Rising Fire (8 page)

Crossing the distance to the stream, he looked back to the hill to see if the camp was concealed. Satisfied, William turned back and found her standing there, watching him with an even gaze. When he nodded, those burning amber eyes filled with questions. Against his will, against all good plans and advice, he needed to answer them.

*   *   *

Brienne watched him approach with the cautious steps of a wary predator wanting not to be seen or heard. He turned and stared back at the hills that surrounded the roads leading to Yester Castle. At first she thought that he appeared different from other men to her because he was a stranger and because he was a warrior. Now, watching as he faced her and realized she stood before him, she saw that it was something more than that; there was something more about him. But she could not decide what that something was.

A subtle shift in the light that outlined his form caused him to appear brighter, as though the blue of the sky lit him from within. That was strange. When she looked at him, the rest of the world around faded to a paler version of itself. How had she not noticed it before?

He nodded to acknowledge her and walked closer, using that same stride that seemed to be what his lethal grace would look like in battle.

He reached her in only a few paces, his long legs covering the space between them quickly. Would he kiss her again? Would he touch her? Brienne found it difficult to draw in an even breath at just the thought of that. Clasping her fingers together to keep them from shaking, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

“Good morning to you, Brienne,” he said. “How do you fare this day?” He spoke her language with an accent that made his tongue curl over certain words. Chills raced along her spine at the sound. He had not smiled yet; his face remained serious and intent.

“I am well, Sir William,” she replied. “And I am here as you requested.” As he'd ordered, she'd wanted to say, but she would not anger him by reminding him. If she did, he might reveal the things he might have seen. If he spoke of it to the wrong person, it would not go well for anyone, especially not her. Just as she thought to explain her words, the sunlight pierced through the dreariness of the morning and shone on them.

Brienne could not help but stare at him then, for the light reflected off him and once more she could see him glimmer. She began to shake, unable to control it or hide it from him, for she remembered seeing only one other person who appeared as this warrior did before her.
Whatever connected them, whatever business brought him to Yester, whatever pulled them together, it terrified her.

For the only other person who glimmered as this man did was Lord Hugh. And she knew what Hugh of Gifford was.

But what was this man?

B
rienne could feel the terror filling her veins.

Rumors and stories, shared in hushed voices in the shadows, spoke of her sire's abilities and dark passions. The villagers who entered the castle and never returned to their homes. The girls and women dragged screaming to his bed, most of them never the same again. The sounds of the inhuman cries deep inside the castle walls, which seeped into the night. And with her new knowledge of her abilities to create and tame the fire, she could only imagine the power he had within him.

This man standing before her was unknown. Other than his name, she knew nothing of him, his family, his origins, his . . . power. Having seen her father's body shimmer with it, she recognized it within this knight.

And it terrified her.

When her head began to spin, she tried to force a breath into her body. If she fainted, if she could not run, what would happen to her?

“Brienne,” he said with that accent to his words that made her smile.

Her name echoed to her as though called from a
distance away. Blinking, she tried to see him, but everything before her grew dark. Then even the shimmering blue light that outlined him faded, and she fell into the darkness.

The warmth surrounded her, urging her to remain. Brienne wondered if she had called the fire forth in Gavin's smithy once more, for all she could feel was the overwhelming comfort of it. Then noises trespassed into what she now thought must be a dream. Birds chirped, the wind rustled by, and the sound of someone breathing close to her ear became louder.

She realized it was not the fire but arms that held her. Forcing her eyes to open, she gazed into the icy blue ones of the man she wanted to escape. She tried to push free and found herself imprisoned in an embrace that would not yield no matter how she struggled.

“Hush now, Brienne,” he whispered. The warm breath he expelled as he spoke tickled her ear and her neck and did not soothe her sense of impending danger. “You fainted.”

“Let me go, I pray you,” she pleaded softly. “I will tell no one.” The fear that took hold of her would not recede even now that she was awake.

“Tell no one? Tell them what?” he asked, easing his grip and helping her to sit.

Gathering her wits, she thought about what to say. Did she tell him she knew he was . . . ? What did she know—that he was like the man he sought? Was he? She felt suddenly confused and lost, and the tears gathering in her eyes burned as they threatened to expose how naïve and unworldly she was.

“Brienne, fear me not,” he urged, standing now and, grasping her hands in his, helping her to. “I wished
only to speak to you this morn. Nothing more nor less than that.”

The glint in his gaze belied the words. He wanted her. She'd seen desire in a man's eyes before; this was no different. And she was alone with him, deep in the forest, away from anyone who might help her. She'd been warned by her mother, by her father, never to let this happen, and here she was, alone with a man who was neither friend nor relative.

The fact that he intrigued her as no other man had should have been warning enough. The knowledge that she wished to talk to him frightened her. But she did wish it. He was the first man from outside the villages of Yester or Gifford to visit in a very long time. And she wanted to know about his life, his vineyards, him.

That longing, with the way he gazed at her intently, told her what she must do.

“I should go,” she said, brushing her hands down her gown.

“I will walk you back.”

“Nay!” she said, shaking her head and taking a step away from him. “You must not.”

To be seen with this man would bring all sorts of attention and questions, from her parents, from the others who lived in the village, and especially from those who spied for Lord Hugh. Not only would word get to him that strangers had arrived, but he would also learn that she was seen talking with their leader. Alone.

And since that morning when Lord Hugh had wordlessly acknowledged their bond, she could not risk that. She could not risk the retribution that would follow for the people who had raised her as their own. No matter how much she wanted to see him.

“Very well.” He reached over and took her by the shoulders. His hands gentled as he steadied her on her feet. “But do not rush away. Let your head clear before you try to return to your home.” He reached one hand inside his cloak and brought out a small skin. “Drink.”

As he held out the skin to her, she caught a glimpse of the sword he wore beneath the cloak. It was a warrior's sword. One she was certain he could wield with power and precision. How many battles had he fought?

Accepting his offer, she took the skin and drank a small amount from it. Not the water or watered ale she'd expected, the liquid was a lush wine, coming as a complete surprise to her.

“I brought it from my home,” he explained, taking it back and drinking some himself. “I am partial to this one for it's made from grapes grown on my family's lands.”

“France? Normandy?” she asked, knowing his accent must be from that region. Lord Hugh's family was from that area and still spoke French most of the time, regarding their Lowlanders' language as an abomination.

“Aye, Normandy. Though many other parts of the de Brus family hold lands here, in England, Ireland, and Wales.”

Robert the Brus had held the position of tanist to the king, the next to take the throne if the king died childless. He and Lord Hugh had served as regents when the king was a child. They both stood high in the king's respect. That much her parents had told her, knowing her true origins. And this man was part of that other family.

“William de Brus? Is that your name?” she asked.

“Aye, though a distant cousin to the one who served with Lord Hugh as regents and as guardians to the king in his minority.”

She could not speak. He was not simply a knight; he was a nobleman and a warrior, with as many connections to the king as Lord Hugh. What was he doing here, and why did he pursue her?

“I see the fear is back in your eyes, and I like it not,” he said, shaking his head. “I am a simple knight in service to my king,” he explained. Something in his words did not ring true to her. He held a secret or secrets back, from her and from the world, she suspected. But then, so did she.

“Here in Yester? What brings you here?” She watched for signs of a lie in his answer or his voice.

“Aye, I must meet with your lord on a private matter.”

The truth. Every fiber within her said he spoke truly.

“He has been gone for a fortnight.” She offered him that bit of truth in return, sensing that he did not wish to reveal a single detail to her.

“Do you know when he will return?” he asked. The softness of his tone did not fool her for a moment, but it did surprise her.

A man such as this was used to getting what he wanted and did not have to be nice to get it. Still, he needed to know, for whatever this matter was. The one that had him staring up at the hillside when she'd arrived. From the intensity of his expression at the time, it had appeared as though he was making a plan or worrying about an attack from above.

Even knowing all that and suspecting more, Brienne
felt as though she wanted to tell him. She wanted to help him. This man who was so far above her and could have no place in her life, who would do his duty and leave her life forever, made her want to tell him whatever he needed or wanted to know.

She nearly laughed aloud as she realized it. For it went against everything her parents and experience had taught her about the consequences of speaking about Lord Hugh to outsiders. And yet . . .

“Soon, I think. It is not his custom to leave the castle for much longer than that.” The words tumbled out, in spite of her doubts about sharing them. He smiled at her, and it eased her fears a bit. She let out the breath she did not know she held inside and nodded.

“Are the lady and her daughter within?”

A terrible thought struck her at this question. Was he to marry her half sister, Adelaide? Had the king sent him to propose the match with their father? No! She wanted to scream out and stop him, if that was his intent. But the sight of Gavin standing a few paces away stopped her from uttering another word.

“Father,” she said, nodding to him. Sir William faced him as well.

“Brienne, come with me. Your mother needs you,” he said. He crossed his massive arms over his chest and waited for her to move.

Sir William did not seem surprised or bothered by the order given her. He stepped aside without a word and without looking away from her father and allowed her to walk from his side. When she reached him, she turned back and met the knight's gaze. Once more, he smiled at her, and Brienne knew her fear of him was
gone. She nodded her reply to the question he last asked and waited for him to indicate he'd understood before looking at Gavin.

“Go, child,” her father said softly, nodding in the direction of their cottage. “I will follow you.”

What was he going to do? Try to protect her from this knight? This man of power? This knight sent here on the king's orders? Such a man could take anything or anyone he wanted and answer to almost no one—certainly not the blacksmith. A few coins paid to the lord would address any loss of honor, if it came to that, and it had before to other women here. Her lord, her true sire, used his people ruthlessly and cared little if others did as well.

Gavin moved so that he once again stood between her and Sir William, and she was forced to begin walking away. She would have to have faith that Gavin would not insult this warrior over any threat he thought the man held for her. Sir William had, other than one kiss, done nothing untoward, and Gavin should have no argument with him.

Only as she walked away did she realize how far from the truth that thought was.

This man had already changed her life, and he would change it more. She knew it in her bones. The fire in her blood knew it and teased her with it. Brienne simply had no sense of how it would happen or when, but it would be soon.

Very soon
, the fire whispered.

*   *   *

William watched as Brienne left, and that strange feeling in his blood began anew. This man was her father and offered no threat to her, and yet something inside
him knew that the man stood in William's path to claiming her. He fought against releasing whatever pushed from within, repeating to himself that this man protected her as well. And he would protect her until she belonged to him. The heat racing in his veins eased and the redness in his gaze faded then.

“I would ask ye to keep away from my daughter, my lord.”

Though there was no disrespect in this man's tone, there was a hint of guilt there. Or another emotion that William could not identify.

“What is your name?”

“Gavin, my lord. Gavin the blacksmith.”

“Gavin, I have done nothing to harm her. I would not dishonor or hurt her.” The man's brow rose on one side, challenging him without a word. Others had tried; he knew that now. This man had kept her from harm. “I will not seek her out,” he offered, knowing the words to be a lie as soon as he uttered them.

“Thank ye, my lord,” the man said, bowing to him, at what William could tell was great cost. “She is our only child, and I would not see her abused or hurt.”

This man would do what he needed to in order to protect his daughter, whether that meant challenging a nobleman or humbling himself. He loved his daughter.

A tightness fisted around his heart, squeezing it and reminding him that no one had done that for him. As a bastard raised by a man who knew him to be the son of the king, no soft words were spared for him. A nuisance and an inconvenience to his mother, he'd interfered with her time with the king, shortened more so then by the king's need for a legitimate heir. He'd learned early to depend only on himself and to expect
nothing from even those he called parents. With only a small gesture, this man showed him all that was lacking in his life.

William could not force words past the tightness in his throat, so he nodded to Gavin and watched the man leave the clearing, following his daughter as he said he would. He wondered if she would be punished for being caught alone with a man, but then he remembered the glimmer in Gavin's eyes as he spoke of her. She was safe in her father's care.

As he made his way to return to his camp, waiting until he was certain no one could follow him, the pit of his stomach began to churn. William reached the camp and found that more of his men had arrived, so he spent the rest of the day organizing their weapons and supplies. Throughout the day, he thought about the cause of the pain he felt. Lying on his blankets that night, awaiting the rest of the troop, the truth of it struck him.

Brienne was not safe. Neither Gavin nor he himself would be able to protect her from whatever they would be facing. And chances were, William would be the one to hurt her worst of all. For if she were part of those endangering the king or his kingdom, William must stop her as well.

But the next morn, against his own better judgment, against the advice of his closest friends and his word to the blacksmith, William positioned himself along the path he knew she would walk.

And she did.

This time, she approached heading toward the valley, carrying a basket on her arm. He'd been waiting a short time when she passed the place where he sat, next to the stream and not far from where he'd met her
the day before. When she noticed him, her step faltered a bit before she stopped and bent her head down in a respectful gesture.

“My lord.”

“Good morrow, Brienne,” he said, remaining where he was. She'd become frightened of him the last time, and he did not want that to happen again. “How do you fare this morn?”

“I am well, my lord,” she said, watching him without moving toward or away from him.