Warrior (13 page)

navigated his way through the forest.

He couldn’t see, but he knew from

the crunching of the branches on the

ground that Hector followed behind

him with the other squirming bundle.

Luckily, they’d both been wearing

enough cloth that they could easily

gag these ladies and tie them up

before they continued their awful

screaming. The other three soldiers

were somewhere behind them, and

two were wounded—one badly so.

The Lytherian soldier who’d inflicted

those wounds was only alive because

the two princesses had started their

screeching when Varian had been

close to beheading him. Killing the

soldier had taken a backseat to

shutting them up, and instead of taking

his head off, Varian had settled for

knocking him out. It was why, instead

of five horses, there were now six,

one carrying the unconscious body of

a Lytherian soldier.

A sound touched Varian’s sensitive

ears and he saw what appeared to be

torches coming toward them.

“Shh!” he hissed, especially to his

squirming bundle who was still

screaming although gagged. She

ignored him and continued to make a

whiny kind of sound until he brought

the flat of his hand down on her rear.

“Quiet!”

***

Vulcan felt unease creep up his

spine as they moved through the

forest. He had the distinct feeling they

were being watched. And they

probably were, being that they were

moving through a Lytherian forest, at

the back of a Lytherian castle.

He drew his sword, and heard when

his men did the same. His eyes

scanned the areas that the light of

torch touched. He heard the snap of a

twig and a man stepped into the

clearing, sword drawn.

It took a while to recognize Varian,

but when he did, relief coursed

through Vulcan’s veins.

“Did you miss my company already,

brother?” Varian asked with an easy

smile as he moved to him.

Vulcan scowled down, and didn’t

waste time in biting into him. “Where

did you go? Why didn’t you report to

one of the generals?”

It was then Vulcan noticed that

others were moving into the clearing.

They were all upon horseback.

Hector, he made out, and three more

of his soldiers, and someone, a

Lytherian, if the cape and coloring

were any indication, was lying over

the back of a horse.

“I’ve brought you a present,” Varian

said, as if he just remembered

something. He whistled and Loki

sauntered forward slowly. Vulcan

noticed something squirming against

Loki’s back and lifted his brows.

Instead of answering his brother’s

unasked question, Varian climbed

atop Loki and turned the bundle so

she faced forward. Long tresses of

what appeared to be auburn hair fell

into her face, and green eyes flashed

angrily at him.

“May I present to you, your future

bride, Princess Mathilda St. Ives, the

Flower of the East,” Varian said,

holding the woman still as she

struggled against her bonds. Except

for the slight widening of her eyes

when Varian made his introductions,

the woman didn’t look at all afraid.

She looked angry.

Hector, who’d been holding on to

the other struggling princess, felt her

body go limp when Varian made the

announcement. Deciding she’d either

run out of strength or fainted, he

sighed in abject relief.

Chapter 4

The next day began early for the

soldiers of Morden and their two

captive princesses. Today would mark

the last day of the siege. Vulcan had

two important things that belonged to

Lytheria and one way or another, they

were getting him into that castle.

Varian, who looked less than his

usually calm self, as he’d had to deal

with the muffled cries and squirming

machinations of the Flower of the East

until she fell asleep, was dressed in his

leathers and a red tunic emblazoned

with the crest of the House of Mor’an.

He was to play the part of king’s

envoy today.

The rest of the soldiers, including

Vulcan, wore armor, and some even

had their helmets on. The only

weapon that Varian had on his person

was the dirk at his waist. He easily got

astride Loki, and turned him in the

direction of the front of the castle.

One of the squires presented him with

the white flag of the messenger as two

armor-clad soldiers flanked him on

each side. He passed Vulcan on his

way to the castle, and his brother gave

him a quick nod.

As they waited, someone from the

Lytherian camp began to blow the

horn. When they could see the arrows

poking through the slits of the

battlements, and some of the soldiers

standing upon the ramparts and the

barbican, Varian waved the flag above

his head and they slowly began to

make their way down.

No arrows rained down on them,

and when they were finally next to the

moat, Varian called out, “I am Varian

of Morden, messenger to King Vulcan

of

Morden.

Who

speaks

for

Lytheria?”

An answer came from one of the

soldiers on the battlements. “State

your purpose!”

Varian smirked. He intended to do

just that. “Our king has recently come

into possession of two things: one

rightfully belongs to him; the other to

Lytheria. Surrender to Morden and

accept my king as your liege, and no

harm will come to your prized

possession.”

The silence was so deafening that

Varian was about to repeat the

statement, believing they had not

heard him, when a firm feminine voice

called out, “What prized possessions

of ours does your vile king have?”

Varian had heard people call his

brother worse things but this hidden

female irked him with her words.

What right did a female have

discussing war with a king’s envoy?

“You would not believe me if I told

you so I will show you,” he said

curtly, and with that, he turned and

waved the white flag in the direction

of the soldiers who stood further off,

away from the reach of soldiers who

manned the battlements and their

deadly arrows.

***

Jaisyn watched in horror as two

soldiers rode ahead of the line. Even

before they pulled the dark cloths

from their captives’ heads, she knew

who they were. Her sisters! They had

her sisters! They were both gagged

and from the ever-present tossing of

Isolde’s red hair, she knew that her

sister was struggling. Her golden gaze

flickered over to Mathilda, who was

still, looking exceedingly small next to

the massive soldier who held her.

“Our king expects Lytheria to

surrender by noon this day or you will

never see your prized possessions

again.”

The messenger was speaking again,

but Jaisyn barely heard him. Nor did

she see him flash a deadly smile

before he turned and rode back

toward Morden soldiers.

They had captured Isolde and

Mathilda. Good Goddess, who knew

what they’d done to her sisters? If

their king was any indication on how

the people of Morden treated women

—

“What are your instructions, liege?”

Urian asked from beside her.

They were standing in the tower,

because it allowed them to see while

not being seen. His voice was sad, his

head bowed, his eyes lowered. It was

then she remembered. She’d asked

Malcolm to take her sisters to

Mitherie. If her sisters were captured,

then Malcolm was dead. He would

sacrifice his life to protect them and

that was what he’d done.

“I am sorry, Urian,” Jaisyn told her

general earnestly, feeling the urge to

weep bitter tears. Malcolm had been

as close to her as her brother, and

once more, Morden had taken a

brother from her. She cleared her

throat, blinked rapidly and focused

her thoughts on Isolde and Mathilda.

They were still alive. She had to get

them away from that monster who

called himself the Wolf. She wasn’t

going to risk having another loved one

taken from her.

“Prepare for surrender,” she said

softly. She could do nothing else. Her

army was half the size of the Morden

army, and they had her sisters. Any

resistance from them and she was

certain that Vulcan of Morden would

not hesitate to take her sisters’ lives.

In

that

moment,

she

regretted

wholeheartedly she hadn’t slit his

throat as soon as she entered his tent.

If not for her conscience…

“Yes, liege,” Urian responded and

he walked away, no longer his usual

brisk self. His posture conveyed his

utter defeat.

And as Jaisyn thought of that, she

decided

that

they

were.

The

Lytherians were defeated.

***

Vulcan sat facing the woman who

would have become his wife had

Lytheria not put up that ridiculous

struggle. She was beautiful, and he

could see why she would receive a

nickname for her beauty. What he

couldn’t fathom was why it was

‘Flower of the East’. She was more so

a rose, a very thorny rose, with her

fiery hair and waspish disposition. He

wondered briefly if she was the

princess who’d attempted to kill him

nights ago. However, as he looked at

her fair complexion and red hair, he

dismissed the thought. His princess

had been darker, with golden locks.

“Eat,” Vulcan said to her once

more, his voice hard and unyielding.

One of the squires had placed slices of

bread and strips of meat before her as

she sat upon a log, clutching her sister

to her. The other sister had eaten

some of the bread, at the insistence of

the redhead, before she’d turned and

buried her face back into the

redhead’s shoulder. The thought of

the other sister being the assassin-

princess never entered his mind. She

was too timid. Timid women did not

enter warriors’ tents with intent to slit

their throats.

His voice made the Flower jump,

but she glared at him nonetheless. She

looked away after a few seconds and

continued to comfort the sister in her

arms. From the way she was acting,

one would think that the redhead was

the older sister and the one with hair

the color of spun gold was the

younger. But that wasn’t possible.

Mathilda St. Ives was the redhead, the

youngest daughter of Wilhelm of

Lytheria. Varian had asked after the

Flower of the East when he’d

captured them and the redhead had

confirmed her identity.

Deciding that he had more important

things to do than try to persuade a

stubborn princess to eat, Vulcan rose

to his feet, and headed to where the

horses were kept. Their prisoner of

war was finally awake and just as

stubborn as the Flower. Perhaps it

was a trait among their people—

stubbornness. He hoped stupidity

wasn’t. If Lytheria did not surrender

to him by noon, he would have no

choice but to plan a surprise attack,

which would lead to more death. He

didn’t need to lose any more soldiers,

especially Lytherian soldiers. When he

left for Morden, who would then

guard his new acquisition?

As he came closer to the horses, he

heard Varian’s voice. His brother was

questioning the prisoner and from the

narrow slits that were his eyes, he was

getting nowhere.

When Vulcan approached, Varian