by Beth Mikell
Sir William’s eyes glazed, shifting to stare at the armed knights ready to deliver death. “Why do you care? This girl is nothing to you,” he countered.
“Shall we say... she has an honor that far exceeds yours?”
The older man placed his hands on his hips. “You have no rights. The king will hear of this!”
“I certainly hope so.” Darrius nodded. “Be sure to tell the king how you beat an innocent girl. That will overjoy him, while increasing your believability as an upstanding gentleman.”
Sir William stepped closer, yet the hard edge of steel met his groin as another pricked his throat. He sniffed a deep breath, and said between clenched teeth, “You owe me.”
Darrius leaned closer. “Not anymore,” he whispered with a taunting husk. He backed away from Sir William.
“You cannot do this!”
“I just did,” the Imperial Arm said, giving his final order to his men. “Remove them.”
“Lord Gunther, you will suffer for this.” Sir William roared over his shoulder as the armed knights evicted them from the keep.
****
Brenna bit her bottom lip, watching as her father and his men were escorted out. She was thankful she had Linnea safe, yet her sister’s shallow breathing and feverish brow worried her. She sensed Gunther’s hard stare and she slanted her eyes to him, his face impassive. “Thank you, my lord. You saved her life.”
He grunted, drawing closer. “Tell me, is it only your father that brings out such rebellious behavior?”
Brenna’s head came up, meeting his gaze directly. “He would have killed her!”
“It would seem, my lady wife,” he said. “Had I not walked in, he would have killed you.” His facial expression gave nothing away.
He was right. She swallowed hard. “I would do anything for Linnea, including the sacrifice of my life,” she declared, her chest heaving, yet fear bloomed within her. She knew he could easily make her regret such words.
He half-smiled. “Careful, such offerings will put you at my mercy, and as it stands, you are now in my debt. I will exact payment in the manner of my choosing.”
Brenna huffed a breath, her anger increasing. “What do you want?” she asked breathlessly. “You have… taken everything I had to give.” Flushing three shades of red, she lifted her chin with more bravery than she felt.
He crouched down, his close proximity invading her space. The fresh musk of his scent took her captive, taunting her senses, and her heart thumped fast. She was held prisoner within the depths of his eyes, unable to move. She gasped as he reached up, caressing the back of his hand down her cheek. When he didn’t answer, she asked again, “What do you want?”
“Your sister.”
Her flesh tingled where his fingers blazed down her skin, leaving a trail of heat threading through her veins. She tried not to focus on his bearded face, or the depths of blue eyes. His earthy, male scent pleased her senses, and she fought hard not to enjoy it, or the warmth of his body.
“What about my sister?” she bit out.
“She will marry Rowan the McLeod.”
Brenna inhaled another sharp breath. “Surely, there is something else.”
Her husband inclined his head. “For certain, my lady, there is not. She will marry Rowan, or I will escort her back to Carthmore Keep personally.”
As she digested his words, she looked down at the pale face of her sister, knowing she was safe, but her fate was sealed. Perhaps Linnea would grow to love Rowan. He lacked Gunther’s cruelty. Yet, questions swarmed her mind: why was Gunther so different? Why alienate her father in a public manner? Why was there something so altered in his person?
She sighed, relenting. “We are at your mercy, my lord, but only for Linnea’s sake.” She remained passive, while her mind blasted over the strangeness of her husband.
****
Darrius’ eyes narrowed at her words, and his brow drew into a frown. He focused on the turn of Brenna’s head and the beauty of her delicate profile made his shaft harden. Everything about her twisted him into desire, beginning with her fresh, lavender scent. The sweet aroma of her skin mixed with her own natural essence. She surpassed the most exquisite flower, teasing his senses with a hard flush. He ached to sift his hands through her dark hair and ride her tongue with his own.
For a moment, the memory of her soft body, closing around him filled him to shaking. Her velvet-silk rivaled any woman he had ever known. The more he tried to forget that moment, the more he remembered, and his blood warmed to scalding. He ached for her, his length beating against his breeches.
“Settle your sister,” he said with a gruff huskiness. “Afterwards, you will come directly to my chamber.” Darrius stood, striding away with determined purpose. God, she was infuriating and beautiful, yet as cold as a fresh snow and as willful as a wild horse.
Why the hell did he care? She was nothing, except a means to an end and he would use her thusly. He regretted the thought as soon as he had it. He wasn’t a man to use a woman.
Stalking the darkened hallway of the keep, his steps were filled with irritation. The more he tried to convince himself he did not want anything to do with her, the more he was drawn to her. Never, in all his years as emissary to the king had he been affected in such a manner. Wenching was his reward after many missions, but the thought of touching another woman sent a shock through him. He was thrown off balance. He did not know how to handle the churning emotions traveling under his skin.
Darrius reached his chamber, slamming the door. Where was his usual calm, pray? He was a trained killer, guarding the country’s most valuable person in the land: the king. One woman muddled his mind until he lost all focus and perspective. He was now saddled with two Carthmore women! God’s teeth.
He plowed a hand through his unruly hair. He found no answers save his own thudding heartbeat.
Chapter 5
Maude was a godsend for Brenna’s beaten and feverish sister. She handled her with gentle care. However, two hours passed since Gunther gave his command for her to go directly to his chamber. She forced herself to make the dreaded footsteps, and the cold stone seeped up through her slippers, chilling her skin even more.
With a swift rap on the door, she was granted entrance. Wiping her sweaty hands on her gown, she opened the barrier separating her from uncertainty.
Gunther sat relaxed before the fireplace. Her heart pounded with apprehension, her breath caught in her chest, and her eyes roamed the chamber. Her fear turned into anger. As a protest formed on her lips, the servants scurried back and forth, placing her things alongside his.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. At her caustic tone, everyone fled with a soft thump of the door closing shut.
His cool gaze met hers. “Settling you closer, my lady.” Standing, he strode closer, every step echoing.
Brenna ached to cower, escape, or flee. Everything about him taunted her into anxiety, a place she knew well but hated. He strolled over with sleek purpose, his eyes predatory. The wide breadth of his shoulders dominated the room, his strength vivid and substantial. She felt caught. Trapped.
Her eyes narrowed on him, daring him to be more fiendish. “Why? I had a perfectly good chamber of my own.” Brenna found strength within herself to take a few steps forward, trying out a little bravery. It did not work. He stopped inches away, and her eyes dropped. Shaking, she took a step backwards.
“You are my wife. I am lord of this keep. We will share this room.” He leaned closer. “Did you presume that I would allow you to remain in a separate chamber?” He shook his head. “You my dear, will be my wife in every way.”
Brenna’s eyes flashed, and she took another step back until her body came up flush against the door.
Leaning forward, he placed his hands on the wood at either side of her head, and his gaze captured hers. “No? Shall I thank your father for revealing your defiant nature? Or use this stubbornness against you?”
The nearness of his body flamed her
skin, and she fought to breathe. Brenna shivered as another pound of anger beat a hard path through her veins. Gulping air, her breasts grazed the hard wall of his chest with each drag of air. Her nipples hardened, and she felt ashamed of her reaction. “And if I refuse?”
****
She was beautiful.
Darrius’ lips twitched, fighting the impulse to grin. “Courage to the last, but it will not save you from me.” He swooped in, gathering her in his arms, ignoring her startled gasp. Breathing in a deep inhale of her sweetness, his mouth swept over her parted lips, barely stifling a groan. His tongue tunneled over hers. Her sensual taste seeped into him until he felt crucified down through every degree of self-discipline.
He had meant to intimidate her, but dear God, she was pure heaven. His body hummed on an edge of take-and-claim her, and he shuddered. His shaft pulsed with every scrape of her tongue over his. The hard press of her nipples against his chest begged him to touch, lick, and suck them until she begged him to stop. His need was so strong, an acute pain taunted his willpower and the little effort it would take to rid her of her gown and bury himself between her softness. He ached to roll the tight buds of her breasts in his mouth, and watch her wither, while he drew lusty moans of pleasure from her throat.
Darrius closed his mind off, willing himself under control. However, he was lost and he could not fight his craving for her.
****
Brenna was unprepared for the spicy, warm sensation his mouth gave her. The sweet abrasion of his beard rubbed against her face, and the skillful thrust of his tongue swept her into sin. She remained a prisoner to her senses, inhaling his male scent, powerful and tantalizing.
She moaned in pure, hedonistic pleasure.
Her mind clouded, swirling her in a murky haze. Resistance never entered her mind. Brenna relaxed into the hard muscles of his chest, and her hands came up around his neck, sinking into the thick waves of his hair. She urged him closer, needing more. The sensuous caress of his hands made her flesh tingle as he stroked the length of her spine. His gentleness and sweetness seduced another moan from her.
His teeth came down lightly on her bottom lip, tracing the outline of her mouth with his tongue. Easy. Gentle. She could hardly make herself breathe. The moment was too seductive. His hands traveled down to her hips, tilting her up to cradle his shaft, and a hard vibration ripped from her body. The fog lifted from her mind, followed by disgust.
She beat her fists against his chest, trying to free herself from him, jerking and twisting. “Let me—”
His mouth sank down on hers again, capturing her hands. He pulled her hard against him. The action stretched the lashes on her back, and Brenna cried out in serious pain.
He pulled back, frowning. “What is it?” He relaxed his hold.
Brenna pushed out of his arms, turning from him. She owed him nothing—not even an explanation. She drew in a heavy breath, despising her body’s desire to melt into him with scornful disdain. God, she wanted to vilify him, yet her body ached to yield. Her self-loathing shamed her. She said the only thing she could, “Consider that payment for saving my sister, Lord Gunther.”
****
Darrius’ eyes narrowed at her frosty reply, and he winced. He cursed Gunther’s vile existence to hell for causing her fear. The Lord of Dorling would have destroyed her without a care and Lady Brenna did not deserve such ill-treatment. Hell, she did not deserve his attention either, but he needed her compliance, not her rebellion. He wanted her beyond words—beyond the undefined boundaries. He knew they both were pinned in from all sides of secrets and lies. Their desire for each other added another complication.
He fought his inner war as only Gunther would. “My lady wife, there is plenty more payment to be had, I can assure you. You will see to all my needs as I require.”
Brenna faced him, her face still flushed, her eyes glittering. “You can save your torture, Lord Gunther,” she sneered. “My father is like you. I am nothing if not resilient in overcoming men who find women worthless.”
Indeed… courage to the last. Shock flickered in Darrius’ eyes, but he concealed it. “I see your father neglected to teach you any manners, my lady, but considering the source, perhaps you had no other choice. You will not use your bitter tongue on me. I have no tolerance for such behavior.” He walked to the window, yet he saw nothing. His dark mood was unaffected by life outside.
The walls of his internal prison compressed him. He was not used to such inexcusable behavior in anyone, but she was right. Lady Brenna was a pawn in a dangerous game, but for the sake of his mission, she needed to be reined in. However, his internal conflict warred with the man he used to be.
Darrius of Blackstone.
He was drawn to Brenna’s spirit, admiring her strength and determination. His hands tightened at his sides, suppressing the yearnings calling from inside him. Brenna riled his senses in ways he never dreamed and he admired her spirit far more than he liked to acknowledge.
More was at stake than only the innocence of a young woman and a king’s order. The dire consequences of his heart awaited, and he was powerless but to comply. He knew he was in uncharted waters, sinking under her spell. God help him, but he wanted to test the unknown with her.
Darrius drew a deep breath, fighting right versus wrong. “You will share this room with me, my lady. If you protest again, I will lock you in here.” He loosened up his hands, forcing his emotions down deep inside himself.
****
Brenna choked down Gunther’s words, hating him even more. She was determined to be unresponsive to his punishments. However, could she really? She hated to admit what his mouth did to her. It was like sensual magic, stroking dying embers from a place she never thought to feel—especially with him.
Her face still burned from his beard, her nipples still tingled, and an unfamiliar ache flamed between her thighs. Yet there was no gentleness in him now. He fluctuated between hot and cold, confusing her.
As Gunther turned to face her, his dangerous stance unnerved her as he stared her down. She knew he wanted a reply. “As you say,” she said succinctly, summoning all the impudence she could.
His lips curved into a smirk and he strode closer. “Not only will curb your anger toward me, my lady, you will endeavor to curb your impertinent replies,” he whispered and then left, slamming the door.
Brenna jumped at the sound, and she closed her eyes. She brought up her hands to hold back a sob, her body shaking. He made her ache, stoking a fire in her blood. He commanded possession, but God, he was the most irritating man to ever draw breath. He had killed innocent people for mere pleasure. He had sought after his own comforts and passions without decency. So why? Why did she care so much?
Silver tears fell from her eyes down to stain her gown. They only emphasized her desire to leave… to escape.
****
Brenna drew closer to Linnea’s bedchamber, noting the sentry posted outside the door. Her hands tightened on the thick mantles and simple gowns draped over her arm. She had seen the giant walking with Gunther on several occasions. His presence would cause a problem for her grand escape plan, but she was willing to take a chance. She eyed the large warrior, mentally assessing the odds of fleeing. He was tall to be sure. The imposing bulk of his muscles flexed under his clothing, hinting at his strength.
Brenna tilted her head with serene grace. “I would like to see my sister.” She found herself reflected in clear, glittering blue eyes.
Without a word, the large warrior inclined his head, opening the chamber door and stepped to the side.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of Linnea’s bedchamber, a fire warmed the room with a red-orange glow. Her sister rested upon a heap of pillows; her thick, blonde hair gleamed inside the delicate ambience. A sheen of perspiration beaded her brow, her physical strength, lacking and obvious.
“Brenna,” Linnea croaked, her somber, blue eyes lit with something close to relief with a faint smile curving her dry, cracked li
ps.
Swallowing hard, Brenna crossed over to the bed, her mutinous path choking her. “Dearest, how are you feeling?” She assessed Linnea closely.
“Well enough,” she said with a measure of weakness, her eyes searching. “What has happened? You have the same look of dread before father would inflict his punishments.”
Brenna winced, placing the mantles and gowns upon the bed and sat next to her sister. Worry rode her insides as she reached for Linnea’s hand, shaking her head. “We must leave,” she breathed, tears gathering.
Linnea’s brows drew together. “Leave? What has happened?” She pressed her sister’s hand.
Looking away, Brenna fought back tears, hating Gunther with every breath. A tug of war burned deep within her. A damnable internal battled unbalanced her sanity. Hate her husband or desire him. Which was it? It was a soul-wrenching conflict. Her body yearned to taste all of heaven and hell with a man who made her blood chill yet set her on fire the next. That was unacceptable! If she and Linnea were quick enough, perhaps they could make it safely away from Dorling Castle. Impulsive? Dangerous? However, worth the risk.
“It is Gunther,” Brenna said, trembling. “I will not stay and be his wife. I would rather die.” She hung her head, unable to meet her sister’s gaze. Shame fed her. Desire for freedom drove her.
“Oh, Brenna,” Linnea said with a sob. “I am so selfish. All I have thought about is how I would feel without you and how I would miss you when you left. How could I have been so absorbed in my own misery not to see yours? How great your suffering has been.”
Brenna shook her head, lifting her head. “Nay, do not blame yourself. My suffering is what father gave me and what Gunther inflicts. Beyond my own death, I cannot see any other way… except…” her words trailed off and silent tears coursed down her cheeks.