Romancing the Rogue (194 page)

Betray Me

Brynn woke before dawn. She dressed in the dark, checked the position of her boot knife, and carefully removed Marek’s weapons from the bedroom. Michael’s absence was noted, his cot empty.

Trusting Michael wouldn’t harm an unarmed man, she hid Marek’s swords and daggers in the cluster of bushes lining the back of the cottage. Brynn knew full well the ramifications of Marek’s temper, and allowing him a weapon would only add to the chaos. A few small rolls of bread from the evening meal still sat on the small table, and Brynn took them, placing them in her satchel. Talon would need them. She decided he would need to leave with her when the Engels arrived. Weighing the options, it seemed the lesser of two evils. Marek would need to ride on the wind to reach his brothers in time, and having Talon would only slow him down. Time was of the essence.

With the letter she had written tucked safely in the bodice of her chemise, Brynn slung the satchel containing her writings and precious books over her shoulder. She took a deep breath, gathering her strength and courage. She would need to rely on both when the Engels arrived.

~~~~

Marek burst through the door, his trousers hanging loose about his hips, unfastened. He gripped the threshold like an imprisoned madman — spouting slanderous words at the band of horsemen surrounding his family. “You fucking son of a whore! I will kill you! Even if I have to do it with my bare hands, I will tear your beating heart from your chest!” His hands balled into tight fists, the knuckles turning a ghostly white against the redness of rage.

Brynn’s wrist cuffs lay untied next to her feet, the mark of Westmore clearly visible.

“Marek, please, calm yourself! It is your turn to trust me!” Her attempts to calm the situation were slowly turning against her. Brynn hugged Talon close to her side, keeping him away from the Engel soldiers encircling her. The boy couldn’t understand the harsh Engel words and his frightened stance drew the mercenaries closer.

“He brought soldiers to kill us and you want me to fucking calm down?” Marek narrowed his glare on Michael. “Tell me, how much? What amount of silver could possibly tempt a brother enough to carry out his own sister’s death warrant?”

Michael wouldn’t meet Marek’s eyes, nor would he answer the question.

“There will be no more killing!” Brynn huffed. “No one needs to die! Michael, bring me to Lord Westmore. I know that is what he truly desires, and I will go with you — willingly — if you promise me you will not harm my husband. You are a man of honor, Michael. There is no honor is slaying an unarmed man. He carries no weapon and therefore is of no threat. The bounty for my return will outweigh the price of his head by tenfold. Leave him be, take me and the boy with you, and no one, including your own men, will have to die here today.”

Michael’s jaw twitched — he contemplated her proposal.

“Brynn, what the
hell
are you doing?” Marek said.

“Keeping us alive,” she answered.

“And if he follows?” Michael questioned.

“He will not follow,” reassured Brynn, locking eyes with her warrior. “He will go home to his brothers.”

The silence seemed to suck the breath from her chest. She prayed Michael would not make another foolish decision.

“Very well.” Michael decided.

Brynn turned up her eyes to Michael, a slight pout curving her full lips. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Allow me to say goodbye?”

Michael nodded, granting her temporary freedom from the Engel confinement.

Taking Talon by the hand, she raced to her husband and wrapped her arms around his chest. She pressed her cheek against his skin, the pounding of his heart echoing in her ear. “Take the parchment from my hand,” she whispered.

Marek brought his hands to meet hers, removed the small, rolled parcel from Brynn’s fingers and cupped it securely in his palm. He grasped her wrists, brought them around to his chest and hugged her frame before kneeling low to say goodbye to Talon. “Take care of your mother while you are gone. You are going on an adventure, but I will meet up with you soon, aye?”

Talon nodded. “I will, Da.”

“Such a good boy.” Marek pulled his son in close and slipped the piece of parchment under the cuff of his own boot before standing to embrace his wife one final time.

Brynn drank in the color of his eyes. “Say you will come for me?”

“I will always come for you,” he reassured, pressing his lips to her ear. “Even in death.”

“Your swords are behind the cottage… in the bushes. You will need them after I am gone.”

He brought his mouth to hers, bidding her farewell with one last kiss. With the salt from her tears still fresh on his tongue, he backed away, releasing his woman and son into the arms of his enemy.

Brynn mounted her horse, secured Talon in the saddle, and gathered up the reins. Four Engel soldiers closed in around her, leading her away.

Michael lingered behind with two of his men, blocking Marek’s vision of her. “See that he does not follow.” Michael instructed, circling his horse around Marek. “And be quick about it.”

When Michael cantered away, Marek retreated into the cottage, barred the door and bolted to the back bedroom where he donned his tunic, fastened his trousers, and pulled the parchment from his boot. He tugged at the binding twine and unrolled the letter.

The Engels rammed the barricaded door. The cottage shuddered beneath the assault.

My Love,

Do not fret for me. I have foreseen the coming events, and you must put your trust in the gods that all will be well. Do not follow me. Gather your brothers in arms. You haven’t much time. You will find us in the White Forest. Once I’m gone, everything you need will be in the book.

Kill him.

Forever yours,

Brynn, your loving wife

Confused, Marek returned the parchment to his boot. The cottage shook once more as the Engels broke through the entrance. Marek unlatched the window shutters and promptly dove through the opening, landing in the bushes below. His fingers touched leather, and he scooped up the weapons, slinging a scabbard over each arm as he leaped to his feet and rounded the cottage. He found both soldiers waiting for him near the broken door.

Marek paused, catching his breath. He crossed his arms behind his head, each fist grabbing a sword and pulling it free from its sheaths. He swung them in a great arc, waiting for his opponents to strike. Marek tilted his head from side to side, the vertebrae popping under the pressure. “Who wants to die first?”

The Engels charged at once, their swords drawn for battle.

Marek let loose his rage in a fury of steel and with a strength so powerful he cleaved his closest attacker in two with the first strike.

The second Engel saw his companion fall in a heap of blood and guts and stopped mid-swing. The color drained from his face, and the soldier turned his back to run. His escape came to an abrupt halt when the blade of Marek’s dagger lodged securely in the man’s upper thigh. The Engel fell to the ground.

“Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me.” The man wept like a child, raising his hands above his face in a defensive stance. “I have a family.”

Marek pressed the tip of his sword to the Engel’s throat and cocked his head to the side in disbelief. “Really, Engel?
That
is the plea you give me? You have a family? Well, your captain just stole mine.” A half-crazed laugh spewed from Marek’s throat.

“I was only following orders, Archaean.”

“And I act of my own free will.” With one quick thrust, the sword penetrated its intended target, nearly severing the man’s head.

Marek gathered his weapons, packed his gear, and tacked his horse. If he didn’t tarry, he would reach his home by the sea in three days’ time. He could only hope his men would still be near — and alive.

~~~~

Michael shifted in the saddle, the leather groaning under his weight. He twisted and scanned the hills behind them, searching the tree line.

Brynn couldn’t help but notice his fidgeting. Michael never could hide his emotions well. Her father had once told him during an argument that it would be his downfall, and she was beginning to think he was right.

Michael motioned to a nearby soldier, and the man dutifully urged his mount forward. “Go and see what is keeping them.”

“There’s no need for that, Michael,” Brynn told him. “Your men are already dead.”

Michael’s menacing stare fixed on her. “And what makes you think that?”

“Because Marek is what legends are made of. He is the greatest of warriors, and his love will conquer all. The only reason you are still alive is because I made it so.”

“I don’t wish to kill you, Brynn, for I have loved you as a sister since the day you were born. We accepted you even though your mother proved to be a whore. My orders were to kill you, and I will if I must.”

“It will not be here, nor will it be this day, but you must know you are going to die, Michael. We all are going to die.” Brynn ended the Engel conversation then and returned her focus to the path in front of her.

Her thoughts turned to her dreams, wishing she could open her book and unscramble what was left of the puzzle. The images were still scattered in incoherent pieces. She had seen faces, heard familiar voices, but she couldn’t define the significance of them. Brynn had an inkling of where they now traveled. Judging by the position of the afternoon sun, they journeyed south. Each passing hour brought her closer to the Engel border… and to the ravens.

The journey was unforgiving and relentless. Talon tired easily, and the Engel soldiers grew increasingly agitated with the frequent stops and the whines of a child, who just wanted to go home.

“Brynn, you need to quiet him. My men will silence him otherwise.”

“Do you have children, Michael?”

“No, I do not.”

“Then you must realize the strain of travel on a child is of great excess. He’s tired and hungry, and he doesn’t understand what is happening. He’s scared.” Brynn was scared. She couldn’t make excuses much longer.

“There is an Engel stronghold only a few hours distance away. We’ll be stopping there. Just keep him quiet.” Michael returned to his position at the head of the traveling party.

~~~~

“This is your Engel stronghold?” Brynn stifled a laugh. The fortifications before her were nothing but a ransacked Archaean fortress long ago abandoned by its inhabitants. The outer walls crumbled from age. Thick vines threatened to constrict the inner beams keeping the ceiling intact.

“It’s more of an outpost.”

“I would hardly call it that. I would call it desperate.”

“Since when did your tongue become so bold, sister? You best hold your tongue and do as you’re told, or you will find yourself in confinement.”

“Like you?” She followed her guards through the front double doors and into the dim entry hall, seemingly empty of life. Talon clung to her leg, his face buried in her skirts.

“Someone will take you to your chamber. Father will want to know you’re here.” Michael disappeared into the shadows, leaving Brynn to ponder his last words alone.

Father
? She and Talon were shoved into a back room and left for what seemed like hours. Guards were posted outside. There were no windows, no hidden doors, no escape routes. Michael returned for her soon after she sung Talon to sleep. “Brynn, come.” When she went to stir Talon from his restless slumber, Michael stopped her. “Leave him.” When Brynn showed signs of protest, he explained, “He will be safer here. Father has a temper.”

They walked through a damp hallway and down a set of jagged stairs. The moisture clung to her skin, dampening her gown. It clung to her lower back and legs as she walked. “What has Father gotten you into, Michael?”

Michael didn’t have time to reply. He opened the door to the study, an argument already in commencement when they entered. Her father, Bertram, the Earl of Galhaven, sat at a solid desk strewn with parchment and towering books ready to topple to the floor. Engels, tall and thin, surrounded him, pointing to various fixtures on a large map. The voices silenced — all heads turned in her direction.

Brynn stepped back a few paces, but Michael took her arm, pulling her to his side.

“What is the meaning of this?” Bertram staggered to his feet. Age had ravaged his body. He was no longer the fat, greasy man she remembered. His body was frail, his skin yellowed, and his once brown hair had turned white as winter’s snow.

“I have found her, Father.” Michael pushed her forward, as if presenting the man with a prize.

“Why is not she dead?” The venomous words spit from the old man’s mouth like poison.

“I told you he wouldn’t be able to do it.” The voice, calm and familiar, echoed from the corner of the room. The man continued to peer out the window he stood near.

“She belongs to Lord Westmore. She bears his mark, and by law, we must return her to him.” Michael clasped Brynn’s palm and uncovered the symbol on her wrist to show his proof.

Brynn slapped his hand away and tugged at her sleeve. “Don’t touch me.”

“I do not care
who
she belongs to… she is a traitor to her country and she must die for it!” Bertram pounded his fist, nearly knocking himself over in his rage. He lowered to the chair, swiping the desk clean with his arm during his descent.

“I’m not a traitor, you stupid old fool! I would have been married to an Engel and you would have had the land you wanted if it hadn’t been for your ignorance!”

“Indeed, you would have.” The smooth voice slipped from the shadows like ripples on water. “Just as beautiful as the day you were taken from me.” Julian, once her betrothed, was suddenly next to her. “Michael is right, Bertram. We must return her to Westmore. The bounty we will receive will fill the coffers of our cause. Well done, Michael.” Julian gave Michael’s shoulder a pat before returning to his perch near the window.

Bertram paused for thought. “Send out a dispatch. Inquire as to the amount of silver we can procure for her return. Until we receive word, keep her out of sight.”

“And what of the boy?” Michael inquired.

Brynn shot him a look of pure hatred.

“What…
boy
?” Bertram articulated the words with a click of his tongue, rising from his seat. He leaned over the space of the desk, awaiting the answer.

“She has a son, Father. He is here with her.”

“You have a child?” Bertram rounded the desk, hobbling closer to the center of the room where Brynn stood.

“Aye, I do.”

“And who sired this boy?”

Brynn rolled her eyes. “His father, of course.”

“Do not play games with me, girl. Who is the boy’s father?”

“My husband is his father.” Brynn took delight in watching the feeble man squirm.

“Oh, you are married now, are you?”

Brynn thought she could see Bertram’s blood begin to boil beneath the paper-like skin hanging loose around his features. She nodded with a mocking enthusiasm. “To an Archaean, even. The same Archaean who rescued me from
you
all those years ago. I expect him to do the same this time, as soon as he finds me. I have a suspicion he will not be so generous with your life this time…
Father
.”

“Get her out of my sight.” The command was followed by a sputtering spasm of coughing and a deep inhale.

Brynn was escorted from the room before she could diagnose the sickness eating at his insides. She would let it kill him for all she cared.

The passing of days left her in utter turmoil. Brynn was kept in confinement. A servant brought her food and emptied her chamber pot, and she was given an ill-fitting Engel gown to wear. It was a silky blue and matched her eyes but would soon be stained red with blood — she had seen it. She filled her time going over every passage she had written in her books, making sure all of the instructions for Marek were legible and clear. She checked her herbs and concoctions twice over and lined them up just so at the bottom of her satchel.

The most torturous part of her captivity — they had taken Talon from her. She hadn’t seen him in days. She would ask of him whenever anyone would enter her chamber, but no one would give her information. She hadn’t the slightest idea if he even lived. She had made the right decision by bringing him with her — her dreams had shown her so, and she dared not alter the course of the foreseen. She couldn’t trust Talon’s life in the hands of another, nor leave him with Marek, as he had his own life to fret over. But still, the unsurety ate at her insides like a festering wound. She paced the floor like a caged animal, testing her boundaries for weaknesses — she found none. She slept only when exhaustion overtook her, and ate only when she thought she would wretch from the pains of hunger. Planning an escape seemed futile. She would have to wait on word of Lord Westmore. From what she knew of him, he would bite at the bait. He wasn’t a man that took being outsmarted by a woman lightly.

A slight rapping on the door interrupted her thoughts. Julian entered, carrying a plate of food.

“Julian. Where is Michael?”

“He has been called to his duties. I will be overseeing your stay now.” Julian closed the door behind him and crossed the small room to the desk, setting down the plate. “Eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Brynn clasped her arms around her waist and returned to her pacing, trying to focus her thoughts on the task at hand.

“You need your strength… we leave in the morning.”

Her pacing stopped. “Where are we going?” She didn’t dare face him again, for fear he would see the panic in her eyes.

“Lord Westmore has requested you be returned. We ride for Braemir at dawn.”

“And what of my son? Where is he? Why has he been taken from me?” Brynn approached him then, falling to her knees at his feet. If his absence was to break her defenses, it had worked. “Please, Julian. Tell me he is well.”

“The boy is fine. He plays with the hounds in the courtyard. Michael was looking after him.” Julian helped her stand.

Perhaps her brother still had some semblance of a soul. “He is unharmed?”

“He will travel with us, and upon your return, will also become the property of Westmore.”

Brynn clasped her palm over her mouth to keep a sob from slipping out. “No.”

“It is law. All nobles shall claim ownership of all property and possessions acquired or belonging to said property. Talon is your son, and therefore, belongs to Lord Westmore to do with as he pleases.”

“I would love to hear what his father has to say about that.” Brynn chuckled, knowing Marek would have killed Julian for even speaking the words.

Julian plopped in the desk chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. “We could have had a family, you know. If that heathen hadn’t ruined everything.”

“You could have defended me, Julian. You chose not to. That ‘heathen’ is twice the man you will ever be.”

“And where is that man now?” Julian placed his hands behind his head, relaxing against the wall. “I haven’t seen anyone fighting their way in to rescue you.”

“He will come for me.”

“Are you so sure?” Julian rose from his chair, meandering closer to her with every slow step. His boots scuffed across the stone floor, sending fine dust particles into the stagnant air.

“He loves me. He will come.” Her chin tilted up — just a little — in defiance.

“And just what is it that he loves so much about you? Perhaps you will easily spread your legs for him? Or perhaps your womanhood is so tight that he comes upon entry? Hmm?” Julian was nearly on her, so close she could smell the wine on his breath.

“If you touch me, Julian, you will seal your fate. Marek will kill you for it.” She held her ground. She would play the mouse no longer.

“Your husband is surprisingly absent. Who would stop me from taking my pleasure — something I should have done all those years ago. I was foolish to think marriage was the only way to have you.” His fingers wrapped around a lock of her hair, and he rubbed it between his thumb and finger. A sinister grin contorted his once handsome face. “I should have just taken you as my whore, with you being Archaean and all.”

“Did you marry, Julian?”

“I did, years ago.” His breathing came in quick pants and his hands rose to her shoulders, pushing her flat to the bed.

Brynn’s fingers crept ever closer to the small dagger strapped to the inside of her thigh. “And you would dishonor her so now?”

“My wife was a bitch.” His mood pitched sharply, and he brought a clenched fist to his forehead, as if trying to beat out the memory. Then, in an emotional turn, he dropped his hand and soothed the side of her cheek. “She told me what she did to you, how she destroyed our happy engagement. I couldn’t forgive her for that.”

Brynn gasped. “Meredith?” She thought back on Julian’s words.
Was
.
My wife
was
a bitch
. “Julian, what happened to Meredith?”

“She died.”

“How did she die, Julian?” Terror was quickly overtaking her, and Brynn began to quiver beneath his grasp.

Julian leaned in close, so close his lips touched her ear when he whispered to her. “I pushed her down the stairs.”

“
Guards
!” Brynn’s scream released Julian from whatever trance he was in. The door opened, and two Engel soldiers appeared with swords drawn. “Remove him from my chamber!”