With those brief words of farewell, he was gone, striding back along the path toward his family’s cottage.
Brienne stood in the dappled shadows, watching the wind move the branches above and around her. So much had happened this morning, and she was no closer to answers than she had been when she’d opened her eyes on this new day. All she had now were more questions and more doubts . . . and a marriage proposal. She shook her head at that, for her answer to James was the only thing of which she was certain.
Glancing around the clearing, she shook off the confusion and decided she must return to her errands. Mayhap by doing those tasks and daily chores that were part of her everyday life, she would begin to find her path in all the uncertainty. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, she put one foot in front of the other and forced herself back to the path.
The skin on her arm, two flames dancing and burning without destroying, reminded her that, regardless of her wishes on the matter, nothing would ever be the same again.
ChapterFive
He stood in the shadows, planning the death that would visit the man who’d touched her. Who’d kissed her. Who’d whispered to her. His sword drawn and ready, William blew hard against the urge to walk into the clearing and kill the one who dared so much.
She was his.
His to touch.
His to kiss.
His . . . to claim.
His vision narrowed, and red ringed the edges of it. His body strengthened and broadened, his muscles elongating and tightening until his garments felt too small. He breathed hard and deep, preparing for battle, and the hand that clutched the sword appeared larger, as though it were not his own. Then the sword became as one with him and his focus sharpened onto only one thing— making certain that no man left his scent or mark on the woman destined for him.
His.
He’d taken one step back out of the thick copse that hid him before his control overruled the possessive compulsion that nearly forced his hand. Shaking off the stranglehold of pure fury that raced in his veins and pumped his heart hard and fast, he watched as the young man escaped the death he did not know was coming for him.
Then she left, walking back along the path that led to the center of the village.
Though the skin on his arm ached and burned, his gaze and his head began to clear. Then a wave of shudders racked him as whatever had fueled his rage dissipated and left him. His own body returned and the red tinge left his vision, allowing him to notice the cool breeze rustling through the trees around him. Now, when he lifted his arm, the sword appeared to be a separate thing, the weapon he’d always known it to be.
Not an appendage to his body.
His knees buckled and he landed hard, shaking and trembling, as though he’d not eaten in days. Sweat poured down from his brow, trickling over his face and neck and under his garments, as it did after a battle or a strenuous training session with his men.
But he’d done none of that. Had he?
Rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead, William wondered if he was getting ill. A fever? Some contagion that caused the strange changes in his body and mind? He must return to his men. There must be an explanation. One that made sense. One that did not seem too close to the king’s peculiar claims.
Oh God! Was the same madness that claimed his father’s reason now taking his?
Pushing to his feet, William retraced his path back through the darkest part of the forest to their camp. When he broke through the trees, his men stared at him in silence.
“What happened?” Roger asked as he approached. Glancing behind William, he stared into the forest. “Were you attacked? Are you being followed?”
As William expected, the three formed a line and drew their swords, expecting an attack at any moment. They’d fought many times before, and he welcomed their presence in any battle. But this was not one.
“Nay.” He waved them off, walked directly to the stream just at the edge of their camp, and drank the cold, fresh water. He even splashed some of it on his face and neck. He hoped it would cool whatever fever controlled him, but the shaking would not desist. “No one comes. I was not attacked,” he said, standing before them. “If I did not call out to you, why would you think that?”
The three looked at one another and then back at him, disbelief etched on their faces.
“Did you see the girl?” Gautier’s gaze narrowed. He stood more at ease now. “Or did her father see you?”
“The girl,” he replied, choosing not to lie about it.
Pushing his hair out of his face, he shrugged.
Gautier nodded to Herve then; for them this was a simple thing—if they lusted for a woman, they sought her and eased the itch. Roger motioned the two of them off and walked up to William.
“You look like bloody hell, Will. What happened?” he asked in a low voice. “You look as though you’ve seen the devil himself.”
