Wild and Wicked (20 page)

Lowell of Clogwyn made Aunt Violet seem youthful. Collin had often wondered how his niece, Bronwyn, had been conceived and had speculated that Sir Spencer might be the girl’s father. Bronwyn looked so much like her mother, ’twas hard to tell, but he couldn’t imagine that the old man had the fortitude to sire a child.

“Are the men who rode with Devlynn safe?” Miranda asked.

“I know only what I have said,” Dennis admitted. He’d polished off his first portion and was cutting another slice of bread.

Miranda turned serious, worried eyes to her brother. “We must send troops to help.”

“And leave the castle defenseless? Nay,” Collin disagreed. “Our best men are with Devlynn. They will prevail.” With a glance to the hungry soldier, he added, “Did Devlynn ask for more men?”

“Nay.” Dennis shook his head. He ate heartily, piling meat and cheese upon his bread and washing each bite down with a swig from his mazer of wine.

“But we should send some troops to help,” Miranda insisted.

Collin wouldn’t budge. “Until he requests fresh soldiers, we will stay here and defend Black Thorn.”

Miranda didn’t argue any further but silently seethed, defiance sparking in her green eyes. That was the trouble with his sister, always thinking she knew more than he or Devlynn, which was ridiculous. For the love of St. Peter, she was a woman. A
woman
!

In a whisper of velvet Aunt Violet appeared in the archway near the base of the stairs. “Is there word of Devlynn?” she asked hopefully, as a serving girl scurried over the rushes carrying a second tray filled with boiled eggs and slices of winter apples. The girl deposited the tray on a table while a page appeared to refill each mazer.

Collin and the weary soldier climbed to their feet as Violet made her way into the room. She used a smooth walking stick to aid her balance, then dropped into a chair.

“Sir Dennis has come from Devlynn’s camp,” Collin said.

“Has he found Yale?” Her old eyes brightened at the prospect.

“Nay, m’lady.” Dennis plucked up an egg from the tray Miranda held for him, then plopped it into his mouth nearly swallowing it whole. “Not yet.”

“Oh.” Crestfallen, Violet sighed and pursed her lips. Her fingers linked together over the top of her walking stick. She was the eldest woman by far within the keep, yet she had no ailments other than a knee that twinged with the cold weather and a mind that sometimes betrayed her with spells of forgetfulness and fancifulness. Nervous fingers tapped against the knot at the top of her cane. “Has no word of ransom been brought here?”

“Nay.” Collin shook his head and settled back into his chair by the fire. A lad of eight or so brought in more wood and tossed a few mossy logs onto the iron dogs. Flames hissed and spat and smoke spewed up the chimney.

“The poor boy,” Violet thought aloud. “I hope he is all right . . . all that blood in his chamber.” She sighed and shook her head, small teeth pressing into her lower lip. “We must do something.”

“We can do nothing but wait,” Collin argued. “As I promised Devlynn.”

“’Tis enough to drive one mad, all this waiting,” Miranda complained.

“Devlynn will find his son.”

“If the boy’s alive.” A strand of Miranda’s hair had fallen from its braid, but she ignored the wayward curl and sipped from her cup, her eyes dark with worry.

“He is alive,” Violet said, tapping her cane on the cold stones of the floor. “He has to be.” But her eyes were troubled, her bravado slipping visibly, and she seemed to sink within the chair. The tapestries upon the wall appeared dull this day and even with the candles lit, the hall was gloomy.

Ever since the raid on Black Thorn, Collin had been tense, seeing the suspicion in the eyes of the servants and peasants, sensing the worry that troops would be called to war, aware that many within the castle walls didn’t trust him, had pledged their allegiance to Devlynn and considered Collin nothing more than a figure-head, a man incapable of ruling the keep.

Well, they were all wrong. Dead wrong.

“All we can do is pray,” Violet said, “and put our trust in the Father.”

Collin didn’t argue, but thought the old woman a twit.

Prayer had nothing to do with what would be the fate of Black Thorn.

 

The boy sat glowering at the fire, his back propped by a sack of supplies, his bound hands dropped between knees drawn nearly to his chin. “He’ll kill you, you know,” he said as he glowered at the fire where a rabbit and dove were roasting on a spit. “My father, he’ll kill you all.”

“You mustn’t think of it.” Apryll cast a glance over her shoulder. Payton, full into his cups, was adding wood to the fire, and settled on one knee, his attention, for a few seconds, averted.

He’d asked Apryll for another mazer of wine and she’d agreed, feigning disapproval and knowing this was her one chance for escape before the others in Payton’s band joined them. While Yale stared at the sizzling carcasses, Apryll turned her back to the fire and, using her body to cover her actions, hid the fact that she was rifling through the pouch Payton had left unguarded in a corner. Though the air within the drafty old building was cold, her fingers were sweaty, her skin prickling at the thought that she could be caught any second.

She found the vial and retrieved it, pulled out the stopper and poured the clear liquid into Payton’s empty mazer. Then she filled the cup with wine and sent up a quick prayer that the concoction had no taste, for as drunk as her brother was, he might discern a change in flavor and toss the wine out before downing it.

“Where the devil are they?” Payton growled. “We can wait here only another hour and then we must be off.”

Mother Mary, help me
, she silently prayed, pouring water from her cup into the vial, stopping it and dropping it into the pouch again before glancing over her shoulder. Her hands sweated and every muscle in her body was tightly drawn.

“The longer we tarry here, the more likely Devlynn and his troops will arrive.” Nervously Payton plowed stiff fingers through his hair. “Christ Jesus, what could have happened?”

“Mayhap they were captured.”

“Yes, that’s it!” Yale cried. “My father found them and beheaded them all!”

“Enough!” Payton snapped. “I’m sick to death of hearing about your father. ‘My father this, my father that.’ Well, where is he, eh? He hasn’t shown up here, has he?”

“He will.”

“Oh, for the love of bloody Christ! Have you got that wine?” he demanded of Apryll just as she turned with the doctored cup.

“Aye, but I think you should only have one more,” she said, hoping to sound stern and disapproving so that Payton wouldn’t change his mind. “This is no time to lose your wits in drink.”

Adjusting his breeches, Payton cast a glance around the bleak room and sent her a mistrustful look. “I’ll drink as much as I like.”

“But we both need to keep our minds about us,” she argued, lifting the mazer to her lips. “Mayhap I should drink this last one. You’ve had enough.”

“’Tis not for you to say,” he argued and crossed the room swiftly.

“But, we have the boy to think of—”

“He’s fine.” Payton cast a glance at Yale and a smile of satisfaction stole across his beard-darkened face. “You just need a meal in you, don’t you, boy?” he asked.

“What I need is to be unbound.” Yale held up his fists, stretching the leather manacle taut.

“In time. All in time.” Payton snatched the cup from her fingers and glared down at her suspiciously. “Bloody ingrate. I give the lad a new adventure, and what does he do? Complain.” He laughed, took a swallow, and Apryll held her breath as his brows slammed together. “What be this?” he muttered, running his tongue over his lips and frowning. “The wine—”

“Would you rather have water?”

He snorted and scowled into his drink.

“Can we not eat now?” the boy cut in, glaring darkly at Payton through a fringe of shaggy hair that had fallen over his brows.

“In a minute,” Payton growled.

“If I eat not now, I’ll surely starve and die and then my father will—”

“Stop it! Didn’t I just tell you I’m sick to death of hearing about your damned father?” Payton swore roundly and Apryll, hoping to stay his anger, stepped in.

“Don’t bother yourself with the boy. I’ll handle him.”

“Will you now? What of all that talk of taking him back to his father?”

“’Twould be impossible. I hate to admit it, brother, but you’re right. Devlynn of Black Thorn would slit our throats in a minute if we did not have something to bargain with and the boy is his weakness.”

“He’s not weak!” Yale cried, standing, his face red with indignation.

“Just do as Payton says,” Apryll told Devlynn’s son, hoping her brother wouldn’t see through her ruse. “You are our prisoner now.”

“You’re as bad as he.”

Her heart stung but she managed a cool smile. “Mayhap he’s as bad as I am, for I’m the ruler of Serennog.” Was it her imagination or did she see a gleam of something unholy in her brother’s eye? “He does what I say.”

“’Twas your idea to kidnap me?” the boy asked, disbelieving.

“Nay. But now that it’s done, I understand the wisdom of it. Be good and no one will harm you.”

“And if I’m not?” he asked boldly. Oh, he was a brave one. So much like his father.

“Do not even consider it,” she said in her sternest voice. She had to convince both her brother and the boy that she intended to keep the son of Black Thorn hostage. “Do as you’re told and all will be well.”

Payton’s eyes narrowed. Obviously he didn’t believe her quick change of heart, but the boy was more gullible.

“Then my father will kill you as well. And then . . . and then he’ll gut you and roast you like that rabbit and cut off your head and . . . and he’ll feed you to the vultures and—”

“Enough!” Payton finished his wine in one swallow. “The lad makes my head ache. Give him something to eat.” Then, with a devious, self-satisfied smile, he walked to the corner near the wine jug, retrieved his pouch and withdrew the vial. Apryll’s heart thudded. Dear Lord, would he see that she’d double-crossed him? “And I have something special for you, boy,” Payton said.

“What?” Yale asked suspiciously.

“A little wine.” He filled the mazer again and winked at Apryll, who held her breath as he dumped the contents of the vial into Yale’s drink. “Now, a toast to our success,” he said, slurring his words. “And to Serennog.”

“I want nothing from you,” Yale spat. Shaking a small, manacled fist, he refused to drink. He kicked at a tiny pebble, shooting it into the fire. Sparks erupted and wafted up what was left of the chimney. Overhead the owl flapped his great wings and a few feathers fell, like long, drifting flakes of snow, from the rafters.

“Drink.”

“I’ll not!”

“Listen, boy, you’ll do as I say.”

The heir to Black Thorn leaped to his feet. “No.”

Payton’s fingers touched the hilt of his knife.

“Come, Yale, be not unreasonable,” Apryll suggested quickly. “A little wine with the rabbit and fowl would not hurt.”

“But—”

“If you don’t do as I say,” Payton cut in, “you’ll go hungry, for we ride after we eat. We can wait no longer. The rest of the men will have to catch up.”

“You would leave them?” Apryll asked.

“I have no choice. No doubt by now Black Thorn is tracking you with that dog of his. So we eat and break camp,” he said around a yawn. “By the saints, I’m tired.” He stretched, then poured himself another drink and Apryll, after cutting up the charred rabbit, offered a leg to Yale. Upon prodding the boy actually sipped from his mazer, satisfying Payton, who sat near the fire, gnawing on a dove’s wing and tossing the bone into the fire.

“So, this be not a game?” the boy clarified as he bit into the meat.

“No. ’Tis very serious,” she said.

“Do you plan to kill me?”

“Never!” Apryll was emphatic.

“Of course we will, if you don’t hold your tongue,” Payton said, yawning and blinking hard as if trying to stay awake, while the boy sucked the meat from the small bones and took a second piece of meat.

“Then you are a thief,” he accused Apryll. “And a murderess.”

“She killed no one.” Payton was stretching out in front of the fire and yawning.

“But she is the ruler, did she not say so? It was on her word that people were killed.”

“Bloody hell, what does it matter who did what?” Payton snapped. “You are the prisoner. That is all you need to know. Now, quiet down. We’ll all rest for a few minutes and then we’ll break camp.” He turned a groggy eye on the boy. “Sleep. You’ll need it.”

“’Tis the middle of the day.”

“And we will ride long into the night.”

“Payton is right. You should rest.”

“But I be not tired.”

“You will be . . .”—Payton’s brow furrowed—“or you should be . . .” And then, as if he’d finally understood what was happening as the boy hadn’t become drowsy from his wine: “By the gods . . . Apryll . . . you did not . . . you would not have . . .” He looked into his mazer, then over the rim at his sister. “If you have betrayed me, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

“I would no more turn against you than you would against me,” she said and he seemed as if he wanted to argue further, but the potion took hold and within seconds he was sleeping soundly, snoring like an old man, not knowing that the Lord of Black Thorn, from his hiding place on the other side of the rotting walls, had heard every word.

Devlynn tightened the cinch on Phantom’s saddle. Then, assured that all the horses were ready for a long ride, he coiled his fingers around the hilt of his sword in a death grip. Noiselessly he slunk through the gray drizzle and around the perimeter of the old inn to the entrance where a door hung open. Weapon drawn, he slipped inside, where a fire blazed and the smell of seared meat was heavy in the air.