Word and Deed (5 page)

As three of his men moved to obey, Sir Hirion
pushed through the crowd.

“Silvanticus?”

He met Sir Hirion’s gaze over my head. “Have
you found Ealdine?”

“Aye, she was bound and gagged in the
dungeon, but otherwise untouched.”

“Good.” He finally lowered his eyes to my
face. Nothing of Bryn lingered in his expression or demeanor. I
began to wonder if Bryn had truly been a phantom of my fancy.
Instead, Silvanticus dominated his form, assertive, authoritative,
and comfortable speaking with Sir Hirion as a comrade. His cool
azure eyes scanned my body as though assessing a horse, a far cry
from the approachable and plain-speaking Bryn. Emotion flickered in
his eyes only when he spotted the scrape on my cheek.

“Are you well?”

“Bruised, but whole.”

He frowned at me. “Rotate your arm.”

I complied, wincing as the strained muscles
and tendons protested use. Once I moved it in a full circle, he
nodded.

“We need to speak, but not here.”

Offering me his arm like a courting knight,
he bowed slightly. I accepted.

“Sir Darian?” Silvanticus turned to one of
his knights. “Deal with this mess.”

Sir Darian nodded and began barking
instructions.

Silvanticus led me out into the courtyard
with brisk efficiency. Nodding acknowledgements to the greetings of
those we passed, he strode across the practice yard to the barred
garden door. With ease he lifted the heavy wood free and pulled the
door open to guide me through. I stepped into the familiar confines
of the tower garden.

Tension encircled my chest. It felt as though
my ribs crushed my lungs. I forced each breath, relaxed and even.
What did he intend? Which man wished to speak to me, Bryn or
Silvanticus? My head spun with questions and shock. I pressed my
hands to my eyes and struggled to slow the whirling thoughts.

Distantly the click of the latch registered,
but my thoughts demanded my attention.

Verdon poisoned by his own hand. My gut
knotted as anger, fear, and sorrow brawled within me. Anger at his
crime, fear at what the future might hold, and sorrow at the lost
chances his death would create. Nothing he would have done, if he
lived, would change the past and our father’s murder, but it felt
strange for it to be over. Then there was the problem of
Silvanticus.

“Verity, look at me.”

I didn’t. “Who are you?” I demanded.

“Your betrothed.”

“No, I meant are you Lord Silvanticus or Bryn
Wolfe? You cannot be both.”

“Why not?”

I dropped my fingers from my eyes. “They are
two different men, hardly alike.”

“Both are parts of me. Your father
understood.”

“You speak of my father as though he was your
own,” I accused. The familiarity disturbed and comforted
simultaneously.

“In many ways he was a father to me as well.
I told you I fostered here, under him.”

I waved away his words. “That does not make
you his son.”

“True, but he intended I should be. We were
betrothed from birth.”

“Why didn’t I know?”

“He said you weren’t ready. Yet, he asked an
oath of me. Should he die before our marriage, I was to make my
claim and remove you from your brother’s control as swiftly as
possible. He knew of Verdon’s capacity for cruelty.”

My eyes closed against the pressure of tears.
Father hadn’t forgotten to provide for me after all. I drew air
cautiously through my mouth. Silvanticus’ hand closed over my good
shoulder, warm, tangible, and grounding. I lifted my face.

He examined my features. “I learned to love
you through your father’s eyes. He spoke of you constantly, your
passion for life, your spirit when facing an obstacle, and your
deep abiding sense of honor. I fell in love with you long ago. When
I first set eyes on you, though, I knew I was lost. Might I at
least cherish hope that one of my two parts has won your
heart?”

My heart warmed beneath the overt hope in his
gaze. From his right eye, Bryn’s honest regard looked back me.

“Why did you wear the patch?”

He shrugged, lifting of only his right
shoulder. Tears filled my eyes again at the familiar movement.
Thankfully, his attention wandered for a moment. I blinked away the
moisture before he could note it.

“To make you see me more clearly and not see
at the same time. Dreamer that I am, I desired your love despite
the circumstances. I hoped to win your heart with my heart, not my
exterior facade or my power or even my close relationship with your
father. Thus I posed as a scarred former soldier in service of
myself. As Bryn, I had little power, prestige or…”

“…constraints.” I finished for him, mindful
of his past compliments. Many of them were not the words of a
cultured nobleman. “What is your true name?”

“Brynson Wolfe, Earl Silvanticus.”

I peered up into his face. The lines, sun and
age traced, ran deep. His mane of dark brown and gray hair was very
akin to a wolf. Yet, his indigo eyes reflected a gentle soul so
different from his exterior. My hand rose to touch his face, much
like he had touched mine the last time we stood thus.

“Who named you Wolfe?”

“My mother. Why?”

“She must have possessed foresight to name
you so fittingly.”

He grinned.

Dropping my hand, I asked the question
burning in my mind. “Do you truly love me?”

“I asked you first.”

I frowned at him.

He sighed, before paraphrasing himself. “Has
Bryn or Silvanticus hope of winning your heart?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Should I ask which version is
ahead?”

“You know.”

Stepping close, he caught me to him with one
arm, buried his other hand in my hair, and kissed me long and deep.
Knees weakened, I swayed. His arm tightened, trapping me against
him. When we finally surfaced, breathless, he leaned his forehead
gently against mine.

“Does that answer your question?”

I nodded before laying my head against his
chest. Ear pressed over his heart, I savored its beat.

“So, will I need to wear mail on our wedding
night?” His fingers worked at my ruined braid, gently freeing the
few trapped strands.

“Only if you don’t allow me to keep my
father’s sword.”

“It is yours. What do you intend to do with
it, my love?”

“I will give it to our first born.”

“A wise idea.”

The last curl of hair escaped and the binding
fell away. His calloused fingers caught in my hair, massaging the
back of my neck. I pressed closer to him, relishing his touch. Aye,
this was where I belonged.

“I almost lost you and I don’t wish to come
so close again, my love. Say you will marry me tonight.”

I leaned back to meet his imploring gaze.

“Yes, Bryn, I will.” Stretching up on tiptoe,
I sealed my pledge with a kiss.

“It cannot come soon enough.”

###

About the Author

As a mother of three small children, Rachel
Rossano dreams of new stories among the chaos of diapers and sippy
cups. Then she writes as fast as she can during naptimes and after
the little ones are tucked in for the night. She draws from a long
history as an avid reader and lover of books. Usually she writes
fantasy novels that masquerade as historical, but she recently
spent time in the science and speculative fiction genres.

Connect with Rachel Rossano online:

Twitter:
http://twitter.com/@RachelRossano

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rachel-Rossanos-Rambles/240421865704

Smashwords:
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/anavrea

Blog:
http://rachel-rossano.blogspot.com

Discover other titles by Rachel Rossano at
Smashwords

Book One – The Theodoric Saga

The Crown of Anavrea

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/83328

The Mercenary’s Marriage

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/83328

Exchange

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92034

Continue on for previews of

Book One – The Theodoric Saga

The Crown of Anavrea

And

The Mercenary’s Marriage

By Rachel Rossano

Chapter I

Eve covered her head and crouched low in the
raspberry patch. She concentrated on not making a sound. The blare
of the horn and the cries of the hunters faded. Lowering her hands,
she strained her ears. Not even the echo of their crashing in the
distance remained. The birds stayed silent, but considering the
recent ruckus, they might have all fled.

A groan broke the unnatural silence.

She froze and listened, heart in her throat.
A pained, male grunt came from about three feet to her left.
Cautiously she turned her head. A stranger stared at her through
the tangle of bushes between them.

A wild mess of brown hair fell over his dark
blue eyes as he regarded her in alarm. Sweat plastered the hair to
his forehead. He observed her with more of a feverish glaze than
true understanding. Pain etched lines about his eyes.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then
shook his head. Falling forward, he then rolled onto his back and
lay still.

Eve hurried to untangle the thorns from her
tunic.

Free at last, she crept out of the patch and
approached him. Fear and instinct screamed she should flee. Instead
she paused. If she stopped to help him, she would be beaten. Her
master warned her to stay away from the king’s men.

Well, the king’s men or not, the pursuers
were gone. As their prey, he could hardly be one of them. Was he
worse?

She inched forward and a twig snapped under
her knee.

“Go away and leave me be,” he ordered.

“What will become of you?”

He stared into the sky above the trees. “My
pursuers return.” His chest still heaved from his recent exertion.
“I die.” Restlessly, his hand clenched and released at his side as
though he was fighting the urge to run.

“I know of a place where you can hide.” She
watched his lean form for a reaction. “It is nearby.”

He stopped moving. Finally, as though sensing
she would not leave, he spoke. “Come over here. I want to see
you.”

She crept to his side. As soon as she drew
close, she could see the source of his pain. A shallow gash ran
across his left arm above the elbow and an even more serious injury
marred his right leg above the knee. The leggings, torn and caked
with a combination of dried and fresh blood, trailed filth in the
wound. She was calculating how she could slow the bleeding when he
commented.

“You are only a child.”

She brought her eyes to his face and bit her
tongue. This was not the time to argue her age. She returned to
assessing his injuries.

“If you are wondering whether or not I am
able to walk, stop.”

“I will help.” She met his eyes with a cool
determination that left no room for doubt.

After a moment, he broke her gaze and
returned to staring at the sky.

“What if I want to die?”

She was still thinking about the best reply
when she grew aware of his scrutiny. Their eyes met. “Why would
you?”

His lips compressed as he swallowed his
reply. Instead, he offered, “I understand I do not have a
choice.”

He resisted as she reached for his wounded
arm.

“You need to promise me something first.”

She frowned and didn’t reply.

“If we are spotted or do not make it into
hiding, you must kill me.”

She looked away from the pleading and pain in
his eyes. “I promise.” Her voice was barely audible, but he seemed
satisfied. Thankfully he did not ask her to say it again. She
concentrated on ripping strips from her chemise. It made her
nervous to repeat a promise she didn’t intend to keep.
Kurios,
don’t make me keep the promise,
she prayed.

She bound his leg and arm. After numerous
false starts, they managed to gain their feet. He towered over her
by a good foot. His injured leg threatened to give out, but
otherwise he could easily support himself on his other limb despite
the obvious loss of blood. The weight he draped over her shoulders
made it clear she wouldn’t have been able to budge him on her
own.

Conversation was reduced to grunts of pain or
effort. Eve began to consider the seriousness of her decision.
Mridle wasn’t going to allow her to nurse this man. There was no
possible way to do it without his knowledge. Escaping her master
would be the only way she could care for this man. And if the
stranger persisted in his fatalistic outlook, she might not
succeed. She shook the thought away.
He must live, Lord. He must
live.

The usual three-minute walk took them
forever. Dusk dimmed the sky when they finally reached the
broken-down door of the old shed.

The last steps were brutal. A few feet from
the door, his good leg gave out. Eve could not carry all his
weight. She stumbled under the sudden shift, tripped, and came down
painfully on her knees in the mud. Realizing that he might crush
her, the man rolled to the side and landed on his back in a small
patch of grass. After his stifled cry of anguish, they fell silent.
She waited until her knee ceased throbbing before she crawled over
to where he lay.

“I will go in and clear a place for you to
lie down before we try to move you again.”

He nodded his agreement. He had no breath to
speak.