Denise Lynn - At The Warrior's Mercy

‘Did you expect blood to be dripping from my teeth?’

‘There is no cause to be so gruesome.’ She glanced around the room before stating the obvious. ‘I am completely at your mercy, yet you have offered me no harm.’

‘That doesn’t mean I won’t.’

Her judgement of men had been sorely taxed this day and had come up wanting. She was in no position to pass any judgement on him, a man she knew only by reputation. A reputation that claimed he was more than just ruthless. Yet she had seen no evidence offered to prove she was in any danger. ‘Are you seeking to intentionally frighten me?’

When he didn’t answer, she said, ‘I just watched you soundly thrash three men, all of whom lived. I would not have shed a single tear for any of them had they died. Yet contrary to the tales told of King David’s Wolf, you left them alive and breathing. But now I am to believe you will take my life without any cause whatsoever?’

‘You are a strange woman.’

‘Perhaps. But I have sorely misjudged a man I thought I knew well this day. Would it make sense for me to judge you based on hearsay alone?’

When he once again didn’t answer her question, she said, ‘I told you before that I would rather die at a stranger’s hand than one I thought I knew well. I cannot stop you, so if it is my blood you wish to shed, then do so and be done with it.’

He rose slowly, filling the space in the small chamber, towering over her even from across the room. Then he furrowed his brow and glared at her, giving the impression of targeted rage.

Beatrice felt her eyes widen as her heart kicked hard inside her chest before settling back down into a more normal rhythm. Oh, yes, she imagined that he could be very intimidating when he wished.

From his harsh expression, she also imagined he could be quite deadly when the situation required. She’d already witnessed his accuracy and speed with his fists when he’d fought with Charles and his companions, so she doubted if he’d be any less accurate with a sword, mace or a battle axe.

However, if he thought his stance and glowering countenance would make her quake in fear of her pending death, he was wrong.

She was a warrior’s daughter and another warrior’s sister. She’d grown up playing at the docks and shipyard. She’d seen men lose their tempers, become enraged more than once and had witnessed the grisly outcome of many a fight. Even so she knew if he were to make a move to attack her she’d quickly find herself shaking from fright. However, the events of this day, combined with the simple fact that his eyes glimmered far too much for one seeking to instil fear, made it impossible to take him seriously.

When he deepened his scowl, she burst out laughing.

He sat back down on the bench. ‘Not quite the reaction I had expected.’

‘I...am sorry...truly sorry...please...’ Beatrice managed to choke out what she hoped sounded like an apology before she gave up to wave a hand in the air, then wiped the tears from her eyes as she fought to catch her breath. ‘I do apologise, nothing this day has been expected. I assure you, I am normally not this...this...’

‘Brazen?’ Gregor supplied.

She did her best to temper her mirth before it once again escaped. Never before had she actually laughed so rudely at someone. Her mother would be horrified by her behaviour. Beatrice knew that in truth both of her parents would be horrified by everything she’d done the last few days.

Thankfully, Gregor didn’t appear horrified, or angry at her outburst. She really did need to treat him with a bit more respect. It would also be wise if she was a little more wary around him considering who he was and how she’d placed herself at his mercy.

That thought helped lessen her humour. She folded her hands in her lap, took a deep steadying breath and once again said, ‘I am sorry for laughing at you.’

He sighed, his shoulders heaving as if in defeat. ‘You’ve no need to apologise. I was intentionally seeking to make you feel at ease by acting like a fool. Apparently I underestimated my abilities.’

She felt her lip quiver and turned her head away, praying she’d not burst into laughter once again.

Certain she could retain control over her emotions, she turned back to look at him.

He leaned against the wall. ‘Now that you know who I am, it’s your turn.’

‘I suppose it’s only right that you know who you defended so handily.’ She found herself oddly nervous at the idea of divulging something as personal as her name. Shaking off her sudden qualms, she said, ‘I am Beatrice of Warehaven.’

His reaction was immediate. And strange.

A brief widening of his eyes was followed by a frown which he tried to cover by rubbing a hand across his forehead.

Beatrice’s stomach fluttered uneasily. ‘Is something the matter?’

Chapter Three

Gregor wasn’t at all certain how to react, so he rubbed his temples in an attempt to gain enough time to respond.

If this wasn’t some sort of jest devised by Satan himself, he didn’t know what was. The complete irony of this situation would make his two younger brothers hoot like drunken fools. His older brother Elrik would shake his head and claim that it was Roul’s curse coming to life once again.

He and Elrik had both lost wives in horrific manners, but his brother had also lost a child along with his wife. So when Sarah had chosen to end her life rather than be his wife, Elrik had claimed they were cursed never to have wives or families.

Gregor didn’t know if he believed they were cursed or not—he’d chosen not to believe. What he did know was that no one could ever accuse him of relying on luck, since it had never run to his favour. Because he was on his way to take possession of Warehaven Keep and its remaining heiress, of course luck would ensure that he would run into the heiress along the way.

To make matters worse, the fiery lass didn’t appear to fear him in the least. For the first time since the disastrous event that passed as his marriage, he feared that he could eventually come to care for a woman.

Not just any woman, but this woman.

She was too easy to be near. Far too easy to look at and talking to her was quickly becoming something he could get used to doing—especially when they could make each other laugh.

More than that, he’d seen her nervous tension around him. The lady was far too innocent yet to realise it, but that tension had nothing to do with fear, but with interest. He’d recognised it because he felt it, too. And knowing that within a matter of days her world would come crashing down around her, ending with her marriage to him, did nothing to quell the budding desire—in fact, it only made it worse.

This was not good—for either of them.

If he was only going to Warehaven to force her hand in marriage, she might somehow be willing to eventually forgive his actions. But that wasn’t at all the case. He was going to intentionally harm this young woman’s family, perhaps bring about the death of someone she loved. At the very least he would take everything her family had worked for, steal her future and break her heart.

There was no way of knowing what she would do—no way for him to tell if she would resort to the same actions as Sarah had. He couldn’t afford to care about her. More importantly, she could not be given the chance to care about him.

It would do neither of them any good.

The one mission where his ability to feel nothing would be his strongest armour was in jeopardy. No, he corrected that thought. The success of the mission was not in any danger, it would just be harder to complete. His focus would need to be more well defined.

It would have to be more finely honed than his sharpest blade, all because this slip of a woman wasn’t afraid of him, but found him desirable, and because he was oddly attracted to the sound of her laughter—even when it was directed at him. It had raced across his heart warm and inviting. The sound had soothed him while at the same time left him wanting more.