The Warrior's Heart

by Sable Grey

“Why did you mention my uncle to me?” she asked out of curiosity after several minutes of his following.

  His stride brought him forward to her side. “I do not like lies.” He glanced down at her and shrugged his large shoulders. “And I am weak with women, it has been accused.” His hard face suddenly split with an unexpected smile that softened his features.

  A bolt of hope surged through Jolan, the first in months. With a guard, her father and those who worked for him would not feel the need to keep her under strict watch. And if this man was as gullible as he claimed, she could be well on her way to Brasov long before anyone realised she was missing.

  Her mind raced around the idea as she found her way towards the woods to the south. She would hide a second set of clothes in the stables, take a horse, and later discard her clothes and her horse so that it looked as if she was overtaken at the road. She would have to travel the rest of the way afoot, disguised as a boy, until she could obtain a new horse.

  The plan, though quickly devised, was sound. She would need to appear content with having the guard so that the others turned away their watchful eyes then convince the guard to unlock her at night to meet her in the stables for a tryst.

  As they reached the clearing in the trees at the lake, Jolan turned and faced the guard. “Do you think me pretty?”

  One dark eye brow arched momentarily. Raban’s gaze darted to the trees, as if afraid he too was being watched, before his attention returned to Jolan. Slowly, his gaze dropped down her body and up again. He inclined his head and Jolan sent him her best smile.

  “I am glad you think so, guard.” She dropped her lashes. “I like the way you look too. Tibor is a silly old man. I know my uncle lusts for me.” She knew all too well what her uncle was capable of and had experienced his vile lust first hand.

  Turning, she stepped carefully onto a fallen log and paced its length as she spoke. “Let us play a game while you are to protect me.”

  “A game?” He moved closer when she almost lost her balance.

  “We are both too old for games, I realise, but it shall make time pass more quickly for us, I think.”

  “What kind of game?”

  “I shall imagine I am a princess rather than my father’s daughter.” She purposely allowed her foot to slip out so that she went tumbling to the side. As she suspected, his strong hands caught her before she fell. She grasped his shoulders as she took her time steadying herself.

  “Careful,” he warned.

  “And I shall imagine you are my slave and you must do anything I bid of you.” She allowed her hands to remain on his shoulders even after his fingers slid away from her waist. “Perhaps you are a warrior who my army took as prisoner and brought back to me.”

  The slight curl in the corner of his mouth let her know her little scenario amused him so she continued. “And if you wish to be released from captivity, you do as I wish.” She leant forward. “I wish you to kiss me, slave.”

  For a moment his light gaze met hers then lowered to her mouth. She almost smiled. Instead she leant forward and closed her eyes. The moments dragged by but she remained as she was. She was just about to give up and open her eyes when his breath heated her lips. A second later, his mouth brushed against hers.

  At first it was gentle, coaxing. She could tell he wasn’t unaccustomed to women. That was encouraging. When she parted her lips, he stilled momentarily before thrusting his tongue forward and returning his hands to her waist. His fingers tightened and he stepped forward so that her slim torso met with his hard chest.

  For a few dizzying minutes she lost herself in his lips, surprised at the passion his mouth provided. She’d assumed he would be clumsy and perhaps even paw at her, but instead he kissed like a man with much experience. His hands glided up her back, held her firmly to him as he fed from her mouth.

  Jolan’s hands ran over his muscled chest and circled around his neck, her fingers curling in his hair. The sound he made was deep, guttural, and vibrated against her lips. That vibration sent hot chills down her spine. She pulled at him, but he tore his lips from her mouth, leaving her breathless and wanting more.

  “You tempt me, Prinţesă,” he murmured as his mouth brushed across her cheek and over her jaw, his hot breath setting her skin afire, “to do more than kiss.” His lips parted against her throat and sucked at her.

  Jolan’s body shook and her nipples hardened, pressing out against her clothes. Her sex burned for Raban’s attentions, and for a moment, she’d forgotten her plan altogether, consumed instead by her desire and her body’s demand. She reached between them, boldly pressing against his hard erection. His response was a low groan that made her feel heady with the power of wielding his desire.

  “I have told you I have a weakness. I believe you use it against me now.” One arm tightened around her while his free hand tugged at the cloth that covered her hair. When it pulled free and he lifted his gaze, she heard his sharp breath as he sucked it between his teeth.

  Since she was a child, Cloelia had washed, brushed, and braided Jolan’s hair, lecturing that a woman’s hair could bewitch a man to care for her. It was long, well past her buttocks, and due to Cloelia’s obsessive care, it always shone like dark silk. Even braided and pinned so that none peeked from beneath her head cloth, Jolan could see her guard was affected by it.

  Releasing him, she reached back and unwound the braided rope so that it hung over her shoulder. She wanted him to see its length. To her surprise, he took a step backwards, his arms suddenly leaving her. She stared at him, noting the flushed planes of his face, the way his nose flared with every breath. He desired her. Why did he retreat?

  “I fear, Prinţesă, your game is played unfairly and you have me at complete disadvantage. If we continue and are discovered, I will most assuredly hang.”

  She bit her lip as she smiled. “You think me no longer pretty?”

  “I think you look good enough to eat.” His words were spoken in a low voice, half growled. His eyes were darkened with desire reiterating the truth he spoke of his desire. Not many made Jolan truly wish to bed with them. Most men were either too set upon winning her father’s favour if her uncle had not sent them away first, or too bent upon seducing her to allow her to play the part of seductress. Almost always, she lost interest in them after a few stolen kisses. This man’s reaction to her, his adoring gaze, teetered on worship and she could not deny that she liked it.

  Stepping down from the fallen log, she advanced towards the guard but he took a step backward for every one she took forward. “If we were discovered, we could run. I have no want to marry Count Dragomir. He is a monster and I know he shall try to bring harm to me.” At those words the guard stopped his retreat, his gaze meeting hers as she continued, “I saw him for what he was but my father is blinded by Cloelia’s words of vision and prophecy. I would run with you, guard, and give you as much gold as I could steal away from my father before we left.”

  “You saw…”

  “Glowing eyes in the dark with the brightness of ten lanterns. His men killed my poor Ishild before my very eyes, licked at her blood and lay upon her dead corpse. They would not have told you what you deliver me to, for they refuse to hear what I saw with my own eyes. I tell you, these are not men that await our arrival.” She reached up and caressed his face, lowering her lashes. “I see you are a brave man, a man of strength. Run away with me and save me.”

  “I am charged to protect you, Prinţesă. No harm will come to you,” he vowed dutifully.

  She exhaled heavily. She’d thought perhaps she could lure him to assist with her escape but she saw now that she would have to stay with her original plan. While only a guard, he did seem to possess some honour and meant to do the work he was commissioned to do. Oddly, he’d not accused her of madness as others had when she spoke of what she’d seen of Count Dragomir that night. For that she was grateful.

  “Then you shall have to contend with remaining my slave.” She forced a smile. “I bid you kiss m
e again before we return to my father’s home. And tonight, you will unlock my door and meet me in the stables so you may remember your weakness for women and succumb to my every desire.”

  His lips found hers again but he did not touch her and his tongue did not move to respond to hers. This time he simply kissed her softly then leaned away. She did not mask her disappointment, but rather pouted as she turned. She heard his step as he followed her back through the trees.

  Chapter Two

  Triangled face, feminine features, large eyes fringed in black lashes, and a mouth that begged to be kissed even before it parted to command that very affection. Jolan Lovasz proved more than just the beauty Viktor first thought when she entered the great hall that morning she’d bid him meet her in the stables. He’d remained at her side throughout the day as he’d been commanded by the servant man, Tibor, learning her routine and studying those around her.

  Ewan Lovasz was the threat that Tibor feared and with one look at Aldarbern’s younger brother, Viktor understood Tibor’s concern. Ewan was a coward, spotted easily by those who knew the nature of men. Jolan had not seen the danger but Viktor recognised the kind of man by the way her uncle’s gaze watched her every move. He was a snake, one that would not strike at a man, but would deliver its poison to one smaller and weaker; one like Jolan.

  “I do not like him,” Alger said from Viktor’s side as they sat at one end of the great hall, sharpening their weapons while Tibor recited a tale of battle and lordship to the family. Jolan sat at her father’s feet, his wife at his side, all three listening intently. Ewan’s attention remained on Jolan.

  “I like that one even less.” Viktor nodded to the woman who stood behind Aldarbern’s right shoulder. She was bone thin, dark hair threaded with grey pulled back tightly from her narrow face of lines and wrinkles. He’d noticed how the woman hovered over Jolan constantly and any time Jolan showed the slightest defiance in whatever she said, she would whisper in Aldarbern’s ear. He would instantly instruct Jolan to do as she was told. His wife looked at the crone with hatred at times when Cloelia wasn’t looking and always away when she was.

  “The stable boy revealed her to be a witch,” Alger supplied.

  The noise Viktor made caused those across the room to look his way. “Forgive me,” he murmured, then continued, “I have fought many battles and have never met a man so fearless.”

  Tibor smiled and did not seem offended by the interruption, “You soon shall, Raban, for I tell the tale of Count Mircea Dragomir when he faced the Mongol horde.”

  “No man is completely fearless,” Viktor interjected. “If one fights, he fights for fear of something, otherwise what would fuel his bloodlust?”

  Tibor seemed enthusiastic for the debate for his eyes lightened and he took several steps towards Viktor as he spoke, “Bravery and honour, qualities you yourself possess for your many years of service to Brasov.”

  Viktor forced a smile. “Fear that my belly might growl and I should be forced to sleep in the mud with the pigs.” Alger chuckled beside him and nodded in agreement.

  “The count fears having something of his taken from him,” Jolan said quickly. “He told me that is why he fights so viciously.” She glanced at Cloelia when the crone’s head snapped around to stare at her, her gaze clearly an attempt to silence her but she ignored her. “I am certain he spoke the truth and would let no man…woman…or child stand in his way.”

  Viktor saw again the sadness in her eyes. He believed she had seen what she’d related earlier. Her offer to run away with him had been tempting. For half a moment he’d considered whisking her away, back to Kelemen Castle, and keeping her as his wife. Any woman who kissed with such fervour had much more to offer than her lips, and she’d offered it freely to him.

  “You speak stupidity,” Cloelia snapped and Jolan’s gaze lowered to her hands. She spoke no more.

  “It is not stupidity but in fact the very honour with which Tibor entertains us. The count fights for what is his and refuses to let another take it from him. That is to be respected,” Adalbern corrected. “Though my daughter speaks as if there is no honour in that, she will learn, once she has settled as Countess of Drago, she too will feel the urge to protect what is her own. Be patient with her, Cloelia, she is young.”

  Jolan’s lips pressed together momentarily. “I would fight for you, Father, and for my mother. But to fight for a piece of land is a waste. A home can be built anywhere and is not made of structure and timber but of those that inhabit it.”

  “Not so young or stupid,” Viktor said as he slid his sword into the sheath and saw her look of surprise but turned his attention to Tibor. “But, I admit, I do know of another who fought against his enemies and won more times than he lost.” Tibor’s eyes glittered with interest and he waved his hand, nodding for Viktor to continue.

  “His name was Dieter Kelemen and he lived in the west lands of Wallachia. He was a brave warrior, one who feared only the wrath of the woman he loved.” Viktor glanced at Alger with a grin. “And her wrath could be mighty. Her name is Ilona.” Alger laughed loudly.

  Viktor faced his audience again, strolling forward as he spoke. “She was a slave to Dieter, but it was she who held his heart. He was married to another, one he did love, but not with the passion he had for Ilona. She was his strength…and his weakness.” Viktor looked down at his feet as he recalled his father’s gentle eyes when he looked at Ilona.

  “Another man, younger but holding power of his own, came to Dieter one day in passing through on his way to his own lands. He saw Dieter’s wealth and the devotion of his people as well as the passion between Dieter and Ilona.” Viktor turned and paced back across the floor, his gaze locked on his brother’s sad expression. “The younger was jealous and, despite Ilona’s age, offered a number of his well bred horses for her. Any other man would have handed over his slave instantly but Dieter did not, refusing the offer and injuring the younger’s pride.”

  “A fool,” Aldarbern mumbled.

  “Aye, perhaps,” Viktor faced them again, “But as it is with men and the women they love, he would not part with Ilona any more than he would allow the man to take his wife, his sons, or his daughter. The younger was angry but moved on. Or so the Kelemens thought. That night however, like a coward in the dark, the man returned and murdered Dieter in his own bed. He sought the woman, Ilona, but she fought him as bravely as any warrior, for Dieter would not have loved a weak woman who bent to the will of others.”

  Viktor’s heart ached but he continued, “And upon seeing her master, her lover, she screamed out so that three of those devoted to Dieter rushed to her aid. Just as cowardly as the man had entered, he escaped into the darkness.”

  “What happened?” Jolan whispered.

  “Ilona spent hours cleaning her lover’s body so his sons would not see his life’s blood seeped from his body. She wept and her tears helped wash away the evidence of suffering. And only then did she call to his sons and her daughter to see that their father was indeed dead. The sons vowed to avenge their father, to seek out the man and kill him as coldly as he had their father.”

  “Did they do so?” Tibor asked.

  “I don’t know how the story ends, but I like to imagine that they succeeded.”

  “Where is the honour in that story?” Ewan asked.

  “What is more honourable than keeping safe what he loved most rather than handing her over for a few horses? Or nobler than a slave who showed more courage and strength than a queen for those she too loved?” Viktor saw Jolan’s smile.

  “It is a beautiful story,” she agreed.

  “What of Dieter’s wife?” Linza, Aldarbern’s wife asked.

  “She was a good woman to her family and cared for Ilona too. She died of illness when her sons were young.” Viktor glanced back at Alger. “She too would have fought against any who meant to destroy her husband or her family.”

  “Dieter was fortunate to have so many to love him as he loved them,” Linza agree
d.

  “I have heard the name Kelemen,” Tibor revealed and Viktor’s head snapped around. “Kelemen Castle in the west. It is said the castle is surrounded by three sets of large stone walls and protected by an army as mighty as that of the Ottomans.”

  “I suppose if he or one of his sons had come to offer gold in exchange for me, I would have been sent there instead,” Jolan snapped. Viktor’s gaze narrowed when Cloelia reached down and grasped her arm.

  “Enough stories. Come, we have work to do on my baskets.”

  Jolan sighed heavily but rose to her feet and allowed the woman to lead her from the room. Uncomfortable silence settled after their leave, thick and tense. Viktor studied them each. Linza’s fingers curled against the wooden arms of her chair as if any moment she would leap to her feet. Aldarbern looked down at his feet, while his brother fought against a smile. Tibor looked to his master then breathed out heavily before facing Viktor.

  “Thank you for sharing your tale, guard. I fear mine grow old and rehearsed.” He indicated the door, “Let us go and make certain you have everything you need for the trek into Moldavia.”

  Viktor moved forward, waving for Alger to follow. He knew that Tibor wished to speak with him privately, for they’d already talked of what was needed for the trek and had been provided all they requested.

  “My master regards you with respect,” Tibor spoke as they stepped outside. “I could see it when I spoke of your previous employment. He might allow you more privilege because of that. Cloelia treats Jolan poorly, as if it is she who is mistress of this house, but she does not do it when others are present. If you remain at Jolan’s side, help me devise reasons for her not to be left alone with Cloelia, and we might spare Jolan some of her cruelty these last weeks before she is to go to Drago.”

  “Why does Lovasz allow the crone to rule his home?”

  Tibor lowered his voice. “She has visions which have benefited my master many times since she came to be here. She knows of spells that keep danger away and can predict when illness befalls the castle and village.”