned still, making his eyes glint hard. She shuddered and tried to escape again, and when he held her, there was more than just an insistence to stay in his touch. His words were a demand once again, and Daagan hesitated before meeting her eyes.

  “He demands I translate everything you say. First, he would like you to eat and know that you are welcomed here. No-one will harm you, if that is what you fear.”

  Brenna found her tongue, shaking though it was. “Tell him to release me, so that I can find my own chair to sit.”

  Daagan flashed Rhys an amused glance before he spoke. King Bjorn thundered laughter, but Rhys saw no humor in her words. Instead he hooked his foot around a bench and dragged it a hair’s distance away from his before obliging her. Brenna settled quickly and nibbled the inside of her lip. The remnants of a lavish meal were just being cleared from the table, and Rhys summoned a shy girl and spoke to her. King Bjorn offered his input and Daagan sat facing her on the opposite side of the table.

  “Are you alright?” he ventured finally, dropping his voice. She nodded her thanks, accepted a mug of water he poured, and drank deeply before looking around.

  “Please, thank your king and his general from their hospitality, but it is urgent I leave at once.”

  “My king and the general insist you eat lady. If I tell them otherwise, they will not be pleased.”

  “Is he dangerous then?”

  “King Bjorn is a just man. A fair man. He would not hurt a woman.”

  “And Rhys? Is he also fair and just?”

  Rhys spoke then, no doubt demanding to know what was being said, and Daagan translated. He took her hand and rubbed her fingers between his, the obvious show of affection and warmth not unusual in the least. When he spoke, Daagan wasted no time in responding.

  “He wishes you to trust him, and promises you his sword arm for protection.”

  She swallowed hard and frowned, and slipped her fingers from his caress quickly. “Why would he do that? I do not know him at all.”

  Daagan smirked, his eyes holding secrets he did not disclose. “It is clear he is quite smitten with you. It is not hard to see why, with all that beautiful fair hair and those stunning eyes.”

  She blushed, her face as red as a plum and turned away from is praise. Rhys rumbled something again, something that sounded terribly like an angry snarl, and the King who said nothing at all, took everything in at his leisure.

  “Now I am making him jealous it would seem.”

  “Jealous? Whatever for?”

  “I have made you blush, I understand you, you will tell me why you are afraid and running and I will be the first to know before he does. If I had eyes for you, that would make me a more feasible candidate for your attentions, won’t it?”

  “I do not trust you.”

  Daagan’s eyes shot up. “Even though we offer you food and warmth?”

  “Even my enemy offered me food and warmth before they tried to kill me.”

  When next he spoke it was to Rhys who nodded and met her eyes once again. They spoke for a lengthy moment, this time the King too responded, and when the wraith returned, it was bearing a platter so filled food threatened to overflow. Rhys pushed the plate in front of her and spoke. Daagan grinned.

  “Eat. You have much to explain when you are through. Including the bruises about you and the injury on your arm.” His gaze fell to her sleeve covered arm even as he frowned, asking a question he did not voice.

  “Tell your King I thank him for his generosity. And let Rhys know that I must leave, that my trouble is my own, and that I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

  As Daagan chuckled and translated, she ate greedily, not caring that the Bjorn laughed and clapped Rhys on the shoulder, not caring that Rhys leaned back to watch her with a mixture of frustration and amusement. He took another of her curls to his nose and inhaled again, and when she slipped it from his fingers, he tightened his grip and tugged gently. Her glower was met with another smile, one she did not return while she filled her belly. It was a long journey south. Her next meal could be days away. She intended to eat all she could now.

  “She’s a fire-starter. I like her.” Bjorn took another gulp from this cup and belched unapologetically. Brenna ignored the trio as she ate. She was a puzzle to be sure. Shy and uncertain one moment, mouthy and rude the next. But Rhys supposed most of her fear had stemmed from the fact that she could not be understood. He cut a hard look at Daagan and grunted. The man was a legend with the ladies. His easy charm and attractive features always succeeded in gaining him female attention, and he never lacked a bed-partner because of it. Having the man around was sure to make him growl more than he wanted to, but Daagan knew she was about to be claimed. He was not a Were like Bjorn, but knew their secret and would protect his king with his very life. That did not mean he would not try to win her affection. Rhys would see him dead before he allowed that to happen.

  “Tell your man to stop making calf eyes at my mate before I teach him a lesson he won’t soon forget,” he warned.

  Bjorn chuckled when Daagan grinned. “I may have wanted her had I been the one to have found her, but as it is, she is not worth my life.” Rhys acknowledged him with a nod. “How do you intend to claim her when she is so determined to leave?”

  “Has she spoken about why she is running?”

  “No, but insists that she must go now. There is desperation in her words.”

  “Tell her I will consider letting her go, but only if she tells me who is hunting her and why.”

  Daagan spoke to her, his voice soft and coaxing, and when she looked at Rhys, it was to search his eyes and shook her head. Her words came swiftly.

  “She will not risk your life or any within this village. That is all she will say on the matter. Now she dem
ands you release her.”

  Rhys ground his teeth together, his brain working like a machine. She wanted to leave to protect innocent people, which meant that the person searching for her was powerful enough to do just that. She would have no defense once she was found, and with that type of resources, there was no where she could hide for too long.

  “Who is after her?”

  Daagan pressed again. He huffed at her snipped reply. “She said no one.”

  Bjorn stroked the length of his beard and nodded. “She is scared but is too stubborn to show it. And honorable if she seeks to keep even me safe. Let her know she is safe within my boarders, that none will come here to attack any under my care.”

  Still, she kept her lips pressed together. After several more moments of coaxing, Rhys shook his head and heaved a sigh. The thought of allowing her to walk through the doors made his blood churn. Even as she wolfed down her food there was a nervous energy to her that called to the predator in him, not to mention the fact that her scent had his senses tied in many knots. He could not think straight, nor could he focus on anything other than keeping her as close to him as possible.

  “She stays,” he finally said in the silence. Daagan cocked an eyebrow particularly high but did not respond as he waited to hear the decree. “Whoever is hunting her will find her if they must, but she will no longer be alone. Tell her that.”

  Daagan obeyed.

  As soon as the words left his mouth she met their eyes and smiled a sad smile before speaking. Daagan rubbed his neck and winced. “Then it grieves her to know one so kind will be rewarded with his death for his aid.”

  Brenna pushed her plate away then, suddenly quite ill. It had been at least two days since her last meal, and she had no trouble putting away half the overflowing platter, but now as it seemed the man next to her refused to let her go, the trembling started anew. It was Daagan’s next words that made her face flush in anger.