Chapter 20
Today, my eyes fell on a woman who was easily six feet tall, maybe more. It wasn’t just her height that caught my attention – it was the way she carried it, like it belonged to her, like the world was built too small and she refused to shrink for it.
She didn’t chatter or shuffle around impatiently like the others gathered.
She stood her ground with an air of confidence that made me smile.
She was eyeing my soldiers lined up in formation as if she were searching for someone.
The upward tilt of her chin could give the impression she was arrogant, but I’d be willing to bet it was tenacity.
Long golden strands of hair escaped the metal clip she used to keep it back.
Her face could have been that of a goddess.
A dusting of freckles over a slightly up-tilted nose did not temper it.
Wide grey eyes and lips so opulent they made me shift in my saddle.
Atlas saw her, too, so I had not succumbed to some mad delusion. I felt something shift inside me, and I could tell from his sudden upright posture that he felt it too.
Ever since that night, when I pushed her into the red waters of that raging river, Atlas and I have dreamed of her.
First, we dreamed of a knight carrying her from the river on a large grey stallion.
We had never shared dreams before her. Sometimes, I would dream of her every night for a week, and then it would be years before I dreamed of her again.
The dreams always showed her getting older.
I dreamed of the first day she picked up a blacksmith’s hammer and created her first blade.
Atlas dreamed of her riding a young black mare she called Nightmare.
When I removed my helmet, I allowed myself to meet her eyes. Her melancholy grey eyes widened slightly, and her lips parted on a sudden inhale of breath. She recognised us.
?
Having two hundred and fifty-nine men at my disposal, as well as several thankful vendors and suppliers who help feed and clothe those men, means it didn’t take me long to get the information I needed.
She has been in Murus for a month. It frustrates me that her name is yet unknown to me. She has been working and living with the blacksmith, but the woman seems to have no other friends or contacts in the city.
?
Atlas has taken to going for morning rides past the blacksmith’s forge. He is just as curious about her as I am. He has always believed the gods and reincarnation are real. He believes our dreams are the fates keeping us linked so we can find each other in every life.
The tournament is in a few weeks, and I suggested to Lord Warwick that he should have a ceremonial sword made by a local craftsperson. He liked the idea, and now I have an excuse to see her.
?
I learned her name today.
Caris.
She was unfriendly towards me when I searched her out in the blacksmith’s shop.
She is suspicious of my motives, and I’m probably a reminder of a night she wished she could forget.
Her voice is as it was as a girl, soft but husky.
I cannot deny the way I respond to her. I never allow my body to desire a woman without my mind first permitting it.
Still, Caris has evoked feelings in me, even as a boy who dreamed of a headstrong girl.
I didn’t understand those feelings as a boy, but I do now.
She pulled at her leather gloves as we discussed her sword-making skills.
They must cover the scars given to her by the blade that killed her mother.
I remember wrapping her bleeding hands with strips of fabric ripped from my only shirt at the river that night.
What happened there created a bond I don’t truly understand.
I try not to think about her relationship with the blacksmith. He was singing her praises before she appeared in the shop beside him. The man is lovestruck, but I could not get a read on how strong her feelings are for him.
Her sword-making skills are beyond anything I’ve ever seen. I paid her ten times the average price for the sword I commissioned for Lord Warwick, and I know it will be worth every coin.
?
Today, my most trusted soldier reported that he had seen Caris turning two out-of-control barrels to ash to save a mother and child. It seems this woman can do more than haunt a man’s dreams for years. I swore Tomas to secrecy.
Atlas believes she is the goddess Hecate reborn.
I don’t know what she is.
?
She almost died today. Everything inside me spun into chaos when I lifted the helmet to see her grey eyes staring defiantly back at me.
She defeated our most experienced archer and our finest swordsman.
Caris is a highly skilled fighter. Her mentor clearly trained her very well …
but she is exceptional because she loves the fight.
Boric came for her after she defeated him, the honourless brute. Fear for her life coursed through my blood when I realised what he was going to do. He cut her face with that mace, so I cut off his fucking head.
I took her in my arms and would not let her go. Atlas was close by, the same fear pumping through his veins. We could have lost her.
She has broken ribs, and her flawless face will scar, but she lived, and that is all that matters to us.
I ordered her to be placed in my room and sent Meg to tend to her injuries. When I was sure she was taken care of, I searched out Atlas to debrief the day’s events and what they would mean for the days to come.
I’m wary of her reasons for entering the tournament, but I don’t believe her to be a spy or an assassin sent to hurt Lord Warwick or his family.
Atlas and I both agree she is here to find the man who murdered her mother.
?
Meg informed us that Caris’s injuries weren’t as serious as we thought.
When Atlas and I saw her the following day, her movements showed no evidence that she had taken a deadly hit to the chest. Her cheek bore nothing more than a red mark where a scar should be.
I have never known someone who could heal themselves.
Maybe Atlas is right? She is a goddess reborn.
?
After she caught me freeing the Bone Weaver, she asked me about Merrick.
When I told her I didn’t know where her mother’s killer was, she called me a liar and left upset.
Her tears sent me into a downward spiral, and after pacing the length of the courtyard several times, I made the foolish decision to check on her.
I could hear her crying in her sleep. It affects me deeply to see her unhappiness. Incapable of walking away, I sat and watched her for hours like some fucking degenerate. Her long legs tangled in my sheets. I knew I was invading her privacy, but stars, I could not tear myself away from her.
?
She is angry with me. She knows I was in her room. I can’t stand this.
?
This morning, I almost stabbed her in the heart.
She stepped into my blade to force me to retreat, believing I wouldn’t hurt her. How wrong she was.
When I had her against the wall, something primal within me wanted nothing more than to dominate her, take her body and use it, casting aside all my self-discipline.
Close to her, I had seen the fine specks of black in her grey irises.
Burned forever in my memory is the feeling of her full breasts rising against my chest and the slight push of her hips into mine.
The need to please her had me pressing my knee where I wanted to bury my cock.
When she moaned my name, I almost tore off her breeches and took her in front of my men.
The knowledge that she desired me was an indescribable euphoria, like a forgotten song of my heart.
I pushed my longing away and stepped back, releasing her from me. I watched her flee the training grounds as if the hounds of the underworld were nipping at her heels. It was for the best. I cannot lose control of my emotions, or I will lose everything.
?
Bethel sent me a message. The moment I saw Caris again, I lost my desire for Bethel or any other woman. I’ve avoided her since that day, but no longer. She threatened to tell her father that she did not want Caris as her guard.
Caris has earned the right to be here, but I know Lord Warwick would find someone else if his daughter insisted.
If Caris were forced to leave, she would be searching for her mother’s killer alone, and if she found him, she would die.
I cannot let Bethel force Caris away. I knew what Bethel wanted from me, so I went to her bedchamber.
I’m used to separating my body from my mind. It’s a skill I had to learn young, when soldiers used my body like so many unprotected boys in the army. It was considered a rite of passage. I now know it for what it was.
Merrick was the worst. For him, it was about taking away a person’s will. I became his dog to kick, his plaything, and I played his game well. I played so he would not turn those ice-blue eyes to Atlas. My best friend. My only friend.
No soldier under my command will use a child the way Merrick used me. I will obliterate any man who tries.
No-one except Atlas knows about the scars Merrick gifted me. These scars are hidden far below the surface, deep inside the marrow of my bones.
Bethel had me on my knees, but I tried to imagine the taste of Caris on my tongue. That it was her thick, strong thighs squeezing my head, and the moans filling the room were hers. My cock had never been harder.
I’d thought I had conjured Caris with my hungry thoughts of her.
But she had been there in the room watching me pleasure Bethel with my mouth. Her humiliation sliced through me, but I also saw a spark of desire as her eyes roved over me.
I was about to throw myself at her feet and beg for her forgiveness, but self-preservation kicked in, and I found water to wash Bethel from my mouth.
I told Bethel that I would never fucking touch her again, and she is welcome to tell her father whatever she wants. But if Caris goes, so will I and every soldier under my command. Never again will I let her use me to humiliate Caris.