Midnight Warrior (15 page)

“I did not—” She stopped and wearily shook her head. She was dealing too much in deceit, and it was choking her. She would not lie in this. “I tried not to like it. I don’t know why I did. I couldn’t help myself.” She added haltingly, “I think perhaps you are not as other men.”

Surprise flickered in his expression. “And I know you’re not as other women. I’m not accustomed to such honesty.” His grasp loosened and then his hand fell away from her. “If it is honesty. It could be a ploy to flatter my self-love. It would be a clever move and you’re a very clever woman.”

“A woman must be clever or be used.” She moved toward the tent entrance. “And I don’t care what you believe.”

“As long as you get what you want from me.” He smiled sardonically. “You’re very free with your words. What if I change my mind about going to Redfern?”

“You won’t change your mind. Malik says you always keep your word.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “And I believe he speaks truly.”

“A blow and then a stroking. I wonder your Lord Richard didn’t throttle you before tossing you to me.” He paused before adding, “But you’re right, I wouldn’t think of not paying a visit to Redfern. I can’t wait to see what is worth such sacrifice.”

She had angered him, not hurt him. She must not fool herself that she had the power to make him feel anything but lust and anger. She must not probe or try to understand or do anything that would draw her closer to him. He was a remarkable man, but a man who wanted a kingdom had no place in the simple life she wanted to live at Gwynthal. “You won’t have to wait long. You said we could leave in two days.”

Not waiting for an answer, she went into the tent.

She was aware of his moody gaze on her for the next hour while she fed Malik his stew, ate a little herself, and then gently washed his face. He was already asleep when she tucked the blanket around him and moved to spread her cloak on the ground.

“No, not there,” Gage said. He patted his pallet. “Here.”

She tensed and then forced herself to relax. “Would you shame me in front of your friend?”

“My friend is sleeping the slumber of the dead.” He repeated with more emphasis, “Here.”

She moved slowly across the tent. “Have you not … Was it not enough?”

He reached up and jerked her down beside him. He settled her spoon fashion, with her back to him, and then pulled the blanket over her. “For the time being.” His hand cupped her breast. “But one never knows when one requires further compensation. I prefer you within reach. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when you’re needed.”

How was she to go to sleep when her heart was nearly jumping out of her breast? “I don’t like this. It makes me uneasy.”

“You’ll become accustomed to it. I like it very much.” His lips feathered her ear. “You knew I wanted to take you away from Malik since that first week. I wanted you in my bed, not his.”

Yes, she knew he had wanted her, but she had not dreamed she would actually
want
to have him do the things he had done to her. How far she had come since the night Lord Richard had brought her there. Even now she was beginning to relax, her body yielding, softening, taking on the shape Gage wanted of her. It was warm, pleasant … and safe. How long it had been since she had felt safe? “I didn’t know I would have to sleep with you.”

“And now you do.”

“I would rather sleep alone,” she lied.

He didn’t answer.

Minutes passed and finally the tenseness gradually flowed out of her. How easy and natural it was to be there with him. He was a man who would always make demands, but he was not demanding anything of her now.

“I have news to tell you, my lord. A rider has just come from his grace’s camp.”

It was LeFont’s voice, Brynn realized sleepily, and he sounded hesitant, not confident. She opened her eyes to see him standing in the entrance of the tent, silhouetted against a pale gray sky. The news must not be good if he thought it necessary to wake Gage at this early hour.

Gage removed his arm from around her and sat up. She suddenly felt cold and alone. Strange, since she always slept alone except when healing …

“What news?” Gage asked curtly.

“Hardraada is dead.”

Gage’s body jerked as if struck by a blow. He did not speak for a moment. “You’re sure?”

LeFont nodded. “William had the Saxon prisoners taken at Hastings questioned. Hardraada invaded England from the north only a short time before we landed on the south shore. Harold had just come back from defeating him at—”

“But you’re sure Hardraada is dead?”

LeFont hesitated, and then said bluntly, “Quite sure. He received an arrow in the throat at Stamford Bridge.”

Pain. Brynn gasped and cowered back away from Gage.

He was sitting very still, and his voice had been totally impassive, but the waves of agony streaming from him were bruising her, tearing her.

LeFont continued. “Magnus is now king of Norway.”

“Gage, my friend.” Malik’s voice came deep and gentle from across the tent. “You knew it would come someday. Men like Hardraada do not die in bed.”

“No. He would have wanted no other end.” A note of bitter mockery suddenly entered his voice. “You need not treat me with such gentleness, Malik. He ceased being anything to me long ago. Don’t expect me to mourn him.” He threw aside the cover and rose to his feet. “My only regret is that he won’t know that I’ve won a fine slice of this England he lost.”

He strode out of the tent and was followed closely by LeFont.

Pain. Sorrow. Worse because it was hidden
.

Brynn wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. What was happening to her?

“Brynn?” Malik asked.

She didn’t want to go after him. She didn’t want to be near that pain. She couldn’t stand it. She had not felt another’s pain with this intensity since her mother had died. Why expose herself when she probably couldn’t help?

Pain. Even deeper now that the first shock was fading
.

She threw off the blanket and jumped to her feet.

“Don’t go, Brynn,” Malik called after her as she moved toward the entrance. “He’s better off alone. He won’t let you help him.”

“I can’t leave him alone,” she said shakily. “Do you think I want to go? It has to stop. I can’t—”

She was outside the tent, her gaze searching.

Gage was stalking down the hill toward the forest. His back was rod straight and his pace swift, his eyes straight ahead.

“Wait!” She flew after him.

He didn’t stop; he didn’t behave as if he even heard her.

She reached him as he entered the forest and fell into step with him.

“Go back to Malik,” Gage said shortly. “No.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“I don’t want to be here.” To keep pace, she took two steps for every one of his long strides. “Do you think I like running through the forest at first light? My feet are already wet with dew and I—”

“Then go back to camp,”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You need me.”

“How eager you’re becoming. When I need you I’ll spread your legs and make use of you. I have no such desire now.”

She flinched at the cruelty of the words even though she knew he was blindly striking out. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Anywhere. I have thinking to do.”

“Then I will go also.”

“You have a problem with hearing?
I don’t want you here
.” He strode forward into the underbrush, his pace increasing until she was forced to a near run to keep up with him.

He paid no more attention to her than if she had been a hound scurrying at his heels.

The trek went on for a long time as gray skies became the delicate pink of dawn and then lightened to full brilliant sunlight.

She couldn’t breathe and a pain was starting in her right side. Dear God, would he never stop?

As he reached a narrow ribbon of a stream, he whirled on her and bit out, “You’re gasping like a horse about to founder, you stupid woman.”

“I won’t founder.” She took a deep breath, grateful
for even a moment’s respite. “I can keep on as long as you can.”

He stared at her for a moment and then knelt by the stream and began splashing water in his face.

She sat down beside him, her hand clutching her side.

He scowled at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. A stitch.” She knelt, cupped her hands in the water, and lifted them to drink. “Your stride is longer than mine.”

“Then you shouldn’t have been so stubborn.”

“I could do nothing else.” She studied his expression; there was little to see. Everything was inside, dark and whirling and twisting. It must come out, but she did not know if she would be able to bear it. “There’s too much pain in you.”

“I’m not in pain.” He gave her a mocking glance. “And what if I were? What could you do? Do you have a magical salve that heals the spirit as well as the body?”

“No.”

“Then are you going to touch me and heal the hurt?”

“I cannot touch you.”

“Why not?” He held out his arms, his eyes glinting with recklessness. “Come lie with me as you did Malik. Let us see what magic you can weave.”

She edged away from him. Even the thought of joining with him sent a jolt of panic through her. “There is no magic in me.” She looked down at his reflection in the rippling waters of the stream. His image was distorted, easier to accept than the reality. “Did you love Hardraada so much?”

He didn’t answer.

The poison must come out. “I find it strange you hold him in affection when Malik says he refused to call you his son.”

“I don’t hold him in affection.” He smiled bitterly.
“I held his throne in affection but he did not see fit to give it to me.”

“I think it is more than the throne.”

“Then you’re a fool. Why should I love a man who banished me from his land?”

“He banished you? Why?”

“He saw too much of himself in me. He was afraid I’d reach out and take what he wouldn’t give.” He shrugged. “Perhaps he was right. Perhaps in time I would have thought of putting hemlock in his ale.”

“You would never have done that.”

“He thought I might.”

“Then he was the fool. You would never harm anyone you loved.” She lifted her gaze from the stream. “And you did love Hardraada.”

“I told you I did not hold him—” He broke off and shrugged. “It could be I cared for him when I first knew him. I was only a young boy and he seemed … everything. He was probably the greatest warrior we will ever know and was always looking for new triumphs. Yet he also had a great joy in life.”

“How did you come to know him?”

“I was sent to his court when I was two and ten.” His lips twisted. “My grandfather was very ambitious. He put his daughter in Hardraada’s path when he encountered him in Byzantium, hoping he would become besotted enough to marry her. It was a false hope, but Hardraada did give her his seed before he went back to Norway.”

“And your grandfather sent you to Hardraada?”

“Why not? What better way for a merchant to raise himself in the world than to have a prince as a grandson?”

“And your mother?”

“My grandfather permitted her to move to Constantinople when I was weaned. She had done her duty
and she found life in the village too difficult and full of shame as the mother of a bastard.”

And how difficult had been the life of the bastard in that French village? Brynn wondered sadly. No mother, a grandfather who wished to use him only for gain, and a father who had treated him with careless affection as long as he posed no threat.

That halcyon period could not have lasted long. Gage would never hover in the background and always be a man with whom to be reckoned. She almost wished she could have seen Hardraada and the young Gage together. “When did he banish you?”

“I returned to Normandy several years ago.”

He had left Hardraada to become a prince of merchants when denied his birthright. Gage would never accept defeat; he would keep trying to wrest a victory from it. “You were better off without Hardraada.”

“Was I?” His lips thinned. “Who are you to judge? I believe Hardraada’s throne would have fit me very well.”

“I don’t believe you wanted his throne.”

“I needed nothing else from him.” He glared at her. “Nothing.”

He would never admit the need that had been there, but talking about his father had eased a little of the pain. She could feel the knot in her own chest loosening. “If you say it is true.” She rose to her feet. “If you don’t mind, I will go back to camp now.”

She could sense his surprise at the sudden move. “I believe that’s what I’ve been trying to get you to do since we left.”

“I couldn’t do it then. You’re more at ease now.” She started to turn away.

“Wait!” He reached out and took her hand.

Bitterness and pain, tears that would not be shed, loneliness and darkness
.

She went rigid as the emotions rushed over her,
overwhelmed her. She desperately wanted to tug her hand away. Yet where would all that pain go if she did not accept it? “Please,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Please, no.”

“What’s wrong, dammit?”

“Your pain. I
feel
it. Please, don’t make me feel it. Hurts …”

He released her hand.

The pain was gone but now he was alone. He must not be alone. She reached out and took his hand again. She whimpered as fresh pain lashed out at her.

“What in Hades is happening to you?” he asked harshly.

“I don’t know. It’s never been like this.…” She reached out blindly and took his other hand. More pain cascaded over her, but he must not be alone. Then, suddenly, she knew what had to be done. She stopped fighting the pain and joined with him, letting the sorrow overwhelm her.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she stepped closer and laid her head on his chest.

“Christ.” He stood there, stiff and unyielding. “Stop it.”

She shook her head.

“Why the devil are you crying?”

She whispered, “Because you won’t. Because it has to go somewhere.”

“You’re a madwoman.”

The tears fell without ceasing.

He stepped back and looked down into her face. “You’re mad,” he repeated. His forefinger went out and traced the trail of tears down one cheek. “This isn’t good,” he said thickly. “Stop it.”