The Sword and the Sylph (Elemental Series) (13 page)

“All right,” he said, “I would tell you. But you need to promise me that you would never repeat this to anyone as long as you live.”

“Of course,” she said, and he only hoped he could believe her. Because if his secret was revealed it could mean he would live a doomed life from this day on.

“My mother was a wonderful woman,” he relayed. “She was always kind and very beautiful.”

“I think I would have liked her,” said Portia.

“
Aye, and she would have liked you as well. And I am only saddened by the fact that you would never meet her,” he said. “She died when I was very young, and I miss her so much since she no longer walks upon this earth.”

“I am so sorry, Braden. So how did she die?” She reached out and took his hand in hers. She could feel his pain, t
hough she had no idea what he’d gone through during his childhood.

“’Tis a sad story, Portia
. Are you certain you want to hear it?”

“I do. Please,” she begged him. “I am here to help you through your pain.”

“I have never met anyone like you,” he told her. “Thank you for being here for me, my little fae.” He reached out and kissed her atop the head.

“Please, con
tinue.” She urged him to tell her his story.

“My mother was young when she became pregnant with me.”

“Was she betrothed at an early age such is customary for a noble?”

“
Aye and nay both. But I highly doubt that she was noble. Not by birth, anyway. My mother was deserted as a baby on the steps of the church,” he relayed. “She was taken in and raised by a noble couple who had no children of their own. She was betrothed to a very respectable and wealthy lord, but unfortunately the marriage never came about.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Did the man die in battle?”

“Nay. My mother . . . my mother . . .”

“’T
is all right,” she told him, squeezing his hands in hers, giving him the confidence to continue.

“My mother was taken captive and her parents killed when their ca
stle was seized by a band of vicious, ruthless warriors. She was raped by one of the young boys who was about the same age as her, who wanted to prove to the others that he was a man.”

“Oh, that’s horrible,” she said, sadness in her voice.

“I was born in the midst of a bunch of murderous men who wanted to raise me to be one of them. I was only five when my mother left and took me with her.”

“Where did she go with you?” asked Portia
curiously.

“She dropped me off, abandoning me in a church,
I suppose because that was all she knew. She told me she’d come back for me but never did. They found her body behind the church the next day. It seems she’d taken her own life.”

“Oh, Braden, I am so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around him and he reveled in the feeling of being loved. ’Twas something he’d never felt since the day his mother died.

“And what happened to the man who was your father?” she asked. “Did he come to find you?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. He was an awful man and I hope to God he died the violent death he deserved.”

“You can’t mean that,” she told him.

“I do.
I have no fond memories of him, Portia. Only violent ones of him beating me until I begged for mercy. And it’s sad to say that the only real memory I have of him is his arm reaching out to strike me. And on that arm was a crescent moon covered by two snakes entwined together.”

“I see now why you didn’t want to tell me,” she said. “And do not worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Braden heard a falling rock in the distance and got to his feet quickly. “Someone is here,” he said. “Stay put, I’m going to try to sneak up on them and surprise them.”

“Braden,” she whispered before he left. “Tell me, who were th
e band of evil men who stole your mother? From what army did the man come who’d treated you so violently as a child?”

“The Klarens,” he told her, looking off to where he’d heard the noise. “And I swear if I ever run across any of them
again, I would strike them all down dead without a second thought for what they’d done to me and my mother.”

Portia got to her feet as Braden left. She knew now she could never tell him that her stepmother had betrothed her to a Klaren. She didn’t plan on really marrying the man anyway, so what did it matter? She felt the need to get back to her father and check on his health but she also knew she had to get Braden as far away from Castle Calila as possible. If not, he’d see the Klarens that now infiltrated her castle walls and she had no doubt he would try to take them all on single-handedly if need be. After the story he’d told her, she knew he was holding in so much anger that it would not take much before he’d explode.

“Braden,” she called after him, running through the dark
ness trying to find him. “Braden, where are you?”

A sh
adow passed by in the distance and she ran toward it, thinking ’twas him. Only too late did she hear the warning on the breeze, telling her to beware of yet another. An arm grabbed her from behind, and before she could call to the air to help her, a burlap bag covered her head, bringing even more darkness to her world than the night around her.

“Nay,” she called out, already feeling the air leaving her lungs. The bag was pulled tight around her neck and she felt herself not able to breathe. She panicked. She lashed out at her attacker, but whoever it was would have none of her fighting back. A hard fist hit her across her face, and with no air to breathe in her small enclosure
her powers drained from her quickly. Then she felt herself being thrown over the side of a horse and her head dizzied and her body weakened. She wanted to call for Braden to come to her rescue but had not the energy to even cry out. Her world darkened around her and she slipped into an unconscious state.

Braden turned quickly from pursuing his exploration, thinking he’d heard Portia cry out his name on the wind. He pulled his sword from his waist and hurried back up the hill where he’d left her. That’s when he spied the man in the distance throwing Portia’s limp body over the side of a horse. The man hurriedly pulled himself up after her. Braden’s heart stilled as the moonlight hit the man in the face as he turned. There was no mistaken the long, ragged hair and the worn warrior leather. He’d seen these warriors too many times as a child to not know who they were. The man’s padded leather was covered by a tunic with a crest that shown in the moonlight. And that was when Braden knew he was not mistaken. Two snakes intertwined atop a field of forest green and black, announced from where the man came.

“Klarens,” he ground out, feeling the rapid beating of his heart. The anger filled his pores and he started forward after the man to kill him. He didn’t take but two steps when another figure tackled him to the ground and knocked the sword from his hand. A hand clamped down over his mouth and as he rolled his attacker to the side, he could see ’twas Lord Solomon’s captain of the guard, Sir Samuel.

“Quiet man,” Sir Samuel spoke in a low tone, “before you get us both killed.”

He removed his hand from Braden’s mouth and Braden shook him off angrily, getting to his feet and finding his sword.

“Why the hell did you stop me?” he ground out. “I could have struck him dead and saved Portia if you hadn’t.”

“Perhaps s
o, but could you have fought the rest of them off as well?”

Braden’s eyes followed where Sir Samuel
’s finger pointed. There, not far in the distance were probably a hundred Klarens atop horses in a single file. They held lit torches and headed for the drawbridge, entering Castle Calila as if they’d been invited.

“What the hell is going on
here?” he asked.

“
Well,” explained Sir Samuel, “while you were bedding a girl who is not your betrothed, the Klarens have just taken over the castle.”

“Bid the devil
! Were you watching us make love? I’ll kill you.”

“Calm down, you fool. I didn’t need to see it, as I heard the cries of passion on the wind all the way down the mountain. I’m sure everyone in the castle heard it as well.”

“God’s eyes!” Braden ran a weary hand through his long, tangled hair. He really didn’t need this getting back to Lord Solomon. And he couldn’t help but wonder what else the man had heard.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Long enough to overhear your confession of being the son of one of those bastards,” he said, nodding in the direction of the Klarens.

“Hell and damnation,” he spat. “Could this get any worse?”

“Oh, that it can,” Sir Samuel assured him. “You see, I followed you here at the orders of Lord Solomon. It seems the stablemaster spilled his guts after you saw to convict him and hand him over.”

“What do you mean?”

“He told Lord Solomon that Lady Portia of Castle Calila is the one who has been spying on Banesmoor and relaying the messages to her stepmother.”

“Damn!” Braden paced back and forth wondering what to do.

“It also seems that the stablemaster has spilled your secret of already being betrothed to the spy though you’d taken up the offer to marry Lord Solomon’s daughter.”

“I am not betrothed to Portia-Maer,” he said. “I only used that as excuse so she wouldn’t tell her stepmother I was
there as a spy for Banesmoor.”

“You can tell that to Lord Solomon, but I doubt he’ll believe it. After all, I am his captain of the guard and when I tell him you’ve just bedded the wench, he’s not going to be happy.”

Braden looked at the Klaren riding into the castle with Portia in his grasp. He was doomed. He couldn’t fight the Klarens by himself, and as soon as Sir Samuel told his liege lord what he’d just heard and seen, Sir Braden would probably be sentenced to death. Damned if he stayed and damned if he left. Once again his past haunted him in more ways than one. But this time, he was sure he would never be able to escape the demons of the past that tortured his mind day and night. And to his dismay he’d probably never have the chance to hold Portia in his arms ever again.

Chapter14

“Wake up you wretched bitch, wake up!”

Portia’s eyes fluttered open o
nly to see the ugly face of Olaf staring down at her. His eyes blazed fire but his mouth turned up into a sickening grin.

“’Tis about time,” said her step
mother coming across the room and bending over to look at her.

Portia noticed she was on a pallet, adjacent to the bed of her father. She thought she saw Juturna in the shadows but wasn’t sure.

“Good, now I’ll have my way with her and listen to her scream the way she did with that knight atop the mountain.” The man started to pull his belt from his waist but the countess stopped him.

“You disgusting
pig, stop it!” The countess stepped in front of him to block his path to the pallet. “I said you could have her hand in marriage, not ravage her right in front of me. And with the earl right in the room, as well.”

“The earl is
half-dead,” he growled. “What does it matter? Besides, she’s mine and I’ll do with her whatever I please.”

“Not now!” she shouted. “We need her strong enough to heal the wounded. If you drain her powers, we’ll never be able to take Banesmoor as our own. We need all the soldiers we can get.”

“Then let’s attack them already. What are we waiting for?”

“We are
waiting for your leader. Now where is he?”

Just then the door
banged open, hitting against the wall, and Portia’s gaze shot across the room. In the light of the candles she could see a tall man, built solid like a castle’s restraining wall fill the doorway. His dark eyes scanned everyone in the room and in two strides he was next to the pallet that she laid upon.

“Here he is now,” said Olaf. “Lord Muir, the countess has been waiting for you.”

“Then let her wait,” the newcomer replied in a low grumble.

This
man looked to be older than Olaf, possibly four decades in age, but still in good shape for fighting. His hair was long and dark, and his face held a regal tone to it, reminding her of the angles of Sir Braden’s face.

He wore
a sleeveless leather gambeson with a small plate of curved armor over his right shoulder. A sideless surcoat of dark green displayed two snakes entwined, which she figured was the Klarens’ crest. He sported black hose on his legs and short leather boots. He had an array of weapons belted low on his waist that clanked and rattled as he walked.

This man was fierce and frightened her when he looked her way. His eyes bore into her and made her feel ravished and dirty.
Not wanting to look upon him, she turned her head and looked the other way.

“We need to make our plans on the attack of Banesmoor,” said the countess. “Now let’s go to the great hall where we won’t be bothered.”

Portia knew she meant that she didn’t want her to hear the plans of the attack. While she’d spied and brought back information, her stepmother was no fool. She would see that Portia hadn’t relayed any of the enemy’s plans now in a while.