The Mercenary's Marriage (6 page)

“If anyone moves, the king dies.” A ragged
voice announced into the sudden hush. Every muscle in Darius' back
was coiled and ready for action.

“Loosen your grip, Brice,” he whispered.
Carefully, she obeyed. Brice realized what he was going to do the
moment he moved. Using the horse as a springboard, he launched
himself into the air. He landed short of his goal, but the
distraction of his action gave the king and his closest bodyguard
the opening they needed. King Jenran wrestled the assassin's knife
from his neck and Ewian drove his blade up into the wretch's
back.

Meanwhile, Darius landed and took out three
men while they watched the death of their comrade. Brice found
herself yelling a warning as a fourth man turned to attack Darius
while he was still finishing his third opponent. Just in time,
Darius turned and brought up his sword to block a blow to his
head.

Brice did not see the end of that exchange,
because she was forced to defend herself. Seeing the horse standing
calmly and a female perched upon it, one of the enemy decided to
take advantage of the chaos to claim this unusual prize.

A few moments later, Darius thought someone
had called his name. The voice was distressed and as he turned, his
battle-crazed mind registered that it had sounded sort of like
Brice. Searching the battleground quickly with his eyes, he
realized she and his horse were not where he had left them moments
before. Raising his sword to block his opponent’s blade he spared a
glance toward Jenran. The king was well defended. During the next
opening, he noticed that very few of the king's men were still
engaged and their group was reassembling, clearly the victors.
Bringing his opponent to his knees, Darius left him. Making his way
toward the edge of the battleground, he encountered Ewian.

“Did you see Brice?” he asked.

The other Ratharian looked up, surprised.
“No, is she missing?”

“She and my horse disappeared.” Internally,
Darius winced at the foolish sound of the statement.

“A horse and rider entered the woods in that
direction a minute ago,” a fellow soldier offered. “I only noticed
because someone was pursing them on foot.”

Nodding his understanding, Darius immediately
started in the direction the warrior had pointed. Brice was not a
horsewoman and as intelligent as his stallion was, they were no
match for anyone with experience.

“I am with you,” Ewian announced as he fell
into step with him. Darius threw a questioning glance his way. “I
like the girl and two is better than one,” He answered.

Darius was thankful for his company when they
entered the first clearing beyond the trees. The stallion was
backed into a corner. Hedged in on all sides by thorn bushes taller
than his head, the beast was pawing the ground and obviously
debating whether or not to charge the human obstacle blocking the
only opening. Brice clung to his back and watched the man with the
sword with even more fear than the horse. Her cloak was gone.

“Everything will be fine, my pretty,” the
scruffy man crooned in a rough voice. “Just stay calm and hold him
until I get close enough to grab him.” The man took a step forward.
The horse reared with a loud whinny and dumped his rider. Then he
charged the assailant, who dove for cover.

Darius ignored the horse, left the man to
Ewian, and immediately ran to the fallen rider. She lay sprawled on
the ground. As he approached, he tried to recall if he had seen her
roll on impact or not. If she had, her injuries would be less. Her
face was turned away from him and her hair fell wildly about her
head. She did not move and even as he touched her, he feared the
worse. Weaving his fingers through the dark curls, he found her
neck and a pulse.
She lives.
Suddenly finding he could
breathe again, Darius ran his eyes over the rest of her to see if
there were any breaks he could find.

“The man is gone,” Ewian announced from above
him. “The coward ran at the sight of you. He did not much like the
sight of me either, for that matter. He seems to have a fear of
Ratharians.”

“Many do.” Darius heard his own voice reply.
“We are going to need the healer; she is unconscious.”

“I will fetch him.” Darius barely noticed the
sound of Ewian's retreating footfalls.

Brushing her hair away, Darius examined her
face. A dark bruise was developing above her right eye and there
were scratches on her cheeks from the branches when the horse had
rushed through the trees. She was lucky she had not been knocked
off by a limb.
What if she does not wake?
The thought scared
him. He had only just begun to earn her trust and now he had lost
her. Refusing to let the idea rest, he gently touched her head
without moving it and began searching it for other injuries. Then
she moaned and stirred.

Pain! Waves of it washed over her and her
head felt like it was going to explode. Brice slowly became aware
of the rest of her body and rapidly regretted the discovery. Every
bone and joint hurt.

“Brice.” A warm male voice tinged with an
accent spoke from somewhere above her. Turning her head toward the
sound, pain erupted behind her eyes. Taking a sharp breath of air,
she realized yet another agony as her chest screamed at the motion.
She must have cried out at the pain for the voice spoke again,
“Hush, little bird, hush.” Large hands enclosed her ribs and began
carefully outlining each with their fingertips. “No,” the man
decided, “None are broken.”

“Brice.” One of the hands touched the side of
her face. She had a strong feeling she knew the name of the man,
but she was too tired to think now, too sleepy. “Brice,” the voice
insisted. “Open your eyes.”

Slowly she obeyed and instantly regretted it.
The world outside was bright and it increased the throbbing behind
her eyes.

“Good,” the voice encouraged. “Now keep them
open until the healer comes. That fall might have done some serious
damage.” Ever so slowly, Brice focused her eyes on his face.
Darius.
She smiled. How could she have forgotten Darius? He
loomed over her like a dark thundercloud. Her brain told her she
should feel fear at being so helpless and at his mercy, but
strangely, she did not.

“Brice.” Darius' voice interrupted her
thoughts. “I need you to work with me.” She turned her head very
slowly until she could meet his eyes. He was kneeling at her side.
Once her eyes were on his face, he asked, “Can you move your
legs?”

“I can feel them.” She closed her eyes,
concentrated, and willed her legs to move. Pain shot up her left
leg and her ankle throbbed, but they moved. “I think my ankle is
twisted.”

“I brought the healer,” Ewian announced from
the other side of the clearing.

Darius slowly rose from his knees and turned
to greet the man still out of Brice's vision. “I have not moved
her,” Darius informed the healer. “She has struck her head, bruised
her ribs, and possibly sprained her ankle.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,
Darius?” A short older man came to stand at her side across from
Darius. “I like my job and I cannot keep it if you keep diagnosing
my patients. Now shoo.” Waving a hand at the two warriors, he
looked down and smiled at her. Brice found herself smiling back
despite the pounding in her head and the dull ache that hummed
through the rest of her. “Now, you must be Brice. I am Kurt.”

In under a half hour, they were on the road
again. Brice was perched once again in front of Darius, but his arm
was even looser than before because of her ribs. He also was
keeping the pace extra slow for her head's sake. Although the tonic
the healer had given her kept the pain down, her head still
throbbed with each step the horse took.

“Brice?” Darius' voice came from somewhere
above her, but Brice did not really care. Her eyes were closed and
the oblivion of sleep waited. “Brice.” Darius' voice was louder and
he sounded…. Brice was not sure how he sounded. Then he tightened
his hold on her. The lingering pain increased into a roar in a
moment and she straightened abruptly. All the muscles in her body
protested causing an involuntary gasp of pain.

“You must stay awake, Brice,” Darius insisted
as he relaxed his arm. “If you sleep too soon, you might never
awake.”

“I understand,” she answered. Leaning back
against him again, she tried to draw her mind to something,
anything but sleep. “You did not tell me why you pursued me after
the siege.” Again, she felt the slight tightening of his muscles as
if this were difficult. After a few moments of uncomfortable
silence, he finally spoke.

“I was enslaved when I was very young,” he
said. Brice did not understand how this connected to what she had
asked, but she waited. “My first master trained slave boys into
warriors. Ewian and I were part of a large group he bought from a
Sardmarian slaver. At the end of seven years, we were both sold
into service to the King. We excelled at our work, became part of
the personal guard at the King's disposal, and then bodyguards.
Because of exceptional service, I was granted my freedom. That
means I am paid for my service and have a right to an extra portion
of the spoils after a battle. I have not exercised that right until
I chose you.”

He stopped and when Brice was sure he had
finished, she asked, “But why me?”

He was quiet again, but Brice was beginning
to realize that if she was patient, he would eventually answer.
“You were alone and needed protection.” He took a deep breath and
shifted. Brice was distracted by the echoes of pain that the slight
extra movement caused, but she was sure she heard him mutter, “It
was time.” Ewian crossed in front of them to reach the side of one
of the men directly in front of them. Brice watched as they fell
into animated conversation.

“Is Ewian still a slave?” She asked.

“No,” Darius answered. “He was freed shortly
before me. He earned it by saving the king's son from a foolish
mistake.”

“How did you gain it?” His arms were
strangely comforting. If she did not keep talking and listening,
she was going to doze off.

“I discovered and helped dismantle a plot to
kill the king. Enough about me,” he protested. “Tell me how you got
to where you were.” The horse stepped slightly off causing her sore
ankle to bump the side of the horse. It was a few moments before
she could talk.

“I was born a slave,” she said finally. “My
father was the blacksmith who shoed the lord's horses, and my
mother, a weaver. When I was seven, I became a handmaid and
whipping girl for the lord's daughter, Gwendolyn.” The man behind
her stiffened, but she did not know why.

It was common practice to have a whipping boy
for noble child. Whenever the lord’s son misbehaved, the whipping
boy was punished, or whipped, in the noble child's presence. Brice
had been told it was supposed to make the misbehaving child feel
sorry for the bad deed, but she never could understand the
connection. Gwendolyn had not seemed to see the connection
either.

“Was Gwendolyn a well-behaved child?”

Puzzled at the question, Brice shrugged
before she remembered the consequences. “I don't have anything to
compare her too.”

“Brice.” Darius' voice was low and prodding.
“How often were you whipped?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Daily,” she
finally managed. She was not about to tell him that sometimes it
had been more.

“Would Lord Micrey administer the whippings?”
She could hear the displeasure in his voice.

“No.” Memories of Lord Micrey's drunken
roaring whenever she had moved from beneath the oncoming fist
flashed into Brice's head. “He did not need a reason to
strike.”

For a while, the only sounds were the
creaking of the gear and snippets of other conversations, then
Darius muttered, “Never again.”

Brice would have asked him to explain, but
the leader called out that it was time to stop for the night.
Darius slowed their horse to a walk and guided him toward one of
the trees in the center of the proposed campsite. Dismounting, he
moved the saddle and Brice closed her eyes against the wave of
disorientation that washed over her.

“Brice?” She opened her eyes to find Darius
looking up at her with concern. “What is wrong?”

Carefully shaking her head, Brice swallowed
before saying, “Just a little dizzy.”

“Come.” He offered her his hands to help her
down. “We should eat and then have the healer check on you.”

Obediently Brice leaned over and placed her
hands on his leather-covered shoulders. Sliding his right arm under
her left and up along her shoulders, he instructed her to fall
toward him. He then caught her legs with his left arm and brought
her against his chest. Through the whole process, Brice closed her
eyes against the pain, but tried not to show how much it hurt. The
healer had said that her ribs were not severely damaged, but he had
insisted on binding some cloth around them to support and protect
in case a break had occurred.

“I am going to set you over there under that
tree,” Darius informed her as he began to walk. “Then I will fetch
you some dinner and the healer.”

“Darius is doing my job again,” the healer's
voice announced. Brice looked up to find him smiling warmly down at
her. No trace of anger glinted in his bright eyes as he scanned her
face. “He insists you have a concussion and should be kept awake
for longer.” He dropped his pack on the ground at her feet and
squatted down so that their faces were eye-level. “I told him I
would have to see for myself. So, how are you feeling?”

“How should I be feeling?” Brice was
uncertain where to start.

“Does your head still hurt?”

“It went down some with the tonic you gave
me, but it is starting to throb again.”

Nodding his understanding, the old man opened
the mouth of his sack. “I will give you more medicine for you to
take right before bed. It should reduce the pain so you can sleep;
now, what about your ribs?”