Sharon Lanergan (3 page)

Chapter Three

Constance looked up hopefully from her embroidery when Stephen approached her. She sat by the hearth, as close as she could. She was always cold these days. Ever since being held by Loutrant. She pushed aside the thought.

Stephen shook his head, his gaze defeated.

Constance stabbed her finger but barely noticed the sting. She set the tapestry aside.

“He will not come down?”

Stephen straddled the bench she sat upon. “Nay. I did not ask. He is as stubborn as before.”

“You must keep trying. All of you.”

Stephen snorted. “Telford has tried many times. Everyone has. He barely tolerates me.”

She knew they had all tried, but she would not despair. Brian was worth the effort. Even if he was not for her.

“What of Trevor? Can you not convince him to go to his father?”

Stephen sighed and rested his head in his hands. “He is his father’s son, Constance. He refuses to have anything to do with Brian since they have returned. Trevor is as stubborn as his father.”

“‘Tis so unfair,” she lamented. “Once I had not seen a family so close as the Fitzroys and now, I have not seen a family so far apart.”

“That is what Loutrant does. He destroys.” Stephen winced and took her hands in his. “I am sorry. I did not intend to mention that vile name. Pray forgive me.”

Constance squeezed his hands. “No one knows what he is capable of more than I, except mayhap my dear Brian. You do not need to watch your words around me. In fact, please do not.”

“Very well,” Stephen agreed. “I wish Nick were here. He would know what to do with Brian and Trevor.”

Constance smiled. “Aye, he would. But you know he and Marion are trying to make Loutrant’s former castle into their home.”

“And they have the babe on the way.”

“Exactly so. I am afraid this time we must try to help ourselves, Stephen, without Nick.”

Stephen’s warm cinnamon colored eyes narrowed suddenly, as though something had just occurred. “Con, why don’t you speak to him?”

“M-Me?” Constance backed away from him on the bench. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Why not? No one else has been able to get through. And you were in the prison with him.”

Constance stared at her pricked finger. “But he ran from me this very morning.”

“If you go to his room he can’t very well run,” Stephen pointed out.

“Are you suggesting I go to a man’s chamber alone?”

“Not a man…Brian’s.” Stephen shook his head and touched her raven hair. “Brian isn’t going to do anything. And we’re your family. We’re not likely to think ill of you for it.”

Constance bit her lip. “I don’t want to upset him or make him angry.”

“I’m not saying it will be easy to reach him. I don’t know if you will get through any better than the rest of us, but don’t you think it is worth a try? You reached him in the dungeon, didn’t you?”

“That was different, Stephen. Surely you must realize.”

Stephen studied her silently for a few moments. Constance bravely held his gaze.

“You aren’t afraid of Brian, are you?”

Constance denied it. “Not the way you think.”

“Please?”

Constance knew she could refuse the Fitzroys nothing. Especially Brian.

“I will go,” she agreed at last. She stood and placed a chaste kiss on Stephen’s forehead. Ignoring the fluttering of her stomach, she quit the Great Hall and went up the stairs to Brian’s room.

Not a sound came from within and no light either. For a moment, she decided not to knock. He probably slept, Constance convinced herself. She did not want to disturb him.

“Is someone there?”

Constance jumped, for Brian’s voice came from directly on the other side of the door. He was close.

She touched the door. Spread her fingers out, almost as a caress.

“‘Tis only I.”

Only silence greeted her. She thought he would speak no more and would ignore her even if she did knock.

Then the door slowly creaked open.

Six months earlier, Loutrant Castle

“I have brought your meal,” Constance whispered to the wretched prisoner. She glanced back over her shoulder at the leering guard, Owen. He closed the door to the cell with a large thud.

The poor soul in the corner shifted on the stones. He made no other sound. Constance took a step forward. As bad as she had it, at least she was not being kept in such a horrible, dark place.

“Sir?”

He groaned. A ghastly, pain-filled sound.

Constance hurried forward, her trepidation forgotten. She thrust the trencher on the floor and knelt beside the man.

“You are hurt,” she whispered, noticing the freshly clotted blood on the corner of his mouth.

“‘Tis naught but a scratch,” the man croaked out.

“He did this to you, didn’t he?” Constance used the sleeve of her gown to gently wipe his mouth.

The prisoner merely nodded.

“For what reason?” Constance asked. She was afraid Loutrant had made good his earlier threat and had punished this poor wretch for her tears.

“Loutrant needs no reason, Constance.” He pushed her hand away. “You should not help me. It will only anger him.”

“I do not care. Where else did he hurt you?”

“It does not matter.”

“Of course it matters, sir.” Constance felt his forehead. Her fingers slid over a large lump. “He hit you here?”

“I think that’s from when my head hit the floor, actually.”

Constance gasped. “You poor man.”

He grabbed her hand again. “Don’t. I do not want sympathy or pity. It will only make it worse for me.”

“Worse? Why?”

“I have forgotten tenderness, Constance. It no longer exists for me.” He squeezed her hand and then released it. “I do not want it back.”

“Mayhap you do not,” Constance said, reaching for his hands and clasping them in hers. “But I have not forgotten it and I do want it.”

“How long have you been his prisoner?”

A hot tear spilled onto her cheek. “This is the fourth day.”

The man raised his hand briefly and for a moment Constance thought he meant to touch her cheek, but he dropped it again.

“When you have been here as long as I have you no longer know the days and nights nor the weeks and months. Even the years pass without your knowing.”

Constance held her breath, waiting for him to finish.

“And eventually emotions such as tenderness, love, happiness, laughter, they disappear. At first they are naught but a memory until even that is taken from you.”

He laughed sharply, almost cruelly. Constance flinched.

“It might be all right, except you never lose your anger or your fear. Or sorrow. They stay with you until they haunt you.”

The man leaned his head back until it touched the wall and closed his eyes.

Constance opened her mouth to say something, anything, she didn’t know what. But the door to the cell opened abruptly and Owen called for her to leave.

****

Autumn, Fitzroy Castle

Constance stared into the darkness of Brian’s room. She was not ready to enter his lair, but not ready to give up on him either.

She felt his presence. He was there somewhere, beyond the door.

Gathering her courage, Constance took the first step into the room. After all, she did not fear him, she reminded herself. He was not Loutrant.

Once fully inside, she realized the room was not completely dark. One of the windows had the fur pulled slightly back.

“My lord? Brian?” Constance called, uncertain of his whereabouts.

“Here,” he said after a moment.

She squinted, and saw him, just beyond the second window, only an outline. A mere shadow.

“My lord,” Constance admonished, deciding to take the motherly approach. “You need some more light.”

“There is a wall sconce to your left.”

The rich, alluring voice offering so much comfort in Loutrant’s castle was gone. His voice seemed hollow now, lifeless.

Strange. He cared more for her when they were both prisoners.

Constance lit the sconce and turned back to face him. Brian now stood just a few feet from her. She resisted the urge to cry out.

His mahogany hair stood on end. Under his intensely almost black eyes were dark circles, and the eyes themselves had a hazy, not quite there, cast to them.

Dressed as he was before in a brown jerkin and breeches, his white undershirt was askance. He swayed slightly on his feet.

His masculine beauty made her heart ache, but that beauty lay dormant behind a mask of gloom and depravity.

“Brian, you have been drinking,” Constance accused.

“You’ve noticed.” He gestured to the empty wine bottle on the small table in the room. “Rather heavily, actually.”

Constance frowned. She opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of his drinking.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Brian said. “You don’t belong here.”

She closed her mouth, thoughts of railing at him for drink flying from her mind. He still did not want to talk to her. It was plain enough. She ought to scurry from the room before she got burned.

Once, Constance did what she ought to and nothing more. Before Loutrant.

“You don’t belong here either,” she said softly. “Sit down, my lord. I want to have a normal conversation with you.”

“We don’t know what normal is, you and I.” But despite his coolly spoken words, Brian took the chair by the small table. He peered anxiously at the empty bottle.

“I’ll not bring you more,” Constance told him. She sat on the small wood bench on the other side of the table.

“I’ll save us both the trouble,” Brian said after a moment of heavy silence. “You’ve been sent up here to try and talk to me. I have naught to say.”

Constance shook her head. “It is so easy for you to just dismiss us, isn’t it?”

Brian tapped his long fingers on the table. She was drawn to the light dusting of hair on his large hand. His midnight eyes darkened, but he did not respond.

“I know you do not care about anyone, my lord, but the rest of us do not feel that way. We do care about you.”

Constance could resist no longer. She covered his hand with hers. A jolt of pure awareness sent a shiver through her. When his gaze flared with some unknown emotion, she was certain Brian would pull his hand away.

He did not.

He turned his hand over until her fingers touched his palm. The warmth there surprised her. His fingers closed around hers and Constance lost all ability to think.

Then abruptly, Brian disengaged his hand from hers. Constance was left with her hand resting on the table alone. She felt foolish.

“You are wrong,” Brian said quietly. “It isn’t that I do not care. None of it matters.”

“But it does matter. We are never going to get past this if we don’t talk about it,” Constance insisted.

He tilted his head, studied her, saw into her, she supposed.

“We?”

Constance pulled back. “I meant you. You are never going to get past this.”

Don’t say too much
, she reprimanded herself.

“Come to the meal this evening, my lord,” Constance urged.

Brian was already shaking his head.

“Please. I promise there won’t be a lot of people. I will make sure it is only the family.”

“I don’t …”

“Brian, please.” Constance didn’t know what else to do, so she knelt in front of him and grasped his hands in hers before he could pull away. The same tingle shivered through her, but this time she forced it away.

Brian blinked, his eyes turning an ever darker shade.

She knew he hesitated still. She squeezed his hands. His gaze dropped to their joined fingers.

“Very well, I will go,” he agreed, his voice void of any emotion. “But only the family, no one else.”

“Yes, I promise.” Constance smiled, her heart lifting and pounding frantically.

It was a small victory, she conceded, but it was hard won.

Chapter Four

Brian watched the servants remove the tub from his chamber. A rare indulgence to bathe privately. He didn’t know why he’d bothered cleaning up. Something in the way Constance pleaded with him, he guessed. Shaking his head, he turned back to choosing his clothes.

He was through with women. Dallying with them had been his weakness. Loving one not belonging to him his downfall.

Yet he cleaned up for Constance. Brian gritted his teeth and yanked a black jerkin and breeches from his wardrobe. He hadn’t really changed much, had he? At least in that respect.

The family.

Would his son be included? Since Trevor had been rescued and brought home, Brian hadn’t seen him.

Trevor, too, had been abducted by Loutrant, and placed next to his father. During their mutual confinement, they’d talked at length. Until Trevor learned the truth of his identity. Then, his son had stopped talking.

It almost amused Brian. Trevor, it seemed, was more like him than he imagined.

Brian probably should have made an effort to speak with Trevor since his son recovered from the injuries he’d sustained at Loutrant’s hands. But he had not.

Brian grimaced and quickly dressed. Pulled on his boots. And continued to sit on the bed. He should go down. It must be time, yet he lingered. He needed a drink, but there didn’t seem to be any in his room.

He buried his face in his hands. A mistake. He shouldn’t have agreed to go down. It was just impossible.

Hadn’t he only agreed to please Constance? And why did he care anyway? If he never went down, what could they do about it? They wouldn’t force him.

A brief, sharp tap on his door was the only warning he had before it abruptly opened.

Brian looked up. He was glad he was sitting.

Dressed resplendently in a green velvet gown matching her eyes, her unbound raven hair a cascade of ringlets, stood Constance. Her cheeks slightly pink, she beamed the most extraordinary smile, showing him twin dimples on either side of her mouth.

It literally hurt him to look upon her. Lord, her beauty could fell a man much stronger than he.

“Come, my lord,” her husky voice cajoled. “I’ve come to fetch you for supper.”

“Constance.” Brian shook his head.

“No arguments, sir.” She came forward, the swish of her gown as she swayed captivating him strangely. “You made me a promise. You will stick to it.”

Brian eyed her outstretched hand almost as though it were some hideous insect. At the moment, he decided, it may as well be. His consciousness screamed in protest of going down to the meal.

Shaking his head once more, Brian placed his hand in hers and allowed her to pull him to his feet. She threaded her warm fingers through his cold ones.

“Was that so difficult, my lord?” Constance asked, arching an elegant black brow.

“You’ve no idea,” Brian assured her. He stared down at her jewel green eyes. “Lead me on, my lady.”

****

Constance had accomplished the impossible. He was coming down to dine with them.

He almost hadn’t.

While she dressed, picking out her most beautiful gown, the sense Brian would never come out of his room despite his promise had overwhelmed her. She decided to fetch him.

She tucked her hand into the crook of his almost painfully thin arm.

Once, all those years ago when he was the most handsome man her young eyes had seen, he had been beautiful, with muscular arms and legs. She knew he could get his strength back again if only he tried.

He’d had a bath. He looked better already. The circles lingered under his eyes, though. The dreams. They still haunted them.

Brian stopped in the hallway. Trying to think of an excuse, mayhap?

“What is it?” Constance asked.

“I only wondered.” Brian shook his head. “‘Tis naught.”

“What?”

“Will Trevor be there?”

Constance tried desperately to keep her face impassive. She did not want to hurt Brian. But the truth was when Trevor learned his father would be coming down he refused to attend.

Brian helped up his hand. “Never mind. I know the answer already.”

The raw pain she glimpsed before he hid it once more pierced her.

“It would be better if I returned to my chamber. Then, Trevor could join his family as he should. He belongs here, not I.”

“Nay, it is not true.” Constance grabbed him by the shoulders before he could move away, down the hall the short distance to his room. “We all want you here. And this is your castle. You are lord here.”

“An accident of birth merely,” Brian said, his lips twisted.

Constance opened her mouth on a retort, but the crunch of the rushes behind her drew her attention. She started to turn around. Brian thrust her behind him.

“Easy, Brian,” Lucien called out, approaching them. “It’s only me.”

“Luc,” Constance exclaimed cheerfully, hoping to put Brian at ease. She put a calming hand on Brian’s back. He shuddered and released her.

Constance embraced Brian’s brother.

Lucien kissed her cheek. “Didn’t mean to frighten you two. You looked rather intense.”

“‘Twas naught. I didn’t know you’d returned from helping Nick.” Constance tweaked a lock of his hair.

“Only just this afternoon,” Lucien told her. He turned to Brian and, without giving his brother a chance to refuse, pulled him into a tight embrace. “I didn’t know you were up and about, Brian.”

“I’m not.” Brian’s tone was cool, rough.

Lucien frowned, obviously confused. “But…”

“We’ll be down to dine in a moment, Luc,” Constance broke in hurriedly. She wanted to forestall any trouble Brian intended to start. She recognized the combative look in his midnight eyes.

Lucien nodded. “Very well. I will see you both in a moment.”

Constance waited until Lucien had disappeared around the corner leaning to the stairs before she turned back to Brian. His expression had not changed. His gaze narrowed.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Constance admonished. “You are not going to use that little minor incident to go back into your room.”

“Minor? I jumped like a woman at the arrival of my own brother,” Brian sneered.

Constance stomped her foot. “You’ve been looking for an excuse to get out of this since I forced you into agreement, haven’t you? Lord, you are stubborn.”

She stepped close and stood on her tiptoes, the better to look him right in the eye.

“I have news for you, Brian Fitzroy; I am yet more stubborn than you. You
are
coming down.”

He opened his mouth. Constance knew he was about to protest.

She touched two fingers to his lips to stop him. His breath stilled. Then resumed after a sharp intake. Her fingers curved, stroked his bottom lip.

Constance lowered her gaze to his mouth, to her fingers caressing there. She felt him stiffen, recognized his withdrawal. Cursed herself for it.

Constance dropped her hand from him and stepped back, then aside. She gestured to the end of the hall.

“Well, my lord, after you.”

****

Loutrant Castle, Six Months Earlier

“Wake up!”

Brian woke with a start. The words had been shouted directly into his ear. He shook his head, trying to rid it of the ringing pain.

His tormentor stepped on his right hand. Brian quickly snatched it away.

“Morning, Fitzroy,” Loutrant snarled. “Sleep well?”

Brian eyed the tall blond man who’d kept him prisoner all these years. He looked particularly happy with himself. Not usually a good sign.

The door of his cell opened and Owen came in carrying a sturdy wood bench. He placed it directly in front of Brian in his corner and without a glance in Brian’s direction the guard withdrew and closed the heavy door with a loud thud.

Loutrant sat down on the bench with his arms crossed, staring down at Brian.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Brian asked dryly.

Loutrant smiled wolfishly. “Indeed, it is a great pleasure. I thought I’d come tell you about my latest prisoner.”

Brian shifted slightly in his corner, careful not to jar anything.

“Why would you think I would care?”

“Well,” Loutrant said, stretching out and linking his boots within inches of Brian. “It concerns your family so I thought you might be interested.”

“My…family?” The hair on Brian’s nape bristled.

Loutrant smirked. “As I said, I thought you might be interested. But mayhap you no longer care. You always have been a heartless, selfish bastard.”

“What about my family?” Brian demanded.

“You have seen the young woman I have bringing your meals to you?” Loutrant clucked his tongue. “Do you not know who she is?”

Brian wracked his brain. Constance? He didn’t remember anyone named Constance. He tried to remember.

Loutrant steepled his fingers and leaned forward until his face was very close to Brian.

“Does the name Portnoy mean anything to your fevered brain?”

For a moment it didn’t. He’d spent so long blocking out any memories of his former life. It took time for him to remember.

Portnoy
. His father, Hugh, had a commander in his army named James Portnoy. Constance. Of course. He remembered now. When last he’d seen her she was a little girl. Still was, really.

“Bastard,” Brian said, regretting the ill spoken word as soon as it was out of his mouth. He would pay for that.

But to his surprise Loutrant laughed. He straightened. “Ah, so you do recall. Excellent.”

“What do you want with the little girl?” Brian growled.

“She amuses me,” Loutrant replied. “But wait, there’s more.”

Brian eyed him warily. Every word Loutrant spoke already made him sick.

“Apparently it was her father’s dying wish she marry your brother, Nicholas. But dear Constance had other ideas. She gave her love to a wandering minstrel instead.”

The gleeful way he spoke gave Brian the information he needed.

“You. You were the minstrel.”

“Alas, I was.” Loutrant clapped his hands together. “It was ridiculously easy, actually.”

“And now you use her as a pawn in this, this,” Brian stopped at a loss for words. “Whatever you call this.”

“This is life for the Fitzroys. I will do all I can to see they suffer,” Loutrant assured him.

“They have nothing to do with this. I am the one you want to hurt.”

Loutrant stood up. “And hurting them…hurts you. I am your own personal Hell, Fitzroy.” He reached down and picked up the bench. “If I have it my way, you will live to be a very old and lonely madman.”