by Lisa Jackson
Quinn bowed, then turned and strode back to camp. Strahan stood alone in the woods, his anger causing his skin to flush, his teeth grinding in silent humiliation. So Garrick, in his arrogance, had lain with Strahan’s bride, robbing her of her virginity, possibly implanting his child within her womb. At Strahan’s expense. The child, if it existed, would be a problem, for Strahan needed his own issue in Morgana’s body. He would have to wait, for nearly a month if need be, until her cycle was complete and the bleeding began. If it didn’t, if she was already carrying Garrick’s child, then the wait would be much longer — until after the birth.
Fury raged through his veins. Quick as a cat pouncing, he yanked his sword from its sheath. With a powerful thrust, he lunged at an oak tree, burying the blade deep in the trunk. His arm was jarred by the impact, but he barely noticed, so hot ran his hate. Would that this yielding bark were Garrick’s black heart! Where once he had hoped not to kill his cousin, his thoughts had taken a murderous turn.
All of Strahan’s men knew that he intended to marry Morgana of Wenlock. Soon they would realize that the wench had lain with Garrick. Well, both she and Garrick would pay. She would be forced to watch as Garrick slowly died, but before his death, while he was helpless, Garrick would be given no choice but to watch as Strahan bedded the woman Garrick loved. A cruel smile curved his lips. At the beginning of this quest, he had wanted only to best his cousin, to steal Garrick’s wealth. There had been fondness for Garrick in Strahan’s heart and he hadn’t seriously thought of doing his cousin physical harm. He wanted only for Garrick to kneel before him. But time passed and he slowly wanted more. Garrick’s humiliation had become important, and Strahan had boldly stolen the boy from him, then suggested they locate the child through Morgana. He knew that if he kept changing Logan’s hiding place the witch would have trouble finding the boy, but Strahan had wanted to see for himself how strong were her powers, though that was yet to be determined.
He smiled as he imagined Garrick’s roar of rage as he watched Strahan mount the woman he loved. He could envision Morgana’s sea green eyes widening in horror. Oh, she would fight like a hellcat, but would eventually submit, for he would lead her to believe that by lying with him, she could save Garrick’s miserable life.
Now, hHe yanked hard on the sword and slowly the blade, wedged deep in the meat of the tree, began to wiggle free. Throwing his shoulder into his task, he withdrew the sword, made a mental note to have it sharpened, and sheathed the long blade that would bring Garrick’s death — his slow death after Morgana had warmed Strahan’s bed, pleasing him with her hands and tongue.
Absently Strahan rubbed his loins, feeling the swelling and imagining the sweet wet touch of Morgana’s mouth. Mayhap he would let Garrick watch as he gave the wench her first beating — nothing serious, just a few quick slaps on her rump and the light touch of a whip against the white flesh of her back.
At that thought he turned as hard as a yew branch and wished he’d had the foresight to bring along a servant girl — even Springan — so that he could relieve himself. Then again, maybe this pain was worthwhile. ’Twould make the taking of Morgana all the more pleasurable.
He hurried back to camp, gave the orders, and soon his men were riding. There was excitement in the air, and the storm rolling over the hills only added to the adventure of it all. Soon, Morgana, you will be mine, and Garrick will die.
“I tell you he’s gone,” Cadell said, whistling yet again and listening for the wolf’s answering call.
“But he was here only an hour past!” Ware was vexed. He should have found Garrick by now, and every minute he was away from Abergwynn, his worries increased. He’d been certain that the wolf dog was on the scent. Earlier today, before the storm, the animal could hardly restrain himself, running through the trees, looking back over his shoulder as if urging the men and horses to a faster pace.
Cadell reined in his mount and whistled again.
Ware strained to listen over the steady drip of the rain. The horses stamped their hooves, and steam rose from their nostrils. It was cold — bitter cold — and the lightning that scorched the sky over the hills to the east seemed ominous. If only they could find Garrick.
“We’ll split up,” Cadell suggested, his eyes turning a darker shade of blue. His brow furrowed and he shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind. “I’ll go after the wolf this way, through the trees, and you take the road. We’ll both head east and meet before nightfall … Wait!” He lifted his head, and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Do you hear that — a voice?”
“No one speaks,” Ware said, and Cadell frowned.
“You hear nothing?”
“Are you daft? There is no one here.”
Cadell’s eyes grew round, and his face turned white, as if he’d learned of his own death. “Holy Mother Mary,” he whispered, yanking hard on the reins so that his mount reared and whinnied.
“What the devil’s got into you?”
“Shh! Listen!” Cadell’s color slowly returned, and whatever had scared him had apparently faded. His mouth stretched into a wide grin as he regained control of the horse. “I knew I wasn’t going mad. Can’t you hear it, man? ’Tis riders! Coming this way!”
Ware strained his ears, but he heard nothing. “I think not—”
“Yes! Wolf’s found Morgana. That’s why the beast left us. Now they approach!” With a slap of the reins against his steed’s rump, Cadell wheeled the courser around and headed back toward the south. Dirt flew from the horse’s swift hooves.
“Wait, Cadell!” Ware called, exasperated by the younger boy’s impatience. Ware genuinely liked Morgana’s brother, but the boy was so dammed impetuous — ready to do battle at the snap of a twig and now taking off over some silly sound that Ware didn’t hear. In some ways Cadell was as mysterious as his older sister. Now he, too, was hearing voices. Well, Ware had to save him from his own damned rebellious streak. “Ha!” He kicked his horse’s side and followed the lad, for he had no other choice. When he caught up with Cadell, he intended to make sure the younger man understood who was giving orders! As for the wolf… Ware’s skin crawled a little as the rain hit his face and slid down beneath his shirt despite the hood on his surcoat. Why would the beast take off? Unless he was near his mistress. Or unless he was frightened for his life.
Ware’s heart turned to stone. Oh, God, this could be an ambush! The thugs who had taken Logan could surely be about, or worse … Strahan was somewhere within these hills and valleys. Though he and Cadell had passed their camp two nights before, there was a chance … Oh, sweet Jesus, please don’t let —
As Ware rounded a curve in the road and yanked hard on the reins, he saw his worst fear crystallize before him. His mount slid in the mud, nearly throwing Ware, but he didn’t care, for his eyes locked with the cruel black gaze of his cousin.
Strahan stood in the middle of the road, one hand pulling Cadell’s hair taut, the other holding a wickedly curved blade to the boy’s throat.
“Don’t!” Ware cried.
“Run!” Cadell screamed. “Ware, turn and leave!”
Strahan smiled. “Yes, cousin. Show your true colors.”
Ware had no choice. As he watched Cadell try not to tremble, he slowly dismounted, drew his sword, and tossed it at Strahan’s muddied boots. He felt the arms of strong men surround and restrain him, and didn’t bother struggling when a rope was looped over his shoulders and legs.
“You stupid boy,” Strahan snarled as he threw Cadell into the heavy arms of one of his men. His eyes never left Ware’s. “Why couldn’t you stay put? I left you at Abergwynn for your own safety!”
“You can kill me, but you’ll never take Abergwynn again,” Ware said bravely. “The castle belongs to Garrick.”
“Does it?” Strahan seemed neither surprised nor worried. “But Garrick is not back at Abergwynn yet, and as for Clare…” Strahan looked Ware up and down and shook his head. “I’m sure we can persuade her to
open the gates.”
“Never.”
“Your sister is willing to watch you die?” Strahan asked evenly. From the corner of his eye, Ware saw Cadell struggle. The guard holding him slapped him so hard the smack echoed through the trees. Cadell’s head snapped back, but he managed to stay on his feet.
“Clare won’t believe that you would do me harm!”
“No? Mayhap not. I suppose we’ll have to start with Cadell, here. And we’ll do it slowly, Ware, a piece at a time. A finger, an ear, maybe even an eye — just to make sure that Clare understands how serious I am.”
Ware’s knees threatened to buckle, but he forced himself to stand and face the cruel man whom he had called his kin.
“You’ll not cut off my fingers!” Cadell said, struggling against the man who was binding him. “Not unless I cut off your balls first!”
Ware shot the younger boy a hard glance. Why would Cadell be so foolish?
“Aye, I’ll cut them off, then feed them to the wolf, that I will!” Cadell said, his tongue working more quickly than his brain.
“Will you, now?” Strahan walked to the younger man, his knife still in his hand. “Think before you speak, son, for you’ve given me an idea.”
“No!” Ware cried.
Strahan ignored him and pressed his face close to Cadell’s. “Let’s start with you.” Swiftly he raised his knife and slashed at the fabric of Cadell’s breeches. They boy screamed and Ware struggled against his bonds, but no blood stained the severed fabric and Cadell’s bare flesh showed through, white and without a trace of blood. His face drained of color, and he nearly swooned.
“For the love of God, Strahan, leave him alone!” Ware cried. “He’s but a boy—”
“Next time I’ll do it,” Strahan snarled, and Cadell’s lower lip trembled. Seeing that he’d finally gotten the respect he wanted, Strahan turned, his knife still in his hand, no hint of blood on the sharp blade. “You’d best keep your friend in line, Ware.”
Ware held his head proudly, refusing to answer, his gaze holding Strahan’s. He didn’t blink. But in his peripheral vision, he saw a blur of black and brown fur streaking through the trees. Ware’s gut tightened. God be with you, Wolf, he silently prayed, hoping that the animal could reach Garrick and warn him before it was too late and all was lost.
Garrick was relentless. Upon deciding to return to Abergwynn, he’d pushed the men and horses to the extreme.
Every muscle in Morgana’s body ached, and she thought about a warm bath and clean clothes and a real bed piled high with fur coverlets. But she was worried. Though the storm had passed and the sun warmed the wet earth, she felt a tension in the air. Her visions had stopped again, and she was frustrated. Garrick asked her often if she’d seen into the future. Half the time he was teasing her; the rest of the time he seemed serious.
She was in love with him, she knew. This lighthearted giddiness she felt whenever he looked her way had to be love, though how her feelings had changed and how she’d come to care for the beast of Abergwynn, she knew not. Aye, he was handsome and powerful and his lovemaking caused a great tide of desire to rush through her blood, but there was more to the man than only these qualities. She’d seen strength in him, yet witnessed kindness; she’d observed his emotions, often held under tight rein, and knew that he would die to ensure the safety of his men. He was gentle with his horses, and he did not object to her wolf being at the castle.
He was desperate to find his child. His love for his boy was all-consuming. That alone caused her heart to ache for him, and that ache had evolved into a love so deep she would do anything for him. Aye, she would even, if need be, become his wench. That thought wounded her deeply, for she was beginning to want more than just his touch. She saw herself as his wife, as the mother of his children, as the woman who would hold and caress him in bad times and good.
“You’re as silly as Glyn,” she chided herself as she rocked in the cursed saddle. She was still pledged to Strahan.
They were close to Abergwynn now, and soon the hours of riding would end. At the memory of Abergwynn she smiled. Aye, she’d come to love the big castle and the servants therein. She missed not only Glyn and Cadell but also Lady Clare and Garrick’s impetuous younger brother, Ware. Never had she thought that any home other than Tower Wenlock would be hers, and yet … though she missed her parents and her grandmother, and the freedom at the tower, she had learned that she could live elsewhere, that she could become mistress of her own castle — if that castle was Abergwynn.
She patted Luck’s sleek shoulder and thought of Phantom, her own little mare. Once they returned and she had bathed, she would snatch the largest apple in the kitchen and take it to the stables. “And one for you, too,” she whispered to Luck, as if the horse could hear her thoughts.
In a flutter of wings, two startled pheasants flew in front of the company. Garrick’s horse shied and sidestepped. Another steed reared.
A wolf slunk into the road. Morgana saw him from the corner of her eye just as Sir Marsh drew back his bow.
“No!” she screamed, jumping off Luck and causing the horse to backstep into another animal. “’Tis my animal!” she yelled at Marsh as she flung herself onto Wolf. The beast wagged his tail and licked her face and jumped all over her. She giggled and buried her face in his thick, somewhat foul-smelling fur.
Garrick urged his horse closer and dropped to the ground beside her. “I thought the wolf was confined.”
“He must’ve escaped,” Morgana said, her joy pushing aside all her worries and fears.
“How?”
She glanced up and found Garrick frowning. “You think this is part of some trick?” she asked, her voice.
“’Tis unlikely, is it not, that anyone in the castle would get close enough to untie him?”
With a sinking heart, she understood the wisdom of Garrick’s thinking
“And there is no noose around his neck, as there would be if he had chewed his way through his bonds.”
“Why would anyone turn him loose?” she asked, though she was still grateful that he had found them. She ran her fingers through his coarse fur and tried to avoid the pink tongue that continued to wash her face. “Stop it,” she whispered, scratching him behind the ears.
“I know not why he would be set free.” Garrick scanned the surrounding woods, his eyes narrowing, his hand on the hilt of his sword, as if he expected to be attacked at any second.
Morgana shivered, and her frivolous mood seeped quickly away. The tension she’d felt earlier returned, and though she was glad to have Wolf with them, she knew that Garrick was right. Had she not convinced him that danger lay behind every tree in these woods, that there lurked in the forest dark eyes silently watching them? Quickly making the sign of the cross, she stood and Garrick touched her gently on the sleeve. Their gazes locked for an instant. “’Twill be all right,” he assured her. “I will keep you safe.”
“I’m not worried for myself.”
“But for your brother and mine.”
“Aye, Garrick, and for Logan,” she said, remembering her vision and shuddering. She suddenly felt silly for letting the appearance of Wolf give her such joy, for surely Cadell was in trouble — serious trouble.
“Tell me of Abergwynn,” she said, searching Garrick’s face as she described for the tenth time the prison in which she’d envisioned Garrick’s son.
“All the dungeons were searched.”
“But could he have not been hidden somewhere else, then been taken to the dungeon later?”
“Someone would have seen or heard—”
“But you have no prisoners at Abergwynn and the walls are thick. If a traitor had gagged the child and hidden him away in the dark of the night, no one would have suspected.”
Garrick frowned. “I would like nothing better than to believe my son is in my fortress. When we return. I’ll take you to the dungeons and you can see for yourself.”
“Wh
en we return, I’m to marry Strahan,” she pointed out.
Garrick gave her a thin smile. “Only if he’s not the traitor you’ve named him.”
“Then I have naught to worry about,” she responded, but Garrick’s grin faded. His gaze touched hers, and for an instant she saw his silent agony. For his son? Or for his honor — the honor he’d destroyed when he’d lain with her? Morgana forced a brave smile. She loved Garrick, and though her pride had seemed to flee, she cared not. She was glad she’d lain with him. If their time was to be brief, she would live on her memories. As for sleeping with Strahan, well, that would never come to pass. Garrick would soon discover his cousin to be a traitor.
Muttering under his breath, Garrick helped her onto Luck, mounted his war-horse, and gave the signal to move ahead. She watched him ride proudly, his shoulders square, no helmet upon his head. Morgana cast a glance at the sky and shivered. If the fates were with them, they would reach Abergwynn on the morrow.
Clare’s mouth turned to sand. She stood on the battlement with Glyn and several of the servants as she stared down at the small band of soldiers — her cousin and his men. Strahan had come forward, close enough to the castle walls that an archer’s arrow might reach his evil heart. However, he was holding Cadell prisoner by twisting one arm behind the boy’s back. In his other hand he held a knife with a curved blade.
The message was clear: either open the gates or Cadell would die. Ware would be next. He was forced to stand farther back, at a safer range. Bound with thick ropes, his face ashen, his shoulders stiff and brave, he waited his turn with Strahan’s soldiers.
Clare’s heart twisted. What was she to do? Why had so many men — brave men whom she had trusted — turned against Garrick, and how had they caught up with Ware and Cadell?
“Clare!” Strahan yelled, his voice echoing through the valley.
“I could shoot him, m’lady?” the armorer said. A fistful of arrows was clutched in his big hand, and a quiver was slung over his broad shoulders. “Without hurting the boy, I could kill Strahan.”