Rising Fire (17 page)

“Excellent. Eudes,” he called out. The huge, brawny man lumbered his way forward to stand before the dais. “Sir William and his men will train our soldiers. Choose the best and give them orders thusly.” Standing, Lord Hugh nodded at him and then left.

The hall emptied quickly once the lord left, and William watched with his men as the ladies, including Brienne, walked by on their way back to the family's building. She would not look at him now. He could feel the misery pouring from her and her shame at being exposed as a bastard. Remembering the first time someone had called him that, he understood how it must feel to her.

He would bide his time until he could talk to her. His blood pounded once more, but this time, he felt the need to comfort her.

He and his men walked out of the keep and watched the torrents of rain turn the yard into a quagmire of mud and puddles. It was too dangerous for men or horses, so they went to William's chambers to talk. For even as the day passed without discovering anything
incriminating against the lord of Gifford and Yester, dark feelings swirled around this place, around these people and their lord.

And William knew this was the center of what was to come.

B
rienne stared out the window at the rain.

Emilie made some noise of displeasure again at having the shutters thrown open, allowing the damp air to enter the chamber. But Brienne had no intention of closing the window. The air from the storm might be moist and chilled, but it was fresh and somehow soothed her jagged nerves and heart.

For the whole of her life since discovering the truth of her parentage, she'd borne the sidelong glances and the careful distance most of those in the village served her. She'd accepted that being the natural daughter of Lord Hugh would keep her apart and separate from most of them. That James and his parents had overcome that and considered her for his wife was a credit to them, for none of the other families ever had.

But having Sir William know her truth tore her apart. She'd heard her father's words as she'd walked back to her seat and felt disappointment and shame bloom inside her with every step.

Mercifully, the meal did not last much longer, but her torment would, for her father had invited the knight and
his men to remain as guests. So the chance that she would see him again was great. She would face the shame each time, for being the daughter of the blacksmith was more honorable than being a bastard of a nobleman who had discarded you until you were needed.

Now her black mood made her restless. The rains eased, but the sun was far from shining. She wanted to walk. She needed to get out of this chamber, this keep, this castle. Knowing Lord Hugh would not allow the last, she decided for the first two. But glancing down at the costly gown and shoes, she knew could not ruin them due to her own poor temper.

“Emilie,” she said without facing the girl. “Leave me.”

“But, Brienne, your father—”

“I know my father's orders and yours.” She turned then and crossed her arms over her chest as she'd seen Lord Hugh do many times now. “Leave me.” Brienne did not relent and did not drop her gaze until Emilie did.

“If—”

“If
anyone
asks, I am resting, as I will be,” she said, giving the girl the excuse she needed. She was being watched at all times—he knew that—so she would need a little help in getting out unobserved. “Please send for some hot water. I wish to wash.”

“A bath, Brienne?”

She shook her head. “I had not time to wash before the meal and wish to before I rest. A bucket of hot water will be plenty for my needs.” It was a task that would require one kitchen maid and not an onslaught of servants.

Emilie left then, without argument, and Brienne reached behind the headboard of the bed, where she'd
managed to stuff her one remaining plain gown, which she'd worn when she was brought here. It was accustomed to being in the rain. As was she. She undressed quickly, for she knew one thing about the servants here—they did as ordered very, very quickly. When the knock came on the door, Brienne was ready.

A few minutes later, a young serving woman left the family residence and walked toward the oldest part of the castle, where the ancient keep lay in ruins just outside the walls. And, there, tucked into an alcove near the stables and not far from where she'd watched Sir William, she breathed in the damp, wet air and did not care if the rain dripped on her head from the roof above.

“This is the Brienne I would recognize.”

His deep voice invaded the silent cocoon she'd created to block out everything but the sound and the feel of the rain. She opened her eyes and found Sir William standing before her, outlined by a still-unworthy sun's light. He stepped back, and she could see the soft smile on his face.

“And which one do you recognize, Sir William?” she asked. Her dark mood remained in place, and she wished, against all reason, to hear his thoughts on who she, Brienne, was. He crouched down before her, bringing their faces level, and reached out to push a sopping-wet tress of hair from her face.

“This is the Brienne who haunts the forests and the paths of the village,” he said quietly. “This is the blacksmith's daughter who fears no one, not even the king's knight.”

Tears, damn her, filled her eyes then, and she looked away. Pulling her ragged edges together, she looked back at him. “Blacksmith's daughter no more.”

“Blacksmith's daughter or lord's bastard, they will call you what they will. But you must know in your heart which one you are. Who and what you are, Brienne. And let no one take that from you.” He touched her cheek and wiped a tear away. “No one.”

She cried then, letting out the uncertainty and the pain and the fear. When there seemed no more tears to flow, she lifted her head and realized he'd slid in next to her in the small alcove and gathered her onto his lap, holding her while she sobbed.

“Better, demoiselle?”

She nodded her head. Now her own sense of mortification added to the shame she felt when this man looked at her. He lifted her face with his finger beneath her chin and shook his head. Brienne wanted to cry once more at the sympathy in his gaze.

“Hush now,” he whispered. “Sometimes you must simply decide who you are and not let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Sir William,” she said as she began to push off him. He held her with just enough strength to keep her there.

“William,” he corrected her.

“I should go,” she said. Her moments of self-pity passed, she knew she would be missed. But these next words stopped her from moving and nearly from breathing.

“I understand how you feel, Brienne,” William whispered. “I, too, am a bastard.” The puzzlement made her brows furrow as she thought on his words.

William had never willingly admitted it before. Those who knew did not hear it from him unless there was a dire need. The men in his hillside camp who
would face the coming danger with him. Roger and Gautier. And that was the end of the list of those to whom he had disclosed his shame.

And now this young woman before him.

“My mother's husband was bought for her to cover the truth. She went to him already months into carrying me. It did not take long for the rumors and insults to begin in my life.”

“But you are a de Brus,” she said. “Part of a noble family. Raised as a nobleman's son. Claimed by him.”

“You were raised by the blacksmith as his daughter. Now claimed as a nobleman's,” he offered.

“That is not the same,” she began. He shook his head and touched his finger to her lips. Her eyes, the color of the amber seen during sunset, widened at his touch.

“Nay, 'tis not the same. You were raised by a mother and father who wanted you. Raised with love and pride. Now your true father claims you and raises you to the position you should have as his.” He could not keep the bitterness from his voice. His intention to ease her shame was quickly becoming something else.

“So,” he said, pushing to his feet and allowing her to slide to hers, “that is my sad story. But the wisdom I would offer you,
chérie
, is to decide now, now that your life has changed because of your past. Decide who you are and stay true to it. For many others will try to determine that for you, whether you are called the blacksmith's daughter or Lord Hugh's get.”

He could not resist her soft mouth, which beckoned to him. Leaning down, he touched his lips to hers and felt her sigh escape. He pressed and she opened to him, as though made for him and only him. This kiss was not to possess her or to claim her. He tasted her deeply.

When she arched up against him, pressing her lithesome body against the ridge of his already-hardened flesh, his desire slipped his hold and he kissed her as he wanted to. As he had in the forest. But the lesson to be learned this day would be his, for beneath the desire in this kiss lay her shame. Easing back from her, he stroked her cheek and then released her.

“I must go,” she said. His body jolted when she slid the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. But he wanted only to ease her pain and not begin something he, and he suspected she, would not want to stop.

“Here.” He handed her the kerchief he found on the ground next to her. “Go that way, for now that the rains have stopped, men will be heading to the training yard.”

She turned and took a step before facing him once more.

“William,” she whispered as though the feel of his name on her tongue was sweet, “do you know who your father is?”

He stared away then, looking at the old ruins and the sky behind them. The words he'd offered her as advice came back at him, mocking him for his self-righteousness. After telling her that all that mattered was who you decided to be, William smiled at the irony of his plight and his quest.

“Aye, I do, Brienne.”

“And he knows of your birth?”

“Aye, he does.”

“And he has not claimed you? I do not understand.”

“Worry not over my father, Brienne. I am making my own way, just as you will.” He glanced over his
shoulder as the sound of people approaching grew louder.

“My thanks for your kindness today,” she whispered. Lifting up to her toes, she kissed the edge of his jaw before dashing off around the corner of the building. Leaving him unmanned more completely than he'd felt since he was a young squire seeking his first feminine conquest and failing.

He waited until he did not hear her steps fading away before stepping from the sheltered corner. Eudes began shouting orders for his men to gather and, when he saw William there, he nodded to him. Roger, Gautier, and Armand had followed as he'd told them to, and the four walked to the training yard.

The rains had turned it into a muddy mess, but battles were often fought on ground just like that. What began as dry earth could turn into a bog of mud, blood, and mess as men fell and bled their lives out onto it. Therefore, it made sense to train in just such conditions. As he climbed the fence, taking off his tunic as the others had, he watched Eudes choose his best and line up facing them.

Something tilted in his vision as the lines formed against each other, a sense—nay, the knowledge—that this would happen very soon and the intent then would be violent death and not civil practice.

*   *   *

The call came just after she closed the door to her chambers, pleased that no one had seen her sneaking back into it. Her body trembled from the pleasure of his kiss, and her heart was lighter—not for knowing that he was a bastard, but for the kindness and comfort William
showed her. She dipped the kerchief in the now-cooled water to wash her face and hands and found herself on her knees, gasping against the blinding pain.

Come to me now. Now.

Rolling on the floor, she held her hands to her head, trying to block the screaming voice. When the waves of pain eased, she climbed to her knees and then to her feet.

Lord Hugh summoned her now without even being present.

Dizzy from the agony and from the pull of his call, she moved to the door and then into the corridor and through the house. With each step closer to his door, she felt the strength of his anger. Then, standing before it, Brienne realized she'd made a grievous error in seeking to learn about her power and for wanting to use it. Fighting the urge to vomit, she tried to resist him.

Now!

She crashed her body against the door as his power jerked the chain that connected her to him, unable to stop herself and unable to delay for even just the moment it would have taken to lift the latch and enter. Brienne tumbled into the chamber and skidded to the floor before him, scraping her hands and knees on the rough stone floor. Unwilling to anger him further, she stayed on her knees and watched as he walked to stand close enough that the folds of his garments touched her head.

Had word gotten to him so quickly that she'd met with William? That he'd held her and kissed her? Shared his secret with her? Did he think she would give her virtue away much as her mother had—to a
nobleman who beckoned her to his bed? Whoring herself for what?

This time, she heard him gasp.

And that was the only warning she got that he could tell what she was thinking. In the next moment, he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall.

“What are you thinking?” he demanded. “Why do you look like a peasant again when I gave you appropriate gowns to wear? I do not wish you to be seen looking like a blacksmith's daughter again!”

And then her dress, the last thing she had to connect her to her previous life, went up in flames, the wet fabric first sending off sputters of steam as the water evaporated, and then it burned. She cried out with the little breath he allowed her and tried to push him off, tearing at his hands and kicking out to free herself.

Only when the gown lay in ashes below her did he relent and drop her to the floor. Naked and gasping for breath, Brienne looked around for something to cover herself. Crawling over to the table, she began to pull the linen cover from it.

“Stop!”

This time the word was spoken so quietly that she thought she misheard. Glancing at him, she found him standing white-faced and shocked, his gaze transfixed on something on her back. Tugging the linen cloth around her aching body, she used the table to help herself to her feet. He was on her before she could take another step, pushing her down across the table and pulling the linen away.

Then nothing but the sound of their breathing filled
the ominous silence in the chamber. His hand was hot and unmoving where it lay on her upper back, holding her body down against the table as she struggled. Then she realized what he must see there. The other mark!

No one knew about it but her moth—Fia—who'd discovered it during her baths as a child. She'd forgotten it, seeing it only once, in a looking glass that belonged to her . . . Fia's friend.

Suddenly, he released her and she slid off the table. When Brienne gathered the linen around her and faced him, she found him sitting in his chair, staring off at the wall. Shaking and bruised, she waited for him to speak. Minutes passed and he did not. He did nothing but stare off, ignoring her.