The Sword and the Sylph (Elemental Series) (18 page)

“Portia, get up!” said the countess. “Your services are going to be needed soon.”

“She has just lost her father,” broke in Juturna sounding as if she couldn’t believe the countess just said that. “I am surprised to see you are not distraught from the death of your husband as well.”

“You would be punished for such an insolent tongue.” The countess motioned to the two guards still standing there. “Take her to the dungeon.”

“Nay!” Braden held up his hand to stop the order. “You’ll do naught of the sort. You are no longer in command,” he reminded her.

“I most certainly am. Now guards, do as I say.”

“My son has the final word now,” said Lord Muir stepping forward. “I suggest you listen to him wench, or ’twill you being brought to the dungeon instead.”

The countess saw she was outnumbered and
could do nothing about it. Lifting her skirts, she took off in a huff out the door.

“Portia
,” Braden said softly into her ear. “We are going to need to move your father’s body.”

“Nay,” she said cli
nging more tightly to the deceased man.

“Just throw him in the ground and let’s get on with our attack,” said Braden’s father.

That notion made Portia even more upset. She stood up and raised her hand, using the power of air to send the man stumbling into the wall. “Nay!” she screamed.

“You’ll die for that, bitch.” He drew his sword and stepped forwa
rd. Braden unsheathed his own sword and held it up in front of his father.

“You touch her and I’ll have your head on the ground at your feet before you know it.”

“You threaten your own father?” he asked.

“She is my wife now and any man who even looks at her
in the wrong way would have to answer to me.”

His father nodded and sheathed his sword. “Impressive, your loyalty to a woman.
However, not the ways of a Klaren. How do I know you really are a Klaren, Son? For all I know you may be faking the whole thing for some reason.”

Portia stopped crying and though he didn’t look over to her, he knew she was
feeling as nervous as he at that moment.

“You’ll just have to take my word for it, that’s all. Guards!” he called, bringing the two men from the corridor. “Take the earl’s body down into the cellar room for now. He would stay there until Lady Portia is done paying her final visit.”

They nodded and proceeded to remove the man’s body out of the room. Two Klarens came in just then, one of them looking over to Portia.

“Where is my betrothed going?” he asked.

“What?” asked Braden. “Are you speaking about my wife?”

“Nay! She’s mine,” said the man angrily.

“Olaf, she is neither of ours anymore,” said Muir. “She is married to Braden now – my son.”

“Son?” The man seemed suspicious. “Why is he wearing the clothes of a Klaren?”

“He says he is one of us now, though I am not sure I believe it.”

“Then test him to find out,” said Olaf.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Braden’s father with a cocked smile. He went over to the fire and shoved the poker into the hot flames. “Braden, if you truly are a Klaren than I am sure you would want to prove your loyalty.” He looked up, the hot poker glowing in his hand. “Wouldn’t you?”

Braden fe
lt suddenly ill. He knew that look upon his father’s face and it wasn’t good. Whenever he’d had that half-smirk it was always before he did something to hurt him. He truly wanted naught to do with this man, but knew for the safety of Portia and the entire castle, he was going to have to do anything to convince him.

“Of course,” he answered, already feeli
ng like he’d sold his soul to the devil.

“The son of the leader of the Klarens needs to be marked,” he said. “I think you need to prove to me your loyalty by letting me burn the crest of twisted snakes over a
crescent moon onto your arm as well.”

The
bile rose to Braden’s throat as seeing his father holding the hot poker in his hand brought memories of his childhood to the surface. Memories of the daily beatings of not only him but also his mother. His mother’s screams as he not only hit her, but took her to his bed in punishment every time he lost a battle, echoed in Braden’s brain. His father was not a gentle man, and his mother’s tears had proved it. He bit the side of his cheek until it bled, holding back the emotions that threatened to spill forth.

Braden rolled up his
left sleeve and walked over to join his father. Just one more memory of taking a punishment he truly didn’t deserve.

“Not that arm,” said Lord Muir, “your sword arm, Braden.”

The two Klarens in the room rolled up his other sleeve, holding him down and keeping his arm steady against the table. That’s when he heard Portia’s voice from behind him.

“Braden, you don’t need to do this,” she told him.

“Aye, Portia, I do.”

His father lowered the glowing red hot poker toward his arm, and he already felt the pain that was to come.

“Wait!” he shouted out to stop his father.

“Changing your mind, son? So mayhap this is all a farce after all.”

“Nay, I just want the women out of the room first. There is no need for them to see this.”

“Go!” shouted Lord Muir, motioning with his head for the women to leave the room.

Braden could hear Portia crying softly as Juturna rushed her from the horrific sight that was about to occur.

“All right then, Son, are you ready to prove your loyalty now?”

Braden looked up to the man, hating him more at this moment than he ever did before. He had half a mind to pull his sword from his belt and run it right through his chest. Who knew life could be so cruel? He’d come full circle and now by his own will he’d put himself right back into the hands of the man who’d scarred him on more levels than he cared to count.

Braden kept a stoic face
and looked up into his father’s eyes. And forcing the words he really didn’t want to say, he nodded his head slightly and replied, “aye, let’s do it.”

Portia stood outside the closed door to the solar, holding onto Juturna for strength. She’d not only lost her father just minutes ago, but now her husband was about to be branded with a scalding hot poker by the man who’d thought to beat and torture him as a child.

“Arrrrrgh,” came Braden’s muffled cry of pain from beyond the thick wood
en door.

S
he gripped Juturna’s arm in order not to cry out, as she could feel the man’s pain. She closed her eyes and squeezed them tight, not able to ignore the smell of burnt flesh drifting to her from under the crack in the door. And when she heard Lord Muir laugh and shove the poker back into the fire to reheat it, she knew what was next and could not bear to hear Braden scream out again.

“Let us go, Juturna. There is naught we can do for Braden right now. Let us gather the herbs needed and when they are finished we would see to healing his wounds.”

They turned to go, and her stomach clenched as she tried to ignore the sounds of torture of the man she loved. Her husband, she reminded herself, knowing this was never how she’d envisioned her wedding day in her dreams. Never would she have thought this would be how she’d be spending her special day – never in a million years.

Chapter 20

Braden stumbled out to the castle gardens, feeling like he needed air in order to cleanse the smell of his own burnt flesh from his nose. His arm stung and pounded with pain and he’d just sat there and let the devil burn him with his hot poker forged in the fires of his own hell.

“Braden!” Portia ran up to him as he lowered himself down onto the stone bench. Juturna hustled quickly behind her as fast as her old b
ody could move.

“Portia, honey,” he said, swallowing hard – swallowing his pride that is. There was no way he had wanted her to see that, and knew he had to have her leave the room earlier.
He had tried to muffle his cries of pain, and only hoped she hadn’t heard that at all.

“Oh no!” She saw his arm and he thought she was going to cry again like she had when she’d lost her father. If she did, he didn’t know if he could handle it
at this moment. He’d wanted to comfort her then, but couldn’t. And bid the devil if he hadn’t been sitting here feeling like his skin had just been ripped off his body, he’d do something about comforting her now.

“Don’t look at it, sweetheart,” he said, glancing down to see the flaming red outline of two entwined snakes over a
crescent moon on the inside of his right forearm. Blood and puss oozed from the wound and the site of his own body had him wanting to turn away.

“Juturna, get the healing herbs, quickly,” she instructed. The
n she looked at him and forced a smile, probably trying to summon up strength for the both of them. “Are you all right, Husband?”

If he hadn’t been in such a foul mood he would have relished the beautiful woman calling him husband. He’d been so distracted by the whole incident he’d almost forgotten he was now married.

“I’m alive, and haven’t yet killed my father, so you tell me the answer to that,” he said.

“You never should have gone through with it,” she told him.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he answered.

“You are the bravest
man I’ve ever met,” she said. “I love you more than life itself, Lord Braden.”

He noticed she’d used his new title of lord, and would have basked in the glory of it, hadn’t he been in so much pain.

“I love you too,” he told her. “And I am so sorry that this is how you are spending you wedding day. I would make it up to you, my little fae, I promise.”

“Hold still,” scolded
Juturna, placing a poultice upon his burns.

“Ow!” His arm jerked involuntarily and he hated to show any sign of weakness in front of the women. “What is in that, Juturna? It has the sting of an adder.”

“’Tis only herbs to help you from scarring,” she said. “Mainly comfrey and aloe, my lord. I assure you no adder venom, thought I know it feels like it.”

“Thank you, both,” he said, grateful for the their help and care. “But I assure you
that naught can heal the scars I hold.”

“Mayhap not,” said Portia, kneel
ing in front of him. “But perhaps this would help to ease your pain.”

She took his arm in her hands and gently brought her lips to his wound.
Then she kissed him upon his burnt flesh, and he felt a whoosh of air as the pain seemed to be pulled right from him. His arm stopped shaking and he no longer noticed the smell of death wafting from his own body. She brought her head upwards then and looked up to him with big blue eyes and a smile that would brighten even the vilest man’s day.

“You healed me with a kiss again,” he said, turning his arm over to inspect it. “The pain is gone and ’tis as if the flesh has never been burnt at all.”

True, his wound was healed, but her kiss could not heal the scars. There in plain sight was the same symbol upon his forearm as his father. Only now instead of the flaming red of being burnt, it was black – just like Lord Muir’s.

“I am sorry you had to endure pain from your father again,” she told him. “You certainly don’t deserve it.”

“He didn’t even leave me the luxury of branding me on my left arm. He knew the pain I’d feel and that I’d need a good arm for our upcoming battle. Also, every time I use my sword now, not only me, but my opponent would be reminded of whom I really am.”

“You are
not a Klaren and nothing like your father,” she told him.

“I would carry this mark with me for the rest of my life,” he said looking down to it and feeling disgusted.

“It’s not what is on the outside that matters,” Portia told him. “But rather what’s on the inside that counts. And I’ve seen that side of you Braden, and it is very honorable and loving indeed.”

Before he had a chance to respond, a shout went up from the man on watch atop the battlements.
“Lord Solomon’s men are headed this way,” he called. “It looks as if he’s brought his entire army.”

“We’re under attack,” called out Braden’s father from across the courtyard. “
Klarens, take no mercy, kill every one of those bastards.”

“Lord Solomon is attacking?” asked Juturna. “I thought you said the Klarens were going to attack them?”

“It looks like Vance relayed our message,” said Portia. “And they must have wanted to nip it in the bud by coming here.”

“This doesn’t look good for the people of Calila,” Braden told them. “Portia, you need to warn the villagers to take cover, and see if you can persuade your father’s men to take orders from me only, and not my father.”

“I’ll prepare the ministrations for tending to the battle wounds,” said Juturna, heading away.

“What are you going to do, Braden?” asked Portia. “Your father is going to expect you to fight and kill Lord Solom
on and his men. Yet you gave your word that you would help Banesmoor.”