Sharon Lanergan (18 page)

“Nay, my lady,” Myrna said. “Da says we can’t afford the material for Mum to make one.”

Constance ruffled the girl’s hair. “Mayhap I will make you one myself.”

Myrna’s brown eyes became as big as the moon. “Really? Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“Well, let’s go see Agnes, shall we?” Constance took hold of the little girl’s hand and they stepped outside. She scrunched up her face and glanced at the sky. The rain would come before the meal, Constance was certain.

“Hurry,” Myrna said, tugging at Constance’s hand. “Agnes is real anxious.”

The little girl started running and Constance was reminded of herself at that age. Always rushing everywhere.

She hoped Agnes was all right. Mayhap she should have brought the healer with her, or at the very least some herbs.

“Myrna, stop,” Constance said after a moment. She realized the young girl was not headed in the direction of the village but rather toward the forest on the edge of the Fitzroy lands.

“Agnes is waiting,” Myrna said over her shoulder.

“But the village isn’t this way,” Constance protested.

“Aye, but we went to pick some wildflowers and then Agnes felt bad,” Myrna replied.

Constance disentangled her hand just as they reached the edge of the trees. It didn’t feel right. But why would Myrna want her to go to the forest? It made no sense.

“Come on,” Myrna said, her young face anxious. She turned toward Constance. “Please.”

“Myrna, what is this really about?” Constance asked.

“Agnes is waiting.”

But this time Constance heard the whining uncertainty in the child’s voice. She took a step back and backed into something solid.

“How kind of you to join us, my lady,” Loutrant said directly into her ear.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Brian wiped the water from his forehead. The light rain from earlier in the afternoon had become torrential.

“My lord, I don’t know how much longer the village can hold out. Some of the cottages are already flooding,” an older man from the village called.

“I’ve ordered sacks be filled with twigs and dirt to help stop the water,” Brian said, placing a hand on the man’s arm. “Help is on the way. Have the women and children brought to the Great Hall. They’ll be safe there.”

He checked on the soldiers working to save the village, and, then satisfied they had matters under control for the moment, he headed up the steps of the castle and into the Great Hall. He immediately headed for the roaring fire in the hearth. Soaked through, Brian thought to come inside the castle for a brief moment of warmth before he would have to once more go out into the storm.

There was so much to do, he sighed, rubbing his hands together in front of the flames. Fortunately, everyone knew what was needed without much supervision.

When the rain stopped, if it ever did, the cleanup would be a monumental task. Brian closed his eyes wearily. He’d not had enough sleep last night for this. And yet, he was handling it. Amazing. When had
he
actually become responsible? His father, Hugh, would never have believed it. Brian wasn’t sure he completely did.

Part of the changes in him were the years he spent in Loutrant’s dungeon. It was bound to change anyone. But he wasn’t foolish enough to believe it was the only reason for such change in him.

Constance had changed him and made him to be someone worthy of her and her love. For the first time in many a year, Brian felt hopeful. Hell, mayhap for the first time ever. He’d fallen, hard. He smiled. And he didn’t even know when it happened.

“I am surprised to see you smiling so, considering the challenges we have yet to face,” Stephen said, walking up to him by the hearth, equally drenched.

Brian shrugged. “We will get past the storm. We’ve dealt with storms before.”

“Aye,” Stephen agreed. “Some of the men from the village and the soldiers are filling the sacks. Lucien and Trevor are gathering the villagers to come wait out the storm here.”

“Excellent. I will come shortly.”

His brother tilted his head to one side and studied him curiously.

“What?” Brian asked.

“There is something different about you, though I confess I know not what.”

“Nor shall you any time soon,” Brian returned. There was too much at stake still. He had to speak with Constance soon about their future. But first…

“As you say,” Stephen said, smiling. Then he shivered and stepped closer to the fire. “This storm could not come at a worse time, though. You are certain Loutrant is alive?”

Brian nodded. “I doubted my mind for a while, but no longer. I saw him, Stephen. Loutrant survived his fall, somehow, and is taunting me, us. I do not yet know what he wants, but I intend to find out.”

“If he does not make it clear on his own,” Stephen added. “We cannot overlook the possibility he is even now getting ready to make his move, Brian. He could strike at any moment.”

“I know. I have thought of that myself. Once we have made the village safe, we must all meet to discuss our options,” Brian said, already moving away from the heat of the fire toward the doors and out once more into the storm.

****

Constance swayed on the horse. She tried desperately to steady herself. It was difficult to do, considering her hands were bound and she could see nothing.

Her captor had tied around her eyes a length of material, some sort of scratchy wool. Her eyes watered from it. Wherever Loutrant was taking her, he did not want her to know.

Constance wondered if Brian and the others even realized she was gone yet. There would be little reason for them to know until later in the day. Shortly after Loutrant covered her eyes and put her on his horse, the rain had started. Her cloak was soaked through and she was freezing.

Constance recalled the village sometimes flooded in really terrible storms. If Brian was occupied with such tasks, it could be a long time before he realized, and even then would he guess Loutrant had seized her? Likely he would, considering everything.

But it really didn’t matter whether Brian knew she was missing or not. He wouldn’t know where Loutrant was taking her any more than she knew. It was just as he’d told her in the dungeon before. She had to somehow rescue herself.

Loutrant had been silent since abducting her. The only way she even knew of his presence was the feel of the back of his thighs against the front of hers. Though she did not want to speak with him, if he gave her a clue as to what exactly he planned to do, she might have the opportunity to think of her escape.

“Finius,” Constance said, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth when she spoke the hated name. Her stomach turned over.

At first, only silence greeted her. She waited for a bit, and then as she opened her mouth to repeat his name, he cut her off.

“What do you want?”

Constance heard the aggravation in his tone, the way he clenched his teeth.

“I—I wondered where you were taking me.”

His laugh was a short bark. “Do you suppose I would tell you?”

“Why not? It is not as though I can tell anyone,” Constance said.

“I covered your eyes for a reason,” his voice rasped.

Gone was the lilting musical tone the troubadour had, replaced by loathing and madness.

“Why don’t you remove the cloth? I’ve hardly been off Fitzroy land most of my life.” She did not add except the time she’d been at Loutrant Castle. “I wouldn’t know where we are anyway.”

“Be quiet, I’m thinking.”

“Finius, why? Why are you doing this?” Constance tried another tactic.

“I need you to bring Fitzroy to me.” He moved on the horse.

She licked her dry lips. “Which one?”

“Don’t play with me, milady. You know very well which one.”

“Nay,” Constance insisted.

“Brian,” he spat out.

“Finius, I am afraid you have erred. Brian Fitzroy will not come for me,” Constance lied.

“Bah, you think I know naught? You two are quite close.” He stiffened, then his entire body shook. “He shall pay twofold.”

“Finius.”

“I told you to be quiet.”

She ignored him. “Why do you hate him so? Is it because of Katherine?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the suddenly harder pelting of rain drops.

“Katherine was a fool,” Loutrant said. “She was never worth anything, yet she gained the attention of Fitzroy.”

“Why did you marry her?”

“Did you imagine I was given a choice?” Loutrant’s laugh was harsh and tinged with unmistakable bitterness. “We were both forced into the marriage. I was not ready to take a wife, but the man who raised me did not care about my consent.”

Constance frowned, picking up on his odd words about his father. “What do you mean?”

“Marriages are arranged, milady. Your own to Nicholas Fitzroy was one such as this.”

“Aye, but ‘twas not my meaning.” Constance adjusted her bound hands to make them more comfortable. “Your father…did you not care for him?”

Once more she felt him shake, then he stiffened.

“My
father
did not care for me. I told you to be quiet.”

“Finius, why don’t you tell me about him?” Constance asked, wondering at the strange way he had stressed father.

“Damn this rain!” Loutrant cursed.

“Mayhap we ought to wait out the storm somewhere,” Constance suggested. If she changed his plans even a little it might give her better opportunity.

“You think me a fool? Do not waste both of our time, Constance.”

“Tell me about your father, Finius,” she urged again, wanting him to keep talking. The distraction might give her the chance she needed.

“I do not want to speak of him.” His voice had gone flat.

“Was he a cruel man?”

“William Loutrant was beyond cruel,” he replied. “You’ve no idea what it was like.”

Though she could not see his face, the pain in his voice was unmistakable. If he’d been anyone but Loutrant she might have been moved.

“Why don’t you tell me? I’d like to know, Finius.”

“What good would it do to talk about it? I’ve tried to forget,” he said, all bitterness.

“Did he hit you?”

Loutrant laughed, a sick, twisted sound, void of any warmth. “If only that were all.”

Constance frowned. What did he mean? When she’d started this, she hadn’t really been interested in whatever Finius had to say, but now she was finding herself curious about him. Insanely so, she supposed, knowing how he might lash out at any moment.

“What else did your father do to you, Finius?”

“Don’t call him that,” Loutrant ground out. “William Loutrant was not my father.”

“I don’t understand.”

“All my life I wondered what I had done to deserve such a father. And then the truth came out.”

Constance heard him spit. “Which was?”

“When the old man gasped his last putrid breath he told me all of it,” Loutrant said. “He was not my father.”

Constance was speechless. William Loutrant had not been Finius’ father? Well, then who?

“Who Finius? Who was your real father?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“The storm’s easing up, milord,” the warrior announced, glancing up at Brian from his perch by the sacks of twigs and dirt.

Brian nodded. “At last. A few days of dry weather is what we’ll need now.” He shielded his gaze from the much lighter rain. He glanced back at the castle.

The warrior smiled. “I think we have everything under control here, milord, if you’d like to go back inside.”

Was he so easy to read?

Brian nodded, waved and headed for the double doors of the castle. He intended to seek out Constance for a long discussion of their future.

The Great Hall was still filled with villagers who had not yet been told it was safe to return to their homes. In fact, Brian decided it would be better for them to stay at least the night in the castle. In the morning it would be easier to assess the damage done to the cottages.

Because of the crowded area, the noise was nearly deafening. Brian winced against the sound of many voices speaking at once. For someone who’d spent many years in near solitude it was a strange experience.

He searched the many faces for a sign of Constance and was a little surprised not to find her among them. He had been so certain she would mingle with the villagers, offering them comfort. Frowning, Brian turned toward the stairs.

“My lord,” a woman called from behind him.

Brian greeted the villager. He did not know her name.

“Elaine, sir,” the woman said, blushing. She thrust a young red-haired lad of barely six years in front of her. “This is my son, Adam. We wanted to thank you for allowing us to seek shelter here.”

“No need to thank me. It is my duty as lord of the castle to see you are safe.”

Elaine smiled. “Maybe so, but we are still grateful.” She indicated her son with a tilting of her head in his direction. “I lost his father some time back now. I wasn’t sure how we would make it on our own but your own son told us not to worry and you wanted us to stay in the village.”

Brian hid his surprise. “He did?”

“Aye. What a relief it was not to have to find a new place to live,” Elaine said.

“I want to be a warrior,” Adam said, then lowered his gaze when his mother shushed him.

“I’m sorry, my lord. Adam speaks when he should not,” Elaine said. “I cannot afford to send him away for training.”

Brian smiled at the boy who blushed to the roots of his russet hair. “Well, mayhap in another year we can see about your training here at Fitzroy, hmm?”

Adam’s eyes grew wide with excitement and he nodded.

“‘Tis very kind of you, my lord,” the boy’s mother said, beaming a smile.

“‘Tis naught,” Brian said, he searched the crowd for Constance. He frowned. “Have you seen the lady Constance?”

“Nay, my lord,” Elaine replied. “Not today.”

“Aye, sir, I have seen her,” Adam spoke at the same time as his mother.

Brian and his mother both glanced at Adam.

“You saw her, Adam?” Elaine asked.

“Aye, Mother. She went with Myrna into the woods before the rains started.”

He didn’t like the sound of it. “Who is Myrna, Adam?” he demanded of the little boy.

“She’s a young girl in the village, my lord,” Elaine answered for her son. “Mayhap Myrna was fetching the lady for one of the villagers.”

“The village isn’t through the woods,” Brian whispered.

“My lord, is something wrong?” Elaine asked, clutching her son.

“I don’t know.”

Brian hurried away from the woman and her son and sought out one of his brothers. He didn’t see either Lucien or Stephen, but in the corner by a group of village women he spotted his son.

“Trevor,” he called.

Trevor excused himself from the captive audience with a disarming smile. “Aye, Father?”

“Have you seen your uncles?”

“Out in the storm by the village, aye, but not since we came back inside,” Trevor replied. He glanced at his father’s frown. “What is it?”

“Find them and meet me out in the courtyard as soon as possible,” Brian ordered, his heart leaping into his mouth. Something was dreadfully wrong. He knew it.

****

The scent of damp earth wafted to her nostrils, and Constance woke slowly. In the distance the piercing cry of a bird reached her ears. Glancing down, Constance realized she lay on a lumpy cot in a rather small, dismal looking cottage.

Struggling to sit up, Constance glanced around the one room dwelling. She winced at the sharp pain in her head and her fingers gingerly grazed the bump on her skull. Loutrant must have hit her.

The last Constance remembered she had been talking to Loutrant about his father. His real father. Or some allusion to it anyway. And then naught.

A single lit candle sat on a broken down table nearby, and it afforded the room little light. She was alone. Rising from the cot, Constance searched the room for any sign of a window. Not that she believed it would be so easy to escape from Loutrant.

On the right side of the cottage there was one small window she probably could squeeze through if an opportunity presented itself.

Constance crept silently to the door, and tried the handle. Not surprisingly, it did not give. She leaned against it, listening. No doubt Loutrant lurked outside or else some other guard. If not, he would have bound her.

She knew from peering out the window night would fall soon. Brian would know she was gone and would begin searching. Of course he would not know where to look. Constance didn’t even know where she was herself.

Recalling Brian’s words while they were held prisoner before by Loutrant, Constance knew she could rely only on herself for her rescue.

The door she leaned upon was not terribly heavy or thick, but still it was nearly impossible to hear any sounds. Did she hear the rumble of distant voices?

Lord, she was heartily sick of escaping from Loutrant. She sagged against the door for a moment, wondering if it was all worth it. When all was over, would she even have what she wanted? Constance did not know.

But she did know she would not just give up. She could not be a victim waiting to be rescued like Brian’s beloved Katherine. Constance knew she was not being fair to the woman, but she was past caring.

Constance straightened from the door and once more glanced around the room, looking for anything she could possibly use as a weapon.

The one room cottage was bare save for the cot, the old table and the candlestick. Loutrant was no fool.

She returned to the small window, peering out into the waning day. A few rather large trees blocked her view of anything more significant.

Constance growled and turned from the window. Eyeing the cot dispassionately, she threw herself down on it hard. Reaching down she felt along her right leg. Relief flooded her. The dagger she had decided to carry ever since learning Loutrant was likely alive was still there. Somehow the beast missed it.

A slight scratching at the door told Constance her captor had returned to check on her at last. She braced herself, waiting for him to open the door.

But when the door did open, Constance was not staring at Loutrant’s hateful face, but rather at a brown haired young man of no more than twenty.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Marcus,” he said, not meeting her gaze. He carried in his hand a small black sack. “I have brought you some food.”

“Marcus?” Constance repeated. “You’re his brother, are you not?”

He closed the door behind him and turned to face her. His gaze remained locked behind her. His skin was flushed red.

“Aye, half-brother. We share the same father.”

“I see,” Constance said. She shook her head wearily. “And he has ordered you to watch me, has he?”

Marcus winced. “Aye, I suppose so.” He turned a darker shade of red. “Are you comfortable?”

“I am being held against my will. Would you find it comforting?”

“I…” Marcus ran his hand through his hair and turned away for a moment.

Constance decided to ask him about his brother. “You and Finius share the same father?”

Marcus stole a glance in her direction. “Aye. William Loutrant raped my mother.” He looked down at the dirt floor. “He was feared by all.”

“Finius told me his father is not William Loutrant,” Constance whispered, watching Marcus. “Do you know why he would say such a thing?”

Marcus blinked, then stared, his mouth gaping open for just a moment. He quickly closed it and then said, “What?”

“So you do not know?”

“Nay,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “What is this? He said he was not his father?”

Constance wondered if Loutrant had made up his story, or at the very least lost his mind and invented a way to disconnect himself from the rest of the Loutrants.

“Mayhap it was just a tale,” Constance replied.

Marcus walked over to where she sat on the cot and crouched down. “Tell me. What did he say?”

“He wouldn’t really tell me much. Just William Loutrant was an abusive man and he wasn’t even really his father.”

Marcus licked his lips. “And how does he know this?”

“With his last breath he told Finius the truth,” Constance explained.

Marcus nodded, then leaned back on his heels. He bit his bottom lip, looking thoughtful.

“Marcus?”

He met her gaze at last and she could not mistake it. Gladness shown from his blue eyes.

“He is
not
my brother,” he whispered the words almost reverently.

“I don’t understand.”

Marcus clenched his fist and stood up. “Do you not? I am free. All this time I thought I had to do everything…” He broke off. “He has naught over me now.”

He dropped the small black sack and turned to the door.

“Marcus?”

“Do not worry, Lady Constance. I know you are afraid, but I am going for help,” he assured her.

“Why not take me with you now?” Constance exclaimed, quickly rising from the cot and heading for the door where he stood.

Marcus shook his head. “I dare not risk it. Finius is in the village right now, only a few paces away and is likely watching this door, so I dare not bring you with me. If he catches us both, all is lost.” He grabbed her hands. “Listen, he does not intend to keep you here. He plans to take you to a cottage he knows of by the sea. Not long ago, Finius took me there. There are many caves there; you may be able to hide in them until help arrives.”

“But how will I be able to get away?” Constance asked.

Marcus eyed the sack on the floor. “There are sleeping herbs in the bag. Use them. Farewell.”

He opened the door and disappeared into the growing darkness. Constance tried the door, but he had re-latched it.