The Mercenary's Marriage (7 page)

“Every movement hurts,” Brice admitted as she
remembered the traveling.

“Have you any shooting pains?” Brice shook
her head and the healer smiled. “Good. I will give Darius something
to bind them with later, below your clothing.”

Brice felt the heat in her cheeks, but the
man just kept talking. “In spite of the dizziness, your pupils are
the same size and you are making complete sense. I just want to
check your skull and then I will give you the medicine and leave
you to your meal.”

Motioning for her to lean forward, which she
did, the healer removed his gloves. Running his strong sensitive
fingers beneath her hair, he examined her head. He was especially
interested in the lumps that had formed. “Good,” he muttered.

“What is good?” Darius' voice suddenly asked
from above them. Brice jumped, but the healer just pushed back on
his heels and shook his head.

“How many times have I got to tell you boy.”
He calmly drew his riding gloves over his hands and began to pack
up his sack. “I am the healer, not you.”

Brice glanced up and then wished she had not.
It made her head throb and Darius was looming again. He looked dark
and forbidding. The man at her feet ignored him.

“Take this a half hour before you try to
sleep,” the healer instructed as he handed her a small vial of
liquid. Then he rose. “These are for her ribs,” he said as he
handed Darius a roll of cloth. “Bind them firmly, but
carefully.”

“I have bound ribs before, Kurt,” Darius
responded, taking the roll.

“Let her sleep tonight.” Kurt shook his
finger up in Darius' face. “And if I hear about you keeping her
awake all night, you will have to answer to me. Besides, if you do,
she will have a headache worse than this tomorrow. Her body needs
rest now, boy.” He winked at Brice over his shoulder. “She is
almost as hard-headed as you, but not nearly as indestructible, so
be gentle.” Hoisting his sack onto his back, Kurt the healer headed
off in the direction of his own dinner.

Brice watched him go and waited patiently for
Darius to speak.

She was so small. Darius watched her as she
examined the vial in her lap. Dark brown curls had fallen out of
her braid and now dangled over her forehead and neck. Her bent head
hid the paleness of her face and the tightness of the skin around
her eyes. She still was in pain. Settling himself on the ground at
her feet, Darius rolled the bundle of material between his hands.
Finally, he looked up and asked, “Have you finished your dinner?”
The trencher beside her on the rock still had some bread and stew
on it. She had not eaten much.

“Yes,” she said; her voice was uncertain.
Darius looked up again to find her eyes on his face.

“I have our tent set up over there.” He
gestured toward the cluster of peaked cloth roofs near the center
of the glen. “I will get you some water to wash that down.” He
nodded toward the small glass in her hands. “Then I will put you to
bed.” Her eyes widened and in the instant before she dropped them,
he saw fear in their depths. Unbidden, the question leapt from his
mouth, “What do you fear?”

Silence fell between them and she continued
to stare at the ground at her feet.

Having asked, he wanted an answer. He was
curious. Taking a deep breath, he asked again. “Brice, what do you
fear?”

“You.” The answer was so soft, Darius was not
sure he had heard her correctly. Dropping the cloths into her lap,
he reached up and caught her head between his hands. Carefully
forcing her look toward him, he searched her face. He had heard
correctly and he was not sure what he was going to do about it.
Dropping his hands, he turned and got to his feet, his mind
whirling.

“I will get you that water,” he announced and
started toward the water supply.

Covering ground quickly, he tried to figure
out the reason for his agitation. It must be because she still
thought the worst of him. What Darius could not figure out is why
it bothered him so much. As a Ratharian slave and then mercenary,
he had long ago realized most of the people he met would believe he
was some terrible beast because of his skin’s darker hue. At about
the same time he realized that fact, he had decided it was not
going to affect how he viewed himself. He had honor and ideals just
like everyone else and he lived by them and until now, that had
been enough to hold the scorn and ridicule at bay.

Submerging the mug into the water in the
barrel, Darius suddenly had an idea. If he completely surrounded
Brice with the evidence that he was not a monster bent on
manipulating and using her, she would eventually have to accept it.
Carrying the now full mug before him, he purposefully started back
across the encampment to where he had left his wife.

“Darius.” Ewian fell into step beside him. “I
have been looking for you. The King wants both of us in his tent.
He has called a meeting to address strategy.”

Remembering that they were due to arrive at
Kiylin in two days, Darius nodded. “I will be right there. I need
to move Brice to our tent. Could you find Kurt and explain that I
cannot bind Brice’s ribs tonight? He is going to have to.”

“Sure,” Ewian agreed. “Just don’t dawdle.
Newlywed or not, the king hates to wait.” Laughing, the Ratharian
turned away toward the healer’s tent.

Brice was in the exact same position Darius
had left her, examining her hands and the small vial in them. She
looked up as he approached and offered a shaky smile in greeting.
Darius lowered himself to her level and offered the mug. She
swallowed the contents of the vial and immediately reached to
accept the mug. While she was still drinking deeply, Darius
spoke.

“The king wants me in his tent for a
meeting.” Her green eyes questioned him over the rim of the cup. “I
sent word I was moving you to our tent before I head over. Ewian is
going to tell Kurt. He should be along soon to bind your ribs
before you sleep.”

She lowered the cup and asked, “How long are
you going to be?”

He shrugged. “The king takes whatever time he
needs and no one complains.”

She nodded and offered the half-full mug back
to him. “Thank you.”

Quickly swallowing the rest, Darius tossed it
onto the top on their supply pile. “Ready?” he asked.

Nodding, she reached up for his hand to
steady herself, but Darius did not wait for her to rise to her
feet. Wrapping an arm around her and one around her legs, he
scooped her up and started toward the tents. Brice’s only response
was a startled gasp. Although Darius knew it probably would have
pained her more to walk, he still felt a twinge of guilt at hurting
her.

Darius set her gently, but hurriedly, on the
cot in their tent. “I will send one of the men to fetch our things
and deliver them here later. He will leave them outside the tent,
so you will not be disturbed. The king waits,” he explained and
then was gone.

The sounds of camp life came through the
canvas walls and filled Brice’s ears, but her mind was preoccupied
with Darius’ earlier reaction. She was not sure how he had
interpreted the emotions he had seen in her eyes, but she was
certain he had not liked them.

The moment he asked her what she feared
Brice’s heart had jumped. She had answered honestly. She feared
him. No matter how kind he was and gentle, she knew that he would
turn on her someday. They all did. And when he did, she feared that
the most. All that honed muscle and skill in one man, any man, was
dangerous, regardless of the character of the man. Just like Lord
Micrey and her father, they draw you in so you care about them and
then they strike.

“Brice?”

Brice started and her body screamed,
especially her ribs.

“Yes,” she managed between clenched teeth.
Her eyes were welling up with tears, but she refused to cry.

“May I come in?” Kurt’s voice asked from
outside the opening.

“Yes,” she answered again, this time with
less pain.

A lantern and a graying head pushed through
the canvas. “He did not even leave you with a light?” Clicking his
tongue at Darius’ forgetfulness, the healer set his own light on
the ground. Brice had been so caught up in her thoughts she had not
noticed the deepening shadows.

“He was in a hurry,” Brice managed through
the fog she just realized was settling over her senses.

The healer examined her face closely for a
moment. “Good.” He smiled. “The medicine is taking effect. You will
be asleep as soon as I finish.” He immediately started instructing
her in what he wanted her to do. Numbly Brice obeyed.

When the healer was finishing the last few
circles of binding, Brice asked him suddenly, “Is Darius
trustworthy?”

Tugging gently, the healer asked, “In what
way do you mean?”

Swallowing back the pain that rose with the
pressure, Brice clarified. “Does he ever lose his temper?”

“Yes,” the man answered. “He has a violent
temper when it gets the better of him, but it rarely does.”

“What happens?”

The man smiled. “Everyone avoids him like the
plague until it cools.”

“Does he strike people, or throw things?”

Suddenly, Brice found her face being studied
with great scrutiny. “Brice.” Brice turned away. There was too much
honesty in the healer’s face. It frightened her. “No, Brice, look
at me.” Reluctantly Brice obeyed.

The man’s eyes were dark blue and framed with
wrinkles. “Darius is an unusual man. He keeps to himself for the
most part, but is the truest friend any man or woman can have. I
would trust him with my life before any man in this camp.” He
returned to the binding.

“But would he hurt me?” After the question
was out, Brice wished it back. She sounded pathetic. It must be the
sleep and drug induced haze closing in on her.

“All done,” the healer announced and began to
help her back into her clothing. As he reached for the lantern, he
paused and looked back over at her. “Darius would rather die than
strike you, child.” Then he was gone.

Brice lay back across the cot. The medicine
was strong. She did not even have the strength to lift her legs
over the edge of the bed. As the darkness consumed her, she
thought,
but what if he is wrong?

“The enemy has shown itself.” Trenar
announced to the five other men present inside the largest tent in
camp, the king’s.

Darius surveyed his comrades-in-arms from his
place sitting on an empty water barrel to the left of King Jenran.
Koram, the head of the mercenaries and Darius’ previous commander,
leaned on the walking staff he used daily. Regan, the captain of
the guard, stood in the classic ‘at ease’ position to Darius’ left.
He had just come off watch duty. Trenar met Darius’ eyes briefly
from his position in the center of the room. He was the chief of
the King’s intelligence and also a former slave. Ewian stood on the
opposite side of the King, watching as well. Darius had served with
or under these men and respected each. If anything could be said
for King Jenran, he knew how to choose the men at his back.

“I received word an hour ago that a group of
about fifty men deserted the main company earlier today, roughly
four hours after we left them. The men that ambushed us were not of
that company, but we believe them to be in league with the
deserters. For how else would they know we were coming this
way?”

“So, what is to be our next move?” Koram
asked.

“We are going to keep pressing onward,” the
king said. “If our sources are correct, Kiylin is in the control of
rebels. They have taken my family hostage in the castle and are
waiting for us to return.”

“Do they know that we are aware they have
taken Kiylin?” Regan asked.

The king looked to Trenar. “Not as far as we
know, but once the deserters reach them, they will know we are
suspicious.”

“The reason I have called you here,” Jenran
explained as he straightened in his chair, “is we need to get
inside the city walls. Once within, there is a chance we can wage
warfare in the streets. If the citizens are willing to assist us,
we can cripple the enemy until the army gets here.” He left the
alternative unspoken, but each of them understood the risk.

Koram readjusted his grip on his staff and
leaned his head against his hands. Trenar took a seat and Ewian
began to pace the small space in the center of the room.

Ewian suddenly stopped pacing. “If we ride up
to the gates without acting suspiciously they might let us into the
city, thinking we don’t know that the city has been taken. Of
course, we cannot be sure that they will. We may lose the battle
before it has begun.”

“Darius,” Jenran said suddenly, calling
everyone’s attention to Darius. Even Ewian stopped his pacing to
raise an eyebrow at him. “You have said nothing this evening.”

“Yes,” Regan smiled. “We all know you are
sparing with words, but nothing? This is extreme, even for you.
What is brewing?”

“I have just been thinking,” Darius
answered.

“That is obvious,” Koram pointed out leaning
forward on his stick. “Are you going to share your
conclusions?”

“If we don’t know our enemy,” Darius said
slowly, glancing pointedly in Trenar’s direction. “Then I recommend
we prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”

Koram immediately protested. “If we approach
our own gates armed to the teeth, we will be attacked first. They
will know we are prepared to fight them and they will take the
initiative.”

Regan nodded. “Attack first; ask questions
later.”

Before Darius could even open his mouth to
clarify, Ewian did it for him. “But they don’t have to know we are
armed for battle. If we just cover our weapons and keep out of any
recognizable formation, they will not know we are expecting attack
until after we are through the gates.”