Romancing the Rogue (198 page)

~~~~

“It has been two days, Ronan. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“He told us three days, Aiden.” Ronan pushed his wavy hair from his eyes and kicked at a fallen tree branch. He did as instructed; he waited. And waited. Two full days had come and gone with no sign of his brother.

Aiden shrugged and returned to his puttering — whittling arrow shafts with a small knife.

“I cannot take this waiting anymore. ’Tis driving me mad.” Gavin rose to his feet to pace the campsite.

Michael, separated from the group, spoke. “Perhaps we should start with the burial rituals then? I don’t know anything about Archaean burials, but—”

“You.” Gavin pointed a finger at Michael. “Shut your mouth. Count your blessings that I don’t have you hogtied and on a spit for my dinner.”

“We have three days.” Ronan reassured the men. “We still have time.”

“Three days, Ronan, and she’s gonna’ start to smell, aye?” Gavin stopped his pacing next to Brynn’s body. A thin blanket covered her form, stained red by the seepage of her wounds. The fine details of her features were still visible, from the slight curvature of her lips to the fine definition of her calves. Beside her, Brynn’s satchel lay discarded. Gavin picked it up and returned to his seat by the fire to peruse through its contents.

“Gavin, what are you doing?” Ronan shook his head in disgust.

“Don’t nag me, Ronan. You sound like your wife. ‘Tis not like she needs it now anyway.” He continued to dig through the bag, pulling out various papers, bottles, and books. He placed them to the side and opened the biggest book. “Bah, it’s in fucking Engel,” he scoffed, tossing it toward the fire.

Ronan sighed, crossing the campsite toward Brynn’s body while Gavin flipped through the pages of another book. Taking the corners of the blanket in his fingers, Ronan pulled it away from Brynn’s face. With eyes closed and lips gently parted, she looked like a fallen angel, except Ronan couldn’t stand to see how her blood flawed her delicate features. He returned to his gear to grab a spare tunic and his water bladder.

Nearby, Gavin munched on a piece of summer fruit. “Ronan, look at this. She wrote notes all over the pages on this one. From Engel to Archaean.”

“Since when have you ever liked to read, Gavin?” Ronan returned to the body to wash the first bit of blood from her face.

“Since when I was bloody bored out of my skull, that’s when. We should be killing Engels, not sitting here watching a body decompose.” Gavin bit into the fruit, its juice dribbling from his lips. A drop clung to the whiskers on his chin before gathering enough strength to fall to the pages below. “Damn the gods,” he cursed, wiping away the residue with a grime-covered finger.

Ronan ignored his friend, tuning out Gavin’s rant. He washed the dirt and blood from Brynn’s cheeks, revealing a soft rosy hue, as if she had just woken from an afternoon sleep. If it weren’t for the gaping wounds in her chest, he would have sworn she only now slept. He continued to clean her by washing her neck and hands, but still couldn’t shake the vision of her. She simply didn’t look like every other dead body he’d seen, especially days later. Ronan placed a gentle hand to her breastbone, almost expecting to feel her heart beating beneath his palm.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he mumbled.

“What doesn’t?” Aiden questioned, looking up from his busywork.

Ronan pushed the thought from his mind. It simply wasn’t possible. He wet the cloth again, but his hand hesitated over her body.

“What’s wrong, Ronan?” Aiden rose to his feet and took a step closer.

“It’s just that… she seems… she still feels…
warm
.” Ronan let out a small laugh, as if he did not believe his own words.

“How can that be?” Michael stood, edging his way closer to the Archaeans.

“It’s ’cause she ain’t fuckin’ dead.” Gavin hurled the book from his hands as if it contained fire and stumbled backward, crawling from the object.

Aiden darted forward to retrieve it before the fire claimed its secrets. “You speak like a mad man, Gavin. We all saw her die.”

“Look at it, look at the pages.”

Uninterested in the commotion, Aiden handed the book to Ronan and returned to his whittling.

“Show me.” Ronan set on a rock. Gavin pointed to the spot he had been reading, and Ronan’s brow narrowed. “Well, interesting, to be sure. You, Engel, come here. I have trouble with your words, so you will help me read this.” He motioned for Michael to approach. “What does this say? Here, you read it to me.” Ronan shoved the small book to Michael’s chest and waited expectantly for a translation.

Michael read silently, turning page after page, referencing descriptions, illustrations, and mumbled in riddles. “It looks to be some sort of incantation. From what I gather… an ancient resurrection spell.”

Aiden chuckled. “You cannot be serious. Incantations are legend. It is said the gods deemed us unworthy and so removed the power ages before us.”

“I do not lie. She translated the entire book and wrote her own notes over every passage. She knew what this was.” Michael smiled. “What a conniving, manipulative,
smart
thing to do.”

“What do you mean?” Ronan asked, puzzled.

Michael perused a few more pages, following a passage with his finger. “Brynn knew all along this was going to happen. She knew she was going to die. It was the only way Westmore would give up his search for her, if he thought her dead. They
needed
to see her die.”

“It would leave him unsuspecting enough for Marek to catch him unawares.” Ronan toyed with the thought.

“Aye, and now she
is
dead, so what good is this book going to do?” Gavin scoffed, once more picking up the satchel and its contents. “The bag is full of items… vials, more books, herbal supplies, a medical kit. What good is any of it if she is already dead?”

Michael closed the book. “She left us directions. We are to perform the incantation.” His brow dampened with fine beads of sweat.

“You mean we are to bring her… back to life?” Ronan choked on the words. He paced the ground, crossing his arms tightly around his chest. “’Tis impossible.”

“We can at least try, we owe her that.” Michael opened the book, finding the passage with the instructions and the incantation. “She has written the instructions in her own hand.”

“All right, Engel. Tell us what to do.”

“If she rises up as some undead creature who wants to eat me, I am taking her head off. Just want to make that clear.” Gavin raised his hands and returned to his own bit of ground near the fire.

Michael read from the book, jotting down his own notes on a piece of parchment from Brynn’s satchel. He matched the potions and vials to those described in the book, placing them neatly beside the body. He read aloud from the book. “This potion will bring one back from the dead, provided they have been dead for less than three days and the body and spirit are both present when the incantation is cast. It will not restore lost limbs or heal wounds, poisons, or curses. Any wounds inflicted before death must be treated and healed once the intended has risen. Failure to heal will result in death. There is a note here. She writes that the healing herbs are in the medical kit. Its vial is blue in color.”

Ronan searched the kit, finding the vial. He placed it with the others.

Michael continued to read. “The dead must be willing to return to life and may choose to decline the spell. Persons revived from the dead will not recall their time as a spirit. Within the safety of a fire circle, only the chosen one must repeat the words of the incantation.”

“We need to enlarge the fire.” Ronan gathered kindling and dry grasses, creating a ring of fire around the perimeter of Brynn’s body. “What’s next, Engel?”

Michael hesitated. His eyes focused on the book, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.

“Are there no more instructions?”

“There is more, just one more.” Michael sighed, looking up at the sky. “The sun is setting, we must hurry.”

“Just tell me what to do and I will do it.”

“Hand me your dagger.” Michael reached out to Ronan, his palm facing upward.

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you need a dagger?”

“Only the giver of life may perform this incantation, as the giver freely gives his own life so the spirit may once again join its earthly body. One must die for the other to live,” he said.

“You… intend to kill yourself then, Engel?”

“I have caused enough pain, ruined too many lives. If I can save just one, one meant to live, one that would put an end to this war, I will do what I must. And if that means dying, then so be it. I will have served a purpose.”

Ronan nodded and slipped his dagger from his belt. He handed the hilt to Michael. “Your courage will be remembered.”

“Once I am dead, you will need to combine the ingredients. My blood will be the last you will add. The mixture must be given to Brynn before her spirit fully enters the body, just when the sun gives way to moon. If you do not, the spirit will leave and return to the underworld forever. Once she breathes, you must treat the wounds. Give her the healing potion and sew her up. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Aye.”

“Tell my sister I never stopped loving her.” Michael grasped the dagger and stepped into the ring of fire. Taking a deep breath, he began the incantation. “
Adun et nar shudet. Medu et ban ordon. Jestu dar mordak. Adun et nar shudet. Adun et nar shudet
.” He pulled the covering from Brynn’s body and tossed it from the circle. Leaning over, Michael placed a kiss on her forehead. “Return to him, dear sister.” He thrust the dagger inward, gasping as the life faded from his eyes. Within moments, his body slumped forward. The book of incantations slid from his hand.

When the shock abated, Ronan hurried to finish the spell. He gathered every ingredient needed, including blood from the giver of life, Michael. While Gavin and Aiden tended to Michael’s body, Ronan assembled the concoction, careful to get it right. There would be no second chances. When the sun met the early evening moon, Ronan opened Brynn’s mouth and dribbled in the mixture.

Brynn began to twitch. Her body contorted into unnatural positions, flailing about as the potion coursed through her. She drew in a long, deep breath and her lungs filled, her chest rising with the breath. Her back arched and her eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes rolled, not focusing. She struggled for a breath, one that would not readily come. She clutched her chest, trying to force air into her lungs. She was dying, again.

Using his shoulder to hold her still, Ronan pulled the cork free with his teeth and tipped the vial containing the healing potion into Brynn’s mouth. She choked on the liquid, but managed to swallow most of it. Ronan released her and waited.

The next few breaths were ragged and shallow, but soon her body relaxed and her breathing steadied. Ronan placed his head to her chest. A slow, rhythmic beating filled his ears. He backed away, too stunned to touch her. “Fuck the gods — it worked.”

“
Well
.” Gavin crossed his arms and smiled. “’Tis a good thing we didn’t burn her then, eh?”

Flesh and Bone

Brynn winced as the needle poked through her skin. A small cry escaped on a breath.

“You’re doing it wrong, give it here!” Gavin pushed Ronan to the side, snatching the needle and thread.

“It’s going to hurt no matter which way we do it, Gavin.”

Gavin knelt next to Brynn, surveying the wound on her thigh. The working space was tight. “Maybe we should take off the gown.”

Ronan slapped the back of Gavin’s head. “I don’t think Brynn would appreciate that nearly as much as you would.”

“Where is Michael?” whispered Brynn.

“He… completed the incantation,” answered Ronan.

“And Marek?” She choked on the word, her voice raspy and coarse.

Ronan retrieved a water bladder and helped her to drink. “He’s gone to fetch Talon. We expect him to return shortly.”

Brynn shook her head. “No. I must go to him. He will die.”

Ronan placed her hand in his. He motioned to Gavin to continue sewing, while he comforted her. “Did you see his death? You are not well enough to travel.”

“The healing potion will continue its work, but I must go to him. The three ravens — one must not be Marek.”

Confused, Ronan pressed for more information. “What do you mean?”

“The ravens, they are death. Three must die. The third must not be Marek.” Brynn closed her eyes, silently fighting against the pain. “It must be Westmore.”

“Hurry, Gavin,” Ronan urged.

“I’m sewing as fast as I bloody well can. These hands were not made for woman’s work. They were made for working a woman’s ass.” Gavin snickered at his own crude humor. He finished closing the first wound and set to work on the second, fishing out pieces of splintered wood from the arrow shaft. “She has a broken rib, but it seems as though it will heal,” he commented, pinching the skin to add a stitch.

“Just sew.”

“Really, this would be so much easier without clothing in the way,” Gavin grumbled but shut his mouth and finished piecing the wound together when Ronan balled his fist.

Ronan monitored the sewing of the final wound as it was located precariously close to Brynn’s breast, but Gavin behaved and stitched the wound closed with minimal tearing of the bodice. A tunic was slipped over her gown and a broth made for her dinner.

Propped against a saddle and covered with a blanket, she slept, dozing in and out of consciousness. Ronan roused her throughout the night to help her drink and check her wounds. Little by little, Brynn regained her strength as the healing potion worked its magic.

~~~~

A gentle hand shook her shoulder. “Brynn, ’tis time to go, aye?”

She pushed herself to a sitting position, testing her mobility.

“How do you fare?”

“I’m better.” She forced a smile and tried to stand.

Ronan slung his arm around her middle to steady her. “You shall ride with me.” He walked her to his horse, transferred her weight to Gavin, then mounted.

“Up you go,” said Gavin, hoisting Brynn to Ronan. “Let us fetch your husband, shall we?”

“By all means, let’s.” Ronan nickered to his horse, nudging it forward with his heels.

“And back to the death walkers we go.” Gavin sighed, following.

They traveled the path through the forest, keeping watch for Engels, but found no resistance. Several death walkers materialized in the distance, hissing whispers between the trees, but ventured no further than the shadows. Ronan stiffened in the saddle at their appearance, but Brynn reassured him. “Show no fear and they will not harm you.”

“Did you see anyone before you… died?” Ronan asked.

“I saw my mother.”

“Was she as you remembered?”

“I do not remember my mother. She was murdered shortly after my birth.” Brynn sucked in a breath and blinked to keep tears from filling her eyes. “She was beautiful.”

Soon the snow dissipated, and the road to Braemir was within sight. A cool breeze greeted them, welcoming them from the shadows. The pace quickened once on the road and talk of their plan took form. No one knew what to expect, not even Brynn. She could only hope that she would find Marek and Talon alive.

As they traveled, the men took a verbal inventory of what weapons they carried, who would search the stronghold, and who would protect Brynn. It was agreed upon that Ronan would take most of the duties pertaining to her safety. Aiden, being the stealthiest, would stay to the shadows and find the boy. Gavin would cause the biggest disturbance outside the walls as possible to draw the Engels away from the stronghold, if need be.

“I will lure their whores to the courtyard and put on a show for their masters. Tell me, how could they resist this?” Gavin gestured his hand over his chest, beaming.

“The words escape me,” replied Ronan. A branch snapped in the trees lining the road and he stopped, turning his ear toward the sound.

“What is it?” whispered Brynn.

“An animal,” Ronan replied. “I think.”

Cyran appeared from the trees, riderless. “That’s Marek’s horse.” She clutched Ronan’s forearm.

Aiden approached the horse, checking for signs of combat, blood, or a message from Marek. “His weapons are missing, but the horse in unharmed. There are no signs of struggle.”

Ronan pondered the split in the road before them. “Which way do we go?”

Aiden chuckled, pulling himself up into the saddle. “Left.”

“How are you so sure?” asked Ronan.

“Just follow the hoof prints.”

~~~~

“There are Engels everywhere.” Hunkered out of sight near the stronghold of Braemir, Ronan and Gavin surveyed the area. “Marek must have alerted them to his presence.” Ronan took note of the guard placement.

“We cannot ride in with swords drawn, they will be expecting that.”

“Two men guard the gate. Five watch from the inner curtain.” He pointed to the area, spotting several more patrolling the courtyard below. “We need a plan.”

Gavin grinned. “You are in luck, my friend, for I have one. Follow me.”

The men left Brynn with the horses while they procured disguises of farmer’s cloaks and stole an unattended wagon full of molding hay. Finding several discarded barrels near an outer wall, they placed them in the back of the wagon. They hid the horses near the road and tucked Brynn under the hay. Ronan took up the reins with Gavin at his side, while Aiden rode in the back next to a barrel, imbibing on a flagon of ale beneath his newly acquired poor-man’s cloak.

Ronan approached the gate, bringing the wagon to a stop before the Engel gate guards.

“Halt!” The guard blocked the entrance to the stronghold courtyard. “State your purpose.”

“Wine, my friend.” Ronan nodded toward the barrels in the back of the wagon. “For his lordship. Only the best. A gift from our clansmen.”

The two guards conversed about their entry before replying, “Visitors must leave their weapons at the gate. Do you carry weapons, Archaeans?”

Ronan’s brow narrowed. Looking to Gavin he asked, “Gavin, do we carry any weapons?”

Gavin rubbed his chin in feigned thought. “I might have a blade here somewhere.” He rose from the bench seat and jumped down. Searching the inside of his cloak he produced a dagger. “Ah, here it is.” Gavin tossed it to the ground in front of the guards.

Ronan descended from the wagon and dropped his own daggers. “It seems I carry some as well.”

Gavin pat his arms, searching for the small knife he kept hidden beneath his armguard. “Oh! Here’s another.” He relinquished it to the growing pile. “Almost forgot about that one,” he told the guard closest to him.

Ronan pulled a short sword from its hiding place — behind his back — hidden by the ragged cloak. It, too, joined its companions in the increasing pile of weapons. “Any more I may have forgotten?” he asked Gavin.

“I have one more, I believe.” Gavin also withdrew a short sword and handed it to one of the guards. “Hold this for me, would you?”

The dumbfounded guard took the outstretched sword by the hilt.

Gavin removed his cloak, revealing his broadsword. He withdrew its great length from the scabbard and gave it to the other guard. “Last one, I’m pretty sure of it. Say, Aiden, you have any weapons back there?”

Aiden procured a dagger from his side and tossed it to Gavin.

He caught it with ease. “Cheers, mate.” Gavin raised the dagger in thanks. Aiden hoisted his flagon in return before taking a long swig. “Oh, this one’s a beauty. Have a look.” In a split second, the blade sliced though the air, slashing the throat of the closest guard.

With yet another hidden weapon, Ronan dispatched the remaining guard. The Engel’s bewildered face stared up at him from the ground.

“Nicely done,” Gavin complimented, retrieving his weapons.

“Aye, well played.” Ronan tossed Aiden his dagger. “That was good fun, aye?”

“The most fun I’ve had all day.” Securing the last of his weapons, Gavin donned his cloak and climbed up into the wagon.

“Much more fun than a bloody resurrection, I’ll say. Aiden, give me a hand, would you?” With Aiden’s help, the Engel guards were heaved into the back of the wagon and covered with hay. “Sorry about the mess, Brynn.” Ronan apologized, climbing back into the driver’s seat.

“Quite all right,” she told him.

The wagon rolled to a stop in an abandoned corner of the courtyard. Commoners went about their daily business, ignoring the seemingly ordinary cart of ale. Ronan and Gavin jumped from the seat, conversing of their plan while Aiden tossed the flagon and helped Brynn from the hay. He covered her with his own cloak, hiding her face with the hood.

“You should stay out of sight, my lady,” Aiden spoke, picking a stray piece of straw from her hair. “I will find a safe place for you to hide.”

“You need not speak so formally, Aiden, and I’m coming with you.” Brynn held firm.

His fierce blue eyes flickered over her features. “You are the wife of my clan brother. I am sworn to protect you at all costs.”

Brynn managed a weak smile. “I will be the safest with you, then, aye?”

“I am to find your boy.” Aiden protested.

“Talon won’t know you. He will not go with you, but he will come with me.”

“You are in no shape to be running through the stronghold.”

“And I am sure you will keep me safe.” The corners of her mouth twitched. Brynn knew she had won the argument.

Aiden’s mouth formed a slight frown, and he bit his bottom lip. “Stay close.” He clasped her forearm, keeping her steady.

When they were sure no one was watching, Ronan and Gavin approached the doors in a contrived panic, telling the guards they had seen a man with a weapon near the wall. The guards followed willingly… to their deaths. The bodies were dumped in a nearby building, leaving the Archaeans free to enter the stronghold undetected. Brynn and Aiden slipped inside, while Gavin set to work in the courtyard confusing its occupants.

“Are you all right, Brynn?” Aiden paused on the staircase, waiting for her to catch up.

She let out a breath and removed her palm from her side. A smear of blood covered her skin. “I’m fine.” She wiped her hands on her gown and continued up the stairs. They entered a long corridor with doors lining each side. “Which door do we try?”

Aiden peeked around a corner. “He is not here,” he told her. “No guards. Let us try the next one.” They snuck down the corridor only to find another staircase leading to the next level of the stronghold. Halfway up, Aiden pushed Brynn against the wall with his arm. “Listen,” he whispered. “Engels.” He removed his bow from his shoulder before making his way up the stairs.

In the middle of the corridor, two Engels guarded a single door. They argued over something incoherent before one left his post and exited to the stairs opposite Aiden. Crouching to one side, Aiden drew his bow, releasing an arrow. The guard clutched his chest before crumpling to the floor, dead. Aiden motioned for Brynn to follow as he made his way. He tested the handle — locked.

“The guard,” Brynn suggested.

Aiden searched the man’s belt, finding a set of keys. With the very first key, the lock clicked. Bow ready, he nodded at Brynn to open the door. She turned the latch then moved to allow Aiden entry. He burst through the door, searching for resistance, but instead found a startled nursemaid.

The old woman rose from her chair, steadying herself on the armrest. She didn’t move, only stared at the warrior before her. Aiden stepped further into the room, seeking Talon. “Brynn, ask her if your boy is here. I do not speak the Engel words as well as you.”

Brynn entered the room.

The woman’s eyes narrowed and she took a shaky step forward. “My girl, is that you?”

Brynn eyed the white hair and the frail frame of the woman, trying to place her in memory. And then it dawned on her, the woman she remembered was of dark coloration then with a hearty laugh and a mother’s warmth. “Magda?”

“Oh, it is you, my sweet girl. Come and give this old woman one last happy memory before she dies. Come closer so that I may see you.”

Brynn rushed to her Magda’s side, cradling her face in her hands. “Have you seen my son, Magda?”

“He is there.” She pointed to a bed tucked in the corner of the room. “He sleeps.”

Brynn rushed to the bed, dropping to her knees. Snuggled deep in blankets, Talon slept peacefully. She kissed his forehead, rousing him. The boy rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“You must stay for a visit, my girl. We have so much to talk about.” Magda lowered herself to her chair and resumed her mending.

“I’m so sorry, Magda, but I cannot stay.” Brynn hugged Talon to her chest, not wanting to release him.

“Brynn, we must go. The absent guards are bound to be noticed.” Aiden kept watch in the threshold.

“Where is Da?” Talon asked, squirming from his mother’s arms.

“He is here, Talon, and I’m going to find him. You need to go with my friend, Aiden, all right? He is going to take you to safety.” Brynn kissed him once more before ushering him to Aiden. “Please make sure you get him out. I need to find Marek.”

“I must go with you,” Aiden told her.

“I need to find him, Aiden. They will not be expecting me, as they believe me dead. They
will
be searching for you. Take him.” Brynn thrust Talon’s hand into Aiden’s.

“Very well, but take this.” Aiden drew his dagger and handed her the hilt. “You know how to use it?”

“Aye, the pointed end goes first. Now go!” Aiden slung Talon over his shoulder and on to his back before exiting to the corridor. Brynn turned to Magda. “I must leave. They hold my husband, and I must find him. I will die without him.” Her thoughts briefly turned to her seeping wounds.

“The warrior from the north? He is your husband?”

Brynn nodded.

“They keep a man chained below. I have heard his screams. Go find your warrior, girl. There is a passage behind the red tapestry on the lower floor. It will take you to him, but I must warn you. The lord’s council meets in the study in the very same corridor.”

Brynn returned to the woman to give her one final hug goodbye. “Thank you, Magda.”