The Sword and the Sylph (Elemental Series) (17 page)

“Portia, what the hell are you doing?”
he spat through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry, Braden, but it is for your own good.”

With another swipe across the sky with her hand, the breeze blew him backwards once again. His hair fanned out in the air behind him, and this time he lunged forward, trying to sprint to the horse. But right as he approached, she flicked her hand and he was pushed even further away.

“Stop this, damn it!” he ground out. “I thought we were on the same side. Why the hell are you acting this way?”

“Because I can’t lose you, Braden. And you are too angry with your father to pull off this plan. He would see right through it. ’Tis not going to work.”

“If it’ll make you feel better,” he said, pushing against the wind, swiping at it with his sword as if that would help, “I feel more anger at the moment toward you than I do my father. Now stop this anon and let me mount the horse.”

“I’m sorry,” was all she said, digging her heels into the horse and speeding away, leaving him there to battle the wind on his own.

She made it to the castle quickly, the guards calling out when they saw her approach. They lowered the drawbridge for her and she headed to the courtyard where
she was met by her stepmother running toward her.

“Where in God’s name
have you been?” she snarled. “Lord Muir is angry and has almost pulled his troops out of here and taken back his promise of helping us seize Banesmoor because of you.”

“Good, let them go,” she said, sliding off the horse and heading for the solar. “They are not wanted here,” she told her. “And the faster they are gone, the happier everyone would be.”

“There you are.” Lord Muir appeared from the great hall, stopping her in her tracks. “Don’t disappear again,” he told her. “I decided we go tonight to attack Banesmoor and you would be with us to heal the wounded. We can’t lose with our little secret weapon here.” He reached out and grabbed her arm. “With you bringing my men back to life, my troops would never be stronger. Banesmoor is just as good as mine right now.”

“Ours,” snapped the countess, but he just ignored her.

“Let go of me,” she said, brushing the man’s hold from her arm. “I need to go to my father.”

His hand shot out again, and this t
ime his fingers bit into the flesh of her forearm.

“Do not anger me, witch or I’ll not think twice to taking the back of my hand to your face.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she said, spying the etched snakes and crescent moon upon his forearm. “But do not threaten me again, or I’ll take my hand to you as well.”

He didn’t like that, and neither did she think he would. He reached out to hit her, but she raised her hand and flicked her wrist, causing the air to push him away. He stumbled backwards, catching himself on the side of
the well.

“You didn’t tell me she could do that,” he growled to the countess.

“I have many powers you’ve yet to see. Now get out of my way before I’m forced to use them on you again.”

He didn’t stop her as she hurried past, making her way to her father’s solar. She pushed past the guards at the door, stopping when she entered the room and saw Juturna and the priest from the village standing over her father’s pale form.

“Is he . . . ” She couldn’t bring herself to finish her question.

“Not yet,” said Juturna,
“but nearly. He has been calling for you for the last day. Where have you been?”

“Never mind that,” she said, rushing to her father and throwing herself down on the bed next to him. “Father, don’t die.” She reached out and kissed him thrice upon the chest, but he barely moved.

“Your healing kiss would not work on his inner wounds, child.” Juturna laid her hand on Portia’s shoulder. “Do not deplete your powers as you are going to need them soon.”

“Portia.” Her father’s eyes flickered open, giving her new hope.

“Father, you are going to be all right.” She forced herself to smile.

“You know . . . as well as I . . . that is not true.”

“Shhh, don’t speak. Save your strength,” she said, holding her finger to his lips.

A commotion at th
e door caused her to be distracted. She was angry at all the noise just outside her father’s chamber. She turned around, frustrated as the door opened and the noisy people entered.

“Have some respect for the dying,” she called out. Then stopped suddenly when she realized Braden stood there, shaking off the two guards at the door.
He’d donned the clothes of a Klaren, a leather padded vest and a chain mail hauberk over the top. His hair was long, hanging around his shoulders and on the belt around his waist, she saw the Klaren weapons of a spiked mace, double-edged battle axe, and long-bladed dagger strapped next to his own sword.

“Braden?” she asked, surveying him from head to foot.
He even wore black hose and worn leather boots that didn’t quite seem to fit quite right.

“Do you know him, my lady?” asked one of the guards who happened to be from her own castle and thankfully not a Klaren. “Aye,” she answered,
“let him enter.”

The guard nodded and let him pass.

“You two may go now,” she said, watching the guards leave, closing the door behind them.

“God’s eyes, they were stubborn,” growled Braden, rushing to her side.

“Braden, what are you doing? I thought I left you on the mountain, how did you get here so fast? And what in the world are you doing in the clothes of a Klaren?”

“I am a fast learner,” he told her with a flash of a smile. “I heard the wind tell me there was a Klaren nearby. All I did was take him down and steal his clothes, horse and weapons. ’Twas easy.”

“Well it won’t be so easy to convince your father,” she told him.

“Father?” asked Juturna. “Are you saying someone in this castle is Braden’s father?”

Braden remained silent and Portia clenched her jaw, sorry she’d accidentally given away his secret. But it didn’t matter. The old woman was a seer and would have figured out even without her help. Besides, Braden was about to announce to the entire castle who he was in order to gain their trust.

“’Tis Lord Muir, isn’t it?” the old woman asked. “I
can see the resemblance between them.”

“Juturna, Braden is a good man. Don’
t believe anything you see him do or say in the next few days. He is posing as a Klaren only to help us.”

“I understand,” she said with a nod of the head. “Your secret is safe with me.”

The priest finished up giving her father his last rites, and when he was going to walk away, the earl’s hand shot out and grabbed the man by the wrist. That surprised them all. And when the priest bent over to hear her father’s last request, what he relayed was something none of them ever expected.

“He says he wants me to marry his daughter to . . . to the man standing beside her.”

“What?” asked Portia, feeling very confused. “Father,” she said, leaning over and talking softly to him, listening for his words. “Father, what do you mean? I thought you wanted to have him executed.”

“You love him?” he asked in a breathy voice.

“I do,” she admitted.

“As well as I love her,” said Braden, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and joining in on the conversation

“I . . . misjudged you . . . ” he said, looking directly at Braden. “I know what . . . you’re doing for . . . my daughter as well as . . . my people.”

“Father, don’t speak, you are using all your strength to do it.”

“Nay,” he said, using what little strength he had left to reach out and grab her hand. Then he reached for Braden’s hand and held them both together atop his chest. “I want you . . . both to rule in my place . . . once I’m dead.”

“Father, don’t speak like that. You are not going to die.”

“Hush child,” scolded Juturna. “This is important to your father now let him speak.”

“I . . . don’t want Otillia taking control. I wan
t you to rule . . . Calila with . . . .” He looked at Braden, obviously searching for his name.

“Braden,” Portia told him.

“Braden . . . as your husband . . . at your side.”

“If I am going to marry you before he passes,” said the priest, “we’d better do it quickly.”

“Portia?” asked Braden, taking his hand away from her father and cradling her face. “If you agree to this, I would be the happiest man in the world.”

“I do agree,” she said with a smile and a nod. “And Father, I am happy you would be here to see us married. Guards!” she shouted toward the door. H
er father’s men came at her beck and call.

“You called, Lady Portia?” asked one.

“Close the door and come inside. I want you both to witness my marriage to Sir Braden, as he is about to become your new ruler.”

The priest had just finished the short ceremony and they’d both said their vows and were sharing the marriage kiss when the door opened and the countess and Braden’s father rushed into the room.

“What is happening here?” asked the countess. “And guards, why aren’t you outside the door?”

“We were called into the room to witness the wedding,” said one of the guards.

“What wedding?” snapped the countess, looking up a
t them and then over to the priest. She suddenly realized what just happened and a shadow darkened her face. “Your marriage means naught,” she shouted. “Once the earl is dead, I am the ruler of Calila.”

“Not anymore,” Braden told her. “By the earl’s wishes we were just married and he’s declared in front of several witnesses that upon his demise, his daughter shall take his place.”

“Both of us would rule Calila,” Portia added. “Isn’t that right, Father?”

The dying man on the bed looked over with hooded eyes, his face more pale then Portia had ever seen it.

“The deed is done,” said her father, slowly closing his eyes.

“Who is this man?” Lord Muir strolled across the room, eyeing up Braden. Portia could see Braden clenching his jaw and a vein twitching in his neck. S
he also noticed his hands balled into fists. She was frightened with the encounter that was about to take place. She was frightened for them all.

“What’s the matter?” asked Braden, eyeing up the man just the same as he was doing to him. “Don’t you recognize me . . . Father?”

Chapter 19

If there was ever a most awkward moment in Braden’s life, this was it. His fists clenched and his jaw clamped
shut, he did everything in his power to hold back from striking out at the man who’d sired him.

He hadn’t seen him since he was a child, but
now that the man was standing in front of him, he remembered every detail about him. His dark, dirty hair, his wretched grin, and his beady black eyes. And especially the damned snake etching on his inner arm over a crescent moon. The marking that signified he was the leader of the Klarens.

“Braden?” asked the man with a frown. “Is that you?”

“How soon you forget your own flesh and blood.”

What he wanted to say was how could he forget the boy he’d abused daily, but he didn’t. If he wanted his father to accept that he truly was a Klaren now, he had to keep his anger for the man at bay.

“Son!” He reached forward and gave Braden a half-embrace, slapping him on the back. Just being so close to him made Braden want to wretch. And the slap on the back, though not done in a malicious gesture, only made Braden think of all the pain he’d endured because of a slap or a punch from this same hand. “Where have you been all these years?” he asked. “And why are you wearing the clothes of a Klaren?”

“Because I’m . . . one of you now,” stated Braden, forcing the words from his mouth and trying to make them sound believable.

“You’re a Klaren?” the man asked with a raised brow.

“As of today, I am. I am here to join you in seizing Banesmoor.”

“How did you know about that?” he asked suspiciously. Braden could have kicked himself for saying that. He may have just given away his cover.

“I got the i
nformation from the Klaren who once wore these clothes. Right before I killed him, that is.” He hadn’t really killed the Klaren, though he’d wanted to. But he needed to sound as if he had, in order to look believable in front of his father.

“Aye, good that you killed him. If you hadn’t, I surely would
have for the man giving away that kind of information.”

“My many pardons,” interrupted the priest. “But if you don’t mind, my lady
, I would go now, as my work here is done.”

“What?” Portia turned her attention to the priest.

“What I mean to say, my lady, is that your father has passed and is now in a much better place.”

“Father? Nay!” Portia dropped her body atop the man and cried hysterically.

Braden turned toward the priest. “Thank you,” he said with a nod, dismissing the man.

His heart went out to Portia and he watched as Juturna tried to comfort her
with her arms around the girl’s shoulders. He wanted to pull the crying girl into his own arms and kiss her, but didn’t. He was a Klaren now, he reminded himself and he knew they would never be so kind to a woman. He had to keep up this guise for now.