Wild and Wicked (29 page)

But Apryll, how could she have been so foolish as to have been duped by Payton? Miranda admired the lady and yet pitied her. Devlynn’s temper and wrath had no bounds. Aye, even as a ruler of a castle, Apryll would now have to bow to the demands of a man. ’Twas always the same.

It would be no different for Bronwyn.

“Good night, little one,” she whispered to her daughter.

Assured that the girl was fast asleep, Miranda crossed the room and pulled off her tunic. She was the only daughter of Morgan of Black Thorn, his eldest child. Yet she had been passed over in favor of her younger brothers time and time again. “No longer,” she thought aloud as she slipped into her lonely bed. “No longer.”

 

Apryll was alone. In Devlynn’s chamber. Standing near a raging fire burning in the grate, wondering about the jug and mazers that had been left upon a small table, knowing that guards were stationed at each door, including the seldom-used one that led to the chapel.

Yale was sleeping in the room next door and there was an anteroom connecting the two chambers, but his door to the corridor, too, was watched by a man Devlynn trusted.

She walked to the window, the long skirt disturbing the fragrant rushes covering the floor. Peering outside, she saw no ledge to walk upon, no ladder left carelessly by the opening, no rope conveniently tucked in a corner of the sill. No, ’twas a sheer drop of three stories that did not end in a rick piled high with soft, cushioning straw but in the ground itself, muddy in the moonlight. Clouds had dropped their icy raindrops and scudded along, leaving the night clear and crisp. Silvery starlight shimmered on the eel pond and the puddles near the creek. She eyed that dark ribbon of water. The stream ran past the mill, where it deepened into a pond.

Mayhap that was how she could escape, by following the stream to the other side of the mill where it ducked beneath the heavy curtain wall and dumped into the river, a natural moat that surrounded the castle on three sides. No doubt there would be a grate or heavy screen, but she was a strong swimmer and might be able to wedge her body through or around the mesh.

Dear God, how could she last so long under Devlynn’s suspicious glare? Dealing with the barbs and looks of disgust from Sir Lloyd and the rest? Waiting for her brother?

Where was Payton?

Why had he not come for her?

Could he have given up the fight and returned to Serennog? Why would he bother trying to ransom her or help her escape, as he could rule the castle, appoint himself baron, saying it was but temporary? Perhaps his thirst for revenge and his need for his own brand of justice had been quenched.

Sighing, she watched the giant sweeps of the windmill turn and creak in the night. A few windows of the huts that surrounded the bailey were ajar, firelight glowing in the cracks, laughter or bits of conversation reaching her ears. Someone was singing, a clear, deep voice, another woman scolded her children and from the stables came the soft call of a nervous horse.

Oh, she longed for Serennog. Though not nearly as grand as this huge castle, ’twas home, where people needed her, depended upon her. What would become of them if Devlynn decided to keep her here?

But why?

To wait for trial?

To punish her?

To keep her as his whore?

She felt her cheeks burn at that thought, for she’d heard it in whispered speculation often enough since she’d arrived. Girls carrying eggs and buckets of water had tittered with the thought, soldiers had grunted their lusty approval, older women had glanced her up and down, then looked away, to their own husbands, some of whom had already undressed Apryll with their hungry eyes.

And yet, sleeping with Devlynn held much appeal. She knew of the things done between a man and a woman, had heard talk and gossip, but, heretofore, she’d experienced very little. Devlynn’s hands had been the first to dare touch the skin of her abdomen, or brush over her breasts.

Deep inside she trembled, not with fear, but with that dark, desperate want she’d experienced at his hand only nights before, the touch of his calloused skin against hers, the feel of his wet tongue sliding over the curves of her body, the sear of his kiss on her lips and eyelids and every hollow in her flesh.

He’d sworn he would punish her and yet she was not afraid; instead she anticipated being alone with him. Oh, she was a fool. Her fists bunched in the folds of her skirt and she bit her lower lip. She could not have these wayward thoughts. Too much was at stake.

Again she wondered what had happened to her brother. Where was the band of men who had ridden with such wild abandon to the inn just as they were escaping? Apryll was certain a few of them had given chase, but Devlynn had driven the horses hard and taken seldom-used roads, doubling back here and there, and never had a soldier appeared or accosted them.

Nor had they been waiting at Black Thorn.

’Twas as if they’d vanished.

Or were waiting.

For what?

She heard footsteps outside the door and her heart jumped to her throat. Her pulse leapt at the sound of Devlynn’s voice. She licked her lips nervously as he pushed open the door, gave some muffled commands to the sentry and slipped inside. In the past hour he’d shaved and washed. His black hair glistened in the firelight and the fresh smell of soap surrounded him.

She swallowed hard, watched as, without a word, he took a seat in a chair by the fire, poured a mazer of wine and while swirling it, crooked a finger at Apryll, silently ordering her to come closer. She hesitated and he crooked not one, but two, his jaw tightening at her disobedience.

Slowly she stepped forward until she was standing in the shifting circle of light from the fire. His eyes narrowed upon her and he let his gaze move painstakingly slowly from the crown of her head, down her face and neck, past the rising swell of her breasts at the low neckline to her waist and farther down, eyeing her as if he could see through the heavy folds of velvet, lifting an eyebrow in speculation as he would if he were to buy a new mare for the stable.

“Take it off,” he said.

“What?”

“My wife’s dress. Take it off.”

“Nay, I’ll not—”

“Do it. Now.”

She started to protest again, saw the glint in his eye and clenched her jaw. So this was how it was to be. Fine.

Spine stiff, she held back a hot retort and, feeling like an utter fool, unlaced the bodice as he sipped from his cup, his eyes never leaving her.
This is to be my punishment,
she thought, allowing the yards of lush fabric to pool on the floor at her feet. Feeling the flush of embarrassment climb up her body she stood before him wearing nothing but a thin, lacy chemise that held her breasts tight to her body and flowed downward around her legs. Well, so be it. She could endure this.

“The boots, too,” he said without emotion.

“As you wish,” she shot back at him and bent down to remove his wife’s pinching footwear. She could either show him her rump, or her breasts, so she faced him and with some difficulty peeled off the boots, careful to leave her knife tucked inside the soft leather, aware that her breasts were falling forward, the nipples visible and hard against shimmering white silk.

He took a long swallow from his cup, but his eyes followed her every move. Kicking the boots aside, she straightened again, standing barefoot on the rushes, shorter than before, more naked and, she knew, more vulnerable.

He swirled a finger in the air, indicating that she should turn. Gritting her teeth, she did, but as she faced him again, he shook his head. “Slower.”

“There is no reason—”

“Turn more slowly!” he instructed and she inclined her head, lifted what she hoped was a saucy eyebrow and twirled around carefully, ever so slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze upon her. ’Twas meant to humiliate her.

“Satisfied,
m’lord
?” she said, knowing her eyes snapped fire, that her lips were slightly curved to show that she wasn’t intimidated.

“Not yet, but I intend to be.” He poured more wine and she thought his hands shook a bit, though she could have been mistaken in the half-light. Propping a booted foot onto the table, he leaned back and sipped from his cup. “Now the rest.”

“The rest?” she repeated.

“The chemise. Remove it.”

“Is it your wish to embarrass me? Is that how you will feel the victor, that you have punished me?”

“To start.”

Had the man no shame? No sense of decency? Of course he didn’t. The moments of tenderness she’d seen in his eyes were her imaginings, her fantasies. Nothing more. Her lips pursed as she glared at him and he raised both eyebrows, silently encouraging her.

Fine. She slid the straps of the chemise over her bare shoulders, then wriggled out of the tight garment. Blushing from the tips of her toes to her crown, she stood and tossed her hair over her shoulders, letting him view all of her, forcing her hands to stay at her sides when they wanted nothing more than to cover up her breasts and the juncture of her legs.

Before he could motion with his fingers, she slowly turned, offering him a view of her backside as well as the front of her, and finally faced him again.

“I heard rumors of you, Lord Devlynn,” she said as the firelight played upon her skin, warming it and chasing away the goose bumps that the chill of winter caused. “I heard that you were cruel. That you were responsible for your wife’s death. That you were truly a beast. I believed them all. Until I met you. Then my opinion changed. Over the past few days I’ve seen your love of your child, your conviction and concern for those you rule, and when I begged, you spared my brother’s life. I had begun to believe that you were not the black-heart your reputation suggested. I even began to think . . .” Her voice failed her for a second, for she realized she’d almost admitted that she’d fancied herself in love with him.

He was staring at her over the rim of his mazer again, his flinty eyes unreadable, his expression stern. Waiting.

“. . . to believe that you were maligned. That you were a kinder man, a truer heart, a stronger ruler than I had been told.”

“And now?”

“And now I don’t know what to believe, but I know no gentleman would demand a lady strip herself bare to embarrass her.”

“I don’t claim to be a gentleman.” He set his cup aside. “So was it rumor that caused you to break in to my castle?”

“There was an old debt to repay for the ruin of Serennog.”

“My father’s debt. Not mine.”

“And . . . the sorceress, Geneva, she told me it was my destiny.”

“On that you invaded my castle? Upon your brother’s need for vengeance, your belief in some pagan prediction, and because of an age-old injury, you dared breach the gates of Black Thorn?” He was angry now as he glared at her. “You risked your own life and took the lives of my guards and stable master, all because some witch told you ’twas in the fates?” Squeezing his eyes shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head sharply as if to dislodge a painful thought. “We all be fools,” he muttered, then motioned toward the chemise. “Get dressed.”

She couldn’t believe his change of heart. Quickly she gathered up the chemise and pulled it over her body before he changed his mind again. It was one thing to have him kiss and touch her, quite another to stand before him without a stitch of clothing.

“You won’t need that,” he said when she reached for the gold dress. He poured a second mazer of wine and offered it to her. “I should have you hanged,” he said through lips that barely moved. “For the deaths of my men, and for stealing my boy.”

She took the cup from his hand, careful not to touch his fingers, then took a sip of wine.

“Even if you were duped by your brother, you still plotted against me. That, in and of itself, is unforgivable.”

“What would you have me do?” she asked.

“I haven’t decided, but someone will pay.” He frowned. “I intend to hunt down your brother. When I find him, I’ll bring him back here and he will be charged for his crimes.”

She bit her lip. “You would not kill him.”

“That I cannot promise. Blood has already been spilt. If he wants to barter for his life, he will have to name all those who had plotted against me, the traitors within my own keep. After that I will expect you to step down as ruler of Serennog. Someone from my family will rule your castle.”

“But—”

“I will not take a chance that this will happen again.” His jaw was like granite.

Her knees threatened to give way. Lose her castle? What would become of the men, women and children who depended upon her?

As if he’d read her mind, he said, “All who reside in Serennog would have to bow to me, Apryll. They would have to declare their fealty. To me. If your brother is to live, he will be banished forever.”

“He is your brother as well,” she blurted, and he froze.

“What say you?”

She swallowed hard. Dare she tell him the truth? She saw the questions in his eyes.

“What, Apryll?”

“’Twas nothing.”

“Nay . . . you said Payton was my brother.” His eyes narrowed. His jaw was suddenly hard as granite.

She was about to argue, but saw no point. “Surely you knew,” she said, holding his gaze. “Your father wasn’t content to plunder Serennog.”

“What are you saying, woman? That my father raped your mother and that . . . that . . .” She saw something change in his face, something dangerous. “You would say anything to save his miserable hide.” He took a swallow from his mazer, then stood and leaned over the table so that his nose nearly touched her own and his breath whispered across her face. “You lie.”