Chapter 27 Secret in the Tunnels #2
She hadn’t turned. But her chest was rising and falling more rapidly now with shallow breaths. “Bernard?” The way she said his false name, with fading hope, with slight fear, put ice into his blood.
She turned, dagger held low at her side.
There was indeed dawning fear in her eyes, and disbelief, and pain, and, gods, why had he blurted that out?
Her eyes fell to the rock in his grasp, and he felt like she’d instead caught him with blood-soaked hands.
He dropped it, but it was too late. Her eyes widened.
Slowly, like she was an animal in the brush he didn’t wish to spook off, he said gently, “Bronwen—”
She took a step back.
“Let me explain it from the beginning.”
“Tell me he told you that,” she whispered, edging away. “Tell me he told you, and that’s how you know. Please, Bernard. Please—”
But he saw in her eyes that even if he lied, she wouldn’t believe him.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
Her fright was quickly verging into panic.
“Liar.” She swung her dagger. He grabbed her wrist and pushed it away with ease, but she’d brought the torch up to swipe at his face.
He ducked, batting her torch-wielding arm so hard he knocked it from her grasp.
It hit the ground, shadows rippling as the flame flickered from the fall.
She wasn’t done. The dagger was flying at his throat again, and with each swing he just swerved back, avoiding each slash with such ease he could tell it only inflamed her fright.
“Who are you?” she snapped, her voice trembling. “Tell me who you are. Tell me you aren’t— You aren’t—”
He grabbed both of her wrists and pushed her against the wall, firmly but not ungently, to pin her back. She was crying; his thoughts were fluttering in every chaotic direction, striking at him with the beat of his heart: betrayer, liar, coward.
“Who are you?” she lashed out.
“I’m me,” he said through gritted teeth. “You know me. I’m that stupid man you caught in your net, the same person you had to chase down and force back into the rebellion half a dozen times—”
“The sword,” she murmured in horror. “You had his sword. And there were all the rumors and—and Gueldefore fought you, he said you weren’t who you said you were and—”
“Bronwen.”
“It was you,” she seethed through her tears, struggling to throw him off.
Her knee popped up, but he knew her by now, knew she’d try as she had once before.
He just blocked it. “Admit it. Say it! It was you this entire time. You joked with us and fought with us and bled with us. You were one of us!”
“I didn’t want to be!” he snapped. “I wanted to leave the kingdom! It was you who dragged me back every time!”
At this admittance she only grew more frightened. “All your knowledge about the cities, the codes, the generals, your strategies that worked every time—” She kicked out again in bitter frustration, more to lash out than to harm him. “You tricked us!”
“Yes,” he spat. “I tricked you into taking back your lands and fighting against my men.”
She sucked in a trembling breath, staring at him as tears dripped down her face. She was terrified of him, he knew, and it gutted him, but there was also a venomous edge in her eyes that was growing rapidly and made him wary. “You killed him.”
At this he paused. He was looking in the scornful eyes of a woman he was beginning to love whose true love he’d murdered, and in that moment he didn’t think anything else could hurt as much as that. Finally, he responded with a quiet, flat tone. “Yes. I killed him.”
She shoved him back. He let her. His shoulder blades pressed against the opposing wall as she placed her dagger against his throat, drawing so close it was practically an embrace. The torchlight exposed the fierce look on her face; it was a cold, severe glare, her teeth bared.
“Do you even remember what his name was?”
He couldn’t stop the humorless, bitter smile from touching his lips. “I’ve killed hundreds of people, Bronwen. That’s a lot of names to remember.”
She pushed the dagger against his skin. The sharp, cold edge cut ever so slightly into his skin.
“It was Arthur,” she whispered.
He swallowed. Doing so caused her dagger to cut more into his skin. “He was very brave.”
That was when he saw it—the dark look in her gaze. She pressed even closer to him until they were chest to chest, and he recalled that this was the Red Rogue, a woman bent on revenge, a woman who’d hunted and killed wicked men not because she wanted to but because she had to.
Yet here she wanted to kill him. He didn’t need to see the look in her eye to know.
“I hated you,” she whispered, and the look faded somewhat to reveal a hint of insurmountable pain. “And I hate you now more than I ever did before. You deserve death.” The dagger pressed deeper.
He released a breath, grimacing. “You want me dead? That’s fine.” He couldn’t help it, taking in her face one last time, studying the fierce and gentle beauty of it. His voice softened as he said, “You can make my death as short or as long as you wish. I’m yours any way you’ll have me.”
Something flashed in her eyes, but it was too quick to see. Then she pushed the dagger’s edge farther up against his throat, readying to drive it in and swipe his neck. He didn’t close his eyes; he kept them on her the entire time.
The blade halted. It didn’t press deeper, yet it didn’t let up. She ground her teeth, releasing a breath, fidgeting as her arm holding the dagger trembled. She couldn’t do it. The hex wouldn’t allow it.
She truly was trying to kill him.
Tears returned to her eyes, tears of frustration and of hurt. Then she drew the dagger back, grabbed his collar, and kissed him.
Morfran had expected death. This was much worse.
This was a torment—her lips crushing against his, the wonderful press of her body, the angry desire that grew behind her kisses when he kissed her back.
He threaded his hands up through her hair to pull her closer, tightly, urgently, because he knew this was goodbye.
She might not be able to kill him, but her people could.
And it was over. It was done. There could be no more running. What he did now, he’d do headfirst.
His hands wandered down the long tassel of her braid, back to the ribbons tying it off.
He tore them both out as he kissed her deeper, and she made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, dropping her dagger, her fingers sliding up to his throat she’d just tried to cut moments before, before they went around his shoulders so she could embrace him even tighter.
She was warm. Soft. But her kisses were rough and angry, and their hearts pounded against each of their chests as if equally desiring to fight.
He grabbed one of her hands, threading his fingers so he was holding it—and then he wrenched her back.
She stumbled. He only saw a flit of her confusion before he turned and slammed her stomach-first against the wall. He’d seized her wrists and was binding them together with her ribbons before she even realized what’d happened.
“Morfran.” She spat his name like a curse.
He couldn’t stop the shiver that rippled down his spine upon hearing her say his name. “Sit down,” he whispered against her ear, and when she didn’t, he forced her to the ground. She kicked out when she saw that he planned to bind her ankles, too.
“These are ribbons,” she scoffed, half laughing as if he were an idiot. “They won’t hold me.”
“Go on. Try to escape. Squirm all you want.” He knotted the ribbons about her ankles tightly, suddenly reminded of the time she’d tied him against a post. “Your hex won’t allow you to escape. We both know it.”
Her glower was dark. “If you hurt any of them—”
He returned it. “It’s not them I’m going to hurt.
” He pressed his lips together. He could still feel hers against his, a ghost kiss that’d linger for far too long.
Maybe it would never leave. He didn’t know if that would be a bane or a blessing.
He stooped, plucked up her dagger, and spun it between his fingers.
“I’ve a meeting with my ex-wife that’s long overdue. ”
Despite her hostility, a hint of concern touched her face. “You’re going to kill Ravana?”
“You’ve already tried once,” he said, picking up the torch and looking grimly in the direction that’d spit him into the castle.
“I figured it’s my turn now. After all, I’m the reason for all this mess.
” He wouldn’t look down at her again, couldn’t look at her betrayed expression any longer.
He left her in the dark, feeling as though he’d also left another person—someone better—behind.
What lay ahead required only a villain.