Seizing her chin, Boyd brought his face level with her own. “And just what do ye mean by that, ye troublesome wench?”
Nose to nose with her uncle’s instrument of torture, Aurora killed the urge to gag. She refused to give an inch. Brigham had taught her well. No retreat. No surrender. Courage under fire. Those things defined him. Just like each one now defined her. So instead of shrinking, she borrowed Brigham’s strength, clung to memory and relived the feel of him in her arms each night.
The thought grounded her.
Gaze narrowed, she looked Boyd straight in the eye. “What I mean, you putrid piece of slime, is that for each bruise—for every pain I am made to feel, my husband will inflict it upon you one hundred times over. He will carve you into tiny little pieces…slowly. Without mercy. Then stomp you into the ground like the veritable insect that you are.”
Boyd sneered. His hand slipped to Aurora’s throat and squeezed. “Yer husband—”
“Is the Lord of Mornay, you toad-eating cretin. He is strong and just. I will enjoy watching him kill you.”
With a snarl, Boyd tightened his grip on her neck. Aurora gasped, struggling for breath as he cut off her air supply.
“Release her, Boyd.”
Beady eyes narrowed, Boyd flexed his hand. “Lord or nay, that bastard’ll not find much left of ye after I—”
“Enough.” Lord Cedric sighed and, waving one hand, regarded the cuticles of the other in an absent-minded fashion. “You may regale my niece with your intentions after I have finished, not before.”
“Ye’ll be keepin’ yer promise, m’lord?”
“Of course.” Her uncle warned Boyd with a hard look before turning back to the fire. No more than five feet away, the blaze roared, snapping at a clear blue sky. His gaze on the flames, her uncle adjusted a handle, burying the metal rod deeper in the glowing embers. “She is yours to do with as you please…after I am through with her.”
Aurora suppressed a shiver, hiding her reaction to that appalling bit of news. More serious than that, though, was her uncle’s intention. The screams she’d heard from the bowels of Garard Castle came back to haunt her. Biting the inside of her lip to keep it from trembling, she examined the possibilities. She didn’t like any of them. God help her, he was going to torture and kill her…slowly.
“Come now, my dear. Are you not the least bit curious? Have you no wish to know?” Lord Cedric asked, his tone almost gentle. Aurora wasn’t fooled. Like any predator, her uncle was at his most dangerous while on the prowl, in the quiet where violence had more impact. “Or are you simply imagining all the perfectly horrendous things I will allow Boyd to do to you?”
Aurora refused to answer. She stared at him with silent defiance instead.
His smirk turned into a true smile. “Ah, but then, you’ve me to deal with first, haven’t you? Perhaps, your anticipation—”
“The only thing I am anticipating, Uncle, is your death.”
He went stone still. After a charged pause, he rotated his hand, giving the iron in the fire another half turn. “Bold as ever, I see. But threatening me with the barbarian you call husband will do you no good. He will not find you until it is too late and we are long gone from here.”
“So you believe.”
Aurora tightened her grip on the rope. The rough twine scraped her palms as she decided the best tack to take. She needed to buy time. The sun hung high overhead. Which meant the noonday meal was well underway. An advantage for her. When she didn’t appear, Brigham would search the keep, the grounds and…
God be just and merciful. Mayhap he already searched for her.
“So I know.” Dark eyes alight, Lord Cedric treated her to a predatory smile. “However, I will ensure your body is left where he will find it. I can be kind…upon occasion.”
His movements slow and deliberate, he stepped away from the fire and approached on silent feet. Stopping in front of her, he reached for the dagger sheathed in his belt. Aurora held her breath—and onto her tears—as his hand closed over the jeweled hilt. She lost the battle with her bottom lip, and it trembled. Aurora despised the sign of weakness. But more than that? She hated that her uncle spied it. Wanted to scream at the unfairness as his mouth curved up at the corners. The cruel tilt made him more frightening, changed him from a man into the monster she knew lurked beneath skin and bone.
“Really, Uncle…kindness?” Aurora kept her eyes on his face. If she looked at his hand and the knife, she would falter, fall apart before she accomplished her goal. She needed to keep him talking…distracted by conversation and embroiled in the past. Mayhap then, she could delay the inevitable and give Brigham enough time to reach her. “Never would I have imagined such a thing. I have certainly never received any from you.”
“And you never shall.” Amusement flickered across the angles of his face.
A tremor wormed its way under Aurora’s skin. She clenched her teeth, fighting to stay in control as Lord Cedric pulled the knife from its sheath. She drew a fortifying breath. The weapon was like nothing she’d ever seen. With a sharp hook at the tip, smooth steel ran into jagged teeth on its way to the crosspiece at the base of the blade. An instrument of torture, the dagger was designed to saw, not slice…to inflict maximum damage while delivering excruciating pain. Her muscles went tight in preparation. Aurora blinked back tears. How many had felt its edge? How many had suffered needlessly? How many had screamed in agony as he cut into their bodies?
The though didn’t comfort her. Then again, naught much could when it came to her uncle.
“Do you like it?” His attention now on the knife, he ran his fingertip along the teeth of the blade. He paused to test the tip for sharpness. “’Tis my new favorite. A masterpiece.”
“Only for the insane,” she said, changing tactics. ’Twas a gamble. A big one. But mayhap rousing his temper would work better. Calm, her uncle was a killer. Enraged, he lost reason. And the hotter he became, the more he talked. “But then, we’ve long known that about you…haven’t we, Uncle?”
A flush touched his thin cheeks, then spread, darkening his face with the beginnings of rage. “Insolent girl.”
And there was the chink in his armor. Poetic justice, really. She’d turned the tables, accusing him of the crime he’d tried to pin on her at Alvars. Insanity. That it happened to be true in his case only made her accusation all the more satisfying.
“I only speak the truth. There is no reason for you to hate me the way you do.”
He stepped toward her, knuckles white, knife raised. “There is every reason!”
Her toes pressed into the ground, Aurora shuffled backward. The rope around her wrists pulled—scraping her skin, drawing blood, punishing her—as she fought to keep distance between them. “Then tell me why.”
The question made him pause mid-step. Breathing hard, he bared his teeth, and Aurora saw the madness in his eyes. The terrible hatred that consumed him. She’d always known it was there, tempered only by the consequences of hurting her. But with no one to protect her now—to stand between him and her—her uncle had a clear path. And she knew, without a shadow of doubt, he would use it.
With a low growl, he closed the distance, stepping so close mere inches separated them. Warm with a hint of mint, his breath washed over her cheek. Aurora’s lungs hitched on a sob. ’Twas appalling. Only her uncle would think to bathe and clean his teeth before torturing someone.
“Why?” her uncle murmured, rotating the knife-hilt in his hand. With the blade pointed skyward, he brought the steel between their faces. Aurora stared at the hooked point. Oh God, that was going to hurt. A lot. Praying for strength, she pleaded with her Maker. Please let Brigham arrive in time. Please speed her brute along on the wings of the swiftest and most unforgiving of angels. “Your mother was a whore, that’s why.”
“My mother was not—”
Her uncle tapped the flat of the blade against her cheek. “And you are the devil’s spawn…blood kin to the man who betrayed me.”
“My father did not betray you.”
“Nay, your grandfather did. He was a good-for-nothing, just like you.” Changing direction with the knife, he curled the hooked tip into the sleeve of her gown. With a flick, he split the seam, cutting the material to her shoulder. Cool air washed over her arm, bringing terror with it. He planned to uncover her, expose enough skin for him to maim. “Indeed, had your grandfather kept his promise you would not be here at all. I was to marry your mother—”
“You?”
“Aye, me,” her uncle said, his tone so icy Aurora’s teeth started to chatter. “Certainly not your bastard father. He was nothing but a filthy mercenary, a landless knight…no one of any consequence.”
“You were betrothed to my mother, then?” she asked, not believing it for an instant. He was a lying swine…with a very big knife. Aurora swallowed and tried not to look at it. “A written contract agreed upon and signed?”
“It was understood!” With a curse, he cut her left sleeve, nicking the inside of her elbow. Blood welled and fell. Warm and wet, the rivulet rolled down the inside of her arm, the feel of it worse than the sting.
“By you and no one else, it seems.” She swallowed, knowing the cut would be the first of many. But she couldn’t stop now. He was talking…so distracted he’d forgotten his goal. The red-hot poker remained buried in the firepit. “My grandfather was no fool, Uncle. My father may have been landless, but he was rich in coin. So rich my grandsire favored him over many others. The fact my mother favored him as well was all Grandfather required to agree to the match. Had he desired you for a son-in-law, a formal betrothal would have been established and a contract written…as was done with my father.”
“We were neighbors and I spoke to your grandfather…it was understood, I tell you. It was understood!” He waved the blade in front of her nose. “I am Lord of Garard and was to be of Marquise Manor…not your bastard sire. Me! Not him. Then Helena went begging to your grandfather like a bitch in heat, and he gave her to him. My God, he had the audacity to…I was left with second best, the leavings…your mother’s younger sister. That bastard stole everything from me. But by God, I made him pay for it. I made him pay.”
Aurora’s blood ran cold. “Wh-what…what do you mean?”
The chill of his smile gleamed in his eyes before it reached his mouth. “Do you know how your sire died, Aurora?”
“He drowned…crossing a river.”
“Aye, and ’twas no small feat to arrange either. Do you have any idea how much it costs to have a man commit murder? More than a few shillings, I assure you,” Lord Cedric said, watching in unmitigated delight as the color leached from Aurora’s face.
Tears welled in her eyes as her mind reeled. Shaking her head, she could do nothing more than stare at him in horrified disbelief.
Her uncle laughed, the sound one of triumph. “But I have to say, it was your mother that proved the more challenging prey. It took months to determine the best way to kill her. In the end, the simplest solution was also the easiest.”
His eyes glinting like a cat’s, he set the dagger’s teeth to the inside of her forearm. Pain flared as he pressed in, slicing her skin. Aurora gasped, the soft sound at odds with the agony. Her lungs hitched as more blood flowed, trailing to her shoulder. ’Twas not a life-threatening gash. But the bite made her tremble so hard her lips quivered.
Taking the blade from her skin, her uncle smiled, admiring his handiwork. “While visiting, I switched one of your Mother’s healing potions for a deadly poison. ’Twas only a matter of time then, so I sat back and waited for her to take it. I heard she died screaming. Tell me, Aurora…is that true?”
A tear defied her and escaped, slipping down her cheek.
A long moment passed. Lord Cedric raised a brow, disappointment in his expression when she did not answer. “Of course, I have planned your death many times over. The fools I paid at Alvars couldn’t see to the task, but no matter. ’Tis better this way. Lord William lies in his grave and with him out of the way, I may claim the pleasure of killing you myself. ’Tis time you joined the troublesome bastards who whelped you.”
“Murderer!” More rasp than word, the accusation drifted up to meet the oak’s great canopy. Calling him names while he held a dagger was no doubt the wrong thing to do, but…God. Even as grief settled in the center of her chest, shredding her heart, she wanted the truth. Had to know…once and for all. “How—”
“How could I?” Malevolence glittered in the inky depths of his eyes. “Easily, and with a great deal of pleasure, I assure you. Marquise Manor is mine and always has been.”
“Not anymore!” Aurora twisted against the rope. She longed to tear her uncle limb from limb…to deal the death blow and make him suffer. It didn’t matter that she was vulnerable, hanging from a thrice-cursed tree. In that moment, rage clouded her vision, giving her strength. “My husband now claims it. He booted you and your pathetic excuse of a son out, and no matter what you do to me, the land now rests with Mornay. My husband protects what belongs to him and will never let it go…just as he will never let me go, you bloody damned bastard!”
“Tsk, such language, Aurora.” He chuckled, setting the knife against the neckline of her gown. With a quick flick, he split the wool from her collarbone to her navel, revealing a thin strip of skin. “He values you, then? Good. I may no longer possess the land, but I am in possession of you. I will make him suffer by taking my loss out on your hide. And I promise you, there will be naught left for him to value when I am finished.”
With a rough sound, he pivoted toward the fire. Aurora hung onto the ropes, hearing blood rush in her ears as he grabbed the iron’s handle. Logs shifted and sparks snapped, unleashing terror in a stream of panic. Dear God, she knew what was coming, but when he pulled the metal rod free of the flame, the reality was worse than she imagined.
Honed to a point, the iron tip glowed red in the sunlight.
Powerless in the face of his cruelty, Aurora watched her uncle approach. She whispered Brigham’s name, praying hard while knowing he would never reach her in time.
The forest wasn’t giving up its secrets. ’Twas as if the tree limbs had closed ranks—and the ground along with them—hiding the trail he needed to track. Brigham had never thought of the woodlands as an enemy.
Now he knew different. Saw what so many others did—felt the same hatred for the forest surrounding him.
With a death grip on Aurora’s bow, Brigham hunted for a boot mark. A heel print. Anything that would tell him which way to go. Leafy and full, ancient canopies moaned high above his head. He cursed in return and scanned the bracken, trying to pick up the scent. Goddamn it. The bastards hadn’t left any clues. The farther he and his men traveled, the more careful the enemy had become, leaving few tracks and the foliage undamaged.
He must find the path. Needed the barest of signs. The faintest of marks—that was all.
Aurora had been gone too long. Far too long. And with each passing moment, he became more afraid. Afraid for her. Terrified for himself. What the hell would he do if— Brigham shook his head. Nay, he couldn’t go there. Or think that way. He needed Aurora too much to lose her…to live without her. Already he felt like he had a hole the size of a gatehouse in the center of his chest. If aught happened to her…if they so much as touched her…
Bloody everlasting hell.
Sweat dripped into his eyes. With a vicious swipe, he drew his forearm across his temple. The last thing he needed was a moment of distraction. And stinging eyes and blurry vision? Aye, that qualified as a big one.
The call of the lark sounded. The familiar twitter snagged his attention. Camden. Thank Christ. He’d found something.
Veering right, Brigham searched for his friend amid downed logs and tree trunks. The call came again. Brigham answered, whistling l
ike a blackbird and, with silent footfalls, made his way toward the stream. More than thirty strong, his men followed, fanning out behind him.
Reaching the river’s edge, he spotted his first in command. Crouched on the bank, eyes on the mud, Camden studied the slope.
Brigham hit his haunches beside him. “What?”
“The bastards are smart.” Green eyes narrowed, Camden leveled his dagger, pointed the tip east along the riverbank. “They used the water to cover their tracks.”
“They headed to the Flats?”
“’Tis my best guess.”
With a nod, Brigham pushed to his feet. The Flats held bad memories. The kind that spoke of betrayal. An image of the cliff edge—and his first wife’s broken body—rose in his mind’s eye. Brigham cleared it away. No way. Not a chance. He would not bury Aurora as he had her. Unclenching his teeth, he uncurled his fists and turned to his men. Separating them into three groups, he gave his instructions. He wanted the whoresons surrounded.
Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. No way out.
Moving fast, he skirted tree trucks and jumped moss-covered logs, his heart hammering so hard he wondered how it stayed in his chest. He pictured Aurora: her beautiful face, bright eyes and smiling mouth. He needed her back…wanted to hold her so badly his palms went slick.
He heard the horses first. Men’s voices followed, the low murmur enough to recognize their numbers were significant. The bastards. Whoever he was, their leader wouldn’t live long. Or die fast.
Drawing an arrow from Aurora’s quiver, Brigham notched the fletched end and pulled the redwood bow taut. He would go in quick. Strike fast. Take the whoresons nearest his vixen out first. Accustomed to his methods, Camden nodded. With steady hands, his friend drew his throwing daggers.
A blood-curdling scream ripped through the forest.
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