Sunlight burned through the trees along the king’s road, the summer heat blistering and the air stagnant. Insects traveled the heated air, a constant annoyance. No matter how long he had lived here, Simon the Clever hated wearing his armor during the hottest months of the year. Perspiration dripped from his forehead, and his damp hair stuck to his neck. His armor weighed a ton, coupled with his underclothes—he was soaked. Every muscle in his body ached after hours of horse riding, shifting constantly in his saddle, yet he could not alleviate his burden. He could not wait to cast off the metal and have a hot bath, and then he would sleep for two days straight. If there was ever a moment where vocation met misery, it was now.
When his lord, Darrius of Blackstone, had promoted him as his right hand, Simon had been thrilled to be useful. To be trusted closely by the Imperial Arm gave him a sense of respectability and honor, which was something unheard of for many orphaned boys.
“Tell us, Simon. Who is the best woman you have ever had?”
He rolled his eyes, wishing his companions were not so one-track minded or vulgar in their conversations. Devon and Marcus were new Imperial Elite recruits, serving these last six months. They loved women, spending most of their wages on brothels or eager widows. Such a concept was not new to him. Once upon a day, Rowan the McLeod was addicted to his sexual prowess, yet after he had met Lady Adara, his intimate escapades ceased. His once fellow Elite had even introduced Simon to a beautiful leman named, Felicia. For several years, he lost himself in her charms, only to exit as a man full of sexual knowledge with women willing to shed their clothes for a bit of coin. He was not opposed to the freedoms of sexuality, but he wanted to believe that the right woman shaped a man’s happiness. The evidence of such felicity had been proven with his lord and fellow married Elite brothers. He had considered that he had found the woman of his heart, too. Yet he shuddered at his thoughts, so afraid he would pity himself for wanting a woman that he could not have or that she did not want him.
Cutting a glance at Devon, he summoned a glower. “I do not recall giving you leave to question me on such matters.” The two men were forever querying him on the subject of the bedchamber, but he had never given them any fodder. Glaring at Devon, he said, “I thought you were married?”
He shrugged. “Betrothed. There is always time for pleasure, my friend,” he said with a wink.
Marcus huffed, drawing Simon’s attention. “We have leagues to travel before we reach Blackstone Castle, why not share?” he asked, wagging his brows playfully before continuing, “I’ll begin. Agatha was amazing. She had the plumpest breasts—” Holding up his hand, “—as big as fat melons. I think I lost my face between them,” he said crudely, licking his lips. “Her thighs were warm and soft, spreading under me wide. Her sheath was wet and ready for my—”
“Enough!” Simon said vehemently, casting a disgusted glance at Marcus. “I will go scout ahead. Continue this pace until I return.” He nudged his horse into a gallop, leaving his fellow travelers. He could not stomach listening to their indecent drivel, especially when his body ached for the dark-haired beauty.
Cylah.
He had never made any advances toward Lady Adara’s female knight, but she captivated him. The way she walked bespoke of fluid grace—like a master magician over her body. Her eyes were a fathomless abyss of blue ice, piercing and direct. The beauty of her face held him hostage and mesmerized. Her warrior’s armor fit snugly over each curve, leaving his hands itching to peel away the layers to her skin. He yearned to taste her softness and know her as intimately as his eyes did. Her surliness left him tongue-tied, unable to string together a coherent sentence. The woman left grown men with their tongues dangling around their ankles, and he was no exception. She was hard and rigid around the edges, a woman fighting against something unnamed. He wanted to strip away her boundaries and unearth her sensuality. But he did not know where to begin or how to make her see him as a man. Waiting was his only recourse.
A woman’s terror-filled scream broke through his thoughts.
Simon yanked on the reins, nearly losing his balance as his horse reared up his front legs. As soon as his mount settled, he drew his sword and hopped off. A surge of energy rolled through him, and years of training took over. He knew not to engage if the odds of success outmatched him. He knew not to speak if captured. Endless rules and regulations thrummed through his mind, but a pang of regret slid through him. He knew the value of love and the honor of the right woman. Sending up a quick prayer, he hoped he would have the chance to tell Cylah one day.
Wavering on his feet after hours in the saddle, he allowed his body a few seconds to adjust before he took off toward another scream. He eased through the woods, his eyes searching. The lady’s terror seemed to be coming up a small hill. There was a rock formation, several boulders littering the top, and he knew they would provide adequate coverage until he figured out what was amiss. Devon and Marcus were headed his direction, their swords drawn. He placed a finger over his lips and then waved them forward. Pointing to the top, they all merged, seeking the source of the cries.
As the woman screamed again, they neared the top. Peeking over the edge of the rocks, the most devastating image greeted them. Several men were clustered around another man… abusing a woman.
The brute backhanded her, and he yelled, “I want what you owe me.”
The Imperial Knights eased away, looking at each other. Time was not something they had.
“I can handle two,” Marcus offered.
“Two or three for me,” Devon said confidently. “More, if I stay on my feet.”
Simon gave a curt nod. Their sword skills were unprecedented, which was one of the reasons they were his travel companions. Marcus and Devon were quick and knew how to gut a man before they fell to the ground. “I will circle around. Try to distract the group and take out as many as you can, while I go for the leader.”
Marcus grinned. “Absolutely.”
Their simple raid beamed all the elements of surprise, and their elevated position gave them an advantage. Within seconds, they descended, maneuvering into a heated battle. Simon used his sword, thrusting and jabbing the men terrorizing an innocent woman. He could not venture to look at Marcus or Devon, but by the metallic sounds of combat, he assumed they were fighting as hard as he was because the leader stood before him, smiling sinisterly. If he could kill this man, the raid would be finished.
“We are about to make history,” the man said.
Simon frowned, flexing his grip on his sword. “What…?” He could not finish his question.
A shrill whistle rang out, and the remaining men dropped their swords and sank to their knees with their heads bowed.
Marcus and Devon rushed to Simon’s side, both heaving, “What is going on?”
To their horrifying surprise, armed men surrounded the top of the hill, their numbers like rain drops with their swords drawn. The woman, who had been shivering on the ground, jumped her feet, walking seductively toward them. Her green eyes were full of mirth, her expression, one of satisfaction. Leaves and other debris clung to her long, blonde hair, brown dress, and gray mantle. She curled up against the man who had backhanded her, smiling up at him. Her bottom lip was swollen with blood trailing down her chin.
Drawing a finger over her injury, she licked at her split lip. “Mmmm, you did well,” she told the man. “Rion will be so pleased.”
A sinking feeling hit Simon—they had been set up. Cleverly, too. “What do you want?” he seethed between clenched lips, drawing the attention of his hostess.
She raised a dark eyebrow. “You’re the one they call Simon, correct?” She did not give him time to answer as she laughed. “Oh, this will be so entertaining. All your questions will be answered soon, my love. But first, there is the matter of your swords—and I do not mean the ones inside your armor.” Her eyes narrowed. “Drop your weapons, and I may let the Knights of the Imperial Elite survive.”
The outlaw group knew who they were.
His eyes scanned his surroundings, knowing they were severely outnumbered. If they engaged, they would die. This was the moment of truth—the second when one’s life flashed before their eyes. He had too much to live for, so many opportunities waiting. Cylah’s face filled his mind. More regrets made him stagger under the pressure of capture. If he lived through this, he would make some changes in life. Meaningful ones.
“Drop your swords,” Simon ordered.
“We can take them,” Marcus stated hotly.
“Now!” he said with stinging clarity. If they stood any chance of surviving, they had to comply with their captors. The army standing above them proved caution was prudent.
Flinging their weapons down, metal hitting metal sang through the air. The woman preened. “Shackle them,” she commanded. “Then beat them a little. We would not want Rion to be displeased by their perfect health.”
Copyright © 2020 Beth Mikell
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