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BLOOD KEEP
By
WEND PETZLER
© copyright by Wend Petzler, Feb 2007
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, Feb 2008
ISBN 978-1-60394-103-7
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
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
Northumberland, April 1334
“How the hell do we get past that?” Adjusting his helm, painted in the detail of a red dragon’s head, Nicolas Drago cast a disgusted glare at the stone monstrosity looming before him.
Well over thirty feet high, the protective wall stretched for miles, surrounding the land hidden on the other side. It effectively barred him from reaching the most feared English castle known as Blood Keep.
The gusting wind howled, sending his banner of the Red Dragon flapping violently about. Blue-white lightening snaked across the angry sky. Thunder crackled, rumbling ominously. His gaze rose to the forty archers who held their long, Welsh bows ready to unleash a deadly rain of arrows upon him and his men. The crimson-colored stallion he rode snorted and shifted nervously beneath him. Thunder became louder, more uniformed. The ground shook from another brutal force of nature—warhorses!
The looming wooden gate, wrought with iron, crashed to the ground, unleashing the feared Black Knights. The clattering of iron shod hooves and rattling metal grew deafening. The impressive, black armored knights rode in pairs, carrying black lances fastened with sharp, silvery tips. In precise formation, they split to form a line to the left and right. When the last man moved into position, one hundred knights raised their lances at the same time, creating a black forest before Nicolas and his far smaller troop of thirty.
Silence.
Nicolas gritted his teeth, determined to fulfill his duty. He urged his stallion forward only to draw back the reins when he heard the clatter of more hooves coming. Two riders exited the downed gate. One wore an older styled silver armor and rode a horse of striking white. The other was a Viking with long, silver-laced flaxen hair and beard, clad in a thick, leather jerkin with his huge battle ax resting on his immense shoulder and rode a blue roan. A fair distance away from him they drew their excited horses to a halt and waited when a third rider burst forth. The newcomer rode a gleaming, black stallion who snorted clouds of white steam from flaring, red nostrils, coming to a rearing halt beside them. Short, steel bat wings extended from the sides of the frightening black helm the rider wore. A long, black horsetail, extended from the back. The visor was fashioned with angular slits for the dark knight to see out while allowing none to see the monster within.
The Demon Lord!
Menacing in appearance, the Demon’s shoulders were made broader by the added width of steel-encased leather guards molded to the black-enameled chain mail. A wool cloak of midnight was hooked to the chained loops. Strapped to the dark rider’s back was the infamous sword the Demon used to deliver death to Edward’s enemies.
None to Nicolas’ knowledge had ever laid eyes on the mysterious man under the hideous helm, not the many who had fallen under the Demon Lord’s sword or his allies. Nicolas seriously doubted even Edward had viewed the dangerous man’s hidden features. The Demon Lord had attained terrifying fame when he and his invincible Black Army joined the campaign in Southern Scotland, savagely turning the war in Edward’s favor. Though the Demon had never entered the tournaments, his ferocious reputation upon the battlefield was undeniable.
Swearing under his breath, Nicolas needed to calm the growing out of control situation. He and the Demon Lord were sworn to protect the English Crown. He would not fight a man to whom he owed his life! The barbarian gestured at him and then the knight nodded before riding out to meet Nicolas. Coming to a halt beside him, the knight lifted his visor, exposing a grizzled man sporting a pointed, elegant gray beard.
“Sir Nicolas, why do you come to Blood Keep in force?”
Good, Nicolas thought with satisfaction, a direct man. “My apologies, Sir Knight, we do not come to fight but rather to bring Lady Isabella a letter from King Edward.” Distrust was clearly evident upon the old warrior’s face.
“Why did not the king just send it by courier?”
Nicolas glanced over at the Demon Lord, watching the dark knight. The stallion he rode pawed the ground impatiently. A soothing hand upon the sleek neck calmed the magnificent animal. “King Edward is very concerned about Lady Isabella. He ordered me to personally deliver his letter and make sure all is well at Blood Keep.”
“My lord, I am Sir Brandon, Captain of Blood Keep. Why does Edward believe something is wrong here at Blood Keep?”
Instead of answering, Nicolas retrieved the rolled parchment from his saddlebag. “I am ordered to meet with Lady Isabella inside Blood Keep and ensure she understands the contents of Edward’s letter.”
Sir Brandon faced him sharply, startled by his words. “I must speak to Lord Demon.” Wheeling his mount around, he galloped back to the awaiting pair.
Nicolas watched the trio carefully, observing their heated argument. The wary men glanced at him suspiciously, agreeing with obvious reluctance to whatever the Demon Lord had said. Resigned, the men backed their horses, clearing the way. The fearsome knight urged the magnificent warhorse forward. The heavy, black cloak spread behind the Demon like great wings. Clutching the leather reins tighter, Nicolas sat back in his saddle, consternation rolling in his gut, gritting his teeth as the frightening apparition charged straight for him. His men shifted uncomfortably. They, too, wondered what the Demon Lord intended for their commander.
Skidding to a halt several feet from him, the powerful warhorse tossed his noble head and pawed the ground, snorting with excitement. The Demon placed the black leather reins down. His gauntlets, tops re-enforced with overlapping steel, moved upwards to remove his helm. Nicolas swallowed hard as wild rumors of the hideous and deformed Demon Lord swirled in his mind. The truth floored him!
Long, honey-brown hair with blonde streaks cascaded downward. Heavily fringed, black lashes hooded eyes the color of emeralds which frostily assessed his reaction. Shadows under her almond-shaped eyes darkened the jeweled depths. A woman? The Demon Lord was a woman? Cold shock washed over Nicolas. Astonished, he grew uncomfortable by the crackling air of authority surrounding her. Her pale features were ethereal, not beautiful but more ... otherworldly. Her softly squared jaw clenched, barely suppressing her irritation as she waited for him to get his fill of looking at her. Arrogant, her straight nose lifted at him, disdain in her cold, hard eyes. When she spoke, her voice was as rich as brandy, rippling with power, causing Nicolas to feel as if he had been punched in the stomach.
“Why does Edward command you to enter Blood Keep?” The woman demanded, her horse shifting nervously under her.
“You are the Demon Lord?” Nicolas demanded, unbelieving a woman accomplished the many victories the Demon had leading the Black Army.
Her eyes darkened ominously. “I am Lady Isabella. The Demon Lord has left my services and thought it wise if I maintained the illusion he still guided my knights if we were attacked. Since you pose no threat,” she sneered, “I felt it safe to take off my helm. You carry a message from my cousin?” she asked, pointing at the rolled parchment in his hand.
His eyes narrowed suspiciously at her response, bristling at her rudeness. “Forgive my impertinence, but why would the Demon Lord leave his armor and horse to you, a mere woman? No self respecting knight parts with his prized possessions.”
A snarl curved her soft, pink lips and the stallion she rode reared, screaming a throaty challenge. She quickly settled her horse and snapped, “Knight, take a good look at my horse, take a longer look at my armor. Might I remind you that you fought beside my dark avenger and know him well? To protect me and my castle, he commissioned my armor to resemble his, and as to my horse, he is son to Satan, the Demon Lord’s warhorse.”
It was then he took a really good look at the horse and his rider. The warhorse’s legs and body were more refined than the infamous Satan the Demon had rode hard into battle. Taking a long look at the woman, he noted the Demon’s chain mail differed and suddenly had become slimmer and not at all like the black knight whom he had fought beside in the bid for Scotland. At a distance the ruse worked, having convinced him he faced the Demon Lord. Why would the Demon go to such drastic measures to have the Baroness of Blood Keep don armor and pretend to be him? Had someone really attempted to harm her? What he could see of her, Lady Isabella appeared to be quite sound of body to be wearing chain mail. Honor bound to get to the truth of what had happened in the last week at Blood Keep, Nicolas knew he must put the hostile female at ease.
Inclining his helmed head in acceptance of her explanation, Nicolas tried to unruffle her feathers, hoping to calm the riled, young woman. “My sincerest apologies, my lady. I meant no offense. As to your earlier question, King Edward’s explicit instructions were for me to give you his letter once I was inside Blood Keep. I was not to take no for an answer.” Trying his best to appear pleasant, Nicolas won instead a disgusted look from her.
Brandon rode up beside her. “My lady, the storm is nearly upon us. We must conduct our meeting inside the Keep.” He glanced worriedly at the angry, purple, rolling clouds above.
Appearing frustrated, for she had no other choice but to allow him and his force inside Blood Keep, she tossed her helm to Brandon, glaring at Nicolas all the while. Her next words riled him at the same time sending relief there would be no battle today.
“Follow me but make no sudden movement or my men will slaughter you,” she warned, her gaze lifted pointedly to the silent archers above.
The black stallion wheeled about on his heel and was gone before Nicolas could question the woman’s motives. He had no choice but to follow. His friend and servant, Ahmed, frowned at their unusual situation. The Arab’s dark eyes narrowed and he rode close beside him, just in case of an ambush. Nicolas shifted in his saddle, ensuring his men in were order as they followed him. They nervously watched the ready bowmen above. As Nicolas and his troops rode over the lowered gate, the formidable Black Knights closed rank, effectively cutting off any exit. The dark tunnel through the massive wall appeared deep, causing the hair on Nicolas’ neck to stand on end.
Rumors, spoken in hushed tones, had spread about the cause of Lady Isabella’s widowhood thirty days after her marriage to Lord Mordred some five years ago. Tales were whispered of the young baroness murdering her husband in cold blood. The more romantic gossipers were convinced the great knight had died of a broken heart when he saw the ghost of his beautiful, first wife who perished moments after delivering her stillborn babe into the world.
Lord Mordred’s legendary feats upon the battlefield and in the lists were of a truly honorable knight of the English Realm. Famous for his golden hair, silver armor, and magnificent white steed, Mordred was what all knights strove to be and had been Nicolas’ hero since childhood. Shadowed by mystery and intrigue, his death had caused many a wild tale, all forcibly squashed by King Edward. The king declared Mordred’s death due to natural causes and was quite satisfied in allowing Lady Isabella to rule Blood Keep. The decision, however, did not sit well with Mordred’s younger brother, Lord Alden.
By rights of blood, Alden should have inherited the demesne, Nicolas thought, relieved the darkness gave way to light, seeing the end of the tunnel.
Lady Isabella rode twenty feet ahead of him and Ahmed. She glanced back at him several times, her resentment of him made quite clear by her glare. The Viking whispered something to her. Nicolas watched her soft lips flatten in disapproval. Her dark, shapely eyebrows gathered in an ominous frown. Angry at whatever the Viking had said, she whipped back around to face forward and urged her horse into a fast canter. Urging his own to a faster gait, eager to exit the tunnel, Nicolas received another surprise.
Vast, well tended fields, green with spring crops, bordered the road, sweeping until it met the flanking forest. The wide river Tweed wandered sluggishly through the heart of Blood Keep’s lands. They rode over a wide road of cobblestones, a reminder the castle was originally a fortress built by the Romans. With the many border wars, Blood Keep had changed hands several times over. Reluctant, his astonished gaze lifted to the dark, foreboding castle rising above the fields, a fearsome protector. Blood Keep’s grim starkness gave him a bloodcurdling chill to his very soul. Nicolas dreaded the thought of spending one night in the nightmarish castle. As if he had insulted the powers above, the gloomy clouds let loose a vengeful barrage of rain upon them.
Riding up the short hill leading to the main gate, Nicolas cast a wary eye toward the high ramparts encircling Blood Keep. The castle had to be the most fearsome pile of masonry and wood he had ever set eyes upon. The main keep rose menacingly above four, square-shaped corner towers. The blocks of stone used were dark, giving the fortress a sinister appearance. The downed portcullis, fashioned by thick, iron spikes, rose slowly, loudly creaking. More archers stood above, bows ready, arrows aimed at the newcomers who waited in front of the barbican. Far from amused, Nicolas did not like the recent turn of events, not one bit!
Isabella smiled despite the rotten turn of events. Blood Keep spread its warm arms wide, embracing her chilled heart. Why had Edward sent Drago of all people to her castle? Distracted when the portcullis was up, Isabella urged her horse forward, riding under the massive archway. Not really understanding why, Isabella glanced back at Drago. Many thought her home haunted and evil, a rumor cultivated to make the Border Scots fear Blood Keep. Perhaps Drago will fear Blood Keep, too, and flee as so many others had in the past. One can only hope, she thought with a small smile.
A crowd of servants and soldiers gathered, warily greeting the newcomers. The Black Knights continued on to an enormous building set a good distance from the castle. Squires took their lances, assisting the silent knights. Drago turned and to her surprise, he grinned and respectfully inclined his helmed head in approval of her home. Haughtily tossing her head back, the action sent her long hair cascading over her left shoulder. His approval meant naught to her! Swinging off her horse, her booted feet hit the ground hard. Isabella gasped, agony whipped up her back, exploding into fiery pain. Desperate to hide it, she prayed Drago had not heard her momentary bout of weakness. Otto, her faithful barbarian, had heard. Rushing to her aid, he used his bulk to shield her from their unexpected guests.
Brandon stepped in, transferring Drago’s attention onto him. “My lord, please allow Sir George to show your men to the former stables where they can settle their horses in for the night. Accommodations shall be arranged for you and your knights’ comfort.”
“Thank you, Sir Brandon. Leo, take my horse and follow Sir George.” Drago swung off his warhorse, handing the reins over to a scarred-faced knight.
Isabella squared her shoulders, determined to ignore her pain and Drago’s unwelcome presence. Speaking to the concerned, young man holding her horse’s reins, she said, “Miles, make sure Lucifer gets a good rub down. He’s earned it.” Affectionately slapping the stallion’s bulging neck, Isabella swung around in time to smash her face right into Drago’s silver-armored chest, not realizing Otto had moved.
Instinctively, Nicolas grabbed the reeling woman, preventing her from falling backward. Holding her, he was surprised that her tawny head barely reached his shoulder. On a warhorse, the woman appeared Amazon-like. Preferring tall women, Nicolas came to the quick conclusion Lady Isabella’s spirit more than made up for her lack of height. An enticing scent teased his senses, causing Nicolas to stare down at her in confusion.
Roses.
The faint, sweet scent had haunted him since his near demise over a year ago on a battlefield of blood and gore. Distracted when Lady Isabella jerked away from him, Nicolas watched her hurry up the steep, stone steps leading to the Keep’s main doors. Ahmed gained his attention, pointing at Isabella’s saddle. Blood. Nicolas’ brow gathered in confusion. Staring at the wet, red smear on the curved seat, then at his gauntlets, he knew it came from her cloak where he held her.
“Master, I feel something terrible has occurred here. We are welcomed and yet, we are watched closely.” Ahmed’s eyes rose to the ramparts where the archers remained on guard.
“I agree.” Warning bells resounded in Nicolas’ head. “Something indeed is wrong here,” he stated, alert for danger.
Struggling defiantly against the fire spreading down her back, Isabella harshly reminded herself, control the pain.
In her mind, she heard her father screaming at her. You are a weak female! You are nothing but a tool to be used to defeat my enemies. Well, she had defeated his enemies, and someday she would destroy the cruel, dead man who haunted her, too.
A sweet, round-faced woman hurried to greet them as they entered the spacious great hall.
“Bella ....” Halting in uncertainty, she stared at the unknown, tall knight who came to stand behind her mistress. When he removed his helm, thick, warm brown hair fell to his broad shoulders. When his amber eyes brightened in laughter at her continued stare, her eyes grew round as saucers.
Stiffening, Isabella felt Drago’s unmistakable presence behind her. “Aggie, bring wine to my study.” Isabella made to leave when the older woman stayed her by placing a hesitant hand upon her arm. Unable to ask the question aloud in present company, Aggie’s blue eyes were shadowed in concern. Squeezing Aggie’s hand briefly, Isabella strode over to another set of double doors and opened them. Unbuckling the belt attached to the black leather, silver engraved scabbard, from around her shoulders, she took off her sword. The deadly-looking blade sang a steely song as she grasped the worn hilt and unsheathed her sword. Isabella lay it down on the mahogany desk, deliberately aiming the sharp tip at Drago.
Sitting down, Isabella ordered, “Take a seat, Drago. We have business to conduct.” Disrespecting his honorable rank of knighthood, she deliberately goaded him.
Irritated, Nicolas ground his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. Sitting in the chair Ahmed provided, he smiled tightly. “Many thanks, Lady Isabella, for your kind hospitality to me and my men, especially under such circumstances we currently find ourselves a part of.” The words dripped heavily with sarcasm for Sir Brandon had thought of him and his men’s comfort, not her.
Ignoring him, Isabella waved at Aggie to enter. The portly woman carried in a silver tray laden with a matching pitcher of wine and several glasses, setting it down on the desk.
Pouring the red wine into two of the glasses, she handed them over to Isabella and Drago. “My lady, if you have no further need of me, I shall see to our guests. We have many more mouths to feed and beds to find for tonight.”
Isabella dismissed her housekeeper before drinking deep of her wine. Taking out a lacy handkerchief from under her chain mail, she wiped away the cold sweat gathering along her brow, feeling light-headed from the loss of blood she suffered. Getting a hold of herself, she arched her eyebrow and held her hand out. “Drago, I will have my letter now.”
Clearing his throat in an attempt to curb the irrational desire to respond to her imperious tone, Nicolas rose to his feet, handing over the rolled parchment. Caught off guard when the color drained from her arresting features, he leaned further toward her. “My lady, are you ill?” Nicolas asked softly. Ahmed protected his back when the barbarian and the older knight rushed forward, alarmed by his question.
Shivering in response to Drago’s smooth, sensual voice washing over her strained senses, she trembled in exhaustion. Focus! She straightened her shoulders and held her hand out to receive the parchment still in his grasp. “The letter?” Isabella coldly met his concerned gaze.
Scowling, he handed it over. Nicolas returned to his seat and retrieved his glass, watching Isabella motion to the barbarian and Sir Brandon to join her. When she broke the wax seal, for one horrifying moment Nicolas questioned if she could read until she appeared to scan the letter, then he grew alarmed when her eyes grew round in horror and disbelief, flying upward to spear him accusingly.
Jumping to her feet, Isabella snapped, “Have you any prior knowledge of the contents in the letter you delivered?” Her right hand tightened around the hilt of her sword.
Nicolas leapt to his feet, placing his hands flat on the smooth desktop, meeting the most beautiful, livid emerald eyes he had ever seen. “I have none, my lady. Why do you ask?” he questioned, distrustful at her obvious rage. When her men’s apprehensive eyes flew to her then to Nicolas before hurriedly backing out of the way, he was unable to stand the suspense any longer. Nicolas demanded, “What does Edward say?” His fierce gaze clashed with her hostile one. Whatever the message contained, she blamed him and, by her fuming, it boded ill for him, too.
The livid woman swept the parchment around for him to read. Nicolas scanned the contents, halting at the word ‘marriage.’ Jaw dropping, his wide gaze flew to Isabella’s. King Edward had decided it time for Lady Isabella to remarry, ordering her to take him, Nicolas Drago, for her husband. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he realized they had been maneuvered by the King of England!
Furious at Edward for interfering in such a despicable manner, especially when he knew the suffering and abuse she had endured in her youth from men sworn by honor to protect her, Isabella clenched her teeth from screaming her ire. Why had Edward picked now of all times to find a new husband for her? Now when her enemies demanded all her attention and not some high and mighty pretty boy from London whose honor and pride exceeded the needs of others less fortunate?
Hoping to scare the man away and give herself more time to plead her case before Edward, Isabella snarled, “When do you wish to get married?”
Stunned, Nicolas stared at her dumbly. Never having given marriage a serious thought, content in serving King Edward, he had to face the offer before him. The merits of marrying Lady Isabella were enormous. The up side, he became a baron, rich and powerful, an entire army at his command, but the downside saw him married to a woman who dressed like a man and rode a possessed piece of horseflesh named Lucifer!
Knowing she desired nothing more than to throw him and his men out, he called her bluff. “When do you wish to have the ceremony?” Nicolas waited for her reaction, praying she would back down and think things over. Uncertainty flushed her pale features then was replaced by a cold, calculating expression. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure of himself around this unpredictable female.
“Brandon, fetch Father Abraham. We wed in one quarter of an hour. Does that suit you, my lord?” Isabella spat, enjoying the brief satisfaction as Drago’s tanned features paled. Brandon hurried from the chamber. Desperate to keep control of her temper, Isabella knew she had no other choice but do as commanded by the King of England, but it DID NOT mean she had to like it!
Isabella sat down and held out her glass to be refilled. Otto poured, a grin splitting a path through his heavy beard and directed his words to the stunned man, “Congratulations, Sir Nicolas!” His deep, accented voice seemed overly loud in the aftermath of her order. Ignoring the venomous glare Isabella threw at him, Otto extended his hand out to the wretched man she was about to wed.
The silence seemed to stretch on forever, broken by the huffing and puffing when a balding priest burst into the study. “My lady, Brandon says you are to be married?” Disbelief shone on Father Abraham’s kind face.
“It seems our wise king has sent me a husband.” Isabella waved a finely boned hand toward Drago. “Father, you will perform the ceremony immediately. Drago, come with me,” she commanded, raging at being powerless for the first time since she came to rule Blood Keep. Unable to control her own future nettled Isabella sorely as she stormed out of the study. The increasing pain spurred her onward, reminding her that she was in real trouble. How the hell could she hide her injury from her new husband? One problem at a time, she grumbled, marching toward the Keep’s chapel.
Sword gripped tightly in her right hand, she strode past the shocked priest and Drago whose face flushed red at being ordered about like a lackey. Word quickly spread of the blessed event. Knights scrambled to assemble while Isabella made her way across the bustling hall. Entering the small, plain chapel, she made the sign of the cross. Striding to the altar, she kneeled before the large, golden cross and planted the tip of her sword in the stone floor. Casting an impatient scowl at Drago, she grew annoyed by his obvious reluctance.
Cursing under his breath about the mouthy female he was about to wed, Nicolas went down on his knees, covering her slender hand gripping the sword hilt with his much larger one. Glaring at her, he drew back at the regret clouding her beautiful eyes. Pity was an emotion he had not expected from Isabella, or such sadness. Or remorse. His gaze dropped to the sword they grasped and he was startled to see the detail astonishingly similar to the Demon Lord’s. The hilt was fashioned in the shape of a she-demon’s head, her sharp teeth exposed in a silent snarl. Emeralds were set for her eyes and winked maliciously at him in the candlelight. The hand guards were straight, but what gave him concern was the length of the blade. Many knights preferred longer lengths to prevent the enemy from getting too close. This blade was designed in proportion to its owner and was very much a deadly weapon. The Demon had gone to much effort to ensure Lady Isabella resembled him but why? Why did the infamous knight abandon his charge after five years? Who was Isabella’s enemy to cause a knight to put a noblewoman in armor for her protection despite an entire army at her beck and call? His questions had to wait for another time, he had a wedding to attend—his own.
The priest hustled to stand before the seething couple and said a quick prayer, followed by a few blessings, a Hail Mary, and then spoke the vows binding them in holy wedlock.
The great Red Dragon was married!
Someone coughed from behind Nicolas, who stared blankly at the kind priest, confused. Father Abraham urged him for a second time, “You may rise and kiss your bride.”
Taking her hand, he rose, halting when Isabella cried out softly, biting her fuller bottom lip, tears forming in her eyes. “My lady, are you hurt?” Nicolas whispered anxiously, concerned for her.
It was the moment Isabella dreaded. Try as she might, she could not summon the strength to stand. What will Drago do when he finds out? Helpless, she caught her new husband’s perplexed expression. Worried for her? Dazed by the revelation, Isabella stared helplessly into bronze-colored orbs, drowning in the warmth of his concern. Finding her legs at last, she held onto him, slowly rising with his aid. Shaking her head, feeling utterly worn out and winded, she answered softly, “I am fine.”
“My lord, you may kiss your bride.” Father Abraham urged the tall knight to complete the ceremony.
Facing her, Nicolas lowered his mouth to hers, amazed when she relaxed in his light grasp. Brushing against her lips tentatively, savoring their satiny feel, Nicolas patiently waited for Isabella to become accustomed to him. His manhood swelled when her sweet lips softened beneath his. Leaning into her, he barely heard the cheers from the gathered knights, enjoying the startling delicious feel of her mouth against his.
Raising his hands for silence, Father Abraham announced in a loud voice, “Baron and Baroness of Blood Keep, go with God’s blessings.”
The roar of men’s voices reverberated through the small chapel, startling Isabella from the pleasure of Drago’s kiss. Her eyes flew open in surprise at her response to a man whom she disliked intensely, a man to whom women flocked, begging for his mere attention. She detested those simpering wenches and the ease with which he conquered his way through her cousin’s royal court. What in the world was wrong with her for allowing his kiss to bring any response from her?
Drowning in pools of emerald, intoxicated by the sweet taste of Isabella, Nicolas jumped when a large, meaty paw clapped him on the back.
In a booming voice, Otto congratulated the newlyweds. “To our little Baroness and her new husband, may Drago be man enough to handle her!” Otto laughed heartily when Isabella glowered at him.
“Hear, here!” The knights cheered, parting as the dazed couple made their way back to the great hall. Two, towering men stood apart from the crowd, one handsome and golden, the other dark and menacing. Both had eyes only for Isabella.
Regaining some of her composure, Isabella handed her sword over to the golden-haired knight. “My lord, may I present to you Sir Gabriel, Commander of the Black Knights.” Gabriel’s sky blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he bowed to Drago.
“And Sir Michael, Commander of the Demons.” Michael’s cold, black eyes measured Drago for a long moment before he, too, bowed to the new baron.
Nicolas inclined his head, frowning when the two knights flanked his new wife, the look upon their faces fierce and loyal. But to whom—Isabella or the Demon Lord? Placing a gentle hand under Isabella’s arm, he guided her to the tables for refreshments before the evening meal.
Worried, Michael glanced quickly at Gabriel. They knew Isabella was in real danger of bleeding to death, having seen earlier the trail of blood mingled with water from her cloak’s hem where she walked. Drago needed to be taken care of and soon.
Gabriel took matters in hand. Grabbing a cup of ale from a serving wench, he shouted, “Silence! I wish to make a toast.”
When everyone’s attention diverted to Gabriel, Michael slipped away, taking Aggie with him. Gabriel’s voice carried over the excitement of the knights and servants conversing over the hasty wedding. “Lord Drago, I extend a hearty welcome to you and your men. We have fought side by side in service to our King, and we are honored to have our forces joined so. Here’s to a long life and a fruitful marriage!” He raised his cup high before drinking the rich brew as did others around the many tables.
Setting down his cup, Gabriel bowed to an amused Drago. “Come, my lord, allow me to show you your new home before supper is served.” He motioned for Drago to follow him.
Noting the subtle maneuvering, Nicolas dropped his gaze to his bride, alarmed by Isabella’s waxen complexion. He felt Ahmed’s faithful presence behind him and was assured his friend was ever ready to protect his back. Michael and Gabriel wished him away from Isabella, but why? Perhaps if he cooperated, he might learn the truth of what had happened to her.
“Yea, let us be about. I wish to view my new holdings,” Nicolas arrogantly proclaimed, hoping to spur a reaction from Isabella. When it failed to spark her anger, he grew troubled.
Bowing low to his new wife, Nicolas turned and followed Gabriel. Outside the castle, he slowed his pace, seeking a private word with Ahmed. “What thinks you, my friend? How much leash should I allow them before we return to the Keep?” Nicolas pretended to be interested in the battlements.
“Lady Isabella’s strength ebbs as she bleeds unchecked.”
Nicolas’ anger grew at the mouthy woman’s careless handling of her health. “Why did she not just tell us she was injured?” Was the young woman foolish as well as stubborn?
“My lord, I do not think she has lied to spite you. To show weakness, Lady Isabella loses control over her knights. Master, you know to rule a castle well depends on strength. To be a woman and rule, she needs to be invincible to her people.” Ahmed bowed respectfully to the proud knight he served.
“As usual, Ahmed, you prove wiser than I. Do you have your medicines handy?” Nicolas asked, circling back to the castle. Ahmed solemnly nodded, patting the leather pouch slung over his lean shoulder. “Let us see to my new wife.”
Gabriel babbled on, hoping to give Michael more time. Glancing behind him, he saw Drago and his man disappear inside the Keep. “Damn!” Gabriel ran to catch up to the new baron before the man saw the horrific damage done to Lady Isabella.
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