Wild and Wicked (6 page)

“You cannot hold your guests prisoner,” Collin warned, catching up to his brother.

“Like hell.”

“But—”

Devlynn whirled and, ready for a fight, advanced upon Collin. Every muscle in his body tensed. “Am I not the baron?”

Collin’s lips tightened. “Aye, but—”

“Then do it. And do it the hell now!”

“Brother,” Collin said in that ingratiating, irritating tone that scraped on Devlynn’s already raw nerves. “Listen, you cannot treat the baron of Wybren as you would a common thief or pickpocket and you cannot delay Lady Monteith.”

“You listen to me,” Devlynn ordered, grabbing Collin’s mantle by its laces. “My son has been stolen. Kidnapped. Mayhap injured. Or . . . or worse.” The vision of Yale’s limp body burned through his mind. “We will find him and the culprits who did this atrocity. And we will find them tonight.” His lips barely moved as he added, “Tell the sheriff to interrogate every man, woman and child within the castle walls and get me the captain of the guard. Now.” Spittle sprayed upon his brother’s face. Devlynn released Collin’s tunic as if it burned in his hands. “I want the names of everyone, every blasted person who entered the gates tonight, and I want to know why that woman”—he shook the dress in his fist—“why Apryll of Serennog, if that be who she really is, was allowed into the castle.”

 

“We’ve searched the castle from the turrets to the dungeons and there is no sign of the lad.” Rudyard, captain of the guard, stood rigidly in Devlynn’s chamber. Collin was seated at a small table and Devlynn glowered out the window to the bailey. His chest was tight, his heart drumming with fear, and anger surged through his blood. His fists clenched and he imagined his hands around Apryll’s slim, white throat. “But there is more bad news.”

The cords in the back of Devlynn’s neck tightened.

“A sentry is dead. His throat slit. It appears as if several of the invaders infiltrated.”

“Bloody hell,” Collin growled. “And no one saw this?”

“And the treasury . . . the guard there, too, is dead. I’ve posted another.” Within seconds Devlynn was through the antechambers and a side door to the small room where most of the castle’s valuables were locked in a heavy chest. Collin and Rudyard were on his heels. As he’d said, the guard lay dead, slumped in a corner, blood spilling from the dark purple gash on his neck to a pool on the floor. “Saunders,” Devlynn said and stopped to check the man who was still warm but surely dead. He had no pulse. “Call the priest.”

Fear congealed deep inside him.

The monsters had Yale.

By the gods, he couldn’t, wouldn’t lose his son, not his boy. Not after Glynda and the baby. His hands curled into fists and he forced himself to his feet to stare at the empty chest. The lock had been broken, the contents emptied.

“Search the castle again.”

Rudyard hesitated and Devlynn seized the man by his throat. “I said, ‘Search it again.’ Turn this castle upside down. Scour the huts, the stores, the kennels, the stables, the gristmill, the chapel, the garrison, everywhere. Look under the rafters and in the dungeon. Leave no stone unturned, do you hear me?” He pushed his nose into the taller man’s face and added through lips that barely moved, “’Tis your responsibility to find my son.”

The captain’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His pointy little tongue flicked around crooked teeth. Christ Jesus, the man was scared. The damned captain of the guard was frightened. No wonder they were in such a mess!

“Devlynn.” Collin’s voice was reproachful, his expression grim. “We will search again. Aye. But do you not think we should take after the thieves? There is little doubt that they have Yale and they have had hours to flee the castle and hide. We should waste no more time but try to track down the wretches. And the woman. She is surely a part of this deception.”

Devlynn’s fingers slowly uncoiled. His lips flattened over his teeth. “Aye,” he agreed solemnly. “Dispense a dozen men to search the castle again and ready twenty to ride with me.”

“Surely you should stay,” Collin suggested. “You are the lord and you are holding your guests here, some against their will. You needs speak with them. I will hunt down the bastards who did this and I’ll take the dogs, the best huntsmen and the strongest soldiers with me. Believe me, they will pay.”

The thought of staying in the castle, pacing his chambers, waiting for news of his son, was too much to bear. He couldn’t remain here by the fire, listening to the complaints, his mind running in circles about Yale’s safety, and do nothing. “I will speak to my guests briefly. Afterwards each will talk with the sheriff. On the morrow they will be allowed to leave.”

“They will be angry.”

“Not near as angry as I.”

“They may turn on you. Become enemies where once they were allies.”

“I care not about their allegiance. Only about my son,” Devlynn growled.

Collin looked perturbed. “Brother, please. ’Twould be best if you stay at the castle. You are the lord.”

“Aye, and ’tis my son who is missing. I will go.” He pointed a long finger at his brother’s nose. “Call the sheriff.”

“He’s on his way.”

“Then you”—he pointed a commanding finger at the captain of the guard—“prepare the search party. We will need men, weapons, horses and provisions. I want the best to go with me.” Pacing angrily, he ordered, “Collin, you are to find the traitor. Someone within these walls allowed the enemy in. Find out who.”

“The enemy was the woman,” Collin said as he glanced at the stained dress.

Devlynn’s gut twisted. “But she was not alone. Someone within these walls betrayed us all. He allowed the woman in. He plotted my son’s disappearance, mayhap even gave him something to make him drowsy earlier. If so, he is someone I trust.” Devlynn’s eyes bored into his brother and in a low, determined voice he said, “Make no mistake, I will find the Judas and expose him. When I discover who he is, he will pay and pay with his life.”

Collin’s smile was as cold as death. “And I will help you.”

“Good. Everyone, I mean every man, woman and child within Black Thorn, is under suspicion.” A dozen faces flashed before his eyes. His guts twisted. What trusted servant had betrayed him and why? For gold? For vengeance? On the promise of a better freedom? Why?

Or had it been a family member? His sister or brother?

What of his guests? Neighboring lords who would gladly betray him for a chance to win Black Thorn?

Or was it someone else? He considered Father Christmas and the mummers who had followed him inside. Masked. Costumed. Faces hidden. Strangers.

“Except for the family,” Collin clarified.

“Including the family,” Devlynn growled as he reached for his sword. “I trust no one.”

As the words flew from his mouth, Miranda strode into the room. Her face was red with fury, her eyes sparking with anger. “This is an outrage!” Holding Bronwyn close to her breast, she impaled her brother in her furious green gaze. Music rose from the great hall again and conversation buzzed, but the revelry of a few hours before had diminished. Suspicious glances, indignant expressions and gossip replaced the merriment that had rung from the castle walls. “You cannot keep the Lord of Derwynn as a hostage. And what about Lady Camille of—”

“They will stay until the morrow,” Devlynn insisted. “Most of the guests planned to stay the night, so it is of no inconvenience.”

“Because they
wished
to, not because they were forced.”

In Miranda’s strong arms, Bronwyn sighed dreamily, her little lips parting. Devlynn’s heart wrenched. Where was his son? Was he injured? Alive or . . . nay, Devlynn cut his dark thoughts short. He would not think the worst. Could not.

“You suspect your guests? Your friends? And your own family?
Me? Aunt Violet?
”

“Everyone.” His voice was as cold as all of winter as he hurried down the rest of the stairs. Ignoring his guests, he cut through a long corridor and headed for the stables. He would find his son.

 

Payton was gone. One minute, he’d been ahead of her, carrying the boy and stealing through the shadows, the next, as they’d rounded a hayrick, he’d disappeared. Along with the soldiers who had been with them.

She glanced around the inner bailey, her gaze scraping quickly over the huts therein. The smith’s forge glowed red and there were candles in a few other out-buildings, but she saw no sign of her brother.

Originally, the plan was to meet the rest of their small band at the stables, where they intended to steal the horses. Now, as she crept through the dark grass, silently praying that the kennel dogs wouldn’t put up a ruckus or that she might run into a sentry, she realized that this plan was fated to fail. And it had been changed. Perhaps Payton had intended to leave her all along, she thought, for he had always been an ambitious sort, a man who’d walked through life burdened by the knowledge that he was a bastard, the son of a man who had raped their mother, a constant reminder of the shame their mother had borne.

At the hands of Morgan of Black Thorn, Devlynn’s father.

The stakes were high for Payton this night and yet she didn’t believe that he would abandon her to the dungeons of Black Thorn. But then what did she know of Payton and his motives? He stole the boy and the sting on her cheek was a reminder of his ruthlessness.

She started for the stables when she heard the first alarm—a bell clanging wildly, accompanied by the sharp shouts of soldiers. Oh, for the love of St. Jude, they’d been found out already! With little thought to the consequences she ran across the bailey to the stables. Horses neighed nervously, their hooves shuffling in the straw.

She slipped through the doorway and stumbled over a man lying just over the threshold. He was gasping for breath and one hand reached upward. “Help me,” he said, his lungs rattling horridly. “Please, lad . . .” He struggled and she saw the dark stain on his shirt, the hilt of a dagger—her dagger—rising from his chest.

“Lie back,” she ordered and pulled the weapon from his flesh. It slid out with a horrid sucking sound and the blood flowed fast. “We have to bind the wound,” she said and knew she could not let this man die. “Help! There’s a man injured!” she cried, yelling through the doorway. “Help me—”

A soldier appeared. “For the love of God, what happened?” Some of the horses started squealing, as if the stench of blood had them panicked.

“Take this man to the physician. He needs his wound bound.”

The sentry didn’t so much as cast her a second glance when he spied the bleeding man. “Who did this to you?” he demanded as he bent on one knee and touched the stableman’s shoulder. “Seth, who?”

“I know not. A stranger—two strangers. They met up with some others and they . . . they had the lad, Yale, with them . . . they took the lord’s stallion . . .

they . . . ooooohhh. Tell my wife . . . tell her . . .” His voice faded and his eyes grew glassy in the growing light.

“He needs help, not questions,” Apryll insisted, pocketing the bloody knife as the smell of smoke reached her nostrils and she heard the menacing crackles of flames. Horses were screaming in terror now and she saw a small fire racing through the straw. “Oh, God.”

“Fire!” the soldier called, hauling Seth out of the stables. Apryll flew into the stalls, tearing at the tethers, setting the crazed animals free. Hooves slashed, wild, white-rimmed eyes rolled and horses bolted into the bailey.

“Fire!”

“My God, it’s a fire! Get the buckets . . .”

Horses and men ran through the bailey as the stables filled with smoke and hellish flames crawled over the beams and straw, crackling and spitting and smoking. Apryll ran to the well where men were already drawing buckets and women were running with wet sacks. She grabbed one of the sacks and ran into the stables, attacking the flames, praying that, once the fire was under control, she could make good her escape.

This is Payton’s doing. He’s killed men. Horses. Stolen from the baron and kidnapped his son. As she flayed at the flames, coughing and breathing in smoke, she realized her brother would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Even if it meant killing the baron’s son.

“Fire!”

“Fire in the stables!”

“Curse it all!” Devlynn was already on his way out of the keep. Now he bolted, shoving open the door and racing into the night. Outside the wind was high, the night clear aside from the smell of smoke. Moonlight washed against the castle walls and glistened in the dry winter grass where servants, soldiers and guests had taken up wet sacks and pails. Horses ran throughout the bailey and the dogs barked wildly. Men and women shouted, children cried and pandemonium reigned.

He rushed down a well-trodden path where, beneath sweeps of the windmill, ice sparkled in puddles. Ancient gears creaked and men carried buckets of water from the stream and the well. Devlynn grabbed two pails and carried them toward the stables where the fire was smoldering.

“What happened?” he demanded of one of the soldiers whose face was blackened with soot.

“I know not. The stable master, Seth, was stabbed when the fire broke out.”

“Stabbed?” Devlynn growled, dousing a few remaining flames. The fire sizzled and hissed but slowly died.

“Aye, when the horses were taken.”

“’Twas not an accident?”

“Nay. Before he died, Seth said that the men who had taken Yale stabbed him.”

“Men?” He repeated. “No woman?”

“Nay, not that he said.”

“But they had my boy with them and he was alive?” Devlynn demanded.

“I . . . I know not.” The guard lifted a brawny shoulder. “’Twas Henry who spoke to Seth.”

Devlynn eyed the warm, sizzling ashes. Most of the stables had been saved, it seemed, though the beams were charred, the walls blackened, the smell of water-soaked, burned wood dispersing into the cold winter air. Some of the guards were rounding up the horses.