Free Nightshade by Jaide Fox

imagination.
     
    He no longer guarded the front gate of the keep. Trapped inside by the blizzard that had held Raventhorne in its grip for weeks, she had not discovered that until the servants began to whisper that Raventhorne’s guardian had vanished. Fear had gripped everyone within the castle from lowliest servant to the highest. The absence of the guardian of the keep filled them all with a deep foreboding that they were perched on the eve of disaster. Everywhere she went there were whispers of all sort of disasters that would befall Raventhorne and the people within in the event the keep lost its guardian.
     
    Bronwyn did not know whether the tales she heard were a part of the original curse or if everyone was making them up out of fear.
     
    There were whispers that he had attacked soldiers of the keep and then cursed them and flown away.
     
    She did not know what to think, but she found she could not quake over some unnamed, possible disaster. To her mind nothing could be much worse than the marriage the king would force upon her when she loved Nightshade. Nothing could be worse than the fact that he had left her thinking terrible things, she was certain, and she might never get the chance to make him understand that she cared for him.
     
    * * * *
     
    At any other time, the troupe of men that appeared at Raventhorne’s gates would have caused some consternation, but it would not have put the entire keep into a panic. Weeks of speculation about the ‘curse’ had severely undermined morale, however, particularly since the winter had been more violent than anyone recalled and stores had already begun to run low since the heavy and frequent snowfall made it impossible for men to go out and hunt to replenish the meat supply.
     
    The banner displayed only added to the uneasiness, for it depicted a great black bird perched upon a thorny vine.
     
    It was not the husband the king had promised. Bronwyn was certain of that even before Sir Fitzhugh had ordered the gates closed and routed the men from the great hall to man the walls of the keep.
     
    The king had promised her six months. Moreover, few traveled at such an ungodly time of the year unless they had very good reason to do so, and the snow only meant less likelihood that the troupe of men would have stirred to brave the elements.
     
    The banner piqued her curiosity, however, and Bronwyn found she couldn’t resist the urge to bundle up and see for herself what the men outside the gates were about--whether they represented a threat or were only travelers seeking shelter from the weather.
     
    Fortunately, Fitzhugh was too intent himself on discovering the intentions of the men beyond the gates to pay her any mind as she made her way up onto the battlements and peered down at the strangers.
     
    It was a rather large troupe of men, Bronwyn discovered, feeling uneasiness begin to tingle along her nerve endings even before she spied the banner. Her heart seemed to stand still in her chest when a sudden gust of wind lifted it, unfurling it. She knew that banner. She did not know how, but she was suddenly certain she did.
     
    Raventhorne.
     
    The leader nudged his horse forward as Fitzhugh called out a demand to know their business.
     
    The man lifted his head, scanning the walls above him and, despite the helmet that obscured his face, Bronwyn had the uncanny sense that his gaze had settled upon her.
     
    “I am Marcus Raventhorne … And I have come to claim what is mine.”
     
    Stunned silence greeted the bold announcement for several moments before Sir Fitzhugh broke it with a bark of a laugh that held no humor at all. “I hold these lands in the name of the king, for the Lady of Raventhorne,” he growled finally. “You expect to besiege this keep with no more than a handful of men?”
     
    “Nay. I expect to take this keep and its lady,” the knight retorted, lifting his arm into the air and bringing it down again in a sharp chopping motion.