by R. S. Ford
Despite his youth, the young man walked in like he owned the room. Josten had seen it often amongst the duke’s retinue. He was most likely from the gentry, his knighthood bought for him, his good name seeing to it he wasn’t challenged by the lower orders. As much as Josten had dragged himself up from the gutter to reach his position he couldn’t bring himself to be resentful. These were hard times, and you had to grab what you could and cling onto it, no matter if it was handed to you on a gold platter.
‘Josten Cade,’ said the young knight, staring straight ahead as though he were on the parade ground. ‘I am Sir Percel of Jallenhove. Second Sword in the retinue of Duke Harlaw of Ravensbrooke.’
He paused, as though the information might provoke a reaction. Josten and Mullen merely sat and looked on. They found it was always best to seem unimpressed, especially with young officers in the duke’s entourage – it never failed to put them off their stride.
‘I… er…’ Percel continued.
‘Arrived just in time,’ Josten said, sparing the young knight any more discomfort. Mullen looked disappointed at his friend’s uncharacteristic graciousness. The knight smiled and nodded in that self-assured yes, I did indeed save your arse type manner.
‘Well, almost,’ Mullen said, nodding to Josten’s bandages. ‘There’s two dead men-at-arms could have done with you here a bit earlier.’
Percel bristled at the notion he was to blame for the deaths. ‘We came as quickly as we could. If the scout hadn’t found us on the road and notified us of your predicament you would have all been slaughtered.’
Mullen inclined his head as though that were questionable, but Josten couldn’t be bothered with would-haves.
‘And the duke? Where is he?’
‘Still to the north in Ravensbrooke,’ said Percel. ‘Word has been sent and he should be on his way as we speak.’
‘That’s a relief,’ said Mullen. ‘There was me wondering how we’d manage without him.’
Josten gave his old friend a reproving glance. Percel looked annoyed at Mullen’s insinuation, opening his mouth to speak. The door opened before he had a chance.
Her entrance silenced the room.
Duchess Selene had been on the road for days and spent the night in a decrepit fort under siege, yet she was still the most beautiful thing Josten had ever seen. Her black hair was tied up in braids, loose ringlets caressing her neck. She regarded them with piercing green eyes that could hold a man’s breath in his throat until she saw fit to let him breathe. Behind, her handmaids stood fidgeting in the corridor, sensing their mistress’s ire. Josten could sense it too, and it only made him smile.
‘Captain Cade,’ she said, staring at him. All Josten could do was meet that gaze. ‘Still alive I see.’
‘Not quite kicking, milady, but I’m sure I’ll be dancing the rondel before you know it.’
‘And would you like to explain exactly what you were doing risking your life, and those of my honour guard, by opening the gate and allowing those bandits the chance to enter?’
An uncomfortable silence descended on the room. From the corner of his eye, Josten could see Mullen chewing his lip as though fighting back the need to snigger at his friend’s dressing down.
‘It was a tactical decision, milady. The gate would have been breached eventually—’
‘And you thought it best to open it and allow Tarlak Thurlow to stroll in, rather than keeping him out?’
‘Well, I—’
‘And I am also led to understand Tarlak was willing to negotiate? An option you thought it best to answer with a crossbow?’
‘Milady,’ said Sir Percel. ‘I can assure you, Tarlak Thurlow would have honoured no bargain. Captain Cade’s actions—’
‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,’ said Selene, not even deigning to look at the young knight. ‘As for you—’ She fixed Josten with a firm gaze both withering and thrilling. ‘—my husband will hear about your actions.’
‘Milady, I must protest,’ Percel pressed, despite Selene’s admonishment. ‘Captain Cade acted with the utmost bravery.’
‘It’s true,’ said Mullen, in an unexpected show of support. ‘Cade only had your best interests at heart, milady.’
Silence once more. Selene didn’t take her eyes from Josten. It was all he could do to hold her gaze.
‘Give me the room,’ she said quietly.
Sir Percel didn’t hesitate, bowing low even though she had her back to him, and opening the door. As Mullen followed her out he offered the same throat-slicing gesture Josten had given him on the road earlier. Maybe it was intended as a sign of solidarity. More likely it meant you’re fucked.
When the door closed behind him, Duchess Selene walked slowly towards Josten. She held him in that inscrutable gaze of hers, black pupils like pinpricks in an ocean of green.
‘Does it hurt?’ she asked as she stood not two feet in front of him.
He could smell her, the scent of some perfumed oil, a heady musk that made him grow faint.
‘Only if I move,’ Josten replied. His eyes no longer held hers but slid down, taking in the perfect contour of her left shoulder, just visible above the neckline of her dress.
‘Shame,’ she said, reaching out a hand to run her finger lightly over the bandage that bound his shoulder. Without warning, she pressed her thumb into the flesh above his wound.
Josten grunted at the sudden pain. He reached out and grasped her hips, pulling her towards him so that she straddled his thighs, pressing his face into her chest and breathing deep.
Selene grasped a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head back, forcing him to look at her. She stared intently into his eyes, searching for something in them.
‘I thought they were never going to leave,’ she said, before kissing him hard on the lips.
Josten grasped her buttocks, pulling her close, grinding himself against her. She moaned as she kissed him, one hand still clutching his hair, the other caressing his cheek.
The pain in his shoulder burned like hellfire but Josten ignored it. No torturer in the world could have distracted him from this. The smell of her consumed him, the feel of her in his arms driving him mad.
Selene’s tongue teased the end of his and he felt himself growing hard in his trews as she moved on top of him.
‘You’ve made me wait too long for this,’ she breathed.
Damn right I have, he wanted to say, but he was suddenly too busy fumbling for the hem of her skirts. She leaned back, reaching down to undo the drawstring of his waistband. As she moved against Josten’s grip, his shoulder screamed, but he gritted his teeth. There was no way an arrow through the shoulder was going to hold him back.
He dragged her skirts up, his hands feeling the bare flesh of her thighs. Selene tugged at his trews as he lay back on the pallet bed. No sooner were they round his knees than she was on top of him, easing him inside her so slowly he almost screamed.
They both gasped gently, and for the first time the duchess closed her eyes, fingers grasping at the muscles of his arms, pulling him deeper. Josten grunted against the discomfort in his shoulder, trying his best not to cry out from lust and pain.
Selene opened her eyes again, smiling as she pressed her hips down against him. Josten could stand it no longer, grabbing her around the waist with his good arm and tossing her onto the bed. Again, she grabbed the back of his head, pulling him close and kissing him so hard their teeth clashed.
Josten didn’t care about the danger anymore; he was already lost deep inside her. As always, the last thing that went through his head before he forgot himself was that he’d probably be executed for this. It would be neither quick nor painless.
4
THEY stood in the courtyard, waiting as a breeze rushed through the ageing stones of Fort Carlaine. Josten watched the road, seeing movement in the distance. Mullen was by his side along with the four surviving men-at-arms and Gerrard the old castellan, still wearing his scratched and dented armour. Sir Percel
and twenty knights stood behind them, unmoving in the afternoon air, like statues standing in ancient reverence. It seemed apt in such a venerable place as this.
Josten loathed this kind of pomp. Ceremony for ceremony’s sake. They were only waiting for Harlaw, not crowning a new king.
He looked up to where Selene stood with her handmaids. She glanced back, catching his gaze and raising her eyebrow a touch. Josten wasn’t sure how to take the gesture. Was she agreeing this was all horseshit? Or was she remembering what they’d done the day before? Josten was struggling to get that out of his own head, feeling the familiar stirring in his loins the memory of her always induced.
The sound of galloping hooves shook Josten from his thoughts and he turned his attention back to the road. Dust was in the air, horses racing toward the gate, Duke Harlaw’s flag raised high. Sir Percel and his knights seemed to stand yet more stiffly to attention, if that were possible. Even Mullen seemed to puff his chest out that bit further as the first of the riders clattered over the broken drawbridge and into the courtyard. Old Gerrard saluted, his rusty gauntlet clanking on his helmet.
Duke Harlaw was a handsome man well into his fifties. His beard and flowing locks had more than their share of white, but the blue of his eyes shone like crystal. He steered his huge white charger into the courtyard, scanning the waiting honour guard before looking to his wife. As his retinue reined up their horses behind him he leapt down from the saddle with the vigour of a much younger man, mounting the stairs to where Selene stood.
‘My lady,’ he pronounced, his voice echoing for all to hear. ‘It lifts my heart to see you unharmed.’
He reached out and took her hand, brushing it gently with his lips before turning back to Josten and the rest of the men. Selene looked unimpressed with his gesture.
‘And here are the men of the hour,’ said Harlaw, striding back down the stairs towards Josten, Mullen and the men-at-arms. ‘The brave heroes. Defenders of Fort Carlaine.’ He stood before them now, white teeth shining from amidst his lustrous beard. ‘There’ll be reward aplenty. Tales told. Songs sung. I’ll see to it.’
Under the barrage of compliments Mullen couldn’t stop himself. ‘It was nothing, my lord,’ he said. Josten felt like slapping him around the back of the head.
‘Nothing?’ said Harlaw, grasping Mullen by his broad shoulders. ‘Without you my wife would have been taken by brigands. Who knows what would have become of her.’
Josten glanced up to see Selene and her handmaids moving back inside the keep. He knew all too well that she had little enough patience for Harlaw’s blether.
One of the duke’s captains climbed down from his horse and began barking orders. As he did so Harlaw turned to Josten, moving closer.
‘And I’ve heard about you, old friend,’ he said.
Josten nodded an acknowledgement, trying his best to sound modest. ‘Just doing what you pay me for,’ he replied.
Harlaw shook his head. ‘Walk with me.’ He turned and headed toward the weathered staircase that led up to the battlements.
When they’d mounted the wall Harlaw paused, planting his hands between the crenels and taking in a deep breath.
‘I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am,’ said Harlaw. ‘Without you, only the gods know what might have happened.’
‘I think Thurlow’s reputation might have been slightly exaggerated. He’s not as dangerous as he makes out.’ A sudden twinge in Josten’s shoulder reminded him what utter shite he was talking.
‘Well, I’m still grateful,’ said Harlaw. ‘And so is my wife, I’m sure. I hope she showed her appreciation in a suitable manner.’
A fleeting memory of pale breasts and sweet lips flashed through Josten’s head.
‘Yes, her thanks were more than adequate.’
Harlaw nodded, still staring out onto the surrounding forest.
‘And how’s the injury?’
‘I’ll live,’ said Josten, rolling his shoulder, feeling the stitches.
‘Good.’ Harlaw turned to look at him. ‘I’ll need you fighting fit in the days to come. And more men like you. Tough times are coming. I need real warriors beside me if we’re to survive them.’
‘I’m yours to command, my lord.’ Josten felt a twinge of guilt.
‘I know.’ Harlaw smiled. ‘You always have been. The most loyal soldier I’ve got.’
That made the guilt burn hotter. Josten had served Harlaw for years, fought beside him during the Mercenary War, and had a lot to be grateful to him for. His and Selene’s betrayal hurt, but despite his desire for the man’s wife it didn’t mean he would serve Harlaw any less faithfully.
‘If it’s roaming bandits that worries you, I’m sure a few more patrols should see them off,’ said Josten, desperate to change the subject.
Harlaw shook his head. ‘It’s not the likes of Tarlak Thurlow that concern me. The Mercenary Barons across the Crooked Jaw are mustering their armies, ready to take advantage of our war. The Blood Lords of the Ramadi are long dead, but their servants still vie for power to the north. As soon as their civil war is over they’ll be looking to expand their influence. These are trying times, Cade. If I can’t unite the kings of the Suderfeld we could well be done for.’
Ending the War of Three Crowns seemed an impossible task for one man, but if anyone could do it, it was Harlaw.
‘You can rely on me,’ said Josten. He meant it. For all of Harlaw’s bluster and pomp it was obvious the man was in need of help.
Duke Harlaw smiled. ‘I know I can,’ he said, clapping a hand on Josten’s shoulder. ‘But enough of this. We need to celebrate. There must be a banquet table somewhere in this old ruin. I’ll have some of the men hunt us some meat and I’ve brought wine from the Kellden Flats. The best there is!’
Josten nodded with enthusiasm. He was more than happy to drink Harlaw’s wine. But then, he was more than happy to fuck the man’s wife when it would most likely lead to his death, so a little wine seemed the least of his troubles.
As night fell, the sounds of revelry rang out from Fort Carlaine. Harlaw’s men had found tables and placed them end to end in what used to be the main hall. Candles of a hundred different lengths and shapes lined the walls, bathing the dark room in winking light. A buck turned on the spit in one corner and the welcome smell of roasting venison filled the room, making Josten’s mouth water. Mullen clearly felt much the same, as his stomach sang a song like a thousand frogs croaking.
By the time the night sky darkened, Josten had sunk enough ale to make the sting in his shoulder subside to a dull ache. Harlaw’s retinue were drunk for the most part, but the duke himself was clearly making a fashionably late entrance with his wife. Sir Percel sat at the far end of the table sipping at a goblet. He didn’t seem to be enjoying proceedings. Josten could only think he was still sore from missing the action earlier. He seemed the type who craved recognition, and capturing Tarlak Thurlow would have been just the right amount of heroics to secure his reputation for life.
‘I’m fucking starving,’ Mullen tried to whisper, though with the ale and the noise filling the rest of the hall it was almost a shout. ‘When’s the meat being bloody carved?’
As though answering his question the main doors to the hall opened and two of Harlaw’s knights walked in, turning half a step then standing to attention. Josten could only think how much Harlaw loved his pomp as the duke walked in, Selene by his side, her hand on top of his in the courtly fashion. Every man in the hall was on his feet with the scraping of a score of chairs. Josten felt a slight tug of jealousy. As much as he wanted her, as much as he’d tasted her, she was married to Harlaw. She was the duke’s in the eyes of the gods and the law and she could never truly belong to a man like Josten Cade. And if it were discovered they had lain together, Josten would be strung up from the nearest tree. It didn’t make his desire, or his envy, burn any less bright.
The duke and duchess took their seats at the head of the table, with Harlaw giving a casual wave of his ha
nd to signal that everyone should sit.
‘About bloody time,’ said Mullen, as two of Harlaw’s men started to carve the venison.
More meat and ale were served but Josten couldn’t take his eyes off Selene. Idle chatter buzzed around him, laughter filled the hall, but all Josten thought about was her. Selene did not once try to catch his eye, but neither did she engage Harlaw in conversation. Their marriage was a political one. She had never loved him. If she loved anyone it was Josten bloody Cade, of that he had little doubt.
Mullen’s meaty hand slapped against Josten’s shoulder and he was thrust from his dreams of Selene.
‘We should drink,’ said Mullen, his breath almost unbearable in Josten’s ear. ‘To us. To you. And especially to me.’ He clapped a hand against his new jacket that denoted him as captain of the duchess’s honour guard. ‘We’re going places, Cade. You and me.’
Josten lifted his tankard without enthusiasm. As he did so he caught Harlaw staring at him. Harlaw raised his own goblet, silently joining in the toast. Josten smiled, giving the duke a nod.
Selene suddenly stood, making to leave, but Harlaw grasped her hand. She stopped for a moment, not deigning to look at him before she wrenched her hand free of his grasp and walked quickly from the room.
Josten made to stand, seeing an opportunity, but Mullen thrust him down in his seat.
‘Dicing with death, old mate.’
Josten looked at his friend quizzically. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Mullen leaned in close. ‘I might be ugly as a donkey, but I’m not stupid as one.’ He raised a knowing eyebrow.
Josten stared at him for a moment before nodding in defeat. He’d known for the longest time that his late-night trysts with Selene could never stay a secret. He was just glad it was Mullen who knew – a man he could trust.
‘Look,’ Mullen filled his tankard from a jug, ‘you know me. I’d fuck a snake if someone held its mouth open for me. But sometimes you’ve got to stop your loins leading you round like a sheep at market. Especially when it’ll get you killed.’