“Brice.” A warm male voice tinged with an accent spoke from somewhere above her. Turning her head toward the sound, pain erupted behind her eyes. Taking a sharp breath of air, she realized yet another agony as her chest screamed at the motion. She must have cried out at the pain for the voice spoke again, “Hush, little bird, hush.” Large hands enclosed her ribs and began carefully outlining each with their fingertips. “No,” the man decided, “None are broken.”
“Brice.” One of the hands touched the side of her face. She had a strong feeling she knew the name of the man, but she was too tired to think now, too sleepy. “Brice,” the voice insisted. “Open your eyes.”
Slowly she obeyed and instantly regretted it. The world outside was bright and it increased the throbbing behind her eyes.
“Good,” the voice encouraged. “Now keep them open until the healer comes. That fall might have done some serious damage.” Ever so slowly, Brice focused her eyes on his face. Darius. She smiled. How could she have forgotten Darius? He loomed over her like a dark thundercloud. Her brain told her she should feel fear at being so helpless and at his mercy, but strangely, she did not.
“Brice.” Darius' voice interrupted her thoughts. “I need you to work with me.” She turned her head very slowly until she could meet his eyes. He was kneeling at her side. Once her eyes were on his face, he asked, “Can you move your legs?”
“I can feel them.” She closed her eyes, concentrated, and willed her legs to move. Pain shot up her left leg and her ankle throbbed, but they moved. “I think my ankle is twisted.”
“I brought the healer,” Ewian announced from the other side of the clearing.
Darius slowly rose from his knees and turned to greet the man still out of Brice's vision. “I have not moved her,” Darius informed the healer. “She has struck her head, bruised her ribs, and possibly sprained her ankle.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Darius?” A short older man came to stand at her side across from Darius. “I like my job and I cannot keep it if you keep diagnosing my patients. Now shoo.” Waving a hand at the two warriors, he looked down and smiled at her. Brice found herself smiling back despite the pounding in her head and the dull ache that hummed through the rest of her. “Now, you must be Brice. I am Kurt.”
In under a half hour, they were on the road again. Brice was perched once again in front of Darius, but his arm was even looser than before because of her ribs. He also was keeping the pace extra slow for her head's sake. Although the tonic the healer had given her kept the pain down, her head still throbbed with each step the horse took.
“Brice?” Darius' voice came from somewhere above her, but Brice did not really care. Her eyes were closed and the oblivion of sleep waited. “Brice.” Darius' voice was louder and he sounded…. Brice was not sure how he sounded. Then he tightened his hold on her. The lingering pain increased into a roar in a moment and she straightened abruptly. All the muscles in her body protested causing an involuntary gasp of pain.
“You must stay awake, Brice,” Darius insisted as he relaxed his arm. “If you sleep too soon, you might never awake.”
“I understand,” she answered. Leaning back against him again, she tried to draw her mind to something, anything but sleep. “You did not tell me why you pursued me after the siege.” Again, she felt the slight tightening of his muscles as if this were difficult. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke.
“I was enslaved when I was very young,” he said. Brice did not understand how this connected to what she had asked, but she waited. “My first master trained slave boys into warriors. Ewian and I were part of a large group he bought from a Sardmarian slaver. At the end of seven years, we were both sold into service to the King. We excelled at our work, became part of the personal guard at the King's disposal, and then bodyguards. Because of exceptional service, I was granted my freedom. That means I am paid for my service and have a right to an extra portion of the spoils after a battle. I have not exercised that right until I chose you.”
He stopped and when Brice was sure he had finished, she asked, “But why me?”
He was quiet again, but Brice was beginning to realize that if she was patient, he would eventually answer. “You were alone and needed protection.” He took a deep breath and shifted. Brice was distracted by the echoes of pain that the slight extra movement caused, but she was sure she heard him mutter, “It was time.” Ewian crossed in front of them to reach the side of one of the men directly in front of them. Brice watched as they fell into animated conversation.
“Is Ewian still a slave?” She asked.
“No,” Darius answered. “He was freed shortly before me. He earned it by saving the king's son from a foolish mistake.”
“How did you gain it?” His arms were strangely comforting. If she did not keep talking and listening, she was going to doze off.
“I discovered and helped dismantle a plot to kill the king. Enough about me,” he protested. “Tell me how you got to where you were.” The horse stepped slightly off causing her sore ankle to bump the side of the horse. It was a few moments before she could talk.
“I was born a slave,” she said finally. “My father was the blacksmith who shoed the lord's horses, and my mother, a weaver. When I was seven, I became a handmaid and whipping girl for the lord's daughter, Gwendolyn.” The man behind her stiffened, but she did not know why.
It was common practice to have a whipping boy for noble child. Whenever the lord’s son misbehaved, the whipping boy was punished, or whipped, in the noble child's presence. Brice had been told it was supposed to make the misbehaving child feel sorry for the bad deed, but she never could understand the connection. Gwendolyn had not seemed to see the connection either.
“Was Gwendolyn a well-behaved child?”
Puzzled at the question, Brice shrugged before she remembered the consequences. “I don't have anything to compare her too.”
“Brice.” Darius' voice was low and prodding. “How often were you whipped?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Daily,” she finally managed. She was not about to tell him that sometimes it had been more.
“Would Lord Micrey administer the whippings?” She could hear the displeasure in his voice.
“No.” Memories of Lord Micrey's drunken roaring whenever she had moved from beneath the oncoming fist flashed into Brice's head. “He did not need a reason to strike.”
For a while, the only sounds were the creaking of the gear and snippets of other conversations, then Darius muttered, “Never again.”
Brice would have asked him to explain, but the leader called out that it was time to stop for the night. Darius slowed their horse to a walk and guided him toward one of the trees in the center of the proposed campsite. Dismounting, he moved the saddle and Brice closed her eyes against the wave of disorientation that washed over her.
“Brice?” She opened her eyes to find Darius looking up at her with concern. “What is wrong?”
Carefully shaking her head, Brice swallowed before saying, “Just a little dizzy.”
“Come.” He offered her his hands to help her down. “We should eat and then have the healer check on you.”
Obediently Brice leaned over and placed her hands on his leather-covered shoulders. Sliding his right arm under her left and up along her shoulders, he instructed her to fall toward him. He then caught her legs with his left arm and brought her against his chest. Through the whole process, Brice closed her eyes against the pain, but tried not to show how much it hurt. The healer had said that her ribs were not severely damaged, but he had insisted on binding some cloth around them to support and protect in case a break had occurred.
“I am going to set you over there under that tree,” Darius informed her as he began to walk. “Then I will fetch you some dinner and the healer.”
“Darius is doing my job again,” the healer's voice announced. Brice looked up to find him smiling warmly down at her. No trace of anger glinted in his bright
eyes as he scanned her face. “He insists you have a concussion and should be kept awake for longer.” He dropped his pack on the ground at her feet and squatted down so that their faces were eye-level. “I told him I would have to see for myself. So, how are you feeling?”
“How should I be feeling?” Brice was uncertain where to start.
“Does your head still hurt?”
“It went down some with the tonic you gave me, but it is starting to throb again.”
Nodding his understanding, the old man opened the mouth of his sack. “I will give you more medicine for you to take right before bed. It should reduce the pain so you can sleep; now, what about your ribs?”
“Every movement hurts,” Brice admitted as she remembered the traveling.
“Have you any shooting pains?” Brice shook her head and the healer smiled. “Good. I will give Darius something to bind them with later, below your clothing.”
Brice felt the heat in her cheeks, but the man just kept talking. “In spite of the dizziness, your pupils are the same size and you are making complete sense. I just want to check your skull and then I will give you the medicine and leave you to your meal.”
Motioning for her to lean forward, which she did, the healer removed his gloves. Running his strong sensitive fingers beneath her hair, he examined her head. He was especially interested in the lumps that had formed. “Good,” he muttered.
“What is good?” Darius' voice suddenly asked from above them. Brice jumped, but the healer just pushed back on his heels and shook his head.
“How many times have I got to tell you boy.” He calmly drew his riding gloves over his hands and began to pack up his sack. “I am the healer, not you.”
Brice glanced up and then wished she had not. It made her head throb and Darius was looming again. He looked dark and forbidding. The man at her feet ignored him.
“Take this a half hour before you try to sleep,” the healer instructed as he handed her a small vial of liquid. Then he rose. “These are for her ribs,” he said as he handed Darius a roll of cloth. “Bind them firmly, but carefully.”
“I have bound ribs before, Kurt,” Darius responded, taking the roll.
“Let her sleep tonight.” Kurt shook his finger up in Darius' face. “And if I hear about you keeping her awake all night, you will have to answer to me. Besides, if you do, she will have a headache worse than this tomorrow. Her body needs rest now, boy.” He winked at Brice over his shoulder. “She is almost as hard-headed as you, but not nearly as indestructible, so be gentle.” Hoisting his sack onto his back, Kurt the healer headed off in the direction of his own dinner.
Brice watched him go and waited patiently for Darius to speak.
She was so small. Darius watched her as she examined the vial in her lap. Dark brown curls had fallen out of her braid and now dangled over her forehead and neck. Her bent head hid the paleness of her face and the tightness of the skin around her eyes. She still was in pain. Settling himself on the ground at her feet, Darius rolled the bundle of material between his hands. Finally, he looked up and asked, “Have you finished your dinner?” The trencher beside her on the rock still had some bread and stew on it. She had not eaten much.
“Yes,” she said; her voice was uncertain. Darius looked up again to find her eyes on his face.
“I have our tent set up over there.” He gestured toward the cluster of peaked cloth roofs near the center of the glen. “I will get you some water to wash that down.” He nodded toward the small glass in her hands. “Then I will put you to bed.” Her eyes widened and in the instant before she dropped them, he saw fear in their depths. Unbidden, the question leapt from his mouth, “What do you fear?”
Silence fell between them and she continued to stare at the ground at her feet.
Having asked, he wanted an answer. He was curious. Taking a deep breath, he asked again. “Brice, what do you fear?”
“You.” The answer was so soft, Darius was not sure he had heard her correctly. Dropping the cloths into her lap, he reached up and caught her head between his hands. Carefully forcing her look toward him, he searched her face. He had heard correctly and he was not sure what he was going to do about it. Dropping his hands, he turned and got to his feet, his mind whirling.
“I will get you that water,” he announced and started toward the water supply.
Covering ground quickly, he tried to figure out the reason for his agitation. It must be because she still thought the worst of him. What Darius could not figure out is why it bothered him so much. As a Ratharian slave and then mercenary, he had long ago realized most of the people he met would believe he was some terrible beast because of his skin’s darker hue. At about the same time he realized that fact, he had decided it was not going to affect how he viewed himself. He had honor and ideals just like everyone else and he lived by them and until now, that had been enough to hold the scorn and ridicule at bay.
Submerging the mug into the water in the barrel, Darius suddenly had an idea. If he completely surrounded Brice with the evidence that he was not a monster bent on manipulating and using her, she would eventually have to accept it. Carrying the now full mug before him, he purposefully started back across the encampment to where he had left his wife.
“Darius.” Ewian fell into step beside him. “I have been looking for you. The King wants both of us in his tent. He has called a meeting to address strategy.”
Remembering that they were due to arrive at Kiylin in two days, Darius nodded. “I will be right there. I need to move Brice to our tent. Could you find Kurt and explain that I cannot bind Brice’s ribs tonight? He is going to have to.”
“Sure,” Ewian agreed. “Just don’t dawdle. Newlywed or not, the king hates to wait.” Laughing, the Ratharian turned away toward the healer’s tent.
Brice was in the exact same position Darius had left her, examining her hands and the small vial in them. She looked up as he approached and offered a shaky smile in greeting. Darius lowered himself to her level and offered the mug. She swallowed the contents of the vial and immediately reached to accept the mug. While she was still drinking deeply, Darius spoke.
“The king wants me in his tent for a meeting.” Her green eyes questioned him over the rim of the cup. “I sent word I was moving you to our tent before I head over. Ewian is going to tell Kurt. He should be along soon to bind your ribs before you sleep.”
She lowered the cup and asked, “How long are you going to be?”
He shrugged. “The king takes whatever time he needs and no one complains.”
She nodded and offered the half-full mug back to him. “Thank you.”
Quickly swallowing the rest, Darius tossed it onto the top on their supply pile. “Ready?” he asked.
Nodding, she reached up for his hand to steady herself, but Darius did not wait for her to rise to her feet. Wrapping an arm around her and one around her legs, he scooped her up and started toward the tents. Brice’s only response was a startled gasp. Although Darius knew it probably would have pained her more to walk, he still felt a twinge of guilt at hurting her.
Darius set her gently, but hurriedly, on the cot in their tent. “I will send one of the men to fetch our things and deliver them here later. He will leave them outside the tent, so you will not be disturbed. The king waits,” he explained and then was gone.
The sounds of camp life came through the canvas walls and filled Brice’s ears, but her mind was preoccupied with Darius’ earlier reaction. She was not sure how he had interpreted the emotions he had seen in her eyes, but she was certain he had not liked them.
The moment he asked her what she feared Brice’s heart had jumped. She had answered honestly. She feared him. No matter how kind he was and gentle, she knew that he would turn on her someday. They all did. And when he did, she feared that the most. All that honed muscle and skill in one man, any man, was dangerous, regardless of the character of the man. Just like Lord Micrey and her father, they draw you in so you care about them and
then they strike.
“Brice?”
Brice started and her body screamed, especially her ribs.
“Yes,” she managed between clenched teeth. Her eyes were welling up with tears, but she refused to cry.
“May I come in?” Kurt’s voice asked from outside the opening.
“Yes,” she answered again, this time with less pain.
A lantern and a graying head pushed through the canvas. “He did not even leave you with a light?” Clicking his tongue at Darius’ forgetfulness, the healer set his own light on the ground. Brice had been so caught up in her thoughts she had not noticed the deepening shadows.
“He was in a hurry,” Brice managed through the fog she just realized was settling over her senses.
The healer examined her face closely for a moment. “Good.” He smiled. “The medicine is taking effect. You will be asleep as soon as I finish.” He immediately started instructing her in what he wanted her to do. Numbly Brice obeyed.
When the healer was finishing the last few circles of binding, Brice asked him suddenly, “Is Darius trustworthy?”
Tugging gently, the healer asked, “In what way do you mean?”
Swallowing back the pain that rose with the pressure, Brice clarified. “Does he ever lose his temper?”
“Yes,” the man answered. “He has a violent temper when it gets the better of him, but it rarely does.”
“What happens?”
The man smiled. “Everyone avoids him like the plague until it cools.”
“Does he strike people, or throw things?”
Suddenly, Brice found her face being studied with great scrutiny. “Brice.” Brice turned away. There was too much honesty in the healer’s face. It frightened her. “No, Brice, look at me.” Reluctantly Brice obeyed.
The man’s eyes were dark blue and framed with wrinkles. “Darius is an unusual man. He keeps to himself for the most part, but is the truest friend any man or woman can have. I would trust him with my life before any man in this camp.” He returned to the binding.
The Mercenary's Marriage Page 5