Wren (The Romany Epistles) (27 page)

By instinct, my feet found their way through the brush. I
didn’t even bother looking for landmarks now. I knew the way. Knowledge from
years of treading every inch of this terrain guided me. Despite the changes, a
newly felled tree here, more moss over there, and the ivy covering the maple
tree at my left, I knew where I was going and how to get there quickly.

“Wait up,” Tourth called.

I glanced back, surprised at how far behind he was.

“There was something I wanted to ask you.” He joined me as I
walked. “Have you thought much about names for this little one?”

A shifting of shadow caught my eye. I scanned the trees. My
gaze encountered a familiar set of eyes. My heart jumped.
Aiden.

He stepped from behind the trunk of a great oak. “Welcome
home, Wren.”

I smiled. “You as well.”

Dark hair, deep blue eyes, broad shoulders, and straight
back, he appeared the same, yet somehow different. His stance still spoke of a
man unafraid of a confrontation. Constant readiness tensed his muscles,
tightened his posture. However, there was no murder in his eyes. Instead of the
edgy feeling of a man seeking a way to unleash the deep anger in his soul, he
emanated a different purpose now. My brother had changed. I studied his face.
Would I find Deus-given peace at his core?

His azure gaze met mine.

“You look good.”

I tilted my head. “You’ve changed.”

He nodded.

My heart swelled with half-formed hope. If the Lord had
touched him as I hoped and prayed for years, I– “Is it Deus?”

“Mostly. I have you to thank for it too. You said Deus would
give me peace despite my efforts. You were right.” He smiled wryly at me, a
mere shadow of the bitter Aiden of my childhood.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The joy couldn’t be
contained. Covering the short distance between us, I hugged him firmly. He
hesitated but then returned the hug full force.

Oh, thank you, most high and mighty Deus. Only you could
have penetrated the petrified hate at my brother’s core. Praise you for
resurrecting his heart and giving him life.

“I’m glad, Aiden. He has been good to me as well.”

I would give him until the count of five before I intervened.
She hadn’t told him about the baby yet; he shouldn’t be crushing her like that.
Besides, brother or not, I didn’t want any man hugging her that close.

Just as I was contemplating how to extract my wife from her
brother’s arms without starting a fight, he looked up. Understanding flickered
in his face. He drew back and nodded toward me.

“Is this the ‘we’?”

Wren stepped out of her brother’s arms and rewarded my wait
with a dazzling smile. Her eyes declared her love and much more as they
deepened into moss green. I could make it through the three remaining brotherly
greetings if she smiled like that at me each time.

“Partly. Aiden, this is Tourth. Tourth, my brother, Aiden.”
She stepped back so I faced her brother.

I offered my hand in greeting. He stepped forward to grab my
forearm. I returned the grasp. We stood there a moment, neither moving, only
examining. I knew him, partially, from Wren’s stories. However, I could see
from the wraiths haunting his eyes, her memories didn’t cover half of the nightmares
this man endured. He had no intention of sharing that past with her just as I
would never tell her of all the horrors I survived on the battlefield.

We stepped apart. I strangely knew I had just discovered a
kindred spirit.

He turned to Wren. “Come on. The others will be waiting.”

“We are finally coming home.” The wonder in her voice tore
at my heart. I understood all too well.

“And when we all arrive, it will finally be home.” He drew
her into another hug.

“Yes.”

They walked a few steps ahead of me for a bit. I watched how
he naturally leaned toward her to hear what she said. Memories of Kat and me
before our spouses, before Wren, before the war, welled up inside my chest. I
missed that closeness. Yes, I understood the bond between them. It didn’t mean
I wasn’t jealous.

Suddenly she turned away. Without preamble, she leaned into
a bush and dry heaved.

“What?” Aiden’s face was priceless. I didn’t pause to enjoy
it, though.

By her side, I began the ritual. Soothing the spasms by
rubbing her back and reminding her to stay calm, I held the stray strands of
hair out of the way.

“What is wrong with her?” Aiden demanded.

“Nothing that won’t resolve in about seven months.”

“You.” The tone of that one word made me wonder if I was
going to live another day.

“Aiden–” Wren coughed and gasped a bit. “We are married.
This is welcome.”

I handed the waterskin into her grasping hand.

“Welcome? Emptying your stomach into a bush?”

Wren and I traded waterskin for rag before she spoke again.
I was keeping out of this conversation. Clearly Aiden didn’t appreciate my role
in her situation. Not surprising.

“Actually, that was one of the milder ones.” She smiled a
thank you to me before facing her brother.

“Milder?”

“Aiden, I want this. We want this.”

She stepped back so her shoulder brushed my chest. My arm
instinctively encircled her. She leaned into me in that special way she had, as
though I was the only one she trusted to protect her. By Deus’ grace, I
intended to do just that.

“Oh.” He frowned. “Kristalyn is going to want this too,
isn’t she?”

Wren straightened up. “Who is Kristalyn?”

“You will like her. Come. Myrddin and Magnar will have the
whole family in an uproar by now. I am surprised they haven’t come looking for
us yet.”

“How many are home?” Wren asked.

“Taerith and Daelia, but they didn’t return alone. It seems
none of us are returning alone.”

“Duard set out to make us weaker, but he only made us
stronger.”

“Deus turned his evil intent to good.” Understanding formed
on Aiden’s face.

“Deus always wins.” Wren smiled. “Now introduce me to
Kristalyn. I can’t wait to meet the woman who has captured your heart.”

~~***~~

As a happily married mother of three small children, Rachel
Rossano dreams of new stories among the chaos of diapers and sippy cups. Then
she writes as fast as she can during nap times and after the little ones are
tucked in for the night. She draws from a long history as an avid reader and
lover of books. Usually she writes fantasy novels that masquerade as
historical, but she also dabbles in the science and speculative fiction genres.

Connect
with Rachel Rossano online

Twitter:

http://twitter.com/@RachelRossano

Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/RachelRossanoRambles

Blog:

http://rachel-rossano.blogspot.com

Also
written by Rachel Rossano

The
Mercenary’s Marriage

The
Crown of Anavrea

Exchange

Word
and Deed

Duty:
a novel of Rhynan

Coming
Soon

The
King of Anavrea

Duty

A
Novel of Rhynan

An excerpt -

"The red one is mine," he said.

I didn’t raise my head although instinct urged me to.
Father had called me Red. He said I was born screaming, skin deep red like the beets
in the garden and hair fiery like the setting sun. The man who spoke was not my
father.

I glanced at him from beneath my cloak’s hood.
Arrogant in his size and superior mass, his eyes picked me out of the writhing
mass of captives. Early morning sunlight glinted off plain armor and an
unadorned helm, yet the unwashed barbarians treated him with the respect due a
commander.

The crowd of women around me parted for the soldier
fulfilling his order. Mothers moved back with babes in their arms, toddlers clinging
to their skirts. Their fingers clutched older children’s hands or shoulders. A
living mass, their voices silenced by the army surrounding them. Their faces
spoke eloquently of their fear.

The soldier, smelling of sweat and sour wine, grabbed
my left arm and dragged me out from among them. I didn’t want to bring harm to
the women around me. The soldier would injure many before subduing me. I
allowed him to pull me toward the commander with only minimal resistance.

Once free of the captives, however, I yanked from the
man’s grip in an attempt to run. Three pairs of rough hands caught hold of my
arms before I managed more than a few steps. The stench of their unclean bodies
turned my stomach. I gagged as I fought them. They dragged me through the dust and
dumped me at his feet.

I struggled up only to be brought down again.
Pressure behind my knees forced me to kneel.

I lifted my face to glare at the commander.

“Remove her hood.”

Someone pulled my cloak half off my shoulders in his
enthusiasm. Red curls fell free in a wild mass about my shoulders.

Silently I cursed the color. If only I had been
blessed with plain brown or even blond tresses, I could have hidden in plain
sight.

“My Lady Brielle Solarius, I presume.”

He had the audacity to meet my glare. His eyes were
only glimmers beneath the beaten metal and leather of his helmet. He made no
bow or any show of the honor due me. I was a noblewoman. I didn’t claim the
right of deference often, but still the fact remained.

“Might I know your name, barbarian?”

His reaction did not change his posture. I could not
read his emotions.

“Lord Irvaine is no barbarian.”

The soldier at my left, a young man barely my senior,
shoved me between the shoulders. I resisted, pressing back against his hand
despite the burning in my thighs from the effort. Finally I shrugged him off.

Anger filled me, blinding my reason. Caution, a weak
flicker of light in the night of anger, wavered and almost went out. The
darkness like a living thing, growing ever stronger, pressed me more closely
every second I lingered, waiting to hear my fate. I could not lose control. My
people were counting on me. Their families were under my watch.

“By what right am I treated like this? I am a noble
of Rhynan, born of an ancient house and loyal to King Trentham.”

“Trentham is dead.” Lord Irvaine lifted a gauntleted
hand and pointed off to the south. “He fell in battle a fortnight past. Mendal
of Ranterland is now king.”

Panic clutched my chest. Old stories of the unrest
that followed a coup flooded my mind. Allegiances sifting with the wind and the
death toll rising despite the end of hostilities as the unloyal were killed off
and the loyal rewarded.

“My cousin, Orwin?”

“Sworn allegiance to my liege, but his sincerity is suspect.
You are King Mendal’s guarantee from Orwin that he will remain faithful.”

I laughed, a bitter sound despite my efforts to quell
it.

“I am a worthless pawn for that purpose. Orwin cares
not for my safety. My peril will not hinder his plans a hair’s breadth.”

“Your peril is not my goal. I seek your submission.”

Before I could seek clarification, another helmeted
soldier approached. This one moved like a man with a purpose. The sudden
silence and tension of the men around me clearly marked his importance.

“All are accounted for, my lord, thirty-five women of
marriageable age, twenty-five dwellings with potential to last the winter.”

“The lord’s hall?”

“Usable also, given time for cleaning and repair.”

Lord Irvaine nodded. “Take the quartermaster and assign
wives. See to it that the men show respect and offer the women the option to
purchase refusal. Give care to look up the fate of their previous mates before
presenting them to the officiate for vow recording. Warn the men that I will
suffer no abuse. If such is discovered, the offender shall lose his share of
spoils and suffer further punishment based on the crime.”

The soldier bowed and retreated.

“By what right do you do this?” I demanded. “We are
citizens of Rhynan, not cattle to be divided and claimed. These are free women
not slaves.”

Lord Irvaine’s displeasure at my words was evident in
his stiffened stance. I savored my small victory.

“They, you, and this land are tribute to King Mendal
from your cousin, part of his measures to convince the king of his shift in
allegiance.”

“You take pleasure in raping women and possessing
land not your own? You are no better than the robber barons over the border.
They take what they wish without compensating us. You defile the title of
noble, my lord!” I spat the title into the torn earth at his feet.

Answering anger tensed his left arm as his fingers
curled into a fist. I lifted my chin and awaited the blow that would reveal his
true nature. Instead, he pulled his helmet from his head. Dark, sweat-matted
hair plastered his head and dirt streaked down his hollowed cheeks from dark
circles around his eyes. He dropped his helm to the ground at my knees. It
rolled to rest against my thigh. He stepped forward and leaned down so close I
smelled his sweat. I noted the lack of sour wine on his breath.

“Look in my face, Lady Solarius, and see the truth. I
take no joy from this task. But I am a loyal soldier. I do as my master bids.”

His dark, haunted eyes bore into mine. Something deep
inside my chest stirred. However, anger still possessed my tongue.

“I see only a monster intent on unleashing his
pleasure-seeking men on a village of unarmed women and children.”

He flinched, a barely perceptible movement in his
features.