by Beth Mikell
****
Darrius awaited the arrival of Sir Robert of Chevington with Rowan at his side. The man in question was of average height, bright red hair and beard. He had limp blue eyes with a stocky build. His flamboyant dress was an eyesore from his deep purple mantle to his dark green tunic and red breeches, which gave offense to his less than attractive body.
“It has been a while, Darrius. The king told me I would find you here.” Robert of Chevington stepped forward to shake hands with the Imperial Arm. His wide smile overwhelmed his woolly face.
“Sir Robert, indeed it has been a while. Come take refreshment.” Darrius offered a comfortable chair beside the fire.
Rowan poured three goblets of wine before joining the men.
“What news have you, Sir Robert?” Darrius began.
The older man cleared his throat and placed his empty goblet before him, and Rowan leaned forward to refill it. “The king has been most disturbed by the rumors of an uprising. Of late, he has commissioned me to reiterate what fealty means to him. I have been visiting each lord in his northern region.”
Darrius pursed his lips, nodding. “Have you met much resistance or has success been your favor?”
Sir Robert shrugged. “It has been a most interesting journey.” His blue eyes twinkled. “There is a rumor of a group of renegades that are calling themselves, the Gray Legion. Have you heard of them?”
The Imperial Arm frowned. “No.” He was thoughtful a moment before he said, “Do you think this group is responsible for the potential uprising? Could Sir William of Carthmore be involved?” There was no harm in asking the tough questions.
The other man shook his head. “There is no evidence to support it. From what I gather,” Sir Robert began. “The Gray Legion is more a band of thieves. ‘Tis not uncommon for lower classed vassals to pillage in such ways. An empty belly is a pretty seductive inducement, would you not agree?” He lifted his goblet in a silent toast.
Darrius inclined his head. “Of course, but it does not excuse it,” he said with a dangerous tone.
Sir Robert chuckled. “Indeed not, but I do not foresee an end to the Gray Legion before the king’s other political issues are under control. Unless the group in question goes beyond petty violence, I would think it is hardly worth the king’s notice.”
The Imperial Arm sat back and contemplated Sir Robert’s words thoughtfully. “Consider, Sir Robert, if the Gray Legion were attacking your vassals, innocent people under your care, would you be so inclined to dismiss such outlaw behavior?”
A red flush crept up Sir Robert’s face, clashing against the orange-red of his beard. “Oh, no, of course not,” he said quickly. “I was informing you of possibilities and the tales I have received during my travels thus far.”
He nodded. “Thank you for your consideration, Sir Robert. I will inform His Majesty,” the Imperial Arm replied.
The hefty man blew out another hearty chuckle. “Oh, I am sure there will be nothing to report, as I mentioned. This may blow over as other things.” He dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand.
Darrius narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so sure nothing is important regarding the Gray Legion? Are you aware of further information that you have yet to share? As the king’s emissary, every threat—great or small—is important to the king. No matter what the king’s public actions or attitudes reflect, no ruler avoids a group of traitors. Be assured, I will find the root of the outlaws and deliver justice.”
Sir Robert paled. “Forgive me, Darrius, I did not mean to imply that I was aware of more than I knew. I only meant that the Gray Legion issue should not take precedence over other current affairs within the country.” He swallowed more wine before continuing, “Take the borderlands for example. John, King of Scots regularly sends soldiers to harass the keeps within this boundary. Though our king is currently restoring York Castle, it may take many years to complete. Now with many hostile lords, such as Sir William and Lord Gunther plotting treason, many of the king’s borderlands are in an indisputable state of unrest.”
He drew a deep breath and shifted his position within his seat, his unease obvious. “I just wanted to define a least to greatest priority, but never dispute the Gray Legion as a threat. They are a growing concern. If too many vassals feel threatened, they may be inclined to flee south—no matter their sworn fealty to their lords—leaving the border keeps in more danger to possible invasion from the Scots,” he concluded.
Darrius smiled, but he was far from amused. “I think you speak in circles, Sir Robert. One minute you decline the validity of the Gray Legion, the next you vilify them as a threat—which is it?” he asked coolly.
Sir Robert blanched, shifting in his chair. “A threat, of course. Do you suspect me, Darrius?”
“I suspect everyone for the sake of King Henry, which should not surprise you, since you are his faithful servant.” He found himself unnerved by Sir Robert. The man seemed strangely ill humored over a band of outlaws. Darrius knew he would ask the king regarding this issue when next he saw him.
“Yes, of course,” Sir Robert said with a warm smile. “But, in regards to Sir William, I think his plans are of a different nature and the biggest enlightenment of all.”
“Aye, I am sure,” Darrius said with a thin twist of his lips.
“It appears the man is daft enough to think he could rule this country better,” Sir Robert said. “He is causing quite a stir. Seems he may lose his head or worse should he continue further. The king is ready to put to death all those in favor of treason. Sir William asked for my support to assassinate the king and said he already had yours.”
Darrius smiled sardonically to the point of smirking. “He does have Lord Gunther’s support I can assure you, but under the circumstances Lord Gunther is not in a position to follow through with his plans.”
All three men chuckled, slapping their goblets together in unison.
Sir Robert plunked his hand down on the arm of his chair. “Indeed! How can you stand being in his place is beyond me. That bastard deserves to die. Tell me, Darrius, how does your prisoner fare?”
At the mention of his name, Darrius looked up to see the door sway and a sense of another presence fluttered over him. He moved quickly to the door, only to catch a glimpse of dark blue velvet rounding the corner. Rowan and Sir Robert came to stand behind him.
“Darrius?” Rowan checked the empty hallway, and then looked to his cousin, shrugging.
His face clouded over in semi-controlled anger, shutting the door. “Nothing, apparently. It was only a draft.”
“Come, Sir Robert,” Rowan said. “I heard your son, Erik, may soon be betrothed to a very beautiful lass from the borderlands. Your niece, correct?” The McLeod pulled the older man away from the door. “You know how I love a good story.”
Sir Robert declined Darrius’s invitation to dine at Dorling Castle, but it was just as well, he was in no humor to entertain.
He went to find his wife.
Chapter 9
Brenna ran up to a third level bedchamber and leaned against the closed door for support. She covered her mouth with her hand and tried to still her trembling lips.
Oh, dear God.
The man was not her husband? How in God’s name? His appearance was the same, and his manner incredible and beyond words. She gave a hysterical laugh. “Oh, God, he… he… made me his wife,” Brenna breathed in the quiet of the room.
Darrius?
The only answer Brenna could feel was her rapid heartbeat, drumming hard in her chest. Her head ached with pain, yet she still wanted to know more. The man she knew as her husband saved her from hell. He saved her from a man who most likely would have raped and killed her.
She paced the room, fidgeting and mulling over the unanswered questions. What had she missed? What game was arranged before her so secretly?
“Lady Brenna?”
She spun around, gasping. Darrius stood at the door, and his glacial, blue eyes were as hard as a wint
er storm. The same eyes that were warm with passion for her earlier. She stumbled backwards, fighting fear, her hands curving around her throat in a protective manner. “Who are you?”
He strode inside, closing the door and locked it. “I believe you know the answer to that.”
She shook her head. “I-I did not mean—”
“What is done is done, little dove,” he whispered, taking a few more steps toward her. “The question is, now that you know… what do plan to do?”
Brenna retreated further into the room, her eyes searching his. “Do?” she croaked, his anger vibrated through her. She felt his frostiness like a scream inside the quiet of the chamber. “Please… tell me. Who are you?”
His lips drew up into a tight smile. “Darrius of Blackstone, Gunther’s twin brother.”
Shocked, Brenna’s mouth dropped open. “How is that possible?” Her hoarse whisper was filled with incredulousness. “My father knew yours for years—there was only one son.”
“And yet… here I am.” He turned away, striding toward the fireplace and kneeled down to start a fire.
Brenna padded softly over to him, speechless. She stared down at his quick, skillful movements over the hearth. The flames licked at the wood he placed in the fireplace. “Tell me.” She placed her hand upon his shoulder.
****
Darrius’ eyes flicked up to meet hers. Her dark hair mesmerized him, falling over her shoulder, and her enchanting green eyes were illuminated by the firelight. Brenna’s soft lips begged to be kissed. And he wanted… what?
He wanted everything.
Trust was not the issue, but rather her safety. She was in the center of treachery with many potential dangers. Quite honestly, he could not add to that. He warred within himself, fighting the truth and the right to keep her safe. Brenna held the power to win him over with one look—one soft word from her lips. With one caress of her hand, by hell, he would give her anything. She embodied his weakness and his heart thumped readily to meet her in truth. Her sweetness penetrated his ironclad emotions, shaking his heart.
Slowly, Darrius stood. He was stripped down inside, and he faced her. He allowed the wounds of his past to open for the first time in his life. “My father, Lord Robert, never knew of my existence. My mother gave birth to us while her husband was away on a travel and from what I understand—he was much like Gunther is now,” he said softly. “I am sure if Lord Robert had known of me, he would most likely have killed one of us and quite possibly our mother.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“My mother fled to Scotland with me in fear for her life. As the story goes, the midwife was supposed to bring Gunther, but she claimed he died. Yet it was not true. Gunther grew up under the vice of Lord Robert, becoming one of England’s worst enemies—seeking his own pleasures beyond thought or deed. A man who willfully delights in the destruction of innocence,” he said, his finger reaching up to trace down her cheek in a feather light caress. His thoughts centered on Brenna’s innocence and how Gunther would have destroyed her.
Still, Darrius continued, “My mother survived by sheer will and determination. She gave up everything… except this…” He caressed the stone pinned to Brenna’s dress. It gleamed in the firelight as he turned it within his hands. “It is the Order of Blackstone given to my mother on her wedding day from her mother,” he concluded with a soft sigh.
“My lord, please forgive me,” Brenna said, bringing up her hands to twist them together. “I did not mean to spy on you. In earnest, my sister felt renewed and I went only to fetch a dress for her. When I overheard your words, I panicked and fled.”
Darrius shook his head, a small smile touching his lips. “Do not distress yourself. It’s a sweet relief that you know the truth. I have grown tired of being called Lord Gunther and yet...” he trailed off, aching to shield her from the dangers of his world.
“And yet? Why are you here?” she asked. “Where is Gunther now?”
His eyes narrowed. “I cannot tell you.”
“Is he dead?” Her voice rose a few degrees.
His lips curved into a smirk. “Would that please you?” He gauged her reaction with hooded eyes.
“Aye, as a matter of fact, it would!” She turned away from him and walked to the window.
“Brenna, for your safety, I must not tell you more,” he said quietly.
She snorted. “Safety? Do not patronize me.” She whirled to face him, her breath heaving. “You are here for your own secret reason, yet you are concerned about my safety? Isn’t being in your presence danger enough? When were you going to tell me I was married the wrong brother?”
He blew out a hard breath. “In time.”
“In time?” Brenna repeated, tears stinging her eyes. “Would you have left me one day—left me with me Gunther?”
Striding to her with quick steps, Darrius grabbed her shoulders. “How can you question that?” he gritted out. “How could I have told you the truth and not endangered your life? By keeping my silence, you would not harbor information that my enemies would kill for. I will not leave you.”
She pushed against his chest with both hands. “So you chose to lie? That was your great plan? Aye, superb choice. By all means, let us keep the stupid, little woman in the dark and make her a leman! Perfect,” she sneered.
“God’s teeth, woman! You are my wife!” Darrius hissed, shaking her slightly, rage vibrating his whole body.
Brenna shook her head. “Nay! I married to Gunther, not Darrius of Blackstone.” As she tried to push away from him, he gripped her shoulders, pulling her closer.
“You are my wife! I will not let anyone suggest otherwise.” Darrius controlled his anger, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper, “Do you know what Gunther would have done to you?”
She nodded. “Aye, he took great pleasure in describing it to me. However, are you no better than him? You chose to take my maidenhead, though you had no right to. Tell me Darrius of Blackstone, what is the difference?”
“This.”
His tongue chased hers, stroking savagely with the intent to brand his taste until nothing registered within her mind but him. He would lay claim—assert his rightful place—and own everything of her.
His knight’s honor be damned.
He slowed his ravenous deliberation, easing back to nip at the delicate corners of her mouth. He was thirsty for her essence, yet bombarded by his conscience. Damn honor. Brenna exacted what he desired and needed—a feast to his starving warrior’s soul.
“Darrius.”
His heart skipped a beat and immense pleasure filled him at the caress of her voice. Tenderly, his mouth dipped against hers. “I have waited to hear you say my name, yet it only means danger for you.” He gently set her away, yet the distance from her killed him.
****
Her heart sank, so empty without his arms, mouth, and touch. “I would not betray you. You must believe me.” Brenna reached up to caress his bearded cheek, and he smiled.
“Aye, I know, little dove, but now this truth places you in danger. I will not allow that.”
“What would you have me do, pray? Leave?”
He nodded. “Aye, I would. I will send you to my family in Scotland. You will be safe. After my mission is completed, I will come to you, and then…” he trailed off.
Her green eyes widened. “And then, what?” When he did not answer, she said, “Unbelievable! I am safer with you than risking the possibility of someone finding me. I will not leave,” she cried with a deliberate refusal. She wrapped her arms around him, but she cringed at her needy recklessness.
His jaw ticked. “As your husband, you will obey.”
She raised an elegant eyebrow and tilted her chin in defiance. “You forget, husband, I am not your wife,” she whispered.
“No else is aware of the fact,” he said dryly.
She shrugged. “I can stay with you, or I can leave, shouting your name up to the battlements. Your choice, warrior.”
Darrius snorted his
displeasure “Do not try to force my hand, Brenna—”
“Or what? You will bring out the suffer this, suffer that speech?” She scoffed. “I think we have moved beyond that.”
“You do not know what you are saying. You could be killed—”
She switched tactics and held a finger over his lips. “Shh… do you always talk so much, Darrius of Blackstone? I want you and only you. I want to stay with you.” She reached up to thread her hands through his black hair, pulling his head down to brush her lips across his. He tasted strong, hard, and wonderful. She whimpered deep in her throat unable to get close enough.
****
Darrius gave a low growl, crushing Brenna into his arms. Rational thought left his mind as her tongue snaked out and met his. An inner fire without boundaries unleashed within him. He no longer had to pretend to be someone else, and a violent shudder ran through him.
He was free to be himself.
He tore his mouth away from her, his breath heaving. “You have no idea what you are asking of me, Brenna,” he ground out, leaning his forehead against hers.
“I do know, Darrius,” she said firmly.
His hands came up to cup her face, staring into her eyes. “I want you for myself. No mission, no Gunther… nothing. Just you.”
“Take me.”
Darrius’s control snapped inside a wave of arousal. He covered her mouth with lightning speed, his tongue sipping the wild, little moans from her throat. They tore at their clothing, the items dropping to the floor in a frenzied disarray until naked flesh surged against naked flesh.
He trailed his mouth down her neck, lightly nipping her skin, inhaling her sweetness. His equilibrium spun out of control, and he sank to his knees, sliding his hands down to cup her hips. He pulled her close, planting his mouth wherever he could in a lusty haste.
His control? It was long gone.
Brenna held onto his shoulders and threw her head back arching into his mouth. He tongued her rosy nipples, suckling each until she cried out. His lips and hands caressed her. Darrius gathered her around the waist and pulled her down to the floor, laying her gently upon their strewn clothing. Quick. Fast. Hot. He fed at her lips, savagely absorbing her sensuality, while his hands stroked over her body, blazing fire with each caress.