Wild and Wicked (21 page)

Payton was sleeping soundly, his body stretched in front of the grate, his mouth hanging open. Apryll, still wearing the huntsman’s clothes, had her back to him as she bent over his son, adjusting Yale’s bonds. Devlynn crept in the shadows, easing closer, and she didn’t notice, but the boy, peering around her slim hips, started to speak. His gray eyes sparkled and his mouth curved into a triumphant smile.

With a quick, silent shake of his head, Devlynn, moving silently as a lion after prey, pressed a finger to his lips and Yale understood, immediately shutting his mouth and shifting his attention to the woman working with the straps surrounding his wrists.

But she’d already caught his change of expression and turned, just as Devlynn crossed the room and grabbed her from behind. She started to scream. His free hand clamped over her mouth. His other arm still holding his sword, fastened securely over her waist.

“Not a word,” he breathed into her ear as she stiffened and struggled, fighting him tooth and nail. The scent of her reached his nostrils and the position of her backside, drawn so close and thrashing wildly, threatened to arouse him. With a nod over her shoulder, Devlynn met Yale’s gaze and hitched his chin toward the doorway. Yale shot to his feet and dashed toward the door while Devlynn struggled to drag Apryll with him. He backed toward the opening, his gaze nailed on Payton, the bastard, sleeping as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

Wrong
, Devlynn thought as Apryll struggled. “If you do not come quietly, lady,” he warned in a deadly whisper, “I swear I will slay your brother as he sleeps.”

She bucked, writhing and twisting, trying to bite through his glove.

Devlynn’s grip tightened. “You seal his fate. He’s already killed some of my men and kidnapped my boy. Do you think I would not enjoy running him through?”

At that she stopped fighting him and he was able to draw her out of the smoky dark cave of a building and into the winter-cold air where Yale, still rubbing his wrists, was waiting.

“Untie me,” he ordered his father.

“You do it,” Devlynn said to Apryll, for he wasn’t loosening his hold upon her. Not yet. “Set him free.”

Thankfully she didn’t refuse. Without any show of rebellion she unknotted the leather straps surrounding Yale’s small wrists and within seconds he was free. Yale grinned widely as he rubbed the skin of his wrists and shook his hands to get the blood flowing again. “I knew you would come,” he said to his father. “Even when I thought ’twas only a game, I knew you would rescue me. I told them so.”

“Shh! This is no time to crow,” Devlynn cautioned. “There are others to worry about.” His ears strained, for he thought he’d caught the sound of hoofbeats gathering speed, but he heard nothing now. ’Twas only his imagination getting the better of him. “Now, Yale, you must help me if we are to escape.”

“Aye, Father.” The boy was suddenly sober. Intent.

“Good. Bind the lady’s hands. Use the leather straps that she removed from your wrists.”

Apryll shook her head and jerked against him.

“Do I have to warn you again?” Devlynn growled, wrestling her and clenching his jaw, for the feel of her back and buttocks against his body heated his blood and his thoughts were turned from the moment to memories of touching her late at night—hot skin against fevered flesh. Angry with himself, he added, “’Tis not too late to go back. Mayhap it’s time to send Payton’s pathetic soul straight to hell.” Her resistance melted. She stopped fighting.

Somehow it was a hollow victory.

“You want me to tie her?” Yale asked, reluctance heavy in his voice, as if he couldn’t believe his father would order him to bind a lady.

“Yes. Now! Quickly.” Again he thought he heard the muffled sound of hooves trampling the forest floor. The dog sensed it, too. Her nose was to the wind, her eyes locked toward the forest to the south; she growled low in her throat and the fur behind her ears raised.

The boy did as he was bid. Apryll twisted her pretty neck so that she could skewer Devlynn with a gaze filled with pure loathing.

“Now, you watch her—here.” Devlynn handed his son his sword. “And if she so much as moves, shout to me.” His gaze held the self-righteous fury in hers. “Do not cross me,” he admonished as he ducked quickly into the inn.

Her heart thundered. Did he mean to go against his word and slay her brother? No matter what crimes Payton had committed, Apryll couldn’t stand the thought of Payton being murdered as he slept. Though Devlynn had left his sword with the boy, he had only to use a knife he’d hidden upon himself, or Payton’s own weapon. She took a step after him, but Yale blocked her way.

“Do not make me call him,” the boy suggested. “’Twould be a mistake.”

“Not my first,” she said, ignoring his sword.

“Father!” the boy cried as she swept into the old building and found Devlynn with Payton’s sword at her brother’s neck. “Wake up,” he ordered.

Payton, on his back in front of the fire, groaned in his sleep.

Devlynn nudged him with the toe of his boot. “Rise, cur!”

“He can’t!” Apryll was soon across the room and kneeling at her brother’s side. “I put a potion into his drink, the same drug that he gave Yale on the night he was kidnapped.”

“Why?”

“Because I was trying to get the boy back to you. Without any more bloodshed.”

Yale appeared in the doorway. “Horsemen approach.”

“Damn!” Devlynn drew back his sword, but Apryll flung herself on her brother.

“Kill him and you’ll never know who within your keep betrayed you.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. He turned away from her brother. “Hurry!” he ordered Yale. “Run to the other side of the creek. There is a horse waiting!” He grabbed Apryll roughly and pulled her toward the door.

Glimpses of men astride racing horses flashed through the barren trees and drizzling rain. Hard faces etched with determination were close enough that Devlynn recognized his captain of the guard. Rudyard, riding hard, was following the lead of a man Devlynn didn’t recognize, a tall man on a reddish horse.

Traitor!
A man he’d trusted with his men, to guard his family. A dark-hearted Judas. And only the first of many.

“Now,” he said, pulling Apryll toward the horses he’d already saddled. He forced her onto the destrier she’d stolen just as he heard shouts over the thunder of hoofbeats tearing through the forest.

With the reins of Apryll’s mount in his fist, Devlynn vaulted onto the gray’s back. Phantom bolted. The dog followed. Icy water splashed upward as the horse plunged into the swirling current. Devlynn glanced over his shoulder and saw Apryll, wrists bound, clinging to the pommel of her saddle to stay astride. Nose lifted, her horse trailed the gray.

Rebellious gold eyes clashed with his for a heartbeat. Devlynn spurred his mount on. If the lady of Serennog was foolish enough to fling herself into the icy water and hard stones, so be it.

Phantom scrambled up the rocky bank and Devlynn’s arm felt as if it would be ripped from its socket as Apryll’s horse balked. He yanked hard on the reins and the brown horse plunged up the embankment, white-stockinged hooves flinging mud. The dog caught up with them and shot forward through the stark trees. Birds squawked and scattered, rain dripped from the gray skies and behind him he heard shouts.

No doubt they’d been spotted.

He urged Phantom ever faster and spied Yale upon the black steed. The boy was already heading south along the path and smiled triumphantly as Devlynn caught up with him.

“Home?” Yale asked, and Devlynn, his heart swelling with pride for his courageous, reckless son, nodded.

“Fast. As if Satan himself is on our heels.”

Yale grinned widely. “Hiya!” he shouted, leaning forward as the black shot ahead.

Devlynn followed, his eyes scanning the horizon in all directions, for, though the boy seemed not to know it, his words were not idle. The Lord of Black Thorn was certain that, in the guise of Payton or other traitors he’d not yet identified, Lucifer himself was searching for them, intent on dragging them both through the portals of hell.

 

Horses.

She heard horses.

Dozens of them from the sounds of it.

From the knoll, Geneva looked through the bare trees and saw riders approaching a sagging, weathered building where she sensed Payton was hidden. Alive.
Oh, love,
she thought, her heart aching,
the sins I have committed for you.
She had to face him, to tell him she’d lied. But all the horses and soldiers—they were a ragtag bunch, led by a man with an unfamiliar face.

The hairs on the back of her neck raised and she feared for Payton’s life. But before the soldiers reached the old building in the weed-choked clearing, she heard a shout.

“Hurry!”

It came from a tall, dark-haired man . . . the baron of Black Thorn . . . she’d seen him in her visions, for he was the death of her beloved Payton, the devil incarnate, the man she’d agreed to help destroy.

He was holding a sword in one hand and dragging Apryll out of the inn. A boy raced across the creek as the lord threw his captive onto the back of a sleek brown horse, then climbed astride a gray destrier and escaped across an icy stream just as the soldiers, shouting and milling, seeming about to give chase, burst into the clearing.

Payton
. Her heart froze.
Where was he?
She had the sense that he still lived and yet would the beast of Black Thorn leave him alive?

Nay.
Her heart froze in fear and she started toward the ancient building. Mayhap her vision was muddled, or perhaps she’d angered the gods that had given her the curse of her “sight” by lying. Could she be wrong? Even now, was Payton lying in a pool of his own blood, mortally wounded by Devlynn of Black Thorn?

On wooden legs she began to run, faster and faster, down the knoll, through the trees, ignoring the brambles that tore at her gown or the rain that dripped from the sky and spattered her face, dripping down her neck in freezing rivulets.

No!
She thought.
He can’t be dead.

She stumbled, her ankle wrapped by a vine, but she caught herself, hands splaying in the mud. Nausea rose quickly, her stomach churning from the lack of food and sleep.

Sweat poured out of her forehead despite the cold. She retched. Violently. Emptying the bit of juices from her gut, leaving her feeling weak. Yet she pushed herself upright and as the nausea faded, she made her way through the forest to the clearing.

The horses were now free of riders. Men’s voices sifted through the cracks in the walls.

“Bloody Christ, wake up, will ya?”

“Where’s the boy? Bloody hell, did he get away as well?”

“What happened here?”

“Wake up!”

“Did you see Devlynn of Black Thorn? ’Twas him or his ghost and the Lady Apryll. He threw her onto a horse and they took off across the stream. Even now they ride farther from us. By the saints, can we not wake him up?”

“Is he dead?”

Payton!
Her heart twisted and tore. She flew through the door, where she found a bedraggled group of men standing around the fire and the prone body of a man, the man she loved.

“Nay,” she cried. The smell of sweat, horses and rain mingled with the odors of burning fat and charred meat. There were more than half a dozen men gathered together and each of them turned suspicious eyes in her direction. Several reached for their weapons, but she paid no heed. Pushing her way through the small crowd, she stared at Payton, motionless on the dirty floor. He couldn’t be dead. Not vibrant, brave Payton. She flung herself to her knees and quickly tore open his mantle. Her hands were on his throat, her fingers searching for a pulse. “Payton, oh, please . . .” He couldn’t be dead. He had to live. To meet his unborn son.

Her fingertips encountered the steady throb of his heartbeat and she felt the shallow whisper of his breath from his nostrils and open mouth. “He’s alive,” she whispered, feeling tears of relief fill her eyes.

“Then he sleeps the bloody sleep of the dead!” one man, a short, hefty soldier wearing the black and gold colors of Black Thorn, snorted. A traitor.

“He’s been drugged,” another growled. He, too, she’d never seen before. Tall, with crooked teeth and the eyes of a coward, he glared down a hooked nose at her. “Who are you?”

“She’s the sorceress,” Isaac said. “Geneva.”

“What’s she doing here?” Bad Teeth asked, as if he had some kind of authority. The men she recognized, Isaac, Melvynn and even angry Roger, seemed to defer to him.

“Bloody hell if I know, Sir Rudyard,” Isaac, the most vocal, said.

Melvynn lifted a shoulder and Roger, forever the rebel, a man whose bloodlust was far too strong, added, “It’s not a place for a woman, especially one who practices the dark arts and prays to the devil.”

“Is that what you are? A heathen?” Rudyard’s eyebrows lifted and he studied her with new interest. “A witch, then, one who can see into the future?”

“Aye, Sir Rudyard,” Isaac agreed, bobbing his bald head while overhead the owl in the rafters glowered down. The tall man was interested, giving her a quick appraisal with his close-set eyes.

Payton moaned and rolled over before she could answer.

“Wake up!” Rudyard commanded, pushing the muddy toe of a boot into Payton’s side. “For the love of God, wake up. We’ve no time.” He glanced around the dark interior, then signaled to one of the soldiers. “You—Roger, take two men and give chase. We’ll follow.”

“And if we catch him?” Roger had his hand on his sword, his eyes filled with anticipation, his lips curving beneath the coarse hairs of his beard.

“If you’re that lucky,” Rudyard said thoughtfully, “then kill him.”

“Nay!” Geneva sprang to her feet.

Roger’s eyes gleamed. He ignored Geneva’s protests. “What of the woman? Lady Apryll?”