Chapter Ten

 

Peacefulness surrounded her. Beneath her cloak, she was dry, warm, and felt completely safe for the first time in days, maybe even weeks. Her foggy mind floated in and out of reality until she woke with a start. The rain had finally dissipated to a slow drizzle, its scent washing the land clean, the dirt turning up with each trot of the horses, but it did not penetrate the layers of warmth that enveloped her.

She blinked several times to clear the sleep from her eyes. She didn’t remember dozing off, and it took her a few moments to realize where she was. She was wrapped tenderly in the thick folds of Damon’s cloak, the fur lining keeping the rain from soaking through. The sway of his horse and the bone weariness from unrelenting travel had finally caught up to her. With the support of his arms wrapped around her, she had fallen asleep, tucked safely in the nook of his shoulder, her head resting against his heart.

Gabriella stiffly sat up and put as much distance between their bodies as she could. The cloak had provided a barrier between her head and his armor. He had kindly tried to consider her comfort. It was unsettling—his kindness. What motive could he have?

They had not spoken since she had slept the night on the ground near the fire in the pallet he provided her. It had smelled of sandalwood mixed with leather and the rich scent of his skin—male and earthy; it clung to the thick woven fibers, filling her senses.

It was there now, mixed in the folds of his cloak. She had wrapped herself each night in his bedding in a futile attempt to stay warm. The cold ground had provided little comfort and she had slept fitfully each night of this journey, one dream chasing another. Days had passed that way. At least three that she could remember. It felt like weeks. How these men could stand this constant traveling, she did not understand.

Every night, her dreams continued. Warriors chasing her on great dark steeds, rebels shooting arrows from the depth of the darkness...one nightmare carried her to the next throughout the fitful nights. Surprisingly, Damon had not tied her like she thought he would. He simply stated that she would be harmed severely if she tried to escape again. The certainty of this laced his threat with malevolence before he strode through the camp away from her. He kept as much distance between them as possible.

By the time the first light of dawn merged across the darkened skies each morn, they broke camp. The skies remained cloud-filled and the countryside gray as the days brought no release from the continuous rain. Damon had allowed them to stop once during the endless days of travel and only then so that the horses could rest. A light repast of dry bread, cheese and the remaining meat from their small hunt the previous nights was quickly consumed before they were once more on their way. Three days had passed this way and the fourth was becoming just as tedious until the rain began to dissipate, making the travel go more quickly.

Gabriella looked around in wonder as Damon led his horse, a great black beast matching the strength and beauty of his master, with easy skill through the craggy foothills they had entered. The great warhorse treaded gracefully over the uneven, rocky ground, his muscled form moving rhythmically despite bearing the weight of two riders.

When darkness finally fell around them, Damon drew a halt to the day. He dismounted on sturdy legs that showed no weakness from the weight of his armor and the hours spent in the saddle. Gabriella looked at the ground and grudgingly wished she did not have to move in order to set her feet upon it.

“Do you intend to stay there all night, demoiselle?” he asked, his voice flat, reflecting no emotion. He kept the horse’s reins in his hand, waiting for her to dismount.

Sighing, she looked from the ground to his slate gray eyes, and back. Determined not to show any weakness, she braced her hands against the saddle and slid to the ground. As soon as her feet touched the muddy earth, her legs buckled. She would have fallen had he not reached forward and held her up. His hands were a warm, strong contrast to the weakness she felt flow through her, causing her to tremble.

Damon said nothing to her, but stared into her eyes. She trembled beneath his touch. His hands spanned the width of her small waist; softness personified in the gentle curves beneath his fingers.

No matter how strong their desire for each other, he would not succumb to his baser needs. His loyalty to his men and his King would come before any of his own yearnings.

Moments passed before he set her from him, only then reluctantly taking his gaze from her face. “Do not stray from the camp, milady. My men may not be as gentle in their return of you as would I or Tanak.” His whispered words were a subtle command.

He led his horse away to be tethered with the others. He removed the saddle himself and wiped down the horse’s sides with a gentle touch and soothing words of appreciation. Man and beast were much alike.

Twigs and branches were gathered for fires and weary horses tended to. Gabriella watched while Damon set about issuing his orders for the night. Staying near the fire that Tanak had quickly built, she watched as the many warriors went about their business of settling the camp.

The night passed, and the warriors settled into their pallets. Damon neared the fire, his massive sword held loosely in his hand where it gleamed in the firelight. He sat by Tanak, who seemed to never be far from Gabriella’s side as though his one task was to guard her. Damon sat and silently began sharpening his sword.

Gabriella stared in awe. He slid his sword against the whetstone, it sharpness gleaming through the flames. She had seen many swords in her studies. Had held ancient weapons from different cultures all around the world. She had held this sword in her own hands, studied the etchings under close scrutiny. She knew that even her father had done his own research, or as much as time had allowed him, of the exact sword that Damon now methodically sharpened.

The authenticity of his weapon was stamped into her consciousness. There was no way a man play-acting this time period could afford a weapon such as this. There was no way to re-create a weapon to this perfection. The steel was clearly folded and hand beaten. The etchings swirled down its length and a ruby bigger than her thumb was encased in the hilt of the massive sword. Just as it had been when she had held it in her hands in her hotel room.

It was well over half her size, and she was amazed that anyone could even consider hacking someone to death with such a beautiful artifact. Her mouth dried to dust as she realized it was not yet an artifact, but a weapon to be wielded.

Damon continued to glide the stone rhythmically down its edges and back.

She looked from the beautiful sword to the handsome warrior who held it, her gaze stopping at his face. She studied him from the darkness.

As if sensing her gaze, Damon turned and looked into her eyes. He stopped sharpening his sword.

He stood in one fluid motion. Gabriella’s heart beat irregularly in her chest. She felt her lungs constrict with the effort to breathe as he slowly stalked towards her, stopping but two spaces in front of her. Looking down at her, his eyes glowed silver in the firelight.

Unsure of who was seducing whom, Damon crouched down in front of her. Gently, he trailed the back of one finger down the softness of her cheek, stopping only when he reached the bottom of her throat where her neck ended and her cloak began.

He leaned into her, his lips just a breath from hers and whispered, “Be careful, Cherie.” With that, he slammed the door on his desire, rose and briskly strode from the camp.

* * * * * *

What sleep she was able to get that night was fraught with visions of her dark knight. He pursued her, held her, and kissed her while his silver eyes bore through her to the depths of her soul, burning them in the flames of their mutual desire.

Dawn brought another day’s travel. Another day to ride endlessly ensconced in the folds of his cloak, his dark frame a cushion surrounding her. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take of riding non-stop through the rain, filthy from travel and sleeping on the ground. She longed for a hot meal, a warm bath and a soft bed to sleep in. As though girding her loins for battle, she waited dutifully by his horse as he directed his men of the day’s journey before mounting his beast and hoisting her, once again, before him. “How long do you plan on keeping me?” she asked as his horse started to shift beneath their weight.

“As long as I so choose, milady,” he stated, his voice gruff as the morning gloom.

Gabriella snorted disdainfully at his once again overbearing response. “And would you care to tell me where it is I’m to be a prisoner?”

His response was but one word. “Blackmoor.”