A Warrior’s Heart by Misty M. Beller

3

Brielle studied the man’s response to her quip. They’d not kept a prisoner here since the Dinee lad they’d caught stealing from one of the supply caves several years back.

From the interest this Englishman tried to mask with a wary gaze, he didn’t seem to know what to make of them. The feeling was mutual, to be sure.

“A dungeon, you say? Have I stumbled upon an ancient castle?” He raised dark brows.

“Not a castle.” How had she let the questioning turn to her people? She had much to discover about this stranger. “I don’t believe you finished telling me of your purpose here.”

“Had I begun to tell you?” A glimmer of concern touched his eyes, as though he might be afraid he’d spoken too much. Either he was hiding something or the effects of the sleeping tincture still muddled his brain.

It was amazing how much power was contained in that combination of herbs Audrey had discovered. Dipping their arrows in the potion had been an act of genius. Of course, the coating typically only helped bring down caribou or deer, in case her arrow didn’t accomplish the task. This was the first time she’d had opportunity to see how it worked on a human.

If he truly didn’t remember the scene, perhaps a bit of help would jog his memory. “Oui. You said you’d been looking for a hidden village, then just as you opened your mouth to reveal why, you swooned like a young girl.”

The confusion washing his face cleared within seconds, replaced with a stoic look that didn’t conceal the mirth in his eyes. “You must be mistaken, mademoiselle. I’ve never swooned in my life, nor have I done anything like a young girl.”

She had to bite back a chuckle. In truth, she should be affronted by the distaste with which he spoke the final words. Yet he wasn’t jesting. This strapping fellow seemed as far from a female as night from day. And she’d not missed the muscle rippling across his midsection before Audrey finished the bandage and readjusted his tunic.

But enough of that line of thought. “Please, finish what you began to tell us before.”

His right eye twitched. “I can’t imagine what that might have been. Your arrow had quite an effect on me.” Then both his eyes narrowed. “More effect than simple blood loss. Could it be you added some sort of poison to the tip?”

She worked hard not to show surprise. This man was no simpleton, apparently. Either that, or he was merely drawing from his own past deceptions.

She let a smile touch her mouth. “Very good, monsieur. Not poison, though. Merely a tonic to help our visitors relax.”

He snorted.

Audrey shifted from her nearby perch, and Brielle looked over at her. The woman’s eyes spoke very clearly the reprimand that would soon leave her lips if Brielle didn’t allow this man to rest. She glared at her friend, then used their native French tongue so their prisoner didn’t understand. “I must seek out his purpose for invading our village.”

Audrey rolled her eyes, then responded in the same language. “You said he wandered too near the entrance of the circle. He’s likely a hapless stranger who knew nothing of us before you pierced him with your arrow. Let the man rest and recover, then we’ll send him on his way.”

A surge of anger washed through Brielle. She’d be drawn and quartered before she released an Englishman, not until they knew full well he meant the village no harm. The last time they’d trusted such, her mother and five others had paid the price with their lives. Never again.

The man had been following the exchange with his eyes, as though trying to pick out words he knew. Maybe he understood French. Perhaps she and Audrey should switch to Italian. All of the villagers were trained in the three languages from their infancy, but mayhap this man also spoke all three tongues. Best not to discuss such things in front of him at all.

She rose and stalked to her position against the far wall. Then she turned to face Audrey and Philip. “You may both go. I’ll take the first watch.”

Philip straightened and turned to the door, then they both filed out. Over her shoulder, Audrey threw her a final warning look. “I’ll keep my door cracked in case you whistle.” By whistle, her friend meant the bird call they used when either one of them needed the other. A low twitter traveled perfectly down the stone corridor that linked each family’s apartment.

As the door closed behind her friends, Brielle’s heart begged to follow them. She much preferred to be out roaming the mountains instead of caged in these caves. If only she could have finished the hunting excursion she’d begun when she spotted this man. Yet her work was here just now. As Le Commandant, leader of the guards and hunters for the village of Laurent, her people depended upon her diligence.

This stranger would not go free until they uncovered his secrets.

Evan jolted from the murky depths of sleep and blinked to focus his eyes in the dim room. Had he been snoring? Hopefully not. Sophia had never liked his snoring and always prodded him awake. That too-familiar wave of remorse settled in his chest. If only snoring had been the worst of his errors where she had been concerned.

A rustle sounded across the room, and he looked over to see Brielle sitting propped against the wall. Watching him. Had she seen a man sleep before? Surely a warrior such as her would have spent time around men. In fact . . . might she be married?

The thought planted a sour taste in his gut. Or perhaps that was the pain still lingering from her arrow wound. Maybe the man with the hatchet earlier had been her husband.

He swallowed the cobwebs in his mouth so he could ask, but a knock at the door sounded first.

“Enter.” Brielle stood as the door opened, and a familiar sweet smile poked in.

“I have stew for our guest, and for you.” Audrey spoke to Brielle but smiled at Evan, as though apologizing for whatever he’d had to suffer in her absence.

Brielle took the tray from her as Audrey entered and closed the door, then came to kneel beside him. “How are you feeling? Did my friend allow you rest?” Her smile reminded him of a peaceful, sunny day, lying on his back beside a creek and guessing shapes from the clouds. If he’d had a sister, he’d want her to have a pleasant smile like Audrey’s.

“She did.” He cleared his throat to smooth away the gravel, then worked to sit up so he could eat. He could stand a bite or two.

“Don’t move.” The smile cleared from her expression. “You’ll reopen your wound.”

He froze, but only because she looked so stricken. He eased back down. “It’ll be hard to eat like this.” And though the wound ached, it didn’t feel like his insides would burst. The arrow must not have gone deep enough to damage anything important.

“I’ll feed you.” Audrey scooped a spoonful from the bowl.

All brotherly affection fled his mind at the thought, and he glared at her. “I’ll feed myself.” Letting her handle the task would make him appear weak, a status he couldn’t stand for since they were holding him prisoner.

The woman glanced at Brielle, as though summoning support for her cause.

The lady warrior turned those piercing eyes on him. “I care not whether you live or die, but you will not cause trouble for my friend, nor any of our people. If she wishes to feed you, you will consent.”

She looked so fierce in that moment, like a mother bear defending her cubs, he couldn’t help but soften his response. “As you wish.” Maybe staying on her good side would benefit him most in his escape.

He settled in, then Audrey raised a scoop of stew to his lips. Lord, don’t let it be poison. He was at their mercy, which was not a position he preferred. Perhaps they would at least untie his hands. He’d ask after the meal.

A second trencher of stew rested on the tray, yet Brielle didn’t eat while he did. Just knelt nearby, watching his every move.

He turned his attention to Audrey as he swallowed a bite. She might be more open to casual conversation. “Your friend said this is a village, and I thought I heard children before I succumbed to her sleeping potion.” He allowed his mouth to tip into a smile, although he was still a tad bitter about that trick. “Are there many people in this area?” He opened his mouth to accept the next bite she ladled in.

“Our numbers have grown through the years, but we are a small group. Each member is like family.” Her eyes shone.

“How long have you lived here?” He still couldn’t quite fathom that an entire community resided in the heart of these icy mountains, so far from civilization. And he was getting the feeling they were quite content keeping to themselves.

“For many generations.”

“No more questions.” Brielle’s sharp tone broke through the relaxed conversation, drawing both their gazes. She had her mouth pursed, and her eyes sparked enough to light a campfire. Yet something about the look made her seem vulnerable, like she was barely more than a girl. Which might, in fact, be close to the truth. She couldn’t be more than two or three and twenty.

Turning to Audrey, he let a grin play at his mouth. “Is she always this pleasant and talkative?”

Audrey seemed to understand the jest, for her face lit in a matching smile as she slid a glance at her friend. “Brielle may be a warrior, but she’s not always as fierce as she appears. In fact, I’ve found her kindness and good will to be almost without end.”

A sound like a combination of a humph and a pshaw issued from the lady warrior, and she threw up a hand. “I see I’m to be bested by you both.” She turned to her friend. “Perhaps you should focus on feeding your guest.”

Audrey offered a gentle smile, as though she knew a secret, then she raised another bite of stew to Evan’s mouth.

Brielle stood and carried her trencher back to her position at the wall, then placed it on the ground beside her. But she didn’t eat. Or even sit. Just stood with her arms crossed, staring at him as if the strength of her gaze could keep him pinned to the ground.

But it wasn’t fear that kept him in place. Nor the pain, if he were honest. As long as he was to be held prisoner here, having a captor like Brielle might be a pleasant diversion.

An hour later, that one thought proved more correct than Evan could have imagined. Not long after he’d filled the empty places in his belly with stew, the hatchet-wielding guard returned. Brielle exchanged a few words with the man, then shifted back into her fierce warrior personality as she picked up her bow and quiver and escorted Audrey out the door.

The room seemed to darken after the women left, and Evan forced himself to breathe steadily in order to keep the walls from closing in on him. The guard didn’t give him a second’s notice as he lumbered over to the position against the wall, where Brielle had kept her vigil.

“Will you untie my hands if I give my word not to move?” Evan raised his bound wrists, ignoring the rawness already burning his skin.

The man grunted, then heaved himself down to sit on the floor. “Brielle meets with the elders now. We’ll wait for their judgment.”

With that, the fellow propped his arms on his knees and fiddled with the leather strap wrapping the hilt of his knife. As he sat, the minutes crawled by like the breaths of a hibernating bear. In fact, this man reminded him of a big sluggish bear. His glassy gaze never wavered from that leather piece.

It wasn’t sharp and fierce like Brielle’s gaze. No wonder she’d earned a place as a leader among them. Not many women could shoot an arrow with her accuracy, nor command respect from a group of warriors as their leader.

In fact, he’d never met such a woman.

And now, what would she and the elders decide about his fate? The idea of his future being in another’s hands rankled. Only God held his life in hand, and the Almighty expected him to use his head to get out of this mess.

With an eye on the oaf guarding him, Evan tested the strength of the rope binding his wrists. His fingers had almost lost their feeling, and the tie certainly felt strong. If he could knock the man senseless, he could use one of the torches to burn through the rope and release his arms. Or maybe the guard would fall asleep.

The fellow appeared bored as he idly studied the knife, but he didn’t show any signs of weariness. Waiting for him to slumber would be an uncertain option and might take far too long.

Force would be necessary, then. Evan scanned the dark recesses of the room. If only he had one of those arrows dipped in the sleeping tonic.

And then the seed of an idea formed in his mind. A plan that just might work.

Turning to the guard, he made his voice as agreeable as possible. “Have you a chamber pot or privy I might use?”