Sharon Lanergan

by The Prisoner

  Constance shook her head. “It is so easy for you to just dismiss us, isn’t it?”

  Brian tapped his long fingers on the table. She was drawn to the light dusting of hair on his large hand. His midnight eyes darkened, but he did not respond.

  “I know you do not care about anyone, my lord, but the rest of us do not feel that way. We do care about you.”

  Constance could resist no longer. She covered his hand with hers. A jolt of pure awareness sent a shiver through her. When his gaze flared with some unknown emotion, she was certain Brian would pull his hand away.

  He did not.

  He turned his hand over until her fingers touched his palm. The warmth there surprised her. His fingers closed around hers and Constance lost all ability to think.

  Then abruptly, Brian disengaged his hand from hers. Constance was left with her hand resting on the table alone. She felt foolish.

  “You are wrong,” Brian said quietly. “It isn’t that I do not care. None of it matters.”

  “But it does matter. We are never going to get past this if we don’t talk about it,” Constance insisted.

  He tilted his head, studied her, saw into her, she supposed.

  “We?”

  Constance pulled back. “I meant you. You are never going to get past this.”

  Don’t say too much, she reprimanded herself.

  “Come to the meal this evening, my lord,” Constance urged.

  Brian was already shaking his head.

  “Please. I promise there won’t be a lot of people. I will make sure it is only the family.”

  “I don’t …”

  “Brian, please.” Constance didn’t know what else to do, so she knelt in front of him and grasped his hands in hers before he could pull away. The same tingle shivered through her, but this time she forced it away.

  Brian blinked, his eyes turning an ever darker shade.

  She knew he hesitated still. She squeezed his hands. His gaze dropped to their joined fingers.

  “Very well, I will go,” he agreed, his voice void of any emotion. “But only the family, no one else.”

  “Yes, I promise.” Constance smiled, her heart lifting and pounding frantically.

  It was a small victory, she conceded, but it was hard won.

  Chapter Four

  Brian watched the servants remove the tub from his chamber. A rare indulgence to bathe privately. He didn’t know why he’d bothered cleaning up. Something in the way Constance pleaded with him, he guessed. Shaking his head, he turned back to choosing his clothes.

  He was through with women. Dallying with them had been his weakness. Loving one not belonging to him his downfall.

  Yet he cleaned up for Constance. Brian gritted his teeth and yanked a black jerkin and breeches from his wardrobe. He hadn’t really changed much, had he? At least in that respect.

  The family.

  Would his son be included? Since Trevor had been rescued and brought home, Brian hadn’t seen him.

  Trevor, too, had been abducted by Loutrant, and placed next to his father. During their mutual confinement, they’d talked at length. Until Trevor learned the truth of his identity. Then, his son had stopped talking.

  It almost amused Brian. Trevor, it seemed, was more like him than he imagined.

  Brian probably should have made an effort to speak with Trevor since his son recovered from the injuries he’d sustained at Loutrant’s hands. But he had not.

  Brian grimaced and quickly dressed. Pulled on his boots. And continued to sit on the bed. He should go down. It must be time, yet he lingered. He needed a drink, but there didn’t seem to be any in his room.

  He buried his face in his hands. A mistake. He shouldn’t have agreed to go down. It was just impossible.

  Hadn’t he only agreed to please Constance? And why did he care anyway? If he never went down, what could they do about it? They wouldn’t force him.

  A brief, sharp tap on his door was the only warning he had before it abruptly opened.

  Brian looked up. He was glad he was sitting.

  Dressed resplendently in a green velvet gown matching her eyes, her unbound raven hair a cascade of ringlets, stood Constance. Her cheeks slightly pink, she beamed the most extraordinary smile, showing him twin dimples on either side of her mouth.

  It literally hurt him to look upon her. Lord, her beauty could fell a man much stronger than he.

  “Come, my lord,” her husky voice cajoled. “I’ve come to fetch you for supper.”

  “Constance.” Brian shook his head.

  “No arguments, sir.” She came forward, the swish of her gown as she swayed captivating him strangely. “You made me a promise. You will stick to it.”

  Brian eyed her outstretched hand almost as though it were some hideous insect. At the moment, he decided, it may as well be. His consciousness screamed in protest of going down to the meal.

  Shaking his head once more, Brian placed his hand in hers and allowed her to pull him to his feet. She threaded her warm fingers through his cold ones.

  “Was that so difficult, my lord?” Constance asked, arching an elegant black brow.

  “You’ve no idea,” Brian assured her. He stared down at her jewel green eyes. “Lead me on, my lady.”

  ****

  Constance had accomplished the impossible. He was coming down to dine with them.

  He almost hadn’t.

  While she dressed, picking out her most beautiful gown, the sense Brian would never come out of his room despite his promise had overwhelmed her. She decided to fetch him.

  She tucked her hand into the crook of his almost painfully thin arm.

  Once, all those years ago when he was the most handsome man her young eyes had seen, he had been beautiful, with muscular arms and legs. She knew he could get his strength back again if only he tried.

  He’d had a bath. He looked better already. The circles lingered under his eyes, though. The dreams. They still haunted them.

  Brian stopped in the hallway. Trying to think of an excuse, mayhap?

  “What is it?” Constance asked.

  “I only wondered.” Brian shook his head. “‘Tis naught.”

  “What?”

  “Will Trevor be there?”

  Constance tried desperately to keep her face impassive. She did not want to hurt Brian. But the truth was when Trevor learned his father would be coming down he refused to attend.

  Brian helped up his hand. “Never mind. I know the answer already.”

  The raw pain she glimpsed before he hid it once more pierced her.

  “It would be better if I returned to my chamber. Then, Trevor could join his family as he should. He belongs here, not I.”

  “Nay, it is not true.” Constance grabbed him by the shoulders before he could move away, down the hall the short distance to his room. “We all want you here. And this is your castle. You are lord here.”

  “An accident of birth merely,” Brian said, his lips twisted.

  Constance opened her mouth on a retort, but the crunch of the rushes behind her drew her attention. She started to turn around. Brian thrust her behind him.

  “Easy, Brian,” Lucien called out, approaching them. “It’s only me.”

  “Luc,” Constance exclaimed cheerfully, hoping to put Brian at ease. She put a calming hand on Brian’s back. He shuddered and released her.

  Constance embraced Brian’s brother.

  Lucien kissed her cheek. “Didn’t mean to frighten you two. You looked rather intense.”

  “‘Twas naught. I didn’t know you’d returned from helping Nick.” Constance tweaked a lock of his hair.

  “Only just this afternoon,” Lucien told her. He turned to Brian and, without giving his brother a chance to refuse, pulled him into a tight embrace. “I didn’t know you were up and about, Brian.”

  “I’m not.” Brian’s tone was cool, rough.

  Lucien frowned, obviously confused. “But…”

  “We’ll be down to d
ine in a moment, Luc,” Constance broke in hurriedly. She wanted to forestall any trouble Brian intended to start. She recognized the combative look in his midnight eyes.

  Lucien nodded. “Very well. I will see you both in a moment.”

  Constance waited until Lucien had disappeared around the corner leaning to the stairs before she turned back to Brian. His expression had not changed. His gaze narrowed.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Constance admonished. “You are not going to use that little minor incident to go back into your room.”

  “Minor? I jumped like a woman at the arrival of my own brother,” Brian sneered.

  Constance stomped her foot. “You’ve been looking for an excuse to get out of this since I forced you into agreement, haven’t you? Lord, you are stubborn.”

  She stepped close and stood on her tiptoes, the better to look him right in the eye.

  “I have news for you, Brian Fitzroy; I am yet more stubborn than you. You are coming down.”

  He opened his mouth. Constance knew he was about to protest.

  She touched two fingers to his lips to stop him. His breath stilled. Then resumed after a sharp intake. Her fingers curved, stroked his bottom lip.

  Constance lowered her gaze to his mouth, to her fingers caressing there. She felt him stiffen, recognized his withdrawal. Cursed herself for it.

  Constance dropped her hand from him and stepped back, then aside. She gestured to the end of the hall.

  “Well, my lord, after you.”

  ****

  Loutrant Castle, Six Months Earlier

  “Wake up!”

  Brian woke with a start. The words had been shouted directly into his ear. He shook his head, trying to rid it of the ringing pain.

  His tormentor stepped on his right hand. Brian quickly snatched it away.

  “Morning, Fitzroy,” Loutrant snarled. “Sleep well?”

  Brian eyed the tall blond man who’d kept him prisoner all these years. He looked particularly happy with himself. Not usually a good sign.

  The door of his cell opened and Owen came in carrying a sturdy wood bench. He placed it directly in front of Brian in his corner and without a glance in Brian’s direction the guard withdrew and closed the heavy door with a loud thud.

  Loutrant sat down on the bench with his arms crossed, staring down at Brian.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Brian asked dryly.

  Loutrant smiled wolfishly. “Indeed, it is a great pleasure. I thought I’d come tell you about my latest prisoner.”

  Brian shifted slightly in his corner, careful not to jar anything.

  “Why would you think I would care?”

  “Well,” Loutrant said, stretching out and linking his boots within inches of Brian. “It concerns your family so I thought you might be interested.”

  “My…family?” The hair on Brian’s nape bristled.

  Loutrant smirked. “As I said, I thought you might be interested. But mayhap you no longer care. You always have been a heartless, selfish bastard.”

  “What about my family?” Brian demanded.

  “You have seen the young woman I have bringing your meals to you?” Loutrant clucked his tongue. “Do you not know who she is?”

  Brian wracked his brain. Constance? He didn’t remember anyone named Constance. He tried to remember.

  Loutrant steepled his fingers and leaned forward until his face was very close to Brian.

  “Does the name Portnoy mean anything to your fevered brain?”

  For a moment it didn’t. He’d spent so long blocking out any memories of his former life. It took time for him to remember.

  Portnoy. His father, Hugh, had a commander in his army named James Portnoy. Constance. Of course. He remembered now. When last he’d seen her she was a little girl. Still was, really.

  “Bastard,” Brian said, regretting the ill spoken word as soon as it was out of his mouth. He would pay for that.

  But to his surprise Loutrant laughed. He straightened. “Ah, so you do recall. Excellent.”

  “What do you want with the little girl?” Brian growled.

  “She amuses me,” Loutrant replied. “But wait, there’s more.”

  Brian eyed him warily. Every word Loutrant spoke already made him sick.

  “Apparently it was her father’s dying wish she marry your brother, Nicholas. But dear Constance had other ideas. She gave her love to a wandering minstrel instead.”

  The gleeful way he spoke gave Brian the information he needed.

  “You. You were the minstrel.”

  “Alas, I was.” Loutrant clapped his hands together. “It was ridiculously easy, actually.”

  “And now you use her as a pawn in this, this,” Brian stopped at a loss for words. “Whatever you call this.”

  “This is life for the Fitzroys. I will do all I can to see they suffer,” Loutrant assured him.

  “They have nothing to do with this. I am the one you want to hurt.”

  Loutrant stood up. “And hurting them…hurts you. I am your own personal Hell, Fitzroy.” He reached down and picked up the bench. “If I have it my way, you will live to be a very old and lonely madman.”

  Chapter Five

  Autumn, A cottage by the sea

  The man forced his eyes open, his lids flickering, then closing, ultimately opening again.

  “Ah good, you are awake.”

  He tilted his head to the side, looking to see who had spoken. The straw from the simple cot he lay on poked through and jabbed his skin. He struggled to sit up.

  “You should lie still. I am not yet sure of the extent of your injuries.”

  The man who spoke leaned over him. An older man, mayhap as old as sixty winters. Dressed simply in a worn brown jerkin and tan breeches that had seen better days.

  “Who are you?” he asked the old man.

  “My name is Robert, sir. I found you washed up from the sea not far from my cottage here.”

  “The sea?” He frowned.

  “Aye, sir. A few days ago. Unconscious you were. Your ribs are broken. Mayhap some other things. You must have had a great fall.”

  He glanced down at the bandages binding his middle.

  “If they are broken, why do they not pain me?”

  Robert chuckled. “‘Tis an old remedy from my family years ago. I was able to make you drink some of it while you were in your fever.”

  “Fever?”

  “Aye. I am glad you are doing so much better, my lord.”

  “My lord?” He squinted at the old man. “Then you know me?”

  “Nay, I’ve never seen you before. But your clothes,” Robert gestured to the delicate embroidery of lions throughout his dark blue jerkin, “these are clothes of a man of great wealth, sir. And your voice. You are of the nobility. What is your name, my lord, so I may pay you proper respect?”

  He opened his mouth to tell him. But nothing came out. Shaking his head, he replied, “I do not know my name. Nor how I came to be washed up from the sea, as you say.”

  Robert smiled reassuringly. “No matter, sir. I am sure it will come to you in time. You likely hit your head in the fall.”

  He concentrated, trying to remember, but all it did was make his head hurt.

  “I am hungry,” he told the old man with a heavy sigh.

  Robert nodded and walked away from the bed.

  He watched the old man go to a small hearth with a tiny pot over the fire. He grabbed a wooden bowl and ladled a brown substance from the pot into it.

  Robert returned with it.

  “‘Tis all I have, my lord,” Robert said when he grimaced.

  He tipped the bowl up to his mouth and tasted the brown slop. It was surprisingly good.

  “What is this?”

  Robert smiled. “Stew, sir. Made with a small bit of beef and turnips and carrots. And some herbs I grow.”

  He nodded and ate what was left in the bowl.

  Robert took it away and chatted while he cleaned up. “I thought y
ou might have a wife or some family looking for you, my lord. But I’ve asked around and no one knows anything about you.”

  The man thought about it. A wife? Somewhere once. He was sure of it. Realizing the truth of it, however, gave him no good feelings. Only an odd sense of rage.

  ****

  One more throat clearing and Brian would vomit.

  They treated him like a stranger. Worse. Like some crazed lunatic.

  Across from him sat Telford. The always jesting brother he remembered had been replaced by a bald, bearded man with the expression of someone who had tasted bad meat. Telford had cleared his throat three times since the meal began.

  To the right of Telford sat Lucien. Brian hadn’t seen much of this brother since his rescue. He’d stayed with Nick and his new wife for several weeks. Telford told him Lucien had a preference for men. Brian shrugged. It didn’t matter. He had a preference for solitude. Lucien had only cleared his throat to break the awkward silence once.

  Next to Brian sat Constance. She irritated him because she kept glancing his way. Waiting for him to foam at the mouth, mayhap. He was sorely tempted to do it just for show.

  The last person at the meal was Stephen. His youngest brother also kept sneaking glances and he had cleared his throat four times.

  Brian wanted to scream. If he hadn’t been crazed before, he definitely was now.

  “Don’t,” Brian ordered, pointing his finger at Telford.

  “Don’t what?” Telford frowned in confusion.

  “Whatever you were about to say, don’t. I don’t want to hear another word.”

  “Brian, hush,” Constance said, placing her hand on his arm.

  “Pray do not try to placate me, madam.” Brian shrugged his arm away from her reach. He stood up, rested his palms on the table and glared at each one in turn. “If it was your plan to make me more addlebrained than I already was, then you have succeeded.”

  “Brian, you are overwrought,” Constance whispered.

  “You have no idea,” he assured her. “I know everyone of you believes I have lost my mind.”

  “Brian, that is not true,” Telford insisted.

  “Spare me.” Brian rolled his eyes. He was irrationally angry, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Besides, no doubt you are right. It is likely I have. So be it.”