Knights of the Imperial Elite Complete Trilogy

by Beth Mikell

  “Who are you?” she asked a little dramatically.

  With his face averted, Darrius closed his eyes, and fury burned through him. He hated lying to her. He hated how he could not respect himself. He was torn between right and wrong, king and country—secrets and lies. He had wronged a woman that deserved so much more than danger and intrigue.

  She drew close to him, laying a hand on his arm. He flinched, but did not pull away, turning to look at her. “I am your husband, Lord Gunther of Dorling,” Darrius said with an extra dose of sarcasm. More than he intended.

  Brenna smiled, though her amusement did not reach her eyes. “Ah, I see. Then, how is it, my dear husband that you have had a personality altercation in little time, pray?”

  Her hand fell away, but Darrius reached out suddenly and caught it, bringing it to his lips. He felt insane. He ached to gentle her, and he could not help his need to touch her. Darrius blew his breath over her skin, caressing her knuckles with his lips. “And what have you noticed?”

  She trembled. “How about threatening me with the marriage bed, only—you did not do what you promised so eagerly,” she said breathlessly. “How you saved my sister from the cruel fate of my father. Where is the man that found pleasure in torture and lemans, so unworthy I cannot even speak of it? It’s like you try to be one man, but end up being someone else entirely.”

  His heart sang at her response. While she did not fully understand the difference—in actuality—she knew him. Instead of expounding on that wonderful revelation, he dropped her hand and took a step back. “If you promise not to attempt another escape, my lady, you are free to go about your daily affairs as mistress of the castle. You may also attend your sister. Do I have your word?”

  She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. “Yes, you have my word,” she whispered, leaving the chamber.

  Darrius stared at the empty doorway.

  He found her.

  He found a woman simply and purely for himself. Not as the king’s emissary, not as the Imperial Arm and certainly not as loathsome Gunther, but for him. She was everything in a woman that he had always avoided—the forever kind. The Imperial Arm finally wanted out of the dark, dank life of lies and deceit. However, he had a weakness: Brenna.

  Darrius knew he must hide his feelings all the more. But could he?

  ****

  Brenna found her sister deep in sleep, resting easily. Maude told her she was improving, awakening in short spurts to take broth or medicine. With a weary sigh, she released her sister’s hand and walked to the window. She discovered her husband with his men, and she pushed open the windowpane.

  The fascinating training display intrigued Brenna as the men paired off working sword strategies at the command of Gunther’s deep voice. Her eyes followed her husband; his body moved with strength and controlled power. His fluid movements were a remarkable sight. His dark hair curled over his mantle. He was so impressive and masculine.

  He confounded her mind.

  Brenna drew a deep breath, releasing it slowly. She could hear their words…

  “She is congenial as well as obstinate, my lord,” remarked Colin heartily, nodding toward the keep.

  Her husband looked up at the window, expressionless. “You have no idea,” he said, slapping Colin on the back with a smile.

  Shame burned her face and Brenna closed the window. She was embarrassed Gunther caught her gawking at him. What had he said of her? Obstinate? Maybe she was willing to admit she was, yet in her defense, she had spent her entire life abused by her father. If Gunther’s willingness to change lasted, she felt she could be more inclined toward him.

  “Brenna?”

  Linnea’s whisper drew her out of her thoughts. She walked back to her sister’s bed and sat down. “How do you feel, dearest?” She reached up to check for fever, finding her sister’s skin cool to the touch and she caressed her hand down Linnea’s face.

  The younger woman groaned. “Dreadful.”

  Brenna sucked in her lower lip, her eyes caressing her sister with concern. “I am so sorry. If I had not insisted upon leaving, you would not be this sick and—”

  “Shh, please do not fret. I do not blame you,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to her sister. “It was my fault for coming here and pitting you against father and your husband. If anyone is to blame, it is me.”

  “Nay. Do not excuse me. The fault is mine,” Brenna began. “Though I dreaded my fate at Dorling Castle, I should not have endangered your life, especially not at the risk of your health. I hope you will forgive me.” She pulled her sister’s hand up to her cheek.

  “Stop, please. You must not ride yourself with guilt in such a way. I am too sick...” Linnea said, attempting to smile but failed. However, when Brenna did not respond she continued, “How did you fare with Lord Gunther? I was so worried when you didn’t come to me. Did he harm you?”

  She looked away from her sister’s questioning eyes to the fireplace, wondering the same. She searched her own heart and mind for answers to the riddle that surrounded Lord Gunther. For all his contradictions, he appeared a man of honor. She had fully expected a beating at Gunther’s hands after returning to the keep or worse, but no. He had been angry, yet he used control.

  “Brenna?”

  She met her sister’s gaze and smiled. “No, he did not harm me. However, he did make me promise not to attempt escape again. Rest, dearest, everything will be fine now. I promise.”

  “What of the giant we injured? Is he all right?” Linnea closed her eyes.

  Brenna only now remembered. “Well, I—I really do not know to be honest. Why do you ask?”

  Her sister shifted on the bed as if in discomfort. “I feel terrible for what we did to him. We should also return his purse.”

  Brenna eyed her sister with suspicion. It was so out of character for Linnea to care about a knight much less if he were hurt or without his coin. But, then again, no one at Dorling Castle acted naturally. What opinion was there to make? “I shall inquire if you like.”

  “Let us do it together.” She drifted off to sleep.

  A shiver of shock ran through Brenna. Perhaps her sister had an affection for the giant. Of all her life, Linnea never asked after a man. Not once. And to make matters worse, she remembered Gunther’s promise to marry her to Rowan and she had yet to tell her.

  ****

  By late afternoon, Rowan appeared in the great hall, looking the worn traveler.

  “Rowan!” Brenna exclaimed, happy for his return.

  “My lady.” He bowed, boasting his most genuine smile.

  “Your travels have been weary, I fear.” She frowned. “Come and take refreshment.” She tried to induce him to rest and to talk with her a moment.

  “Rowan, I see you have returned.” Her husband entered the great hall, stopping at her side.

  The heat radiating off his body seeped into her, and his hand came up to rest at the small of her back. She slanted a glance up to his face and she was equally surprised by the barest hint of a smile, though in a second it vanished.

  Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “My lady, I thank you for yer kind offer, but I must decline. I need to speak with my lord without delay.”

  She inclined her head. “Very well, later then.”

  “It is your kindness, my lady,” Rowan said, bowing graciously.

  Brenna sidestepped the two men, and her eyes followed their departure.

  ****

  Darrius and Rowan settled before the fire in the lord’s solar, yet the Imperial Arm remained aloof, pouring two goblets of ale, pushing one toward his cousin.

  “Your journey?” he queried.

  “Long, but successful.” Rowan took a big swig of his goblet.

  The Imperial Arm nodded, his demeanor rigid. “The king’s message?”

  “Delivered.”

  “His answer?”

  “The king said to hold fast and continue your investigation. He will send someone to escort Gunter to the palace.” Rowan took another
drink, eyeing his lord over the rim of the mug. “Someone is leaking information. He wants that man most of all,” he said.

  The Imperial Arm sat back in the chair, rubbing his trimmed beard thoughtfully. “Anything else?”

  Rowan downed the last bit of his ale. “No. What is your next move, my lord?”

  “Just weeding out the bad apples.” Darrius patted him on the shoulder. “Something you will be good at.”

  “As you say, my lord.” Rowan smiled as he spoke, teasing his cousin with a wink.

  Darrius’ eyes glittered. “Indeed, amuse yourself, cousin, for it will not be long.”

  The McLeod frowned, losing his playfulness. “My lord?”

  “You missed the excitement. Sir William’s younger daughter has joined us,” Darrius announced.

  Shock rolled over Rowan’s expression. “What?”

  “It seems Lady Linnea could not live without her sister and made her journey here. Apparently, Sir William beat her soundly before traveling for the wedding.”

  “Dear God…”

  Darrius shifted uneasily in his chair, his lips set in a grim line. “Needless to say, Sir William was not pleased when he found her hiding here.”

  “And?”

  “I gave her sanctuary from her crazed father, and in return for her gratitude—she will become your wife.”

  Suddenly, Rowan jumped out of his chair. “No! You cannot mean for me to marry the lass?”

  Darrius’s eyebrow quirked up. “Indeed, I do.”

  “And I say I shall not!” The McLeod slammed his fist down on the table, the goblets rattling.

  A smirk lifted on his lips. “The king has given me authority over my men for any means and decisions that I see fit to make. You will marry her, Rowan,” he said, tacking on, “For God and country.”

  “‘Tis wrong!”

  “Some things cannot be helped,” he said, waving the matter aside as if little importance.

  Cocking his head to the side, Rowan straightened, crossing his arms. His agitation obvious. “And how soon am I expected to begin this farce of a marriage?”

  “Lady Linnea is too sick to move, let alone stand in front of a priest. Besides, look at the honor you will bring to our family—saving a damsel in distress. It is a knight’s best dream.”

  Rowan grunted, his disgust apparent. “And how is your captive, my lord? Enjoying his new quarters?”

  Shrugging, Darrius felt nothing about it. “Gunther is like a rat in a cage, but I care not. I have other things to concern myself. He will be moved in a few days, and then his fate will be in the hands of the king.”

  Smiling wryly, Rowan’s eyes wandered around the chamber, narrowing. His smiled faded into a frown. “And what about Lady Brenna, my lord? How does she fare?”

  Darrius veiled his expression from his cousin’s probing eyes. “You saw for yourself.”

  “Aye—I did. What is going on, Darrius?” Rowan said with hard force, looking down at his cousin.

  “Would you like to shout my name from the battlements? Or would a horn be preferable? You forget yourself, cousin,” he said with a biting sting.

  “And what is your excuse, pray?”

  Darrius straightened in his chair, leaning forward. His face hardened. “Do not underestimate my authority. I will not tolerate it.”

  “Well, this can only mean one thing: you made Lady Brenna yer true wife,” he concluded.

  Darrius snorted. “It has nothing to do with you. Stay out of it.”

  “And it has everything to do with you… the mission… her safety!”

  “She is safe,” he bit out. “Besides, your concern is touching, dear cousin, but Lady Brenna does not need a keeper. If she does, I shall send for you.”

  Rowan snorted. “Hell and damnation, you are the king’s emissary for God’s sake. How could you?” He shouted with barely suppressed anger. “Wait a bloody minute! You planned this,” he growled. “From the very beginning, did you not? That was why you sent me away. You knew I would not agree. Have you no shame?”

  Darrius regarded his cousin with cool eyes. “Not that I must explain everything to you, but Sir William required proof of the marriage bed. In fact, he wanted to watch the consummation until I shut the damn door in his face. So, aye, I have no shame according to your high and moral standards,” he sneered because they both knew how moral Rowan was in regards to the affairs of the bedchamber. “It was either, give her a taste of my steel or her father’s sword. He would have killed us both and the whole mission would have been lost. There was no other way.” He eyed Rowan with uncaring laziness.

  “No other way?” His cousin repeated. “The king gave you a direct order that you were to marry Lady Brenna. Only! Not take her as yer true wife.” Rowan took a step forward, impatience riding his expression.

  He grunted. “I had my reasons as stated.”

  “You had yer reasons?” Rowan mimicked, but it was more of a rumble. “I dare say yer reasons were not for God and country.” The McLeod strode closer, stopping at the table.

  Darrius narrowed his eyes, his face unemotional and hard.

  Still Rowan continued, “From what I know of you as the Imperial Arm, you would never have given into such an immoral reasoning. You would not have dishonored Lady Brenna because yer duty and yer honor have always come first. Oh, no, there is more at play here, but you refuse to tell me.”

  “I am not accountable to you.”

  Rowan slammed his fists down on the table, knocking the goblets off. “God’s teeth, Darrius! Who are you accountable to? God? King Henry? Yerself? You were sent to protect her, not make her yer leman!”

  Darrius jumped to his feet, pushing Rowan against the wall, one arm pinned him against the stone as he shoved his elbow into his cousin’s neck. “She is not a common whore!” he shouted. “She is my wife!”

  Rowan used his equally hard strength to push Darrius away, and he coughed, facing him. “Damn you, Darrius! You are wrong! She is Gunther’s wife by law.”

  “She is mine. Since Gunther was not present for the ceremony, she is not his wife either.”

  “Do you hear yerself? You are one pile of justification, are you not? Did you not ever stop to consider the consequences of yer actions? What if she carries yer bairn in her belly?”

  Darrius did not answer—his face like stone.

  “Dear God…” Rowan said with horror. “’Tis what you want, is it not?” he whispered, more to himself than to Darrius. “She deserves better than this.” He waved a hand up in the air and he shook his head.

  Turning away from his cousin’s accusing eyes, Darrius pushed his hand through his hair. “And what do you know about it? She has been nothing more than a pawn in her father’s rush to overthrow the king. As a wife to Gunther or Sir Robert of Chevington, she would have been violated… or killed.”

  Rowan narrowed his eyes to mere slits. “It wasn’t yer decision to make, Darrius. The man who is married to Lady Brenna controls everything. Her dowry is extensive…’tis why the king wanted her to marry his most trusted baron.”

  “Now she is the wife of the king’s emissary. She is better off.”

  His cousin snorted. “The king only gave his permission for this farce of a marriage to take place, if you would step in as Gunther. The king wanted the control and power on his side, not to those who would usurp his crown. You are not yer brother, but are you not using her the same?”

  “No.” He cut a dark glower. “I am following through with my mission. And you will guard your tongue,” Darrius said in a commanding tone, facing his cousin.

  Lifting an eyebrow, Rowan folded his arms in front of him. “Indeed?”

  “Careful,” the Imperial Arm warned, his face darkening. “Or you would have me believe you are on a mutinous path.”

  Stepping forward, Rowan took hold of Darrius’s left arm. “I am devoted to you as a brother,” he said, giving a stout push against his cousin. “I have pledged my life to you and King Henry—against my family�
�against my own king and country. However, can you honestly say that what you have done is right? Right for Lady Brenna?”

  Darrius sighed, allowing his guard to come down. “Right or wrong, ‘tis done. In this game of treachery, she is with the only man who might save her. And God help me, I will not relinquish her, not even for my king.”

  Rowan rolled his eyes. “God, you are so stubborn.”

  The Imperial Arm smiled. “Yes, and you take great pleasure in reminding me.”

  “Damn you, but I hope it doesn’t bite me in the arse later!” Rowan gave a rueful shake of his head. “Then I will stand by you. May God save both our stupid hides.”

  Chapter 8

  Curiosity drew Brenna closer to the lord’s solar. She was intrigued by the heated verbal battle while on her way to Linnea’s chamber. Rightness told her to leave, but interest propelled her closer. The wooden door stood slightly ajar.

  Brenna could see the wide powerful stance of her husband, towering over Rowan. She knew how it felt to stand in Rowan’s position, looking into those determined blue eyes; his body threatening and vibrating with anger. Yet she did not stay long for fear of discovery.

  Now she could add spy to her list of accolades, but she would not apologize for it. Though, Gunther’s words perplexed her mind… not give her up? Even for his king? What did he mean by that? Again, more questions with no answers greeted her, but oddly, she smiled to herself.

  For the first time in her life she felt wanted. A rarity given her miserable experience in relationships. The thought of Gunther wanting her should have repulsed her. Choked her. However, it didn’t. Her husband was proving to be a constant contradiction at every turn. His words warmed a deep, cold place within her heart. Possibilities faced her, strange, yet magnificent. She wanted to discover more.

  After checking on Linnea, it was near the evening meal, but she could not summon the enthusiasm to go down to the great hall. Part of her wanted to see Gunther and bask in his guarded looks, yet she could not subject herself to his men and castle whores. She had no desire to remember his velvet kisses, and then for him to bestow such attention on another woman. Jealousy curled inside her at the thought. She had a right to be jealous. She was his wife, a place designated to demand his unswerving attention and devotion, yet she was scared. Her newfound desire to understand her feelings popped her into numbness. Frozen in place. What was it about him that kept her mystified, aching for more? Therefore, she did nothing.