by The Prisoner
He closed his eyes, willing sleep to claim him, to take him from his Hell for even the briefest of times.
****
Constance folded her knees to her chest and laid her head on them.
Since her abduction, whenever she was left alone she curled herself up in the window seat of the tower room.
When first she returned to the room after feeding his prisoner, she’d spent a long time crying, until the tears dried among the old dirt and blood on her face. Constance longed for water to wash with but Loutrant did not allow such a luxury.
All she did since that dreadful day three days before was weep. What a complete idiot she’d been. If only her father could see her now. Constance shook her head. She did not want to give into the sadness. It would not help her plight.
Everything was all her fault. She’d played right into Loutrant’s hands. Believing the golden haired, handsome man wanted her, loved her.
Who was the prisoner? Why was he in Loutrant’s dungeon and why had she been forced to bring him his meal? What a pitiful wretch he was. Constance thought he had perhaps been in the cell for a very long time. What could he have done to deserve such a terrible fate?
What had she done?
Constance bit her lip. There, she was thinking of her own self again. Wasn’t that what had gotten her in this predicament in the first place?
But surely her betrothed, Nicholas Fitzroy, would come? Wouldn’t he?
“If he even knows where you are, Constance,” she whispered.
Or even wants to, she added silently, mournfully.
How could she blame Nick if he chose not to rescue her? She’d been prepared to run off with a man rather than to marry Nick as even her dear father had wanted.
She couldn’t even say she didn’t love Nick, Constance berated herself. She did love him, though not that way. But did the kind of love sung by the minstrels even exist?
Constance closed her eyes tight. Minstrel. Loutrant had come to her as one. Golden and beautiful like an angel. How fast she’d fallen for his lies. Allowed him to make love to her. She shivered. He revolted her now.
Constance lifted her head and peered out the tiny round window by the seat. It looked out to the rocky cliff and sea below. Her fingers grazed the glass panes.
Would Loutrant come in to see her again? She dreaded his reappearance. Blissfully, he’d left her alone most of the day. But somehow, Constance knew she couldn’t count on his leaving her alone much longer.
Constance froze at the sound of footsteps coming up the long stone steps leading to the tower. An involuntary cry escaped her lips and she stuffed her hand into her mouth, more to calm herself than to quell the alarm.
It might not be Finius. It could be the second guard relieving the one who stood outside her door at all times. It must be nearly time for the change.
She straightened from the window seat.
“I won’t need you for a time,” Finius Loutrant’s melodious voice said from the other side of the door. “I will watch the prisoner.”
Her heart plummeting, Constance wanted to drop to the floor and curl up into a ball and pretend she was anywhere else. But she did not. She stood and waited.
When the door opened Constance jumped, and hated herself for it.
Finius Loutrant wasted no time in entering. The mouth she once thought adorable was twisted in a smirk, aimed in her direction. He turned and closed the door behind him.
Loutrant smiled when he faced her once more. He had a beautiful smile. His teeth, white and straight, were nearly perfect.
When first she’d met him, Constance hadn’t been able to see beyond the perfection. But now, knowing the rotting soul within, she couldn’t believe she’d ever been blind to the cold, baleful look in his piercing blue eyes. He could not hide it with the brightest of smiles.
“My, my, Constance, you do look a fright.”
He walked over to her and she stood rooted to her spot, afraid to back down. Conceding would only show his advantage. She did not answer him, merely met his gaze.
Loutrant reached up and rubbed at the tracks of her tears on her cheek. Constance gritted her teeth to avoid flinching from the dreaded touch.
“I suppose I could find it in my heart to allow you a bath,” he whispered, staring at her mouth. “You’ve been crying again, haven’t you, dear, sweet, delectable Constance?”
Loutrant grasped her chin hard. His eyes narrowed. “My prisoner did not hurt you, did he? I vow he will get the worst beating of his life if it is so.”
“Nay, nay,” Constance said. She could not have the poor wretch in the cell harmed because of her. “I was merely homesick.”
His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “Poor Constance. Deluded little fool.” He shook his head. The pressure of his thumb on her mouth increased. “Imagine missing the Fitzroys. Have I not told you they are naught but evil?”
Constance nodded.
“I will make sure you no longer think about those bastards,” Loutrant vowed. “Perhaps if I dressed up as a minstrel again for you, my dear. You do seem to have a penchant for that type of man. No matter. You will only think of me. Perform only for me. Do you understand?”
Constance’s tongue clung to the roof of her mouth.
Loutrant grabbed a hunk of her hair and yanked. “Do you understand?”
“Aye.”
He pulled again. “Aye what?”
“Aye, Finius.”
Releasing her hair, he tilted her head to expose the column of her throat. He lowered his head and nipped her just under her ear. She knew better than to cry out.
“You will learn your place, little Constance. I vow you will.” Loutrant straightened up and grabbed her chin once more. “You do need to clean up, though. I do not care for the taste of blood. I will order a bath for you.”
Constance could hardly believe it. But his next words chilled her.
“And then I will bathe you.”
****
England 1312, Fitzroy Castle – Autumn
Fire.
Surrounding him, burning him. He fought the smoke blinding him, desperate to find the way out.
His fingers brushed the cold stones in front of him, heard the sharp, barking laugh. Turning toward it, the flames and smoke stung his eyes.
“You’ll never get out,” the disembodied voice jeered.
His legs gave out from under him and he hit the rock floor hard. Tasting blood, his tongue lined his bottom lip. His tooth had bitten through it.
The flames licked the soles of his feet. The pain seared through him, bringing an involuntary cry from his lips.
“Brian.”
“Ah,” he screamed, watching the rags he wore burst into flames.
“Brian,” someone said more insistently.
He held out his hand and watched in horror as it blackened.
Someone grabbed him from behind and fiercely shook him. He rolled away from them, desperately trying to put out the flames engulfing him.
He was grabbed again and shaken harder. A hand slapped his cheek.
Brian Fitzroy woke. He was tangled in the furs in his bed. Above him loomed a large bald man with a neatly trimmed beard. His brother, Telford.
“Brian, wake up,” Telford urged.
The glare from the sunlight streaming in through the window hurt his eyes. Brian shielded them. “Close the damn window.”
Telford moved from the bed and pulled the fur back over the window, sending the room once more into blessed darkness.
Brian wasn’t used to daylight yet. Wondered if he ever would be.
Telford sat down on the edge of the bed. “You were having a terrible dream.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Brian muttered.
“You screamed.”
Brian glared. “I’ll try to keep it down.”
Telford shook his head. “I am concerned about you.”
“Don’t be.” Brian struggled to sit up, his dark gaze resting on the nearby wall sconce. Ev
en this flame nearly blinded him. He’d grown to resent the brightness.
“You haven’t been sleeping well since you’ve returned to Fitzroy.” Telford rose and held the furs aside for Brian to get out of the bed.
Brian padded naked to the wardrobe holding his clothes. Old clothes. He still could not believe his brothers had saved his clothes from thirteen years ago. They’d kept his room like a shrine.
Shaking his head, Brian opened the wardrobe and stared at its contents. It mattered little what he put on for he would spend most of the day as he had yesterday. In dark solitude. Brian fingered a brown pair of breeches.
“What occurred in this dream?” Telford asked.
Brian ignored him, pulling the breeches out and flinging them toward the bed. He yanked out a white undershirt and a brown jerkin.
“Mayhap it will help to speak of them,” Telford persisted, crossing his muscular arms across his chest.
Brian slammed the wardrobe closed and returned to the bed. He picked up the breeches and pulled them on with quick jerks. They hung loosely about him. He grabbed hold of the waistband and studied the excess material with self- loathing.
“I am naught but skin and bones. I must tie my waist with a rope like some maiden.”
“Brian…”
“Talking does not help, Telford.” He tied a rope around his waist, then pulled on the rest of his clothing.
Telford reached down and picked up his brother’s boots. He handed them to Brian.
Brian frowned at one of the boots. “I thought seeing Finius Loutrant fall to his death would help, yet it did not.”
Loutrant, the Fitzroy’s enemy for many years, had held Brian prisoner for the past thirteen years because of Brian’s affair with his wife, Katherine.
Recently Loutrant had been charged with crimes against the crown, but Loutrant, rather than face the punishment of a life in the Tower, fought the Fitzroys and ended up falling from a window of his own castle to the treacherous sea below. And Brian was rescued.
“It takes time, Brian,” Telford said.
Brian finished dressing and stood. Nearby stood a looking glass, one he had found himself staring into a lot lately and seeing only a stranger with drawn, gaunt cheeks and dark circles under nearly black eyes. He gazed at his image now and wondered at the face of a man who was thirteen years older yet no wiser at all.
“Brian?”
He tore his attention away from the mirror and returned to looking at his brother. A brother who had changed much over the years. For the first time since Telford awakened him, a smile tugged at Brian’s lips.
“Am I mistaken, Telford, or did you have more hair on your head than on your face before?”
Telford chuckled. “Aye, I did indeed, there is no mistake.”
Brian nodded. “Then there is much I missed.”
“Come.” Telford grew serious once more. He rested his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Ride with me. There is much to see on your lands.”
Bile rose in Brian’s throat. “I do not think I can.”
“There is naught to fear, Brian,” Telford promised, squeezing his shoulder.
“I know you speak the truth.” Brian sighed. “As you see it.” His lips lifted. “You aren’t going to give me some absurd lecture about facing my fears is the way to defeat them, are you?”
Telford nodded. “I was about to.”
“Forget it.”
“Only if you agree to the ride,” Telford countered.
Brian exhaled. “Very well.”
He was aware the servants and soldiers in the main hall stared when he stepped down from the stairs.
He didn’t blame them. He, too, would be curious about a man who’d been in a dungeon for many years of his life. A man Loutrant had vowed was dead.
For a while, when Brian had first been imprisoned, he expected his brothers. To wage war against Loutrant. To come for him. These thoughts kept him sane those first few weeks when lunacy threatened to consume his mind as it already had his soul.
Loutrant had known how to reach in and seize his very heart. Killing Katherine while Brian watched, unable to save the only woman he loved. Would ever love.
Yet still he clung to hope.
Loutrant crushed all hope the day he’d taken Brian’s ring and informed his prisoner the ring would be found on Brian’s burnt body. His family would never come for him, for they would believe him dead.
Brian did not wander the rooms of his own castle since returning from Loutrant’s Castle. He still remained a stranger and a mystery to those who worked for him.
He squinted at the glare of the flames all around him. He’d become some creature of the night.
“My lord.”
Brian jumped and staggered back into his brother.
Facing him was a small man, older than he himself was, bowing before him.
“Forgive me, my lord, I did not mean to frighten you,” the man said.
“I was not frightened,” Brian said. “Merely startled.”
“Uh.” The man looked uncertainly at Telford.
“Brian, this is your steward. His name is Wilton.”
Fool. Afraid of some little steward. What’s the matter with you?
“Aye, I do recall meeting you before.”
Wilton brightened. “Indeed, my lord. When you first came home.” He nodded and licked his lips. “I wondered when we might talk about your expectations.”
“Expectations?”
“For the running of the castle, my lord.”
Brian blinked. “Ah, well, I leave that up to you.”
“But my lord…”
“We can discuss this later, Wilton,” Telford interjected. “Pray excuse us.” He firmly steered his brother toward the doors of the castle.
“I should have stayed in bed,” Brian said.
“Brian, it will take time.” Telford shook his head, stopping by the large double doors out to the courtyard.
“Really? I was supposedly raised for his, Telford, and I don’t know anything about it.”
“You paid no heed before,” Telford reminded him. “But the situation is changed. You are different, Brian.”
“Not for the better, I fear.” Brian shook his head and placed his hand on one of the doors. “Time to get this over with.”
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the bright sunlight. It wasn’t the first time since his brothers rescued him. For the first few days after King Edward and his family came to Loutrant’s castle, Brian had struggled to stay in the light.
Until Loutrant’s death. Then it seemed pointless to embrace life as though it were something he cared about. Brian still did not care about life. These steps he took now were for his brother, and nothing more.
The sunlight scorched his eyes when he tilted his head to look up at the blaring sun. He winced in pain.
“Careful,” Telford warned. “Shield your eyes, Brian. It has been days since you have been out.”
Brian did as he was told and lifted his right hand to block the rays.
“Take a moment. You will need to adjust to the brightness. Living like a mole as you have.”
They stood just outside the castle for a time. He did not move. He would have to eventually, he supposed.
“The king sent a new horse for you,” his brother told him, breaking the silence.
“Why?” Brian asked, truly perplexed.
“As a gift.” Telford smiled. “A small token to try to make up for all your troubles, I suppose.”
Brian shook his head. “Leave it to a king to suppose a horse can make up for a life.”
“Brian, would you rather talk about it? You haven’t truly told anyone exactly what happened. We can ride another day.”
Brian lowered his hand and glanced at Telford’s troubled face.
“Nay, ‘tis a boring tale. Let us view this gift from the king.”
Chapter Two
The stables were well past the courtyard and around the corner. Brian noticed
many soldiers milled about and most of them stared. He supposed he would be expected to meet with them eventually as their lord, but he had no liking for the task.
“Sorry, Brian,” Telford said as they walked. “They are all very curious about you.”
“Aye, ‘tis only natural,” Brian acknowledged.
They’d reached the stables and Brian was a little surprised at their familiarity. True, he’d grown up with it, but during his imprisonment he couldn’t even conjure up his brothers’ faces in his mind after a while.
Of course he hadn’t been able to get Katherine’s face out of his thoughts, ever. Even when he prayed her terrified face would no longer be etched upon his conscience.
Telford stood aside to let Brian into the stables first. At least it was blessedly darker inside.
“The king’s gift is at the back,” Telford said.
In the last stall at the back of the stables stood an enormous black stallion. A truly beautiful creature, the animal’s hair shone. Brian stroked his glossy mane.
He glanced back at the horse’s muscular hindquarters. “The king knows horseflesh.”
Telford smiled. “You’ll have to think of a name.”
Brian nodded. The animal was beautiful, but it had been a number of years since he’d ridden a horse at all, let alone such a beast.
“Brian?”
“Ah,” Brian said slowly, “I have a better idea. Let’s walk around the grounds.”
Brian didn’t wait for Telford’s response. He brushed past him and out the doors of the stable into the daylight once more. Taking a deep breath, he squashed the sense of panic.
“Brian, are you all right?” Telford came up quickly behind him, worry evident in his voice.
“Aye.” He would be even better if he were back in his room sitting in the darkness. He closed his eyes. “I can do this.”
“What?”
Brian shook his head, opening his eyes. “‘Tis naught.”
Telford watched intently for so long, Brian was sure his brother was about to pester him again to talk about his ordeal, and worse yet how he felt about it. But finally, blessedly, Telford broke his gaze and glanced first up at the clear blue sky, then around the grounds surrounding the stables.