Black Dorn [submission/punishment/bondage] (13 page)

Branwyn watched Duncan cross
the courtyard. He was filthy with road dust and held his side. With
difficulty, he knelt. "Gon."

"Why are you not with M…the
gon-dra?"

"He sent me
away."

Branwyn heard a tremble in
Duncan's voice.

He raised his head. "He is
gone to find the one who captured Nalar."

"You are hurt?"

"He bound my wound and told
me to return with the others." Duncan looked into the eyes of his
gon. "My wound is not so bad that I could not serve
him."

The gonness held out her
hand to help him stand. "You are a loyal servant to Malack. He sent
you home to heal. Rest."

Head sagging, Duncan walked
toward the castle.

Branwyn signaled to Leah,
who hurried to stand by her mistress. "Go to Duncan. Bathe him.
Feed him. See to his wound. And I do not wish you to serve me until
tomorrow." Leah dropped a quick curtsey then hurried to catch up
with Duncan.

Grim silence fell on the
remaining people. A wagon carrying the dead entered the courtyard.
The gon and gonness walked toward it. Branwyn remained close. As a
soldier pulled back each blanket, a face was revealed, a name
called and a mournful wail released. The gonness spoke to each
family, offering brief words of condolence.

When the soldiers delivered
the last body to his family, the gon and his wife returned to the
castle. "Branwyn, join us. Come and meet Malack's youngest
brother."

As they entered his
bedchamber, Pettra dropped to his knees before his father. "Gon, I
humbly apologize from my very soul that I lost Uplands. I was
deceived."

The gon sat and indicated
that his son do the same. "You are young and have much to learn.
But we will talk of this later. What of Nalar?"

"Stephan of Langor was the
traitor. He captured Nalar and wanted to ransom him for title to
all of Uplands. Malack dispatched Langor. We sent soldiers in every
direction seeking Nalar, but," He shook his head. "Nothing." Pettra
turned to Branwyn. "I have a message to deliver. My brother told me
to find the most beautiful woman in the castle. You are
Branwyn?"

"Yes." Her heart pounded as
she waited for the message.

"Malack swore me to tell you
that he remembers his vow. He will return."

The gonness pointed at
Branwyn. "Now you, off to your chambers and rest. It has been a
tiring day. Standing out in the hot sun for so long." She
mother-henned Branwyn to the door. "Where is your
waiting-lady?"

"I sent her to help Duncan
and forbad her to return to me the rest of this day."

The gonness snapped her
fingers. A young girl ran over. "You serve Branwyn today. Take her
to her room."

Days and weeks passed, and
still Branwyn waited. No messenger delivered news of Malack or
Nalar. The castle resumed its daily routine, but an anxious tension
hung in the gon's chambers.

The gonness' day of birth
celebration brought a joyful distraction from the monotonous
waiting. The servants brought wondrous foods to the table. They
enjoyed a spectacular new food called chocolate. It was warm and
liquid. It filled Branwyn with a pleasant feeling.

The troubadours entertained
for the evening. A young girl started singing about a lost love
when suddenly, the doors flung open and a dozen soldiers marched
into the hall. The majority hung back a respectful distance while
the tallest stood before the gon. He did not bow or offer any
salute of respect. "Gon."

The troubadours scurried to
the safety of sides where the castle guards stood alert, ready to
defend their gon. The gon rose. "Timous."

Branwyn caught her breath.
Malack's most hated rival was his twin brother. Their physiques
were similar, but where Malack displayed power, Timous showed
contempt.

"I have come to claim my
possession. I purchased a dune, yet I get nothing but messages. One
cannot bed a message."

Trea walked to the head
table and knelt before the gon. She did not look at
Timous.

The gon's voice held a hint
of anger and curiosity. "Explain."

"The dune selected for
Timous was not trainable and is no longer under my instruction."
Her voice was controlled.

The gonness slipped her hand
into her husband's and squeezed. With forced casualness, she
reached for her wine, caught Branwyn's glance and sent a silent
message.

Branwyn picked up her linen
napkin and daintily wiped an invisible crumb from her face. She
remained expressionless and still, not wanting to attract Timous'
attention.

Her mind raced and her body
trembled. Malack's hated rival had purchased her and was supposed
to be her master. Thanks the gods, Malack was keeping her from that
fate. Tragor to him would have been torture. Someone who looks like
her lover, but was as different as a moonless night from a
sun-filled day.

"Not trainable?" Timous'
eyebrows rose. "A mere woman could not be trained by Black Dorn? Is
the castle growing weak? Maybe I should take it and return it to
its once great power." His mouth curled into an ugly
sneer.

A roar rose from the crowd.
Several men stood and pulled their swords, ready to do battle with
anyone who insulted Black Dorn. Timous' men drew their swords and
formed a circle around their leader. The gon rose and held out his
hands, shouting, "Silence! There will be no fighting
here."

A voice rang out from the
doorway. "Black Dorn is strong, and can not and will not be taken
by you."

Malack? Branwyn gasped and
turned.

He entered the great hall.
Filth stained his clothes and weariness etched his face. He strode
up to his brother, but said nothing. Timous signaled his men to
return to their places at the sides. Malack continued to cross the
hall and bowed his head before his father. "Gon, I have failed." He
placed a broken sword on the table. "I return alone. Nalar was dead
when I found him."

The gon placed a hand on his
dead son's sword as painful wail resonated from the gonness. She
covered her mouth with her hand.

Malack ran his hand across
the top of his head. "I buried him in the abbey at Uplands. The
monks have promised to pray for his soul."

"And his executor?" The
gon's jaw clenched as he spoke.

"Dealt with."

The Gon bowed his head. "I
thank you for all that you have done for Black Dorn."

Timous mimicked his father.
"I thank you…Bah! Nalar was a weak and ineffectual
soldier."

Malack turned, drew his
sword and pressed it into Timous' neck. "He was your
brother."

Timous' sword was in his
hand. "I have no brothers." He tapped Malack's sword with his. "I
did not come here to fight. I came to get my dune. The one I
purchased, but never received."

Malack lowered his sword,
looked at Duna Trea, and followed her eyes to Branwyn.

A cold chill shivered down
his spine.

Timous licked his lips. "If
I cannot have the one I purchased, I shall take another. Maybe
two."

"You may take nothing from
Black Dorn."

"You cannot tell me what I
can and cannot do."

"I am Gon-Dra of Black
Dorn."

"I am the stronger soldier,
smarter and more cunning. I should be gon-dra." He threw his chest
forward. "I could make Black Dorn the most feared castle in all the
land. The riches and power should be mine."

"The title, by birthright,
is mine."

Timous waved his sword in
Malack's face. "Only if you do not die."

Malack slapped Timous' sword
away.

"Worried I might give you
another scar?" The sneer on his face matched the tone of his
voice.

"Why are you here? It is not
for a Dune. Or do you need twelve strong soldiers to help you
control a mere woman?" Malack waited until the patrons had stopped
chuckling. Scratching his chin, he tilted his head to the side. "Or
are you trying to take the castle with twelve men? I rode in behind
you. There are no others to help you fight. You cannot hope to win
with such a small garrison."

"I only need to kill
one."

Malack stared at his brother
for a moment. "Your hatred of me is that strong?"

"I should be gon-dra!"
Timous held his sword to his chest, the hilt forming a
cross.

Malack flinched. Branwyn
noticed, but did not understand what had startled him. Neither
brother spoke.

A lecherous grin crossed
Timous' mouth as he pointed his sword at Branwyn. "That is quite a
beauty that sits in the place next to the gon-dra's. I imagine she
beds well."

Malack turned to the gon.
"This must be ended or Black Dorn will always have a suspect
neighbor. If the castle is to be truly safe, all must be loyal to
it. Timous and I will fight. By birthright, I am gon-dra. Let us
see what the fates decide." He faced his brother. "We fight. Alone.
In the courtyard. The one who returns is gon-dra."

"Malack. Timous." The
gonness stood. "My sons."

The gon grabbed his wife's
hand and pulled her to her seat. "It must be. Malack is
right."

"But my son…our
son?"

Malack bowed his head to his
mother. Timous sneered in contempt. Side by side, they strode out
the door. Neither spoke.

The great hall remained
silent. Timous' men grouped together. The gonness quietly cried
into her napkin, while the gon conferred with his captain of the
guard. Soldiers clustered near the royal table. Their swords were
drawn.

Branwyn was torn between
panic and numbness. Malack looked exhausted. His shoulders slumped
forward and dark circles underlined bloodshot eyes. Slashes in his
clothing hinted at bloodied wounds hidden beneath. When had he
slept or eaten last? Could he beat a healthy, well-fed, well-rested
opponent?

If Timous won. If Timous
won? The terrifying thought circled her mind--would she be given to
him, as he would be the gon-dra? To be handed to him? To have to
tragor to his touch, his kisses, his manhood? Her stomach lurched.
She tasted bile.

Thoughts tried to push their
way into her mind. She fought to suppress them, but they floated
through. What about her baby? Her hand rubbed her belly. Would
Timous allow her to keep it? A cry escaped her. Malack might never
know he had fathered their child. A jolt of fear made her tremble.
What if the baby is a boy? Malack's son. Would Timous allow him to
live? The son of his hated rival. What if it is a girl? Would he
sell her to be a dune as she had been sold? Tears began to pour
down Branwyn's cheeks.

Never again to be kissed by
him. The harder she fought to stop her wild and random thoughts the
more they wormed their way into her consciousness. To be touched by
him. To feel his hand caressing my breast. To stop the sensations
of remembering his touch, she attempted to take a sip of wine. She
could not. Her hand shook too much.

She balled her napkin into a
tight mess, squeezing so hard her knuckles turned white. How long
had it been? She looked to the gonness for comfort. The fear on the
gonness' face showed she also thought the fight had taken too
long.

What if? What if? What if?
whirled around her brain.

The doors opened. Timous
stepped forward. The gonness screamed and threw herself onto her
husband. Branwyn could not react. She refused to believe what her
eyes saw.

Then, with the tip of his
own sword pressed into his back, Timous stopped before the
gon.

Malack growled, "Kneel!"
Sweat poured from Malack's face. His breath came in labored gasps.
Both men had fresh wounds dripping blood.

Timous stood. His icy cold
gaze never left his brother's face. Malack swung the sword at his
legs. He crumpled to his knees. Grabbing Timous' hair, he pulled
his face up. "Tell them what you did. Tell them why I have the
right to kill you."

Timous spat at Malack, but
missed.

Malack jerked his brother's
face up. "Tell them!"

"Damn you to
hell!"

Malack slammed the hilt of
his sword across Timous' back. He fell face first, to the stone
floor. With his foot pressed on his brother's neck, Malack raised
Timous' sword to the room. "When I found Nalar's executor, I tried
to force him to speak. I wanted to know who the traitor was. Who
started the battle against Uplands? Who was trying to break our
power? He died before he spoke the traitor's name. A farmer
described the traitor's sword—dripping in blood. Look at the hilt."
He held it high.

On the sword were small red
stones placed to look like a river of blood running from hilt to
blade. "The abbot at Uplands told me if I was light then the
traitor was darkness. I did not understand until I saw this
sword—your sword." He pressed his foot harder on his brother's
neck. "The abbot meant us—as brothers."

He closed his eyes, gathered
his thoughts, then spoke in a clear voice, "You ordered the raid on
Uplands in order to breach a crack in Black Dorn's power. Cunning?
Bah! Cowardly! You were not at the castle when I arrived. I
traveled to Uplands to defend it. You ran and hid after ordering
the death of my brother. You could not kill him yourself. Again, a
coward. And you may not have Branwyn!" He raised the sword. "For
Black Dorn! Rot in hell!" He drove it through his brother's
back.