by Sable Grey
He grunted and released her arm. “Only a fool would believe such rubbish. The protection comes from the mountains that surround this village. She is nothing more than the proclaimed ‘gypsy prophets’ who plague the market fairs in cities such as Orastie with their tales of night creatures who can make a man live forever.”
“Cloelia has spoken of such creatures,” Jolan admitted and Raban responded with another grunt. He opened the door and waited for her to step from the castle, following her into the cool morning.
“Why did you involve yourself?”
His gaze slanted down at her. “I grow bored with nothing to do. It was an excuse to leave the castle. You will take the basket to the family Tibor instructed and afterwards we will ride to the countryside. My horse needs the exercise.” He veered towards the stables and she followed watching his long strides. Inside, she was reminded of their joining the night before and her gaze darted to the empty stall.
“Don’t even consider attempting your ploy again.” He warned as he led his horse forward. She remembered how the great beast had carried her and the guard. The animal was twice the size of her father’s own horse.
“Boy, prepare a horse for her,” he ordered the boy that cowered in the corner. Instantly the youth leapt to do as commanded.
“He is rather young for you,” Raban murmured as he readied his horse.
“He is not the boy Cloelia spoke of. It was years ago, and he and I were the same age. Regardless of what she said, I did love him.”
“My first love was around the same age.” Raban spoke after a moment. “She was older than I. I’d returned from battle with my brothers and she’d been one of the women that waited for our return.”
Jolan watched the little smile curl in his lips as he pulled the straps tighter around the horse. “Was she pretty?”
“No.” His smile widened.
“But you loved her.”
He looked up at her. “For hours.”
Heat blistered Jolan’s cheeks. “That is not love.”
“It felt so to me,” he argued.
“I’m not so stupid to confuse love and lust. He and I were in love. We’d made plans to run away together.” She waved her hand. “I do not know why I speak to you of it. You should not care of such things. Think of me what you wish. Everyone else does.” She turned and accepted the horse from the stable boy. “The only thing that matters is it was the last time anyone ever spoke as you did today to Cloelia.”
“I suppose you mean me to believe she cast some spell over him.” Raban followed her from the stables, his horse in tow when she looked back.
“No spell. She convinced my father to have the boy beaten to death.” Jolan revealed coldly. She watched Raban’s attention lower to the stable boy.
“Boy, do you know of a family with children that have fallen ill?”
The boy nodded, keeping his gaze on the ground. Raban slipped the basket from his arm and held it out to him.
“Take this to them. Let them know it is from Jolan Lovasz and that she shall visit them soon to see how they fair.” The boy took the basket and nodded again. “Do it now, boy.” The boy hurried to obey.
“You intimidate him.”
“Come. Koen’s legs need stretching. He’s not accustomed to being neglected for so long and last night’s chase was too short to satisfy his need to stretch.”
Jolan gasped when the guard grasped her waist and lifted her to her horse. Once she was settled atop, he turned and slipped onto his own horse. She followed as he kicked Koen forward.
Within a few moments, they’d left the village and were following the light path that she’d travelled the night before. Jolan turned on her horse and glanced behind them. No one came for them. No one followed. So easily he’d been trusted, Jolan thought as she turned her attention to the rocky landscape.
It was beautiful. Deep green interrupted occasionally by the bone white boulders that protruded from the earth. In the distance soft blue sky dipped down to taste the horizon, blessing the patches of mountain violets with the warm rays of morning. She sighed softly without noticing when Raban looked back at her.
“Let me know when you wish to rest,” he called back to her after about an hour and a half of riding.
“Never,” she replied. “I wish to push on until the ground falls from beneath our horses’ feet.”
“Do not think of making me chase you as I was made to do last night,” he warned. He pulled the reins of his horse and she didn’t wait for him to help her down, sliding to the ground herself. She turned her attention to the view of the village from the ridge. Maethi looked mythically charming nestled within the green and trees. Jolan stared for several long minutes. It did not seem so serene when they were riding through it. Now, it was as much part of the landscape as the mountains behind it.
“Careful, Prinţesă.” Thick fingers slid against her stomach, urging her away from the cliff’s edge. When his hand lingered, she looked up at him to find he too was gazing down at the village.
“It is easy to see why your Count Mircea Dragomir is eager for you to become his bride.”
Jolan clenched her teeth. “Of course. Maethi’s position is that which could be built into a fortress. It will allow his army of men a place to remain between him and his enemies.”
“Yes, there is that as well.”
When she looked at him, his gaze was locked on her. “You think there is something else?”
“You are a beautiful woman.”
Her heart ridiculously quickened at the compliment but she frowned. “If I were not comely the arrangement would be the same.”
“Perhaps, but he would not benefit so greatly. He might even offer less gold.”
Jolan looked at him again and found him still staring at her. “Do not think that because I gave myself to you last night that you will be given similar privileges now. I had something to gain and, short of helping me to escape, you can do nothing to change my mind.”
His lips slanted. “I understand, Prinţesă.” But the glitter of his eyes told her that he did not believe she was so unaffected.
“Why do you still address me as if I am a princess when you know the game of my being so had only been a ruse to lure you to the stables?” she demanded.
“It suits you.”
“You think I am like a princess?” She sucked in her breath when his fingers slid across her stomach as he turned away.
“I believe you have been sheltered and do not know how to stand up for yourself.” He lowered himself to the ground and leaned against a flat side of a boulder. He removed his sheath from his belt, laid it to the side, and stretched his legs out. “You gave me more of a fight last night, and the crone is just a wisp of a woman. You allowed her to speak to you as if you are nothing.”
Jolan stared at him. “You are as stupid as I first suspected if you believe me to be weak. You do not know me or this place or the life I live here. I have little room to allow or disallow anything. My sheltering has not been of my own choice.”
“I do not believe you are weak. I believe you leave yourself vulnerable,” he corrected and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. “You allow those around you to have weapons against you but possess none of your own.”
She studied his face. “What do you mean?”
He lifted an arm and tucked it behind his head without opening his eyes. “You were desperate to escape, as if you had nothing to lose, yet you allowed that crone to cut into you so that you were ready to weep.”
“I told you that she is dangerous.”
“Only because she has convinced you that she is.” He turned his head against his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for silence so that I might rest. I received very little last night.”
Jolan almost laughed. She stepped closer then kneeled between his feet. “Do you not leave yourself vulnerable now? While you lay here I could take your horse and keep riding.” She watched his defined lips
curl slightly.
“You could not make it to my horse.”
Jolan chewed at her lip, inching closer as her attention dropping to the sword at his side. But when her gaze darted back to his face, she found his eyes opened and watching her.
“Your sword is within my reach.”
“It is.”
Without taking her eyes from his face, she extended her hand until her fingers touched the smooth leather of the sheath. He didn’t move. Hefting it, she stood and awkwardly unsheathed the weapon. Still he made no move to stop her.
“I have a weapon to use against you now.” She would have pointed the sword at him but didn’t quite dare.
“Part of your vulnerability is not recognising the strengths, and lack of, in others. You were clever to use my weakness for women against me but are foolish to think you can intimidate me with my own sword.” He paused and crossed one leg over the other at the ankle.
When he continued, it was with a little smirk. “And had you any judgement of men, you would have known I was not one to be used. You would have chosen someone easier to manipulate, one who might fear your witch, Cloelia, enough to not speak of what had happened when they found you gone in the morning.”
“You are not stupid.”
“I am not. And I haven’t the same fear of the people in your life because they are only a temporary part of mine.” Raban let his arm drop from behind his head. “The stable boy should have been your first choice.”
“The men of Maethi will not even look at me,” she argued wondering why he would take such time to explain to her.
“Men are made to easily forget their fears in exchange from promises from a pretty woman.” Raban’s gaze roamed over her body. He made no effort to conceal what he was thinking.
“I know very little of seducing men. You were easier that way because I could see, as I still do, that you are readily distracted by me.” Jolan watched his gaze lift to her face.
“Rather than attempting to escape, you should arm yourself for what you must face. You cannot spend the whole of your life running from that which makes you uncomfortable.” He closed his eyes again. For a moment she just stood staring at him. Then she lifted the tip to rest just below his chin. His mouth slanted but he didn’t open his eyes.
“That sword is too heavy for you to use.”
“It seemed light enough last night,” she countered.
He moved lightening quick, pushing the blade aside and grasping her wrist before moving to lay back on the ground, bringing her down with him. He smiled smugly as she found herself sprawled atop him, her hips caught between his thighs. She felt the hard ridge of an erection suddenly push up at her and heat blistered her cheeks. She tried to stand but his heavy arm draped across her, holding her where she was.
“Perhaps it is too heavy as you say,” she conceded, wishing her body would stop trembling. Instantly she thought of the night before, his mouth on her skin, his body inside of hers. An ache bloomed inside of her.
“Where is your fight?” he frowned.
“Fight?” she murmured as she lifted her hands to his shoulders. Thick muscle stretched over solid bone, she remembered. He’d not an ounce of softness on him. His chest had been broad, dark curling hair that had reached down in a thin line to his navel.
“How can you expect to be a countess if you haven’t the spine of a milkmaid?” He demanded and, while her attention rested now on his lips, she barely heard him. He kissed her deeply, swallowing her cries so that they were not discovered. She recalled the wet warmth of his mouth on her breasts and they pressed outward at the memory.
“Your eyes give away your every thought, Prinţesă.” His voice was softer and she lifted her gaze to his eyes to find their blue depths glittering with amusement.
“I have no desire to be a countess and would welcome milking over whatever Dragomir has in store for me.” When she pushed against his chest, his arm slid away so she could stand. “Though I believe you not as poor and humble as you’ve convinced Tibor, you still know nothing of what choices I am given in life. I go to Drago under my father’s will. My door is locked because they know I will attempt to escape if given the chance. They claim I am mad but wish to conceal their suspicions from the count because they wish the marriage and his coin.”
She glanced back at Maethi. “I have no more worth to anyone there than the horses the stranger offered for Ilona in the story you told yesterday. But I have no Dieter to fight for my honour. I am a slave to the men in my life.”
She didn’t look back at him as he stood and said, “Not all are ignorant of your fears.”
She snorted at that. “Name one who has concern for my marriage to the count. Tibor is concerned only with my uncle’s interest in me because he has seen it in Ewan’s eyes himself. He has not seen the danger I saw in the count and none will hear me when I tell them of it.”
“Because of the crone.” He touched her hip intimately but she didn’t pull away. Oddly, the guard seemed to accept her more than her own family and she longed for someone’s comfort. When he stepped closer, she closed her eyes to Maethi and leant back against his solid strength. She could not explain why she trusted him so easily. There was something, in his eyes, though, that told her despite the lies he’d told of himself, he was more honourable than many she knew.
“I am more slave than Ilona.”
“Yet, you have the same choice she had,” Raban spoke softly next to her ear. “Ilona could have gone with the bastard that killed her master. She could have succumbed. Even when she thought death might find her too, she fought.” Both hands now rested on her waist and he urged her to turn and face him. “Arm and exert yourself. What is the worst that could happen if you defied the crone?”
“I know what you speak, guard, I am not weak as you may think. I have defied her. Her punishments are…” She stopped when his gaze narrowed. “I suppose they shall be no more cruel than those of the Count.”
“I give you my word that while I am commissioned, the crone will not punish you again.” He touched her chin, lifted her face so that she had to look up at him. “And in return, you shall learn to use a weapon so you might protect yourself in life rather than relying on a hired guard.”
“I am no more stupid than I am weak. You are no guard by trade but I have learned to accept whatever lies those around me wish to press.” She took a breath. “Cloelia shall punish you if you stand in her way.”
“Just let the witch try. Unlike you, I look forward to putting the crone in her place.” His eyes glittered as he spoke, as if he relished the challenge.
Chapter Four
“The day she arrives, I want men dispatched to Maethi.” Count Mircea Dragomir gazed out the window of Drago castle at the slaves his uncle was herding through the doors. Filthy as animals, he thought with disgust, but without as much worth. They were disposable and his to do with as he wished. He would have them scrubbed and checked for disease and infections. Those that were contaminated would be put to work. Those that were not would be moved into the castle.
“You are so certain it will be this easy?” Behind him, Geld, his captain, voiced concern.
“Once I am wed and he is dead, the village will be mine. It is there I will build an army to finish what was started at Kelemen.” Mircea touched his face remembering the slave’s sharp nails. Her fight had stirred him more than he had expected. Most cringed when they saw him for what he was. The slave had not; she had stood straighter, her gaze never wavering. And he wanted her.
“And the woman?”
“The witch has assured me she’s been made to remain obedient. She was groomed from an early age for me.” He waved a hand. “If she is not pliable, she will be soon enough.” He thought of Jolan Lovasz, her large dark eyes, and the mouth he’d been tempted to force open with his tongue. He imagined her bound in their marriage bed, those eyes filled with fear. He would take his fill of the weak woman, use her as he wished, and give her over to his men. If she lived, she w
ould prove an obedient and pleasing wife.
He scratched at his beard as he slowly turned from the window and faced the three men who sat in the great hall. “Besides, who would know what was best for his bride’s family but her husband?”
Geld laughed. “What of the other woman?”
“The slave, yes, I look forward to having her here. I will make her my own.” His cock grew heavy with anticipation of changing the slave. “With Dieter dead, Kelemen is weakened. We shall have to build our army quickly so that we may strike while their sorrow is still ripe.”
* * * *
“What is this?” Cloelia demanded but Viktor did not look at the woman who glared up at him.
“You were commenting on what skills she must learn as wife to Count Dragomir. If he is as fearless as Tibor has said, I imagine he shall want a wife who knows how to use a weapon as well.” Viktor glanced at the amusement on Aldarbern’s face as he watched his daughter lift the sword and swing as Alger instructed. The crone wasn’t the only one who could drop suggestions in the man’s ear.
“Dressed as a stable boy?” the crone argued.
“Your stance is one that will have you toppling over at the first strike.” He strode forward, ignoring Cloelia’s gasp. He grasped Jolan by the waist and pulled her up straight. He slipped a leg between her feet and, using his foot, kicked her stance wider. He reached around her and grasped her hand around the hilt, lifting it while the other hand pressed flat against her stomach, shifting her weight to one foot.
“The sword is an extension of your arm,” he spoke softer than he had meant to, but when she’d gasped and he felt her muscles contract beneath his hand, he couldn’t help his reaction. He didn’t release her hand and nodded over her head for Alger to advance. He’d had one of his men make the weapon for her the night before, lighter than those they carried, one she could handle.
As Alger moved more slowly than normal to deliver a strike, Viktor guided Jolan’s arm and body to block the strike. “Did you feel the solidity of the strike?” She nodded and he doubted she even realised she was leaning back against him. “That is what you should feel each time you block. You take the full strength of the blow and block it with the strength of your entire body.”