Sharon Lanergan

by The Prisoner

“You said Loutrant takes but he is dead, so you mean Loutrant took great pleasure,” Trevor corrected.

  Brian only wished he could be sure. “Aye. But, you have to understand it was different for me.”

  Trevor appeared genuinely perplexed. “How?”

  Brian swallowed the thick lump in his throat. “I deserved everything he did to me.” He held up his hand when he saw Trevor intended to protest. “Please. I thought so at the time. I believed I deserved the pain and so much more.”

  “Why?”

  Brian exhaled a slow painful breath, the ache in his chest making it hard to breathe. “Because of me, a young innocent woman was murdered by Loutrant.”

  “His wife?”

  “Aye. He killed her because of my love for her. He did so in front of me to punish me. Never once did Loutrant think about Katherine. She was merely a pawn to use against me. And I could do naught to save her.” Brian closed his eyes against the memories, but their intensity nearly burned his lids. He shook his head. “I deserved anything I went through.”

  “But you couldn’t have known he would do something so vile.” Trevor leaned forward. “No one deserves to be tortured for loving someone.”

  “Well,” Brian said awkwardly. “Anyway, after a while I didn’t notice the pain of the beatings so much. I don’t want to say I got used to it.” He shrugged. “I think he didn’t bother with me as much later, too. It was enough to know I was his prisoner and everyone thought me dead.”

  “And now? You don’t feel any pain?” his son asked.

  “Nay, there is none.”

  Trevor nodded, a hint of a smile lighting his features. “We’ve never talked like this.”

  “I know. You were very young when I left.”

  “I was very young when Loutrant’s men jumped me,” Trevor said. “I’d like to think I’ve grown up a little since then. Although, I said some things the other day to you I regret.”

  “Forget it.” Brian slapped his son’s knee slightly. “I have.”

  Trevor opened his mouth to say something then closed it.

  “What?” Brian prompted.

  “I wanted to ask you about my mother,” Trevor said, his voice so low it was nearly carried away by the wind.

  “Ah,” Brian said with a nod. “Of course. I should have thought you’d want to know about Gen.”

  “Did you ever love her?”

  The raw pain in his son’s tone made it difficult to tell Trevor what was in his heart. But he wouldn’t lie.

  “When I met Genevieve I wasn’t even sure what love was. I wasn’t always likeable in those days. I was younger than you, actually. And too sure of myself and my charms. Genevieve was beautiful and sweet. But nay, I did not love her when I lay with her.”

  Trevor sighed wearily. “And did she ever love you?”

  Brian winced. “I think she did the first time when you were conceived. But my actions probably killed that love.” Brian steepled his fingers and stared at them. “Right after we were together Gen caught me with someone else. I know I hurt her. But then, when her father discovered she was carrying my child, he went to your grandfather and insisted on the marriage. Gen wanted to join the nuns, but her father would not let her.”

  “So she was forced into marrying a man who cared naught for her,” Trevor said, his voice tinged with bitterness.

  Brian raised his gaze to meet his son’s. “I didn’t love your mother as she deserved, but I did care about her. A great deal. But I did not do right by her. And I could have been so much more to her than I was. And for me that will ever be a regret.”

  “Uncle Nick said you were not at home when she…” Trevor stopped and stared down at his fingernails. “When I was born.”

  “Aye, I was not. I was with another woman,” Brian replied, his tongue not caring for the bitter taste of the words. Lord, what a waste his life had been. Would still be if he did naught to change it. But he did not know what to do.

  “I understand more than you know.”

  Brian glanced sharply at his son.

  Trevor let out a shaky breath. “There is a woman, nay, a young girl, really, no more than fifteen winters.”

  When his son did not continue, Brian prodded, “And?”

  Trevor swallowed. “She has told me she might be carrying. I don’t think she is far along. We only coupled the first time a month and a half ago.”

  Brian did not know what to say or do. He’d not been prepared for this. Had no idea his son was coming to tell him such news. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from it.

  “Father?”

  Father. Lord, he was just getting used to the idea again. He could not imagine being a grandfather. Nay. It was not possible.

  He blinked rapidly, looking away, his gaze falling on the tree where Constance had found the scrap of material. He looked downward and saw it. A boot print.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brian rose from the rock wall and walked over to inspect the imprint left by a boot on the other side of the tree.

  “Father?”

  Brian heard the confusion in his son’s voice, but for the moment he ignored the question. He crouched down.

  “What is it?” Trevor demanded, coming to stand by him.

  Brian studied the crushed wild flowers. The flowers had been fresh when they were destroyed and not long ago. A day or two at the most would be his guess.

  Trevor knelt down and peered at the spot. “What is it?” he asked again.

  Brian wished he knew. Or mayhap he did and did not want to voice his suspicions. He exhaled slowly and stood up.

  “‘Tis naught. I thought I saw some movement,” Brian lied.

  Trevor remained kneeling down. He studied the boot print silently, frowning, then after a moment also stood up.

  “What about my situation?”

  “I need some time to consider it, Trevor. My head is swimming a bit.”

  “Mine too.”

  The shadows around the ruins had grown darker and more ominous, or it was his imagination. The hair at his nape bristled. Either way it was time to return to the castle.

  He clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Let’s return.”

  ****

  “Ouch,” Constance yelped and stuck her finger in her mouth. She’d just pricked it. Her tapestry fell to the ground.

  “What are you making?” Stephen asked, glancing down at the heap.

  They sat by the hearth in the Great Hall, on opposite wooden benches. Constance had been there all afternoon, but Stephen had joined her a few moments ago.

  “Blood,” Constance mumbled, staring at her still stinging finger. She sighed and reached down to pick up her work. “‘Tis a forest scene with deer and a knight on horseback, but in the corner unbeknownst to the knight is a mythical creature.”

  Stephen raised a scornful eyebrow. “A mythical creature?”

  “Aye, a unicorn,” Constance explained. “My mother began it years ago. It has taken forever to complete.”

  Stephen nodded absently and warmed his hands at the fire.

  “Where is everyone, Stephen?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Telford and Nick are somewhere discussing Nick’s plans for his new castle, I think.”

  Constance smiled. “The castle and Marion are nearly all Nick talks about.”

  Stephen agreed. “And then Lucien, well, I think he has gone to the village to purchase some supplies. I don’t know where Trevor is.”

  Constance waited a moment. Then asked casually, “And Brian?”

  “I suppose he must be in his room as always.”

  “You suppose incorrectly,” Brian said approaching them from the big front doors. With him was Trevor.

  Constance looked up with a welcoming smile. “There you two are. We were just discussing you.”

  “Apparently.” Brian peered longingly at the fire. “‘Tis grown cold outside.”

  Constance patted the empty spot on the bench. “Sit, Brian.”

&nbs
p; He inclined his head for the briefest of moments, considering, and Constance feared he would refuse and make Stephen move over. But to her relief, he came and took the seat.

  Brian leaned forward toward the hearth and rubbed his hands together. “‘Twill be cold tonight.”

  “Move over, Stephen,” Trevor told his uncle, sitting down. The two men barely fit on the narrow bench.

  “You were outside?” Stephen wondered.

  “Aye, we were looking at Valiant,” Brian replied, rubbing his hands faster.

  “Who is Valiant?” Constance asked, stabbing at a deer’s nose.

  “My horse.” Brian shrugged against her, causing her hand to slip and miss the nose. “I have not yet ridden him.”

  “I’d like to ride him,” Trevor said. “‘Tis a fine beast.”

  Brian smiled at his son. “Then you shall.”

  Surprised, Constance opened her mouth, but then clamped it shut before anyone noticed it was gaping open. A thousand questions came to mind, but instead of asking them, she decided to enjoy the results. She loved the warmth of Brian beside her.

  “What is everyone doing?”

  The four of them looked up as one at Lucien’s approach.

  “We’re warming up,” Brian answered, looking back at the fire.

  Lucien nodded. “It is cold out. I was just at the village.”

  “Pull up a bench and join us,” Trevor suggested.

  Lucien went off to get another bench.

  Constance smiled just as Brian glanced her way.

  “What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “‘Tis naught,” Constance lied, feeling very happy. Here they all were behaving like a family. She couldn’t be happier. Well, mayhap a little, she thought pensively, trying to tear her gaze away from Brian’s lips.

  Lucien returned holding a somewhat larger wooden bench he’d obviously taken from the dining table. He sat down, straddling the bench, his legs on either side.

  “Much better.” Lucien grinned and blew on his hands.

  “Get anything interesting in the village?” Stephen wondered.

  Lucien shook his head. “Not unless you think herbs and vegetables are particularly interesting.”

  Brian shifted. “Did you speak with any of the villagers?”

  “What? Oh, aye, of course,” Lucien said. “Why?”

  “Did they mention seeing or hearing anything unusual?” Brian asked.

  Lucien frowned and glanced at Brian. “Unusual? What do you mean?”

  Brian looked away to the fire. “Nothing. Forget it.”

  Brian stiffened. Impulsively she put her hand on his leg. She was surprised and not a little delighted when his hand closed over hers.

  “Well, they did not mention anything out of the ordinary,” Lucien replied.

  Constance had a feeling it had something to do with what she’d found on the tree by the ruins, but Brian wouldn’t appreciate her bringing it up in front of the others.

  She was enjoying the heat coming from Brian’s hand and his gentle touch. But it was also making her want more. Everything. She wanted Brian to be hers and this their family. Was it so much to ask?

  “This is quite a group,” Telford announced, he and Nick walking toward them from the stairs. He glanced at Constance’s tapestry. “Is this an embroidery circle?”

  “Actually I believe we were talking about how to dispose of the two of you,” Brian said dryly.

  “Sweet little innocent us?” Telford remarked, sitting next to Lucien. “There’s a storm coming. Might even see some snow out of it.”

  “So early?” Stephen frowned. “Winter has not yet come.”

  Nick propped up his leg on the bench Telford and Lucien sat on. “‘Twould seem it has now.”

  “We will all pray it won’t last long and delay your leaving,” Brian said with a small smile to take away some of the bite of his words.

  Nick raised both eyebrows and glanced at Telford. “Do you get the feeling we aren’t welcome?”

  “Distinctly, aye.” Telford rubbed his beard. “Even still, I don’t imagine you want to delay returning to Marion, either.”

  Nick nodded. “I wish we’d already been on our way when the storm hit.”

  “Hmm. I heard a few things about the king in the village,” Lucien offered.

  Constance yawned and leaned against Brian, barely listening now for the talk turned to politics and battles.

  When first she leaned into him Brian tensed, but after the briefest hesitation, he relaxed and put his arm around her, pulling her closer. Constance resisted the urge to sigh contentedly.

  ****

  Brian couldn’t sleep.

  Restless, he rose from his bed and padded barefoot to the window. He pulled back the fur and peered outside.

  He was hit instantly by an icy wind. Flakes of white blew in his face. The snow had definitely arrived. He replaced the fur and turned from the window.

  He had been trying to sleep for what seemed an eternity, but slumber would not come. Normally he would turn to some warm spiced wine for relief, but for some reason he had yet to fully explore, he did not want a drink.

  He couldn’t get his mind off the boot print he’d found earlier in the day by the ruins. Nor the two scraps of material. Apart from each other they appeared to be naught, but together they added up to something and Brian was pretty certain what it was.

  Brian poked at the small fire he had going in his room’s hearth. The air in the room had turned frigid.

  Something else here kept him awake. Someone else. He resisted, but it was getting harder. Even now, staring at the flames of the fire, Constance’s face swam into view.

  Brian clenched his fists and he turned away. His gaze strayed to the bed, large and empty.

  His chest ached and he could barely swallow.

  Tap, tap.

  It was Constance at the door. He was certain. Somehow he’d conjured her up to appear at his room just when he wanted her. Needed her.

  He was tempted to ignore the slight knock. If he did not answer she would assume he was asleep and go away. But he was kidding himself.

  Brian walked the few steps to the door and slowly opened it. Suddenly, he prayed it really was Constance. What if he was wrong?

  “Brian,” she whispered.

  He took both of her small hands and pulled her into the room.

  “I thought I heard movement in here,” Constance started to explain. “Are you…”

  Brian cut off whatever she was about to say with a kiss meant only to silence her. But it was so much more. He devoured her lips, pulled her tight against him. Only the velvet of her gown separated her breasts from his bare chest.

  Brian broke the kiss only long enough to murmur, “I want you, Constance. I need you.”

  With a small gasp, she pulled his head down and his lips met hard on hers. He thrust his tongue inside the warmth of her mouth. Constance moaned.

  Brian was reeling. This was wrong—he shouldn’t be doing this. Constance deserved someone better. Someone who wasn’t using her to ease the torment as he was.

  He broke the kiss and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said in a rush, backing away.

  Brian could barely see Constance’s forest eyes widen in the sparsely lit room. And then she converged on him.

  “Not this time, Brian Fitzroy.”

  Constance didn’t know why she’d sought Brian out. She’d felt so close to him while the family sat by the hearth in the Great Hall. And when she came to his room, the movement within convinced her she hadn’t made a mistake rising from her bed and donning her gown to see him.

  But now he intended to withdraw from her again. She was heartily sick of his hot and cold behavior.

  She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him back toward her. “I’m not leaving.”

  He was completely nude and she could not help but be aware. Her fingertips grazed his nipples and she was rewarded with his shiver.

  “Constance.”


  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his sensuous mouth. He stood rigid and unbending for several flips of her heart, and for a moment she thought he would still refuse to give in to the attraction burning between them.

  Brian lowered his head, their gazes locking. Intensity emanated from his midnight eyes, a burning desire Constance wasn’t prepared for. Her breath caught.

  “There’s no turning back,” he told her, his voice a deep, husky whisper that curled her toes.

  Constance nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She stepped out of his arms and reached down to pull her blue velvet gown over her head. Shyly lowering her gaze, she stood before him as naked as he.

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  Her gaze rose to his, the heat of her blush warming her cheeks. He wore a slight smile and she returned it, though she ignored her own trembling. This was Brian, she reminded herself. The man she loved, had loved for months.

  Constance stepped into his embrace once more, her bare breasts pressed against his chest, the slight dusting of the hair tantalizing her.

  Brian’s lips lowered to hers in a bruising, hungry kiss. It threatened to incinerate them both. His erection pushed against her.

  He broke the contact, but this time he did not back away, but instead swooped her up into his arms. He found her mouth again and nibbled her lower lip.

  Constance threaded her fingers through his mahogany hair, reveling in the male coarseness of the locks. She felt him walk the few feet to the bed, and she buried her face against his throat, suckling at a spot that sent a tremor through them both.

  Brian tossed her on the bed, then quickly lay beside her, gathering her close. His hands caressed the hollow of her back, and Constance whimpered against his neck.

  “Constance,” he whispered, tipping her chin up. “God, I want you so badly.”

  She pushed his head down to her bare breasts. Gasping, she threw her head back against the mattress when his hot mouth encircled a swollen hard nipple.

  Brian left her right breast and suckled her other nipple. She nearly shot off the bed.

  “Brian,” Constance moaned. He rose from her breasts and returned to kissing her. She drank of him greedily.

  “Open for me, sweetheart,” Brian murmured against her kiss-swollen lips.