by Beth Mikell
His eyes cracked open as she bent over him and he tried to speak, but his strength was obviously fading.
“Get up!” Colin yanked Brenna to her feet without any gentleness and pushed her toward a smaller door. “Go. Both of you.”
Brenna whirled on him, thrusting her mantle covered arm toward his sword, pushing it away from her and Linnea. “I demand that you release us. Whatever treachery you are involved in cannot include kidnapping a couple of women,” she said, dropping her voice low. “My husband will find you... and kill you.”
Colin’s lips curved into a smirk. “I certainly hope he will give chase, my lady,” he said. “Now through the door, unless you would like me to pin one of you to the wall with my sword?”
Linnea gasped at his threat, but Brenna remained calm. She hoped Ian the Mouse had heard her protest and would survive his injuries to tell Darrius. She prayed so. Without a choice, Brenna grabbed her sister’s hand and went through the bolthole.
The passage was cumbersome, especially without good lighting. The dust smell nearly as revolting. Brenna moved forward inch by aching inch through the dark tunnel, moving as quickly as her long gown and mantle would allow. She could not turn around to check on Linnea, but she hoped her sister was all right, considering her recently healed wounds and sickness.
Finally, a light shined ahead, signaling the end. A few more steps later, it came out into a rocky hillside with Dorling Castle at some distance behind. Brenna gasped for breath, doubling over to her knees, dragging in deep gulps of fresh air. Linnea and Colin came out behind her, and her sister collapsed on the ground at her feet.
She knelt beside her. “Linnea, how are you? Can you hear me?” She pushed her long, blonde hair from her flushed face. Anger replaced fear inside Brenna, and she turned her glittering eyes on Colin. “Leave my sister, you coward! She is nothing to you. Take me, but leave this poor girl,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Before Colin could reply, clapping hands drew Brenna’s attention. She found herself reflected in the eyes of… Gunther. His wild hair danced around his shoulders in a stringy mass as she watched his steady approach.
“Well done, my lady.” His voice dripped sarcasm, stopping beside her. “Did you miss me? Or was the steel of my brother more than enough for you, wench?”
“Bastard!” Brenna sprung to her feet, facing the despised lord she was once to marry. Her fists clenched at her side, ready to fight him. But there was no chance of that. Gunther grabbed her right arm, twisting it painfully behind her back, making her cry out.
He dragged her closer, his lips inches from hers. “Careful, my saucy jade, or I will take from you what you so willingly gave to another.”
Brenna’s chest heaved with indignation. She knew she was a defenseless female among wolves, but she wouldn’t bend to his will. Working her mouth inside, she gathered up enough saliva, spitting in his face.
Gunther dropped her arm, grunting. He wiped the wetness from his face as fury raged his expression. Without a word, he backhanded her, knocking her to the ground.
Her head exploded in fiery pain as she hit the dirt, blood trailing out of her mouth. With the back of her hand, she pressed it to the cut. The saltiness of her skin stung her split lip. She turned her green eyes up to glare at him, her breath ragged. “I will kill you!” she seethed, spewing blood out her mouth as she spoke.
Gunther raised a knee as if to kick her, but Colin stepped in between them.
“Enough!” Colin commanded. “We need her alive.”
“The hell-wench deserves a lot more than the back of my hand!” Gunther stared into Colin’s unflinching eyes.
“I said, enough!” Colin ordered. “Go get the ropes.”
Only when Gunther turned away did Colin offer his hand to Brenna, but she ignored him, crawling over to her sister who did not move on the cold ground. “Linnea?” Her hand stroked over her sister’s cool, clammy cheek as blood from Brenna’s mouth dripped onto her sister’s gown. Linnea only whimpered in response, exhaustion claiming her. It was too soon for her to be out in the cold.
Brenna turned to look up at the man who was supposedly faithful to Darrius. “Why are you doing this?”
He said nothing as Gunther walked up with several bindings in his hand. “Gunther, tie the younger sister to a tree.” He nodded toward the edge of the tree line. When Gunther opened his mouth to protest, Colin stopped him. “Now!”
Gunther knocked Brenna to the side, grabbing one of Linnea’s arms and dragged her over the rocky ground without decorum.
“Animal—!” Brenna began, only to have Colin drag her up to her feet, taking both her wrists and bound them together.
“Silence, my lady,” he said gruffly, his gaze connecting with hers. “If you wish to stay alive, you will hold your tongue. Now let’s go.” He pulled her behind him.
Brenna watched in horror as Gunther bound Linnea’s wrists, then tied her to a tree. Her sister’s head dropped forward.
Looking over her shoulder, black smoke rose up against the freezing blue sky at the heart of Dorling Castle. She knew it would be some time before Darrius discovered them missing. She offered up a silent prayer for either a swift rescue or even quicker death.
Clearing a small wooded area, five other knights and Neda awaited their arrival. They sat on their horses, expressionless. Brenna knew, then, everything was planned carefully. Colin hefted her up on his horse, vaulting up behind her. She closed her eyes, wanting her warrior with all her heart.
“Darrius,” she breathed.
Colin leaned forward, his breath vilifying her ear. “And may he come soon, my lady.”
With a head start their ally, all eight horses fled into the morning.
Chapter 11
Dugan and Simon eased Darrius down into a chair in the great hall, mindful of his injured shoulder. Nyle of McLeod came to assess his lord’s injuries. The healer ripped his tunic apart, baring Darrius’s wound for inspection.
“The stable is gone, my lord,” Rowan reported, entering the hall, taking a cloth from a servant to clean his face of sweat and soot.
Grimacing in pain against the healer’s attention, Darrius looked up at his cousin. “How many horses were lost?” He looked away, assessing his shoulder.
“Just the breeding mare, lord.”
“This may burn,” Nyle murmured, applying salve with quick, deft strokes.
Darrius hissed. “God’s teeth, Nyle! What is that? It is only a scratch—hardly worth your sorcerer’s cream!”
Nyle’s mouth twitched. “My apologies, lord. You always were a bit sensitive with flesh injuries. ‘Tis my own concoction—better to be infection free than on yer arse for a week with fever.” He wrapped the wound in bandages, sealing it.
Darrius grunted in response, reaching for a mug of ale offered by a servant. After downing the cool liquid, he peered around the hall. A strange feeling settled over him as he inspected the faces of the knights and servants hovering. “Where is Colin? Has he lost his way? It is unusual for him to miss a chance at ribbing me with his curt tongue.” Darrius shifted in his chair. He would not admit it, but his wound burned hotter and more uncomfortable with every passing second.
“Aye, lord that would be a first.” Humor lurked in the depths of Rowan’s eyes.
“Seems I have yours instead,” Darrius said with a grim set to his mouth. More importantly: where was Brenna? From everything they had experienced, he expected her to be the first at the door to greet him or so he assumed. He could have sworn on a holy book she cared for him... even dared hope, love him. Anxiety reeled over his body, snaking deep into his heart.
A servant brought a fresh tunic for Darrius and with Nyle’s help, he changed. Without looking up, Darrius addressed his cousin. “Rowan, find Lady Brenna. Perhaps she is with her sister.” He grimaced in discomfort, yet continued with orders, “Angus, organize a group of men to prepare a suitable place for the horses. Thomas, go with Angus to investigate what may have caused the damnable
fire in the first place,” he ordered, standing up with the intent to find Brenna himself. An unsettled feeling nagged him more and more.
As Darrius exited the great hall, Simon the Clever rushed up with Rowan at his heels.
Simon gushed first, “My lord, your prisoner has escaped, and Ian has been gravely injured.”
While the shock of the news of Ian and Gunther burned anger through the Imperial Arm, nothing could have prepared him for Rowan’s next words.
“My lord, Lady Brenna and her sister are missing.”
Darrius stilled.
Then his blood cooled.
The complex control of the Imperial Arm burst alive in full force. Darrius’ eyes glittered. Panic condensed through his heart.
His mind turned over the facts.
Gunther escaped. Brenna and her sister were missing. Nothing could be so happenstance or coincidence in his mind. First of all, Brenna gave her word not to attempt escape again. Quite frankly, unless she stood before him and swore to God she did not love him and wanted her freedom, he would never believe she left intentionally.
A fire? Or rather the distraction. A ruse to lure him away. The escape? Well planned and executed. A betrayal? A complete and well advised mission code within his own knights.
His hands fisted at his side and he shook with anger. The very fear he had for Brenna’s life unfolded before his eyes. His heart sliced apart, and he flushed with barely suppressed anger. He could not lose her—must not!
“God’s blood, Rowan! Go get Nyle and Dugan.” He looked to his younger knight “Simon, have the servants begin a thorough search of the keep for Lady Brenna and her sister—at once.” Darrius commanded with more calm than he felt.
The Imperial Arm pounded down the stairs deep under the keep, which led to the prison with Rowan, Nyle and Dugan fast at his back. He drew his broadsword, entering the dank dungeon, once home to Gunther these last few weeks.
“Ian?” Darrius listened for any sound, his eyes searching the shadows.
A groan from Gunther’s cell brought the men to a very weak and bloodied Ian. Darrius sheathed his broadsword, stepping over the injured boy, dropping down to his side.
Nyle kneeled beside the injured youth, working quickly to assess the damage and his mouth drew into a flat line.
“Ian... how goes it?” Darrius asked softly as a father would to a child, though his insides screamed with rage. He picked up Ian’s ice-cold hand.
“Lord... I... I am so... sorry,” Ian wheezed, coughing blood out of his mouth.
“Nay, you were attacked.” Darrius met Nyle’s eyes, and the healer shook his head with a dispirited expression.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Darrius hated to make the boy speak, but the moment was critical.
Ian’s brow scrunched. “Gunther stabbed me. Colin... betrayed... you. Gunther... escaped,” he whispered, his life fading fast as he offered up the sequential truth in his last minutes.
Darrius grabbed Ian’s face. “Ian? Ian, look at me. Stay with me, dear friend,” he said. “What of Lady Brenna and her sister? Please, we must find them.”
Ian groaned, his breathing ragged. “Bolthole... Colin.... forced them... to leave. Please forgive... me...” He breathed his last.
“Ian! Ian! No!” Darrius shook the young boy, but Ian’s head rolled listlessly to the side. He stared down at the youth’s face with hard fury. What a senseless waste of life. A boy so young and full of promise. A friend and brother.
All the men grieved the young boy’s tragic end. They had all fought beside him. Ian the Mouse had been family in their closed circle of brotherhood in service to the king, and he had not deserved the power of treachery’s blade. Grimly, more was at stake—more innocent lives waited to be saved. The four men did not have time to consort their loss as deeply as they felt it boiling in their blood.
“Lord, we must hurry,” Dugan pressed, drawing his sword, flipping open the bolthole door. He stared down the dark passage.
Darrius gave a hard steady look at his dead knight, turning to his men. “Dugan—Rowan—inspect the bolthole. I have a suspicion our quarry are long gone. Be careful. We have had enough of Colin the Disloyal’s surprises. Nyle, find Simon, Angus and Thomas. We need our horses readied and all men in full battle armor.” He moved ahead of Nyle, heading straight for the armory.
God’s teeth. Fury seethed hotly through Darrius’s body as he quickly made his way through the keep to the outer court, pounding the ground toward the armory. He ran up the winding stairs, his troubled thoughts working over one thing. What could make Colin so disloyal that he would endanger so many? What had he missed in his manner, his faith, or service?
Fear drew Darrius close to panic, choking on sorrow, guilt, and the waste of innocence. He blamed himself for every wrong against, Brenna, Ian, and Linnea. He prayed to God he would find her in time. No longer was the need to torture Gunther or his mission a priority. And Colin? What could have muddled his brain to the point of such dishonesty and betrayal? God help him, but Darrius could not and would not sacrifice Brenna or Linnea. He only received Brenna’s love, how...? How could he lose her?
With time against him, Darrius’s heart hammered wildly in his chest.
****
In full chainmail and ready to mount his horse, Darrius met Dugan and Rowan as they cleared the entrance of the lower bailey. The Bloodsword eased an exhausted Linnea down to the ground, while Darrius questioned his men.
“What in God’s name? Where did you find her, Rowan?” His eyes flicked over Brenna’s sister as she groaned from the healer's attention.
“Tied to a tree near the exit of the bolthole, lord,” Rowan replied, casting glance between his lord and his betrothed.
“Is she wounded?” Dugan bit out, drawing perplexed looks from Darrius and Rowan. “She has blood on her gown.”
“It’s not hers,” Nyle said simply. “I would say that a combination of fear and exhaustion made her collapse, especially since it was too soon for her to be outside. She has no physical injuries aside from rope burns on her wrists—nothing a good rest won’t cure.”
Darrius kneeled down beside Linnea, calling her name. “Can you hear me?” She did not respond to him.
Dugan bent down, pushing her blonde hair back from her face and her eyes fluttered open. “Dark warrior? Is that you?” Her blue eyes met his, attempting a small smile but failed.
“Aye,” Dugan said stiffly. “Can you tell us what happened, princess?” He voice gentle.
Linnea realized she was the center of an inquisition and tried to sit up, her gaze focusing on Darrius. “I am so sorry, my lord. Brenna did not want to leave. We—we tried to come to you, but... but Colin would not let us,” she began, tears falling down her face.
Dugan brushed her tears aside. “Shh—easy, princess. What else do you remember?”
Linnea eyes lifted to Dugan. “W-we wanted to prepare bandages and fresh water for anyone injured in the fire, but—” She drew an unsteady breath, “—Colin came. He said we were under siege. B-Brenna did not believe him and wanted to see you, my lord. She tried so hard to come to you,” she explained, fresh tears falling, and she reached up absently to caress Dugan’s hand at her waist. “He threatened us and made us go below the keep. There was an injured man. Brenna tried to help him, but Colin forced us to leave. She was so brave, but she was not strong enough. The way out the bolthole was long and I collapsed after I exited.” She shook her head, frowning. “I do not remember much because I passed out. I could not help her.” She reached for Darrius’s gauntleted hand, pleading with her eyes. “Please, my lord, find my sister and bring her back. I cannot lose her.”
Darrius’s other hand fisted in barely controlled anger. “You have my oath, Lady Linnea. I will bring her back to you,” he promised. And back to himself.
“Rowan, take Lady Linnea—” Darrius began, but was cut off by Dugan.
“Nay. I will take her.” The Bloodsword scooped Linnea in his arms and strode to t
he keep.
Rowan raised his eyebrows. “Well, I think my marriage is off,” he muttered under his breath as he stared after the tall giant.
Darrius started toward his horse, catching the stench of Rowan’s comment. “This is all you have to say?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “A good man has died, an innocent girl has been abused, and my wife is missing. And so help me God, I better find her alive and unharmed—otherwise I will begin executing those responsible—no questions asked. God speed the guilty to hell. Now, get ready. We are leaving!” He vaulted up on his horse.
He chased his vexation with a muted shot of patience he did not have. However, somehow Linnea’s words comforted him. No, more accurately, Linnea’s words speared his heart with hope. Just knowing Brenna fought—fought to stay with him. God above. Not only would he get her back, but he would marry her. She would be his wife. His.
He was enriched by Brenna’s love and made whole. She gave him more hope inside a single glance of her beautiful eyes than a single victory as the Imperial Arm. She rounded out his rough edges. She honored him with her smiles and touch, and bled peace over his crazy emptiness. She showered him with possibilities that he never knew existed. He was smitten and enchanted as never in his life.
He loved Brenna.
He loved her until he could not breathe. He ached to hold her in his arms again and share his love with her. A tightness constricted his chest at the thought of her suffering at Gunther’s hands. Sweet Jesus. He fought for inner control. He had to find her.
As if Satan were on his heels, Darrius kicked his war horse forward. He bore the king’s insignia on his left arm over his armor, indicating the highest rank of service in the country. It was an emblem bearing witness to his loyalty and fealty to King Henry III as the Imperial Arm.
Emissary.
Warrior.
Protector.
He vowed to get Brenna back. If there were ever a moment where he was thankful of her rebellion and strength, it was now. He only hoped he saved her in time.