A Warrior’s Heart by Misty M. Beller
10
Brielle held her focus on their prisoner. Evan watched her as he sat on the fur, legs crossed at the ankles. His look was more than a casual glance. No, he seemed to be searching her expression for something. Intensity marked his gaze. What was he looking for?
Why hadn’t she asked Leonard what Evan and Marcellus spoke of? She would simply have to inquire of this man. She could always check with Leonard later to confirm what Evan said. He looked like he had something to ask her anyway.
She worked for a smile, or at least a softer expression. “Have you already eaten your evening meal?”
He nodded, a slow calculating dip of his chin. “Audrey’s food tasted as good as ever. And no more poisoning, it seems.” His lips tipped, as if to prove he didn’t mean the comment. “I assume the fresh elk meat was your doing?”
Although the question couldn’t really be considered a compliment, the way his voice softened made it feel like one.
She gave a single nod. “We have many who hunt, though.” And maybe she had pictured Evan’s delight at the fresh game when she brought the bull elk to Audrey, but she certainly didn’t want credit for thoughtfulness. This man didn’t need to know how often his image entered her thoughts. He should think he disappeared from her mind the moment she left this room.
She turned her focus back to more productive matters. “Have you need of anything for the night?”
Evan shook his head. “Not unless you have something I can do to pass the time. I’m happy to braid rugs or rope—anything at all that’ll keep my hands, and hopefully my mind, busy.” Again, there was a tip of his lips that could’ve been a smile, but without a sparkle in his eye, the look turned wry.
Maybe it was his words, or maybe it was the thought of how she would feel being locked away in this little room for day upon day, but something compressed inside her. “I’ll see what I can find in the morning. Maybe Marcellus’s mother will have something you can do to help.”
A light slipped into his gaze, reminding her of the discussion they would need to have. She hadn’t intended such a perfect segue but best to grasp hold of it.
She dropped to sit on the stone floor, wrapping her arms around her knees in front of her. She was about to open her mouth to start the discussion, but Evan beat her to it.
“I met Marcellus today.” He nodded in the direction Leonard had gone. “I guess the other guard told you.”
She offered a grim smile. “Marcellus is . . . eager. It’s been hard to keep him from coming to see you.”
Evan’s gaze softened. “I’m glad he came. He was a pleasure.” A grin tickled the corners of his mouth. “I’m not much for talking usually. But I have to say, after all these days of quiet, it was nice to hear so many words come at me so quickly.”
She almost chuckled at how the conversation had probably gone.
Then Evan’s face sobered. “There was one thing he said that helped me understand why you’re holding me.”
She stilled, then worked to keep herself from stiffening too much as her chest tightened. Marcellus had said something. She wanted to pull the words from Evan’s mouth but forced herself to not appear too eager. “Oh?”
“He said you thought I was here as a spy, that my country wanted to send an army to take over Laurent.” His gaze turned questioning. “I’m curious why you would think that. I’ve made it clear I was only on an exploring trip. I didn’t know your village was here at all. I might have never discovered Laurent if you hadn’t dragged me inside the rock wall.”
She took her time answering him. His face seemed earnest, and his voice held nothing that raised an internal warning.
Should she mention the paper Papa found? Her father had told her not to speak of it, so she’d better not. But maybe she could tell the deeper reason they were all cautious. Perhaps if she revealed that part, he would tell more about himself.
She studied him once more. Maybe it was the way his eyes always drew her in. Maybe it was how handsome he was, even with how his beard thickened a little more each day, hiding the strong jawline she knew lay underneath. Something in her chest tightened. She yearned . . . but for what?
Pushing the question aside, she dropped her gaze and focused on that day a decade ago. “I was twelve years old when the last Englishmen came to our village. We still don’t know how they found us, but they rode right through the gate. My mother was the first to spot them. When she called out that we had visitors, three other women were nearby with their children. Most of the men had gone on a hunting trip, but Marcellus’s father was one of the few who stayed behind. He came running when he heard one of the strangers shout.” A knot thickened her throat, drying her mouth and making it hard to speak. That day had been so long ago; she’d been able to speak of it without emotion for years now. Why did this retelling threaten to choke out her voice?
Maybe because Evan’s presence resurrected the memories in such vivid detail. She could see the faces of those strangers. Hear her mother’s voice rise in greeting to them. She blinked to clear the image. Only the basic elements of the story were sufficient to share right now. Not details.
“Since my father is chief of our village, my mother approached to greet them in his stead. She made me sit with my younger brother and sister. She wanted them to stay back until we knew who the strangers were. She’d barely lifted her hand in greeting when one of the men . . . shot her.” Her voice trembled on that life-changing word. She clenched her fists to pull herself back under control.
“Louis—Marcellus’s father—arrived and had the foresight to bring his sword, just as my mother fell to her knees. Others came with weapons, and by the time the fighting ended, six of our people had fallen and two more were badly injured.” She was shaking now, and every part of her stretched tight as she worked to still herself. “All ten of their men died. None of them made it out of our walls.”
But they’d wreaked enough devastation to impact the life of every person in this village. Laurent had learned an important lesson that day. She had learned an important lesson. Her people’s safety couldn’t be left to chance. And now that she’d earned the right to protect them, she couldn’t fail those she loved.
With that reminder, her body finally stopped trembling. She raised her gaze to meet Evan’s. “Now you understand why we don’t trust outsiders. Especially Englishmen.”
Evan’s face didn’t show the worry her words might have inspired. Nor apprehension that they would take their fury out on him, nor fear that the last time had made them strengthen themselves so much an attack wouldn’t be successful.
Nor was there sympathy, as she’d half expected since she’d come to know this man.
No, the look in his eyes was . . . hard to read. If she’d had to name it, she would have said his gaze had turned haunted. As though he could see the courtyard as it had stood twelve years before, bloodied bodies strewn about. Children and wives and husbands weeping over their lost. Women scurrying to tend the wounds of the two who yet lived.
As though he could see the little girl Brielle had been, crying over her mother. Brushing the hair away from Mama’s familiar face, away from the lifeless eyes that had regarded her so tenderly. The love they’d always held no longer shimmering in their glassy depths.
She wrenched her mind away from that image. She’d unravel if she stayed there much longer.
Evan’s throat worked, and she focused on the dip of his Adam’s apple, letting it bring her back to the present.
“I wish I knew what to say.” His voice came out rough, almost hoarse, yet laced with a tenderness that made her want to curl inside his arms and take refuge.
Her gaze drifted to those arms. What would it be like to be held within their strength? For a tiny moment, she longed to close the distance between them and let herself be protected. As much as she wanted this position as provider and protector of Laurent, the job she’d worked so hard to earn, sometimes she hated always being the strong one. If only there was someone who could carry the weight of responsibility for her every once in a while.
She straightened, shoving the thought aside. She alone didn’t bear the entire responsibility for Laurent’s well-being. The council took on most of the decisions, and the other guards and hunters helped with protection and provision. They all worked together. She certainly didn’t need an outsider to help her.
Evan’s mouth formed a curve so weighed with sadness, it couldn’t be called a smile. “I’m sorry, Brielle. Thank you for trusting me with your story.”
So often, this man seemed capable of seeing deep inside her. Of reading her thoughts in a way no one else could. Maybe it was that ability that made her want to connect with him. It was certainly that ability that made her afraid of connecting with him.
She acknowledged his words with a nod.
His brow creased, and his gaze shifted in what appeared to be deep thought, and alarm rose in Brielle. He must be planning his next actions based on the story she’d told. Maybe she’d been a fool to share so much. She could try to distract him from whatever scheme he was working out, but there was no way she could keep him from thinking all day and all night indefinitely. She couldn’t retract the words now, so she’d have to trust that her instincts hadn’t led her astray in telling him.
He seemed to realize he’d been quiet, for he met her gaze again and the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “I guess I do understand better why you’re keeping me locked in this hole.” Then his mouth formed a wry look. “Takes a bit of the punch out of my anger.”
He’d been remarkably in control of his anger, a fact that hadn’t escaped her. She couldn’t imagine what some of the other guards who struggled with their tempers would do if forced to stay locked away in the dark, night and day, without end. If Evan really was as innocent as he claimed, he was being held somewhat unjustly.
But something in her said the situation was not exactly as it seemed. Why wouldn’t he tell the truth?