At The Warrior's Mercy. Denise Lynn
‘But I need to return to my home.’ Without someone who could tell her parents what she’d done. Their last missive to Jared had said they’d be returning to Warehaven soon. She wasn’t certain if they’d returned yet or not, but it was a risk she didn’t wish to take.
‘I may have warned off those threatening you, but that doesn’t make it safe for you to head off on your own. I can’t in good conscience let a woman go traipsing about alone and unprotected. I will escort you.’
‘No. That’s not necessary. I’m certain they’ve learned their lesson and will bother me no further.’ Although, knowing how doggedly determined Charles could be at times, there was still a chance he hadn’t given up for good. It would not surprise her in the least if he showed up at Warehaven intent on telling her parents that she’d left Montreau alone with him, hoping to force her into a marriage to save her reputation. She could only pray that she arrived at Warehaven well ahead of him.
He shrugged. ‘They may or may not have learned their lesson. So, travelling alone is not wise.’
Somehow she had to dissuade him. ‘My home is a long way from here, I wouldn’t want to squander your time. I am certain I can hire someone to serve as a safe escort, someone with free time to spare.’ Actually, at the moment she had little idea how far away Warehaven was, other than it was still south, since yesterday the sun had passed over them from her left to her right.
He sat down on the bench and started to remove his boots. ‘I have nothing pressing at the moment, so you need not worry about squandering my time.’
This would not do. ‘And what do you think would happen should I show up at the gates escorted by you? How would I explain that?’
‘Fear not, I am under royal orders, your parents will believe whatever I tell them.’
That took her by surprise. She’d assumed he was a warrior, but a royal knight on business for his liege? She didn’t care to ask which royal because both King Stephen and the Empress Matilda were related to her family through her father, so one of their men escorting her home could prove disastrous—it would only encourage her parents to ask more questions than normal.
Regardless of which royal held this man’s allegiance, his travelling alone on some official business didn’t make sense to her. Normally he’d have a squad of soldiers and guards in his party.
She stared hard at him then asked, ‘Who are you?’
He toed off one boot, letting it thud to the floor. ‘Gregor of Roul.’
Beatrice closed her eyes in disbelief. This man was King David’s Wolf? Somehow, he wasn’t at all what she would have expected. He was too young, too comely and far too kind to be the dreaded warrior spoken of in tales of horror. She would have thought he’d be someone much older, more scar riddled, surly, completely without mercy and fearsome. But then wolves were a sly lot, were they not?
She opened her eyes to look at him and then sighed at the odd question that immediately sprang to her mind, since after all Roul meant wolf.
He narrowed his gaze at her briefly before loosening the ties of his remaining boot. ‘I can see the questions causing frown lines on your face. What do you wish to ask?’
She glanced at him to judge his mood. When he didn’t seem distressed in the least, she let the question roll off her tongue. ‘And how many times have you been called the Wolf of Roul?’
‘Too many times to count. It has been my name for my entire life.’ He let his other boot fall. ‘The silver in my hair doesn’t help in avoiding the question. And this bit—’ he flicked the finger-wide swath of silver hanging over his forehead ‘—has been there for as long as I can remember.’
‘Ah.’ He sounded as if he didn’t like the odd colouring. Did he not realise how strikingly pleasing it made him appear?
‘And still you don’t fear me?’
Beatrice frowned. Of course she’d heard the tales told of this man. If King David needed some distasteful or difficult task completed, he sent his Wolf. It mattered little how the deed was handled, once the order was given, no one escaped the Wolf’s grasp.
So, yes, she should be terrified of him. She should probably quake and wail in fear that he was about to add her to his long list of those he’d dispatched to their maker.
And while his reputation made her leery, there was no reason for King David to have ordered her death. Besides, this man had offered her no harm thus far. In truth, he’d lent more help than she would have expected from any warrior. Finally, she shook her head and admitted, ‘You are not what rushes to my mind when I overhear hushed whispers of King David’s Wolf.’
‘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