“I agree,” Geoffrey conceded, “but that doesn’t mean we leave innocent women to die.”
Bryce felt his pulse race at the quiet tone, recognizing his brother’s subtle shift in tactics, as if he would ever be convinced any Kerr deserved to live. His brother, the finest warrior he’d ever known, had grown soft since meeting his lady wife. He’d thought it before, but now he was enraged enough to say it.
“You’ve grown soft.”
The barb hit its mark. Geoffrey’s blue eyes darkened as he stepped toward him, but Bryce held his ground.
“If you refer to my wife, I’ll thank you to leave her out of this. Have the woman tossed back into the river, if you’ve the stomach for it. I’ll not continue this argument with witnesses.”
The reminder that they were not alone, far from it, invoked a curse from Bryce. In silent agreement, both men stared at the onlookers in question until they began to disperse, unnerved by the intimidating gaze of the Waryn brothers.
Geoffrey looked like he intended to say something else, but Bryce shook his head and walked away. They both knew he wouldn’t hurt the girl, but the fact that a member of the Kerr household currently resided above stairs rankled. Injured…woman…it mattered naught.
No mercy.
It was the battle cry of the invaders who had taken Bristol from them. Although he and his siblings had not been present for the Kerrs’ raid, the survivors all told the same tale of murder and bloodshed.
He’d repeated the phrase in his head since that day, silently promising to show the same courtesy to each and every Kerr who stood between Bristol and his family.
No mercy.
And yet he watched from the front window as horse and rider sped away to retrieve the village healer.
Forcing his mind to more important matters, Bryce concentrated for the remainder of the day on fortifying Bristol Manor, finding a cook and getting rid of every remnant of the occupiers.
Save one.
2
Catrina’s head certainly wasn’t feeling any better. Wanting to open her eyes but unable to do so, she concentrated instead on the muffled voices nearby. She could not understand what they were saying.
She felt as disoriented as she had by the river, only now there was a soft bed beneath her.
When she thought about the raid, her memories returned in scattered patches. Catrina remembered being pulled onto a mount. Remembered her brother riding alongside her, yelling orders the whole time.
But after that…nothing.
She was no longer wet, but she was most certainly injured. Suddenly, her stomach roiled. She sat up and heaved over the side of the bed into a well-placed chamber pot.
The effort made her head and body ache even more, if that were possible.
“Here.”
The deep sound from behind her was so jarring, Catrina whipped her head around without thinking. God’s bones, that hurt.
A cloth was thrust into her hands. She wiped her mouth with it without thinking and lay back onto the bed. Her eyes now open, she recognized her surroundings immediately.
Toren’s bedchamber. But the man in front of her was most definitely not her brother.
A terrifyingly large English knight stood next to the bed, staring at her as if she were, well, Scottish.
He was going to kill her. She’d somehow survived the attack, and this man was here to finish the job. She had to get away!
“Whoa there. You’re not going anywhere.”
She wanted to disagree, but the pain prevented her from saying anything.
Catrina lay back down and tried to take it all in. She was in her brother’s bedchamber, wounded, with a stranger standing next to the bed, presumably prepared to kill her. Was his metal hauberk for her benefit? A pity she wasn’t armed.
Toren had often told her she was going to get herself killed one day. That it was reckless to have come to Bristol in the first place. That her unescorted rides would be the death of her.
Och, but her head hurt.
“So…you’re going to kill me?”
He was in no rush to answer. She’d never seen such blue eyes before. They were unsettling—as if they could see right through her.
“Nay, but my brother Bryce might.”
Catrina wasn’t supposed to be scared. Toren had trained her as well as any boy in their clan. She’d been raised by brothers, lived amongst men. Prepared for the day the English would come to reclaim their land.
But truth be told, she struggled to breathe normally as the knight began pacing the room. His huge body seemed to suck up all the space.
Stay calm.
How the hell do you stay calm when you’re about to die?
“The healer said you’re lucky to be alive,” he said.
Her eyes popped back open. She tried to turn her head, but the pain forced her eyes closed.
“Is Evelyn here?”
“Aye, she sent for me when you woke.” Why had he sent for Evelyn if he was going to kill her?
With a final curious glance, the knight walked to the oak door and pulled on the cast iron handle she’d slammed more than once after an argument with her mule-headed brother.
Evelyn rushed inside, as quick a woman her age could walk. The healer sat on the edge of the large canopied bed and immediately placed her withered hand on her forehead.
Both women watched the Englishman leave.
Catrina’s eyes filled with tears. “What happened?”
Evelyn, the village healer who terrified everyone other than Catrina, reached up to cup her cheek. The tender touch forced the release of the tears that had threatened to spill onto her cheeks since she’d awoken.
Catrina already knew the answer to her question.
“They’ve returned.” Evelyn lifted the cotton blanket. She must be worried about a fever. Though a simple wimple covered her hair, white wisps threatened to escape. Rather than consider the words that marked the change of…everything, Catrina stared at Evelyn’s royal blue head covering. The people of Bristol might be terrified of her, but servants and nobles alike treated the revered healer like a queen. Deservedly so.
“You look horrid.” Evelyn took what looked like a sea sponge from her leather pouch, dipped it in a bowl of water sitting on a stool beside the bed, and wrung its contents into a cup. “Here, drink this.”
Catrina lifted her head as best she could, sniffed the foul-smelling concoction, and drank it without question.
“Tell me.” Catrina groaned as she lay back down, shifting the weight off her right shoulder. It stung worse than Hades’ river of fire. “I need to know what happened.”
“It’s said they descended by the hundreds. Mounted knights and even bands of reivers. By the time word reached the village, most of your clan had already fled.” Evelyn’s voice softened. “I told your brother they would come back. I’m sorry.”
What she left unsaid was that while Evelyn was sorry for the raid, she did not regret the return of the Englishmen.
Catrina refused to consider her brother may be injured. Or worse. “I don’t remember anything about our escape. But I know my brother is alive.” Catrina looked to Evelyn for a reaction. The old woman’s wrinkled frown didn’t tell her much.
“Judging by the size of the bump on your head, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.” Evelyn stood and leaned on the hand-carved cane she so cherished.
“Fourteen dead and more injured,” Evelyn said.
Catrina had so many questions, but her strength was waning, and her resolve with it.
“The knight who was in here earlier?”
Evelyn’s soft sigh told her all she needed to know. “Sir Geoffrey Waryn.”
So they truly had returned. Her brother had prepared for this day, tried to shield her from it. Indeed, the possibility of this raid was the reason he’d urged her time and again to return to Brockburg Castle.
But she could be as stubborn as any of her brothers. She’d come here for a reason—to convince Toren to
grant her permission to wed the man she loved—and she’d refused to leave without getting what she wanted.
“So that was the Lord of Bristol Manor.”
“Nay, no longer. You’ve yet to meet the new lord. But more importantly, you need rest,” Evelyn said.
No longer the lord? What did that mean? Evelyn’s remark had yielded even more questions, but Catrina couldn’t resist closing her eyes. The healer had given her a sleeping draught…
Yawning, she vowed to get more answers after a wee rest.
Bryce stopped pacing as Evelyn entered the hall.
“She is sleeping, Sir Bryce.”
Geoffrey and Thomas sat across from him at the same ornate wooden table where he had played chess as a young man. It had been hand-carved by a man who’d died while he was away, training for knighthood. The skilled carpenter had etched the Waryn family crest into the center of the table. Bryce traced the mermaid with his fingers.
Everyone watched, apparently waiting for his reaction.
“He is no longer a sir.” His brother clapped him on the back. “You’re looking at the new Lord of Bristol Manor.”
Bryce looked at his older brother, whose easy grin should have put him at ease. Under normal circumstances, it would have. He turned his attention to the healer.
“I mean to say, Lady Catrina is sleeping, my lord,” Evelyn amended.
“As long as she’s being guarded, the girl isn’t my concern.”
“Catrina is a woman, not a girl,” the older woman snapped. “ And a good one. Save your venom for the real enemy, boy.”
From lord to boy. Only Evelyn could overstep her bounds without fear of reprisal. He couldn’t understand his brother’s affinity for the healer. She may have saved their hides from scrapes and broken bones when they were younger, but her disposition hadn’t softened one bit.
He startled when she laid a hand on his shoulder. Ignoring the curious looks of his companions, she leaned closer to Bryce and whispered into his ear. “I know you’re angry, and you have every reason to be. But if you harm that young woman in any way, you will be the one who needs a healer.”
Evelyn’s entire countenance changed when she moved her hand from his shoulder to his brother’s. Her eyes nearly disappeared when she smiled at him.
He watched Geoffrey squeeze her hand back.
“I’m pleased to see you, Evie,” Geoffrey said.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. I have injured men to look after. And I will check on the girl later this evening.”
With that, Evelyn slowly made her way out of the hall.
“I thought you said she was a woman, not a girl, Evie?” Bryce called after her. The healer was undoubtedly high-handed, but Bryce loved her in spite of it.
“You will soon see for yourself, my lord.”
Bryce turned back to his brother and received a stern glare for his efforts. No doubt Geoffrey had more to say on the subject of the girl. Well, he was in no mood to answer to his brother at the moment.
“It’s not her fault she is Toren Kerr’s sister,” Geoffrey said.
“I don’t give a shite whose fault it is. The girl is a Kerr.”
Thomas, ever the diplomat, tried to mitigate the tension. “We can agree her presence is a problem. Aye?”
Both he and his brother replied at the same time. “Aye.”
“And you clearly have two choices, Bryce. Keep her prisoner or send her north.”
“Or kill her,” Bryce said. He wasn’t serious, but it was obvious they both took him at his word. “It’s both of you who nag like old women, telling me to relax. I was only jesting.”
“You don’t jest,” Thomas said.
The last thing he felt like doing was engaging in an argument about whether he possessed a sense of humor. “Need I remind you,” he said, staring at his brother, “her bastard brother was responsible for killing our parents. For taking our home and your inheritance.”
Though his comment was directed at Geoffrey, Thomas answered. “No one will be forgetting what her family did five years ago. Least of all Geoffrey.”
Because of the reiving. After the Kerrs’ raid of Bristol Manor, Geoffrey and Uncle Hugh had resorted to reiving, stealing cattle and goods along the border, in order to support the family and gather men for a counter-attack. He knew Geoffrey had resented thieving for a living, but his brother had always done what was necessary for their family’s survival. Now, he’d married Sara, and that life was, thankfully, behind him.
“Then why the hell does it matter what happens to the sister?” Bryce clenched his fists and took a deep breath. Anger meant loss of control. But when it came to Clan Kerr, he had a difficult time remaining calm.
“Think, Bryce,” Geoffrey leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “What will they do to keep the woman safe?”
It was difficult to understand those who were spawned from the devil. But he knew what his brother was getting at. “They’ll come for her.”
“Or at least try to bargain,” said Thomas.
“So we keep her hostage in the meantime?” The thought repulsed him.
“Aye, it makes the most sense,” Geoffrey said. “Send extra scouts north. We won’t make the same mistake they did. If there’s a Scot within two days’ ride of Bristol, we’ll know it.”
“There’s a Scot in my bedchamber, Geoffrey.”
Thomas grabbed his beard, something he did whenever he was amused. “The Slayer, complaining that a woman lies in his bed. I’ll be damned.”
“Nay, not a woman.” Bryce stood from the table. He needed to check on the men’s progress in shoring up the defensive wall they themselves had breached. “A Kerr.”
He scowled at Thomas’s laugh and walked away before he said something he’d regret. There was much to do to secure the manor, and he hoped to pay a visit to the village before dark. When he walked through the covered, arched doorway into the courtyard, a darkened sky greeted him. This fuss about the girl had taken up far too much of his time.
As he continued on toward the hall, he took a bite of the hard bread that would serve as their dinner, the repast reminding him of their need to find a cook to replace the Scot that had been overseeing the kitchens. The aging woman who had served Bristol in his boyhood had died the year they lost the manor. Both the old cook and Evelyn had served Bristol before he was even born. Death was probably too terrified of Evelyn to claim her.
He approached the gaping hole at the western corner of the wall. Men who fought brilliantly against the Scots that morning had shed their armor, now hard at work repairing the very stones they damaged earlier. Lady Sara had sent an expert sapper to dig under the weakest section of the wall. A few nights of digging without notice, thanks to their knowledge of the land, had granted them easy access. But it needed to be repaired. Immediately.
He lay his sword on the ground and joined the others. Bryce complimented the men as he joined them in hauling stone toward the scaffold.
“You’ve done well in such a short time.”
“‘Tis necessary, my lord. They could be back anytime,” one of the men handed him a rope.
My lord. He could hardly reconcile the use of that title on him.
“How many knots is that stone?” the man asked.
Bryce laid the rope on the rock and measured. “Two.”
Handing back the rope, he continued to move between the hole in the wall and the fallen rock. With moonlight as their guide, the men worked into the night to repair the breach.
Hours of heavy labor were beginning to wear Bryce down. But until the wall was completed, the men would not rest—which meant he wouldn’t either. Nothing mattered more than securing Bristol.
Bryce was startled out of his reverie. “Drink this.” His uncle handed him a mug of ale. Hugh had been overseeing the wall’s progress and spent the better part of the day here. He had evidentially taken a repast at the manor.
Bryce sent Thomas to the village to speak to the people and calm their worries. He kn
ew most would celebrate their return. His family had ruled Bristol for three generations and treated the people well. Even so, they were likely worried after seeing their new lord routed and sent scurrying back to Scotland in one day’s time.
“How goes progress at the manor?” Bryce asked.
“Quiet. The dead are buried. All of the wounded have been moved out and are being tended to by Evelyn. Most of the staff have made their way back. We’re still lacking a head cook, alas.”
“Good.” Bryce handed back the mug. “The Scots will return.”
“Aye, likely within six days.”
Picking up a large rock, Bryce moved between his uncle and the repairs. “I doubt they’ll care if they’re within the law to counterattack. It could be any time. And don’t forget, we have the girl.”
When his uncle began to help, Bryce clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Go back to the manor, Hugh.” Though large and well-built, Hugh was getting along in age. Bryce didn’t want his uncle to injure himself.
“I’ll thank you not to treat me as if I’m one step in the grave. I’m here to help.”
Stubborn old ox.
“Have you seen Geoffrey?” Bryce asked.
“He’s on patrol.” Hugh stopped and stared behind him. “What’s he doing here?”
Turning, Bryce watched a young servant from the kitchens make his way toward them. Distinctly out of place, the boy looked nervously from side to side. “My lord, I’m sorry to disturb you, but the healer sent for you. Lady Catrina’s condition is worsening.”
What the hell did he care? One less Kerr in the world was a good thing.
“Why do you need me?” Every muscle in his back ached from lifting stone. Although the battle this morning had been quickly won, he’d hardly slept the night before due to anticipation. Bryce was exhausted and had no desire to attend to his enemy’s bedside.
He was about to tell the messenger exactly that when Thomas walked up behind them.
“She asks for you. Go, I’ll take your place at the wall.”
“What does she want with me?”
His place was here.
“Bryce, go. Perhaps she has important information about her brother,” Hugh said.
The Lord's Captive (Border Series Book 2) Page 2