Free Risen by Sharon Cramer Page B

laying her tenderly upon the bed. He
plucked at her lacings, not at all certain how to undress
her.
    “Help me,” he murmured urgently,
and her hands went to his, showing him where and how to release the
catches of her gowns. His impatience nearly had the best of him
when he at last flung the remnants of the gowns from the bed to the
floor.
    Ten months of imprisonment, the loss
of his brother, and his harrowing trip back were released from him
now. Outside, a storm gained sudden momentum. Torrents of rain
swept across the window pane as he lifted himself over her, easing
himself into the body of the woman he loved before rolling over her
as the wind does the sea.
    She embraced him tightly, ran her
hands down the back of her lover as though feeling thoroughly the
too thin frame of the man who was the true father of her son. They
consummated their reunion against the backdrop of the thunderstorm
beyond, lightning illuminating their bodies in flashes, Ravan’s
tawny skin and black hair devouring the white beauty beneath
him.
    An hour after his arrival at the
Ravan Dynasty…the mercenary fathered his daughter.
     
    * * *
     
    That was a wonderful time. Ravan,
home at last, slept for days on end. When he awoke, began to stir
about the castle grounds, he was quickly known and well received.
The couturier in short order made new clothes for him, fine leather
trousers and tunics, new boots and gloves. He was magnificently
armored, overseeing the makings of the plates to his own
specifications.
    Having access to the forge, Ravan
made a sword and knife, both worthy of the man who would carry
them, arrow tips as fine as he’d ever fashioned, and a coat of arms
for his shield. The blacksmith was in awe, and the mercenary showed
him the secrets of his craft, inviting him to outfit all the
soldiers of the realm as finely.
    He spent long hours with Nicolette
and Risen, lying in bed with his son tucked between them, watching
the season change as though it were insane, dancing past their
bedroom window. Never had he known such luxury. Never had his heart
been at such peace. It was as though he fell from a nightmare into
a dream—this new life that had opened itself up to him. And all
because of the blessed sacrifice of his brother. Ravan was
overjoyed with this gift and took not a single moment of it for
granted. For long stretches, when he was alone, he spoke to D’ata,
told him of his great fortune, thanked him for the gift. It was the
first time he felt truly attached to the divinity of the
universe.
    It took some time for the domain to
familiarize itself with the man who stood beside their beautiful
Nicolette, but as months went by and her belly grew once more with
child, the realm and all within rejoiced in the birth of a
daughter. Niveus, so named for she was white as the late spring
snow storm that blanketed the world outside at her birth, had not
an ounce of hair and eyes pink as a cherry blossom. Eventually, her
hair would grow in, also white as a December moon.
    As years passed, all grew to know
the heart of the mercenary become ruler and rejoiced in his
compassion. Gone were his bruises, replaced with muscle and sinew
as he reveled in his newfound freedom and the authority of the
dynasty that bore his name. Likewise, the throne and church were
pleased with the stability of the realm.
    Eventually marrying for the sake of
posterity, he and Nicolette ruled the land together. The mare—the
one Ravan bought when he was freed of the prison—was bred to the
black Destrier stallion, and a lineage of horses finer than any in
the region was born.
    Moira, the maiden with the single
hand, became caregiver to their children, delighting in the unusual
family that seemed so prepared to take her in as one of their own.
Moulin swallowed his heart, hid his feelings for Nicolette, and
committed himself to them supremely.
    The Ravan Dynasty flourished, years
passed, and the children grew.
     
     

CHAPTER SIX
    †
    ElevenYears later
     
    The