HEARTLESS WARRIOR

By

 

Donna McAteer

 

 

 

© copyright by Donna McAteer, July 2007

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, © copyright July 2007

ISBN 978-1-60394-056-6

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

 

Aberconwy’s Colwyn, North Wales 1299

He hung chained, dangling from the restraints that reached high above his head to connect him to the ceiling. Barely conscious from the severe lashing he had endured, only a single, almost imperceptible bob of his head indicated that he struggled to remain alive. Then his head rested, chin to chest, his thick black hair hanging in wet strands, sweat pouring profusely from his entire body. His bare feet lay partially tucked beneath him, his arm muscles taut and bulging from their effort to suspend his considerable weight. Not one sound had he uttered, not one scream had issued forth from his sealed lips.

Bridgett silently crept down the dank, musty stone steps leading to the dungeon. She could not fathom the pain he must have endured. Huge welts formed under the bloody, open wounds-gaping slash marks made by the whip’s angry bite.

Beyond the obvious desecration to his broad back, Bridgett marveled at the demigod before her. Heavily muscled, he possessed massive arms, broad shoulders, rippling stomach muscles, and huge thighs. His body more resembled a full suit of armor than one constructed of mere muscle and bone. He wore only the loincloth given to him after his personal items were stripped from his person. Openly staring at him, Bridgett could well believe his reputation for being fearless, powerful, and invincible. However, at this particular moment, she wondered if he would survive the night without her help. Thankfully, she could see the rise and fall of his powerful chest, signaling the fact that he still breathed.

It was his legendary greatness, as well as her tremendous respect for his misplaced bravery, that inspired Bridgett to attempt this extremely dangerous rescue. She abhorred her brother, Lothar, for the deceit he displayed in dealing with Lord Wraith. He had come in good faith, led to believe that an agreement was reached to end the decades-old dispute between them. It was a known fact that her brother hungered for everything Wraith owned or had conquered. Wraith’s fighting skills were legendary, his strength unmatched, and his reputation spotless.

She had watched him come through the main portcullis of Castle Conwy only four days earlier. Mounted on his fearsome, black destrier, he entered alone as though he was impervious to any danger. His head unhelmed and held high, his gaze straight-ahead. He seated his horse with the power and pride of a seasoned warrior. He entered without his fabled sword, as a gesture of peace and a signal to Lothar that he came unarmed. She was unable to see his features from her vantage point high in the West Tower. His face heavily shadowed, she could see only his windswept hair moving about his broad shoulders and the outline of his physique as it peeked out from under his chain mail and hauberk. Awe soon turned to despair as she witnessed her brother’s men wrestle him to the ground and subdue him. She had hoped that, for the first time in his life, Lothar could be trusted to deal with Lord Wraith in an honorable manner. Apparently, that was not to be, she realized, as she watched in horror the capture and bondage of the celebrated knight who had mistakenly trusted her corrupt sibling. She made a vow at that precise moment to help him escape.

Careful to watch her footing as she continued down the moist steps, her eyes remained riveted to the motionless man who appeared to be unconscious as he bled from his considerable wounds. She brought with her a small clay pot filled with a mixture of yarrow and comfrey, to aid in both his pain and blood loss. She had learned the craft of utilizing herbs from her mother and perfected her own potions for use on her brother’s men. Living in a castle full of armed soldiers presented plenty of opportunities to test new concoctions and perfect old ones.

She carried with her now one of her newest creations, an improved mix she hoped to apply to Lord Wraith’s injuries. She simply could not allow her brother to kill the renowned hero.

Night now approached and two torches illuminated the consistently gloomy dungeon, creating great shadows upon the lord’s body.

She had carefully laced a large wineskin with enough sleeping potion to render the two hefty guards unconscious for the remainder of the night.

“Ivor, Morvran, what say you pause from your betting game long enough to imbibe in some spirits sent by Lord Lothar.” Bridgett remained upbeat, not wishing to alert the two to the scheme she planned to hatch. The two gargoyles whirled around as they heard the unusual strains of a sweet female voice.

“What brings you to the bowels of hell, Lady Bridgett,” grunted one of the grotesquely ugly men.

“’Tis no place for a lady, this dungeon,” the other hideous creature chimed-in as he revealed a smile of missing and rotten teeth. Even as he protested her presence, he grabbed for the wine vestibule with both filthy hands. Guzzling happily, the ruby-red liquid dribbled down his neck and shirt, yet he seemed not the least bit concerned that the lady of the castle had personally delivered the refreshment to the unlikely duo. Bridgett watched in disgust, as she stoically remained composed throughout the ordeal. The unsuspecting pair gratefully downed the drugged wine as they passed the skin back and forth, never questioning the unexpected treat as they slurped, sloshed, and belched openly. Her eyes remained glued to them, moving slowly from one to the other as she watched for any telltale sign that their suspicions grew over the forbidden luxury.

“’Tis a fine day,” she said, intending to deluge them with female chatter as a matter of diversion. “Mayhap you two should think about straying into the sunlight occasionally. I hear ‘tis to be a drama performed in the marketplace this very afternoon. Do either of you play an instrument?” She kept up the useless babble, even though neither disgusting beast paid her any mind. Casually, she let her gaze slip down to the battered form of his lordship. Since the guardsmen’s area sat one level higher than the prisoner’s, the sentries gained an authoritative vantage point from which to view their captive’s suffering.

“I’m sure you both need something to wile away the time while you guard prisoners. What better thing to take up your time than practicing an instrument? Mayhap the recorder, lute, harp, viol, organette, or dulcimer.” She continued to chatter gibberish while the sight and sounds of the two slobbering and drooling idiots turned her stomach.

“And with the muscles you two possess, ‘tis a sure thing for you to enter the joust at Forest Gate tomorrow eve.” This was definitely stretching things a bit, but it kept their minds occupied and she cared not.

Suddenly, one of the behemoths stopped and pinned her with an intense gaze. “Why would his lordship not send one of his henchmen to deliver the wine instead of you, Lady Bridgett?” Fine time for him to start thinking, thought Bridgett. Her heart began to leap as her mouth fell open in surprise at the sudden revelation.

“Make sno sense tha he would send you, milady,” slurred the other goliath as he stood abruptly to loom over her, knocking over the chair.

Her eyes widened as her head fell back, their gazes meeting. His body smelled, his breath stunk, and he was beyond filthy. Scraggly hair hung in oily strands about his face and his clothes appeared soiled beyond repair. She feared something bad would transpire if they suddenly acted on their suspicions.

Bridgett’s fingers trembled as she twisted the rough fabric of her skirt, her anxiety steadily growing. She was on the verge of jumping up and running when the standing half-wit suddenly toppled over with a crash to the floor.

“What tha?” Even as the second giant started to rise from his chair, the spiked brew took effect, causing him to fall heavily to the floor with a loud thud.

Bridgett could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Mercifully, a crucial portion of her plan had worked. Jumping out of the chair, she swung into action. After nudging the two with her foot, Bridgett bent to retrieve the keys necessary to release Lord Wraith from his manacles.

Watching her footing on the slick steps, she descended further into the depths of the horrific chamber. Upon reaching the bottom step, her hand flew to her mouth as she gagged at the sight displayed on his tortured back. Blood oozed from gaping slashes revealing raw, open flesh where the whip had torn into his skin. Quietly she sidled around to stand directly in front of his bent head.

“Milord,” she whispered, her lips only inches from his soaking wet hair. No movement issued forth, and she wondered if the tortured warrior had indeed perished from his wounds. She continued calling to him, this time increasing her whisper slightly.

“Milord…I have come to rescue you, but ‘twill be necessary for you to support your own weight, if ‘tis at all possible.”

With painfully slow movement, he raised his head until his face was level with hers. Eye contact was questionable because of the heavy shadows cast from the minimal light. Relief swept through Bridgett that he still lived.

“Do you hear me, milord? I have the keys for your release, but first you must make an effort to support your weight. Mayhap you can stand until I release you?” She continued her urgent, whispered plea, as he slowly nodded in an affirmative gesture.

Sliding his tucked feet from under his body, he slowly raised his gigantic frame onto unsteady legs. Bridgett’s head tilted farther back as she followed the slow progression of his upward mobility, until he stood at his full height before her. Her head did not even reach his shoulder level. The dark recesses of his heavily shadowed face again shielded his visage.

Realizing she could not reach his restrained wrist, she hurried back up the steps to the guard’s level where she had sat upon a small stool. Bringing the stool down, she stepped and reached towards one arm. Going up on tiptoe, she turned the key and released the shackle. Raw skin beneath the iron manacle proved he had tried in vain to escape his torture. When she freed the second arm, she hopped off the stool, quickly ducking under his pit. Wrapping her arm around his waist, she began to assist him to the wall.

His skin was smooth and tight, like velvet over stone. Sinewy muscles at his waist confirmed not one bit of fat covered the nobleman. She had touched many a man’s bare skin whilst tending to wounded soldiers, yet never had she noticed any sensations before.

Shuffling, she struggled to keep him upright. Finally, she leaned him against the wall for support. With one shoulder propped against the masonry, he slumped. Again, Bridgett came around to face him and whispered.

“I have in my possession a potion that will lessen your pain and stop the bleeding, milord. If you will allow me to apply it to your wounds and wrap them, we will then be able to make our escape anon.”

An interminable amount of time seemed to pass, as he presumably stared at her. Finally, he nodded. She slipped around to his back and proceeded to unfasten the small clay pot that hung suspended from a sash secured at her waist. She dipped her fingers into the soothing substance and carefully touched the first of his wounds. He flinched violently as her fingers made contact and instinctively began to pull away from her touch.

“I know ‘tis painful, milord, but it will begin to subside if you allow me to continue.”

Bridgett could not imagine how he suffered in silence with such obvious damage to his body, and she painstakingly continued her feather light caress until he permitted her contact. Eventually he began to relax under her tender ministrations and a deep moan rumbled throughout his chest. A small smile curved the corners of her lips at the realization that she comforted the man who had obviously been through agony at the hands of her diabolical sibling.

When she had slathered a generous amount to all the gaping lacerations, she covered his torso with fresh, clean linen strips she had brought with her.

She quickly unrolled a bundle of stolen clothing, in order to clothe the near- naked man. She hoped the clothing would cover his considerable frame, her brother not possessing the bulk of Lord Wraith. With much tenderness, she dressed him in a loose-fitting tunic, a pair of chausses, and soft leather boots. Again, she looked up into his indiscernible features.

“You must steady yourself a few moments more, ’tis necessary while I secure our escape route, milord.”

Trembling, she began to run her hands over the face of the protruding stones. She could feel and hear her heart hammering in her chest as she worked with speed to make good their escape. She fully anticipated an untimely appearance by her brother’s men-at-arms. She shuddered to think what would happen if that were to occur.

She knew there existed an escape tunnel, for she had discovered it as a child while playing in the dungeon. Feeling the delight of knowing something that her brother did not, she never divulged the tunnel’s presence to Lothar. Never would she have dreamed that her childhood adventure would result in the saving of a man’s life, and probably her own as well. She realized, however, that they must hastily make their retreat, for to be discovered aiding a prisoner in escape would undoubtedly result in a most agonizing death for them both.

Hope surged as she loosened a rock and pulled it from the face of the wall. With shaking hands, she repeated the process with utmost precision and speed. Her labored breathing resounded in the chamber as she worked exhaustingly to complete the task quickly. Sweat dribbled down her temples and she offhandedly swiped it away with the back of her hand. Eventually an opening existed that would sufficiently allow both she and the overly large man to slip through. Grabbing one of the torches from its holder, she planted her shoulder beneath his arm and assisted him through the narrow aperture.

The interior was damp, chilly, and musty. The sound of dripping water echoed from somewhere farther within the tunnel. Bridgett gently braced him against the wet wall while she quickly secured the structure to its former state. She knew that she must line the stones in a certain pattern in order for the passage to remain hidden from the inside of the dungeon. She needed to give them enough time to exit the tunnel and make their escape. Periodically, she would halt to listen intently for any sounds of approaching danger, only the thumping of her own heart greeted her.

When she finished lining the stones, she grabbed the torch and again assisted the silent man through the tunnel.

“I know of an escape through this tunnel, milord. ‘Tis only a matter of remembering the route, for I am sure I will once I see it.” She did not dare admit to the warrior or herself that she prayed she would remember the way. Many years had passed since she had ventured into the tunnel, and she pushed aside the unsettling thought that they could become trapped.

Puddles dampened their feet as water trickled down the dirt walls, the small holes in her own shoes making her shiver. Moss grew indiscriminately from cracks and across the supporting wall face. The chill in the air made their breath visible, and Bridgett wondered if the cape she wore would keep her warm enough as they rode through the brisk Welsh night.

They sloshed through pools of standing water, making their way through a passage to freedom. For Bridgett this meant an uncertain life, albeit without the mental cruelties of her dominating brother, for Lord Wraith, a reprieve from a death sentence. She tried to remain optimistic that every step taken brought her closer to a life that would be better than the one she now lived.

Raising the torch to illuminate the poorly lit corridor, a long forgotten crossroad began to materialize. Bridgett stared confusedly at the two diverging tunnels that disintegrated into two black abysses. Her decision needed to be swift and decisive for time was of the essence.

“A decision I had forgotten about, milord. Care to wager a guess as to the direction to take.” Silence answered her echoed inquiry. Thoughtfully she chewed on her bottom lip, dreading an incorrect choice. Her heart thundered and her eyes flitted from one to the other. Suddenly, an errant drop of frigid water dripped from the eroded ceiling and splashed across her face. The intrusion jarred her back to reality and the important decision. Her concentration now redirected, she forged ahead with renewed determination.

Ultimately choosing the tunnel on the left, she urged her companion forward with an encouraging squeeze. Realizing an incorrect decision could bring them directly into Lothar’s punishing grasp, Bridgett uttered a silent prayer.

The chosen tunnel seemed to meander aimlessly for a short time, gradually narrowing, bringing the two figures closer. Bridgett could feel the muscles covering Lord Wraith’s ribcage pressing intimately against her shoulder and breast. An unexpected tingle of excitement shot through her at the thought of being in such close proximity to the very masculine body beside her.

As the narrowing continued, Bridgett turned her body in such a way that both her breasts pressed securely into his side as she continued to support his bulk. She wondered if he could feel her nipples hardening against him and peered up into his darkened features. If he did feel her body pressed intimately against his own, he did not openly acknowledge it and continued to stare straight ahead. Bridgett cautiously rolled her eyes ceiling ward just in time to catch a small, almost imperceptible, glance by curious male eyes. His reaction to her nearness gave her a tiny bit of optimism that he was in fact human.

As they continued, Bridgett’s concern mounted at the thought that the tunnel end might be obstructed from years of idleness. Panic consumed her at the mere consideration that they could be forced to turn around or risk capture. She would not subject herself or Lord Wraith to Lothar’s cruel methods of punishment if he were to apprehend them. He would no doubt be livid when he discovered his prized prisoner missing, as well as outraged by Bridgett’s flight from his controlling rule over her.

Just as she contemplated possible alternate options, the end became visible. Releasing a shuddering sigh of relief, she could feel tears begin to pool in her eyes. So great was her joy and happiness, she bravely blinked away the offending signs of emotion and threw back her head with renewed determination.

A huge boulder partially blocked the mouth of the cave, further disguised by overhanging foliage. They cautiously slipped around the boulder’s edge and parted the branches that obscured the opening. The oppressive, stale air in the tunnel gave way to crisp, fresh, night air as they burst through to freedom. Stars blanketed the night sky, spreading out like scattered jewels upon a dark cloth.

Bridgett planted the lone torch against the boulder, guarding against discovery by a passing wall sentry. She left the wounded knight against the boulder as she strained for some sign of their deliverance. Vaguely, she could make out the figure of a man and one gigantic beast as they stood a small distance from the cave opening.

“James, ‘tis that you?” she rasped tentatively.

“Aye milady, ‘tis I.” The faithful squire moved stealthily out of the shadows with the monstrous beast in tow.

“James, why is there but one animal? I distinctly remember asking for two since there are two riders.”

“I had only enough time to obtain one horse without risking discovery, milady. I brought Lord Wraith’s destrier, knowing the animal is large enough to carry both of you.”

The castle populace had not condoned the punishment of Lord Wraith, yet they silently observed the brutalities for fear of retribution by their merciless leader. James and the others had quietly awaited their chance to aid in the warrior’s release.

“I do thank you, James, but I will need your assistance with getting his lordship upon that enormous horse.” Movement from behind caused Bridgett to whirl around as she was confronted by a huge shadowed figure.

Unexpectedly, Wraith broke the silence to address them.

“I need no assistance to mount my own warhorse.” His deep, authoritative voice surprised the two as they stared up at the dark hulking form.

The timbre of his voice caused an unexpected shiver to creep up Bridgett’s spine. Finally, he speaks, she thought, and his voice is as masculine as the rest of him. The intimidating figure bent slightly to address Bridgett.

“If you will place your cape upon my shoulders, I will, in turn, keep you warm.” Another shiver swept through her body at the promise of more close contact with this powerful man.

With the assistance of James, Bridgett went up on tiptoes to secure the long cape upon the shoulders of the towering warlord. He tied the cape securely to his neck and proceeded to struggle stiffly up into the familiar perch of his own saddle. The considerable effort caused him obvious pain, for he bowed his head for several moments, as if he attempted to regain his energy. Then, leaning towards Bridgett, he offered his hand to her. With trepidation, she grasped his huge palm and was propelled, with very little effort, onto his lap. She could feel his burly thighs beneath her posterior and quickly made every effort to cover her legs with the voluminous skirt. Snaking a single arm around her middle, she was pulled against the solid planes of his chest. Finally, he drew the cape around them to cocoon them in their combined body heat.

At the sudden close contact with his hard, muscled chest, she sucked in her breath while trying to distance their bodies, only to have him lace his arm even tighter until he touched the undersides of her breasts. The destrier began to prance and sidestep at the realization that his master was once again upon his back.

“Say your farewells, milady, for we must make haste.” The commanding tone left little for discussion. Briefly, she remembered who sat at her back. A man they called a heartless warrior, a man with the reputation for murdering many.

Blowing James a kiss, she thanked him graciously for risking his life.

“Please hurry back at once, James. Stay hidden and divulge nothing, my friend. And may God bless you for what you have done.”

One last glance at the looming outline of the castle wall gave Bridgett a pang of regret at having to flee the only home she had ever known. Her future held much uncertainty with the mighty yet frightening man seated behind her. The alternative would involve risking death to remain in the cruel, tyrannical, and oppressive control of her brother. Having freed Lord Wraith, she no longer had that option.

With the farewells complete, Bridgett watched Lord Wraith rein the horse’s head, tighten his grip on her, and head away from the source of much pain. She had no way of knowing what lay ahead, since her life now was indeed in the hands of this formidable killer.