The Mercenary's Marriage (5 page)

“Fine,” he said in a sulky tone. “I will try
again. Maybe this time he will believe there are three in our
tent.” As he stomped off, Brice finished smoothly rolling her old
dress into a ball. Then taking up the gray cloak and the small bag
of sewing supplies the supply master sent over, she went to find
some light.

Outside the tent flap, a good fire was
burning a few yards away. A dark crouching shadow, Brice assumed
was Darius, loomed next to it. She picked her way carefully to his
side and sat down. Then she dumped the contents of the sewing kit
into her lap.

She was just about to cut the excess off the
cape bottom, when Darius spoke. “I promised to explain why we
came.”

Brice looked up, but Darius was staring into
the fire before them and did not return her glance.

“The king has four sons.” His voice was deep
and there was no trace of accent as he turned his eyes to the stick
in his hands. Rolling it between his palms, he continued, “The
eldest, Tyrone, is like his father. The second, a rash and bold
troublemaker, is named Maler. He is the favorite because he is like
the king was when he was young. The last two are younglings, not
old enough to cause much trouble. They are too busy learning to be
great lords to be personally active in any political plots.”

Discarding the stick into the fire, Darius
leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “Lord Micrey
wanted an alliance between his house and the royal house. When he
offered an arrangement between his daughter, Gwendolyn, and one of
the king's sons, the king turned him down. Not at all deterred, he
arranged for Gwendolyn to be caught unchaperoned in the embrace of
Tyrone, the heir. When he grasped, Lord Micrey reached for the
best.

“As soon as the rumors of an affair were well
underway, he took his daughter and left the city in the dead of
night without warning. The moment they were gone, a slave appeared
at the palace gate, demanding he had a message for the king. Micrey
claimed his daughter was compromised and with child by Tyrone.”

Darius shifted again, finally glancing over
at her from shadowed eyes. “He made two mistakes.”

“Lord Micrey?” Brice asked, avoiding his
gaze.

“Yes.” Darius continued to watch her face.
Brice was not sure what he was looking for. “He chose the wrong son
and the wrong method. Jenran knows his sons too well to believe the
set up.”

Silence hung between them and Brice knew he
was waiting for her to ask for more. Deciding he could wait, she
started to cut the heavy gray fabric roughly a foot above the hem.
The cloak was still going to be overlong on her, but it would no
longer drag on the ground.

“That is still going to be long,” he
commented.

She glanced up, but still avoided those dark
eyes. “I know.” Then, she returned her attention to her work.

“He would never have forced the marriage.” He
spoke softly and thoughtfully. “He would have taken care of the
daughter and child, but he could not afford to let them roam free.
A rogue heir is too dangerous.”

“So they would have been slaves.” She set
aside the scissors and began to prepare the needle.

“No.” Darius's eyes followed her motions.
“There is a stronghold in northern Braulyn near the Sardmarian
border where the Braulian kings have kept their worst secrets
safely hidden. Gwendolyn and child would have lived there in great
comfort until the king could find use for them.” He paused. “They
would have been captives, but not slaves.”

“See.” Timothy's voice came clearly through
the darkness, making Brice jump and drop the needle. “Ewian is not
eating with us tonight. Darius captured a woman and married her
just like I told you. Can I have my dinner now?”

Carefully searching through the folds of
cloth on her knees, Brice tried to catch the needle before it
reached the ground.

“Alright boy,” a new voice said, followed by
the sounds of burdens being exchanged. Brice spotted a glimmer of
silver in the firelight.

“Supplies low?” Darius asked someone as she
plucked the needle from the depths of a fold. Brice looked up to
find the newcomer staring at her with wide dark eyes.

“We had to leave one of the food wagons
behind, so I am rationing all the meals.” The man answered without
taking his eyes off her. Brice was starting to feel extremely
uncomfortable. His gaze was unreadable in the flickering light and
she was unsure of his thoughts. “Who is the girl?”

“Brice.” Darius rose and offered her his
hand. Deciding it was better to rise and decrease a little of the
distance between her head and everyone else's, Brice accepted it.
Darius helped her up and then used his grip to pull her against his
side. Suddenly, she was engulfed in his cloak; his arm pressed her
against his leather jerkin. “I wish to introduce you to Hameal. He
is the camp cook.”

Hameal bowed with a flare of his arm. “It is
a pleasure to meet you, madam.” His eyes went to Darius' face and
he grinned. “We all thought Darius would never take a woman. I wish
you luck.” Turning he called over his shoulder, “You will need it.”
Then he disappeared into the night.

Darius felt Brice shiver. The night air was
colder than usual for early fall. Even with a quilt and heavy
blanket, she still shivered in her sleep. It did not help that they
were sleeping on a pallet spread on the dirt floor of the tent. She
had requested they not sleep on the cot. She said she was afraid
she would fall off. Darius suspected it was because she was not
comfortable with him yet.

Darius watched her stir again. This time she
carried the quilt with her as she rolled, exposing her back to the
night. Deciding he had let her suffer enough, Darius moved over and
lay closer to her. Back to back, he pulled her blanket over them
both and spread his own on top. Adjusting his pillow, he settled in
on his side and then waited to see what she would do. Initially,
the thin body at his back was as stiff as the ground beneath them.
He had a feeling she would have gotten up, but she was too cold.
Slowly, the tension eased and eventually her breathing grew regular
and deep with sleep. Once he was sure she slept, Darius carefully
rolled over and gathered her into his arms. Her cheek was still
cold when he brushed it with a finger.
She needs the warmth
,
he told himself. As if agreeing, she shifted closer and uttered a
soft sigh in her sleep.

“He wants to do what?” Darius' voice was low,
but Brice knew instantly he was upset. Pulling on her other shoe,
she scrambled to exit the tent. If Darius was angry, she did not
want to be missing when it was time to leave.

“His majesty wishes to travel ahead.” She
heard another male voice reply in dry tones. “He is concerned for
his wife. Ever since we found out that the whole Micrey thing was a
ruse, he has been worried about the possibility of a coup during
his absence.”

Stepping into the early morning light, Brice
blinked and located the two men. Darius' bent head was a foot above
his companion's. The older man, whom Brice was sure she had not
seen before, was only an inch or two taller than her, but made up
for his lack of height in breadth. He was solid and sturdy, but not
fat.

“As his personal bodyguard, you are to
accompany him.” The stranger stated pointedly. As if he should not
have to remind Darius of his duty. “He wishes to leave
immediately.”

“Larer, I am not debating whether or not to
accompany His Majesty,” Darius informed him. Turning his head and
looking straight at Brice, Darius studied her face. “I am still
concerned about the wisdom of heading off without the army and I am
not sure if she should come too.”

Larer followed Darius' gaze to Brice.
Surprise flickered behind his pale blue eyes. “And she is…?” He
asked suggestively.

“My wife,” Darius said firmly. “She is coming
with me.” That decision made, the mercenary turned and yelled,
“Timothy, get your sorry hide over here.” Turning back to Larer,
who was still standing there a bit stunned, he ordered, “Tell the
king we will be with him in a half-hour's time.”

Brice could not help feeling as shocked as
the man looked. What did he mean she was going with him?

The boy was slow. Darius knew it was because
he did not agree with the decision. “She goes, but I am left
tending the supplies.” He could still hear Timothy's protest in his
ears. After a brief roaring match, during which Brice made herself
scarce, the boy finally began to separate the supplies that were
needed for Darius and Brice to travel on their own. Leaving Timothy
to his deliberately sluggish movements, Darius began looking for
Brice.

She was not far. He found her huddled on the
cot in their tent. She had finished dressing and even donned her
cloak. “We are leaving in a moment.” He crossed to gather the sack
that held his gear. “You should fetch your belongings.”

She did not raise her head from her knees. “I
have everything.”

“Then come.” Darius slung the burden over his
shoulder and settled the strap. “We need to fetch the horse.” She
looked at him from over her folded arms. He offered his hand and
she looked at it like it was a suspicious looking snake. “You
should know by now that I will not harm you, Brice.” He waited for
her gaze to rise to his. Eventually she did regard him cautiously
through a film of unshed tears. Darius waited and watched her eyes.
Their green depths were clear and he could almost see her balancing
options. “The King is waiting.” He reminded her softly. She dropped
her face again and took his hand.

Darius thought about their exchange for the
rest of the morning and shortly after stopping for lunch, he asked,
“Why do you fear me?”

Brice instantly stiffened within the circle
of his arm. Repeating his habit, developed over the past few days,
the stallion beneath them protested. “You really must not do that,
little bird.” Darius reached to catch the reins with both hands; he
did not want the animal to start a charge. The moment he released
her waist, Brice grabbed at his arm for balance.

“Please don't,” she begged.

“Then don't stiffen every time I speak to
you.” He adjusted his one-handed grip on the leads and then
returned his arm to her waist. “I will not let you fall,” he
reassured her. “Now are you going to answer my question?” He looked
ahead to check on the king's position and their surroundings as he
waited for her reply.

“I have no reason not to fear you.”

“Did you fear your master, Lord Micrey?”

“Aye,” she said, after a pause.

“And your master before him?” He probed.

“I had no master before him.”

“Did he beat you?” Darius formed the words
carefully. He wanted none of his contempt at the thought to creep
into his voice. He had already noticed the way she shied away from
any show of emotion on his part.

“Aye.” The answer was so soft Darius almost
missed the sound.

“Have I beaten you or hurt you in any
way?”

“No…not yet.” She rushed on to explain. “I
have not displeased you yet.”

“I promise never to beat you.” He squeezed
her waist. “Even if you displease me or even hurt me.”

“Thank you.” Her voice made it clear she
still had strong doubts. Darius slowly realized how long it was
going to take for him to earn her trust. Too many men had abused
her and destroyed any faith she might have had.

“Why did you hunt me?” Her voice trembled,
but question was clear. Drawing a deep breath, Darius tried to
formulate an answer she would understand.

“I…” He never had the chance to finish the
sentence.

“Ambush!” The cry came from the rear guard
and instantly Darius turned. With a sharp tug at the reins, he
brought the stallion around and searched the area for the king.
King Jenran was about twenty-five feet to his left and closer to
the rear than Darius wished. Spurring the horse forward, he
maneuvered so he and Brice were between the King and the oncoming
enemy.

Brice shrunk back against his body and
reached to grasp anything she could to keep herself on the horse.
She seemed to be managing well enough, but she would be better
behind him. “You are going around behind me,” Darius warned her.
“Bring up your leg.”

She obediently brought her leg over the
horse's head. Swinging her around, he helped her to straddle the
horse behind him. Not even waiting until she settled, Darius
reached for his sword in the saddle scabbard. Two arms wrapped
themselves around his ribs and a small body pressed against his
back.
Good. She is on.
Hefting the weapon before him, he
turned to face the attack.

The others were doing the same. One hundred
strong, they were by no means an army, but the king had chosen his
best. They would not go down easily. Darius let the others go
ahead. He had two people to protect and for the girl's sake, he
needed to be the last resort, not the first.

Brice pressed her face against the broad back
before her and closed her eyes. The horse reared and she almost
screamed as the world turned sideways. Thankfully, her grip on
Darius held firm. Then, just as suddenly, the universe righted with
a teeth-jarring thud. There was yelling all around them and she
could pick out the king's and Ewian's voices behind them, but
Darius remained silent.

An ear splitting war cry broke forth right
next to them and Darius moved. Reaching back to their left, he
swung at something and the yell stopped in a gurgle. Something
screamed farther off and it took a moment for Brice to realize it
was a horse.

Pulling their horse around in a full circle,
Darius appeared to be looking for someone. Brice also looked but
could not see much beyond his shoulder and sword arm. He must have
spotted his object, for the horse came to a stop and Darius
appeared to be looking off to their right. Turning the horse's head
in that direction, they started forward. His arm and sword were in
constant motion and the progress was slow. Again and again an enemy
rose up to challenge them. Every one fell in a matter of moments.
Right after a particularly bloody confrontation, the horse stopped
moving forward. Darius tensed, so Brice prepared herself for
another attack and more sudden movement. Instead, he stopped moving
completely and the ruckus around them died down.