Rumors and stories, shared in hushed voices in the shadows, spoke of her sire’s abilities and dark passions. The villagers who entered the castle and never returned to their homes. The girls and women dragged screaming to his bed, most of them never the same again. The sounds of the inhuman cries deep inside the castle walls, which seeped into the night. And with her new knowledge of her abilities to create and tame the fire, she could only imagine the power he had within him.
This man standing before her was unknown. Other than his name, she knew nothing of him, his family, his origins, his . . . power. Having seen her father’s body shimmer with it, she recognized it within this knight.
And it terrified her.
When her head began to spin, she tried to force a breath into her body. If she fainted, if she could not run, what would happen to her?
“Brienne,” he said with that accent to his words that made her smile.
Her name echoed to her as though called from a distance away. Blinking, she tried to see him, but everything before her grew dark. Then even the shimmering blue light that outlined him faded, and she fell into the darkness.
The warmth surrounded her, urging her to remain. Brienne wondered if she had called the fire forth in Gavin’s smithy once more, for all she could feel was the overwhelming comfort of it. Then noises trespassed into what she now thought must be a dream. Birds chirped, the wind rustled by, and the sound of someone breathing close to her ear became louder.
She realized it was not the fire but arms that held her. Forcing her eyes to open, she gazed into the icy blue ones of the man she wanted to escape. She tried to push free and found herself imprisoned in an embrace that would not yield no matter how she struggled.
“Hush now, Brienne,” he whispered. The warm breath he expelled as he spoke tickled her ear and her neck and did not soothe her sense of impending danger. “You fainted.”
“Let me go, I pray you,” she pleaded softly. “I will tell no one.” The fear that took hold of her would not recede even now that she was awake.
“Tell no one? Tell them what?” he asked, easing his grip and helping her to sit.
Gathering her wits, she thought about what to say. Did she tell him she knew he was . . . ? What did she know—that he was like the man he sought? Was he? She felt suddenly confused and lost, and the tears gathering in her eyes burned as they threatened to expose how naïve and unworldly she was.
“Brienne, fear me not,” he urged, standing now and, grasping her hands in his, helping her to. “I wished only to speak to you this morn. Nothing more nor less than that.”
The glint in his gaze belied the words. He wanted her. She’d seen desire in a man’s eyes before; this was no different. And she was alone with him, deep in the forest, away from anyone who might help her. She’d been warned by her mother, by her father, never to let this happen, and here she was, alone with a man who was neither friend nor relative.
The fact that he intrigued her as no other man had should have been warning enough. The knowledge that she wished to talk to him frightened her. But she did wish it. He was the first man from outside the villages of Yester or Gifford to visit in a very long time. And she wanted to know about his life, his , him.
That longing, with the way he gazed at her intently, told her what she must do.
“I should go,” she said, brushing her hands down her gown.
“I will walk you back.”
“Nay!” she said, shaking her head and taking a step away from him. “You must not.”
To be seen with this man would bring all sorts of attention and questions, from her parents, from the others who lived in the village, and especially from those who spied for Lord Hugh. Not only would word get to him that strangers had arrived, but he would also learn that she was seen talking with their leader. Alone.
And since that morning when Lord Hugh had wordlessly acknowledged their bond, she could not risk that. She could not risk the retribution that would follow for the people who had raised her as their own. No matter how much she wanted to see him.
“Very well.” He reached over and took her by the shoulders. His hands gentled as he steadied her on her feet. “But do not rush away. Let your head clear before you try to return to your home.” He reached one hand inside his cloak and brought out a small skin. “Drink.”
As he held out the skin to her, she caught a glimpse of the sword he wore beneath the cloak. It was a warrior’s sword. One she was certain he could wield with power and precision. How many battles had he fought? Accepting his offer, she took the skin and drank a small amount from it. Not the water or watered ale she’d expected, the liquid was a lush wine, coming as a complete surprise to her.
“I brought it from my home,” he explained, taking it back and drinking some himself. “I am partial to this one for it’s made from grapes grown on my family’s lands.”
“France? Normandy?” she asked, knowing his accent must be from that region. Lord Hugh’s family was from that area and still spoke French most of the time, regarding their Lowlanders’ language as an abomination.
“Aye, Normandy. Though many other parts of the de Brus family hold lands here, in England, Ireland, and Wales.”
Robert the Brus had held the position of tanist to the king, the next to take the throne if the king died childless. He and Lord Hugh had served as regents when the king was a child. They both stood high in the king’s respect. That much her parents had told her, knowing her true origins. And this man was part of that other family.
“William de Brus? Is that your name?” she asked.
“Aye, though a distant cousin to the one who served with Lord Hugh as regents and as guardians to the king in his minority.”
She could not speak. He was not simply a knight; he was a nobleman and a warrior, with as many connections to the king as Lord Hugh. What was he doing here, and why did he pursue her?
