by The Prisoner
“I know you hate me and for good reason,” Brian said.
“I’m trying to sleep.”
Brian smiled a little. Though Trevor was surely twenty now, he still had a sullen, petulant little boy sound to his voice.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you are a lot like I was at your age.”
“You know nothing about me,” Trevor said. “You have no right to make such a comparison. No rights at all.”
“That’s true,” Brian agreed. “But you have told me some about yourself.”
“I told Fool, not you.”
Fool had been the name Brian used when first Trevor was imprisoned. He’d realized instantly who the young man was and he gave the name because it explained what he thought of himself. Still did.
“I’m the same man, Trevor.”
“Mayhap. It matters not. I don’t care to speak with either of you.”
Brian closed his eyes and wondered whether he ought to stop trying. What in the world made him think he deserved absolution from his son or anyone else?
****
Brian watched as Constance stepped back into his cell, holding his meal. Her back was to him, she watched Owen’s retreating figure.
Owen closed the door, but Constance still had not turned around.
“Constance?” Brian finally called, unable to stand it any longer.
She turned toward him slowly, reluctantly, and he saw it. A large bruise covered most of her left cheek. His blood ran cold.
Brian struggled out of his corner, wincing in pain the effort cost him. He stood, ignoring the twinge of protest from his knee, and the ache in his side. “Loutrant did that, didn’t he?”
“Please,” Constance whispered, casting her gaze downward. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Brian took a step toward Constance and his knee gave out. “Hell,” he muttered, rubbing at it.
“Oh,” Constance exclaimed, forgetting herself, and hurrying forward. “You should be sitting down. Does it hurt overmuch?”
“Nay,” Brian lied. “Never mind.” He reached up and gently probed her bruise. For a moment their gazes locked, midnight to emerald. Then, his soiled hand against her pale white skin, save for the ugly purple mark, drew his attention and he pulled away quickly.
Constance put her arm around him and helped him limp back to his corner. Ashamed of his appearance he tried to shove her away, but she had ignored him.
“Sit down. I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Constance said, gently pushing him down.
“Why did Loutrant hit you?” Brian asked when he was once more seated.
Constance knelt beside him. “He told me something horrible and when I questioned him, he did this,” she whispered, gesturing to the bruise.
“What did he tell you?”
Constance shook her head sadly. “I do not want to talk about it. I’m just so tired of being here.”
Brian knew exactly what she meant. He reached for her hands and threaded his fingers through hers.
“You are not meant for this place, Constance.”
“Neither are you,” she whispered back.
“Aye, it is my fate to die here,” he assured her. “This I have accepted. But I do not accept you should. As I told you before, you cannot hope you will be rescued. Even if your family has plans of it, it will not be an easy task. Loutrant’s castle is well guarded and banked by the sea on one end.”
“Then there is no hope for me?” Constance eyes welled with tears.
“Nay, I did not say so. You must help yourself. You must escape on your own and go home.”
“How can I?”
Brian’s mouth thinned. “I will teach you. You will learn how to defend yourself and you will tell me about the habits of your guards.”
Constance nodded, then squeezed his hands. “You must come too.”
“It is too late for me,” Brian insisted.
“But…”
“The way to help me, Constance, is to get out of here. I cannot see this again.” He brushed her swollen and bruised cheek once more.
****
Autumn, a Village near Loutrant Castle
Loutrant watched the group of villagers warming their hands at the small fire they’d built in the center of the village. Night had fallen and he was hidden among the trees.
Four men stood by the fire, but only one held any interest for Loutrant. Among the men softly talking was his younger half-brother, Marcus.
Loutrant had been watching them for a long time and he was growing impatient for the men to break off and return to their homes.
“I should be getting back to my wife,” one of the men finally said.
At last. Twas cold among the trees.
“Aye, good night, lads,” called another.
One by one the men dispersed leaving only Marcus. He’d not seen his brother since before his “death.” In fact, Marcus had refused to give false testimony regarding the Fitzroys when Loutrant brought charges of treason against them.
“Marcus,” he called, his voice low so as not to attract undue attention.
Marcus glanced around, curiously. He shook his head and then started to walk away.
“Marcus,” Loutrant said a little louder.
His brother stopped in his tracks and turned, looking toward the trees. Loutrant stepped from them and gestured to him.
“Finius?” Marcus paled, backed up a step.
“Nay.” Loutrant held up his hand. “You are not looking at a ghost. It is me.”
“But how?” Marcus shook his head. “They said you fell from the tower of your castle.”
“I survived, somehow.” Loutrant gestured. “Come, I will tell you all. I need your help.”
“Nay. Not again, Fin. I cannot.”
Loutrant narrowed his gaze. “You have, mayhap, forgotten what I am capable of.”
Marcus ran his fingers through his sandy hair. “I have not forgotten, but you can no longer hurt me, Fin. Mother died last month. She is beyond your threats now.”
Loutrant clenched his fists and walked out into the center of the village, his anger making him lose his caution. He reached for Marcus and grabbed him by the throat.
“She may be out of my reach, brother, but you are not,” he seethed.
Marcus gasped, but held stubborn. “I am not afraid of you, Fin.”
“You have reason to be.”
Marcus struggled against the hold on his throat. “What can you do? Kill me? I do not fear death.”
Loutrant smiled, his face mere inches from his brother. “You are a brave lad, Marcus. You may not fear death, but you do fear pain. And I will see that your death is so incredibly painful you will beg me to end your suffering.”
Loutrant felt his brother tremble and knew his threats were having their desired effect.
“What do you want me to do?” Marcus whispered.
Loutrant loosened his grip on Marcus’s throat but he did not release him.
“Good, we will discuss my plan, you and I, and you can decide whether it is worth such agony to deny your brother your aid.” Loutrant glanced around the village disdainfully. “These villagers, they are loyal to Nicholas Fitzroy?”
“Aye, Fin. He treats them with kindness.”
Loutrant sneered. “Bah, ‘tis a weakness all Fitzroys possess. Do you have a cottage near here where we can speak in private?”
“Aye, the last one on the right. It does not belong to me. The occupants have gone to visit family.”
Loutrant nodded. “It is a good place to hide until I have formed all my plans.”
“But, Fin…”
Loutrant tightened his grip on Marcus’ throat once more. “Aye? You wish to say more?”
“Nay.”
Chapter Eleven
“Here you are.”
Brian looked up from the dirt behind the castle he’d been studying. It was the same spot where he’d found the piece of Loutrant’s cloth a few days earlier. He straightened and s
tood.
“Constance.” Brian studied her. She wore a deep blue velvet kirtle and upon her long black hair she wore a simple beaded headdress. Beautiful. “What are you doing here?”
Constance smiled and walked closer. “I’ve been looking for you, actually.”
“Me?” He frowned.
“Aye.” Constance glanced down at the dirt he’d been swirling his stick in. “What were you doing just then?”
Brian shrugged. “Checking the soil for footprints.”
Constance blinked a couple of times, looking as though she wanted to ask him why, but then put her hand on his arm. “I looked for you in your room.”
Brian stared at her hand on his sleeve and ignored the jolt of warmth he felt.
“What did you want of me?”
“I thought we could walk together. It is a beautiful afternoon.”
Brian was already shaking his head. “I am certain one of my brothers would act as your escort.”
“I do not want an escort, Brian,” Constance said, her fingers closing around his arm. “I want your company.”
“Constance.”
“It will do you no harm.” Her hand slipped from his sleeve and she threaded her fingers through his. “It has been some time since I wandered to the old abbey ruins.”
Brian admitted, at least to himself, he did like the feel of her small, soft hand in his larger one. He was loathe to release it.
“Do you know the abbey is said to be haunted by spirits?” Constance asked. She laughed at the idea.
Brian’s lips twitched in spite of himself. “I have heard that.”
“You very nearly smiled, Brian,” she teased. “Please say you will come.”
“Very well. But ‘tis only to protect you from the spirits of long dead monks.”
“That is all I ask,” Constance assured him. She tugged him in the direction of the ruins.
“I am certain you have heard why they say the ruins are haunted,” Brian said as they walked hand in hand. Even before his imprisonment he hadn’t seen the ruins for years.
“I never heard the entire story.”
“The abbey was built before the Normans came. Some say it was used by the druids even before the believers in Christ.”
“So why don’t the druids haunt it?” Constance asked, laughing.
Brian inclined his head. “Mayhap they are there too. I don’t know.”
“Go on.”
“As you may have heard, Loutrant’s family once owned this land,” Brian said. “Before them Saxons. Pagans. They worshiped at the structure. When William of Normandy came and conquered, a Norman by the name of Loutrant was married to a Saxon, and Fitzroy Castle was built.”
Constance nodded. “Only ‘twas not Fitzroy Castle then.”
“Aye. It was during this occupation the monks came and turned the abbey into a Holy place for the church.”
Constance appeared to consider that, then she glanced at Brian. “When did the Fitzroys get the land?”
“You’re getting ahead of the story, fair lady.” Brian raised his gaze to the blue sky above. It really was a beautiful day. He’d once loved days like this.
“Then pray continue,” Constance said, impatient.
Brian smiled. “When William’s son, Henry, was king, the baron who owned this land was a cruel man. Some say he made a pact with the devil to win power. The monk in charge of the abbey learned of his wickedness and threatened the baron.”
“Threatened?”
“To go to the church and King Henry.” Brian stopped in the middle of the grassy path, the ruins now within their sights. “The baron became furious and vowed if the monk carried through with his threats he would unleash a great evil.”
Constance stared at Brian, no longer as amused by the story as she had been before. Around her very kissable mouth she’d gone white.
“It is just an old tale, Constance,” he reminded her.
“I know.” Constance exhaled. She laughed nervously. “Come, the ruins await. You can tell me the rest when we arrive.”
“Mayhap I should not tell you the rest.”
“Oh, heavens, Brian, I am a grown woman. I can handle a story of evil and spirits.”
Not for the first time, Brian saw something flash briefly in her green eyes. A deep sorrow mirrored his. She knew, he reminded himself. Constance had been a captive of Loutrant too.
Brian squeezed her hand and they walked toward the old ruins of the abbey. Lord, it had been long. Once, many years before he’d lain with a woman in the ruins, but the experience had been just a touch eerie and he had not repeated the action.
It was clear from the wild flowers growing on the old path his brothers had not strayed to the abbey in quite some time as well.
“So,” Constance said into the silence, “did the monk follow through with his threats?”
“Aye,” Brian said, nodding. “He sent a missive to King Henry and to the archbishop. The baron and his army murdered every one of the goodly monks in retaliation.”
Constance shuddered. “I remember hearing as a little girl it was a terrible death.”
“‘Tis said they were burned alive in the abbey. The baron called on the fires of Hell to assist him.” Brian stopped, reached down and plucked a light purple bloom. He turned to Constance and placed it between her hair and right ear.
“What a terrible man,” Constance whispered. She held Brian’s hand to her cheek.
“His blasphemous treachery did him no good. For King Henry’s wrath was swift. The monk had been a good and loyal friend to the king in his youth. The last Baron Loutrant on these lands was imprisoned and then executed. Most of his men, too.”
Constance placed a kiss on his palm, then turned to walk the last few steps to the ruins. “I have heard it said a wondrous treasure was left behind by the Loutrants when they were removed from power here.”
“Aye, ‘tis one of the legends. But I do not believe it is true,” Brian scoffed. “Anyway, this place was abandoned for near a decade. There were other Loutrants. The ones the present one comes from, in fact. If such a treasure existed they would have certainly come to claim it.”
They sat on the edge of one of the broken and burnt out walls. “King Henry gifted these lands and the castle to the Fitzroys almost ten years after executing the murderous baron. It has been our holding now for nearly two hundred years.”
“Why is it no Fitzroy has ever removed these rocks?” Constance wondered, a gentle breeze blowing tendrils of her glorious locks of raven hair.
“‘Twould be disloyal to the long dead monks?” Brian guessed. He shrugged. “I am not really certain.”
“And you? This is your holding now? Do you, too, intend to keep it as it is?” Constance asked with a small smile.
“I don’t know. I have not thought of such things.” Brian hadn’t really thought much about the castle and lands belonging to him. It was his son’s legacy.
“Brian, what is that?” Constance pointed to something hanging from a nearby tree branch. She stood and walked to it, pulled it off and turned it over in her hand.
“Well?” Brian asked.
Constance’s brow furrowed. “‘Tis some sort of cloth.”
Brian’s heart stilled for a beat. He stood up from the wall and took the cloth from Constance’s fingers. Another piece of the material he had back in his room.
“What is it?” Constance studied his face.
“I don’t know, but I have another.”
“Why does it look familiar?” Constance tried to take the piece back from him.
Brian moved it out of her grasp. “‘Tis naught. Let us return to the castle.”
****
What did it mean?
Brian studied the two pieces of cloth he now had in his possession. He laid them out side by side on the small table in his room and poured himself a glass of wine.
The first piece was larger, nearly two inches wide and shaped in a square. As though it had been purposefully cu
t.
The scrap of material Constance had discovered was jagged and torn, as though ripped from someone’s clothing.
Brian reached for the cup of wine and tilted it to take a sip, then frowned into it. His stomach turned. He did not seem to have the taste for it this day.
A tap on the door drew his attention and he put the cup down.
“Come.”
Nicholas opened the door. “You wanted to see me?”
“Aye, Nick, close the door.” Brian waited until his brother had done so and then held up the two pieces of cloth. “Take a look at these.”
Nick glanced at first one, then the other. “What are they?”
“I found them outside. Do they look familiar?” Brian watched him study the cloths.
Nick rubbed them between his fingers. He raised his gaze to meet his brother’s. “This is the Loutrant family coat of arms.”
Brian nearly sighed out loud with relief. For just a moment he doubted his own sanity and thought he might be seeing demons where none existed. “Exactly,” he said with a nod.
“Where did you say you found these?”
“The square one I found behind the castle. The other Constance found attached to a tree by the ruins.”
Nick glanced at his sharply. “Constance?”
“Aye, earlier today when we went for a walk.”
“I see.”
Brian wasn’t sure what Nick thought he saw, but he didn’t care. He was only interested in his brother’s opinion of his discovery.
Nick returned the material to the table, and then folded his arms across his chest. “At the risk of sounding ignorant, so?”
“Why did these suddenly appear?” Brian demanded, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.
“Brian, Loutrant is dead,” Nick reminded him.
“Aye, but then why these?” Brian gestured to the cloths.
“You say Constance found that attached to a tree by the abbey?”
“Aye.”
“No one has been by the ruins for months, Brian. No doubt it has been there a long time,” Nick said.
Brian stared at the scrap. “Even if true, Nick, how do you explain the square I found behind the castle?”
“During your imprisonment, Loutrant’s half brother was seen around here; mayhap it came from him,” Nick said. “We saw Loutrant fall from the tower of the castle, Brian. He is gone.”