In Death - 24.50 - Dead of Night

by J. D. Robb

  Laurel fought to keep her tone reasonable. “You don’t have to do this, Dulcie. Just allow Donovan to leave this place, and you can do with me what you will.”

  “Oh, I have every intention of killing you.” The young woman’s eyes narrowed with fury. “But now the lad must die also. He knows too much to be allowed to live. It’s all your fault. If only you’d stayed dead.”

  Donovan’s head came up sharply. “Mother, what does she mean by this?”

  Laurel saw the way the knife remained firmly pressed against his throat. She needed to distract the woman from her intentions while she figured a way to free him. “Ask Dulcie.”

  The lad swallowed and felt the scrape of her blade on his flesh. “You thought my mother dead?”

  “I’ve been assured of her death by the one who killed her.” She glared at Laurel. “How did you escape your grave?”

  Laurel took a tentative step toward her. “Perhaps I’m a spirit, come back for vengeance. Have you thought of that, Dulcie?”

  The young woman instinctively stepped back before firming her resolve and moving close behind the lad again. “Spirit or no, I’ll kill him if you come closer.”

  “What good will that do you? Can you honestly believe that his father will calmly accept the death of his son without seeking retribution?”

  “His father will die this day before he can return to the fortress.”

  Dulcie’s words cut like the knife in her hand.

  Laurel saw the look of anguish in Donovan’s eyes and wondered if the same expression was mirrored in her own. “How can you be sure the barbarians will win?”

  The young woman laughed. “I see that you are not as quick-witted as you claim.”

  At Laurel’s puzzled look the woman’s smile grew. “War is indeed a way to end a laird’s life without question. But suppose there is no war? The wise man invents one, to cover his deed.”

  “I feared as much. There is no invasion, is there?” Seeing the slight nod, Laurel caught her breath. “Conal will soon tire of the empty chase and order his men back to the fortress.”

  Dulcie gave a smug smile. “Sometimes, in order to gain power, a man must first gain the trust of the one in power.” Her smile faded. Her tone sharpened. “And in order for a woman to gain the power, she must charm a man into doing her bidding.”

  “This was all your idea?” Laurel studied the young woman with new interest. At their first meeting, Dulcie, pale and somewhat vapid, had struck her as surly, but not threatening. Now she was revealing herself to be both shrewd and cunning. And thoroughly evil.

  “I am cursed with a man who would be content with nothing more than a hovel, as long as it was filled with his woman and pack of bairns.” She spat the word as though it were vile.

  “Is that why you and Fergus remain childless?”

  Dulcie merely smiled. “There are ways to prevent a babe. There are certain women in my village who know which herbs to take for such things.”

  “And so you’ve withheld a child from your husband, in order to force him to do your will?”

  The young woman threw back her head and laughed. “Again you prove your ignorance.”

  Before Laurel could comment, Dulcie shot her a look of triumph. “I am with child. And now, my man will do whatever pleases me, if…” she added in silky tones, “…he wishes to see his bairn thrive.”

  Laurel felt a wave of sickness. The evil in this room was a living, palpable thing. She no longer knew whether it was the tower or the woman standing before her. Both had the power to strip her of whatever strength she had left. But for Donovan’s sake, she needed to fight back.

  Dazed, disoriented, she thought about the knife in her pocket. What good would it do her if it cost the boy his life? She had to find a way to distract this evil woman.

  Dulcie lifted the blade from Donovan’s throat and used it to point to the window across the room. “You know what you must do. Go.”

  When Laurel hesitated, she slid the knife across the boy’s flesh in one swift motion. He cried in pain and Laurel watched in shock as a thin line of blood began oozing from the wound.

  “The next will be fatal if you disobey me again. Go to the window ledge.”

  At Dulcie’s command Laurel forced herself to move, despite the fact that her rubbery legs were threatening to fail her.

  She needed to get closer to Donovan and Dulcie, not farther away. But to disobey the woman’s command would cause the boy to die anyway.

  With each step her mind was awhirl with ideas.

  If only she could think of a way to get Dulcie to leave Donovan’s side. It was their only chance.

  She had but one option. She was prepared to fight this woman to the death, if necessary, in order to spare the lad’s life.

  Con reined in his mount. “How many did you see, Duncan?”

  “A score or more, m’laird.”

  “Where could they have gone?”

  “Hiding in the brush, I’d wager.” Duncan urged his horse along the trail, using his sword to move aside the low-hanging branches of the trees that hugged the ground.

  Fergus, riding ahead with several warriors, splashed through a stream, sending a spray of water into the air. On the other shore, he paused, and looked toward the laird before shaking his head.

  The morning sun had burned off the last wisps of fog that had been hanging over the loch, leaving the sky a clear, cloudless blue.

  Duncan looked up, shielding the sun from his eyes. “A fine day for fighting.”

  “Or loving.” Frustrated, Con thought about the night he’d spent in Laurel’s arms. He’d wanted to spend the morning with her, kissing her awake, and then perhaps stealing yet another hour in their bed before having to face the day.

  And here he was, doing the very thing he’d been doing on the day she’d disappeared, lost to him for what had seemed an eternity.

  How long had she been gone? He’d lost track of the time. Days had turned into nights, each one an endless round of torment, wondering if he would ever be able to hold his beloved in his arms again.

  When his man-at-arms finished searching the trail ahead, Con waved him over. “Duncan. I would confer with you.”

  “Aye, m’laird?”

  “There’s been no sign of the barbarians. ’Tis time to return to the fortress.”

  “A while longer, m’laird. I sense them somewhere nearby.”

  Con had always trusted Duncan’s instincts. The man was a fine warrior, as well as a devoted friend.

  “Fergus.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted.

  His half brother turned, then wheeled his mount and galloped up to where Conal and Duncan were mounted. “Aye, Con? What is your wish?”

  “Any sign of the invaders?”

  “Nay.” Fergus shook his head. “Unless they were on foot, for there are no fresh horse droppings.”

  Con nodded. “I agree. Duncan wants us to continue the search. What say you?”

  Fergus shrugged. “If you so order it, I suppose I could take some of the men and go on.”

  Duncan smiled his encouragement. “Aye. No sense in wasting the day.”

  “’Tis settled then.” Con clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder before turning to Duncan. “Will you ride with them?”

  Duncan decided instantly. “I ride with ye, m’laird.”

  “Always watching out for me, are you?” With a smile, Con turned his horse toward home.

  Duncan remained, watching until the others disappeared into the forest before wheeling his mount.

  Ahead of him on the trail, Con was deep in thought when he abruptly slid from the saddle and knelt to study a trail of fresh prints in the dirt.

  Deer, he thought in disgust. Not horses.

  At that very moment an arrow sang out, just missing him, and landed in the trunk of a tree overhead. Had he been astride his mount, the arrow would surely have caused a mortal wound.

  He ducked behind his horse and looked around. The trail was e
mpty. He felt a moment of triumph. The one who’d fired would be caught in a trap, for somewhere behind him, Duncan was bringing up the rear.

  Pulling himself into the saddle, he quickly backtracked, but found no invaders.

  He came across Duncan kneeling in the dirt.

  Alarmed, he was on his feet within seconds, hurrying to his friend’s side. “Did they get you, too? Are you hurt?”

  “Aye.” Clutching his arm, Duncan got slowly to his feet.

  Though the forest trail was shaded, a glint of sunlight found its way through the canopy of leaves and reflected off something shiny in the warrior’s hand.

  Caught unawares, Con didn’t react quickly enough as he brought up his arm to block the thrust of the knife. The blade found its mark, lodging deep in his chest. Pain ripped through him, dropping him to his knees.

  As Duncan stood over him, watching the blood spill from his wound, Con brought his fist into the warrior’s groin.

  With a sharp hiss of pain, Duncan fell to one knee. At once Con was on him. The warrior wheezed out a breath, then struggled to his feet, with Con’s arm wrapped around his neck. Duncan realized that, though his friend was mortally wounded, he was in for the fight of his life.

  “Why?” Con’s knife was already in his hand, lifted to his old friend’s throat.

  “’Twas all part of the plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “To distract you, while your wife and son die.”

  “Nay!”

  Con wasn’t even aware of his blade slicing through flesh and bone. He had no recollection of the limp body dropping to the ground as he turned and weakly pulled himself onto the back of his horse. He saw nothing but a haze of shadows through the mist of fury mixed with terror that glazed his eyes as he urged his mount toward the distant fortress.

  The pain of his wound was forgotten. His only thought was that he had to be in time to save those he loved, or his life would be forever meaningless.

  Nine

  Once at the fortress, Con slid weakly from the saddle and stumbled inside, his feet too numb to feel the stairs that led to his chambers. Finding it empty, he looked about in desperation, when the flutter of a scroll caught his eye.

  Picking it up, he read the words before crumpling it in his fist. With a vicious oath he drew his sword and raced up the steps to the tower, praying that he wasn’t too late.

  Hearing the approaching footsteps, Dulcie looked up in anticipation. “I was beginning to think…” When she saw Con in the doorway, her eyes widened in stunned surprise. “You! You’re alive.”

  “Aye. And the murdering bastard who thought to use his position of trust now lies dead in my place.”

  Though the woman paled, she kept her wits about her, continuing to hold the knife to the lad’s throat.

  Con saw the blood that oozed from his son’s wound, staining the front of the lad’s plaid. He lifted his sword menacingly. “Release Donovan at once.”

  “You will stay away, m’laird, or my blade will sever the lad’s head from his shoulders before your sword can stop me.”

  Con could feel his strength waning, and knew that he had to act quickly, or all would be lost. The wound was draining him so that even a puny female like Dulcie would soon be able to best him in battle.

  Leaning heavily on his sword, he struggled to keep from swaying. “Why, Dulcie? What is it you want?”

  She smiled now. “I see my laird is as compliant as his wife, while I hold the lad’s life in my hands. You will do whatever I tell you, rather than see your son killed before your eyes.”

  Through gritted teeth Con demanded, “I ask you again, woman. What is it you want?”

  “What I have always wanted. Power.”

  “And you think to have it by killing me and mine? What of the villagers? Do you think they will stand behind the woman who robbed them of their laird?”

  “Your death will not be laid at my hand. ’Twill be blamed on the barbarians.”

  “And these?” He indicated Laurel and Donovan. “Will their deaths be laid at the feet of the barbarians, also?”

  “It will appear that a lone invader was able to slip into the fortress. Perhaps I will have a few others join these two in death to make it look like a proper invasion. Brinna, I think.” She was speaking to herself now, as though unaware of the others in the tower room. “And Cook. She never forgot that I was once the daughter of a slut, before coming to live in the laird’s fine fortress.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “Am I? Then think of this. Once the proper time for grieving has passed, the villagers will choose a new laird.”

  “The one you had chosen to replace me now lies dead in the forest.”

  “If you expect me to go limp with remorse over the death of Duncan, you are sadly mistaken, m’laird. I was only using him to do my bidding.”

  “Duncan was my friend. How did you get him to do your bidding?”

  When she said nothing, he turned to Laurel for an answer. “Can you explain it to me?”

  Laurel stared across the room at the evil woman. “She knows how to give a man his most cherished possession.”

  He arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

  “A child.”

  He turned to Dulcie in astonishment. “You are with child? It is Duncan’s?”

  She merely smiled, the smug little cat smile of a woman with many secrets.

  His eyes frosted over. “Have you forgotten that you’re still wed to my brother? Does Fergus know?”

  Laurel stepped up beside him and drew a handkerchief from her pocket, pressing it to stem the flow of blood from his chest. “Don’t you see, Conal? She and your brother are in this together.”

  He closed a hand over hers. “Nay, my love. I know in my heart that Fergus has no knowledge of this evil deed.”

  She gave a sigh of impatience. “There’s no time to argue the point, Conal. You’re wounded.”

  “’Tis nothing.”

  She studied her handkerchief, already soaked with his blood. His skin had turned an ominous shade of gray.

  Her voice lowered with feeling. “You said that once before. But this time, I can see that the wound is grave.”

  He drew in a breath and turned to Dulcie. “When your husband learns of your deed, he will see you punished, even if it be by his own sword.”

  Again that smug smile as she whispered, “Like Duncan, Fergus will do my bidding.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “It is as you said. I am still wed to your brother. He is the logical choice to replace you. Without anyone to say otherwise, he will believe the bairn his. He has long yearned for a child. He would never do anything to harm its mother.”

  Laurel saw a shadow in the doorway and knew she had to act quickly to distract Dulcie.

  She took a step toward her. “You know how the laird and I love Donovan. Release him and we’ll do whatever you ask.”

  “Do you think me a fool? Do not come closer.” Dulcie kept the blade of her knife against Donovan’s throat.

  In defiance, Laurel took yet another step, keeping the young woman’s attention focused on her and away from the door. “You’re enjoying this sense of power, aren’t you?”

  “Aye. I knew the lad would be your weakness. You and the laird will do as you’re told, as long as this precious life hangs in the balance.”

  “Wouldn’t you do the same?” She had to keep this madwoman talking. Had to figure out a way to wrestle that knife from her hands.

  “Only a fool lets someone, anyone, have power over her. I’ll not put anyone else ahead of my own life.”

  “Not even the child you carry?”

  “The child will live within me only as long as it serves my purpose.” Dulcie gave a dry laugh. “I told you that there are women in my village who know what herbs to take to conceive a child. There are plants that can take life, as well. And I know all of them. Now then.” Her tone shifted. There was a note of finality in her voice. “We
will do what we came here to do.”

  Laurel kept her gaze fixed on Dulcie. “You mean you’ll do what you did the last time I disappeared? When you had me thrown from the tower window?”

  Dulcie gave a quick laugh. “Aye. Only this time, when I’ve finished with these two, I shall go below stairs and drive the laird’s sword through your heart myself, to assure that you’ll never again return.”

  Caught up in her sense of power, she pointed dramatically with the knife. “Climb to the balcony rail. Now! ’Tis time for you to leave us.”

  Con used that instant of distraction to reach out and kick his son’s chair out of Dulcie’s reach. At the same moment, Fergus, who had been watching and listening from the open doorway, charged across the room with his sword lifted.

  Laurel, believing that Fergus meant to kill Con, pulled the knife from her pocket and leapt into the fray, determined to protect the wounded laird, even if it meant losing her own life.

  Seeing what she intended, Con snatched the knife from her hand just as Fergus brought his sword through Dulcie’s heart.

  Stunned, Dulcie could only stare at him in horrified silence as she dropped to her knees.

  Fergus stood over her. “I knew you didn’t love me when you agreed to our betrothal. I knew in my heart that had I not been kin to the laird, you’d have never looked at me.” His hand curled into a fist as he watched the blood spread in ever-widening circles down the bodice of her gown and onto the floor. “But I was lonely. All my life I’ve been alone. And seeing the love between my brother and his wife, I foolishly believed that if I loved you without asking anything in return, it would be enough.” He lowered his head in shame and disgust. “Now I know that you’re incapable of loving, because you can’t see beyond your own selfish ambition.”

  “Fool,” she cried. “You have killed not only me, but your bairn, as well.”

  “No more lies, woman. I stood just outside the tower door and heard everything. The child isn’t mine. Nor would you have ever permitted it to live.”

  With her last breath, Dulcie spat at him. “I would have made a better laird than you or your…” Whatever else she’d been about to say was lost as she gave up her life.