Warrior's Revenge

by Coreene Callahan

  “Nate?”

  Eyes the size of minted sterling, Nate’s bottom lip trembled. “W-when? When do you want to go?”

  Aurora struggled to swallow her own fear. She fidgeted, trying to find a more comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. “Now. Tonight.”

  “God have mercy.”

  “I know ’tis not the best, but it will work,” she whispered in a rush, hope carrying each word. “The keep is quiet. All within these walls are either drunk or abed. We can do this. ’Tis the perfect time and—”

  “By the saints, ’tis insane,” Nate muttered, running a hand through his wavy blond hair. “Where will we go?”

  “To Alvars. To Quinlyn.” Reaching into the sleeve of her gown, she pulled out a crinkled piece of well-worn parchment and handed it to Nate. “I received this last week. My uncle does not know of it. Quinlyn instructed the messenger to give the missive to me in secret.”

  “Are you certain of that, Rory?”

  “Aye.” Aurora nodded, her hands worrying the fraying ends of her braided girdle.

  Pinching his lip between his thumb and forefinger, Nate eyed her, his anxiousness speaking volumes. “You know I cannot read. What does it say?”

  “She is to marry the new lord to Alvars Keep in a matter of weeks and has invited me to the wedding.”

  He raised a brow. “Invited?”

  She grinned. “Aye, well, ’twas actually something more of a summons, but all the same.”

  Uncertain, her friend stared at her a long moment. “Is there no other way?”

  “Nay,” Aurora said, sorry he had become tangled in the vicious web of her family.

  Taking a deep breath, Nate set his shoulders and reached under the bed to pull two small bundles from beneath it. He handed her one. “All right then, lead on.”

  His trust gave her strength. His courage gave her hope. Luck. All she needed was a touch of good fortune to see them through. She only prayed Fate saw fit to grant her the one thing she could no longer do without…

  Her freedom and a soft place to land.

  Held high by a maddening flute, music drifted on the evening air. From his position beneath the canopy of a large oak, Brigham de Mornay propped his shoulder against its stout trunk. Arms folded over his chest, he scanned the coddled expanse of Hexhem’s town square. His eyes narrowed on those dancing around the large bonfire at its center. Flames rose to meet the darkening sky, snapping in the same way he longed to at his best friend.

  The meddlesome arse.

  Like a predator locked onto prey, Camden never backed down. Or knew when to quit. Normally, he enjoyed that about his friend. This eventide, however? Not so much. After spending all day in the saddle, he needed some peace and quiet. Not that Camden cared. Per usual, his first in command had other ideas.

  “Come now, Brigham.” Turning an acorn over in his hand, Camden drilled him with pale green eyes. “You cannot continue in this vein.”

  Brigham sighed. “Leave it alone, Cam.”

  “But—”

  “Bloody hell.” Patience hanging by a thread, he scowled at his best friend. “I was under the impression you are my first-in-command. Not a meddling matchmaker.”

  Camden laughed at the insult. “See you a flock of females nearby? Nay, I’m not playing at matchmaking, simply trying to make you see reason.”

  “My reasoning is sound. It needs no improvement.”

  “Sound?” Camden huffed. “How can you say so when you have just spouted the most idiotic piece of nonsense I have ever heard?”

  Quelling the urge to strangle his friend, Brigham fisted his hands. “’Tisn’t nonsense. ’Tis self preservation, and you know it.”

  “By all that is holy, Brigham. You are a baron. ’Tis your duty to marry.”

  Irritated by the statement of fact, Brigham growled at the peddler fast approaching with two tankards of ale. As the man squeaked and scurried away, he swung his attention back in his friend’s direction. “Cease or be sorry, Cam. I begin to lose patience with your prattling.”

  “You know you will succumb eventually. Why do you run from it?”

  Brigham snorted. “Run? I simply do not want another wife.”

  “Why? Because of your reputation?” Camden asked, concern in this tone. “Do you fear none will have you?”

  He scowled with renewed vigor. God grant him patience. From the moment they set camp on the outskirts of town, Camden had become a yammering irritant. Under normal circumstances, not a problem. Right now, though, it had become a huge one. Camden’s obsession with marriage—his in particular—could no doubt be blamed on the Lord of Alvar’s complete lack of sense. Why Eamon—his best friend and vassal—had decided to marry still remained a mystery. At least to him. Add that bit of idiocy to the fact he now traveled to witness the travesty made Brigham want to ride straight back to the haven of his own hearth.

  “I fear naught,” he said, eyeing his first in command. “And as to the other…see you any women lined up for my favors? I am known far and wide as the Monster of Mornay. There exists no father greedy enough to put his daughter in my care.”

  Camden gave him a pointed look. “Not true. But then, you have chased every last one away. If you didn’t make it a habit of terrifying any suitable young lady within a one hundred-mile radius, things would be different.”

  Exactly. Different...as in subject to change. Not something Brigham wanted, never mind intended to see happen. Ever. He was content on his own. Didn’t need the headache. Nor the added complication. Why men felt the need to— “Well?”

  “Go away, Cam.” Honest and to the point. Just the way he liked things.

  Refusing to let it go, Camden changed tact. “What of your heir?”

  Brigham blew out a long breath. “I’ve no need of a wife to sire a child.”

  “A bastard, then. Would you really?”

  “Aye, and what of it?” Glaring at his first-in-command, the chill of aggravation moved beneath Brigham’s skin. “I am one and am none the worse for it.”

  An untruth. Boldly stated. Bravely said. But a lie nonetheless.

  He suffered for his illegitimacy. No matter how secure in his noble sire’s acceptance, he remembered well the sting of ridicule from his boyhood peers. Aye, perhaps it was different now. But then, he was no longer a boy but a man proven in battle, feared and respected for his skills. Through conquest, he’d earned his place among them, though that respect had come at a cost.

  “Think on it, Brigham.” He raised a brow, his tone so reasonable Brigham wanted to hammer the well-meaning jackass where he stood. “Who will see to your keep and comfort if not a lady wife? You do realize they are not all like that bitch, Maria.”

  “Enough.” With a growl, he straightened away from the tree. The abrupt movement brought him to his full height. His intension? A warning…from one warrior to another.

  Camden refused to heed it. “’Tis not logical, Brigham. Mari—”

  The name unleashed his temper. Without making a sound, he closed the distance and reached out. Camden cursed and shifted left. Too late. His hands caught and held. Fisting the front of his tunic, Brigham lifted and spun, slamming Camden’s spine against the ancient oak. Refusing to fight, his friend met his gaze, and raising his hands, flipped both palms up in surrender.

  A muscle twitched along his jaw. “You will never speak her name to me again.”

  His best friend nodded.

  Brigham released him. Taking a deep breath, he drew rein on his fury, and with a quick pivot, walked away. Teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached, he lengthened his stride and headed into the forest. Bloody hell. Not a single blow delivered. Not a drop of blood spilled either. ’Twas a fact, he deserved to be sainted.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bested by a Vixen

  Aurora tipped her face to the evening sky and smiled. Six days. Almost an entire week since their escape from Garard Castle and thus far they’d not been followed. She could in no way be certain, of course. But then,
neither could she have predicted the gift that had dropped into their laps not long after fleeing her uncle’s keep.

  Fate had dealt her an excellent turn. The best, really…providing a means of protection when they’d met a troupe of entertainers on the open road.

  Protection and camouflage all rolled into one. A lovely combination. One Lord Cedric would have difficulty following so far afield. Once the hounds lost the scent, Aurora hoped her uncle would have no idea where to look for her. She refused to think about the consequences if her plan failed and her relatives found a way to track her. Not when she was so close to procuring her freedom.

  A freedom, even now, Aurora was sure she could smell, touch and taste. She felt it the instant they left her uncle’s domain. ’Twas nonsense, she knew. She could no more taste liberty than sprout wings and fly. And yet, she swore it settled as light as angel wings about her, embracing her, warming her, welcoming her as a new winter cloak might have done.

  With a sigh, she tipped her face up and stared at wispy clouds. The chill of autumn folded in around her. Smoke drifted on an evening breeze, the crackle of fire lending its song to the minstrels playing in the town square. Her mouth curved as she returned her attention to the merry makers. ’Twas a marvelous scene. Music soared from their instruments and dancers laughed, high-stepping around a huge bonfire snapping at the darkening sky.

  Aurora laughed and twirled, coming to rest before a lounging Nate.

  “By the saints, Rory, we have been walking for days.” With a groan, he rubbed a sore spot on the arch of his foot. “How, after all that, can you be in such fine spirits?”

  She grinned and ignored his complaint. “Come, let’s go dance.”

  “Dance? I cannot even move.”

  Aurora pursed her lips and settled her hands on her hips. She knew she shouldn’t tease him, but her mood was too good to do otherwise. Besides, it was the only way she could avoid being irritated with him. He’d not taken to their grand adventure as she’d hoped. ’Twas a sorry fact his moaning and complaining had been so frequent, she daydreamed no less than twice daily about taking hold of a large, blunt object and bashing him over the head with it. That he was dear to her was the only reason she resisted.

  “Have you no sense of adventure at all?”

  “Nay, I’ve no need of any.” Nate huffed, the beginnings of a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “You have enough to sink us both.”

  She chuckled, relieved to see his much-missed sense of humor resurface.

  “Well, I am about to embark on another,” she said, ignoring Nate’s murmur of alarm. “What little food we had is gone, and I am hungry. I’ll go find us something to eat.”

  “You’ll wear your cloak and stay hooded, Rory?”

  “Aye.”

  “And stay to the shadows?”

  Ruffling his blonde hair, she tucked a stray lock behind his ear. “Of course. Do not worry so. I will be back before you know I have gone.”

  As promised, Aurora stayed to the shadows. Drawing unwanted attention was never a good idea. Thugs and thieves lay in wait, waylaying any who looked like easy prey. Most towns were the same. Hexhem appeared no different. So aye. Nate was right. ’Twas best to be wary—to stay away from the action and out of view.

  Descending a rolling hill, Aurora veered right and slid into the shadows. Her boots scraped over the compact earth of the dirt path. Eyes searching the road’s many enclaves, she picked her way around the outcrop of buildings in her path. Coming to the corner of a timber hut, she peeked around it and…

  Three men wove a precarious trail in her direction.

  Wonderful. Just what she didn’t need. A trio of drunken townsmen…headed right toward her.

  Her lips pursed, Aurora shook her head. “Of all the rotten luck.”

  Weighing her options, she pressed her back flat against the side of the wooden hut and listened. Mayhap the men would veer in another direction. Mayhap they intended to take the road to the square. Mayhap the trio would…

  No such luck. Their course held, bringing them closer to her by the moment.

  Her eyes narrowed on the cluster of beech trees across from her. Taking a fortifying breath, Aurora left her hidey-hole. Footfalls quiet, she sprinted across the pitted earth of the narrow alleyway. The gloom of the forest folded in around her and shadow slid along her spine. She shivered and, staying low, shuffled backward, her focus on the men staggering in a merry group mere feet from where she huddled beneath the foliage.

  She held her breath, stifling all sound. ’Twas the soundest strategy. Men at the best of times were unpredictable. But drunkards? If the trio found her, her chances of escaping unscathed became slim to none. Fisting her hands in her skirt, Aurora swallowed her sudden fear. The last year had taught her well. Strange men equaled big risk. And honestly? Forgetting that fact would only land her in trouble.

  The kind she might not survive.

  Focus absolute, she returned her attention to the men. Wooden clogs rasping against the compact earth, the group swayed and broke into song. The vulgar ditty tweaked her already frayed nerves, pulling the muscles between her shoulder blades tight. Breath shallow, body still, heart thumping, she watched them pass, then with soundless precision, turned and hurried in the opposite direction. Able to breathe again, Aurora glanced over her shoulder to ensure she was safely away. Her boot caught wood. Her foot left the ground. As she stumbled, the tree root grabbed hold and yanked on her other foot.

  With a curse, Aurora landed belly down on the forest floor. The impact drove the air from her lungs. Wheezing, she curled her fingers into the leaf-strewn turf. Damp earth against her palms, the smell of wet vegetation a cloud around her, she struggled to draw a breath. After a moment of extreme concentration her chest expanded.

  Air rasped against the back of her throat. She twisted to glare at the gnarled foot of the offending oak. “Godforsaken, stupid, ill-begotten thing. What are you doing there?”

  “You do not expect it to answer, do you, little heart?”

  Aurora squeaked. Her gaze snapped to her left and…

  Lord help her. A horse with very large hooves, rustling fallen leaves with each step. But worse? The beast was walking straight toward her. As the realization struck, Aurora snapped her mouth closed. Her gaze traveled, following the horse’s delicate ankles up sturdy brown legs to the man seated on its back.

  Oh dear. Not good. Terrible in point of fact.

  Panic hit her full force. She scrambled backward only to become tangled in the hem of her cloak. She lost her footing and tumbled, landing on her bottom with a painful thump. “Ouch.”

  “Ouch, indeed.” The stranger chuckled and swung from the saddle, his large feet landing without making a sound.

  Aurora blinked. Amazing. Completely absurd. A man that big should not be able to move so well. Without so much as a rustle. So quiet and smooth others failed to detect him. Too bad for her the universe didn’t agree with the assessment. Frowning, she stared at his feet, wondering how he did it, then started at his sudden proximity. God help her, his long legs were eating the ground between them. And what was she doing? Sitting on her backside like some addle-pated ninny-hammer.

  Jumping to her feet, Aurora backed away. “Do not come any closer.”

  “Easy now. I will not hurt you.” Releasing the reins, he held his hands, palms up, and took another step toward her. “I’m no threat to you.”

  Aurora stifled a snort. Right. Sure. She didn’t believe him. Not for a moment. He was too confident—too strong, too masculine—to be anything other than a threat. “I want no trouble.”

  “You’ve not found any. I’m harmless,” he said, his mouth curving at the corners.

  Harmless? Ha! Another lie. One of the best she’d ever heard. He didn’t look harmless. Or the least bit tame. Taller than most, he stood well over six feet, with hair so dark it appeared jet black in the fading light. Matching brows arched over dark brown eyes and his cheekbones rose high over a square jaw
covered with day-old whiskers. And his mouth….God give her strength. ’Twas beyond tempting. So perfect she wondered if he was even human. Fallen angels, after all, were purported to put human men to shame on the handsome front.

  “Even so, pray forgive the intrusion,” she said, eyeing the fine cut of his tunic. She took another step back. And then another. Good plan. The best, really. The more distance she put between him and her, the safer she would be. “If you’ll excuse me, Sir, I must be on my way.”

  “No need to run away.” He looked past her as if in search of something. When he didn’t find it, his focus sharpened on her. Alarm bells rang inside her head. She shivered, not liking the glint in his gaze. “Where are your protectors?”

  Aurora swallowed. “Ah, I…well, you see…we became separated. I really must get back to them.”

  He considered her a moment, his eyes traveling over her well-worn clothing and faded cloak. “I see. ’Twill be my pleasure to escort you safely to them then.”

  “Nay.” Aurora almost bit her tongue in two when he arched a brow in response. Ignoring the subtle twitch of his too beautiful mouth, she adjusted her tone. “I mean, you are most kind, Sir. And I thank you, but I can find my own way.”

  “I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to go alone, little heart,” he murmured, an untrustworthy gleam in his dark gaze. “After all, you might be accosted by an undesirable sort.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him. He was laughing at her…the big brute. “And I would thank you again, kind Sir, but I must decline your offer and return to the others alone.”

  Sidestepping, she tried to move past him. He matched her, blocking her path to freedom.

  “Forget the others.” The deep rumble of his voice enthralled her, trapping her in a spell of his design. Taken off guard by the warm prickle of sensation, she stood still as he reached out to brush her cheek with his fingertips. “You will be better served with me.”

  Bumped from enchantment by the shock of his touch, Aurora flinched and stared at him in astonishment. Better served with him? What in God’s name was he talking about?