Not knowing what else to do, Aurora scrabbled on the saddle front. Rough bark scored her palms. She grabbed hold, swinging herself onto the nearest branch. The moment she gained her perch, Brigham’s hands dropped away. Wood creaking under her weight, she glanced down but…
He was gone. Naught but swaying shrubs in his wake.
Not even Seyber remained. In his haste, he’d taken her horse, galloping away without a backward glance, headed to God-only-knew-where while she sat eight feet from the ground. Aurora scowled at the spot where he’d disappeared from view. For the love of Saint Francis. Abandoned in the middle of a forest. Without a bloody horse, no less. How ridiculous was that? Very. Beyond idiotic. A true testament to Brigham’s kinship with all things mischief.
An understatement if ever there was one.
She huffed. Well, so much for believing she’d breached his inner circle. ’Twas so much twaddle. Naught but a delusion on her part. The man never explained himself. Proof positive lay in the fact she sat in a tree. A blasted tree, for pity’s sake!
Legs dangling over the tree branch, she growled under her breath. “The great big brute. What the devil is he doing?”
No answer came to mind. The faint clanging noise, however? Aye, that got her attention. Although…
She titled her head. Pushing herself upright, she straddled the thick limb and, holding her breath to calm her thundering heart, listened harder. She blinked. A battle. It sounded as though a battle waged not too far away. The clashing resonance as sword met sword was unmistakable. The awful sound reverberated through the trees, mixing with the shouts of men and the screams of horses.
Unease slithered down her spine. There was only one possible explanation.
Brigham’s guard was under attack.
For an instant, she tried to deny it. ’Twas not Mornay’s men. It couldn’t be. Another group of travelers had fallen prey to the scavengers that roamed the land. But as she chewed on her bottom lip and listened to the echoing battle cries, Aurora lost hope…along with her naivety. The camp sat too close. Camden and the others fought for their lives.
And now? Brigham intended to enter the fray.
Aurora’s throat went tight. Her lungs followed suit, pressure banding around her ribcage as she shook her head. Dear God, she was slow on the uptake. A real dullard not to have realized sooner. Brigham had ridden off to battle—perhaps to his death—and she hadn’t understood at all. Hadn’t told him to be careful. Hadn’t hugged him. Or made him promise to come back to her hale and whole. But worse…in that moment, she realized she not only wanted him to return, but needed him to as well.
More fool she.
She should never have grown so attached to him. Especially in so short a time. But the truth was a terrible thing to avoid. Aurora accepted it instead. ’Twas futile, after all, to deny the obvious. Or run away from her heart’s desire. Like it or nay, Brigham was important to her now. His life meant the continuation of hers. So…
No time like the present.
Obeying his wishes, she scooted toward the tree trunk and began to climb higher. Fear for him made her hands tremble. Faith in him helped her stay the course. Brigham was strong, a fierce warrior of unequaled skill. His reputation told the tale, bringing her solace as she found a nook between two limbs near the top of the great oak and squeezed in. He would survive…come through the fight unscathed. Untouched. Hale, whole and hearty. He had to. Aurora refused to entertain any other outcome…
Or leave anything to chance.
Body humming with tension, she clasped her hands and started to pray. Bargaining with her Maker, she pleaded for her brute’s safety, then asked the same for all who traveled with his personal guard. She called each by name, listing the company one by one.
Nate, of course, topped her list…second only to her husband.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Knocking at Death’s Door
Charging through the underbrush, Brigham wheeled his warhorse around another tree trunk. A hard twist. More sharp turns. His warrior reflexes stirring, he leapt a rocky outcropping. The black touched down, moving with predatory stealth. A firm grip on the reins, Brigham circled behind the skirmish. He wanted to enter the fight at the enemy’s back, the most vulnerable position. The advantage of surprise would divide the rear guard and force them to defend against multiple points of attack. Since he’d trained each of his warriors himself, Brigham knew where his men would be. His guard always set up camp on high ground, close to the river’s edge.
A smart ploy. The position allowed a clear line of sight. Easier to detect threats that way. To act fast too, and protect against anyone foolish enough to approach them.
And this group? More foolish that most…for they dared to attack his men, and by extension the house of Mornay. Which meant a lesson needed learning. One that began and ended in death. ’Twas a foregone conclusion. None deserved to live. Not after raising a call to arms and then their swords against him.
Battle cry echoing with chilling intent, Brigham plunged through the foliage…and into the heat of combat. As planned, Aurora’s mare followed the black. Hooves thundering, the horses landed at the edge of the fray. Teeth bared, Brigham drew his sword. The enemy shouted and broke rank, scattering like field mice, trying to adjust while avoiding his blade. His mouth curved in satisfaction. The plan was working. Two horses. One rider. A bucketful of confusion as those closest to him tried to determine how many to defend against—two mounted knights or one.
Excellent. The perfect plan.
The moment of hesitation was all Brigham needed.
With a snarl, he cut through the enemy’s rear flank. His sword bit, cutting flesh to find bone. Blood flew in a wide arc, splattering the ground. The bastard’s head left his neck. The body fell and the skull flew, spinning end over end. It hit the turf with a thud. A man spun in horror only to scream in terror as Brigham flicked his wrist. The tip of his blade pierced through ribs, thrusting home to find the enemy’s heart. Jerking his sword free, Brigham spun his warhorse full circle, whirling on a new target.
More blood flew. More men screamed. More death and destruction.
Without mercy, Brigham decimated the rear guard. The black’s hooves glinted in sunlight as he trampled a pair of archers. A horrible crack! echoed. The stench of urine and human waste infused the air. He met Camden’s gaze over a sea of death and mayhem. His friend yelled a command. Wielding their weapons with stark efficiency, his guards moved to a more aggressive position, closing the gap. Trapped between him and his men, the enemy recoiled like a wounded animal. Slashing up and out, Brigham downed another of his attackers.
A pitiful cry rippled through the clearing. An echoing shout blocked it out.
Brigham growled, recognizing the command. Bloody hell. The bastards. Someone called for retreat, signaling defeat, urging enemy soldiers to run for their lives and safer ground. The lily-livered cowards. Wasn’t that always the way? The idiots liked to start a fight, but could never finish it. A victorious cry left his throat. His men roared in answer. The black reared. Balanced in the saddle, Brigham swung his sword in a circle above his head, giving the signal to pursue and run those fleeing into the ground. Seeing Thomas—one of his more seasoned soldiers—gather six others and give chase, Brigham nodded and— Steel flashed in his periphery.
Keen reflexes spun Brigham around. The black’s front hooves slammed into the ground. An enemy blade slashed toward him, sharp edge gleaming in the sunlight. He parried and lashed out. His sword tasted steel. The strike vibrated up his arm as he focused on his attacker’s face. He scanned the man’s features, taking note of the bloodless pallor of his skin and the wild, hunted look in his eyes. One strike. A second thrust…and then a third. On the fourth, Brigham shifted left and struck hard. His blade bit into the side of the man’s neck. As the bastard fell, Brigham threw his leg over the saddle horn and dismounted. He landed with a thump, his soles brushing the blood-soaked earth. Using his foot, he flipped the dying man onto
his back and…
He scowled. Bloody hell, he recognized the bastard.
Camden shouted, ordering the men to secure the area. A moment later, his friend brushed shoulders with him, stopping alongside him.
Brigham growled in greeting.
“Well fought.” Still breathing hard, his friend slapped him on the shoulder. The love tap rocked him forward. Brigham barely noticed. He was too busy staring at the bastard whose blood soaked the ground at his feet. Camden tipped his chin, motioning to the dead man. “Do you know him?”
“Nay, but I know his face.” Frowning, Brigham looked the solider over again. No emblem. No symbol. Nothing to indicate where the man came from or whom he served. An outlaw, mayhap? Could be. But if he roamed the land in search of easy pickings and deep pockets, he’d come to the wrong place. Which begged a question: why attack his guard? A true pariah would know better than to challenge the Lord of Mornay. His reputation ensured it. Add that to the fact the dead man was too well armed to be anything other than a fighting man and…nay. ’Twas no outlaw.
Raising a brow, he glanced sideways at Camden. “Any lost?”
His first in command shook his head. “A few cuts and scrapes. Naught serious. From where do you know him, Brigham?”
“From an out-of-the-way path, not far from Alvars.” Camden arched a brow. Brigham answered his silent inquiry. “The day I took Aurora riding, we saw this one and a few others along the trail we rode. I moved us into the security of the forest and let them pass, not wanting to jeopardize her safety.”
“Odd, but no coincidence, I think.”
“Nay, there is more to this than we know.” His lips pursed, Brigham shook his head. A mystery. One in need of solving…and quickly too. “Drag the bodies deep into the forest and leave them. And move the camp, Camden. I do not want Aurora to see this.”
His friend called out the order, then turned back to him. “Speaking of which…where is your lovely bride?”
“Safely hidden,” Brigham said, a growl in his tone. He backed it up a with glare, hoping his friend would get the message. His first in command’s warped sense of humor needed to be leashed…at least for the time being.
Camden, of course, ignored him. “Ah, good. You put my mind at ease. For a moment there, I was concerned you lost her. Or maybe she esc—”
He reached out and grabbed Camden by the throat, ending his idiotic commentary. The addle-brained arse grinned, even as he struggled to breathe. Brigham scowled. ’Twas really too bad he couldn’t bring himself to kill his friend. It might have improved his day.
“My lord!”
“Thomas.” Releasing Camden, he turned toward the soldier approaching him. “What have you there?”
“A lad, my lord. He fled with the others.”
Brigham shook his head before looking down at the ragged bit of baggage Thomas held by the scruff of the neck. Dropping the lad, his guard waited, his cheeks heating to a blush as he met his gaze. Brigham sighed. ’Twas not the first half-starved infant Thomas had dropped at his feet over the years. Mornay fairly brimmed with the women and children his man had saved in the heat of battle.
Bloody hell, ’twas beyond comprehension. How could Thomas, one of his fittest warriors, possess such a soft heart? Brigham didn’t bother to hunt for the answer. It was what it was. He couldn’t cure his soldier of the defect. Wasn’t sure he wanted to either. The flaw was too much a part of Thomas. So forget it. No sense fighting the inevitable. The best strategy lay in getting on with it instead.
With a long-drawn sigh, Brigham glanced at the boy kneeling in front of him. He frowned. Poor lad. He looked a scruffy piece of fluff, one who might well blow away in a brisk wind. Shaking his head, he placed the tip of his bloodied sword beneath the lad’s chin. The lad trembled. Brigham refused to relent and, raising the boy’s head, stared into round, very frightened blue eyes.
After a quick perusal, Brigham shook his head. “’Tisn’t a lad, Thomas.”
His guard blinked. His mouth fell open, then snapped closed. A moment passed before he collected his wits. “But…but, my lord, he…she…the child is dressed as a lad.”
Camden snorted, his eyes dancing until he looked at the girl. Her big blue eyes full of tears, her bottom lip trembled. “My lord?”
Mindful of her fear, he withdrew and sheathed his blade. “Your name, little one?”
“D-Danie, m-my l-lord.”
Thomas frowned. “Danny? ’Tis a lad’s name, lass.”
Camden coughed. “Probably short for—”
“Do you know who I am, Danie?” Brigham asked, resisting the urge to knock his men’s heads together.
Twitching in fright, she nodded. “T-the Lord of M-mornay.”
Interesting. Why? If the girl knew who he was, so did the men who had attacked him. Which could mean any number of things. One reason, however, stuck out, pushing all others aside. So, no time like the present. He needed answers. And Danie? She possessed information. Knew something that might help him complete the puzzle.
“On your feet, Danie,” he said, his voice soft with reassurance. He waited until she gained her feet, then crouched in front of her, bringing her eye-to-eye with him. “How is it you know who I am?”
“T-the men…the ones you k-killed. They t-talked of you at the c-camp.” Her throat bobbed as she wrung her hands. “They did not s-speak your n-name above a w-whisper.”
“How did you come to be with them?”
A shadow in her eyes, she shook her head as though the memory pained her.
And Brigham understood. “They did not know you were a girl, did they?”
“Nay, my lord.” She lost the battle with the tears she struggled to hold back. A single droplet tipped over her lashes. “My f-father needed the c-coin, and he…” Danie broke off, the shame in her voice unmistakable. “I thought if they believed me a lad, I would be better protected.”
Thomas grunted. “Well played, lass.”
Brigham considered her. She seemed smart enough for the task he had in mind. Eyes narrowed on her, he took hold of her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Mornay’s cook has need of more help, Danie. Are you up to the task?”
Her blue eye went wide. An instant—that’s all it took—and her pride returned. Leveling her chin, Danie stood up straighter and nodded against his fingertips. “Oh, aye, my lord…thank you! I will serve you well, I swear it.”
“I know you will.” With a nod, Brigham dropped his hand, and pushing to his feet, dismissed her. “Thomas, see to her care, then put her to work. My wife will decide what’s to be done with her when she arrives.”
Relief in his eyes, Thomas grabbed hold of Danie’s arm and dragged her off behind him.
“The bastards knew who we were and yet, they attacked anyway.” A furrow between his brows, Camden shook his head. “’Twas no crime of opportunity. Naught random about it. ’Twas planned.”
“Aye,” Brigham murmured, flexing his fists. “‘Twas planned, Camden…and I want to know the why of it.”
“Our enemies—”
“Are not stupid enough to try something like this. We may have been outnumbered, but anyone who knows me well knows those odds favor us, not them.” With a snarl, Brigham paced away from his friend, then came right back. As he met Camden’s gaze, his train of thought moved in a dangerous direction. “Nothing has changed recently, except—”
“You are now married,” Camden said, finishing Brigham’s sentence.
“Bloody hell, the cinch buckle.” He rolled his shoulders, remembering Aurora’s near miss on the mare. He’d thought the markings on the metal strange, and now he knew why. “I should have realized.”
“The uncle?”
“Aye. It makes sense…though, without proof we have no recourse.” Brigham’s nostrils flared, rage bubbling in his gut. The bastard sought to take Aurora from him. Nay, more than that, he wanted her dead. Unclenching his fists, Brigham examined the possibility and all its ramifications. “He would have known whe
re to find us, and those I saw close to Alvars may have been hired by Garard to search for Aurora. It was clear at Alvars he would not let her go easily.”
“Why?” A muscle twitched along Camden’s jaw. He sheathed his sword with a violent stroke. “There is more to this than we know. More than the loss of her land and title. Lord Garard’s rage where his niece is concerned is not normal.”
“And rage, of course, is a rational thing?”
Camden snorted. “Go retrieve your bride, my lord, so we may see to her protection.”
Grunting in answer, Brigham walked over to retrieve the black. His warhorse snorted in greeting. Treating him to an affectionate pat, Brigham palmed the reins and swung into the saddle, pleased to see the camp almost cleared and the wagons moving. Good. At this rate, his men would already be set up at the new site when he returned with his wife. Relief grabbed him by the balls. He blew out a long breath, releasing the last of his tension.
‘Twas beyond strange. His reaction. The relief and his need to shield Aurora. But fact trumped good sense. He didn’t want her to see the aftermath of violence—the cause and effect of his craft.
Calling himself a fool, he turned the black in the direction of the large oak. His mouth curved. Christ, she hadn’t been happy when he’d tossed her into the tree. To be expected. Too bad fate had left him little choice. Now, though, he must deal with the fallout, because…aye. He was about to get a face-full of it—of her anger, and the sharp edge of her tongue along with it. But that didn’t change the necessity. Nor the fact he moved camp to protect her sensibilities. All to prevent her from smelling the stench of death and seeing blood-stained earth.
Another oddity to ponder.
Not his desire to protect her. The response was no doubt a normal one. ’Twas more the idea that his protective instincts were roused so fiercely over something so simple. He did his duty as baron when he led his men in battle. Fulfilled his oath as a knight to defend while fighting alongside those pledged to him. Why then, did it matter whether Aurora viewed the outcome?
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