Dark Immortal

DARK IMMORTAL

By

Julia Keaton

Copyright
November 2013

Cover
art by Eliza Black, © Copyright November 2013

This
is a work of fiction.  All characters, events, and places are of the author’s
imagination and not to be confused with fact.  Any resemblance to living
persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

The
chill blast of air that cut through Bronwyn’s thin nightrail penetrated her
pain and fever induced stupor sufficiently to heighten her awareness of her
surroundings.  Both of her eyes were swollen nearly shut, however, and it took
an effort to pry her eyelids up enough to see anything.

She
wasn’t certain when she’d succeeded.  It was dark, too dark to see much.  After
a few moments, though, she realized light filtered from the sky above from a
sliver of moon and a million stars and she saw just enough of her surroundings
to realize that they were on the ramparts of the castle.

“She
was melancholy over the loss of my son … our son,” William muttered, correcting
himself.  “I should have realized how despondent she was, especially after the
mid-wife told her it was unlikely she would conceive again, but....”

Sudden
fear added to the chill gripping Bronwyn from the constant battering of the
frigid wind that whipped her thin nightrail around her, and confusion.  The
fear was instinctual.  In the months since she had been dragged to Raventhorne
Keep as Lord William Smythson’s unwilling bride, he had taught her true
terror. 

His
mutterings confused her, though. 

Gathering
her strength, she lifted her head, peering around them.

They
were alone.

Who
was he talking to, then?

What
was he talking about?

He,
more than anyone, should know she was not particularly despondent about losing
his child.  He could not help but know she loathed and feared him.  Moreover,
she had not simply ‘lost’ his child.  He had beaten it from her when he had
flown into one of his terrifying rages a week?  Two weeks ago?

“I
would have stopped her if I had had any inkling what she was about, locked her
in her chambers.” 

He
stopped, apparently thinking that over and, despite the pain and fever that so
filled Bronwyn’s mind that her ability to reason was severely hampered, it
dawned on her why he had dragged her from her sickbed. 

She
was not dying fast enough to suit him.  In fact, the healer had informed him
only that morning that she was recovering.

He
dropped her so abruptly she didn’t have time to cry out before she slammed into
the hard stone floor of the battlements.  The sharp intake of breath she’d
sucked in to scream was forced from her lungs with a harsh grunt at impact. 
The pain that had been her constant companion since the beating, swelled,
overwhelming her mind for many moments.  When it began to subside, she realized
that William had left her.  She could hear the crunch of his boots against the
stone as he paced the perimeter of the battlements.

“Here,
I think, would be best.  The body will be found right away--nothing to break
the fall.  It should be high enough.”

Grunting
with the effort, Bronwyn managed to roll enough to search the ramparts for
William.  She saw that he was standing with his feet braced wide, his hands on
his hips, staring down at the view below the front entrance of the castle.   

 Terror
pushed her pain and fever wracked mind into cognition.  He was going to throw
her from the castle walls.

Weak
as she was, adrenaline surged through her, lending her the strength to begin
struggling to her feet.  Blackness threatened to engulf her as she managed to
get to her knees.  She fought it, blinking her eyes to clear her vision as she
searched for some avenue of escape.

Ignoring
the pain and the threatening blackness, she began to crawl toward the stairs that
William had used to reach the ramparts.  She was so focused on her attempt she
didn’t notice when his fingers tangled in her hair until he snatched her head
back so hard a bone in her neck cracked. 

“Bitch!”
he snarled, twisting his hand in her hair and dragging her off balance.  The
friction of stone against her bare legs as he began dragging her burned like
fire.

Uttering
a whimper, Bronwyn reached with both hands to grab his, trying to pry him
loose.  “No!” she cried out.

He
uttered a snarled curse and stopped dragging her.  The moment the pain eased on
her scalp, Bronwyn ceased pulling at the hand in her hair and began raking it
with her nails.  He released her abruptly and slapped her, sending her slamming
into the stone floor again. 

Stunned,
she couldn’t even struggle as he grabbed her and hauled her roughly to her
feet.  “Claw me again and I will break your fingers,” he growled.  “No one will
notice broken fingers when every bone in your body is broken from the fall, and
I will not bear marks that have everyone wondering if I threw you over.”

“Why?”
Bronwyn gasped weakly as she felt him shift her weight and begin carrying her
toward the crenellations again.  In teeth gritted silence, she struggled for
her life with every ounce of strength she could muster, hanging limply so that
he bore all of her weight, prying at the arms that gripped her with bruising
force.

He
snorted.  “Why not?  I’ve no use for you anymore.  I have your paltry
landholdings and even more insignificant wealth.  I’ve a fatter pigeon in mind
… but first I have to be a widower.”

He
was breathing heavily by the time he’d reached the parapet with her, but
Bronwyn knew he still had more than enough strength to lift her over and pitch
her to her death.

Defeat
swelled over her as she realized she had nothing to barter with.  Gathering the
remnants of her strength as he shifted his hold on her to lift her, she began
fighting him, uttering animal-like noises of fear, anger and distress, too
caught up in trying to break his hold even to consider screaming.

He
broke her hold each time she managed to secure one, lifting her inexorably
toward the point of no return in spite of all she could.  Almost as abruptly as
her battle had begun, it ended.  He ripped her clawing fingers loose from his
tunic and she felt her stomach lurch as her body dropped. 

Flailing
her arms wildly, she clawed the air for purchase.  Miraculously, her hand
struck stonework, curled instinctively.  Pain shot through her shoulder, elbow
and wrist as her body dropped, almost snatching her grip loose.  Dazed,
terrified, she dimly realized she’d managed to catch a tenuous hold of one of
the gargoyles that guarded Raventhorne Keep’s entrance.  Uttering little sounds
of fear and effort, she swung briefly, trying to find purchase with her free
hand, trying to ignore the burning in the hand and arm that had given her a few
more moments of life.  “Please,” she gasped breathlessly, hopelessly,
tearfully.  “Help me.  Please.”

“Bitch!”
William snarled above her, beside himself with rage that she’d managed to break
her fall even temporarily.  “You stupid whore!”

Her
fingers slipped.  She struggled harder, but it merely loosened the only hold
she had.  She sucked in a sharp breath of terror as she lost her grip.  Bile
rose in her throat as her stomach clenched.  Air whistled past her ears,
fluttered the fabric of her nightrail so that it snapped.

She
slammed into something so hard it knocked the breath from her lungs.  An
internal darkness swarmed around her, threatening to completely consume her.

It
hadn’t hurt nearly as much as she had though it would, she thought dimly as
sensation of falling stopped and she felt her body seem to float upward.

Not
floating, precisely, she realized in confusion, and the tight bands around her
weren’t pain from broken ribs.  Arms held her, shifted her into a firmer hold. 
She felt almost a rocking motion, lift, pause, and lift--as if she was being
hoisted upward.

A
jolt went through her as those sensations ended.  She let out a gasp and clung
frantically as the sensation of falling rushed over her again.  The cold and
hardness of stone touched her skin.  Hands peeled her hands loose.

She
peered up as she felt the presence move away from her, but she could see
nothing but a huge, shapeless form above her.

William
uttered a strangled scream, drawing her gaze.  She saw then that she was on the
battlements once more, saw a look of sheer terror on William’s face.  As the
shadowy figure moved away from her and stalked toward him, he seemed to come
out of his state of frozen fear.  Uttering a sound of horror, he tried to run.

Bronwyn
blinked, trying to focus her vision, struggling against a wave of shock as she
saw the man/beast seize William, lifting his frantically beating legs from the
floor.  Effortlessly, it seemed to her, the creature shook him like a dog
tearing at its prey and then pitched him into the darkness beyond the
crenellations.

William’s
scream stabbed through her frozen shock like a fiery spear, sending echoes of
his terror through her until it became her own.  Fighting the urge to give into
the loss of consciousness, Bronwyn struggled to move, fought her weakness to
try to flee.

“Troublesome
female!”

The
voice sounded impossibly deep--and angry, rumbling from a chest fathoms wide.

She
felt his nearness a split second before two hands closed around her that
dwarfed her.  She couldn’t voice her fear, couldn’t find the strength to
struggle as he lifted her with arms like young oaks, and brought her against an
enormous chest. 

Warmth
surrounded her as he settled her there.  Comforted by his oddly gentle hold,
Bronwyn leaned weakly against his hard chest.  “S--saved me,” she managed to
whisper, surprise in voice.

There
was a lengthy pause before he responded.  “Aye, and damned myself,” he growled,
his voice sounding gravelly with disuse.

 Chastened
but reassured that he truly had rescued her, Bronwyn inched a hand along his
hard, smooth chest to curl her fingers along the broad column of his neck as he
began to stride briskly across the ramparts. 

“William?”

Again
there was a significant pause, as if he was reluctant to speak at all.  “Was
despondent over the loss of his son and the certainty that he would lose his
wife, as well, and leapt from the castle walls to his death.”

There
was amusement in his voice, satisfaction.

A
shiver skated through her.

By
the time he had reached the bottom of the stairs Bronwyn’s teeth were
chattering with reaction and cold.  He pulled her more tightly against his
body, sharing his warmth. 

He
had little to share.  His body was nigh as chilled as her own, but the gesture
comforted her, made her feel more certain of his protection.

Unerringly,
he entered the castle and headed directly toward her chambers, as if he was as
familiar with the castle as she was.

Her
bed chamber was deserted.  William had seen to that, sending her women away to
‘attend his beloved wife’ himself. 

She
clung to him as he lowered her to her bed, unwilling to let go of the
comforting safety of his arms.  He grasped her hands, peeling them gently but
firmly from him.  She closed her cold fingers around his hands when he would
have released her, peering up at him through the swollen slits of her eyes. 

A
spark of fear went through her as she caught her first real glimpse of him, and
even so the shadowy room concealed as much as it revealed.  There was beauty in
his face, but only the reflection of it from within for his kindness.  The face
above her was as harsh and craggy as hewn stone.  She dismissed the fear.  He’d
saved her from William at great cost to himself from what he had said.  “Do not
leave me,” she begged shakily.

He
stared down at the hands that gripped his so frantically.

Something
flickered in her pale blue eyes.  A frown flitted across his face, making it
even harsher.  Almost as if he couldn’t help himself, he twisted his hands in
hers and ran one thumb lightly over her own where it rested against his broad
palm.