Free His Enemy's Daughter by Terri Brisbin

asked.
    Each encounter with her engendered a new response within him and he never knew if it would be anger, hatred, pity, ambivalence or even good, plain, unmitigated lust. Not knowing meant being unprepared, as he was in this moment, and left him ill at ease, without a way to effectively deal with her. One look at the pained expression on what he could see of her heart-shaped face when she thought he’d executed her father’s man and Soren nearly lost his resolve not to soften towards her.
    The only thing that brought him back from the brink of losing his control was the knowledge that she could not see him. Placing her back on her feet, he stepped away from her.
    He would not explain his actions, especially not to her, even if the words sat on the edge of his tongue and wanted to vindicate him in her opinion. So much of his recent life had been driven by his quest for vengeance and for Alston that he’d given little thought to the wisdom he’d learned from Lord Gautier of Rennes. Now, as he gazed down at the woman who personified his obsession for revenge, he heard the older man’s words in his mind.
    Hatred is the perfect weapon for it gives your enemypower over you that you would never otherwise put in their hands.
    Had he not done exactly that?
    He watched as Sybilla tried to regain her balance, her hands flaring out as she wobbled on her feet. Soren waited, but then did reach out when she stumbled once more and would have fallen.
    It seemed that now people believed the worst of him based on his appearance just as they had previously always thought the best. A prisoner of his anger and his torn flesh, Soren waited for her to regain her balance and then turned to leave. Well, he was in no mood to disabuse her of the wrongness of her judgements or to enlighten her of his true actions here.
    â€˜You are not a prisoner here, lady,’ he said. ‘You and your women can go and come as you please.’
    â€™Twas time for him to move along and get his plans underway and she was, regardless of his original intent, a part of that. The surrounding lands must be secured, the keep and walls repaired and strengthened against attack and stores replenished. Now, with the information he knew would be in the manor’s records, he would know who owed service, who owed crops, and who owed other goods to the lord.
    He glanced back as he reached the door and noticed the forlorn look of her face. Even with the bandage in place, the downturn of her mouth was in view. Damn! Soren did not know why he did so, but as he left he offered her the words of comfort he knew she needed to hear.
    â€˜Gareth is not dead.’
    He did not delay or hesitate in leaving her chambers,but he sought out his men to help him find the storage closet and the needed rolls of the manor.
    Â 
    â€˜Enough.’
    Stephen waved him off and pulled off his helm. With his surrender, Soren had no other opponent to fight. He’d fought every other man standing in the area that they’d used as a practice yard. Outside the walls, yet within clear sight of the keep and its gates, it was a level plain back to the treeline and perfect now for the needed exercise and practice of fighting skills. Usually this was something he enjoyed—pushing his muscles, his body and his mind to their limits and then a bit more to improve his already formidable abilities on the field of war.
    Though the others began to loosen and remove layers of heavy mail and thick quilted hauberks, he remained clothed. Sweat poured down his head and neck and over his body, but he would not undress before them. Not like before when his body was a thing of male beauty and when it was admired by others—men for its strength and women for the pleasures it promised.
    Now, a tangle of criss-crossing scars marred his skin from head to hip, all marking the path of an axe’s blade and resulting in torn and yet-mangled flesh. Healing irregularly as they had, the