Midnight Warrior

  “An island!” Richard snorted in disgust. “How can a woman find one island in a vast sea? Or am I supposed to sail aimlessly until I find this island?”

  “When I found Brynn she was in the forest far away from Kythe on the road to the village of Selkirk. Selkirk is on the sea. Doesn’t that suggest she must have knowledge of where this island is located?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Encouraged by Richard’s interest, he took a step closer and said eagerly, “Can’t you see? We need Brynn back.”

  We. Did the fool actually think he would share such a treasure if it did exist? However, it could prove wise to continue to foster the belief. Delmas was not only familiar with this Welsh village but was Brynn’s husband and might be able to influence the woman. He turned and went back to his chair. His step was a little steadier; the effect of the ale must be leaving him. Good. He would need a clear head to sift truth from myth.

  Treasure. It seemed too easy a solution to his plight.

  Yet didn’t he deserve a stroke of good fortune after the way fate had ravaged him? A useless woman as his wife, a king who could not keep his lords’ lands safe from those Normans. Yes, it was time Richard was given his due.

  He sat down and stared with contempt at Delmas’s eager expression. Disgusting creature. How low he had fallen to be forced to deal with this vermin. He leaned back and allowed himself a faint smile. “If what you say is true, then I agree we must try to retrieve your wife from the Norman.”

  “It is true. I swear it.”

  “Oaths have little value. You want her back.”

  Delmas hesitated and then reached into the pouch at his belt. “I have proof. She had this when I found her. It was on a chain she wore about her neck and she fought like a young wolverine when I took it from her.”

  The small, perfect ruby in Delmas’s palm shone bright in the candlelight.

  Richard carefully hid his sudden interest. “It is of no great size.”

  “But clear and of an excellent color. Where would a simple village girl get such a jewel?”

  Richard took the jewel and held it closer to the candle flame. The ruby was quite perfect. “Where, indeed,” he murmured. He leaned back in his chair. “But I must know a great deal more before I can judge whether it’s because you lust after her body or this so-called treasure. Tell me more of your meeting with Brynn of Falkhaar and this Gwynthal.”

  “Where is Gwynthal?” Malik asked.

  Brynn stiffened, stopped in mid motion of spreading salve around the wound. “What?”

  “Gwynthal. That is where you were born, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She took more salve from the pot. “But I don’t remember telling you about it.”

  “She didn’t tell you,” Gage Dumont said from across the tent. “I would have remembered.”

  “Perhaps you weren’t in the tent.” Malik frowned, trying to remember.

  “I’ve scarcely left you since that first night,” Gage said.

  It was true, Brynn thought. He had been a powerful, vigilant presence since the moment of Malik’s awakening, watching her for any false step, encouraging Malik. At times she had felt the sheer force of his will alone was pulling Malik farther and farther from the darkness.

  Malik was still perplexed. “Cool green forests, wonders around every bend …” he murmured.

  Her own words when she had been trying to reach him that first night.

  “That’s right, isn’t it, Brynn?” Malik asked.

  “That’s right.” She smiled at him. “I told you about Gwynthal the night I first came. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

  “I didn’t know I did.” Malik yawned. “It just came back to me.”

  “But you said Malik had not awakened during the night,” Gage Dumont said softly. “Or didn’t you tell me the truth?”

  “I don’t lie.” She started bandaging the wound. “Sometimes I can reach deep just by talking. I try to remind those who are away how much there is waiting for them if they come back to us.”

  “Surely an odd thing to do,” the Norman said.

  She whirled on him. “I do what I have to do. If you can do better, heal him yourself.”

  Malik quickly intervened. “I think you are very clever. Gwynthal must be very beautiful. Any man would want to come back to such a place.”

  She relaxed as she glanced at him. “Yes, very beautiful. I’ve never seen such a lovely, peaceful place.”

  “Peaceful?” Gage’s tone was mocking. “I didn’t think there was such a place on this earth.”

  “Because you do not seek it. Like all warriors, you would rather kill and maim. Gwynthal has always been at peace.”

  “I cannot believe that.”

  No, Gage Dumont was everything that was dark and violent and storm-ridden. He would not accept or understand a land like Gwynthal. Yet she did not see that darkness when he spoke to Malik, she realized suddenly. When he was with his friend it was as if a brilliant ray of sunlight pierced the clouds, enveloping, absorbing everything in its path. What would it be like to have that brilliance centered on one? It would probably be even more disconcerting than the darkness. “I did not ask you to believe me.”

  “If Gwynthal is such a wondrous place, I’m curious as to why you’re here among the savages.”

  “That is not an intelligent question to ask a woman who you call your slave. I had no choice. I was brought here.” She finished bandaging the wound. “There, it is looking much better, Malik. The healing is beginning.”

  “It itches,” Malik said drowsily.

  “A good sign, but don’t scratch it.” She rose to her feet. “Take a nap now while I go and heat water to wash you.”

  She left the tent and strode toward the campfire. She drew a deep breath of clean, cold air. She had not realized how tense she had been until she had escaped Gage Dumont’s presence. Those ice-blue eyes were too cold and watchful; he saw too much.

  “May I be of service, demoiselle?” She turned to see Paul LeFont approaching on horseback. She had seen him infrequently since that first night, but he had been polite, even kind on those occasions. She remembered how fierce and stern he had looked beneath the torches in the courtyard. Now, with no armor and no helmet covering his gray-streaked hair, he appeared much more approachable. He was past his thirtieth year, a tall, lean man whose body was likely as hard as his face and whose manner was cool, precise, and confident.

  “I need water for washing,” she said. “If you would be so kind as to have someone fetch it.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” He turned his head and issued an order in French to someone across the camp. “I would do it myself, but I must don armor. I’m leaving at once to escort the prisoners to William’s camp.”

  The prisoners. She had been so involved with healing that she had forgotten those unfortunate souls. “Lord Kells?”

  “Yes, he is among them.”

  “What will happen to them?”

  LeFont shrugged. “That is up to his grace, since Lord Gage says he has no use for them.”

  “Do you have a fondness for this Lord Kells?” Gage asked from behind her.

  Her tension returned at the silky utterance. It was as if the Norman were always trying to capture her in some mischief. “He’s Lady Adwen’s father and the first Saxon lord I knew here in England.”

  Gage nodded dismissingly at LeFont, and the captain rode away. “You did not answer me.”

  “What do you wish me to say?” she said impatiently. “He was not unkind.”

  “And you were grateful?”

  “When I was brought here I was scarcely more than a child and had known a freedom greater than you can dream. Do you think I would be grateful to have a yoke placed around my neck?”

  “You were not born a slave? Then you must have been a captive of war.” He smiled. “How strange, when your perfect Gwynthal has no wars.”

  “Why should it matter how I came to be here? I’m here and I’m healing your fr
iend.”

  “Yes, you are.” He sat down by the fire and stared into the flames. A ray of late afternoon sunlight fell upon him and she suddenly realized that his dark mane was not black but a vibrant deep red. Strange that except in sunlight it looked deepest ebony. He said, “But I find you a disturbing woman and it makes me uneasy that I know little about you. It’s not safe.”

  He found her disturbing? She had never known a man who generated such disquiet in her. She experienced a queer breathlessness whenever he looked in her direction. “Malik is safe with me. I could not harm him even if I would.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “Why not?”

  “I’m a healer,” she said simply. “It would destroy me.”

  “I’ve known many healers on the battlefields where I’ve fought and none of them were destroyed when their charges died.” He smiled cynically. “In fact, I’ve suspected some of them were bribed to help the process.”

  “Then they were not true healers.”

  “And it could never happen in Gwynthal.”

  “Never.”

  At her quiet answer, the mockery faded from his expression. “I’m tempted to believe you.”

  “Good. Then you will not have to stare at me as if you suspected any minute I would slit Malik’s throat.”

  “Perhaps that’s not the only reason I stare at you.”

  Something in his tone caused her to stiffen with wariness. “Of course it is. You trust no one and you thought me a danger to your friend.”

  “You have a leaf in your hair.”

  “What?”

  He rose lithely to his feet and crossed the four paces separating them. He reached out and plucked the small leaf from her hair before lightly touching the tendrils at her temples. “Your hair’s very thick, isn’t it? It’s like a bright silky web …”

  The breathlessness had returned and with it a weakness in her knees. He was huge and powerful towering over her, and she gazed up at him in helpless fascination. She had not noticed the deep curve of his lower lip. She had a sudden impulse to brush the pad of her finger over it.

  She stepped back hurriedly and glanced away. “Web, indeed,” she said brusquely. “It catches everything, that’s why I keep it tied back.” She glanced down the hill. “I wonder where my water is? The captain promised that he’d have a man bring it.”

  She could feel his intent glance on her averted face, but when he spoke his tone was impassive. “Then he’ll be here soon. LeFont does not tolerate laxity.”

  “And neither do you,” she said shrewdly.

  “And neither do I,” he agreed. “I have little patience for those who do not perform well.”

  “We are ready to leave, my lord,” LeFont called from across the camp. He was now at the head of a column of men whose armor gleamed in the sunlight.

  “Good journey,” Gage said. “Give his grace my good wishes and respect. I’ll expect you back in three days’ time.”

  LeFont nodded and lifted his hand and motioned the company forward. How sad that such a splendid parade should be wasted on the making of war, Brynn thought. It was a proud, bold sight—prancing horses, mail-clad soldiers, pennants flying in the crisp breeze.

  The pennants …

  “You seem to find my captain of undue interest,” Gage said with an edge to his voice.

  “He is a fine-looking man,” she said absently. “But I was looking at the pennant. It’s the first time I’ve noticed it.” She pointed to the red insignia blazoned on the white background. “It is most unusual. I’ve seen lions and stags and many other symbols, but never a ball of fire.”

  “It’s not a ball of fire, it’s a comet.”

  “A comet!”

  “Why not? It appeared in the sky last spring. I saw it, I wanted it, it was mine. Do you dislike it?”

  “No. I think it beautiful.” But she stared after the company of soldiers with trepidation. What kind of man was Gage Dumont to have chosen such a symbol? She had known no fear, but even the good monks had crossed themselves when they saw that comet. Yet Gage Dumont had made this supreme gesture of defiance. She felt a sudden desire to escape his presence. “I think I will go search for my water. It is taking far too long.” She started quickly down the hill, her feet stumbling on the scraggly tussocks.

  She could feel him watching her but he did not follow.

  I saw it. I wanted it. It was mine. Arrogant words from an arrogant man. But she had an idea he was much more than he seemed. She glanced back at LeFont, who was now almost out of sight around the bend in the hill. She wished she had not noticed that pennant with its bold comet. It brought back memories of the night she had watched the comet streak across the heavens. The thought that somewhere that same night Gage Dumont had also been looking up at that comet gave her a sense of intimate bonding.

  Bonding? Sweet Mary, even their response to the comet had been different. She had stared in wonder and delight. He had decided to take it for his own. There could never be a bonding between them.

  Brynn opened her eyes at dawn three days later to see Gage Dumont staring at her across the tent. She should be accustomed to it, she thought drowsily. His gaze always seemed to be on her since that day he had plucked the leaf from her hair.

  The pearl-gray rays streamed over him, highlighting the hollow beneath his high cheekbones and turning his ice-blue eyes to the glittering metallic shade found in fine daggers. He looked as if he were carved from granite, warrior-hard and without mercy.

  She inhaled sharply, coming wide awake. Her hands slowly clenched into fists at her side. There was something different in the way he was staring at her. At first there had been antagonism and annoyance and then, lately, a kind of catlike watchfulness, as if he were trying to determine something regarding her. The antagonism and annoyance were still present, but whatever he had been trying to fathom had now been resolved.

  I saw it. I wanted it. It was mine.

  He might look carved from granite, but granite was cold and he did not make her feel cold. She could feel the heat sting her cheeks and a strange liquid weakness in her knees. Fear? No, it was not fear either.

  Whatever it was, she must push it away. Push him away.

  She closed her eyes and nestled closer to Malik.

  She heard a sound that might have been a low curse and was acutely aware of the waves of displeasure Gage Dumont was emitting.

  She did not open her eyes.

  “You should not still be here,” Malik told Gage. “LeFont says William has pushed on toward London. You should be with him, protecting your interests.”

  “I sent a token company of men,” Gage said. “We’ll join him when you’re better.”

  “That may not be until spring. I cannot even sit up yet.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I cannot do anything. I eat and then go back to sleep like a babe.”

  Gage smiled. “I believe you’re a bit impatient. It’s been only four days since we thought you a dead man.”

  “I thought I was too.” He glanced at the flap of the tent. “Where is she?”

  “The woman? She’s outside, boiling water. She had to prepare more salve for your wound.”

  “It must be a truly wonderful salve. I’ve never seen a wound heal so quickly.”

  “You just complained your recovery was taking too long,” Gage teased. “Perhaps the woman is not completely without skill?”

  “Brynn.”

  “What?”

  “Her name is Brynn. You never refer to her by name, just ‘the woman.’ ”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Her name is Brynn,” Malik repeated. “And it makes a difference.”

  “By heaven, I believe you’re besotted with the wench.”

  “Besotted is not the word.”

  “You’ve decided that you’ve been struck by cupid’s arrow again?”

  He shook his head. “No, I thought that only because of the radiance.”

  Gage smiled sardonically. “And the radi
ance has faded?”

  “It hasn’t faded … it’s just … I cannot think of her in intimate terms. It would be a presumption.”

  “It wasn’t a presumption when you became enamored with the Duchess of Balmarin.”

  “That was different.”

  “You said that before. It most certainly is different. One woman is a duchess and the other a slave. The duchess was charming and civilized and your ‘radiant’ healer is prickly as a bramble bush, has a tongue like a scourge, and is the most difficult woman I’ve ever encountered.”

  “I like her,” Malik said simply.

  “You have strange tastes.”

  “I know.” Malik beamed. “Why else would I choose you as a friend? You are not known to be without briars yourself. I’ve decided that I was sent into this world to cast out demons.”

  “You were sent into this world to torment and exasperate.” Gage looked away from him. “Do you want me to give you the woman?”

  “No.” Malik’s gaze narrowed on his face. “That relieves you. Interesting.”

  “I’m sure I’m not to be spared learning what you mean by that remark.”

  “Of course not. Do I not share everything with you? I find it interesting that you are clearly trying to look on Brynn merely as a faceless woman and not a person and that you did not wish to relinquish her.”

  “Nonsense. I wouldn’t offer to give her to you if I wanted to keep her.”

  “Unless you are in conflict regarding her. You value my humble life and she saved it. Perhaps giving her to me was your way of removing temptation from your path.”

  “You think I want to bed the wench?”

  “I know you want to bed Brynn,” Malik said softly. “I’ve had nothing to do but lie here for the last four days and watch you. I know you well, Gage. I could hardly mistake lust when I have seen it so often in you.”

  Gage shrugged. “I’ve been without a woman since we reached England and she has a fine body. It is a natural response.”

  “I’m the last one to give you argument. Lust is entirely natural; it is the anger that I find puzzling. Why do you resent wanting to bed her?”