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

by Rosamund Winchester

One more day… Could he truly stand before Cardinal Cristian Calleaux and renounce his command of the Homme du Sang, something he’d held as his greatest calling for more than three years?

  As Bell Heather snuggled deeper into his embrace, her hands grasping his right arm with utter trust through her fear, he knew he could.

  For her, he could.

  God save her from Willem Mason.

  ***

  Willem watched the group of men ride away, his Bell Heather wrapped in the arms of Sir Tristin LaDeux. A dead man.

  A chilling rage seethed through him, icing over his veins, and he clamped his jaws tight against the trembling. From his position, high on Grimm’s back, he could continue watching the bastards as they rode toward Cieldon.

  “We will have to catch them off guard,” Timmons said from the horse beside his, his thin face pale and pained, no doubt caused by the knife wound in his thigh from where Willem had taken out his anger at the man’s failure.

  “We would not have to worry about them if you and your men had killed them,” he ground out.

  Timmons skin turned a sickly green. “How was I ‘spose to win against the likes of them? They are the Homme du Sang, for Christ’s sake! They fought off those rogues like they was nothing more than puppies yapping for scraps.”

  Willem arched his brow at the mental image that conjured and realized that Timmons was likely right. It was his fault really, for thinking that a man of Timmons ilk could find competent help. And, the Homme du Sang weren’t called the Men of Blood just because they’d sworn fealty to the Holy Church, they were also fierce warriors capable of leaving trails of blood in their wake.

  “We will ride behind, and when they stop, we will make ourselves…and my interests known.”

  A sly smile crept across his face, and he didn’t hold back the glee that suffused him. He was one man against eleven, but he had something none of those knights had… The willingness to kill for sport.

  Kicking Grimm into motion, Willem made sure to stay far out of sight, skirting the edge of the woods as the Homme du Sang carried their charge across open land. They probably thought it would be easier to see the enemy coming. He grinned again.

  They will not see this coming…

  Timmons flagged behind, and Willems could smell the fear in the sweat pouring from the man’s face. Certainly, Timmons had reached the end of his usefulness, but Willem didn’t have the time to dispatch the louse, and so, he let the man follow him. Let him think he was safe from Willem’s wrath…for the moment.

  The longer they rode, the closer they got to Cieldon, and the more anxious Willem became.

  “At this rate, I will never get Bell Heather back!” he growled, snatching back a bellow before it could escape his mouth. It wouldn’t do to yell and alert the men they were following that they were being followed.

  Desperation clawed at him, wringing the hard won calm from his body. He was too close to lose her now. Once she was in the cardinal’s possession, he wouldn’t get her until after she’d already been broken.

  Damn! That was to be his greatest joy, to break her, to make her mewl with agony and desire. To watch the fire in her green eyes dwindle into embers before finally being completely doused.

  Growling, Willem nearly missed Timmons’s gasp. Alert, Willem looked at Timmons, then followed the man’s gaze to where the group ahead of them were coming to a halt in a small glen dotted with what looked like scrub grass and wildflowers.

  Drawing to a halt behind the cover of densely growing trees, Willem and Timmons dismounted.

  “This is it, our chance to strike,” Willem said, the happiness in his voice making Timmons pause as he pulled the knife from his belt to palm it.

  “No. Put that away. We will enter the circle with only my wits to win the day.”

  Willem didn’t wait for Timmons to respond, he tied Grimm to a tree branch and made his way, through the trees, toward the glen where the others had dismounted.

  Soon, my doll, I will have you.

  Reaching the tree line, he took but a moment to paste his most benign smile onto his face before signaling for Timmons to stay hidden. He stepped from the cover of trees into the glen, and his heart began rapping a fierce tattoo against his chest.

  So close…

  His gaze danced over the men who were standing beside their horses, and then landed on Bell Heather, who was sitting on a rock, unwinding a bandage from around her head as Tristin watched, his eyes sliding over her body possessively.

  I will kill him for even looking at her!

  “Hold!” The large one with the bushy red beard called out, and the other men drew the swords, brandishing them with practiced menace. The bushy-bearded one—the one he knew to be Angus “Bear” Andrews—was a rather large man. Oh, he would so enjoy taking the beast down a peg or twenty.

  Willem raised his hands innocently, both showing he was without weapon, and that he was at their mercy…at least, he let them think so.

  “Willem Mason, how dare you show your face here? We know about your plans, we know it was you who hired those men to attack us, and paid Gaubin to abduct Bell Heather,” Tristin accused, his face as hard as his sword was ready.

  He would slice the man from arse to nose for even speaking her name with such familiarity. No one took such liberties with his Bell Heather. No one but him.

  “Ah, Captain LaDeux, I freely admit that I did all you say I did. But I did not come to apologize—” nor would he ever— “I come to share some rather…interesting news with you,” Willem said, forcing his face brighten with feigned interest. From the corner of his eye, he could see Bell Heather stand up, then slide behind Tristin as if to shield herself from Willem’s presence.

  Soon, there would be nothing between them but the ecstasy of anticipation.

  “And why would we care about your news? We should cut you down here and save the king the trouble of dealing with you,” Elric said, then spat.

  The king? Deal with him? Whyever would the king meddle in Willem’s affairs? If it wasn’t a wanton woman or a willing purse, the king couldn’t care less.

  “Oh, but I do believe this news would interest Sir Angus…” he let out the name slowly, and watched as the man’s face turned a horrific red.

  “And what about me, you blackguard?” Angus—Bear—glowered, his sword hand twitching.

  Willem took another step forward and shrugged. “Well, I heard tell that—one of my oldest friends—came upon a young woman in Wilmington. She was…oh…twelve. Had the prettiest red hair and the brightest blue eyes…” As Willem spoke, he watched the words whirling about in Bear’s head, his eyes growing wide and then narrowing to slits.

  “If you lay a hand on my Marian, I will kill you myself!” Bear roared and stalked toward him, and Willem raised his hands again, this time, his smile was far less kind. He infused his very being with malice. The man stopped in his tracks, his great arms thickening with retrained violence.

  “Oh…I will not touch the sweet, innocent lass, if…” Willem shrugged, letting his words fill the small glen with his intent.

  Bell Heather gasped and he turned to let his gaze take her in. She was wearing a drab tunic dress, torn at the neck, and her face was mottled with red blotches. Oh, her anger was a sight to behold.

  “Ye had better leave his daughter be! I will not have an innocent hurt because of me,” she stormed, her whole body vibrating in her rage.

  “Well then…come with me, and I will make sure his precious little Marian remains safe and sound.”

  Now, he had her.

  Chapter Twenty

  One minute she was unwinding the soiled bandage from around her head, intent on gathering the plentiful lavender for the wound, and the next minute she was strangling under the tension of a single decision.

  “I will go with ye, willingly, but ye must promise not to hurt Marian, or any member of the Homme du Sang,” she ordered, her throat burning from the heat of angry tears.

  How dare the man t
hreaten an innocent child? How dare he put his own selfish desires above the lives of others? He was an animal, a devil, an evil creature who needed exorcising.

  Tristin was beside her in a flash, his hands gripping her arms with a strength she’d never felt from him before.

  “Nay, you cannot go with him. He wants to hurt you,” he exploded, and Bell Heather flinched from the force of it. She gazed up into the face of the man she loved beyond all understanding, and watched as horror glazed over the wrath in his black eyes.

  Despite her own fear, she knew that if she didn’t go with Willem Mason, he would make good on his threat against Bear’s daughter. She couldn’t live with herself if anything happened to a child because of her decision.

  A sad smile made its way to her face, and she touched Tristin’s cheek, uncaring of the stares from his men, and the glower from Willem. “I have to go.”

  Tristin’s grip only tightened as Willem stepped closer, close enough for her to smell the scent of evil wafting from him. Her belly heaved, and her blood slowed to a trickling in her veins. Tristin’s gaze turned to ice in a blink and he snapped his attention to Willem.

  “I will come for her, mark my words. You will not get away with this,” he said, and Bell Heather realized he was going to let her go. She didn’t know whether to be relieved that he wouldn’t put up a fight and possibly get killed or disappointed that he hadn’t put up more of a fight.

  Ye are a terrible mess, she chided herself, before steeling herself in preparation of Willem’s hands on her arms. As the wicked man slid his hands over the flesh of her arms, she urged her body to remain stiff, indifferent to his touch. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of knowing how terrified she was, and how disgusted.

  Tristin growled low and his hand reached for the sword strapped to his hip, but Elric stepped forward to keep him from doing anything foolish. It was Bear’s daughter’s life at stake, and Bell Heather could see the conflicting emotions on Bear’s face; fear for his daughter, fear for Bell Heather, and hatred for Willem Mason. Tristin couldn’t sacrifice Marian any more than Bell Heather could. So, he would let her go with Willem, and Bell Heather could only hope that Tristin kept his word. That he would come for her, and that, when he did, it wouldn’t be too late to save her from Willem’s intent.

  Willem’s slow smile froze her to the spot. “That’s a good lad—”

  “Ho!” someone called from behind them, and they all turned to find Glenn escorting a man from the forest, his dagger tip in the man’s throat. The man was stiff, his eyes wide, and his face covered in sweat.

  Glenn was like a living ghost, capable of sneaking away to seek out enemies without anyone noticing. He fairly swaggered, though the hard glint in his eyes showed the edge in his manner.

  “Who do we have there?” Elric called, eyeing the man with disdain.

  “I found him skulkin’ in the woods. Figured he was with our man Willem there,” Glenn replied, stopping just inside the ring of horses.

  “I am no one, just passing through—”

  “Lies! I know who ye are, yer one o’ Willem’s men. Timmons. I know ye and yer work. Ye are a slime on me boot, and no better lookin’,” Glenn sneered, pushing the blade into the man’s chin until a bead of blood appeared.

  “You leave Bell Heather and Marian be, or we will be forced to dispatch your man,” Elric said, taking charge as Tristin watched with icy calm.

  What is wrong with him? Has he lost his nerve? Just then, she noticed a glimmer of something deeper in his gaze, something he hid quickly. Nay, he wasn’t indifferent…he was planning.

  All eyes turned to Willem, who was standing even closer to her. She could feel the insidiousness of him all the way to her bones.

  Willem laughed, a loud, sickening chuckle. “You can do whatever you want with him. He is nothing to me. But her,” he said, gripping Bell Heather’s elbow, then slipping a blade—one he’d hidden well—in between her breasts, “I will take her, and you will leave us be. If you follow us, I will slit her throat. If you send someone for her, I will slit their throats, then hers. Do you understand?” Willem’s tone was cold, flat, as if he were speaking about a picnic in the meadow and not about killing innocent people.

  Bell Heather held her breath, her gaze flicking from one face to another to another, until she finally came to Tristin. His eyes bored into hers, telling her without speaking that he meant to save her, no matter what.

  And she believed him.

  Then, Tristin nodded, slowly. “You have our word we will not follow you,” Tristin ground out through clenched teeth. Suddenly, Bell Heather didn’t know what to believe; he promised to save her, but then he swore to not pursue them… Was this his way of ridding himself of her? Of taking the chance to regain his honor by ridding his life of his temptations? When Tristin swore something, he was loathed to break it—she knew that well enough.

  Sickness roiled in her belly, stealing one of the few sparks remaining in her heart.

  Elric cursed, and Bear grumbled, but the other men remained silent, watching as predators eyeing their prey.

  “Good,” Willem snapped, then tugged on her, pulling her against him as he backed away. Stuck, trapped, at Willem’s mercy, Bell Heather could do nothing but watch as the man she loved became smaller and smaller, and then disappeared altogether as Willem dragged her into the darkness of the forest.

  She said nothing as he forced her onto his horse, then climbed up behind her, his hands taking liberties, gliding over her hips and belly, and then up to cup a breast.

  “God, you are more lush than I could have imagined. I will enjoy this,” he groaned into her ear, and she trembled. At once angry at Tristin for his betrayal and at herself for her weakness. She was well and truly on her own, and she only had herself to blame.

  Kicking his mount into a gallop, they sped over the moors toward his castle. Bell Heather clamped her eyes shut, refusing to allow her fear of horses to cloud her thoughts. She had to think of a way to escape.

  And where will ye go if ye do manage to escape Willem’s clutches? Ye are still a wanted woman. The moment ye return to Clarendon, yer life will be forfeit.

  Swallowing a sob, Bell Heather realized that there was nothing left for her in Clarendon, no matter how much she wanted to return to her simple life of herbs and pigs. She would never know the feeling of soil beneath her fingernails, or the goodness she felt after providing something a villager needed, or the satisfaction of seeing the smiles on dear faces. On Maude’s face.

  Oh, Maude, her heart cried out. Nay! She wouldn’t think of what she had lost, she had to focus on saving what she still had; her life. She’d worry about her future once she was sure she had one.

  For now, she would think…and she would pray to Tristin’s god that she would see him again, if only to spit in his eye and damn him to Druantia’s arse.

  ***

  Tristin didn’t know how he held back his wrath, but he succeeded in watching his greatest treasure walk away with his greatest foe.

  “We will get her back, Tristin,” Elric announced, his tone resolute.

  Tristin turned on his heel and marched to Chevalier. “Yes, and we’ll kill Willem Mason for daring to lay a hand on her.”

  “And for threatening Marian,” Bear added, his body thrumming with rage.

  “Yes, for that as well,” Elric agreed. “But first, we need to know where he is taking her, and his plans for her once he has her there.”

  “I do believe this one can help with that,” Glenn said, dragging Timmons into the circle of scowling knights. Timmons’s face was pale, his legs were trembling, and one of his thighs had been wounded then poorly bandaged, if the blood wetting the linen was any indication.

  “Tell us, worm, where is Mason takin’ the woman?” Glenn sneered, his piercing blue eyes skimming the man’s face, looking as if he’d rather filet him than interrogate him.

  “I do not know,” the man babbled, his eyes wild. “I am no one to him, he tells me nothing.�
�

  Glenn chuckled menacingly. “I doubt that verra much, Timmons. Even if the laird said nothin’ doesna mean ye didna hear nothin’.”

  Timmons visibly swallowed, his lips trembling.

  “Out with it, or I will have Glenn remove your eyes, one by one, and then make your eyeballs watch as he disembowels you.” Tristin was done with chivalry. He wanted Bell Heather back, was desperate to save her, and that meant dispensing with valor and morals.

  Timmons pissed himself, scenting the air with choking ammonia. “Damn, man. Where are ye bollocks?” Glenn grumbled, blinking to rid his eyes of the acrid burning.

  “I mean it. Mason tells me nothing—”

  Glenn slid the edge of his blade down Timmons’s throat and the man rushed to finish. “But I do know something about where he took your woman,” he said, eyeing Tristin.

  Tristin spat. “What do you know?” He grabbed Timmons by his collar and pulled until Glenn’s blade pressed a bloody line in his flesh.

  “Stop! Stop! His castle, he’s taking her to his castle!”

  Elric cursed. “We already knew he would take her there, but why? Why would he take her there instead of hiding her away somewhere?”

  Timmons let out a shrill laugh. “Because he can hide her there. He-he has a room—a hidden room, where he takes the girls from the village…”

  “What girls?” Bear asked, suddenly standing there, looming over them all.

  Timmons shrank away, his gaze pinned to Bear’s scowling face.

  “He likes to hurt them, the girls. He takes them from the surrounding villages, and then he hurts them. He buggers them, then he beats them until he tires of them.”

  Bile rose into Tristin’s throat and a sickening realization struck. “He means to do that with Bell Heather?”

  Timmons nodded. “Aye. I have never seen him so obsessed with one woman before. He was adamant about having her. He wanted to get her before the cardinal did.”

  “He should not have accused her of witchcraft then,” Pierre interjected.