Bad Boy Heroes Boxed Set

by Patricia Ryan

  “Yes, do.” Orrik crossed his arms, his eyes like newly minted silver shillings.

  “It’s my pin.”

  Luke turned to find Alex behind him.

  “I’m the man you were looking for, Faithe,” Alex said.

  Faithe shook her head again. “No, Alex.”

  “‘Tisn’t how it seems,” Luke said.

  Orrik snorted disgustedly.

  “Then tell me how it is,” she demanded shakily. “Explain it.”

  Luke scoured his mind for the right words. Felix sniffled pathetically.

  “Oh, God.” She fisted her quivering hands in her skirt. “Alex, please tell me you didn’t… please!”

  “We can’t talk about it here,” Luke said, indicating their audience. “Let’s go outside and—”

  “I’m sure you’d like that.” Orrik nodded toward the herd of brawny men being led through the back door by Baldric. They’d been rebuilding the cookhouse, and they still gripped their tools in their meaty fists. Luke saw augers, chisels, and various axes, hammers, and saws of all shapes and sizes. “See that this murdering cur” —he pointed to Alex— “doesn’t go anywhere.”

  Faithe opened her mouth to speak, but seemed at a complete loss; Luke had never seen her look so helpless. The men blinked at Orrik and exchanged looks. Alex was well liked by everyone at Hauekleah.

  Obviously sensing their hesitation, Orrik said, “‘Twas he who murdered our Lord Caedmon. He all but admitted it.”

  The men murmured darkly. One of them grabbed Alex by the arm and held a carpenter’s axe to the back of his neck.

  Pulling herself together, Faithe ordered her staff and the children out of the great hall. They all dropped what they were doing and left quickly, save for Lynette and Leola, weeping piteously, and Felix, who lingered unnoticed behind Orrik.

  “You” —Orrik jabbed Firdolf on the arm— “go fetch a good, strong length of rope, and tie it into a noose. Bring it back here.”

  Firdolf’s mouth dropped open.

  “Do it!”

  The young bondman backed up slowly, glancing back and forth between Leola and Alex.

  “Now!” Orrik ordered.

  Firdolf turned and lumbered off to do the bailiff’s bidding.

  “Nay!” Lynette, crying hysterically, clutched the front of Orrik’s tunic. “Let him go! He didn’t do it! He couldn’t have!”

  “Stop this!” Orrik slapped the young woman’s face.

  “Orrik!” Faithe gasped.

  “You bastard!” Alex screamed, leaping toward the bailiff. Three of the men seized him and wrestled him back. “Don’t you touch her!”

  Orrik sneered at Alex’s rage. “Nyle! Baldric! Take these wenches outside.”

  The two brothers grabbed the twins, who began to struggle frantically, biting and lashing out with their fists. Leola broke free and hurled herself toward Alex. Baldric pounced on her and lifted her roughly off her feet. She kicked him in the shin. He yanked her braid, causing her to howl in pain.

  “Stop it!” Alex bellowed. The girls quieted; their captors held on tight. “Lynette… Leola. Go home.”

  They shook their heads, tears streaming down their crimson faces.

  “Aye,” Alex insisted, quietly but firmly. “Go into your house and wait there. There’s naught you can do to help, and—”

  They both burst into fresh tears.

  “And this isn’t as bad as it seems,” he lied. “‘Tis a misunderstanding, nothing more. Go home. Go.”

  They nodded limply. The men let them go, and they lurched from the hall, holding on to each other.

  “You’ve quite a way with the wenches,” Orrik observed. “But ‘twill take more than sweet words to keep me from stretching your filthy, murdering neck this evening.”

  “He didn’t do it,” Luke said.

  Alex shook his head. “Luke…”

  Luke looked directly at Faithe and said quietly, “I did.”

  She stared mutely, stricken by his confession. Dimly Luke was aware of Orrik barking orders, someone’s big hand closing around his arm, a sharp pressure at his back, through his tunic. Alex tried to intercede, but they held on to him, three or four of them.

  “He’s lying to protect me!” Alex claimed. “I did it. ‘Twas my pin you found there, wasn’t it?”

  “All that means,” Orrik told him, “is you were there with him when he did it. If I have to choose which one of the two of you is more likely to do murder, it’s got to be the Black Dragon. He’s the one that did it. I know it in my bones. ‘Tis an act of brutality perfectly in keeping with his nature.”

  How convenient for Orrik, Luke thought, to have such a good excuse for disposing of the Norman master he never wanted in the first place, and had always despised.

  Faithe never wrested her gaze from Luke’s. “Why?” she choked out. “You must have had a reason. I know you must have had a reason.”

  The time for deceit—even in the name of kindness—was over. Luke’s position as master of Hauekleah wouldn’t save him from Orrik’s unreasoning fury. His only hope for salvation was the truth. “I didn’t just murder him in cold blood, Faithe. I swear it. And I didn’t kill him fighting over… the woman.”

  “Doesn’t matter what clever lies you come up with, de Périgueux,” Orrik threatened. “As God is my witness, you’re going to swing from my noose this night.”

  “Nay!” Faithe exclaimed. “There will be no hanging. I won’t permit it.”

  “God’s bones, woman, do you mean to just let the man walk free?” Orrik demanded. “He killed Caedmon—he said so himself! He murdered your husband, and you propose to—”

  “I didn’t murder him,” Luke interjected.

  “Liar!” Orrik rammed his fist into Luke’s stomach. A sickening burst of pain doubled him over. Hands grabbed him and yanked him upright.

  Faithe and Alex were both screaming at Orrik. Orrik screamed back, “He’s a murderer, and he’s got to hang!” He snatched a small saw out of someone’s hand. “I’ll cut his stinking Norman throat before I let him go free.”

  “Then the Normans will hang you,” Faithe warned.

  “‘Twill be worth it,” Orrik said. “I’ll go to the hangman willingly, knowing I’ve seen justice done.”

  “You call this justice?” Faithe demanded. “Hanging a man without a trial?”

  Orrik grunted dismissively. “We’ve no authority to try him. Only his king can do that, and you can’t tell me we can expect real justice from him. Even if he were found guilty, the great and mighty Black Dragon would never hang for killing a lowly Saxon. Worst that’ll happen to him is a whipping. The only way to see justice served is for us to hang the bastard ourselves, even if we have to do it in the dead of night and burn the body afterward.”

  Baldric grunted in agreement. The others seemed taken aback—even appalled—by what the bailiff was proposing. Unfortunately Luke knew that all Orrik needed in order to implement his threat was the cover of darkness.

  “I forbid this,” Faithe announced, scanning the faces of the men surrounding them. “Do you hear me? I won’t have it.”

  All the men, even Orrik, murmured their assent, but Luke detected a predatory gleam in the bailiff’s eye, a mulish set to his jaw, and knew, even if Faithe didn’t, that she couldn’t hope to control him. Not for a moment did Luke believe Orrik would willingly hand him over to the Normans, no matter what pacifying assurances he offered now. Alex’s severe expression indicated that he knew this, too.

  Faith turned to Luke. “What happened that night? Tell me the truth this time. You’ve lied to me for months, one way or another.”

  Luke didn’t deny it.

  “No more lies,” she said. “What really happened?”

  Luke drew in a steadying breath. “I was trying to protect… that woman. Helig. She was upstairs in the loft, with Caedmon. I’m sorry, Faithe. I didn’t want to tell you this. I didn’t want you to find out what happened that night.”

  “I daresay that’
s true,” Orrik snarled.

  Faithe sliced a look of warning toward Orrik, then returned her attention to Luke. “Go on.”

  “They were upstairs together. I was asleep downstairs.” No point in offering all the sordid details—the herbs, the nightmares, the madness. They would muddy things and only hurt his cause. “I woke up to screams, the woman’s screams. I went up there, and… I’m sorry, Faithe. He was attacking her.”

  She looked at Luke as if he’d said he’d seen fish flying in the sky.

  “Lying pig!” Orrik slammed his fist into the side of Luke’s head. Pain erupted in a white-hot flash.

  More screaming… he shook his head to clear it as the hands tightened around his arms. His ears rang. All he could hear was Felix wailing, amid uncontrollable sobs, “I’m sorry, milord! I found the pin. ‘Tis all my fault.”

  “Listen to Luke!” Alex was yelling. “Won’t you just listen to him? He’s telling the truth.”

  “It’s impossible,” Faithe murmured, her bright flush draining quickly—too quickly.

  Luke tried to approach her, but the hands held him back. Hot blood trickled into his eye, and he could feel the stinging flesh begin to swell. “I’m sorry, Faithe, truly I am. But he was… hitting her. Over and over again.”

  “He’s never done anything like that,” she said woodenly. “Never.”

  Luke implored her with his eyes to look at him. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Faithe.”

  “Hah!” Orrik spat out.

  “Not anymore,” he amended, feeling as if he were skidding down a perilous and deadly slope. “You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I… want to…” But she didn’t. Of course not. She didn’t want to believe the man she’d been married to for eight years was capable of such savagery.

  “He was… his illness, it made him…” Luke groped for the words to explain it to her, but her eyes were becoming glassy, unfocused, and he didn’t think she really heard him. She wavered slightly on her feet, and he knew then that the shock was too much for her. This was exactly how she’d looked after finding Vance’s corpse hanging in the storeroom that morning, before she’d run away to faint in the blessed solitude of the barn.

  “Faithe…” Luke said, but she just turned away with dreamlike listlessness. “Someone help her. Moira!”

  “I’m… I’m…” Sweat gleamed on Faithe’s bleached face. Moira tried to put her arm around her, but she swatted the plump maid away. “Nay,” she said hoarsely. “Leave me be.”

  She stumbled away, and out the back door.

  “See what your lies have done?” Orrik demanded, rage flaring in his eyes. “She’s like my own daughter, that girl. Look what you’ve done to her.”

  “Here it is, Master Orrik.” It was Firdolf, returning with the noose he’d fashioned from a length of thick hemp rope.

  “You’ve done naught but damage since you came here,” Orrik charged, trading his saw for the noose and snapping it to test its strength. “Now I mean to do a little damage myself. An eye for an eye, as they say.”

  “Your mistress has forbidden this!” Alex reminded him.

  “My mistress has been taken in by the smooth Norman ways of her husband.” Orrik draped the noose around Luke’s head and pulled it tight. “She’s not thinking straight. It falls to me to do her thinking for her.”

  “Nay! Nay!” Felix pummeled Orrik with his little fists. Orrik backhanded him across the face, and he sprawled into the rushes.

  “Go away, Felix,” Luke ordered. “You can’t help me.” And he didn’t want the boy to have to watch him hang. He had enough on his conscience.

  “But ‘tis my fault, milord!” Felix whimpered. “I’ve got to help you.”

  “You can help me by going home to your mother, so I don’t have to worry about you. Now, go!”

  The boy got to his feet, but hesitated.

  “Get out of here!” Luke roared.

  He sprinted out the front door.

  Orrik seemed grimly amused. “Shall we get on with things?” He tugged on the rope, jerking Luke’s head to the side. “That big oak outside the sheepfold has a good, sturdy branch high up. ‘Twill do quite nicely for our purposes, I think.”

  “Listen to me, all of you,” Alex exhorted the men, straining against the arms that held him. “Orrik has no authority to do this. You heard Lady Faithe. She expressly forbade this!”

  Orrik grabbed a sledgehammer from the man next to him.

  “No!” Luke screamed.

  Hauling back, Orrik whipped the hammer’s handle across Alex’s forehead. The impact jolted him; he slumped over unconscious, supported by the men who held onto him. Blood dripped from his head into the rushes.

  Orrik caught Firdolf’s eye and pointed to Alex. “Get him out of here.”

  Firdolf took Alex from the men who held him, hooking his hands beneath his shoulders to drag him away. Orrik grabbed him by the tunic and whispered something in his ear. Firdolf gaped at Orrik and then at Alex. “But, Master Orrik, if I leave him there, he’ll—”

  “Just do it!” Orrik put his mouth near Firdolf’s ear and muttered something else. Luke thought he heard the word “Leola.” Most likely he was reminding the lovesick young man that, with Alex out of the way, he’d have the object of his desire all to himself.

  Firdolf nodded slowly and, seeming to steel himself, continued dragging Alex out of the hall.

  “Don’t do it!” Luke yelled at him, not knowing where he was taking Alex, but not liking Firdolf’s hesitation. “Alex has committed no crime. Orrik has no right to order this!”

  Firdolf stubbornly refused to look up or react in any way to these desperate pleas, but Luke saw the consternation in his eyes.

  “I’d save my breath if I were you,” Orrik snickered. “You’ll soon need all the breath you can get.”

  “Alex was right,” Luke told the men gathered around. “Orrik is acting on his own in this. He’s going against Lady Faithe’s orders.”

  There commenced a great deal of muttering and whispering.

  “I’m avenging Caedmon!” Orrik insisted.

  “Your vengeance is misplaced,” Luke said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “What happened to Caedmon was a tragedy, but he was dying anyway. He was sick, very sick. I think he had a kind of growth in his brain. ‘Twas the same malady that killed my sister.”

  “Lies!”

  “It made him mad in the end. He’d have spells of uncontrollable violence. That’s why he attacked that woman. He was—”

  “Damn you to hell!” Orrik swung the sledgehammer handle again.

  A dull explosion went off in Luke’s head, and then nothingness swallowed him up.

  Chapter 21

  *

  FAITHE AWOKE IN darkness to the familiar, comforting scent of straw. She sat up, and a wave of vertigo washed over her.

  I fainted. That’s right. I came to the barn and fainted.

  And then she remembered why she fainted—Luke’s terrible confession, and the things he’d said about Caedmon. He was hitting her… over and over again.

  “Nay.” She pressed her hands to her forehead to make everything stop spinning. “Nay…”

  As God is my witness , Orrik had told Luke, you’re going to swing from my noose this night.

  “Christ.” Lurching to her feet, she staggered out of the barn. Smears of red and purple bruised the sky. How long had she been out? Had Orrik followed through on his threat? Had he gone against her order and hanged Luke? He’d never broken a promise to her before, but he was a changed man since Hastings, and she wasn’t sure what to expect of him anymore.

  Clutching her skirts, she ran on jittery legs to the rear gate of the croft. Someone was standing just inside it, arms crossed, watching her approach.

  Orrik.

  “Whoa!” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Slow down, my lady! No need to—”

  “Did you do it?” she gasped, her chest heaving, everything whirling. “Tell me you didn’t—”

 
“Steady, my dear. Do what? What do you think—”

  “Hang him. You didn’t hang Luke. Tell me you didn’t—”

  “Of course not!” His eyes widened in indignation, their pupils contracting to make them look even more silvery than usual in this eerie twilight. “Did you think I’d go back on my word to you?”

  “I… I don’t…” Relief made her dizzy. He tried to gather her up for a fatherly embrace, but she backed away from him, murmuring, “I was so scared. I came to in the barn, and I remembered how you’d threatened to hang him—”

  “And then I swore not to, didn’t I?” He reached out and tilted her chin up. “Didn’t I?”

  “Aye, but… aye.”

  “You ordered me not to, and that was good enough for me. Have I ever broken my word to you?”

  Beyond Orrik’s shoulder Faithe could see Baldric standing a few paces away, outside the small storehouse. Even in the semidarkness, she could make out his slyly mysterious smile. She still felt lightheaded from her fainting spell, and her thoughts were blurry and confused, but she had the sense that things were not quite as they seemed. Foreboding itched at her.

  “Where is he, then?” she asked, wrapping her fist around her keys. “Where is Luke?”

  “Right in there.” Orrik cocked his head toward the storehouse. “Where we keep all knaves and cutthroats until we can deal with them properly,” he added with a scowl.

  Ah. So that was it. Baldric was standing guard over his own master, imprisoned like a common bandit in the same place where Vance had inexplicably hanged himself. He nodded in her direction. She wondered what he knew that she didn’t. She could demand the full truth from Orrik, but she knew from experience he was too smart and too obdurate to reveal more than he cared to about any matter of importance to him. And Baldric would be no more forthcoming; he was entirely Orrik’s creature.

  But there was someone who might speak frankly to her, someone she wanted to talk to anyway, needed to talk to.

  “I’d like to speak to my husband,” she said. “Who has the key to the storehouse?”

  Baldric heard her; he withdrew the key from his tunic, but Orrik held up a restraining hand before he could insert it in the lock.