Delusions of Loyalty (The Braykith Series Book 2)

by Jennifer R. Kenny

  Evangeline nodded. “Yes, yes, I am fine.” She answered, still watching Tempest. “I suppose I never realised how the race from Crimah affected Tempest before now.”

  Sable nodded. “That seemed like quite the journey.”

  Evangeline sighed. “I didn’t leave you there, Tempest. I was taken.” She tried to plead with the horse, but getting nothing in return, she decided to escape to her second favoured spot on the grounds. “Come along.” She directed Sable, heading to the exit at a brisk pace. She cast a look back at the stable, but Tempest was not looking back at her over the stall as she often would.

  “I suppose the most important thing you must learn about my life Sable is the oddities within in. Never are you to enter my rooms without first knocking and announcing yourself.” Evangeline lead the way around the large barn and towards the fence that separated the royal horses from the common breeds of Braykith.

  “Because you are a newlywed with a handsome husband?” Sable teased, mimicking Evangeline as she leant against the fence and watched the horse grazing calmly in the field.

  Evangeline turned to her friend but could offer no other explanation for the odd request for privacy. “I suppose some of it is just because Crimah is so different to Braykith. All of my life I had a certain sense of independence and a place I could escape when I needed to be alone with my own thoughts. Braykith was never so forgiving, and with the rush of disappearances, it is less and less common for me to ever really be alone. I will someday become Queen, and I understand there are responsibility and expectation that comes with that.” She looked down at her ring and sighed. “I just still like some confidentiality. It seems silly but my own rooms are the only place I can truly be myself, and it is hard to find that time sometimes to be just a little selfish.”

  Sable nodded. “I will admit Eva; I am quite jealous of your life sometimes.”

  “Oh, never think that,” Evangeline said quickly. “It is not all that it seems. The pressures of being a woman, and married to the crown keeps me awake at night.”

  Sable shrugged. “It beats being one of the ordinary people.” She mused aloud looking back towards the horses that seemed happy to ignore them since neither woman had brought snacks with them.

  “Glais does have a brother,” Evangeline said. “And no promises to marry any of the neighbouring Kingdoms or noble women.” She kept to herself that the truth in that was Quintus needing to keep his younger son close to home to keep the family secret safe rather than lacking in offers. Should Glais die, Baxter would carry the curse. Evangeline never imagined Glais would die, but she understood the need to have precautions in place.

  “Perhaps I need an introduction to this brother.” Sable forced herself to giggle, thinking about the stories she had heard of Baxter. Knowing she needed to keep up the charade of the girl Evangeline had met, Sable tried to look intrigued and flattered at the half-hearted suggestion Sighing, she swept her hair back from her face as the wind caught it. “Thank you again, Eva, for this opportunity. It is strange, but I feel like my life has a purpose now.”

  “Oh think nothing of it. It is I who should be thanking you. I have been looking for someone to take this position since I arrived and no one seemed to fit. But you are accidentally perfect.” Evangeline smiled, and Sable relaxed against the fence.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Baxter drew his sword and disappeared from the small clearing he had been standing in. Although fighting in the trees would not be his first option, it would be stupid to ignore the advantage they had. If they were going to fight on unfamiliar territory, then they needed to take small blessings such as this one.

  He did not look for his own men, or for Darius. If he had not taken the horse and bolted North, then Baxter could not be held responsible for the actions that may befall him. Baxter had been told explicitly not to engage, but Barret was no longer a responsible man. Baxter had seen only parts of him and compared to the stories and songs he knew of the legend, all his actions were peculiar. His plan was a simple one. He would attempt to restrain the Earl of Crimah, but Baxter would never risk his life just to keep Barret alive.

  His back to a tree, Baxter heard the woods settle into silence. Although occasionally broken by the whinnying of their horses nearby, the land seemed to be holding its breath. The birds and small critters had gone into hiding, and it made Baxter uneasy. He had never been a fan of silence, and this seemed far from natural. Even with the curses that plagued his home, this was enough to make his heart beat a little harder in anticipation. He wasn’t sure what to expect.

  The clinking of metal on metal, subtle like musical notes disturbed him. Baxter closed his eyes to try and visualise the oncoming force. He was young, and he lacked the extra abilities that came naturally to his brother and father, but Baxter had been exposed to military tactics before. He knew that Barret was heading directly towards them and had no more than six men with him. The odds were quite even, and since Barret did not know that Baxter waited for him, some may believe the young prince had the advantage of surprise.

  He turned to his left and saw Grant nearby. He hoped he was right in his judgement of the men and how willing they were to die for their leader. If this became a fight, Baxter would not be fighting lightly, and he would not be taking prisoners.

  Barret stopped in the small clearing. His men finished with him, their faces hidden by the shade of the trees that stood over them. They did not seem alert, but Barret did not care. He looked at the ground, seeing the fresh footprints and the visible signs of a struggle. Frowning, he knelt, but there were no further clues from what he could see.

  “Darius, my son.” He bellowed, disturbing the birds so they took flight with the sudden assault of his voice. He stood and looked into the trees, but there was nothing that alarmed him. “I understand now that what you saw was rough, but it is the strides we must take against Braykith.” He paused, but still there was no sign of movement.

  He took a step to the right, peering into the trees but if Darius was hiding from him, he was doing it well. “I will find you, and the longer you make me search, the worse it will be. You saw James, stretched out on the table.” Barret grinned, and Baxter felt his own fist clench in response. He did not want to think of what state James could be in if it forced Darius to flee from his home.

  “You have seen what I have done to my enemies.” Barret sneered, looking around at his men but they seemed uncertain on how best to proceed. Their fear of Barret was apparent to Baxter as he studied them cautiously from his hiding place. Their fear kept them stoic rather than jovial as Barret continued to take pleasure in taunting his own child. Baxter was glad that Darius had left the scene.

  “Can you imagine the tactics I will use against my traitorous son?” Barret shouted, drawing his sword and bringing it swinging on the tree beside Baxter. Instinctively Baxter turned around the tree with his own sword raised to counter the slashing blows. He did not mean to give away his position, but the act had been automatic and completed before he even realised he had done it.

  As if they were signalled, his men appeared suddenly mirroring the Crimah soldiers, although there was life in the Braykith men. The soldiers from Crimah had lost something that could not be easily replaced. Baxter did not ask because he was certain the answer would not be something he could easily forget.

  “Prince Baxter. Now, this is a surprise.” Barret chuckled, lowering his weapon.

  “We came for our men and horses,” Baxter said.

  “You are hiding in my woods.” Barret countered quickly, and Baxter felt a chill pass through him.

  He nodded. “Yes, I am.” Baxter had been caught in the woods, and there was no point in denying the obvious now. It seemed that Barret had no idea about his conversation with the priest or with Darius though, and it would be foolish for Baxter to admit just how long he had been here spying on the manor and collecting intelligence. “You would understand how hesitant we were to just ride up to your front doors after witnessin
g your abandoned lands. I was not sure what we had come across.”

  Barret nodded. “And now?”

  Baxter frowned. “And now, you should know your son is safe, and you will pay for the torture carried out by your own hand. The men and women of Braykith who came here arrived only as security for our Prince.” Suddenly the tension between the two sides was released, and both sides sprung simultaneously. Baxter did not see a signal being given, and he could not waste moments concerned on their welfare as his own men divided themselves up among the Crimah men. The clash of red and black was deafening and instant in the corner of his vision. Baxter ignored it all to focus only on Barret.

  The man was large, a solid mass of muscle, which meant he was slow but stable. He had witnessed Barret before but never in a fight. Drinking, talking, throwing his weight around and pretending he was a King when he was barely an Earl were the strongest memories Baxter had of Barret. The man appeared to be all talk and barely tolerated at times by his father, but it would be foolish to underestimate him now when it mattered most. The legends that were still mentioned based on his actions did not come from nowhere. Eyewitness accounts of Barret’s abilities fed those tales, and Baxter was right in being nervous.

  Baxter retightened his grip on his sword, knowing there was only so much time you could hold your weapon out in the open before you need to use it or start to feel silly. “Darius will reach Braykith before you do,” Baxter said, buying himself time for an opening. His first strike needed to count because he doubted that he would get another opportunity.

  “And what will your father do?” Barret laughed, tapping the tip of his sword against Baxter’s. “I know all of your Kingdom’s secrets. I know the stories are lies. There are no demons, no witches, and there is no dragon to run from. Your father is just a man.” He hit his sword against Baxter’s again and saw the young man’s stance falter just a little. “An old man, regardless of his looks. He is half blind to the world, and his sons see even less.” He sneered, and Baxter shouted as he rushed at him.

  Barret’s plan had worked. He grinned as Baxter came at him, swinging wildly, and his first strike was easily sidestepped and parried away from his body. Baxter was young and swift, but Barret had the skills of a hard-lived life, and as Baxter came at him again and again, he was easily able to push him back, using his own skills against him and forcing Baxter to stumble on his feet before racing towards Barret again.

  Barret laughed in the boy’s face, grabbing Baxter by the wrist before he could fall back again. “Do you fight like your father?” Baxter laughed, spit spraying onto the young man’s face. “He must have splendid storytellers.” He mocked the legacy of Braykith, shoving Baxter away, and meeting his wild swings of his sword quickly.

  “Left, right, left, left… predictable,” Barret yawned as Baxter grew more intense. Growls and grunts followed every swing of his sword, but none of them hit their target or left their mark. Baxter did not notice the battle that raged around them as both men focused on the feud building between them. Baxter was losing the battle of wits and strength. It was with a well-timed jab and Baxter fell onto his back.

  The wind kicked from his body, Baxter lost the grip on his sword and struggled for breath while the Earl took his time before standing over him. Barret laughed, mocking him and taking his time with the next swing that was undoubtedly aimed to end the young man’s life. Barret seemed to think the fight was over, and the small technicality of ending Baxter’s life would be no contest.

  Those few seconds was all it took for Baxter to rise, find the dagger at his side and slide it to the hilt into the man’s stomach. Barret drew a sharp breath, gasping in disbelief. Baxter looked up and blinked in surprise as he kept Barret standing only by the force of his dagger into his guts. Barret sagged forward, and Baxter’s strength denied him. He fell, and Baxter stubbornly held onto the handle with blood soaked hands. The force of the older man’s fall to earth brought the blade through the hard muscles of his stomach and tore the wound wide.

  Warm blood spread between them, while Baxter stayed motionless in disbelief at the turn of events. Breathing hard, he felt the weight being lifted from him but it took longer still to recognise the hand that brought him to a standing position.

  “Your grace.” A voice came to him and yet hid from him as Baxter felt the world swing under his feet. The copper scent of spilt blood wrapped tightly around his tongue and forced its way down his throat. He tried to speak but was muffled into silence as he gagged. Nothing came up. Stumbling out of careful hands Baxter hit a tree, and it grounded him. Leaning his head back he took several deep breaths, but nothing could quite free him of the feeling of having another man’s insides fall over his hands.

  “Your Grace, Earl Barret is dead, and his remaining men have fled.” Grant was talking to Baxter, but it seemed that the prince might lose consciousness. He had never seen him being affected so much in battle, and it winded Grant now to see Baxter this way.

  Baxter forced a quick breath from his lips and nodded. Finally, able to speak he reached out for his sword and tightened his grip on the handle when it was passed to him. Unable to move at his own will, Baxter replaced his sword and dagger before turning to the men of his own that remained. “We should inspect the manor, and send word to my father of all that came to pass here. Grant, I will send you on to Darius. Ensure he returns to Braykith safely. We must not forget the rebels haunt these woods.” He shook himself, feeling the last of the effects wear off.

  Baxter had never been in such delirious madness before, and he did not like how it felt. Unable to think of a person he could speak to about the sensations, Baxter decided to keep it to himself and trust his men not to mention it to anyone. Wanting to redeem himself, Baxter lead the way back towards the Crimah Manor. His clothes stuck top him, and each breath of wind was a reminder of the wet blood that stained him. Thicker things clung to his body, but Baxter could not clean them off since his hands were the worst affected areas.

  He felt his stomach heave with the thought of what was still clinging to him. Baxter did not lose his contents, but he did feel light headed. Doing his best to ignore it, Baxter focused on putting one uncertain footstep in front of the other, and that was as far as his thoughts could go. He had lost track of his men. Baxter did not see the damages the fight had done to the grounds. Baxter was a walking nobody, but he hoped that no one noticed.

  He barely broke the tree line when he heard someone drop behind him. Before he could turn, a hand was on his chin, the other at his stomach. The pain was not immediate, a slow realisation as his neck was stretched back. Baxter looked behind as best he could and into the intense eyes of a stranger. Baxter opened his mouth to speak, but it was impossible from this position. Instead, he jerked as the knife was removed from his stomach, and was brought over his throat in a swift action that he couldn’t react to.

  Grant turned and ran from the sight of Baxter bleeding down the front of his own uniform. The blood of his enemies mixing with his own, Grant knew there was no surviving the wounds inflicted. Racing back into the trees, Grant heard more rustling of leaves and more bodies dropping from above them where they had been sitting for who knew how long.

  Grant grabbed his own horse, hearing a shout as one of his fellow Braykith soldiers was jerked back into the fighting frenzy. Grant did not need to ask who these men were. Their garments were as well-known as any other. The ruined and patched clothes were faded and stained, but beneath it all laid the once regal colours of the Zorelian kingdom. These were the rebels, and Grant knew they could not be reasoned with.

  He pulled the reins loose from where the Braykith men had secured the horses, wasting the precious seconds needed to ensure that the rebel members could not take the horses as their own bounty. The horses were already on edge, breathing loudly, and their hooves hitting the dirt hard before Grant slapped the rumps of those closest to him in an effort to get them moving. If Tempest could find her way back to Braykith, these horses could do t
he same. Not looking back, he slung himself over the dark stallion and let him guide him away from the fight.

  None of this had gone to plan.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Everything had gone better than he had planned. For days Christof had been monitoring Crimah, sensing a weakness in their resolve, and it seemed foolish to ignore the opportunity as the lands cleared. If Christof had known it would be so easy to turn the old Earl mad, he would have attempted such an attack earlier. Perhaps it was just the perfection of his timing that had made the entire operation run so smoothly.

  His spies had told him of the Braykith cavalry, and slowly Christof had taken a handful of his best men and women and crept upon their site. The showdown between Barret and Baxter had been entirely unexpected. However, Christof had enjoyed watching Barret tease the boy. And Baxter was still a boy. In his death now it was obvious to see how little he had lived. No real scars showed on his exposed skin, and his knuckles were still soft. Braykith had kept their precious Prince safe. Christof wondered if Baxter realised just how little of the world had been free for him to explore.

  He turned as Yolanda emerged from the trees. She paused, wiping her mouth on her shoulder before spitting on the ground. “One of them got away.” She reported, her voice rough from a wound on her neck that had never fully healed during the war.

  Christof nodded. “Quintus would have known soon enough what had happened here. This way we can ensure that he will come looking for us on our terms.” Christof grinned and kicked the body of Baxter. “Round up the bodies. Strip them of their clothes and weapons and burn them.” Yolanda nodded and left Christof to walk alone towards the manor of Crimah. He was not expecting resistance, and if any dared, he would be sure to handle them himself.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Glais knocked lightly on the door, waiting patiently outside his father’s study. He bowed when he came face to face with his father, relieved to see his mother sitting there as well.