Rising Fire

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Brienne knew that she would. For in the midst of it all last night, when she’d perfected that sphere, it had been pleasurable and invigorating. The fire raced in her blood and into the ball and back into her, a cycle that sent splinters of sheer bliss coursing through her. It was a feeling she liked, one she wanted to feel again.

  After keeping it so secret and daring to let it free in only tiny bursts, allowing it to flow and directing its path felt right. She was a fireblood, he’d told her, and she made fire the way that others breathed. It was not evil or bad; it simply was. Brienne found the experience thrilling. She knew she needed to be able to release her power, and she wanted to feel it burn through her blood as it moved.

  The winds picked up then, and the smell of rain filled the air around them. Lady Margaret began walking faster, and the others rushed to get to the keep before the rains came in earnest. Tilting her head down, she ran up the stone steps and into the keep. Once inside, she waited for Lady Margaret to lead the way.

  They entered the great hall. It was the first time Brienne would be joining them for a meal. Brienne saw Lord Hugh coming toward them. Lady Margaret, apparently thinking he would speak to her, moved toward him. But her husband walked past her directly for Brienne, drawing her away to speak privately. When Brienne glanced over her shoulder, the lady’s mouth hung open in surprise before she closed it with an angry breath.

  “Are you well this morn, Brienne?” he asked in a low voice, releasing her as soon as they were far enough from the others. She might have mistaken his question for concern had she not met his gaze just then and saw the cold, calculating stare of a man with plans.

  “I am sore and tired, my lord,” she said.

  “Too sore and tired to continue your lessons this night?” he asked. Again, coming from another, it would have been solicitous, but from him, she sensed he was already wondering if he’d overestimated her.

  “Nay.” She already knew she would suffer whatever she must to free the fire from her blood again.

  “Nay?” he asked. She felt the pain that told of his displeasure, and she hissed in a breath at it. He did not like her to be familiar with him. She’d forgotten.

  “Nay, my lord,” she said, closing her eyes against the continuing pressure in her head. “I am neither too tired nor too sore to have lessons this night.”

  “Very well,” he said. “I will come for you. Be ready.”

  He stepped back, and the pain eased against her mind. Thinking he was done speaking to her, she turned back to where the women waited.

  “Brienne.” She faced him and waited for the rest. “I have a surprise for you. A guest I thought you might like to see.”

  Lord Hugh would never have invited her pa—Gavin and Fia—here to the keep, so she could not think of who it could be. He walked back to the table, and she waited as Lady Margaret and Adelaide took their places. With a curt gesture, she was directed to the last seat on the end. Never having dreamed she’d eat a meal here in the keep, she did not mind. The servants, the ladies’ maids, and companions who’d accompanied them took seats at the lower table. Glancing down the table, she noticed the one empty place to Lord Hugh’s right.

  Only a minute or two later, before cups could be filled or food served, a small group of men entered the hall and walked toward the table. Most of them stopped and sat at one of the lower tables, but one continued up the dais to the high table.

  “My lord,” he said, “my thanks for inviting us to share your meal this day.” The tone was not precisely pleasant, but it was respectful. It was Sir William.

  “Welcome, Sir William,” Lord Hugh said. “Here is your place. I wish to continue our discussion about your plans for the king’s grant of lands.”

  Once he took the seat offered to him, Brienne could see him but he could not see her, unless he leaned and looked past all the others between them. But she could see his men clearly and they her, and they recognized her immediately. Brienne watched as they talked among themselves, nodding in her direction.

  He must have noticed, for he leaned forward then and met her gaze. She offered a smile and a nod before Adelaide kicked her under the table.

  “My lord father will be displeased if you pay notice to a male guest,” she whispered furiously without looking at her. “Look away, you little fool!”

  Reacting to the orders of the lord’s daughter as she had learned to do, she lowered her head and did not look back up.

  What must he think of her now? What had Lord Hugh told him about her?

  The food placed before her tasted like dirt, and she forced herself to eat enough that she would not gain notice by those watching her. She listened to Lord Hugh’s voice, strong and confident, and Sir William’s as they talked through the meal. Though unable to hear the words, the discussion sounded friendly. Then, as the plates and food were cleared from the table, Lord Hugh’s voice called out to her.

  “Brienne, come here.”

  * * *

  William watched as she stood at the end of the table and walked to Lord Hugh. He’d been trying to watch her through the meal, but her placement made it difficult to see her. Then, as the meal ended, Lord Hugh called out her name.

  “You seemed interested in the newest member of my household, Sir William. So,” he said, motioning her closer, “here she is. Brienne, I think you know Sir William.”

  “Aye, my lord,” she said softly. Why wouldn’t she meet his gaze? And she trembled as though fearful of him. Why? He glanced down at his men, who watched the scene closely.

  “Brienne told me that she met you on your arrival in Yester, Sir William. On the road to the village, I believe?”

  He could feel her hold her breath as though she expected repudiation of her words. He looked at Lord Hugh.

  “Aye, my lord. That is true. We wanted to know if you were in residence, and we met some of your villagers on their return.”

  “And what did they tell you?” Once more the tension thickened around the three of them, as though the other two waited for some misstep to occur.

  “They could tell me nothing, for they were returning from some journey and knew not if you were here,” William answered truthfully.

  “You may go, girl,” Lord Hugh ordered, and she walked away.

  “I was surprised to see her here, my lord,” William said. “I thought her one of your villeins.” From her placement at the far end next to Lady Adelaide, he now thought she might be serving as the lady’s maid.

  “Nay, villein no longer. She is one of my bastards, recently claimed and brought here to live,” he said, holding his cup up to be filled. “You understand how difficult it can be to keep track of a lifetime of bastards; do you not, Sir William?” Lord Hugh chuckled as he lifted the cup to his mouth and drank deeply from it. “But I am carrying out my fatherly duties now that I know of her.”

  William tried not to let his surprise show. He’d thought of many possibilities and relationships between Brienne and Lord Hugh and never once considered this bond. He forced himself not to look down the table at her where she’d returned to her chair.

  The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

  As one of the king’s oldest counselors and guardians, Hugh de Gifford knew more than most about William’s parentage—he knew the rumors and he knew the truth. His words were an efficient reminder of William’s small place in the king’s very large world. A large world that Hugh had influenced for years.

  Unable to argue or make a sensible reply to his host’s inflammatory comment, William drank from his own cup of ale. After last night’s reaction to the wine, he would avoid that again.

  “You trained with my men yesterday.”

  “I did. They are proficient, and it felt good to work out after so many weeks of inactivity.” The conversation backed away from personal insult to more acceptable topics between noblemen.

 
“I saw only a bit of it and would like to see more. Would you remain as my guest for a few more days and show me some of your legendary prowess as a fighter? Eudes, my commander, spoke highly of your abilities.”

  “If you wish, my lord,” he said, giving the correct and polite answer. Welcomed, he could observe more and find out what was happening here. And now, with this revelation about Brienne, he wanted to speak to her, to find out more.

  “Excellent. Eudes,” he called out. The huge, brawny man lumbered his way forward to stand before the dais. “Sir William and his men will train our soldiers. Choose the best and give them orders thusly.” Standing, Lord Hugh nodded at him and then left.

  The hall emptied quickly once the lord left, and William watched with his men as the ladies, including Brienne, walked by on their way back to the family’s building. She would not look at him now. He could feel the misery pouring from her and her shame at being exposed as a bastard. Remembering the first time someone had called him that, he understood how it must feel to her.

  He would bide his time until he could talk to her. His blood pounded once more, but this time, he felt the need to comfort her.

  He and his men walked out of the keep and watched the torrents of rain turn the yard into a quagmire of mud and puddles. It was too dangerous for men or horses, so they went to William’s chambers to talk. For even as the day passed without discovering anything incriminating against the lord of Gifford and Yester, dark feelings swirled around this place, around these people and their lord.

  And William knew this was the center of what was to come.

  Chapter 16

  Brienne stared out the window at the rain.

  Emilie made some noise of displeasure again at having the shutters thrown open, allowing the damp air to enter the chamber. But Brienne had no intention of closing the window. The air from the storm might be moist and chilled, but it was fresh and somehow soothed her jagged nerves and heart.

  For the whole of her life since discovering the truth of her parentage, she’d borne the sidelong glances and the careful distance most of those in the village served her. She’d accepted that being the natural daughter of Lord Hugh would keep her apart and separate from most of them. That James and his parents had overcome that and considered her for his wife was a credit to them, for none of the other families ever had.

  But having Sir William know her truth tore her apart. She’d heard her father’s words as she’d walked back to her seat and felt disappointment and shame bloom inside her with every step.

  Mercifully, the meal did not last much longer, but her torment would, for her father had invited the knight and his men to remain as guests. So the chance that she would see him again was great. She would face the shame each time, for being the daughter of the blacksmith was more honorable than being a bastard of a nobleman who had discarded you until you were needed.

  Now her black mood made her restless. The rains eased, but the sun was far from shining. She wanted to walk. She needed to get out of this chamber, this keep, this castle. Knowing Lord Hugh would not allow the last, she decided for the first two. But glancing down at the costly gown and shoes, she knew could not ruin them due to her own poor temper.

  “Emilie,” she said without facing the girl. “Leave me.”

  “But, Brienne, your father—”

  “I know my father’s orders and yours.” She turned then and crossed her arms over her chest as she’d seen Lord Hugh do many times now. “Leave me.” Brienne did not relent and did not drop her gaze until Emilie did.

  “If—”

  “If anyone asks, I am resting, as I will be,” she said, giving the girl the excuse she needed. She was being watched at all times—he knew that—so she would need a little help in getting out unobserved. “Please send for some hot water. I wish to wash.”

  “A bath, Brienne?”

  She shook her head. “I had not time to wash before the meal and wish to before I rest. A bucket of hot water will be plenty for my needs.” It was a task that would require one kitchen maid and not an onslaught of servants.

  Emilie left then, without argument, and Brienne reached behind the headboard of the bed, where she’d managed to stuff her one remaining plain gown, which she’d worn when she was brought here. It was accustomed to being in the rain. As was she. She undressed quickly, for she knew one thing about the servants here—they did as ordered very, very quickly. When the knock came on the door, Brienne was ready.

  A few minutes later, a young serving woman left the family residence and walked toward the oldest part of the castle, where the ancient keep lay in ruins just outside the walls. And, there, tucked into an alcove near the stables and not far from where she’d watched Sir William, she breathed in the damp, wet air and did not care if the rain dripped on her head from the roof above.

  “This is the Brienne I would recognize.”

  His deep voice invaded the silent cocoon she’d created to block out everything but the sound and the feel of the rain. She opened her eyes and found Sir William standing before her, outlined by a still-unworthy sun’s light. He stepped back, and she could see the soft smile on his face.

  “And which one do you recognize, Sir William?” she asked. Her dark mood remained in place, and she wished, against all reason, to hear his thoughts on who she, Brienne, was. He crouched down before her, bringing their faces level, and reached out to push a sopping-wet tress of hair from her face.

  “This is the Brienne who haunts the forests and the paths of the village,” he said quietly. “This is the blacksmith’s daughter who fears no one, not even the king’s knight.”

  Tears, damn her, filled her eyes then, and she looked away. Pulling her ragged edges together, she looked back at him. “Blacksmith’s daughter no more.”

  “Blacksmith’s daughter or lord’s bastard, they will call you what they will. But you must know in your heart which one you are. Who and what you are, Brienne. And let no one take that from you.” He touched her cheek and wiped a tear away. “No one.”

  She cried then, letting out the uncertainty and the pain and the fear. When there seemed no more tears to flow, she lifted her head and realized he’d slid in next to her in the small alcove and gathered her onto his lap, holding her while she sobbed.

  “Better, demoiselle?”

  She nodded her head. Now her own sense of mortification added to the shame she felt when this man looked at her. He lifted her face with his finger beneath her chin and shook his head. Brienne wanted to cry once more at the sympathy in his gaze.

  “Hush now,” he whispered. “Sometimes you must simply decide who you are and not let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  “Sir William,” she said as she began to push off him. He held her with just enough strength to keep her there.

  “William,” he corrected her.

  “I should go,” she said. Her moments of self-pity passed, she knew she would be missed. But these next words stopped her from moving and nearly from breathing.

  “I understand how you feel, Brienne,” William whispered. “I, too, am a bastard.” The puzzlement made her brows furrow as she thought on his words.

  William had never willingly admitted it before. Those who knew did not hear it from him unless there was a dire need. The men in his hillside camp who would face the coming danger with him. Roger and Gautier. And that was the end of the list of those to whom he had disclosed his shame.

  And now this young woman before him.

  “My mother’s husband was bought for her to cover the truth. She went to him already months into carrying me. It did not take long for the rumors and insults to begin in my life.”

  “But you are a de Brus,” she said. “Part of a noble family. Raised as a nobleman’s son. Claimed by him.”

  “You were raised by the blacksmith as his daughter. Now claimed as a nobleman’s,” he offered.


  “That is not the same,” she began. He shook his head and touched his finger to her lips. Her eyes, the color of the amber seen during sunset, widened at his touch.

  “Nay, ’tis not the same. You were raised by a mother and father who wanted you. Raised with love and pride. Now your true father claims you and raises you to the position you should have as his.” He could not keep the bitterness from his voice. His intention to ease her shame was quickly becoming something else.

  “So,” he said, pushing to his feet and allowing her to slide to hers, “that is my sad story. But the wisdom I would offer you, chérie, is to decide now, now that your life has changed because of your past. Decide who you are and stay true to it. For many others will try to determine that for you, whether you are called the blacksmith’s daughter or Lord Hugh’s get.”

  He could not resist her soft mouth, which beckoned to him. Leaning down, he touched his lips to hers and felt her sigh escape. He pressed and she opened to him, as though made for him and only him. This kiss was not to possess her or to claim her. He tasted her deeply.

  When she arched up against him, pressing her lithesome body against the ridge of his already-hardened flesh, his desire slipped his hold and he kissed her as he wanted to. As he had in the forest. But the lesson to be learned this day would be his, for beneath the desire in this kiss lay her shame. Easing back from her, he stroked her cheek and then released her.

  “I must go,” she said. His body jolted when she slid the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. But he wanted only to ease her pain and not begin something he, and he suspected she, would not want to stop.

  “Here.” He handed her the kerchief he found on the ground next to her. “Go that way, for now that the rains have stopped, men will be heading to the training yard.”

  She turned and took a step before facing him once more.

  “William,” she whispered as though the feel of his name on her tongue was sweet, “do you know who your father is?”