Cold misery seeped into her body and soul as they crossed the miles away from Yester and away from William. Her last memory, watching her father, mother, and all the other people from her village turn into mindless pawns to attack trained and experienced warriors, sickened her even now. Worse, she had no idea if they had survived.
She would never think of Lord Hugh as her father again. He’d tossed her to a large, hulking man on a huge warhorse, who carried her before him. Having little experience riding on a horse, let alone one this size, she feared death at every moment. They called him “Brisbois” and his usual task was as Lord Hugh’s torturer. He’d come over from France to carry out whatever his duties were. She expected rough treatment from such a man, and so his gentle handling of her when he did not need to be so surprised her.
Yet something was wrong with her, for no matter how hard she tried, she could not shift into fire. She’d tried when she gained consciousness and watched Yester Castle disappear into the distance. She’d tried on the field when she saw her friends and neighbors come out of the forest armed and empty-minded.
How could she face them now—any of them, those who lived in the village, her parents, William or his men—now that she had killed an innocent man with her power? She’d never felt so soiled or low.
But it had taught her a valuable lesson—never, never, ever trust Lord Hugh. It was just terrible that it had cost a man’s life to discover that truth.
“Here. Drink this,” Brisbois ordered, handing her a skin of ale. So very tired and thirsty from hours of relentless riding north, she accepted it and drank deeply. Though her hands were tied at all times, she was permitted to walk when they made short stops along the road. If Brisbois did not hold her leash, another of the warriors did. She’d heard Lord Hugh order that none speak to her, so she traveled in silence. She handed the skin back and watched as Brisbois returned it to Lord Hugh.
Her stomach turned then as she realized he was putting something in the ale! Her mouth went dry, and she was tempted to force it back up her throat. She gagged and coughed but kept it down. Whatever it was, it was not poison, for she continued to live and regret every moment in her life when she’d longed for her father to claim her.
They stopped for the night a few hours after sunset. The men were accustomed to traveling like this and did not require tents or other comforts. A few blankets were thrown on the ground for her to sleep on and another to cover her. Every bone in her body ached from the hours in the saddle. And yet they had days of travel ahead, from what she’d overheard.
Once sleep descended over the camp, she found it impossible to do so. She feared the nightmares she knew would follow her after witnessing such terrible things. Her body ached on the hard ground. Just as she began to drift off, screams filled the area. She started to get up but was pushed back down by the soldier guarding her.
Glancing around as best she could, she could tell the sounds came from the other side of the camp. Loud voices. Lord Hugh’s was one of them. There was another scream and sounds of a beating followed. And then it all was repeated.
They’d captured someone. One of William’s men? And he was being tortured. Her stomach rebelled then as she tried to shift. The only thing she could do, it seemed, was set a bush on fire nearby.
She wanted to cover her ears, to block out the sounds, but the way they’d tied her hands around a cart so she could not escape kept her from doing that. And the sounds continued on and on through the night.
Brienne did not remember falling asleep, but suddenly someone was kicking her hip to wake her. The sun barely peeked above the horizon and already most of the camp was packed. She stumbled into the bushes when Brisbois came and released her. Then she gobbled down a crust of bread and a piece of cheese before Brisbois tied her hands once again and led her to his horse. When he held out the skin to her to drink, she hesitated.
“This is mine,” he said in a quiet voice. She met his gaze then and glanced at the skin. “I know you are thirsty, girl. Drink now.” So he knew she was being drugged by Lord Hugh.
“My thanks,” she whispered as she took several mouthfuls of the water in it. Only as she handed it back did she see the traces of blood along the edges of his nails. Her eyes met his as she realized he had been the one torturing the unfortunate through the night.
She looked away, knowing that she had done Lord Hugh’s bidding as well. How could she hold this man any guiltier than she herself was?
They were on the road soon after. Not long after that, storms struck, slowing their pace to a crawl. Brisbois pulled a thick tartan blanket out of his pack and covered her with it as they rode along. Clearly, some rain and wind were not enough to make Lord Hugh stop. The bigger surprise came when the lord handed her some strips of dried meat.
“Why?” she asked, accepting them and hiding them beneath the blanket. He ignored her question and kept riding, following the others.
“You have to keep up your strength,” he said. She lifted her face to look at him, ignoring the rains.
“Why?” she asked again. He gave her no answer and rode on.
Hours passed, with fewer stops now, and she heard orders passed back through the riders that they were heading for the coast. Though she’d dreamed of visiting the sea as a child, her first view of it was certainly not as she’d hoped. Afraid she’d be sleeping in the rain that night, Brienne was surprised when Brisbois led her to a small barn near a larger stone house.
“Lord Hugh is their guest and sleeps within,” Brisbois said as he saw her settled in one corner of the unused building.
He left for a short time, and another man guarded her from the doorway. When he returned, he carried a bowl and a cup, which he held while the other guard released her from her bonds and left. He handed her the bowl, in which she found a portion of plain stew, still steaming.
“My thanks for bringing this,” she said. “Do you want some?” He shook his head and went to sit by the door.
She dipped the spoon into it and ate it too quickly. He produced a small loaf of bread from one pocket in his jacket and tossed it to her. Then he pulled a skin from inside it and filled a battered cup to the top before bringing it over to her. Brienne drew her legs up under the length of her gown and sat cross-legged, eating and drinking until every morsel of food and every drop of water was gone.
He grunted when she handed him the bowl and cup back empty, and she thought it was one of satisfaction.
“Have you eaten, then?” she asked.
“Aye, with the others.”
She leaned against the wall and pulled one of the blankets around her. The sound of the rain on the roof soothed her, and she could feel her body sinking into sleep, but there was one thing she needed to know.
“That man. Is he dead?”
