“Watch her,” Cecil commanded his men. “I do not want her and her husband to get close together. I do not know what one fool and one woman could do, but I do not intend to find out.”
“Unlike your brother, ’tis clear that you are afraid to die,” Saxan taunted.
Saxan did not flinch from his glare, but watched him coldly as he sat at the head of the hall facing the doors. It just did not seem possible that Botolf was going to walk in, surrender to his half-brother, and then Cecil would kill them both. She prayed everything was not as black as it looked and that Botolf had some plan.
“Has he gone into the towerhouse?” Hunter asked Bretton as they crouched in the tangled shrubs that rimmed the clearing encircling Collinburn.
“Aye. His three knights are being held in the bailey,” Bretton answered after watching one of his men signal from a higher vantage point.
Hunter glanced back at the man Bretton had stationed high in a tree. “You can tell all that from a few waves of his hands?”
“We have a number of signals we all ken weel and a few we add as needed.” Bretton looked up at the sky “I think we can begin to creep to that hidden entrance now. ’Tis gloomy enough if we move cautiously.”
“ ’Tis hard to believe Cecil would make such an error as to let those children see this secret entrance,” said Pitney, eyeing Bretton warily as he secured his scabbard more firmly against his body.
“Many a mon doesnae practice caution around women and children,” replied Bretton. “They are simply too arrogant in their manhood to think that anyone other than another mon could do anything they needed to worry about. Aye, and those who have little to do with children never ken how much a child can see and understand the value of. When my nephew saw Cecil let that slut Merry in through a hidden doorway, he knew that was something he should remember.”
“That may be another reason Cecil killed Merry,” Hunter mused, following Bretton as the Scot began to creep through the undergrowth. “ ’Twas not only her knowledge of his plans for Saxan he feared she would reveal.”
“Aye, could be,” agreed Bretton. “Or it could be that he is one of those men who just likes to kill people.” He muttered an oath as a thorny branch skimmed sharply across his cheek. “The lass may have just decided that killing a woman big with child was not something she wanted any part of and Cecil realized he could no longer trust her. Here we be.”
Pitney swore as Hunter and Bretton stopped so abruptly he bumped into them. “Where is it?”
“Just inside that thicket,” Bretton replied, pointing to a gnarled clump of thorny bushes.
“They certainly did not need to fear that someone would stumble across it, or even wish to look in there if they were searching for it. I am fair surprised that our kitchen maid would dare it.”
“A lass in love would fight most anything to get to her mon.” Bretton signaled to one of his men who awkwardly crept forward, his arms full of thick blankets. “Toss them o’er the far side, laddie.”
“Those children may have told you there was a secret way in, but how could they have known where it came out or what was around it, for I see that you came prepared for it.”
“So suspicious for one so young,” Bretton murmured. “My nephew heard your traitorous kitchen maid complain about the thorns and Cecil made a few comments on them as weel, such as how they nicely encircled and hid the opening. I sent a few men here to find it.”
“But—”
“Leave it be, Pitney,” Hunter ordered.
“I will not apologize for being cautious,” Pitney said. “Even if I could ignore the fact that he is a Scot, one of a breed the Todds have fought since the first hearthstone was set down at Wolfshead Hall, there is all the rest to consider. He kidnapped our sisters and gave Saxan to Cecil. Now I am to just accept that he has had a change of heart?”
“You have no choice. From what Thylda herself told us, neither did he. Now, I think you will be the first man into that hole.”
“Aye, so that I am the first one to get my throat cut.”
“It might serve to still your clattering, impudent tongue.”
“I do not suppose it has occurred to you that he could end the Todds right here by killing all the brothers,” grumbled Pitney as he crept toward the now-open hatch door into the hidden passageway.
“Nay, I couldnae for one of you is missing,” Bretton said and grinned when all four Todds stared at him. “ ’Tis no great secret that the lord of Wolfshead Hall had five sons. Since I have not heard that any of you has died, I must assume that one of your number was left behind somewhere.”
“Why should we do that?” asked Hunter.
“So that all the Todds dinnae die here. ‘Tis a ploy I used, doing all I could to insure my brother was safe if I had to face the sword.” He shrugged. “ ’Tis wise to try and insure that one of your blood breeds a few sons ere he joins the fray. Now, I think we should move, dinnae ye? I cannae be sure the earl can keep his brother talking too long.”
“What awaits us at the end of this?” asked Hunter, nudging Pitney who slipped into the opening.
“A door into the dungeons and one, mayhap two guards.” Bretton moved to follow Pitney. “If no one is being held in the dungeons, there may not be anyone there to greet us.”
Hunter moved to follow him. “That would be a fine piece of luck, and I think we are past due for a bit of good fortune.”
Saxan turned as the doors to the great hall opened and Botolf was led in by two of Cecil’s men. She managed a smile for him when he looked her way. The tight angry expression that crossed his face told her better than any mirror how Cecil’s blows had marked her. Botolf attempted to step toward her only to be stopped by his guards. When she saw that Botolf’s scabbard was empty, her heart sank. Even if a chance came for them to attempt an escape, he could not fight his way out.
“You should not have come,” she said.
“I could not leave you here,” Botolf replied.
“Do you really think he will release me?”
“Nay, I knew long ago that his promises are empty, worthless things. Still, I could not leave you here.”
“ ’Tis no real comfort to know that you will die with me.”
“We are not dead yet, sweeting.”
She smiled, but inside her tension mounted. We are not dead yet. They were simple words, possibly empty words of hope, yet something in the way he had said them put her on her guard. Instinct told her he had a plan. Saxan did not know what he could possibly do when they were both weaponless in a room with seven armed men, two by her, two by him, and two by Cecil. Nevertheless, she remained alert for some signal from Botolf. If he did have a plan, she did not want her inattention to complicate it. She kept her gaze fixed upon Botolf, waiting and hoping.
Botolf stood before Cecil and tried to control the fury and hate he felt for the man. He needed to be clearheaded. Although it was an advantage that Saxan was close at hand, the fact that two armed men guarded her could be a dangerous complication. Her brothers had insisted that she would be alert for any signal or action and respond accordingly, but Botolf had his doubts. She was a tiny, very pregnant woman, who, if the bruises on her face were any indication, had been through a terrifying ordeal. He was not able to tell her what was planned or even hint at it for fear Cecil would also catch the hint. All he could do was try to convey some message through his eyes and tone of voice. It was so tenuous it made him nervous. He tried to calm his apprehension by reminding himself that at least there was a chance for them and he would be foolish to allow any timidity to ruin it.
“You may release my wife now, Cecil,” Botolf said. “My knights will return her to Regenford.”
“Ah, well, I have changed my mind,” Cecil replied and idly sipped his wine. “It would be unwise to let her go. I would just have to hunt her down later, her and whatever brat she spawns for you.”
“Did you expect me to be surprised by that?”
“A little shocked perhaps,
your high sense of honor offended.”
“My honor is but a small part of what you offend.” He watched Cecil reach for his sword and hesitate. Cecil did not want to make a quick end to it, and Botolf knew he could use that to his advantage. “Release Saxan, Cecil. She can gain you nothing.”
“She carries your heir and she herself could impede me in gaining what is mine.”
“Nothing is yours and if you harm her—”
Cecil interrupted him with a harsh laugh. “Will you rise from the dead to strike at me?”
“Nay, not I. The worst I could do is haunt you and, if it be possible, I will. Howbeit, if but one hair on her head be harmed, her kinsmen will swarm after you. You will not even have time to sip a tankard of wine at the head table of Regenford ere they come for you. S’truth, I doubt you will live long enough for her blood to dry on your sword.” Botolf could tell by the slight narrowing of Cecil’s eyes and the tightening of his jawline that the man knew it was no idle threat.
“I will have my men to fight them.”
“You can never have enough men to fight all the Healdons, Todds, and Jagers who will ache to cut out your heart. You know this land and its people better than I. You know you can never win against them. They will make your death their crusade, and each of their sons and daughters will seek you out as soon as they come of age. Let her go, Cecil, and you may buy yourself a little time to savor your victory. Her kinsmen have sworn to avenge my murder, but they would not suffer the bloodlust they will if you kill her.”
“You think to afright me, but it will not work.” Cecil leaned forward. “Ye attribute too much loyalty and determination to too many people. Her kinsmen are as corruptible as anyone else. I will worry on them as they confront me. I will also be the earl, and they will be my vassals. They may speak of honor and vengeance now, but their song will change quickly enough when I rule them.”
Botolf shook his head, quite certain that Cecil was mad. There was no other explanation for his blind singlemindedness, his refusal to see matters as they really were. The man had no rightful claims to anything their father had left and, in his greed to have it all, had tossed away the generous gifts the late earl had given him. It was also clear that Cecil did not believe he would suffer any retribution for his crimes. He thought a murderous usurper would be accepted and those who did not accept could be killed or coerced into silence. Only a moment’s clear thought would show the man how wrong he was, but Cecil no longer had the ability to see reason.
He tried to think of something else to say, something that would inspire Cecil to argue with him, but not enrage the man into striking him or Saxan. If the Scotsman did not reveal himself as yet another of Cecil’s hirelings, their rescuers would soon arrive; but Botolf knew he needed a few more moments. He decided to try and plead some more for the life of Saxan and their child. It would be the sort of thing Cecil would take great pleasure in.
“Instead of killing Saxan, why not take her as your wife?” he suggested. “She is beautiful, and you could claim the child as your own.”
“And why should I do that?” Cecil asked as he slowly stood up. “Why should I want your leavings?”
“My leavings have graced your bed before. In truth, I begin to wonder if you can lure any other woman to your bed. ’Tis clear you must either pretend to be me or promise to murder me ere you can stir any woman’s desire.”
“Beat him,” ordered Cecil, banging his fist upon the wooden planks so hard his tankard fell, staining the table.
Botolf heard Saxan scream out a protest even as he was grabbed from behind. He caught a glimpse of her being forced back into her seat as the first blow struck. Although he tried to break free and twisted his body to avoid the worst of the blows, his head was clouded with pain by the time Cecil called a halt to it As he tried to clear his head and regain the breath knocked out of him, Botolf sank to his knees.
“Not so arrogant now, are we, brother of mine? Not so full of power and vanity, are you?” Cecil said, his voice a cold snarl of gloating. “I do not intend to kill you swiftly, you know. Nay, I mean to savor your death. You have been a thorn in my side for far too long, and I will make you suffer for that. Aye, and you will not die first,” he hissed. “I mean to make you watch the death of the child you so badly wanted and your pretty little wife. I mean to make you grovel, to make you weak. I mean to make you see just how completely you have lost.”
It did not surprise Botolf to see the taint of blood when he spat at Cecil. He was sure his lip was split, and he had cuts inside his mouth. “You could threaten to put my mother to the sword before my eyes, and I would still fight you.”
“Fool, you have lost,” Cecil screamed. “Admit it! Say it! You will die here.”
“Nay, Cecil,” he drawled even as he heard the doors to the great hall being kicked open. “You will die here.”
Saxan did not even look to see who had burst into the hall. Botolf’s brief hard look her way had been warning enough. She hurled herself to the floor and rolled out of the immediate reach of her guards. They decided quickly that the armed men racing into the room were more important than she was. Pitney was at her side a moment later, dragging her to a safe corner and staying at her side.
“Is that Sir Bretton Graeme?” she asked as she caught sight of the tall Scot.
“Aye,” replied Pitney, never taking his eyes off the battle. “He led us in here.”
“ ’Tis a small force,” she murmured, watching Botolf and Cecil circle each other.
“The rest have gone into the bailey to fight.”
She winced then cursed as a distinct pain encircled her belly. Absently she touched the bag of medicines still secured to her skirts. If her labor had begun, perhaps prompted by all she had endured, she intended to hide it for as long as she could. Saxan did not intend to bear her child in Collinburn, the place that had nearly become her and Botolf’s grave. Subtly taking deep, slow breaths to ease her discomfort, she fixed her attention on Botolf.
Botolf had grabbed the sword of one of his guards before they could stop him and had been armed and ready when Cecil attacked. The two men were equally matched; but, suddenly, Saxan knew Botolf would win. There would be no victory or escape for Cecil this time. She was heartily sorry that Botolf had to be the one to kill Cecil, but hoped that he would do so quickly. It was dark and there had been the promise of poor weather in the air. That would slow their journey back to Regenford. Saxan silently apologized for her heartlessness, but she wanted Cecil to meet his well-deserved end swiftly so that she could leave. She needed to leave soon so that she had time to get to her own bed and the women she knew could skillfully help her through the birth of her child.
“It ends here, Saxan,” Pitney said.
“I know,” she replied and exchanged a brief smile with him. His expression told her that he felt the same certainty she did.
Botolf swore when Cecil’s sword point grazed his left arm. As he and Cecil circled each other, lunging and parrying, Botolf caught sight of Saxan, safe and guarded by Pitney. There was a calm, expectant look on her face; and he knew that she waited for him to defeat Cecil, that she was sure of his victory. Her confidence enhanced his own.
“Surrender, Cecil,” he said in one last attempt to avoid killing the man.
“Why? To embrace the hangman’s noose?” Cecil’s voice was hoarse with fury. “Nay, I win or I die here.”
“You cannot win. My men have already defeated yours. Even you can hear that that battle has been lost. ’Tis just you and me. All your men are dead, captured, or have fled to the hills. Even if you kill me, you will be cut down before I hit the floor.”
“I will not swing from any scaffold or tree branch.”
“Mayhap we can come to some agreement—exile or the Crusades.”
“A crusade is exile. Nay, I live or die here. If it troubles you so much to kill me, then let me go.” He laughed, breathless from the effort to hold his own against Botolf.
“If you force me
, I will kill you. Surrender.”
“And deny myself the chance of staining your hands with my blood, a brother’s blood? If I must lose, I mean to force you to cut me down. Then at least I may savor the thought of how the pure, so honorable Botolf will be forever tormented by the crime of fratricide.”
“You are no brother of mine,” Botolf said in a cold voice and saw Cecil pale. “You cut all ties when you first threatened the lives of my wife and unborn child. Now you are no more to me than a murdering bastard who must pay for all his crimes with his own blood. If I must be the one to spill it, then so be it.”
Botolf could tell by the look upon Cecil’s face that he had somehow cut at the man’s confidence. He was ready for the wild attack that followed, but not for how quickly it ended. He was not even sure how his sword was plunged into Cecil’s body. Suddenly, he was staring into his half-brother’s eyes, watching the film of death coat them. He yanked his sword free and watched Cecil fall. It was over and, although he was grieved, the strongest emotion he felt was relief.
“Botolf,” called Saxan as she moved toward him.
He met her partway across the great hall and held her close. “Are you all right?”
“Aye. I am so sorry,” she whispered and stretched up to kiss his cheek.
“So am I. Are you sure you are unhurt?”
“Only a bruise or two. I wish to return to Regenford now.”
“But, ’tis night and the scent of rain is strong. It would be wiser to stay here until the morning.”
“Nay,” she said sharply. “I must leave this place.”
He tried to argue with her, but she was adamant. Botolf knew he was bowing to her condition, loath to add to the upset she was already feeling. He thanked the Scots and gave them leave to rest at Collinburn, leaving unspoken yet clear the invitation to take what they pleased when they left. Although Saxan’s brothers made a few attempts to change her mind as well, nothing worked and they, too, prepared to leave for Regenford. Botolf prayed he was not making a mistake in pandering to her because of her pregnancy or allowing his own need to flee the dark memory of Collinburn to force him into taking an unwise step.
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