by Rae Monet
"Go down to the kitchen and Maggie will properly clean and bandage this for you.” Her body tensed and he felt a protest coming. He spoke before she could sear his ears with her anger. “This is not a request, Diana. This is an order you vowed to obey while under my training."
She swore. He couldn't help but smile slightly. He used the knight's vow she had taken to obey against her at every opportunity. It irked her and amused him.
"Must you constantly remind me of your idiotic vow?"
He made all of his knights follow not only the code of honor of a Knight of the Realm, but also his own rules. “You can release yourself from that vow.” He finished binding her arm, aware that she realized the only way to release one of his knights from their vow was to remove themselves from his service.
"You would like that, wouldn't you, to finally have me off your training field?” She jerked her bloody tunic back on, her lips puckering in a wince. He shook his head at her actions. She was purposely hiding her mark from him. He wondered what it meant.
"Yes,” he said.
Fire ignited in her eyes. She rose and he moved with her. They stood, facing each other. He watched the rapid rising and falling of her chest, the emotion flicking across her face. Then he noticed her color was fading. His gaze lowered, and he saw blood seeping from under the bandage.
"Diana!” Stephen reached for her as she swayed on her feet. He clasped her tightly in his arms and slowly lowered her to the edge of the bed. Weak as she was, she tried to struggle out of his grip.
"Stop it, just rest for a few minutes. You've lost some blood.” Her movements ceased, as if she'd finally resigned herself to his request.
He crouched in front of her, not liking her pallor. He needed to get her blood flowing again.
"Women's energies are much better spent in a man's bed than on the battlefield.” It had become a joke between them. It was one of the first sentences he had murmured to her, and since then he frequently used the same words to break the tension between them.
As usual, it worked. He watched the corners of her mouth twitch as she tried to keep from smiling. She was beautiful when she smiled, Stephen thought. Which was why most of the time he chose to anger her rather than make her laugh. But right now she needed to relax.
She usually countered his remark with one of her own—telling him a woman didn't need a man's bed to be whole. He reached out his hand and gently brushed a tear from her cheek. He briefly wondered what had prompted him to touch her, but her next statement sent his thoughts spiraling into places they had no business going.
"Are you volunteering to share my bed?"
He actually sputtered. He didn't even have a quick retort. Her hand came up to caress the scar on his face and he let his eyes drift closed at her touch. Her other hand came up to join the first one as her hands ran over his face to settle at the pulse point at his neck. His pulse began to pound like a drum against her fingers.
Boom, boom, boom, he felt it in his head. He snapped his eyes open and met her narrowing gaze. He crouched in front of her, unmoving. Looking up at her amazing features, he found himself at a colossal disadvantage.
"I am not sure bedding you would be the best use of my time."
At his flip answer, hurt crossed her face. Then her hands tightened on his neck and her thumb ran over his rapidly beating pulse.
He growled in response. He was trying hard not to wrap his hand around the back of her neck and pull her into a kiss so absorbing she would never doubt his interest in her.
"Perhaps not. And perhaps you will cease making comments to me in the future if you are not prepared to follow through."
He shook his head. Her hands remained locked around his neck. “You are pushing me,” he said, “and I am not sure you are prepared to handle the consequences."
"Do you really believe that?” She lowered her voice along with her eyes. There was a sensuality in her now. It showed the unspoken promise of the woman beneath the hard outer trapping, a softness she always tried so hard to conceal. It was a look he had always hoped he would never see. Her essence inflamed him.
His hand lingered, his thumb caressed her cheek. In turn her hand continued its light touch against his neck, barely touching, fluttering over his skin as if brushing off a small fleck of dirt.
His head dropped forward as he enjoyed the feelings her touch evoked in him. His breathing began to speed up to match the booming of his blood. He closed his eyes. His hand moved from her cheek to settle at the back of her neck and rested there. Her hands tightened on his throat as she gently massaged his neck muscles. Not wanting to, he groaned in response to her touch.
He could no longer take the stroking of her hands on the sensitive part of his neck. He abruptly rose, breaking her hold on him, and backed away from her. She raised her eyebrows. Somewhere in the back of his mind, through the haze of desire flaming through his body, he realized he shouldn't be alone with her in her chambers. He shouldn't be touching her. He definitely shouldn't be allowing her to touch him.
"I challenge you,” she said.
Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows as he ran his unsteady hand through his long hair.
"Now what, pray tell?” He eased back on the chair across from her bed. It was safe there, a least ten feet spread between them.
"If I can best you in a battle of swords, I fight in the next skirmish."
He laughed at her dare. “I think not. Besides, you are injured.” He pointed at her shoulder.
"When my shoulder heals sufficiently I will make good on my challenge."
God's blood, he thought, she was serious.
"Are you afraid I will win?” she demanded.
He chucked and ran a nervous hand through his hair again. “Certainly not, I am the best swordsman in this garrison. I fear more you will be injured again."
A flare of familiar anger flashed over her face. “Let me worry about that."
He crossed his long legs in front of him and nodded his head.
"Fine, if you want it like that. When you heal, I will consider your challenge.” He ran a hand across the shadow of his jaw.
"Accept it now."
He growled in frustration. “Fine, I accept it, now.” He waved his hand at her. “If it is so important to you."
"First blood.” Her stipulation made him pause. There was no way he could purposely draw her blood. Never.
"No.” His voice turned hard.
"First blood, Stephen. It is the way it is done in your Realm I believe."
He did not answer her, deciding to change the subject. Resting his elbow on the chair, he propped his chin in his hand and lazily regarded her.
"Are you going to tell me about the mark on your back?"
Her eyes widened with surprise. Just when he thought she would answer him, Roan barged into the room. Stephen was on his feet in an instant, but Roan ignored him, charging toward Diana.
"I heard you were injured on the practice field.” The tension on Roan's face had Stephen clasping his brother's shoulder.
"She is fine, do not worry. I have bandaged it. She will see Maggie to have it cleaned. All is well."
At his reassurance, Roan visibly relaxed. Bending down in front of Diana, he took up the position Stephen had vacated moments ago. Stephen hoped Roan was distracted enough that he wouldn't notice they had been alone in her bedchamber. As if sensing his thoughts, Roan glanced over his shoulder at him.
He tensed. I've got suspicion written all over my face, he thought.
"Bandaged it, huh?"
He raised both his hands in the sign of surrender. He didn't say anything, simply started backing out of the room.
Diana smiled and threw out a parting remark. “So I can consider my challenge accepted, along with all of the stipulations?"
He pointed a warning finger at her while shaking his head. “We will discuss this later, have no doubt about that.” Before Roan could ask what they were talking about, he left.
* * * *
He straightened in the chair and tried to pick back up on the conversation.
"I am sorry, please continue.” He gave Roan what he hoped was a contrite expression. He watched Roan sigh and lean forward in his chair as if to emphasize what he was saying. His voice lowered as if he was telling him a secret.
"Diana is a Wolf Warrior. She comes from a long line of warriors. I cannot tell you where they reside. I am putting much at risk even giving you this much information, but my people are unique."
He sighed when Stephen gave him a doubtful look. “She has been trained since the age of six for her vocation. Do you not find it strange a woman holds such skill?"
Stephen rubbed away an ache in his forehead and nodded.
"She will never be anything but a warrior,” Roan continued. “Whether it is here or in our homeland, her life will always be at peril. It is her calling, as it is mine. There is no way for you to protect her, except to hold her close to you. She will always choose to fight. It is our path."
Roan sighed, rose, and placed his hand on Stephen's shoulder. “It will do you no good to drive her away. What she faces where she is from, is much more dangerous than the Scottish squabbles we have here."
"What have I done?” Stephen whispered. He vaulted out of his chair and started pacing.
"Nothing you cannot repair, I pray."
With a jerk of his chin, he acknowledged Roan's suggestion and tore out of the room.
* * * *
Roan fell back into the chair, thinking he would do well to take his own advice. He laid his head back against the chair, feeling no desire to retire to his room. His bed was cold and empty, much as his life was without Serena. A throat cleared, interrupting his dark reflections. He glanced at the doorway where Ian casually leaned.
"What is it, Ian?” He pushed his legs out in front of him.
"Solve all their problems, did ya then, laddie?” Ian's soft Irish brogue brought a smile to Roan's face.
"It is not I who needs to solve his problems, it is Stephen."
Ian waggled his eyebrows. “You'd do well to heed some of that well-worded advice I'm sure ya gave him, my friend."
Roan straightened in his chair. He was determined they would not have this discussion. He had avoided an argument up to this point and he was in no mood to listen to his old friend's scorn.
"Did you have a reason for seeking me out?"
"Your father, Lord Aston, rides through the gates as we speak."
Ian's words forced Roan to his feet. His father would want to claim the men he had sent to Roan for training. He said the same to Ian.
"Aye, he seeks to increase his fighting force with the men you promised him."
Sighing, Roan ran a hand over his face. Perhaps dealing with his father was just what he needed right now. If nothing else, it would distract him from thinking about Serena.
"I'll deal with him directly. Thank you.” He clapped Ian on the back as they strode out of the room. He meant his gratitude in more ways than one. Not only did he thank Ian for the information, but also for allowing the subject of Serena go unspoken.
"You're welcome, laddie. Ya know I'm always here for ya?"
"I know."
Roan was still troubled as he greeted his adopted father. They clasped arms and quickly hugged.
"Roan, my boy, you are a bit worse for wear. Is all well?"
Roan smiled at the large rounded, balding man before him. His father, the Duke of Aston, was an outspoken, jovial man loved by many and hated only by those he fought. Even aged, he was truly a gifted warrior, bested by few. He stood as high as Roan and although rounded by age and good food, it took nothing away from his large frame. He was still a formidable man.
"I am well, Father, perhaps a bit tired. Training your young fighters has fatigued me.” He grunted as his father's hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"My boy, I do not believe you for one moment. You are as hearty as ever. No, yours is a deeper weariness I think. One not shown on your frame. Got woman problems, do you?"
Roan groaned as he looked toward the heavens. His father, not only a skilled fighter, was also excellent at reading faces.
"Father, must we?"
"Ah, not open for discussion, eh?” The Duke of Aston clapped his shoulder. “All right, I will surrender for now.” His father shifted his gaze, looking around the room.
"Where is my other dark brooding son? By the Gods, I want to have a little sword practice with him. The only time I can get him to smile is when we are locked in battle."
Roan smiled at his father's description of Stephen. The Duke never censored his words. It was one of the reasons his father was so well liked by the King—and at times so hated. His father didn't have the demeanor of other nobles. He was outspoken and, at times, rude.
"I am a warrior.” That was how he explained his actions to King Edward. He didn't have time to speak fancy words or wear fancy clothes. He was engaged by Edward to fight, not socialize.
Everything Roan knew today, he'd learned from this wonderfully candid man. The Duke had done the unthinkable when he had taken Roan as his son. The adoption of a son whose bloodline was questionable, was not done by a Duke. However, soon the King was more than grateful when Roan fought by his father's side and proved himself to be a gifted soldier. Well-trained fighters were an asset, whatever their bloodlines. King Edward had lofty dreams, and men like Roan, Stephen, and their father, made the King's dreams possible.
So, he congratulated Roan's father rather than disgraced him.
"Father, I have missed you.” Roan clasped his arm around his father's shoulder and led him toward the battlefield.
"Stephen is otherwise occupied. Woman problems."
"God's blood, what do you expect? What woman would have such a gloomy manner of a man?” Throwing back his head, the Duke laughed.
"I will explain later. Let us go have a look at your men, shall we?"
"Yes, let's. With this new King earning disrespect at every turn, I must ready my garrison.” With a shake of his head, his father switched subjects. “I still cannot believe there is a woman out there accepting Stephen."
"Well, your Grace.” Roan gave a mock bow of his head. “Just wait and see."
* * * *
Diana stuffed her clothes into the pack she would strap to her horse. Tears fell unchecked down her face. She angrily whipped them away as she continued to cram in her belongings.
What was she thinking?
That she could fit into this misfit group of people? That she would, without doubt, be accepted for who she was?
She laughed at her navet. Woman had a different place in this world than in the Realm. They were expected to run a household, stitch their days away mending men's socks and tunics, and produce and care for their children—without question.
They were not equal.
As a matter of fact, they were no better than a servant. Their man was their master. She grunted. She was doing the right thing by leaving. She could never be the woman Stephen wanted. He constantly reminded her of the fact by telling her she was not good enough to fight their battles. Telling her to adjust her fighting style to their code of honor.
"Humph,” she said out loud as she tightened the straps to secure her traveling bag. She had been good enough to train with the most skilled warriors of the Realm, but here she wasn't even good enough to kiss their boots. Instead she was expected to polish them.
Well, she had had enough. She was leaving, returning to her own people. She paused for a moment and thought about Roan. She grimaced. She would miss him sorely. Within the last three months they had grown close. Close enough for Diana to see how much he mourned the loss of his only love, Serena. In her heart, Diana knew Serena had sacrificed a life with him so he could have his castle and his lands, so he would remain the protector of his people.
But D
iana swore when she saw how the loss had affected Roan. She would never make a similar mistake. She would always be true to her heart and the rest be damned.
So why am I leaving? she wondered.
She shook her head. She had loved Stephen from the first moment he had placed his hand on her waist to help her off her horse. He had looked at her with such regret after he had drawn her blood, she thought she would cry. She loved the man who had picked her up out of the mud when she had fallen on a particularly wet day. Who had touched her with such gentleness when he cleaned the wound on her arm. Who had run his hand over her wolf mark with reverence in his eyes.
Oh, but she loved him more than her own life. Yet she could take his disdain no longer. He rejected her at every turn, and his parting comment this day gave her insights to his true feelings. He didn't trust her, and she would not be where she was not needed.
My own people need me more than this.
She needed to feel like her life skills were gifted to her for a reason. It was not acceptable that all her practice and dedication be for naught.
Therefore, she would leave and go back to her people. Stephen had spat at her to return. This time, she would obey him without question, even as it broke her heart. She would fight for the Solarians as she had in the past.
She pulled her bag over her shoulder and made for the door. She stopped, her mouth opening. Stephen leaned against the opening, his arms crossed, his body barring her exit. She tried to skirt around him, but he would have none of it. He stepped inside, and she backed away. He kicked the door shut with an undue amount of force, then turned and threw the bolt with the sound of finality. He slowly moved back around. Diana took another step back. Since he would not let her leave the room, she dropped her bag on the bed and flopped down on the edge. She raised a hand in question, pointing to the door.