Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two (32 page)

“What?” her testiness was gone suddenly. “Why?”

“I've never had anything to lose,” he told her plainly. “My whole life I've never had anything that I cared about enough to worry over whether I lost it or not. I never had to learn how to deal with that kind of fear. Until now,” he stopped and looked her directly in the eyes.

“Now, I think I love you. No,” he corrected, “I know I love you and think I'm
in
love with you. Only, I don't know what to do, and I don't know what to say, and I'm ashamed of how people think of me for the first time in my life because of how it might affect you, and the last thing I want is for the poor general opinion people have for me to be transferred to you in any way,” he rambled in one long sentence.

“I tried to keep you at a distance because I don't deserve you, and you certainly deserve someone better than me.” He stopped there, not sure if he's said too little, too much, or somewhere around enough.

Stephanie looked at him in silence, looked deep into his eyes, and Parno let her, maintaining eye contact with her.

“Parno McLeod,” she said finally. “I'm a highly intelligent woman. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll verify that. I'm not bragging, just stating fact. I'm smart enough to know all of that. I know your reputation, but I also know you. My mother said that you were nothing more than high-spirited and that wasn't a bad quality in a man. My mother is also fairly smart,” a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I'm well aware that people will talk, of what they'll probably say in fact, and I don't care. I know the real you, Parno. I know the Parno that hurts for his men who fall in battle. The Parno that was willing to die alongside those same men to protect a land full of people who think poorly of you and a family that is completely undeserving of your service and devotion.”

“I know the Parno that has made a home for men and their families who might not have anything otherwise. I know the Parno who fought a duel against Soulan's most feared swordsman to defend the honor of someone he loved. I know the Parno that has won the love and devotion of a group of men who cannot be bought or bribed but must be convinced though effort that you deserve the right to command them.” Her hand came to his jaw then, caressing it gently.

“I know the Parno who has worked to make life better for his people. Even the people who would speak ill of him for no other reason than it's fashionable in certain circles. Most of all, I know the Parno that is loyal to the bone to those loyal to him and that Parno is the Parno I have come to love. The Parno that has won my devotion and loyalty as surely as you have my heart.”

Parno was somewhat overcome by her speech and without much thought he leaned in and kissed her. She responded at once as he drew her into an embrace, pouring every unspoken emotion running through him into his actions, just as she did in return.

As he kissed her, Parno realized that yes, he now had something to lose. Something too precious, too priceless to name. But in that same instant he realized something else.

He now had something to fight for. Something to live for.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

-

Colonel Frank Callens had commanded Prince Therron's personal regiment for just over four years. In that time he had become close with the Marshal, and as such was completely privy to the Prince's plans. He also heartily approved of them and had of course added his own sword to the gathering group of supporters behind Therron McLeod.

The Prince's arrest less than a month past had come as a shock to say the least. He and his men had been neatly mousetrapped by a brigade of regular cavalry on the day Prince Therron had been taken from them and held at bay until well after the Inspector General had departed with their royal charge. Callens had chafed at the attitude of men like General Davies toward the Prince's Own in the intervening weeks, and chafed more at the knowledge that Parno McLeod, Prince Therron's hapless younger brother had been appointed in his place.

He knew of Parno's victory the second day of his presence on the field, but wrote that off to good planning by Enri Willard, the traitorous jack, and good execution by Davies. He flatly refused to consider or entertain any notion that held Parno in any way in a good light.

As a result, he and his men, now no longer a Royal Regiment but merely a well-dressed and equipped cavalry regiment, had been shuttled from one crap job to another all over the camp. Picket duty, guard posts, even herd detail for Crown's sake! The humiliation of being demoted hadn't been enough. No, now his elite men were replacing wranglers guarding the horses.

The message in his hands offered him the opportunity to change that. He read the message once more, slowly, more to ensure himself it was genuine than because he hadn't understood it the first time. He looked warily at the courier.

“Do you know what this is?” he demanded.

“Yes, Colonel,” the man nodded. “Milady also entrusted me with another delivery,” he handed over a saddle bag of fine leather and silver. “I do not know the contents of this. I was to hand it to you after you had read the message and then await elsewhere for any reply.”

“Very well,” Callens accepted the bag. “See my aide outside and he'll get you a tent and something to eat.”

“Thank you, sir,” the man bowed and left the tent. Callens waited until he was gone to open the valise.

The scent from the bag hit him at once as he recognized Sherron McLeod's perfume. Inside the bag he found another, more detailed note that was to be burned after reading, and an item of clothing that still smelled of the Princess even after two days of riding.

“Damn her,” he growled softly as he fingered the garment before reading the second message again, committing it to memory. The woman was a witch, he was sure. She taunted and teased him with promises that she never quite delivered on, yet he could not refuse her anything she asked. Had one of his own men been so besotted with a woman, even Her Ladyship, he'd have had him removed or killed as a security risk.

He knew that he should ignore both messages. Toss them both into the fire outside his tent and then arrange for the courier to vanish somewhere in the wild areas between Nasil and the battle front, never to be seen or heard from again.

And even as he acknowledged that was what he should do, he knew that he would not. He sighed, placing the delicate garment in an interior pocket of his jacket, almost as if it were a talisman to ward off the reprisal sure to come if he were caught. He walked outside his tent and tossed the private message from the Princess into the flames, watching to ensure its destruction before turning to his aide.

“Company commanders to my tent in fifteen minutes,” he ordered briskly. “And find Major Garren at once.” The aide nodded and hurried away. Callens remained where he was, staring at the flames.

Thinking of the flames sure to come.

*****

“I'm sure you're all tired of how we're being treated,” Callens said without fanfare. His company commanders nodded silently, their anger almost tangible.

“I'm about to do something extremely risky,” he told them flatly. “I want you and your men to come with me, but I'm not going to order you to. I'm going to find Prince Therron. I'm going to find him, and see him atop the throne of Soulan or die trying. If you have no wish to accompany, all that I ask is that you remain silent as to what I'm doing. I hope I've earned that much from you.”

Every head nodded, acknowledging that Callens had earned their loyalty.

“We are Prince Therron's own regiment,” he told them forcefully. “His protection is our duty. Our burden. It is for us to find him, free him if he's being kept prisoner, and return him to his rightful place in this kingdom. I want everyone ready to ride in half-an-hour. Arrangements have already been made for our provisions further south. Our men need rations and feed bags for three days, so see to it that each man has it. Ten pack horses per company, no more. We travel light, and fast.” He paused, eyeing each man in turn.

“Make no mistake that we'll be hunted and hounded by our own as we do this. We'll try and keep casualties to a minimum, but Prince Therron is our objective and nothing can be allowed to stop us. Make your preparations, and do so quietly. We must get out of this encampment without arousing suspicion. Go.”

The men saluted stiffly and departed in silence, minds already running through what they needed to accomplish in the next thirty minutes.

Callens watched them go, then nodded to his aide to begin their own preparations. Callens packed his own saddlebags, mind racing as he did so.

So much could go wrong in this. So many things work against them despite good planning, and short notice like this did not promote good planning. Or much of any kind of plan, for that matter. He remembered a lesson from his days at the Royal Academy of War; a good plan, violently executed, was preferable to a great plan that never left the drawing table.

So it would be violent, Callens thought grimly as he secured his bag. The rewards were great enough by far to warrant the risk. His reward in particular might be very fine indeed, though he suspected that, as always, there would be a catch.

With a deep sigh he hefted his bags and took the first step of what would certainly be consider a traitorous act by most.

He was going to find his sovereign.

*****

“Syn is a good name for you,” Major Beau Garren smiled at the woman lying on the bed beside him. “A fitting name for a woman who could make a priest forget his vows,” he chuckled. The dark haired beauty beside him smiled, her bright teeth a stark contrast to her deep tan skin and jet black hair.

“You do know how to flatter a girl,” she said, raising up to prop her head on one hand as she allowed her left hand to play over Garren's belly. “And I have to admit, you cut a very appealing figure in uniform, Major,” she lowered her head and kissed his chest, trailing her lips down his stomach and around his navel.

“I doubt that I-” He was interrupted by a furious pounding at the door. Frowning, he looked at his companion.

“Only someone needing you urgently would be allowed up here,” Syn shrugged, pulling a sheet around her. Garren did the same and stomped over to the door, opening it just enough to see his regimental Color Sergeant standing outside.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but we're assembling right now,” the man saluted, ignoring the fact that the Major was decidedly out of uniform. “Colonel's orders, we ride in twenty minutes, sir.”

“What the devil?” Garren almost exploded but caught himself at the last second.

“Can't say, sir,” the man shrugged. “Word is we're headed south, though. All I know. We got word from a courier a short time ago, that is the Colonel did. Soon as he read the message, he issued the order. We have to hurry, sir,” the man stressed. “Your horse is being saddled now. I'll be waiting for you out back.”

“Very well,” Garren nodded, still surprised. He shut the door and turned back to his companion.

“I'm afraid I must cut my visit short, dear,” he apologized, grabbing his uniform. Syn allowed her sheet to fall and walked to him completely naked, wordlessly assisting him in dressing. The last item was his sword, which she held out to him with both hands. He had to pause for a moment at the erotic vision she presented, her naked body glistening with sweat, holding his sword. He shook his head to clear it and took the blade.

“Please be safe,” she said softly, her hand caressing his jaw slightly. “I would miss seeing you.”

“I'll be fine,” he assured her, forgetting for a moment who she was. What she was. He was soon out the door and heading down the stairs. Syn counted the minutes, giving him time to get down the stairs and be gone while she washed. Donning a simple shift, she was out the door at the five-minute mark, heading straight to Rosa's room to report her highly unusual evening that had ended far earlier than it was supposed to.

Minutes later Aaron Bell was on his way to find the Tinker. A few minutes after that, one of the men who had accompanied Brenack Wysin was on his way to Cove Canton as fast as his horse could carry him. Tinker was casually mentioning the departure a few minutes later to an officer in the Headquarters unit who was surprised to hear that the former Royal Regiment was on the move and decided to nose around to try and find out why.

All of this was accomplished before Colonel Callens and his men had made ten miles from their camp. While his exact mission was unknown, Colonel Callens' movement had not gone unnoticed. The hoped for day or two lead would not be forthcoming.

*****

Beaumont looked over his command with a critical eye, Whipple beside him doing the same thing. The two of them were rarely together, and never in battle. The theory behind that stratagem was simple enough; no single attack would be as likely to see both of them dead or incapacitated leaving the unit without a commander.

“Status?” Beaumont asked his second.

“We've lost thirty-five dead, we have seventy-four wounded, a few severely,” Whipple informed him quietly. “We've also acquired somewhere around eight hundred head of cattle and just under three hundred horses from our endeavors,” he added. “We have twenty-nine wagons full of equipment and supplies we've taken, as well.”

“Our own supplies, particularly arrows and medical supplies, are low,” he admitted. “We've still got plenty of foodstuffs, but most of it requires cooking and we're reluctant to do that at present. We need somewhere that we can rest and refit, take a few days to jerk some of the beef and maybe parch some corn or cook other foods that we can store and carry.”

“Overall fitness of the command?” Beaumont asked.

“Other than fatigue, we're okay at the moment,” Whipple replied. “We've had a few horses come up lame, but other than that we're good.”

Beaumont nodded as he considered all that. He could ask Whipple for his suggestions, but Beaumont wasn't one to pass the buck, as the saying went. He wondered for a second where that saying had come down from then cast it aside as irrelevant. And Whipple had already given his input in a way.

They had been in the field for seventeen days and thus far been in nineteen engagements of varying size, never allowing the entire command to be seen. The Imperial Army was already taking precautions to protect their trains and outposts because of the raids. Beaumont smiled at that. His plan to keep the size of their command hidden was going to pay off with that. No matter how many troops the Nor added to their details, he and Whipple would still be able to overpower them. Until the Imperial Army committed real troop strength to the effort, they would continue to prevail.

But his men had to eat, and they needed to rest. Better than two weeks in the saddle or on the ground, one eye constantly open to attack or discovery, the constant strain caused by the fear of that discovery, all of these things would take a toll. Better to take their gains and solidify them than risk defeat or disaster.

“Let’s make for home,” Beaumont said suddenly, decision made. “We'll stand down for a few days while we refit, then we'll come back.”

“Yes sir,” Whipple grinned, sketching a salute before turning to their runners. Soon activity flared all around them as the group prepared to move. The going would be slower than normal with so much livestock to move, but some of the wounded couldn't stand a fast trip anyway so that wasn't a problem.

A half-hour later the well-disciplined group was underway, outriders and scouts protecting the column from prying eyes as they started for their own lines and a few days of relative peace and quiet.

After which they would start again.

*****

Raphael Semmes swam up out of the black of unconsciousness slowly, his eyes blinking back tears at the harshness of sunlight. He raised a hand to block the light and realized that it was bandaged along his forearm. As his vision cleared he could see that he was in a small room, on land somewhere, probably a hospital. Even as he wondered where, the door to his room opened and a harried looking woman with wisps of blonde hair falling about her face entered carrying a bowl and towel. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Admiral moving about.

“How do you feel, sir?” she asked at once, setting her bowl aside to come to his bed side.

“I feel like I was hit by an angry bull,” he admitted ruefully. “Sore all over. Where am I?” he asked, looking up at his care giver. She was quite pretty, he decided absently.