Medieval Rogues (73 page)

Sneering, Torr said, “He deserved to die.”

A brutal shudder wrenched through Brant. “How—?”

“I put the drug in his wine. The drink on crusade was so foul, he never noticed. While we sat by the fire, I told him I had discovered a mortifying secret—that you and Elayne were secretly lovers. She wanted no man but you.”

“A
lie
!”

“How distraught he became. He stormed into your tent—”

Brant barely heard Faye’s shocked cry over his own roar. He barreled toward Torr.

Torr lunged.

Their swords connected with an ear-splitting
clang
. The impact jarred through Brant’s arm, reviving memories of Saracen sands, the sweat and blood of battle, and . . . Royce’s death.

A senseless killing.

A murder Torr had planned.

Rage pounded in Brant’s temple. The surrounding cavern became a sea of red. “You bastard!” he roared, half sobbed. “
Bastard
!”

Torr struck again. “Now, I will kill you, Meslarches.”

Slashing out with his sword, Brant caught Torr’s leg.

Torr hissed. Blood stained the woolen fabric of his hose. Teeth bared, he lunged again, a deeper thrust that drew him further from the cavern entrance.

Sharpening his gaze, Brant lunged at Torr, then stepped back several paces. Grinning, greedy, Torr followed. “Running from me?” he goaded. “You will not get away.”

“Kill me, then,” Brant taunted.

Torr leapt forward. Slashed out. The strike caught Brant’s arm, slicing his tunic to bare flesh. He grunted at the stinging pain. Blood formed a crimson stain on his sleeve.

Through a haze of anguished fury, he heard Faye scream.

He dared a quick glance at her. She knelt beside Angeline, her arms around the huge-eyed little girl. How poignantly beautiful they looked.

Faye, my treasure. I love you
.

She would be a good mother to Angeline.

As he looked back at Torr, Brant’s eyes burned. He clenched his jaw. “Go, Faye,” he commanded. “Take Angeline and run. Do not look back.”

***

When the clash of swords rang out again, Faye pushed to her feet. She shuddered, hating to watch the deadly combat. Somehow, though, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

Brant had deliberately lured Torr from the cave entrance so that she and Angeline could escape. The heroic ploy would likely cost him his life. The thought of him dying in this dank cave, suffering in his last moments—

“Faye,” Brant shouted again. “
Go
!”

At her feet, Angeline sobbed. Reaching down, Faye helped the little girl to stand. Her gaze looked more focused now.

Angeline slid her small, cold fingers into Faye’s. “Scared,” she whimpered, her tiny body trembling.

“So am I, my lamb,” Faye said. Yet, fear would only hinder her in what must be done. She mustn’t lose the opportunity provided by Brant’s bravery. Swallowing hard, she said, “Come with me.”

Holding tight to Angeline’s hand, Faye hurried toward the cavern entrance. Light flickered in the passage. Caution shrilled inside her as she peered in. Guards’ shadows played on the stone walls. Too many to count.

Armed sentries stood only a few yards away. Her gaze locked with that of a dark-haired sentry. Frowning, he stepped toward her, as though to grab her.

With a startled cry, Faye drew Angeline back. Scooping the little girl into her arms, she murmured, “Hold tight to me. I will not let you go.”

Listening for sounds of pursuit, staying close to the water-streaked cavern wall, she slipped and skidded her way past the dead Celtic man and his comrades. Locked in battle, sweat streaking their faces, Torr and Brant didn’t notice her. Scampering in frantic circles around the men, barking, Val paused to look at her, his tongue hanging from his mouth.

Shifting Angeline to one hip, she stepped onto the lower stone ledges she’d traversed before. Instead of climbing up, she ventured into the shallow, frigid water trickling down into the pool where the guard’s head lay partly submerged, vacant eyes gazing up to the ceiling.

The torchlight scarcely reached this part of the cavern. Slick with algae, the rock beneath her feet was almost black. With precarious steps, Faye started across.

Water splashed beside her. She looked down to see Val.

“Help me find a way out,” she said to the little dog, wondering, as she spoke the words, if Brant had commanded Val to accompany them.

Oh, Brant
. Tears threatened again. She pressed on.

Swords clanged, then squealed. One of the men groaned.

Faye shuddered. If she looked back and saw Brant crumpled on the ground . . .

Angeline squirmed against her. “Scared!”

Shifting the child’s weight to ease discomfort in her arm and shoulder, Faye left the water and headed for a dry mound of rock. She set the little girl down. “Stay here. I will look for a way out.”

The child’s mouth quivered.

“I will be right back. I promise.”

Val scooted up beside Angeline. He nuzzled her hand. A cautious smile touched the little girl’s mouth, and she stretched out her fingers to pat Val’s side.

Faye picked her way over the rocks, straining to see in the murky shadows. The darkness grew so thick, she could no longer see. With a dismayed sigh, she turned back.

Angeline no longer sat on the rock.

She hurried back to where she’d left the child. The little girl huddled behind a larger rock, Val beside her. Faye stroked Angeline’s hair.

“Out?” Angeline asked.

“Nay. We will have to get past the guards.”

How? Oh, God,
how?

Despair gnawed at Faye, threatening to destroy the last of her courage. Yet, as metal clanged again, she shoved to her feet and drew Angeline up beside her. Steadying the little girl, they started back through the water. Val raced ahead of them, remarkably agile despite the slickness of the rock.

“Ha!” Torr roared, lunging at Brant. The tip of Torr’s sword slashed across Brant’s belly. A mortal wound.

“
Brant
!” Faye screamed.

He wavered and staggered back. Blood streaked his tunic, matching the crimson on his sleeve.

“Brant!” She hefted Angeline into her arms. Pressing the little girl’s face against her neck to block her view, Faye hurried forward.

“You are a dead man, Meslarches.”

By Torr’s feet, Val barked, then spun to look at his master.

Straightening, Brant fingered hair out of his eyes. Grimacing, he lifted up the edge of his slashed tunic to withdraw a battered object from his garments: the journal, severed almost in half. As he held it aloft, sliced parchment pages fell to the rocks.

Only a thin scratch marked his stomach.

“Spared by the journal,” Brant said with a grin.

A sob broke from Faye.

Torr’s face twisted on a furious scream. Terror shot through her as, with both hands, he raised his sword, clearly intending to slay Brant while his weapon was lowered.

Val growled and hunched against the ground.

Eyes widening, Brant reclaimed his grip on his sword.

Torr’s blade flashed in the torchlight. The sword plummeted toward Brant.

Val leapt forward, sinking his teeth into Torr’s leg.

“Ow!” Torr yelled. His sword wavered. He kicked out at Val, still clamped to his leg. The little dog refused to let go.

Losing his balance, Torr staggered backward. A grisly
crunch
echoed. He’d stepped on the body of the Celtic man.

Faye choked down a horrified cry.

Val dropped to the ground and scampered away. Looking down, Torr squinted, as though trying to identify what he saw.

His eyes widened. Wiggling his foot, he tried to shake off the rotting cloth that had fallen over his boot. The fabric disintegrated, leaving pale bone fingers. The skeletal hand appeared to be reaching for him.

Torr screamed again. Clutching his head, his expression feverish, he glanced at Brant. At the journal pages scattered by Brant’s feet. “Nay!” he shrieked, bolting forward.

Faye sucked in a sharp breath. She turned, as Brant’s sword soared in a glinting arc.

A
thud
. Another scream, this time, of sheer agony.

Angeline shuddered in Faye’s arms. Shielding the little girl’s gaze, Faye glanced at the men. Looking dazed, Torr clutched the stump of his left arm. Blood streamed down over his chain mail and splattered on the torn pages.

“That is for all you have done to Faye,” Brant said.

Drawing back, Torr’s stunned gaze flew to Faye. Spittle formed at the corner of his mouth. “I loved you,” he cried. “I
loved
you.”

“Nay,” she said quietly. “I do not believe you did.”

Trembling, muttering under his breath, Torr looked away, as if to accept defeat.

Then, with a roar, he ran toward her, raising his sword.

Faye shrieked.

Torr’s face contorted with malice. He was going to kill her.

Oh, God! Angeline!

Faye darted sideways. Not fast enough.

Oh, God!

Brant’s blade glinted again.

Thud
.

Torr froze. Astonishment tautened his features. He wavered like a drunkard. Staggered back. “Nay,” he choked out, gaping down at the wound on his thigh.

His boot heel caught on a projecting rock. He crashed to the ground before rolling over and over, dragging with him bits of parchment. He came to rest at the pool’s edge.

“Meslarches!” he screamed, writhing in the water.

Brant strode down to Torr, who struggled to stand. His arm and bloody stump flailing, Torr scrambled backward in the water, creating violent waves. Spitting a foul oath, shaking, he raised his sword.

“This is for Royce.” Holding his blade in both hands, Brant positioned the weapon. And thrust down.

A hissed gurgle faded to a whisper of bubbles. Brant withdrew his sword and stepped away from the pool.

Behind him, the inky water lapped over Torr’s body. It sank slowly out of sight, as though pulled down by invisible hands. Still poised to attack, his sword was the last to disappear. The polished steel glinted, cold and gray, before it vanished.

Faye hugged Angeline tight. “’Tis over, my lamb.” Relief, mingled with sadness, shivered through her.

Head down, his breathing ragged, Brant strode away from the water. His sword dropped to the ground with a shrill
clang
. Cradling his wounded arm, he fell to his knees before the ruined journal. A sound like a sob broke from him.

Tears blurred Faye’s vision. A torrent of emotions welled inside her as she crossed to him. She gently set Angeline down on the ground and knelt beside him.

His dark, unruly hair shielded his face from her. “Brant,” she whispered. “Are you badly wounded?”

His body trembled as he sucked in a breath. “My wounds are not mortal.” Slowly, as though it cost him monumental effort, he looked up at her. His eyes glistened. “Faye.”

Her heart wept at the agony in his gaze. Catching his hand, she linked her fingers through his. “You saved my life, as well as Angeline’s.”

The faintest smile touched his lips.

Never would she forget the wondrous play of his mouth over hers. The magical bliss of his kiss. “Thank you.”

He nodded. Remorse clouded his features. “Murder, it seems, is what I do best.”

Anguish burst inside her, robbing her of breath. “Brant—”

“There is so much I must say to you, Faye. For all I have forced you to endure, I am sorry. Believe me, all I wanted was to protect you—”

“Brant.”

“To keep you safe from Torr’s madness—”

“Brant! Will you cease talking and listen to me? Or”—she forced wry challenge into her voice—“must I count to three?”

Surprise registered in his eyes. The barest grin softened his features. “Very well. I am listening.”

Squeezing his hand, she said, “You are the bravest, most honorable man I have ever known.”

He shook his head.

“Torr is to blame for Royce’s death, not you. He arranged the whole confrontation, intending for you to kill your brother.”

“My God, Faye . . .”

Brant was drawing away from her emotionally. She would
not
lose him now.

Reaching out, she cupped his sweat-streaked face in her hands. How she relished the roughness of his stubbled jaw, the warmth of his skin, and the puckered ridge of his scar against her palm.

He was alive.

Hers
.

“Brant,” she whispered, “I love you.”

His eyes widened. His lips parted, and he looked about to speak.

Pressing forward, she kissed him.

A low, helpless groan rumbled in his throat. For the space of one heartbeat, he remained immobile. And then, as though her kiss shattered a paralyzing spell, his mouth opened beneath hers. His tongue slid between her teeth, seeking, hungry, as his good arm slid around her to yank her close.