Midnight Warrior (23 page)

His fist crashed into her stomach. She sank to the floor.

She couldn’t breathe; her fingernails dug into the floorboards as she struggled to get her breath.

“It’s all your fault,” Delmas said as his fingers threaded through her hair and lifted her face. “I could have been a man of importance. It’s your fault, yours and that Norman—”

She had a wild impulse to fight him or cry out for help. LeFont was nearby and might hear her. But if she fought her way free or LeFont came, Gage would know.…

She suddenly realized what she must do. She had to divert Delmas’s anger from Gage. Violence had always been a release for Delmas. If he expended his rage on her, perhaps he would not seek out Gage, perhaps she could convince him to go away and hide again.

“I’ve never seen you so meek,” Delmas sneered. “How well that whoreson has tamed you.”

She didn’t feel meek. She wanted to struggle and strike out at him. No, she must be strong. She might be able to win a minor victory now, but she would lose the battle if he went to Gage and Gage killed him.

Blood. Blood was spattering the floorboards in front of her from her cut lip, she realized dazedly. Dear heaven, she herself would have to hide from Gage until these wounds healed. She braced herself. Get it over.

“You’ll never be anything but a slave, licking the boots of better men,” she said coldly.

His foot lashed out, striking her shoulder. She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming out. Smother the anger. Taunt him. Accept the violence. Let him release all that fury on her. It was the only way to protect all of them from the unthinkable.

“Hurting me won’t stop my words. You will never have the treasure of Gwynthal. You are not man enough to—”

“Witch! Harlot! Thief!” He punctuated each word with a kick.

Pain
. She could stand it. She had borne far worse in those first days after they had wed. “Thief? You’re the one who seeks to steal from me. You’re the thief and—”

Darkness.

He had smashed her head down to the floor, she realized dimly. How much was enough to divert his rage? She must not let him kill her.… Her body was strong and so was her will. She would not let him defeat her. It would take more than a few blows to take away her life.

“Halt, monsieur.” The words were spoken with icy precision. “Or I will take great delight in robbing you of your head.”

LeFont. She struggled to open her eyes and saw LeFont standing in the doorway, a drawn sword in his hand, his expression as deadly as his tone.

“She is my wife. This is none of your concern,” Delmas hissed.

“I beg to disagree. She is my lord’s property and therefore very much my concern.” He motioned with the sword. “Stand back from her.”

“No,” she whispered, her gaze shifting to Delmas’s face. The punishment she had taken had not been enough, she realized in despair. He was afraid, but his rage was still a danger. “Leave us, Captain.”

LeFont shook his head. “I cannot, demoiselle.” He motioned with his sword, and Delmas reluctantly released her and stepped aside. “But I will let your husband leave unharmed.” He added grimly, “For the moment. You are hurt and I cannot attend to both of you. Besides, my lord will no doubt wish to dispose of him himself.”

Delmas’s face twisted, but she couldn’t determine whether it was with anger or terror. He gave a low exclamation and stalked past LeFont and out of the room.

The dizziness was overwhelming, and she closed her eyes. “You came too soon,” she whispered.

“If I had come later, you might be dead,” LeFont said bluntly. “Why did you not cry out?”

“Too soon …”

“My lord will not think so.” He lifted her and carried her out of the stable. “He gave me orders to escort you safely to the hall. I’m not pleased you made me disobey. You should not have run away.”

The cold night air was beginning to sweep away the darkness. “Let me down. Where are you taking me?”

“To my lord Gage.”

“The hall?” She started to struggle. “I won’t go. I have to—”

“Not to the hall. To my lord’s chamber.” He looked down at her. “I fear you are no longer presentable.” He grimaced. “There is blood all over you. I will go fetch Lord Gage and bring him to you.”

She reached up and touched her mouth. She had known her lip was split, but she had not realized there were other open wounds. “Much blood?”

“You look much as Malik did after the Saxon struck him down.” LeFont entered the hall and started up the steps.

Seeing Malik hurt had thrown Gage into a terrible rage. LeFont’s intervention was going to bring about the result she had most feared. She must find a way to keep that from happening, hide herself until she healed. “No, he must not see me.” She started to struggle again. “Put me down, Captain. I will not—”

“What is this?” Gage was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at them, Lord Richard directly behind him. He stiffened as he saw her. “Mother of God!” He took the steps two at a time. “What happened to her?” he demanded of Lefont.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. She cursed the stupid
answer that had tumbled from her lips. Why could she not think clearly?

“I regret I did not come soon enough to—” LeFont stopped as Gage made a violent gesture. He shrugged. “It was demoiselle’s husband, my lord.”

Gage went still. “Her husband?”

She closed her eyes to shut out his expression.

Gage’s voice was very controlled. “I’ll take her.” His arms closed around her as LeFont relinquished his grasp. “Go and get hot water and bandages. Then go to Lady Adwen’s chamber and get Brynn’s bag of herbs and salves. She will have need of them.”

Lord Richard offered eagerly, “Permit me to be of help. I’ll go to my wife’s chamber and fetch the medicine. I cannot tell you how distressed I am that Delmas returned. I did warn him that he must not—”

“Get it!” Gage said.

Brynn opened her eyes as Richard hurried past them up the stairs and down the corridor. He did not look distressed, she thought dully; he reminded her of a sly, golden-furred cat who had just been fed.

Gage started up the steps.

“I have no need of salves,” Brynn whispered. “I’m not badly hurt. I’m sure it looks worse than it is.”

“Be silent,” he said through his teeth.

“I will not be silent. What will you do? Beat me?”

“No.” He looked down at her, his eyes shining wetly. “God, no.”

“But you’re angry enough to lash out in any direction. That is how Delmas felt. You should not blame him for feeling the same as you do now. It’s not reasonable.”

“I
do
blame him.” His eyes blazed down at her. “By God, I do blame him. And no amount of reasoning is going to make me feel different.”

It was no use arguing with him now. She would try
later once the first shock had passed. Besides, she was feeling so very tired.…

When Brynn next opened her eyes, she was vaguely aware she was unclothed beneath the cover and was surrounded by the minty scent of salve. Gage was sitting on a stool beside the bed, staring down at the floor, hands linked tensely, black hair shining blood-red in the candlelight. Blood …

“Gage …”

His head lifted, the motion swift and wolflike. “It will never happen again,” he said without inflection. “No one will ever hurt you again. Not while I live.”

“I was not hurt. Well, perhaps a little. But it was—”

“Your index finger may be broken; it looks as if it was stomped upon. Your lower lip is split. Your face and body have terrible bruises.” He enumerated the injuries with no emotion. “Did he kick you?”

She didn’t answer.

“He kicked you as if you were a dog who had displeased him,” Gage said. “LeFont said he thought he would have killed you.”

“He was wrong.”

“He also said you told him he had come too soon and wanted him to go away. Why, Brynn?”

“I did not want—there was no need for him to interfere.”

“No need?” He stood up, crossed the room, and brought back a hand mirror. He held it before her face. “No need?”

She cast one look at her swollen, bruised face and pushed the mirror aside. “It’s not as bad as it looks. In a few days you will never know—”

“I’ll know.” The words were a deadly monotone. “I’ll remember every bruise, every blow that was struck. I’ll know.”

She moistened her lips. “It is over. You must not—Where are you going?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Where do you think I’m going?”

“No.” She jumped from the bed and ran after him. “You will not seek him out.”

“Go back and lie down.”

She stood in front of the door. “I won’t let you go,” she said fiercely. “You are as bad as he is. All you can think about is blood and vengeance. Do you think I could not have fought him? It was my choice to let this happen. I did it for my own reasons, and I will not have you interfere.”

“What reasons?”

“It is of no moment.”

“What reasons?”

He was relentless; she knew he would not give up until he got the answer. “He needed a release for his passions. He would have done harm.”

“And you were the release?” He shook his head incredulously. “You let him do this to you to keep him from causing harm to others?”

“I was not afraid of him. I was afraid
for
him. He was threatening to come to you and I knew you’d welcome the opportunity to—” She stopped.

“Kill him? Oh, yes.” He lifted her out of the way and opened the door. “I most certainly would. How kind of him to give me the perfect excuse.”

“You cannot do it. It cannot happen. These bruises are nothing. I’m a healer and a healer cannot cause death,” she said desperately, her voice trembling. “I beg you, don’t kill him, Gage.”

He started past her.

“No!” She had to break through that hard wall that was hiding so much anger. It was the only way to save every one of them. She lifted her hand and slapped his face with all her strength.

His head jerked back with the force of the blow. Her stomach churned as she saw the red handprint appear on his dark cheek. It was she who had done this act of violence.

He stood quite still. His rock-hard expression did not change. Why would he not break? She swallowed and braced herself against the revulsion she knew would come.

She slapped him again.

He looked down at her, his blue eyes cold as the sea. “I am not your husband. I do not release my anger on helpless women.” His face betrayed no different emotion. “It will never happen again.” The door swung shut.

Panic soared through her as she heard the key turn in the lock. He was going in search of Delmas and taking no chance of her interfering.

Her gown … Where was her gown?

She caught a glimpse of shimmering blue beside the bed and moved toward it. Her knees were weak and she was shaking. She snatched up the soiled and torn gown and pulled it over her head.

Shoes? There they were, tossed on the other side of the bed.

It took her a moment to rid herself of enough of the dizziness to bend down and put on the shoes. Hurry. Ignore the weakness. She must be quick.…

She went to the window and threw open the shutters.

It was too far down.… She could not give up. Perhaps she could tie a few of the linens together and—

A key was turning in the lock!

She whirled toward the door.

Lord Richard stood in the doorway. “Come, you must hurry.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked warily.

He frowned. “Do you wish to stand and argue, or
do you wish to save Delmas from the Norman?” He stepped to one side. “I saw him following Delmas to the stable. You don’t have much time.”

The door was open; she would sort out Lord Richard’s motives later. She darted across the room and out into the corridor.

Richard followed her as she ran down the stairs. “I told you it would happen. Did you think you could tame that barbarian? I’m told he is just like his father when the blood lust is upon him.”

“Be quiet.” She did not want to hear it. It brought back the vision of Gage standing before her, his face hard and totally without mercy. She flew out the front door and across the courtyard.

A scream!

“No!” She threw open the stable door.

Blood everywhere. On the wall. On the straw on the floor.

On Gage.

He stood with a pitchfork in his blood-soaked hands. Delmas was suspended on the other end of the pitchfork, the prongs piercing through his body. As she watched, Gage released the pitchfork and her husband fell to the floor. Delmas whimpered, his hands clawing at the prongs still protruding from his chest. His gaze fixed balefully on Gage. “You did it. You—did—it all. All your …” A violent shudder racked his body.

Death.

She reeled back against the wall. She was suffocating. Too late to heal. Delmas was dead. And Gage had murdered him. No, Brynn was the murderer. It was her fault.

“Brynn!” Gage was turning toward her, his hand outstretched.

Blood on his hands. Blood on her hands.

“No,” she whispered, backing away. “No …”

She whirled and ran out of the stable. She made it
only halfway across the courtyard before her stomach heaved and she threw up its contents.

“Poor Brynn.” Richard’s hand was beneath her elbow. “But I did warn you that there was little to choose between the Norman and me.” He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Except I think you’ll find any association with Gage Dumont fraught with bitter memories now. Wouldn’t it be better to accept my protection?”

“Take your hands off her,” Gage said softly from behind them.

She turned and looked at him. Powerful. Deadly. Savage. At this moment Richard was in as much peril as Delmas had been. More death. No, she could not bear it.

She tore away from Richard’s grasp and ran up the step and into the manor.

Escape. She must get away. She must hide and try to heal.

Adwen’s eyes widened in shock as Brynn darted into the chamber and slammed the door. “Dear God,” she murmured, staring at Brynn’s bruised face. “Richard said you had need of salves, but we had no idea that Delmas had done—” Her jaw set angrily. “He is an evil man, Brynn. He should be punished.”