The Mercenary's Marriage (3 page)

“Which way are the stables from here?” her
protector asked without looking down. “We need to leave before the
looters are all that are left.”

“To the left of the main entrance,” Brice
offered. She had no idea where they were now, so she could not
offer more detailed directions. Thankfully, the mercenary did not
seem to need them. He nodded and started to move through the
madness.

In a matter of moments, Brice found herself
standing by the flank of a caramel colored stallion. Darius made
quick work of the knotted reins. Throwing them over the horse's
head, he turned back to her. Without a word, he wrapped his hands
around her ribs and hoisted her onto the horse's back. Before Brice
could even begin looking for something to balance herself with, he
was behind her. Clamping a hard arm around her midriff, he took the
reins, and with a shout, the horse beneath them lunged toward the
gate.

Closing her eyes against the rise of her
stomach, Brice was sure she was going to be bounced apart. The arm
around her waist tightened. “Relax,” he demanded. “The ride will be
much easier if you relax and move with the horse.” With all her
concentration, Brice tried to obey, but there was little change.
Just as she thought she was getting the hang of the rhythm, the
beast slowed. She opened her eyes to the sight of passing tents and
hurrying men. The horse slowed even more as they approached a
larger tent in the center of the mass. The Ratharian from the
castle was just exiting when the mercenary brought them up to the
front.

“Ewian.” Her captor swung down and reached up
for her without looking to see if the man had stopped. “I need you
to take care of the horse.” Lifting her effortlessly, he placed her
on the ground and made sure she was steady on her feet before
turning to other soldier. “Is the king ready for me?”

Ewian nodded, “Yes, but you must hurry. His
aides are already packing up and will get to the documents soon.”
The man caught the horse's bobbing harness and began leading him
away.

“Come,” Darius said as he turned toward the
canvas structure. “You will be safer if I have legal claim.”

Still confused as to what the man meant Brice
obediently followed him into the dark interior.

The girl was tense and in spite of her
obvious exhaustion, agitated. Fear was evident in her every motion
and Darius did not blame her. In her position, he would have been
spitting mad and demanding answers. But as much as he felt for her,
he had to go through with this to protect her and her future.

The king was indeed waiting for them. His
scribe, an older man, was the only other in the small foyer of the
tent. Although visually they were alone, scuffling and voices from
behind the curtained doorways into other parts of the structure
reminded Darius they were not.

“There you are.” The king greeted them as
soon as they entered. “Come closer.” He waved at them to move
deeper into the room. “Keiter needs your full names for the
records. Darius, you go first.” Walking toward his portable council
seat, the king left them to the scribe.

“Darius Aarin Laris,” he told the man, who
quickly scratched the letters onto his parchment. Darius did not
bother spelling it. His witness was needed on enough documents and
treaties that Keiter knew the letters. Turning to the girl, Darius
nodded toward the scribe.

“Brice Wrlyn Ashlyn.” She formed the sounds
as if they were a treasure reluctantly relinquished. “What is this
for?” Her voice wavered, but the question was clear.

“Darius wishes to make legal claim as your
protector and provider,” the king answered from his seat beyond
them. “He wishes to marry you, child.” Darius stepped back to give
her clear view of the king, but kept his eyes on her face. He
needed to know how she reacted to this revelation.

She stepped toward the king. Darius could no
longer see her face. “Why, sire?”

The king smiled at her. “You are going to
have to ask him that.”

Darius waited in silence. For some strange
reason, his chest ached and his throat was tight. Instead of
turning to face him, the girl answered her own question, “To
protect me. To have legal claim.” Her voice was thoughtful but
uncertain.

“Let me give you some insight.” The king
leaned forward. “Darius always has a reason, but rarely does he
share it. From experience, I have learned to accept that and trust
him.” The candid praise settled uneasily on Darius, but the girl
turned to look back at him with a measuring shadow in her green
eyes. Then the king asked the essential question. “Are you willing
to bind yourself to this man?” Darius held his breath.

Brice's eyes lowered and Darius' heart sank.
Instantly his mind began working out alternatives. He had to keep
her near and safe; that was certain. If he established her with the
servants at the castle when they returned, she would be relatively
safe, but he would rarely see her. A position as a lady's maid was
even more isolated from his world within the castle.

“Yes,” Brice answered.

Darius' eyes focused once again on her
doubt-filled face.

“Then let us get this finished so we can all
go home,” The king declared, pushing himself wearily to his feet.
“Approach me.” The scribe produced a small package and handed it to
the king as they obeyed. “Join hands,” he instructed as he turned
to face them.

Darius offered his right hand, palm up, to
Brice. She looked at it uncertainly and then shot a brief glance at
his face before timidly placing her right hand there. Slowly and
gently, Darius enfolded her small fingers in his much larger hand.
I promise to take care of it,
he thought. Brice did not
raise her eyes from the joining. She just stood there silent and
motionless as the king began to intone the words that would bind
them forever.

He is so much larger than you. He is a
complete stranger. Why do you trust him? Why are you doing
this?
Weakly, Brice answered her inner voice.
Because I have
no other choice.
Then, she desperately attempted to concentrate
on anything other than the tall, dark man standing beside her. She
also desperately tried to ignore the tender way he was holding her
hand. She was concentrating so hard that when the king started to
wrap a long piece of silk around their joined hands, she startled.
The soldier's hand tightened around hers and the king stopped mid
word. Even if she wanted to withdraw her hand, the man's grasp
would have prevented her. Somehow, though, Brice knew if she asked,
he would let go.

An uneasy silence hung between them for a
moment. All she could hear was the servants’ movement on the other
side of the curtains.

Finally, the king continued. “Bound together
until time is no more, bound to each as to none before.” The silk
wrapped around for the second time. “Bound before man, sovereign,
and God.” A third strip fell into place, completely covering their
clasped hands. Taking the ends, which now dangled unevenly, the
king knotted them over the point of union. “With a binding that
will never break.” He pulled the knot snug. “You are man and wife
before God, king, and man. May it be a blessing and never a
curse.”

With great effort, Brice raised her face to
her husband. She found him silently watching her with a look in his
dark gray eyes that she could not yet interpret.

They left the king's tent and Darius
immediately noticed the sag of his new wife's shoulders. Then
remembering her bare feet, he leaned over and lifted her into his
arms. He half expected her to fight or at least vocally protest,
but she did neither. Her head fell to his shoulder and the small
body in his arms relaxed against him. “Thank you.” She sighed and
he guessed she fell almost instantly asleep.

When he arrived at his own tent, he found his
armor bearer busily packing. The boy's name was Timothy and he was
an energetic young man with a quiet disposition much like Darius'.
The two of them were companions of many years now and comfortable
with each other's habits. As expected, Timothy was not anticipating
this.

“Who is that?” He finally managed as he
stared at the motionless form in Darius’ arms. Darius watched as
the boy took in the bare feet sticking out over his arm. “Where are
the shoes?”

“I don't know.” Darius jutted his chin toward
the larger of the two cots. “Clear off the cot. After I set her
down, I will explain.”

Clearing the cot took only a moment. Timothy
watched with wide eyes as Darius gently lowered Brice onto it. “So
it is a girl?” The boy asked.

“Yes.” Darius took off his cloak. With his
usual efficiency, Timothy had already packed the blankets.
Spreading his cloak like a covering, he said, “She is my wife.”

Timothy dropped the armor-cleaning satchel he
removed from the cot. Darius winced at the clatter it made hitting
the ground and looked over at the girl. All she did was turn her
head to face the tent wall, and then, with a sigh, her breathing
settled back into the slow cadence of sleep.

As soon as he was sure she was not going to
wake, Darius turned to his shocked assistant. “Show some care,” he
hissed, waving at the heap at the boy's feet. “She has had a long
and traumatizing day.”

“I am sure marrying you had nothing to do
with it.” The boy shot back in a low tone. “Where did you find her?
Why did you marry her? What is wrong with your head?” The willowy
boy gestured emphatically.

Holding up a hand to slow the flow of
questions being hurled at him, Darius put his finger to his lips
and gestured toward the door. The boy obeyed with a frown. Darius
followed.

Camp was settling down a bit as most of the
men completed their packing and were trying to catch a few hours of
sleep before the dawn move out. Darius and Timothy faced each other
across the entrance to their tent and conversed in whispers.

“I found her in the castle,” Darius began.
“She was a servant to the lord's daughter.”

“Gwendolyn's maid, ay,” Timothy interrupted.
“She knows something you or the king needs?”

Shaking his head, Darius said, “She already
told us all we needed to know. Gwendolyn was never with child.”
Timothy's eyes got large as the implications of the statement
dawned on him.

“You mean we have just wasted eight months
chasing a shadow plot?”

“The king has ordered the army home,” Darius
reminded the boy. “I only hope there is no surprise for us when we
get there.”

“Do you mean Micrey was only a decoy?”
Timothy asked.

“Or the mastermind of a larger plot.”

“So, that is why he visited all those other
Lords before arriving at his fortress here,” the boy said. “He was
trying to raise support. But support for what?”

“That is what I am concerned about,” Darius
said as he took a seat beside the fire pit. “I only hope Micrey
didn’t get a warm reception with his fellow lords. If he did, we
might have more than we can deal with when we return to Kiylin. The
Queen was in no condition to subdue a rebellion when we left.”

The boy nodded his agreement. They fell into
silence for a while and then Timothy asked pointedly, “So why did
you pick her? And why marry her? You could have enjoyed giving her
a tumble without the responsibility afterwards.”

Righteous indignation rose in a storm. Before
he quite knew what he was doing, Darius had risen and struck the
boy full across the mouth. “I cannot believe you said that. You
have been hanging around the other boys too much.” Timothy watched
him warily and Darius did not blame him. He had never punished the
boy with his hand before and he felt awful, but he could not back
down. The boy needed to know that Brice was now part of their group
and a part to be respected. “I never want to hear it again,
especially not in her presence. Do you understand?”

Mutely the boy nodded. Then he asked, “So why
did you marry her?”

After a moment, Darius admitted something he
had been avoiding since he had first set eyes on her crouched
figure behind the tapestry. “Instinct,” he sighed tiredly. “Now I
am going to try to get a few hours rest. I suggest you finish as
silently as you can while I sleep. Wake me at the first horn
blast.” The boy nodded. “Thanks, Timothy.” He threw the youngster
an affectionate smile before reentering the tent.

A loud blast on what sounded like a battle
horn brought Brice's eyes wide open. She probably would have jumped
from the bed too, but a heavy arm was wrapped around her waist. As
her other senses awoke, she noticed the heavy blanket over her and
a warm body heating her from behind. Blinking to clear her eyes,
she slowly focused them on the dirty canvas wall only inches from
her face.

“Darius,” a young man's voice called and
someone jostled the cot. “Time to move.” The warmth at her back
moved with a groan and then lifted away. Shivering against the
sudden draft, Brice carefully rolled over. She encountered a wide,
cloth covered back.

“I’m up, Timothy,” the man on the edge of the
bed growled. “Go fetch the horses.” A brief flash of early morning
light blinded Brice for a moment as Timothy left the tent to obey.
When her vision cleared, she found a pair of gray eyes watching her
from above. “I hope you are a little refreshed from last night.”
The voice was laced with a hint of accent again and the eyes were
softer than before.

“A little,” she managed as she tried not to
blush.

“We have a long day of travel ahead,” he said
and pushed off the cot and to his feet.

“Where are we going?” Brice asked as she
carefully followed him off the cot. She hated the feeling of him
towering over her. She turned back to fold the cover only to find
it was his dark brown cloak from the night before.

“To Kiylin, the king's main residence,” he
answered. Brice had heard of the fortress. She turned to find him
pulling on his boots. His eyes were on her feet. “Later today I
will ask the supply master to see if we can find you some boots.”
Rising, he crossed to pick up a long cloak from the other chair.
“It appears Timothy has already found a temporary cloak for you.”
The gray fabric looked worn, but still useful. Darius crossed to
her. Removing the dark brown one from her hands, he draped the gray
around her shoulders. “It looks like an old one of mine.”