The Blood and The Bloom (Men of Blood Book 1)

by Rosamund Winchester

  Robert blinked, then swallowed visibly. “She is with Gaubin. He said you sent him to relieve me—”

  “Nay!” Glenn exclaimed.

  Tristin’s belly plummeted into his boots. “What?”

  “We meant to warn you about him,” Elric answered.

  Glenn stepped forward, his expression pinched. “I saw him, in the village. He was sneakin’ around. I found him in the shadows, speakin’ with a fellow. I was able ta get close enough ta hear them…he was talkin’ about payment for delivery of goods.”

  “What goods?” A sick feeling slithered through his gut.

  Glenn shook his head. “They didna say. But…Tristin… The man…I have seen him before. He is Willem Mason’s valet.”

  Anger, as sharp as glass, sliced through him. “He is responsible for this. He used this attack as a diversion so he could take Bell Heather.”

  “Why would he do that?” Elric asked.

  Turning, Tristin hurried to Chevalier, urgency pumping speed into his movements. He mounted, taking the reins into his fists.

  “He accused her of witchcraft, but we both know she is no witch. There must be something he wants from her, and I cannot imagine it is justice.”

  Elric stiffened, his face grim. “I will come with you.”

  “Nay. You stay here. Clean up this mess,” he said, sneering down at the carnage one man’s evil had caused. “If I do not return by midnight, send Pierre, Robert, and Aster for me in the morning. Aster can track me. I want you to head toward Cieldon. Someone must report this to Calleaux.”

  Elric snapped a nod.

  Tristin glared down at Robert. “You!”

  Robert ducked his head and stepped forward. “Captain. I am sorry—”

  “No. You will show your remorse by following Elric’s every directive,” Tristin ground out, his anger toward the man only adding to the frustration in his gut.

  Robert gave a salute.

  “Where were you when you lost Bell Heather?”

  When Robert pointed toward the grove of trees behind the cottage, Tristin kicked Chevalier into a gallop.

  With his heart in his throat, he sped away from his men, desperate to find Bell Heather…and kill anyone who dared to harm her.

  Maneuvering Chevalier around fallen trees, bushes, and rocks, he rode like Hell was at his heels.

  Must find her! Find her!

  “Heeyah!” He kicked Chevalier harder, knowing the horse would sense the urgency. Gaining speed, Tristin leaned forward, gripping the horse’s sides with his thighs. He knew that if it was Willem Mason’s doing, Gaubin would be headed northwest, toward Hickston Close.

  Growling, Tristin let the rage within him build. If Gaubin made it to Hickston, Bell Heather would be at Mason’s mercy, and because Willem Mason was a friend to the Cardinal, it would be a matter of some difficulty to get her back.

  Damn that! No matter what he had to do, he would get her back. She was his duty! His responsibility, and dammit, she was an innocent. She didn’t deserve whatever Mason had planned for her. The bastard!

  The thought of Bell Heather, vulnerable, hurt, at that man’s mercy… Tristin forced the images from his mind. He couldn’t lose focus now.

  Bursting through a line of trees, Tristin thundered alongside a roaring river. The rains from the last several days had caused the river to nearly overflow its banks. Tree branches caught in the rapid flow slammed into the rocks, splintering.

  Turning his attention to the riverbank, he saw something in the mud.

  There! Horse tracks. Deep ones. They were moving quickly. But he wasn’t too far behind.

  “Move, Chevalier!” he bellowed, kicking his horse to go ever faster. Chevalier whinnied, but obeyed.

  As the river sluiced between two boulders, the roar became deafening, but Tristin pressed on.

  Find her. Save her.

  Thundering over a small rise along the bank, Tristin saw what his heart had been fearing the most—Gaubin must’ve heard him coming. He was trying to make his way across a narrow part of the river. But that wasn’t what made Tristin’s heart shudder to a halt. It was the sight of Bell Heather, draped over Conqueror’s back, struggling to stay on as Gaubin kicked his horse forward, to the opposite bank. But the river was moving fast, the water high. Conqueror was throwing back his head, his flanks nearly engulfed in the frigid rushing water.

  “You fool!” Tristin yelled, bringing Chevalier to a stop where Gaubin had entered the water. “You are going to kill her!” Bell Heather, green eyes wide with horror, tried finding purchase with bound hands.

  “Tristin!” she screamed.

  “Hold on, I am coming for you!”

  Tristin looked at the river; it would be foolish to try and follow, but there was no other recourse. He couldn’t go around, it would take days, and she would be in Mason’s hands by then. And what if Bell Heather fell into the water? She was bound, and even if she weren’t she couldn’t fight the strength of the river. She’d be pulled under and drown.

  He kicked Chevalier forward, but before his hooves got wet, Conqueror slipped, Gaubin shouted, Bell Heather screamed, and Tristin watched in horror as she fell into the rushing water.

  Again, terror pounded through him. If he couldn’t get to her, she’d be lost.

  Jumping down, Tristin rushed for the water. If he tried to rescue her while wearing his armor, he would die before he ever reached her. But as he hesitated, she was moving further away, her head bobbing in the water as the river carried her.

  “Damn!” He tore off his cloak and ran. His gaze pinned to Bell Heather, he followed along on the shore. He ran, break neck, to get ahead of her, but his armor was making movement difficult. With one hand, he tried untying the leather straps of his breastplate. He succeeded on the third try. He pulled it over his head and dropped it, uncaring of where it landed.

  Almost there…

  He looked ahead, just there was a jagged rock, cutting into the river. If he could get to it, he could get to her.

  Panting, he ignored the burn in his chest and the throbbing in his head and he moved. He arrived at the rocks just as Bell Heather slammed into them, the sound of the collision more deafening than the river.

  “Nay!” He ran for her, sliding, nearly losing his footing, but he reached her, just as she slid under the water, her face ashen, her eyes unseeing.

  He threw himself to his belly, grabbing for her. She was just out of reach. There was only one thing left to do; he sucked in a deep breath and slipped into the water. The rock protruded into the water, which created a pool, but it wouldn’t take much for Bell Heather to get swept into the passing current.

  Tristin dove, seizing a rope of her hair. He pulled, desperate. Her body floated upward, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, kicking out. The weight of his cuisses and sword sucking him down, Tristin fought to reach the surface. With one last great kick, he breached the pool, dragging in a lungful of air. He pulled Bell Heather up beside him and gripped the face of the rock with his free hand.

  He needed to get to shore. Using the rock to stay above the surface, Tristin made it to the river bank on the opposite side of the river from where he’d left Chevalier. But that didn’t matter now.

  He dragged Bell Heather further up the bank. He knelt beside her still form.

  “Bell! Bell! Wake up! You must breathe for me! Breathe for me!” He knew he was yelling, but he couldn’t stop the shrill fear that tore at his insides. She couldn’t die. He wouldn’t let her.

  Tristin made a fist and pounded it against her chest. It would leave bruises, and she would be angry, but at least she would be alive.

  Her lips were blue, her face as white as death, her hair spread out like a fan in the mud. He noticed it then, the blood streaming from a wound behind her left ear.

  “Damn!” He needed to find help, but first he needed for her to breathe!

  He pounded on her chest again, her frail body shuddering with his blows.

  But then, she coughed. Rel
ief surged as she turned her head and she retched. Water flowed from her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered and she groaned.

  “There now, breathe. That’s the way…” he murmured as the numbness began to set in. She’d nearly died. Gaubin had nearly killed her, and if he hadn’t succeeded in killing her, he would have delivered her to Willem Mason. Numbness gave way to bloody rage, a rage that he needed in order to keep from pulling Bell Heather into his arms and kissing every part of her face.

  With a groan, he slowly got to his feet. Realizing she was still bound, he tugged on the rope at her feet, surprised at how easily it gave way. Her wrists were more difficult to loosen, but once he’d succeeded in removing the rope, he tossed it into the river with a curse.

  Bell Heather blinked up at him, then reached for her head, her face scrunched into a grimace of pain.

  “Damn, Gaubin,” she muttered. “I could kill him for this.” She sat up, bracing herself on her elbows. Her eyes snapped shut, and she seemed to waver.

  “You hit your head hard… Does anything else hurt?”

  He could tell she wanted to say no, but then, she sighed. “Aye. All of me,” she rasped.

  “Can you stand?” he asked, knowing they’d have to walk to find any help. Chevalier was still on the other side of the river, and he had no way of knowing how far he’d run to get to Bell Heather. He couldn’t count on his horse finding his way to them, but he would find his way back to Elric and the other men.

  He looked into the sky, cursing again. It was nearly dusk, and they couldn’t be left out in the open with Gaubin and whoever else Willem sent, looking for them.

  “I think so, but…where will we go? What if Gaubin returns? And what of those men ye were fighting?”

  Tristin realized she must have heard the battle, and the fear on her face made him grit his teeth. He would protect her, no matter what it took.

  By instinct, Tristin felt for his sword. It wasn’t there.

  “Hell!” He must’ve lost it in the river.

  “Yer sword,” Bell Heather croaked.

  Sighing, Tristin ran his fingers through his sodden hair. “Tis no matter. We must find shelter, and we need to get your head bandaged. Are you well enough to move?”

  “I do not know,” she said, trying to get to her feet. She toppled backward, and Tristin caught her head in the crook of his arm before she could hit it against the ground.

  “I do not think you can stand or walk. So much for those new boots, I will have to carry you,” he said, infusing his voice with humor, hoping to bring a smile to her face. He desperately needed to see her smile, to know she was truly well, that she was truly there, breathing, alive in his arms.

  She didn’t take the bait. “Wonderful. So, I am to be a babe once more?” she muttered, her forehead wrinkling in displeasure. Tristin couldn’t help it, he reached out to trail a finger down her cheek, dislodging a strand of hair from the corner of her mouth. She met his gaze.

  “Tristin,” she murmured, and his breath caught at the swirling of emotion in her emerald eyes.

  “Yes,” he rasped, his throat closing around the word. Even as she was, wet, muddy, pale…she was lovelier than any woman ought to be after a near drowning.

  “Thank ye for saving me, Tristin,” she whispered, her voice heavy.

  Unable to speak, lest he give in to what his body was uttering, he nodded.

  Bell Heather’s gaze flicked over his face, finally coming to rest on his mouth. Did she want his kiss as much as he needed hers?

  The words of the vow he’d spoken before God and the cardinal echoed through his mind.

  Sucking in a steadying breath, he gathered her into his arms and stood. He knew he needed to get them someplace warm, and get them dry. He also knew he would need to find them something to eat.

  And he knew he’d nearly lost his soul to her again. But this time, the words of his vow were fainter, and growing ever more so.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Willem turned from the darkness outside the casement window to peer at his guest. The excitement that had been building within him all day instantly soured to abject disappointment. He was more than disappointed, he was dissatisfied.

  He hated being dissatisfied.

  “Where is she, Gaubin?” he asked, his voice tight, his fists clenched at his sides.

  Gaubin stood, staring at him as though confused. What was there to be confused about? He’d been ordered to capture the girl, bring the girl here, and he would be gifted with more money than his own father would have ever given him. And now, Willem understood why Albert More had been so adamant about his son joining the Homme du Sang. He had hoped his son would die, bloody in battle, because then at least his death would have brought the family honor.

  That was the only explanation for Gaubin’s placement within the order.

  Sneering, Willem waited for the fool to find his tongue.

  “I lost her…” he mumbled, ducking his head to hide his face.

  Willem hissed, disbelieving that he heard such words leave the man’s mouth.

  “You…lost her?” he ground out. “How, exactly, did you lose her?”

  Gaubin swallowed visibly, his eyes darting about the room, his face losing all color. “I lost her…in the river.”

  “What!” he bellowed, picking up the nearest object and throwing it into the roaring fire. A priceless vase shattered, sending shards of fine porcelain into the flames.

  Gaubin shuddered, recoiling. “I was bringing her to you, just as you wanted, and…Tristin—”

  That blackguard! “What about Tristin?” he growled.

  “He-he came after us. I tried to ford the river, to out run him, but she-she fell off the back of the horse—”

  “Silence!” he roared. “You have failed me, Gaubin! You have ruined everything, everything!” All he had hoped for, dreamed about, hungered for—gone! He should have known better than to trust a worm like Gaubin. He should have gone to retrieve her himself. If he had, she would, even now, be bound to the bed in his secret room, naked, sobbing. And he would be enjoying a pleasure too long denied him.

  Willem spun on his heel, moving behind his desk and pulling open a drawer.

  “But, milord,” Gaubin croaked, raising a hand as if to fend off Willem’s words. “Tristin went after her. He might have saved her…”

  Willem sucked in a breath, relief and rage at war in his gut. Could it be? Could he still have a chance to fulfill his longing, to taste Bell Heather’s sweet fear? “You had better hope he did, and that I can get her from him.”

  Gaubin raised his chin. “I can get her back, I know I can.”

  “No, I am afraid you have failed me for the last time.”

  In one, swift movement, he pulled the seax from his drawer and, with a practiced flick of his wrist, he launched the blade at Gaubin.

  The blade sunk, up to the hilt, into Gaubin’s chest. His eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing, as if gasping for his last breaths, Gaubin clutched at the blade. He collapsed to his knees, wet, gurgling noises erupted from his throat, just before blood flowed from his mouth. He fell forward, dead, before Willem could come around the desk again.

  Skirting the growing pool of blood on the floor, Willem walked to the bell pull, summoning Butler who appeared within moments.

  “Clean this up. Toss the body in the river,” he said, a sardonic smile lifting the corner of his mouth. Throwing the worthless fool into a river would be the perfect end for the man who’d lost his Bell Heather in a river. “Then, I want you to send for Timmons. The man has some explaining to do.”

  Butler bowed in acknowledgement of his master’s demands then turned to summon the others who would help him with his task. Willem left this study and climbed the stairs to his chamber. As much as he wanted to enter his hidden room, to bask in the promise of pleasure the room offered, he knew he had other things to do first. Like prepare to rescue his treasure from the pompous Captain Tristin LaDeux. And then, once Bell Heather was in his ke
eping, finally, he would slaughter Tristin—because the Homme du Sang deserved to hurt for daring to go after what was his.

  ***

  Bell Heather was warm. So warm. Deliciously warm. She snuggled deeper into the heat, groaning at the pleasure that rippled through her. She inhaled, taking in the scent of…heather and male…and hay.

  Startled awake, she blinked to rid her eyes of the haze. At first, everything was dark, but as her vision cleared, she could see a shaft of pale blue moonlight breaking through the roof…

  Roof?

  Where was she? She’d fallen asleep in Tristin’s arms again, which wasn’t a surprise after being abducted, dropped into a raging river, and tossed against a rock.

  Reaching for the wound on her head, she was shocked to find it bandaged.

  Who? Had Tristin ministered to her while she was unconscious?

  Slowly, she turned her head.

  “So, you are finally awake,” a deep, sensual voice said from behind her. Right behind her. It was then she realized why she’d been so warm…she was laying with her back against Tristin’s chest, and his strong arms was draped over her hip, drawing her into him.

  She stiffened. “Aye, I am awake. And I am wondering what in Dagda’s name happened while I was sleeping.”

  A low chuckle rumbled from his chest and into her back. “I see you are no worse for wear.”

  She fought the urge to growl at him, which became much easier when he moved his hand, his fingers sliding over the naked flesh of her hip and into the dip in her waist.

  Wait…naked?

  She gasped and peered down at herself. She was covered in a thick blanket. She reached down and pulled the blanket away from her body. Her naked body. She gasped again, pulling the blanket up to her chin and holding it there with trembling hands.

  “Where are my clothes?” she asked, her voice shrill.

  She felt him moving behind her. He removed his hand from beneath the blanket and laid it over the top, on her belly. Tingles of awareness speared her, making her breathing a little less steady.