Romancing the Rogue (188 page)

Saviour

Brynn awoke with a start, sitting up in the small bed she shared with Abby.

“Whatever is the matter, child?” Abby yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She pushed open the shutters — just barely sunrise.

“I thought I heard something below.” The eerie feeling growing in her stomach made her feel ill at ease, and its lingering effects didn’t sit well. “It gave me a fright.”

“‘Tis probably just Godric readying for the day. No need to worry yourself.”

Abby lowered her head to her pillow and continued to rest her eyes, but Brynn was unable to settle herself. She had dreamed a terrible dream of ravens and it still haunted her, fresh in her thoughts.

Her heart fluttered, as if a new bird taken to flight. Perhaps it was Marek, returning for her, but all hopes of being rescued were quickly stamped out when the door to the loft burst open and three soldiers from Lord Westmore’s army rushed at her and forced her to the floor. She crumbled beneath their strength.

Brynn could hear Abby’s screams and pleas and wanted desperately to calm her, to reassure her everything would be all right, but she couldn’t get the words out. When she didn’t rise quickly enough, another man yanked her to her feet and thrust her toward the stairs.

Brynn just barely caught the edging on the floor, saving herself from tumbling down the steep stairwell while the men trudged behind her. Her arms were forced behind her back while another checked for the branding mark.

“This is the one.” The tall one laughed, bringing his palm to her breast and squeezing it between his fingers, roughly rubbing a thumb over the nub under her chemise. “I can see why he is upset.”

Brynn bit his arm, unable to defend herself in any other manner.

The tall man scowled, backhanded her, then ripped the ties to the front of her chemise open, exposing flesh to his greedy eyes.

“We have not the time, Bruce. We must deliver her to the square at once.”

“I shall be quick.” Bruce sneered, tracing her collarbone.

“Later,” the other replied. “We will all have our turn.”

“I will be all right,” she mouthed to Abby as Brynn was towed from the tavern.

A large crowd gathered in the square at her arrival. Lord Westmore stood tall and regal against the others — very much Engel in his features against a sea of Archaean heads — as he addressed the people.

The soldiers brought her to him, using her body to push a path through the gathering of townspeople. “Do you all see this?” Westmore asked in Archaean while fingering the torn fabric of her chemise. “This is my property.” He held up Brynn’s arm so that her brand was exposed. “My brand claims her, which means she belongs to me and only me.
Someone
… has spoiled my property!”

Brynn gasped. Her life had come to an end.

~~~~

They were to head out before daybreak, but Marek had drunken himself into such a stupor that Ronan had been unable to wake him. When the effects of the drink finally wore off, they hustled to pack their gear and head into town to purchase a few supplies before moving on to regroup and plan. The blacksmith’s shop was their last stop. Ronan tapped his brother’s shoulder before entering. Marek paused at the threshold, curious as to what commotion lay just beyond the marketplace at the square.

“Perhaps it is another damsel in distress.” Gavin let out a chuckle before Marek’s fist found its way to the center of his belly.

Marek continued his way into the shop, not interested in the gathering. His head pounded to the beat of a silent drum, his very being was crushed to the core, and he wanted nothing more than to leave the cursed place.

“Let us have a look, shall we, lads? Oh, I do love a good hanging.” A morbid glint lit up Gavin’s eyes.

“The gods damn you, Gavin,” Marek cursed, reluctantly following his men into the crowd. As he reached his men near the middle of the crowd, Roman thrust out his arm, blocking Marek from proceeding further.

“What?” growled Marek, pushing against Ronan.

“You won’t like what you see, brother. I give you fair warning.”

Marek elbowed himself to a viewing point. There before him under a tree was his Brynn, battered and bleeding, her head lowered in defeat as Lord Westmore confronted the crowd.

“
Someone
… has spoiled my property!” Lord Westmore accused. “And I want to know who dares to defy my ruling!”

“No, my lord! You have been misinformed! No one has touched your property, no one!”

Westmore paused, searching the crowd. There were no confessors, only confused faces searching for the guilty. He nodded to the soldier at his side and caught the long rope the man tossed to him, swung one end over a low branch, and slipped the other end — a noose — over Brynn’s head. “Very well,” he calmly told his audience, “she will die instead.” With one swift pull, Brynn was on the tips of her toes, clawing at the rope tightening around her neck.

Marek lunged forward, only to be restrained by his men. He tore at their grasps, fighting every step of the way as they dragged him into the depths of the crowd. His roars went unanswered as the cheers from the townspeople smothered any hope of his cries reaching her precious ears.

“No, Marek, it is too dangerous. We are greatly outnumbered here!” Ronan used all his strength to keep his frantic brother away from the girl.

“That Engel is going to kill her for my deeds, and she will let him, the stupid girl she is! Let me pass!”

“Marek!” Gavin shouted. “
Listen
!”

From the crowd there came a voice — a steady, unfaltering confession of guilt. “Please do not harm her, my lord. ’Tis I who have betrayed you and touched her against her will. My lust for her has taken over my mind, and I cannot deny it any longer.”

“Owen, no!” Brynn sputtered against the rope. “He lies, my lord! There has been no man! He only tries to protect me. Do not believe him.”

Marek watched the interaction between the two in horror. Owen stared at Brynn, searching her eyes for some sign of hope. A sign she had loved him just as much as he loved her. Only Marek saw a different love — the love that belonged to him alone — the one who couldn’t save her now. Brynn’s life rested in the hands of another. Owen wouldn’t let her die.

Westmore paused between the two accused. With the flick of a finger, two soldiers were upon the Archaean, taking the noose from Brynn’s neck and securing it around Owen’s.

He did not struggle.

With a swift jerk, Owen’s feet were dangling above the ground, left to die a slow and agonizing death in front of the woman he sought to protect.

“No!” Brynn sobbed, uselessly beating the chest of the soldier confining her. In desperation, she searched the crowds, seeking absolution for her friend. Her eyes fluttered over faces, searching to no avail.

“Aiden,” Marek sighed, watching the man hanging in the tree struggle. He took his brother-in-arms by the shirt collar and muttered low in his ear, “Strike fast. Strike true.” He knew what must be done. Aiden was, by far, the best bow in the Archaean highlands, and if one were to want their life ended, an arrow to the heart would be the swiftest way to die. Marek had some compassion in his heart for the man; Owen had protected his woman when he didn’t. He owed Owen a swift death, at least. There was nothing more he could offer. Engel soldiers guarded every corner.

Aiden darted to the outcropping of buildings beside the crowd. Bursting through the front door of the closest building, he removed a single arrow from his quiver and nocked it in his bow. He bound up the stairs two at a time to find an open window facing the makeshift gallows. Squaring himself with the window, Aiden drew his bow, bringing the bowstring level to the corner of his mouth, steady and focused.

He took a breath and held it, aimed, then released the arrow.

It struck true, piercing Owen’s heart. The target went limp, and his struggle ceased, confirming death. As silently as he had entered, Aiden ducked out of sight and escaped into the shadows of a back alley.

~~~~

Owen was dead. Her sweet, dear friend had given his life for hers, all for naught. Marek was gone, Owen’s death being the proof. She stood and watched in a clouded daze as the crowd dissipated in all directions, taking Owen’s body away with it.

And then all was quiet.

Reborn

Brynn wiped her brow with the corner of her apron, dabbing at the fine beads of sweat gathered there. Her stomach churned, tying itself into twisted knots, and she covered the pang with her palm. For days on end, she hadn’t been well. A sickness had found its way inside her body and wouldn’t offer respite. Perhaps it was her undying grief eating away at her insides and finally working itself to the surface. Maybe if it wretched itself from her body she might know a bit of relief.

Owen had been dead for more than two moons but still the shadow of him haunted her every thought. She visited his ailing father almost daily. The guilt would torture her if she didn’t pay him some small token of condolence.

“Are you not well?” A concerned voice interrupted her thoughts.

“I’m fine. ’Tis just my grief that pains me, Abby,” Brynn told her friend while returning to her cooking station.

“Are you sure, love? You haven’t been yourself for quite some time.”

Brynn could understand Abby’s concern, but there was no use in coddling her. Her heart would heal in time. “Let us please just finish this meal so that I might take it to him and get it over with all the sooner.” Brynn had been called into Lord Westmore’s service the day after Owen had died for her. She saw to his meals twice daily, ran errands for him, and sometimes helped his maids dress him when he made her stay. He had not bedded her yet, thank the gods, but had kissed her and roamed his hands freely over her body, exploring her curves and staking claim to what he thought was rightfully his. She didn’t return his favors — it shamed her to let him do so, but she had no choice. Her lack of interest seemed to keep him at bay, and no longer being a virgin curbed his fascination with her. Now she was just like any other slave, and lucky to still be alive. Brynn learned very quickly to let another one of his servants see to him when he was well within his cups.

Abby raised a wary eyebrow. “Very well, then.” From a pail beneath the table, Abby withdrew a dead duck, plucked and ready for roasting.

Brynn took one look at it, covered her mouth with her fingers, and ran to the corner to vomit into the rubbish bucket.

The women in the kitchen clucked their tongues. Abby let out a hearty laugh.

Brynn spat into the bucket and wiped her mouth with her apron before taking a small sip from the water ladle to rinse the foul taste from her mouth. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Sit down, love, and catch your breath.”

“I’m fine!”

“And I’m the bonny Queen of Engel! Might I ask you a question?” Abby reached for a butcher’s knife and raised it high over the head of the dead duck.

Brynn nodded, looking away from her friend as the knife found its mark and the duck’s head went flying off the counter, bouncing to the corner of the room.

“When was your last woman’s courses?”

“My what?” Brynn sputtered.

“Your last bleed, Brynn.”

“I… do not recall.”

“Think, Brynn. Think
hard
.” Abby grinned, placing her arms on her hips. “Was it before or after you opened your legs to your lover?”

Brynn could only stare, astonished. “I… umm…” Her eyes widened at the startling revelation, and her heart raced. Her hands flew to her belly in a panic. “No…”

~~~~

Although weary from a long days’ work, Brynn couldn’t settle her mind and allow herself to sleep. The evening events still rapidly swam nervously through her thoughts. She turned toward the edge of the bed she shared with Abby.

“Does the babe pain you still?” A groggy voice croaked.

“’Tis asleep, I think,” Brynn replied.

“Something else troubles you then?”

“Aye. Lord Westmore has been taking more… liberties. He placed his hands on me this eve when I served his meal. He laughed at me and told me I had been eating very well. I fear I cannot hide my growing belly for much longer. I have no more skirts to let out, and if anyone were ever to learn of my… condition, I’m scared of what he might do to me… or the babe.”

Abby murmured her agreement.

“I’ve been thinking for a while, Abby, about what I might do, and I think we should leave.” With no response from Abby, Brynn continued. “I’ve seen Lord Westmore’s maps. In two days time he marches toward the Southlands. I think he intends on bringing me with him. He mentioned I would like my accommodations at his future fortifications. I cannot let that happen, so if we are to slip away unnoticed, this would be our one chance.” It would be no easy feat, but possible. The Engel soldiers were used to Brynn’s presence and she could easily take supplies and food without causing a stir. They would need money and horses and would need to find everything in just two days time.

“What say you?” Brynn whispered to Abby.

Abby’s breathing staggered. “I love you like my own child, Brynn, and that babe growing in your womb. I cannot fathom the evil that Westmore will bestow upon you both if he were to learn his prized Archaean girl carried another man’s seed. We have no other choice. I know where we can get the needed coin, but it might be there no longer. Tomorrow night we shall see.”

The women planned their escape while they worked. Every so often one would hide a hunk of dried meat or a loaf of bread, or stow away a water bladder where it could be later taken to the loft in secrecy. Brynn was excited, and it showed on her face. She smiled and laughed, things she hadn’t done since Owen died. The guilt had been overwhelming at times; she still had to face the tavern on a daily basis. She would find herself mindlessly turning to speak to him — only Owen wasn’t there. A shadow of where he had once been was all that was left.

Her life needed a new course. A change was on the horizon — she only had to get there.

With the paper tucked securely in her satchel along with a fire starting kit, some food and extra clothing, Brynn could barely hold in her excitement as she raced back to the tavern loft to show Abby her discoveries. The map had been tossed aside, simply forgotten about. A drunken soldier left his pack out in the open for all to see, and when Brynn tidied up the mess, she covertly snuck the fire kit and the map under her full skirts. The extra clothes she took were to be mended — what luck she had stumbled on! Abby would be sure to scold her for being so late, but when shown the prize, hopefully all would be forgiven.

Brynn couldn’t have been more right. Abby was thrilled with the detailed map graphing the highlands, the midlands, and most of the western section of the Engel territories. Lord Westmore’s camps and strongholds were marked on the map, so the women would easily be able to avoid those areas during their trek toward a new life.

“So where do we go?” Abby smiled. All was falling into place easily.

“Why, Dunlogh, of course!” Brynn’s smile warmed the room. “You have spoken of its beauty and homeward shores. I can think of no better place.” She placed her palm on her rounded belly.

Abby wrapped her arms around Brynn’s shoulders. “Oh, my child, you are truly a blessing for this old woman.”

They laughed together with their treasures spread around them on the bed. They spoke of new beginnings and of the adventures they would have running from the dirty Engels — which made them both laugh so hard they wept. They were running deep into Archaean lands when just a short time ago Brynn would have given anything to return to Engel.

“All we need now is a fat purse of silver and a few fine mounts to get us through our journey.”

“That seems to be where our luck runs out, Abby. I wasn’t able to locate any spare horses or purses of money just lying about for the taking. I hope you have a plan for that part.”

“Of course I do.” The laughter quickly faded from Abby’s voice. “But it won’t be easy. We must return to Daman’s.”

A thick blanket of clouds covered the moon when the women left the safety of their loft. They hadn’t returned to Daman’s since the night of his murder. Brynn took great care in avoiding places reminding her of Marek. She knew without a doubt that he killed Daman as some sort of justification for what happened to her. Punished by death, when Marek was just as much at fault as Daman was for what had happened — but she had to put it behind her and focus on her new life. She had all the memories she could ever want of Marek growing inside of her.

What was left of the shack was dark and quiet. The front door had been ripped from its hinges and now sat propped against the outer wall. The two women cautiously slipped inside. The stench within immediately made them gag. Brynn held up the lantern, determined to continue on, and covered her nose and mouth with her apron.

“Follow me,” Abby whispered. She led Brynn to the back of the shack toward the kitchen. “I cooked for Daman many a time over the years here.. He grew accustomed to my presence and foolishly believed I wouldn’t remember his secrets — like where he hid his coin.”

As they rounded the corner to the kitchen, there in the corner seeped into the wooden floor were the bloodstains of Daman where Marek had struck him dead. “’Tis just over there.” Abby pointed to the opposite corner while rushing past the bloody patch on the floor. A rat scurried over her boots, and both women shouted out before ending with nervous laughter.

Abby knelt down to the threshold of a doorway and pried at the rickety board with her fingers. “I would often see him hide things under here, and it looks as though it has been left undiscovered. I assumed it would have been the first of his things to be taken. I wish I had taken the time to look.”

“Here, let me help you.” With Brynn on one side and Abby tugging on the other, the board popped free, sending the women reeling to their backsides.

Both righted themselves, anxious to peer into the dark hole. Brynn held the lantern high and a soft glow fell onto the many pouches of coin, jewelry, and other valuables.

“’Tis there, Abby, look! Quickly, take it!” Brynn held open her satchel and eagerly awaited the retrieval. Pouch after pouch, Abby emptied the hidden treasure trove. “Why, there’s enough here to buy a stable ten times over! We don’t need to steal horses, we can simply buy them!” Brynn laughed while wiping a tear from her cheek.

A matching tear rolled down the old woman’s cheek, settling into a fine wrinkle at the corner of her mouth. “Come, we mustn’t tarry. We have much work to do.”

~~~~

A moonless night.

Perfect.

Their bags packed, both whispered a small prayer of protection before heading to the stables to procure horses. “Wait here,” Brynn told Abby as she set her bags down. “I’ll be back shortly.” She pulled her
arisaidh
over her shoulders, hiding her features.

The stable was crowded, as she had expected it to be. Lord Westmore’s men were preparing to leave. If she were to be recognized, they would think nothing more of it — after all, she was to prepare to depart with them in the early hours of the morning. Taking horses to ready her things wouldn’t be out of sorts.

Putting all thoughts of deceit and doubt from her mind, Brynn entered the stable, found the three horses she wanted, then sought out the groom. He was busy with his nose buried in his accounting book. She silently retreated, changing her mind at the last moment to just take them. He wouldn’t notice.

With two horses fully tacked and one loaded for a packhorse, she led them toward the exit.

“Oy, you there!”

She stopped in her tracks, the horses almost pushing her down. Slowly, she turned to face the groom. “Aye?”

“What do you think you are doing?” He snapped, approaching her.

A sly smile curled her lips as she looked up from beneath sooty lashes. “Why, I’m taking these horses.”

“No you are not. Those belong to Lord Westmore.”

She beckoned him closer with her finger.

He stepped forward, but hesitated, as if scared by her.

Once more, she urged him closer. Then closer. Finally, he was near enough that she could step on his boots if he were to move any further. She leaned in to him and whispered, “And who do you think I belong to?”

The groom pulled away. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know ’twas you. Forgive me.”

Brynn reached into her satchel, pulled out a small leather pouch, and placed it in the groom’s hand. “For your silence.”

The groom jingled the pouch before opening it. Inside was a purse-full of coins. His eyes grew wide, and his jaw dropped. He pulled the drawstring of the pouch closed and tucked it securely to the inside of his tunic and smiled. Silence, indeed.

Brynn turned on her heels and exited the stable. With one hand supporting her belly and another leading the horses, Brynn crested the hill returning to Abby. “We must hurry. They are readying to leave, and someone will notice when I’m not where I’m supposed to be.”

“I cannot believe this is happening.” Abby giggled like a little girl as she helped Brynn stow their belongings on the packhorse.

“Ready?”

“As I shall ever be.”

~~~~

“Abby, we must rest. Please.” The long trip to Dunlogh had not been kind to Brynn.

“But we must cover more ground today. We are sorely behind schedule.” Abby carefully refolded the worn map and tucked it away in her bodice. “Once we’re past the hills of Sligo, we’ll be deep into Northern Archaean territory where they fiercely protect their own. No Engel will dare follow us there.” They had managed to elude Lord Westmore’s men for months, thanks to Abby’s knowledge of the land and the map Brynn had stolen.

Brynn pulled her mount to a halt. “If we go any further, I will be birthing this babe on horseback.”

“Why did you not say something? We must find an inn.”

Brynn clenched her eyes tight and waited for the tightening of her womb to slow. “How much further?”

“There’s a small village just over the next rise. We shall seek shelter there. Besides, the sky looks as though a storm in the heavens is about to wretch down upon us.”

By the time the women found the inn, they were soaked through and Brynn was writhing in labor pains. She nearly fell dismounting as a contraction rendered her helpless. Thankfully, a young stable boy broke her fall.

Abby sought out the innkeeper, towing Brynn behind her. “Sir, we need a room, and quickly. My… daughter is about to give birth.”

“This is no place to be birthing babes. Perhaps you should just travel a bit farther home?” the innkeeper replied, eyeing the distraught, soaking mess of fabric and dirt.

“Please, sir, there is no time. I was visiting in a nearby village, and I cannot make it home. I’m afraid my husband has been caught in the storm and cannot fetch me. Please, just allow me a bed and some clean water. We can pay you very well for your trouble, sir.” Another wave of pain hit her, sending a gush of fluid to the floor between her legs. Brynn screamed out and clutched Abby’s arm to stay upright.

The innkeeper looked down at the mess and sighed. “I will fetch my wife to assist you. She is a rather good midwife. Colleen, please show them the back room and give them anything they might need.”

“Thank you.” Abby gave the innkeeper a warm smile and placed a handful of coins on the table next to him. “For your troubles, good sir. You are most generous.”