Midnight Warrior (6 page)

The cold, crisp air that struck him as he left the tent did nothing to cool Gage’s temper.

He felt like strangling the wench. He had been within a heartbeat of closing his hands on that soft throat and squeezing until she begged for mercy.

“She cast you out?” Lord Richard asked.

Gage impatiently glanced toward the campfire where Richard sat with his hands outstretched before the flames.

“I was afraid she would treat you rudely,” Richard said. “She never permitted anyone in the chamber when she tended my wife. If she hadn’t been a gift from my wife’s father, I would have punished her for such behavior. Lord Kells was once the most powerful baron in the south of England, and I didn’t want to offend him by damaging her. I should have—”

“What are you still doing here?” Gage asked roughly. He was irritated enough without having this handsome Judas hovering around him. “I thought you’d left the camp.”

“I was only a short distance down the road and turned back. I thought I might be of help.” Richard smiled. “It is not fitting to give a gift without making sure that it gives satisfaction.”

“If this particular gift doesn’t give satisfaction, you may wish you’d not come back.” He added through set teeth, “I don’t like not being present while she’s treating him, and I will not be pleased if Malik dies at this slave’s hands.”

Richard’s smile faded only a little. “That’s why I returned. I have every confidence the woman will cure your friend but, if she doesn’t, you—” He raised his hand as Gage’s expression tightened. “On the slight
chance that God decides to take the Saracen, I wanted to make sure that you were aware that the woman has other skills.”

“Skills?”

“The skill to comfort you in your sorrow in the most desirable of ways. You’ve no doubt noticed how winsome she is.”

“No.” He had been only vaguely aware of the physical presence of the woman. She was first and foremost the healer, Malik’s possible savior. He had to make an effort to recall a more detailed image than a tall, slim woman in a rough brown wool gown. He remembered the eyes. Huge golden-brown eyes blazing at him, meeting his own with anger and pride. Fresh anger rushed through him at the memory. “I noticed she’s overbold and without respect.”

“It’s her low Welsh blood. She means no harm.” Richard added quickly, “And boldness is not a bad thing in a woman in the right circumstances. It makes her easier to train in pleasuring.” He smiled sensually, his voice lowering. “She loves to touch and be touched. She’s tight as a glove and I’ve made sure she knows the ways to keep a man from becoming bored in bed.”

“And what was your ailing wife doing while you gave the woman these lessons?”

Richard shrugged. “I did not take Brynn in the same bed. A wife is for childbearing, but a woman like Brynn is for play. I envy you. I shall miss her.”

The man disgusted him. It was true women slaves were often used for bed sport, but he found Richard’s callousness toward his wife repulsive. He reminded Gage of Hassan, the head auctioneer of the slave market in Constantinople. His voice was cold as he said, “I have no desire to bed the slave. I want only her healing skills.”

“Oh, of course.” Richard immediately backed away.
“I simply wanted to make sure you knew Brynn’s full value.”

And to try to ensure his own safety if Malik died at the woman’s hands, Gage thought cynically. It was not a bad ploy; a woman’s body was always valuable for barter. The Saxon had merely erred in thinking the bedding of a woman was high enough compensation for losing a friend. “You have told me. Now you can feel free to leave here.”

“I thought I might stay and—” Richard stopped as he saw Gage’s expression. He rose to his feet. “If you wish.” He smiled again. “I’m sure that we will meet again, my lord.”

Gage didn’t answer as he settled himself before the fire. He was barely aware of the man leaving. His thoughts were once more on Malik lying near death in the tent.

And that damn woman who had dared to bar him from Malik’s side.

The sun had barely cast the first pink shadows in the east when Gage entered the tent.

The woman was sitting by Malik and stiffened as she saw him. “What are you doing here?”

By the saints, she was wary. What the devil had she been doing to Malik? She had been with him all night, leaving his side only to hurry back and forth to the campfire for water and the preparation of her salves.

“It’s dawn,” he said harshly. “I promised you that you would have him to yourself only until the first light.” He strode over to the pallet. “How is he?”

“Alive.” She wearily ran her fingers through her hair. “Better, I think.”

“Better? He looks the same to me.” He studied Malik’s face. “Did he wake?”

“No.”

“Speak?”

“No.”

“Then why do you say he’s better?”

“I just … feel it.”

He smiled sardonically. “Astonishing.”

She shook her head. “I cannot explain.” She shrugged at his skepticism. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. It is true. He’s growing stronger. He’ll wake before sunset and I’ll give him a strengthening broth.” She yawned. “And now I intend to go to sleep.” She settled down beside Malik. “I suggest you do the same. You look more haggard than he does. I have no time to tend two patients.”

He frowned. “You can’t sleep. He may need you.”

“I have not slept in two nights. If he needs me, I’ll be here beside him.” She put her hand on Malik’s chest above the wound as she nestled closer and closed her eyes. “He is healing. He has no need of either of us right now. Go away.”

“Have you forgotten this is my tent?”

“Then lie down somewhere and be silent …”

The blasted woman was already asleep, he realized with frustration. He reached down to shake her awake and then stopped. Was there the faintest color in Malik’s cheeks? He couldn’t be sure, but his breathing seemed the slightest bit easier.

Christ. Tears stung his eyes as, for the first time since he had seen Malik struck down, he allowed himself to hope.

He stared eagerly at Malik, searching for some other sign.

Nothing.

He turned and spread a blanket on the ground across the tent and sat down. The woman might feel safe enough regarding Malik’s condition to rest, but he did not. He would sit there and keep guard over Malik until she woke.

• • •

“Who …”

Brynn drowsily opened her lids at the whisper.

Dark eyes staring into her own only inches away.

She was immediately awake. The Saracen had come back!

“Who …” Malik whispered again.

“Brynn,” she whispered. “I am Brynn of Falkhaar.”

He frowned in puzzlement. “I know it is rude, but I do not … remember … our coming together.”

“Shh. You must rest.”

“He’s awake?” Gage Dumont was suddenly towering over them like a huge, dark cloud. “Gage?” Malik asked.

“Yes.” Gage knelt beside him. “How do you feel?”

“Bruised. Pained.” He tried to laugh. “And weak as an infant just out of the womb.” His glance shifted back to Brynn. “And so I fear I did not give this lovely damsel a fitting ride. You are new, are … you not?”

“She’s not a whore.” Gage smiled. “And it grieves me to inform you that your wound rendered even you incapable.”

“Impossible.” He frowned. “Wound?” His brow cleared. “The battle.”

Gage nodded. “The battle.”

Brynn stared at him in amazement. His hard expression had softened miraculously, and he looked almost boyish. It was clear the kinship between the two men was both deep and long-standing and she felt a twinge of envy. It had been a long time since she had felt such a bond with another. “Stop talking. You will tire him.” Brynn rose to her feet. “I’ll go prepare the broth.”

Once outside the tent, she moved quickly to the campfire and exchanged the pot of hot water she had kept simmering all night for another. Keep busy. Don’t think of the death and pain that lie beyond this hill. While she had been with Malik she had been able to
submerge the sorrow, but now it came back as strong as ever. No, not quite as strong. If she steeled herself, she could keep back the tears. Perhaps when Malik was stronger she could convince the Norman to move him from this dreadful place.

She glanced to the north, wondering how Adwen was faring. Surely Richard would not let her die since he believed he held a threat over Brynn only while his wife lived. She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. It was hard to believe that only yesterday she was at Redfern, calmly going about her duties. A battle had been fought and suddenly everything in her life had changed. She had been torn away from all familiar surroundings and cast here in this brutal place with a Norman who called her his slave. What was going to happen to her?

Well, she would not stand there and whimper. This change of circumstance might not be as bad as it seemed. It might even be possible her opportunity to escape and return to Gwynthal would come sooner with the Norman. It was not as if she cared about Redfern.

But she did care about Adwen. She had fought to keep herself apart, but she felt a deep affection and pity for the girl. She knew she had to help her.

She wearily shook her head. She was too bewildered now to assess the situation and make plans. She must live from moment to moment until she saw her way clear.

Malik stared after Brynn in bemusement as she left the tent. “She does not hesitate to speak her mind, does she? I’ve never heard a woman order you about before. Who is she?”

Gage’s lips twisted sardonically. “My slave.”

Malik blinked. “Extraordinary. Has anyone imparted that information to her? Perhaps she is confused regarding the relationship. I would have sworn she thought you her slave.”

“I intend to set that right quite soon.” Gage straightened the cover over Malik. Christ, he was going to live. It was too good to be true. “You should not be talking.”

“So she said.” Malik’s gaze was still on the tent entrance. “But I feel much stronger now and my curiosity is aroused.”

“Heaven help us.” Gage sighed and then answered, “She was the slave of Lord Richard of Redfern. We captured him during the battle and he bartered the woman for his freedom. He said she was a fine healer and it seems he told the truth. I would not have given a breath for your chances of living through the night.”

“She saved me?”

“It would appear so.”

“Ah, an angel at my side,” Malik said. “I should have known when I saw her face. There is a radiance about her.”

“Radiance?”

“Did you not see it? When she smiled it was—”

“She didn’t smile.”

“No?” Malik frowned, puzzled. “I was sure she smiled. I felt as warm as if the sunlight touched me.”

“Fever.”

“No.” Malik’s brow cleared. “Oh, well, it is of no matter. I will know when I see her again.”

“Know what?”

“If cupid’s arrow has struck me to the heart.”

“Dear God. Not again.”

“This is different.”

It was always different for Malik, and Gage could already see trouble on the horizon. He said with precision, “She is
not
an angel. When not tending Lord Richard’s wife, she plies her whore’s tricks on her master. He assures me she is very well taught in that respect.”

“Poor maid.”

“That poor maid has a tongue sharp as a dagger.”

“What other weapons does a slave have? Her tongue, her body …” He looked questioningly at Gage. “You are not usually this intolerant with those less fortunate than you. Why does this woman—”

“I told you not to let him talk.” Brynn strode into the tent, a wooden bowl in her hands. “But I walk out of here for only a short time and I come back to find you chattering. Do you wish to undo all my work? I should never have left you alone with him.”

“He said he felt stronger.” Christ’s blood, he was actually on the defensive with the wench.

“Of course he feels stronger. They always feel stronger than they are. We have to nurture that strength.” She knelt beside Malik’s pallet. Her voice changed, softened as she spoke to him. “Now, I’m going to feed you this broth and you must eat every bite. I know you have no hunger, but every morsel you eat will strengthen you. Do you understand?”

Malik nodded, his intent gaze fixed on her face. “I understand.”

She began to carefully spoon the broth into his mouth.

Gage remained by the pallet for a few moments but began to feel completely unnecessary. The woman was ignoring him and Malik was totally absorbed in the broth and his angel. He rose to his feet and withdrew to his own pallet across the tent. He doubted if either knew he had gone.

He settled himself cross-legged on the pallet and watched the woman feed Malik.

Radiance? It must have been fever that had led Malik to use that word in referring to Brynn of Falkhaar. He could detect the fire of vitality, but her expression held no glow of human kindness. She was intent, almost stern, and he could sense the indomitable will of which he had been aware since she had walked into the tent.
However, now that he studied her, he could see the comeliness that Lord Richard had tried to use as a lure. Her pale brown hair, tied carelessly back from her face, was of a fine thickness and fell nearly to her waist, and the loose brown gown she wore clung to her full breasts and broad shoulders before skimming the lines of a slim, strong body. Her mouth was large but well formed, and her other features had a pleasing symmetry. Her skin was not the pale alabaster lauded by troubadours, but its gold-toned clarity was near luminous in the dimness of the tent. Perhaps that luminosity was the radiance Malik saw in her.

She must have sensed that he was assessing her, for she lifted her eyes from Malik’s face and met his glance. It lasted only a moment before she focused once more on Malik, but an impression remained with him.

Defiance and … fear?

As Malik said, she had few weapons and her situation was extremely vulnerable.

If she did feel fear, she would not let him see it.

He felt an unreasonable surge of irritation as he realized he
wanted
her to fear him. It made no sense. Malik was right. He didn’t make war on the helpless. Even though she had annoyed him, he should not feel this overwhelming urge to dominate and subdue.