Knight Avenged (30 page)

Heart so heavy his chest hurt, Henrik finished lacing his tunic. Boot soles rasping against the dirt floor, he left his knives on the table, picked up Cosmina’s necklace, and turned toward the bed. The ancient disc that doubled as a key swung from a delicate chain made of silver links. Back and forth. To and fro. A pendulum of movement that sent him back to White Temple and the instant he’d first laid eyes on her.

So feisty. So full of life.

So goddamned beautiful, clothed in boy’s trews and a bad attitude.

His mouth curved. Remorse killed his amusement, filling his chest, squeezing around his heart, making it difficult to breathe as he tumbled back into the present. The necklace came back into focus. Delicate yet stron
g . . .
just like Cosmina. And unlike him at the moment. Bowing his head, Henrik fought the claw of emotion—the need, the want, the god-awful yearning. Firelight flickered against the timber beam walls and off the silver links coiled in his palm, throwing light into the room, mocking him with a warmth he didn’t feel and in no way deserved. Comfort didn’t belong in his corner. Not anymore.

Not after what he’d done.

Raising his arms, Henrik cupped the back of his neck and pressed down. Taut muscles squawked. Pain streaked down his spine, then clawed across his lower back. He barely noticed. Was too busy telling himself to put his feet to good use and go. To head for the door, ’cause—God. He sure as hell shouldn’t be standing inside Cosmina’s cottage, occupying the same space, defiling her with his presence while longing to hold her close. Just as he had during the night when her nightmares arrived, and she’d fought demons he couldn’t see, never mind vanquish, for her.

His fault. Every terrible moment of it.

Putting her in Thrall had opened mental doors she’d shut long ago. Probing her mind to find what he needed had made it worse, unearthing memories, releasing her monsters—all the things Cosmina kept tucked away and struggled to forget. Things she no doubt didn’t want him to know. But it was too late. He’d seen her past, felt her fear in the wee hours, and held her close while she cried out in her sleep. Henrik closed his eyes as recall spun him around the lip of self-loathing. He shook his head, trying to banish the abhorrence, consoling himself with the fact he’d tried to help. Had done his utmost to banish the ghosts and ease her suffering. It hadn’t worked, so he’d wrapped his arms around her instead, whispered nonsense, stroked her hair an
d . . .

Hated himself the whole time for causing her pain.

Which meant he needed to leave. Right now. Before she woke to find him mooning over her like a lovesick lad. A clean break. A quick getaway. Both would be best—safer for her, more advisable for him to cut his losses and walk away while he could, bu
t . . .

Deep-seated longing wouldn’t let him.

He needed to touch Cosmina one last time.

Drawn to her against his will, his feet took him to the side of her bed. Fast asleep now, red hair a tangled web around her head, she lay on her side, curled beneath the coverlet, face pale, body relaxed, and mind exhausted. Guilt tightened its grip. Henrik cleared his throat and, unable to help himself, reached for a lock of her hair. The soft strands clung to his fingertips, making his heart throb as he remembered. Her struggle. The gentle insistence he’d wielded to subdue her at the hot spring. Her slide into terrible dreams and restless slumber in the aftermath of mental conquest. Goddamn it, he was a first-rate bastard. The lowest of the low for using his magic against her. It didn’t matter he’d had little choice. The facts spoke for themselves and couldn’t be refuted—he’d entered her mind, gone against her wishes to retrieve information.

To save himself. To protect his comrades. For the goddess and the greater good.

He flexed his fingers, fisting his hand around the key. The metal dug into his palm, and Henrik swallowed a snarl.
The greater good.
Jesus. If only it were that simple. The end didn’t always justify the means. He knew that. And yet he’d done it anyway, cornering Cosmina, pulling the information he needed from her mind, cursing himself as she whispered his name, asking him to stop. He hadn’t listened, and that, more than anything, laid him low. Made him recoil inside even as he yearned for her forgiveness.

Another thing that would never come.

Aye, he’d been gentle. So what. Big deal. The manner of it didn’t matter. Leaving her unharmed wasn’t the point. Hurt took on many different forms, the physical kind just one of them. So nay, he didn’t deserve absolution. He had no right to ask for it and knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, Cosmina would never grant it. He’d wronged her. She would hold him accountable. But only if he braved her wrath an
d . . .

Stayed for the reckoning.

Surprisingly enough, the idea appealed to him. An angry Cosmina, after all, seemed better than the alternative: no Cosmina at all. But even as the thought chased its tail inside his head, tempting him to a dangerous degree, Henrik dismissed it. He couldn’t stay. She couldn’t come where he was going—into battle with the Druinguari—so he traced her cheek with his fingertip instead, memorizing every detail—the softness of her skin, the beauty of her face, the way she tasted along with the incredible way she fit in his arms. He lingered a moment longer, then turned away, and strode toward the table. And his weapons.

Time to go. Even less of it to waste.

The wildlife was getting restless outside.

He could tell by the pitch of his brothers-in-arms’ voices. The heavy stamp and claw of the horses’ hooves on the snowy ground too. His comrades awaited him in the clearing. Each was ready to ride, eager to fight, just five strides and one closed door away. But as Henrik strapped on the twin swords he favored and sheathed his knifes, he paused, his gaze on the piece of parchment he’d left on the tabletop. Small. Neatly folded. Ragged on one edge from being torn from the journal he liked to carry. Naught but crisp white corners and messy handwriting, an inadequate good-bye to the woman who now held his heart.

Henrik stared at the note a moment, wondering if he’d lost his mind. He shouldn’t leave it there. Should crumple the wretched thing into a ball and feed it to the fire. ’Twould be wiser, the kindest choice for Cosmina in the long run. She didn’t need to know how he felt. ’Twas the height of selfishness to leave her with the knowledge, never mind the burden.

Somehow, though, logic didn’t hold sway.

Right. Wrong. Neither mattered anymore.

In the end, it came down to one thing. An unforgivable, irrefutable fact. He didn’t want her to forget him. Needed to know she thought of him often—as often as he would her. So instead of picking up the missive and throwing it away, he unsheathed his favorite dagger—the one he carried next to his heart—set the weapon atop the parchment, then laid her necklace over both. An inadequate explanation anchored by a gift—a blade, expertly designed and exquisitely wrought, the only thing of worth he had to give. Leaving the offerings in the center of the table, he made for the exit. Flicking the handle, Henrik opened the door, and without looking back, latched it tightly behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Standing in front of the fireplace wearing nothing but her rabbit-fur throw, Cosmina pulled the coverlet tighter around her. Flames licked between the logs, throwing heat into the room, warming her bare feet as the pelt settled against the nape of her neck. Soft fur against her skin—undeniable luxury, unerring comfort inside her cottage, a safe haven far from the dangers of the world. And yet, the idea of safety—of hearth and home, and all material goods she used to define it—didn’t soothe her in the usual ways. No pride for her sanctuary. No satisfaction at its warmth. Naught to ease her mind or calm the raging beat of her heart.

Unusual in and of itself.

She took great pride in her home. Loved the security it offered inside the Limwoods. The dawn of a new day, however, had changed everything, banishing neat and tidy in favor of messy and morose. And solace? Cosmina huffed. It wasn’t in the offing. Had disappeared somewhere between here and ther
e . . .
that mystical place between absolute certainty and unequaled doubt. Now safe—all things ordinary—felt thin, without their usual weight, like fine comfort cloaked in empty promises. Not surprising. Particularly since she couldn’t turn off her brain. She was too far-gone, deep in a space where it would be better to forget, but she couldn’t let go of the memories, of heart-wrenching loss, and the fact
. . .

Henrik was gone.

Cosmina had known it the instant she opened her eyes. No proof to speak of. No need to look further. No reason to rouse her gift to corroborate the truth. Call it woman’s intuition. Or perhaps, a lover’s disappointment. Whatever the case, she’d just
known
. In the same way she knew she shouldn’t accept the dagger.

Or read the note he’d left on the table alongside it.

Unable to resist, Cosmina glanced over her shoulder. Again. For what seemed like the thousandth time. Surprise, surprise. Nothing new there. She’d been doing the same dance for the better part of an hour. Stare at the folded piece of parchment, talk herself out of picking it up, then look away. Back and forth. Yank, heave, drag—a tug-of-war without end. And yet, she hadn’t moved a muscle. Still hadn’t snatched the blasted thing off the table and hurled it into the fire. Instead she stood stock-still, gaze locked to the blaze Henrik had built before he left, while trying to ignore his damned note.

Without a great deal of success.

In truth, she was failing. Resolve slipping by the second. The treacherous need to know—to accept one last part of him—dragging her closer to the precipice and her doom.

All part of Henrik’s evil plan, no doubt.

A cunning strategist, he’d set the trap, baiting the lure with the one thing he knew she couldn’t resis
t . . .
a blade. And not just any knife either. ’Twas his dagger. She recognized the hilt. Remembered admiring its beauty while lounging in bed with him. Most men would’ve called her interest unnatural. Not Henrik. He hadn’t balked. Had simply handed her the weapon instead—allowed her to test its weight, listened to her praise the design, and smiled when she’d balanced the blade between her fingertips and taken aim, pretending to throw it. The memory tightened her throat. Cosmina shook her head, trying not to appreciate his gift even as she itched to feel the hilt in her hand.

Treacherous, diabolical, beautiful man.

He knew just how to play her. And like it or nay, she was falling right into his tra
p . . .
into the memories and her need to touch something of his. To hold it close. To own it so she didn’t forget, remembered him always even though he’d left her wanting, slipping out her door, walking out of her life, all without saying good-bye.

Or looking back.

“Arrogant ass,” she rasped, the hurt so thick her chest ached. “Double-damned fool.”

The name-calling should’ve helped. It didn’t. Not in the slightest. In truth, it made her feel worse. Made her feel small and restless an
d . . .
wrong. Henrik wasn’t a fool. Wasn’t much for arrogance either. He’d been good to her, right up until the end. Cosmina swallowed past the lump in her throat, refusing to let heartache win. But it was hard. So blasted difficult. She wanted to scream at the unfairness. Let loose, release the pressure building behind her breastbone and—

Gods, she didn’t know what to do. What to say. Or how to feel.

She couldn’t get a handle on the emotion, never mind hold it down. But she needed t
o . . .
right now. Before she abandoned all restraint, folded beneath the onslaught, and let her love for him win.

She reached for anger instead. Grabbed hold, held on tight, and let it burn.

’Twas the better choice. She needed fury to sustain her—to help her survive the emotional lash of betrayal and the impact of what he’d done. Bowing her head, Cosmina squeezed her eyes shut and relived the sensation. The terrible throb between her temples. The absolute loss of control. The mind-bending torque of his magic, the ferocity of his gift as he dragged her deep into Thrall.

The memory of it stung.

Her ineptitude made her cringe.

Gods. ’Twas unbelievable. She should have seen it coming. That she hadn’t made her question her own skills. Cosmina pursed her lips. A rare lapse in judgment. Aye, that was what it amounted t
o . . .
one she blamed on her feelings for him. Call her a lovesick fool. Chalk it up to inexperience and let it lie. The surprise, though, couldn’t be dismissed. His ability to ambush her mattered. ’Twas too big a puzzle. As mysterious as it was difficult to explain, because—drat it all. She should’ve sensed the raw talent in him.

Her gift should have recognized his.

Too bad clarity hadn’t come to the party. She’d understood too late. After all was said. After everything was done. Not soon enough to protect herself. Now her heart lay in tatters, and all she had left was a beautiful dagger and Henrik’s note.

The stupid, wretched note
.

Eyes narrowed, Cosmina glared over her shoulder at it. Crisp and white, the perfect folds mocked her. With a grumble, she spun away from the fire. The fast whirl pushed air into the hearth. Logs shifted and flames snapped, protesting the sudden movement. Cosmina ignored the fierce crackle and pop and, stomping around the edge of the tabletop, snatched her necklace from atop the small pile. Quick hands looped the silver links over her head. The key swung wide, then landed, bumping against her breastbone. The gentle tap unleashed her temper. Reaching out, she curled her hand around the knife hilt.

Leather settled in her palm. One fast rotation. Another quick shift, and the blade sat perched between her fingertips. Baring her teeth, Cosmina drew her arm back, took aim, and threw it hard. In perfect balance, the blade obeyed, hurtling end over end toward the opposite wall. She watched it fly. Felt satisfaction rise and—

Thunk!

The knifepoint hit the timber beam dead center and sank deep. Violent sound echoed, throbbing through the quiet as the hilt quivered from the force of impact. Perfect precision. Unerring aim. X marked the intended spot, wounding the undeserving wood.

“Take that,” she said into the stillness.

“Do you feel better now?” someone asked, the magic-filled whisper frothing into the room.

The voice made her jump a foot and yelp in surprise. Fists raised in defense, Cosmina spun away from the table and set her stance. Radiance spilled from the opposite corner of the cottage. Driven by magic, illumination gathered, taking shape and form until a woman stepped from the sparkling light. Cosmina’s mouth fell open. Surprise circled into awe. By the gods—holy mother, the keeper of light and shadow—the Goddess of All Things now stood in her home. Robed in power, majesty folded the deity in an ethereal glow, making her aura burn bright white.

Stunned into stupidity, Cosmina stood stock-still, not knowing what to do. Or how to respond. Some sort of greeting was no doubt in order, but disbelief stole her brain, leaving her standing slack-jawed without a thing to say. The goddess, after all, had only ever visited her inside the dreamscape, where things made sense and seemed less real. But this—the glory of her presence inside her small cottage—surpassed surreal, catapulting her into astonishment and the beginnings of unease.

Had she done something wrong? Did the goddess’ arrival signal—

“You’ve naught to fear, child. I come in peace,” the goddess said, soothing the worry before glancing at the dagger still vibrating in the wall. She stared at it a moment, then returned her focus to Cosmina. Speculation in her eyes, the goddess raised a brow. “Wel
l . . .
do you?”

“Feel better?” she asked, swimming past shock to regain mental equilibrium.

The goddess nodded.

Cosmina sighed. “Not really.”

“You are suffering.”

“I am angry.”

“To be expected. Men are ofttimes difficult, Cosmina,” the goddess said, stepping around the foot of the bed. “They are a mystery unto the ages. Most cause more harm than good.”

“Mayhap, but not—”

“Henrik?” Slipping her hands inside the wide sleeves of her gown, the goddess approached with silent steps. A million secrets in her eyes, she stopped at the edge of the table, leaving the stained surface between them. “If you believe that, child, why did you let him go?”

“I had no choice.”

“Didn’t you?”

The question took her by surprise. The goddess’ expectant expression took her the rest of the way. Both hands fisted in rabbit fur, Cosmina pulled the throw tight across her shoulders and frowned.
No choice.
Powerful words with incredible impact. Now she wondered whether they were true. She hadn’t tried to make Henrik stay. Hadn’t voiced how she felt or encouraged him to come back. Hadn’t done much of anything at all, so—

Cosmina frowned. Drat and damn. She’d simply let him leav
e . . .
without a fight.

More fool her. The goddess knew it. Now she did too.

Regret whispered through her, making her heart ache. “Is it too late, Majesty? Have I lost all hope?”

“Time turns and things change, Cosmina, and so must we, bu
t . . .
” Understanding in her eyes, her mouth curved. “Love is forever. Do not lose faith in that, child. In the end, ’tis all we have or will ever hope to leave behind.”

The advice lit a fire inside her. No matter how angry with Henrik, she wanted the truth. Had she made a terrible mistake? Could she forge a real future with him? Was he worth fighting for? The questions jabbed at her. She couldn’t deny the appeal. Or her need to kno
w . . .
once and for all. Spinning on her heel, Cosmina strode toward her cabinet. She needed to get dresse
d . . .
right now. Intuition gathered, pulling up stakes inside her mind. She couldn’t stay here. Not an instant longer.

“Thank you for your visit, Majesty, but I must go.” Reaching the armoire door, Cosmina flipped it open. A list streamed into her head as she stared at the shelves—extra clothes, lots of food, all her weapons. She would need every bit of it to survive her journey to Drachaven. “I need to find him.”

“Nay, Cosmina.” Raising an invisible hand, the goddess halted her forward progress. Magic swirled, scenting the air with hollyhocks as she spun Cosmina back to face her. Heart locked in her throat, frozen in place, she met the deity’s gaze. Expression set in serious lines, the goddess shook her head. “I cannot allow you to travel the mountain passes to Drachaven. Not while evil looms and the Blessed return to White Temple.”

“But—”

“Be patient, child. I set the wheel in motion, atoning for my mistakes by placing Henrik in your path. If it is meant to be, Henrik will come back to you. For now, remember your duty to the Order of Orm and do as I command,” the goddess said. “You completed the ancient rite and have heard the call. You feel the tug toward home. Heed it, Cosmina. Return to the temple. Welcome your sisters and make ready for the High Priestess’ return to holy ground.”

The words filled her with purpose. “It will be done, Majesty.”

“Then go, child, and know you are not alone.” White light glimmering in her aura, the goddess released her. Able to move again, Cosmina breathed a sigh of relief and watched spellbound as the deity faded before her eyes. “I will be with you. Oh, and Cosmin
a . . .
”

The all-powerful voice drifted on a whisper, wavering in thin air. A moment later, the Goddess of All Things disappeared in a ripple of sparkling light.

“Read the note, child,” the goddess breathed from beyond the earthly realm. “Read his note.”

Wonder made her heart skip a beat. As it resumed pounding, Cosmina heeded the call and, stepping up to the table edge, reached for the note. Fear almost made her stop, trying to convince her that—despite the goddess’ insistence—Henrik’s message wasn’t worth reading. That she didn’t need to know. That ’twas the height of foolishness to hope. But her hand refused to listen, picking up the parchment, unfolding the creases, opening the note for her eyes to se
e . . .
and her heart to read.

Cosmina,

I am sorry. Please forgive me.

I love you.

H

Three sentences. Simple, no nonsens
e . . .
direct and to the point, devastating as the message sank in and the truth struck home. He loved her. The impact of it made her knees wobble. Wonder bubbled up, splashed through her, spilling over the edge of reason, obliterating doubt as it scored a direct hit to her heart. Tears filled her eyes. Oh na
y . . .
oh blas
t . . .
damn Henrik to hell and back. Of all the things to say, or rather, write and—

Goddess help her.

She was going to lose control. Become messy. Cry like a weak-willed ninny—or whatever a girl did when dealing with a man who touched her heart. One hand cupped over her mouth, Cosmina shook her head and retreated a step. And then another. The table edge bumped her bottom. Gaze still riveted to the missive, she reached out and searched for a stool. Smooth wood met her palm. She sank into the seat, shock making it hard to draw a full breath. Filling her lungs, she forced her chest to expand and stared at the messy scrawl. Moments ticked past, falling into more as she struggled to process the message and find fault. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. The flaw didn’t exist. And fury? ’Twas naught but ancient history now.