Romancing the Rogue (179 page)

“After you,” Brynn teased, lifting her basket in the same manner as Abby. She struggled to balance it on her hip, and the extra bulk from the unfamiliar clothing made her steps a bit awkward. But after a few stumbles and only one big spill of harvested beans, she caught up.

“Oh, sedge weed and blessed thistle!” Brynn grew excited when she spied a few herbs she recognized and had used readily in her stables. She dropped to her knees to thoroughly inspect them.

“Aye, start pickin’ it. There are gloves in my basket.”

“I had such a hard time finding it at the manor. It didn’t grow well.” Brynn couldn’t believe its abundance in just one little spot. “I once read that blessed thistle mixed with calendula and ancient water can bring a man back from the dead. I’m certain it included a few other things, but I do not recall them. I am going to make it one day, though, and it is going to work. I just need to find the book.”

“Are you an herbalist as well as a lady, then?”

“I’m not trained in it, but I can cure most wounds and poisons.”

“I suppose you can read and write, being a lady and all?”

Brynn laughed. “Of course.”

“I noticed those lashes on your back — they look fresh. What would the daughter of an earl be doing with lashes across her back?”

“My punishment for disobeying my father.” Brynn uprooted a sedge weed instead of breaking it off at its stem. She buried the root, hoping Abby didn’t see the mutilation.

The guard on horseback kept his distance as the women ate bread and rested under the unusually warm autumn sun. Brynn was very thankful the day brought with it warmth instead of rain. She had seen her fair share of water as of late and welcomed the dryness as she stretched herself on a patch of grass. Abby had taken on the task of translator for the women, who asked question after question. Brynn made many of them laugh and smile as she excitedly chatted to Abby, who tried to keep up in Engel and in Archaean. She finally had gotten herself so flustered that she picked up her half full basket and headed back to the fields, mumbling something about overeducated nobles.

There was still much work to be done after the women made the trek back to Daman’s home. The remains of the crops needed to be divided, the herbs sorted, and the loot made ready to sell in the morning. That evening, Brynn settled down next to the fire to stare at its entwining flames, imagining herself elsewhere. She envisioned playing a game with sticks with Michael in the courtyard, a treat they’d loved as children. How simple life had been.

“Would you like to go to the village market with me in the morn?” Abby, who must have spotted Brynn’s longing look into the fire, knelt beside her.

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Brynn replied, turning her attention to the flames hungrily licking a chunk of wood.

“People will speak with you, and you must know what they are saying.”

“But—”

“Just sit with me and we will go over some names of the herbs and of some coins. You will understand soon enough. I learned fairly quickly. Now, let us go over the herbs. You already know those, so I will tell you what they are in Archaean.”

Soon Brynn was calling out items in Archaean as easily as she could in Engel. The lilt gave her a bit of trouble — Brynn’s sounded more as though she was losing her dinner than the lyrical brogue of Abby. Brynn giggled, covering a hiccup. “I’m afraid I’m terrible at this.”

“You are doing fine. We will practice more tomorrow.”

Exhausted, Brynn fell fast asleep in her bed. Dreams brought with them visions of blood and knives, of rain, hot skin, and lustful kisses, awakening her startled and in a cold sweat. He had called out her name, his voice lingering in her sleep. Not able to shake the dream, Brynn rose from bed to ready for the day. She wanted to master the clothing for herself this time. She stoked the coals for light then placed each article of clothing out on the floor separately so she could see them all at once. The dark blue skirt was the first to go on over her chemise, followed by the bodice. After much resisting, it finally allowed her to tighten the laces. Lastly, Brynn strapped the leather belt around the large amounts of fabric making the arisaidh.

Brynn recovered her hidden
boot knife
and secured it under her skirt.

Abby joined her up the stairs. Outside sat a plain wooden wagon with several baskets of goods being loaded onto its flat bed.

“Do you remember the words?”

“Oh, yes,” Brynn replied, pulling her arisaidh around her shoulders and neck to block the frigid morning air. “Most of them.” The day was dreary and dark; winter was fast approaching.

The center of the village was noisy and busy with passersby and Brynn looked about for a familiar face. Every head looked the same. How was she to spot the difference between one yellow head and another?

“What do you keep looking for?” Abby asked Brynn.

“No one,” she quickly answered.

“I did not say who, I said what.” Abby grinned. “Come, here we are.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Abby and Brynn peddled their herbs and autumn vegetables. Brynn, finding it very difficult to keep up with the language, flustered easily and cursed several times before kicking the small table they stood behind in frustration, jamming her toe against a table leg.

Abby laughed aloud with her big, boisterous laugh, commenting on Brynn’s entertainment value. Before packing up the remains of the day’s sale, Abby disappeared, leaving Brynn to fend for herself before returning with a package hidden under her arisaidh.

“Here, hide these well. Don’t let Daman find them, or he’ll have your hide for sure. These should occupy that head of yours for a while.” Abby passed Brynn a few small, tattered books and parchments when the guard wasn’t looking.

“Oh, Abby, thank you,” Brynn whispered, hopping on the tips of her toes, eager to see what each contained. She couldn’t walk fast enough. The wagon she trotted beside seemed to crawl the short distance back to Daman’s. Safe in the depths of the underground room, Brynn ran to rekindle the fireplace.

After adding a log, she sat cross-legged in the corner with her books, eager to feel the pages between her fingers. One was written in Engel, seemingly a translation of words into Archaean. The writing was strange, but within time she would have it mastered. Another book was written entirely in Archaean, but drawings next to the words told Brynn it was a book of herbs. The third book was also in Archaean, and Brynn had yet to reveal its secrets. There were no pictures to give her clues so she set it aside. She would have to wait until her skills had improved to read it. She read late into the night until she could keep her eyes open no longer, excited to tell Abby what she had learned.

The Barmaid

The Crossroads

Archaean Highlands

Winter

Hours turned into days, days were followed by weeks, weeks blurred into hopelessness. Brynn was finally able to exchange words with the women and tried to be friendly, but many of them simply ignored her. Her newness had long worn off, and she supposed Abby’s particular fondness for her sparked a tinge of resentment. Abigail, however, had taken Brynn under her wing during her transition from Lady Brynn of Galhaven to nonexistence. Nights were spent next to the fire reading her books and staring into the flames, envisioning Marek. Her warrior hadn’t returned for her. He only appeared in dreams now, haunting every thought and moment of quietness. Often she replayed their time spent together, wondering if she had only done something different — said the right words — she might not be banished as a slave.

No news of a family taking her in as a nursemaid had come to fruition, but she still clung to hope, despite Abby’s gloomy truths. Damon breathed lies.

Some nights Brynn would forgo her studies and meticulous note taking and sing a few childhood lullabies in that sweet, soothing voice everyone hushed to hear.

The room seemed extra quiet at present, as Brigid, the youngest of the group, had been sold and torn from the clutches of her friends earlier in the evening. Their numbers grew fewer as the ground froze over, the snow piling higher around the doorframes and fences. The women took to baking breads and making stews to sell at market now that the crops had long passed.

When the bitter cold forced them behind closed doors, several women worked in the tavern for Daman’s brother, Godric. He owned a large brick oven so they would spend much of their time in the kitchen of the tavern, servicing the pub and cooking. Brynn caught on quickly with the baking and helped Allina, the head barmaid, tend bar. It kept her busy and passed the time, and most of all, it kept her mind from wandering back to her warrior. Every tall man with curly gold locks seemed to have his face and sea blue eyes, but after a few skeptical blinks, the features would morph into nothing but that of a stranger.

Men came and went from the tavern and with every swing of the entrance door, Brynn raised her head with slim hopes one day it might be him, stopping by on one of his many travels. She frequently had to remind herself that he would not be passing through this tavern. He was at last home safe with his wife and his son. After all, he had chosen them over her.

An easy, thoughtless choice.

Brynn forced herself to smile while her heart felt differently. She missed his voice, and their foolish, petty arguments. She missed his stubbornness and she missed… his kiss. Oh, what she would give to taste his kiss, just once more.

~~~~

“Abby, the handsome gentlemen in the corner are asking for another pint of ale!” The tavern was busy — warriors traveling from the east had taken refuge in the Crossroads to ride out the raging winter storm brewing above them.

“Another? Any more ale and they will be long dead before they ever get their chance to fight!” Abby called from the back room. She was busy stocking barrels of ale with Owen, the part-time barkeep.

“Men with blood on their mind have nothing better to do than to drink themselves into a fight, Abby, you should know this by now,” Brynn teased while waiting for Abby to bring her an order of ale.

“Hello, Brynn, you seem to be in good spirits today.” Instead of Abby, it was Owen who brought her the mugs. He was an Archaean man, thoughtful and kind to her, and Brynn certainly couldn’t deny she had a fondness for his handsome qualities. Owen had no interest in wars or spilling blood and kept to himself and his books. They had much in common.

“Hello, Owen,” she replied, practicing her Archaean words. She flashed him a sweet smile, playfully fluttering her eyes. “I learned a few new words last night,” she told him, anxious to share her newfound knowledge.

“Ah, and what might those be?”

“Handsome… and lovely, and what was the other one?” She pointed her finger to her cheek and innocently turned her gaze to the ceiling as if deep in thought. “I forget.”

After swiftly kissing the indicated cheek, Owen asked, “Was it ‘kiss’?”

“Hmmm, perhaps.” Brynn blushed. A coy smile creased her lips as she took the overflowing mugs from the bar.

He ran a palm over his fiery red hair. Owen sighed, resting on his elbows. He laughed as she walked away from him, her hips swaying with each step.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth,” snickered Abby in passing.

“Here you go, lads,” Brynn greeted, setting three mugs of ale in front of her customers. “A coin apiece, now.” The men slapped a coin each on the table and Brynn swept them up, and dropped them in her pouch. As she crossed back to the bar, the regulars shouted her name.

“Brynn, sing us a song! Sing to us of home!”

“No, lads, I’m not in the mood to be singing today. Perhaps later.”

“Oh, just a short one! Remind us of what is still good in this world.”

Brynn sighed. She must keep the paying customers happy. It took her a few moments to remember the translation, but she began to sing a village favorite. Most missed their families and their homelands — she understood their heartache. “Land of our people, land that gave us home and hearth…” Silence surrounded her when she sang. “Hear our voices, hear our prayers,” she continued. “Lead us home and bless our dear ones. We pray to you now and forevermore.”

“To home!” a man cheered, raising his mug of ale in the quiet room. Others joined in as they all took a drink and toasted to wherever their home might be.

Brynn returned to the bar, fetching a few empty mugs on her way.

“Why such a sad face?”

Startled, Brynn turned toward Owen. “Oh, no reason.” She halfheartedly laughed, trying her best to replicate a genuine smile.

“Why do I not believe you?”

“I have never been a good liar.”

“I have something for you I think might cheer you up. Can you stop by my father’s workshop tomorrow?”

Brynn beamed into his emerald-colored eyes. “I might sneak away. What is it? You know I love your surprises.” His latest surprise was a beautiful and delicate seashell bracelet.

“Just come by.”

“We will be baking bread in the afternoon. I’ll stop in while it rises.”

“’Tis settled then. Tomorrow.”

~~~~

Brynn worked the dough with her palms, kneading it into small rolls and setting them aside on the large counter in the kitchen. She minded her own, while the other women gossiped around her. She sang to pass the time, to transport to a far better place where winter’s cold embrace couldn’t touch her. She sang of love, and of her warrior, wishing she was in his arms under a warm autumn sun. Happiness flowed through her as she envisioned his smile. “Come, my love, come quickly to me. Come to my door and away we will flee. I wish in vain, I wish I had my heart again. But now my love has gone I fear, has gone away and left me here. Come love, come quickly to me, and away we will flee.”

Abby slammed a pot on the counter. “All right, girl, tell me who it is you be singin’ about. Who is this lover of yours you lament over day in and day out? Every day it is the same — he’s left me here, he’s left me here, please come back. Whine, whine, whine. Poor me.” She tossed up her hands and walked to the other side of the table to tend to her baking.

“There is no one. It is just a song, ’tis all, and I like to sing it.”

“And I am the Queen of Engel!” Abby laughed. “Who are you trying to fool? We can see right through your songs.”

“There is someone behind those words,” a woman in the kitchen commented, stifling a giggle.

“Who may it be?” asked another.

“There is no one!” replied Brynn, punching a fist into freshly risen dough. Brushing a curl that had somehow worked its way loose from her brow, she muttered, “Not anymore.”

“Ahh, so there
is
someone. Who is he now? You must tell us all.”

“It’s Owen, is not it?” Allina crossed the room, immersed in the conversation.

“No!” scoffed Brynn. “Definitely not.”

“Why not? He is a handsome lad.”

“And he fancies you,” chimed another.

“He doesn’t hold my heart,” Brynn pined.

“Then who does?” They all seemed to ask her in unison.

Brynn couldn’t divulge her secret. Surely they would laugh at her for the mixed feelings she had for the tall
married
warrior she had only known for a handful of days. “No one. He doesn’t exist to me anymore.”

“He’s the heaven and the earth to you, love. I see it in your eyes. Do not shut out love, for a life without love is a lifetime without the sun — an ocean without water. A life without love is a life unlived. You remember that.” Abigail poked Brynn’s chest with her flour covered finger.

~~~~

Abby’s words rang fresh in Brynn’s ears as she shuffled her way through the slush-covered alley toward the blacksmith shop. Perhaps Owen
was
the one for her. He was a very nice man — educated and certainly smart — but when she looked at him, her heart didn’t skip and her knees didn’t grow weak. Only one man had ever made her feel like that… the one she could never have.

“Hello? Owen, are you here?” Brynn entered the front door to the shop.

“Aye, he is in the back, lass.”

“Thank you, Alec. How is your arm?” Nearly a fortnight before, Owen’s father burned himself on hot steel. Brynn had made him a poultice from dried blackberries and calendula for the wound. His condition seemed to have improved greatly as he was working again.

“Quite well, thank you. Go on, now, he is in the back.” Alec pointed to a door and continued his work sharpening a steel blade on a spinning whetstone.

Brynn greeted Owen with a wide smile as she rounded the corner. “Hello, Owen!”

“How is your bread baking?” He laughed, pointing to the contrasting flour adorning her skirts.

“Oh, enough chatter, what do you have for me?” Brynn was eager with anticipation like a child just given sweets.

“Right on point today.” He chuckled as he crossed the room to find his satchel.

“Aye,” she giggled. “As always.”

“Close your eyes.”

Brynn clamped her eyes shut, holding out her palms. “This better be good, Owen. I snuck out for this.”

“Aye, it is,” he told her, digging in the depths of a satchel. He placed a small worn book in her awaiting hands.

Upon feeling the leather binding, she clutched it to her chest. She inhaled its musty scent deeply before opening her eyes to see what prize she held. Further inspection concluded she held no ordinary book. Her heart jumped into her throat.

“I found it in the great library while delivering some of my father’s swords several weeks ago. It being so far from home, I shoved it in my bag and I stole it. It is written by the ancients,” he blurted before she could ask. “I think it might contain something you have been looking for.”

“You little thief.” But a thrill of elation raced through her veins as she thumbed through the pages. It would need translating, but she would soon have it mastered. She wouldn’t stop until she had its entirety decoded. As if reading her mind, Owen passed her another book. “You spoil me.” She cracked the cover of the new book. It contained the ancient symbols and letters roughly translated into Archaean. She rose on the tips of her toes to kiss Owen’s cheek and thanked him several times before pulling the arisaidh over her head and shoulders. “I must get back. Thank you again, Owen. You have no idea how much this means to me. I am forever in your debt.” She blew him a kiss before ducking through the door.

Her feet couldn’t fly fast enough to the tavern. She nearly dropped the books as she leaped over the puddle at the entrance that never seemed to dry. “Abby?” she called out as she entered. “Abby, look!” Brynn raced to the kitchen and pulled her friend aside to show her the books. “It’s the one I told you about, remember? He found it! I cannot believe he found it for me.” Brynn huffed out of breath. “Look, it’s filled with all the ancient herbs and medicines. It’s in here, I know it.”

“What are you talking about, girl?” questioned Abby as she took one of the books from Brynn. “What is this now?”

“Remember when I told you about the ancient water bringing a man back from the dead? Well, this is the only book in which it is written. I have been searching for it since I was a child. I just… I cannot believe I hold it in my hands even now!”

“Methinks Owen is a bit sweet on our dear Brynn,” one of the girls teased, pulling loaves from the oven. A few others laughed as Brynn’s cheeks grew a rosy. “Why else would a man bribe a woman with expensive gifts?”

“He is my friend,” Brynn replied, tucking the books away. Abby placed a large bowl of dough in front of her. “He understands me.”

Moments later Daman burst through the kitchen door, a half-consumed mug of ale in his hand. “You,” he slurred, pointing a stubby finger at them.

Not sure which person he was pointing to, they looked at each other uneasily. More often than not, special requests weren’t for ale delivery.

“What is it that you want, Daman?” From the back of the kitchen, Abby stepped into view, distracting him from the others. Her hands were placed firmly on her hips and she tapped her foot as she often did when irritated by his disturbance.

“Godric needs extra help tonight. He wants her.” He pointed in the direction of Brynn.

“She is helping
me
tonight,” replied Abby, standing firm. “We agreed, or does that thick head of yours not remember?”

“Are you arguing with me? You know what happens when slaves argue,” spat Damon. After taking a long gulp of his remaining ale, he then wiped his mouth with his sleeve, threw the mug against a nearby wall, and stomped in Abby’s direction.

As he reached out to strike, Brynn leaped in front of him. “It is all right, I will stay. There is no need for that.” She placed a hand on his forearm, beckoning him to lower it.

“She is not staying without me,” huffed Abby.

“Fine, but she is serving.”

Long after the sun had set, a steady stream of men wandered through the doors of Godric’s tavern. Brynn could sense something was different about this night. The men seemed anxious — on edge. There was blood in the air, she was certain of it. She remained guarded for the entirety of the evening until she could safely retreat to the warmth of the hearth in the kitchen.

Abby joined Brynn shortly thereafter, pulling up a wooden stool next to the fire. Wiping her brow on her sleeve, she sighed. “There are Engels in the tavern this night, and they are not to be provoked. I must warn you of one. I knew of him from my husband. He carries a self-proclaimed noble title of Lord Westmore. He has made his way to the Crossroads, and takes what he wants whenever he wants it, and there is not a soul alive who can stop him. Stay away from him at all costs.”

Brynn’s eyes widened at the horror Abby instilled inside her. “This man is here, in the tavern?”

“Aye, I saw him earlier — tall, with hair as dark as night. If you catch his eye, go and hide. Seek out Owen, or run to Daman’s. I will lie for you.”

Brynn listened intently as Abby described evil. Rumors of his cruelty and black heart flamed like wild fires throughout the highlands, and villages prayed for solace from his wrath. Westmore had taken it upon himself to rid the Engel lands of Archaeans, and was a key player in the game of war so many years ago.

For nights on end, various men, Archaean warriors and Engel alike, passed through the tavern doors, speaking of great battles and plots to invade bordering villages. Brynn kept her head lowered and stuck to the shadows the best she could, but couldn’t completely ignore those she must serve. Her existence was at stake. Defy Godric and Damon, and a beating would soon follow. The Engel, Westmore, used the far corner table as a meeting station, laying out various maps and markers most evenings. His emotionless eyes and lingering stares grew increasingly worrisome for Brynn. She hadn’t spoken a word to the man, yet somehow he’d taken notice. Brynn wanted nothing more than to fade into obscurity.

Having cleared the last of the tables, Brynn set a tray of cups on a nearby counter and joined Abby near the hearth for their nightly sit. Brynn rubbed her temples with her fingers. “I cannot wait to sleep.” She yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

“A bit of sleep would do me good as well,” Abby replied.

“My thoughts are not where they should be. I nearly dropped my tray when that Engel walked to the bar. I thought he was going to grab me, Abby.” Brynn swallowed the lump in her throat, still rattled by the evening’s events. “To be honest, I was relieved when he took Allina and not me. I thought I was next
. I would sooner kill myself rather than allow such evil to touch me. If you find me dead one morning, you’ll have your reason why.”

The kitchen door creaked, and both women turned toward the audible intrusion. Owen lingered in the threshold, his face ashen and eyes wide with fear.

Brynn stood to face him. “What is wrong, Owen?”

He sucked in a deep breath. “He wants you.” The words left his lips as if they weren’t his own.

Brynn’s hands crossed her middle, hoping she could somehow keep her heart from bursting from her chest. She shook her head, unwilling to believe it.

“I’ve been ordered to fetch you. You must come now.” Owen reached his hand out for her.

Glancing back at Abby, Brynn sought reassurance. She didn’t find it. Taking a hesitant step forward, and then another, she clasped Owen’s hand when she reached him. She squeezed it tight.

“Stay strong,” Owen whispered he entered the main room of the tavern with Brynn clinging to his side.

Two men were upon her then, taking her about the arms. She was ripped from Owen’s grasp, and left to put up a useless battle she wouldn’t win.