by Amy Harmon
“Catherine’s lover. His name?”
The woman trembled, shook her head, and her head-cover slid to reveal gray hair as fear widened her eyes. “Nay, my lord. She would never play you false.”
Kellen forced himself to release the woman before he gave into the desire to shake her. “She admitted such. Doubt not that I will find and kill him.”
Teeth clenching, he nodded toward Catherine. “Finish this. After, go home to Corbett. Tell him of his daughter’s infidelity, of her attempt to murder her lord. I want another daughter in reparation, or there will be war. You will leave directly after the burial.”
He would have a wife and heir. But he would never make the mistake of trusting another woman. With one last glance at Catherine’s white face, he turned and strode from the chamber.
Chapter One
England: Present day
The slam of a car door alerted Gillian Corbett to the fact that she was no longer alone. She had a hard time pulling her gaze from the sketchpad and the castle ruin she drew but finally glanced up to see three men getting out of a Volkswagen.
They’d parked beside her rental car, and a tingling at the back of Gillian’s neck suddenly made her aware of the remoteness of the location.
Her mouth went dry, and her stomach hollow.
She glanced around. Thanks to her lousy, cheating, money-grubbing, narcissistic ex-fiancé, she was spending what was supposed to be her honeymoon sitting on a big gray rock, in the middle of a big green field, in the heart of a foreign country. Alone.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Her car sat parked off the side of the road, about a football field’s length away. The rolling grass in front of her, leading to the picturesque graveyard and castle ruin in the distance, didn’t calm her sudden unease. What had seemed so beautiful and interesting only moments ago, now appeared desolate, threatening and… stupid.
What had Ryan said that last day? ‘You’re like a throwback to another time, babe. It’s like you live in La La Land. Going to England to do genealogy? What are you going to do, anyway? Take pictures of headstones? That’s just wrong, Gillian. Disturbed. And drawing castles? Look at yourself. You’re only twenty-four years old and even your clothes are old-fashioned, with your skirts and blouses. You need to loosen up a bit. Unbutton and show some skin. Stop being so frigid and prudish. Cut your hair or something. It’s like you’re an old-timer in a babe’s body.’
Again, the distant slam of a car door seemed loud in the silence, and brought her out of her reverie. There were now four of them.
And one of her.
Gillian swallowed as they headed in her direction. They didn’t talk amongst themselves, and Gillian tried to convince herself nothing was wrong. They were probably just friendly locals who’d spotted her, and wanted to chat. Maybe even flirt.
But her heart hammered in her chest. None of them glanced at her, or each other. They just steadily moved her way and Gillian felt a sense of menace. She hadn’t seen another soul until the men showed up, or noticed any cars driving by. She was staying in the town of Marshall about six miles away, but the river, hills, and trees isolated the area.
She’d been a single woman living on her own in a big city for too long to ignore the caution she felt. She’d taken a self-defense class once, and the instructor taught to always go with her instincts. Hers were screaming to run.
One of the men finally looked up and waved at her, a jerky pointing of fingers, but the friendly gesture didn’t make her feel safe. It had the opposite affect. She felt marked. Hunted.
Her heart pounded against the sketchpad she clutched to her chest. She slipped her pencil inside the pink backpack and fumbled for her cell phone.
It wasn’t there.
She had candy bars, a light jacket, a change of clothes, her wallet, keys, some extra pencils, and pepper spray, but no cell phone.
She suddenly remembered taking it out and sticking it in the convenient car cubby, in case any of her friends or coworkers called to see how her trip to England was going.
It wasn’t going so well at the moment.
She quickly studied the area. Nothing but fields, trees, the graveyard, castle, and river in the distance. Not a soul in sight to help her.
The men moved steadily closer.
Was she being foolish? Paranoid? All she knew for certain, was she couldn’t wait around like an easy target. She’d rather avoid them, and look like a fool in front of strangers and be safe, than stand there like an idiot and get robbed. Or worse.
She quickly stuffed her sketchpad in her backpack, put on her jacket, dug out her pepper spray, pulled the zipper, hoisted her pack, tightened it, and headed quickly for the castle. Away from the men, but also away from her car.
If she were mistaken about their intentions, they’d realize they’d scared her and leave her alone. If she wasn’t, then they’d come after her. Either way, she’d know for sure.
With her heart hammering, she was almost too scared and embarrassed to look back. Would they follow? Leave? Head toward the cluster of rocks and hang out?
The fine hairs on her neck stood on end and she considered running, but was already breathing so hard she was afraid she’d hyperventilate if she tried. Heat suddenly flooded her face.
What if the guys were simply trying to help? Maybe her rental car had a flat, and they were going to offer to fix it? Or perhaps these were their favorite stomping grounds and they simply wanted to say hello? She could be making a total and complete idiot of herself.
Ha, ha! Look at the foolish and paranoid American. What a tourist!
She felt like an idiot. A scared one. She hoped they’d get the hint, realize they’d frightened her, act like gentlemen, and leave. She reminded herself that even if she were wrong, she’d never see these men again, so if she completely humiliated herself, it didn’t matter. Better safe than sorry.
Gillian let her jacket sleeve fall down over the pepper spray in her hand, and finally chanced a glance over a shoulder. The men were still walking toward the boulders, but only talking and checking in her direction, not following.
Relief flooded her but, still uneasy, she didn’t break stride. Maybe they’d just think she was hiking to the castle and leave her alone. They were more than welcome to climb, picnic, or play king of the mountain on the rock, just as long as they left her to go her own way.
Gillian rose over the slight hill, getting a better view of the graveyard in the process. Her stomach sank. She’d hoped to find someone there, but it was completely deserted. Why wouldn’t it be? Old and decrepit, with weathered headstones, and grasses grown up around everything. The surrounding fields were dotted with wildflowers and clusters of trees. Earlier, she’d planned to explore it, now she just wanted to get through it as soon as possible.
She checked out the castle. Didn’t people hang out in ruins all the time? Maybe she’d find someone there. A tour group would be nice. Perhaps visitors came at the castle from the back side. Maybe the castle even had a gift shop, and she could bum a ride to her car.
She glanced at the men again. They’d veered in her direction, and walked toward her, fast. Gillian gasped, and her heart seemed to stop for a moment, before thudding painfully in her chest.
“Hey, wait up there, pretty lady,” one of the men called out to her.
She didn’t answer, only shook her head. Every one of them gazed straight at her now, and fear trilled through her. Forget about embarrassment. She ran.
She glanced over a shoulder to see them chasing her! They laughed and panic and fear flooded her. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, her feet slipped on the grassy slope. Could she make it to the castle? Surely she’d find help there. For all she knew, there was a city or something on the other side. Or an archeology dig setting up camp.
Or there could be absolutely nothing at all.
Her anxiety level spiked as she rushed through the graveyard. There were headstones, trees, bushes, the road curving up to the castle in the dista
nce. But nothing and no one seemed to offer shelter.
She continued forward, passing markers, flying across the bumpy ground, the castle her only likely goal. Please, someone be there. Please, someone see what is happening and help. If only it weren’t so far away.
The hills and grass gently rose and fell and, not knowing what else to do, Gillian flat out ran for the castle. She glanced over her shoulder and stifled a scream.
She wasn’t going to make it.
Pushing herself, Gillian ran faster, fear overwhelming her to the point of numbness, an unexpected blessing.
Her strides evened out and became almost effortless, and visually, everything sharpened into focus—each clump of grass jumped over, each headstone rounded, each random flower or weed crushed beneath her shoes—every step a dreamlike, measured movement.
Exhilaration surged through her veins, and her mind sharpened to the narrow focus of a straight line to the castle. She could do this. She could make it.
She pumped her arms to increase speed. She couldn’t hear anything other than her own harsh breathing and the dry slash of grass as it buzzed her shoes. She dared to believe she was outdistancing the men.
Or perhaps they’d given up the chase?
Ignoring the sharp pain growing in her side, she finally chanced a glance over her shoulder.
They’d gained on her.
One man, his strides even and his face set with determination, easily jumped a slab and kept right on running, his pace deliberate and eating the distance between them.
Disbelief had her half-tripping on a weed, her body lunging forward, her backpack slipping to one side, knocking her slightly off balance.
Fear came rushing back.
She pulled herself forward by clutching at grass until she regained her pace, but her gait was now frantic, clumsy.
How could this be happening?
She scrambled up a small hill and ran the few steps down the slope, nearing the far side of the cemetery. She could hardly breathe as laughter sounded behind her, close, and a scream rose in her throat.
They were enjoying this! How could they be enjoying this?
She was suddenly shoved forward, and the scream escaped as she failed to regain her balance in time, and fell hard to her knees. She quickly scrambled up and turned to face them, backing away, but toward the other two coming up behind her.
The men, breathing hard, faces filled with triumph, smiled as she halted against a headstone, her heart hammering, her eyes darting for escape. “What do you want? Why are you doing this?” She could hardly get the words out. Gillian pressed a hand to her chest and sucked in air.
The men, younger than she’d assumed, slowly surrounded her, one on either side, one directly in front of her, and another behind the marker where she couldn’t see him. He chuckled and the hair rose on the back of her neck.
She latched onto the idea that they were young, perhaps even teenagers of eighteen or nineteen. Maybe this was just a game to them. Maybe they were simply out for a good time and just wanted to scare her.
If so, it was working beautifully.
Looking into the dark eyes of the young man in front of her, hope slipped away. Those eyes, the color of coffee, were pitiless, ruthless, and mocking. She was in deep trouble.
Her hand tightened to the point of pain on the vial of pepper spray, hidden by the long sleeve of her jacket. Could it disable all four of them? She was afraid if she tried to use it, it would only anger them and have unwelcome consequences for herself.
She swallowed audibly. “What do you want?” she asked again.
The boy took a swaggering step forward, his dark hair half-covering one eye, a smirk spreading on his face. Tall and lean, he wasn’t bad looking, but his intense stare, sharp-boned features, and black wardrobe intimidated.
“That there is an interesting question, isn’t it, lads?” his deep voice, lyrically charming, struck her as incongruous in the awful situation. His smile widened. “What do we want?” His face bent toward hers and the smile disappeared. “Well, what are you offering?”
His friends laughed again, low and ugly.
Gillian choked back a sob and lifted a trembling hand to ward him off. “What are you going to do?” She glanced at the others, hoping for compassion, a hint of pity or disquiet, but could see in their eyes they meant to hurt her.
The sweat on her body chilled, her heart continued its relentless thumping, and her throat tightened. She couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs, but her chin lifted defiantly and she straightened.
Come what may, she’d go down fighting, not cowering. If they planned to hurt her, they weren’t going to come away unscathed. Her hand tightened on the pepper spray. She could hurt them. She could leave DNA under her fingernails to convict these men later.
Of course, if they were searching for DNA under her nails, chances were she’d be dead, so it wouldn’t personally do her much good. She’d watched too many Cold Case Files not to be kicking herself right now. Why had she isolated herself? Stupid, stupid, stupid! She knew better. One minute she’d been peacefully enjoying the countryside, and the next, hunted and afraid this might be her last day on earth. Her last hour. And it was her own fault!
“What do you want?” She asked the question again, more calmly this time. “Why are you chasing me?”
The young men snickered, obviously loving the power they held over her. The power of life and death. The man in front, obviously their leader, lifted a hand. “Well, for a start, pretty girl, we want that gold ring hanging from your neck. Why don’t you give us a look-see then, and, after, we’ll talk about anything else you may have that we might be wanting.” As the men laughed, their leader’s gaze dropped briefly to her chest, and there was no mistaking the lascivious intent.
Her hand flew to the ring. “It was my father’s ring. The only thing I have left of him. I-it’s engraved and everything,” she stuttered. “Y-you can’t have it.”
“Bad luck that, because actually, I can.” So quickly she didn’t have time to flinch, he knocked her hand away and grabbed the ring in his fist, scratching her chest with a long, hard fingernail.
Gillian shrieked, sucked in a breath, and sprayed him full in the face with a red stream of pepper spray.
He screamed and her chain pinched the back of her neck as it stretched taut and broke. He dropped to his knees yelling, holding his face, and gasping.
Through squinted, burning eyes, Gillian saw the ring fly through the air, the gold flashing, before it landed on a patch of matted grass behind the man writhing on the ground.
“Get her!” screamed the downed man. She jumped over him, made a dive for the ring, snatched it up, and ran. She shoved the ring onto her middle finger, scraping the skin and cutting herself in the process.
With blood dripping onto the grass, she ran, expecting to feel a hand or two quickly dragging her down. Gillian’s eyes burned and dizziness overwhelmed her. She didn’t remember tripping on anything, but fell for what seemed a long distance. Her knee landed hard on a rock, the pain so intense her vision blacked for a moment.
Fighting the darkness, she crawled, scrambled against a headstone, and tried to pull herself up. She finally stood, and forced her body into a limping run toward the other side of the cemetery where the graves seemed newer, better tended, and mounded with the recently deceased.
Strange she hadn’t noticed those before.
The men hadn’t grabbed her yet, and she didn’t dare waste a second to look back. Blinded by tears, her chest and knee aching, she limped out of the graveyard only to be faced by men on horseback.
A sob escaped her as she stopped, stunned. Where had they come from?
She pivoted to look for the men chasing her, but no one was there. She turned around to see a good-looking blond maneuver his horse to get a better look at her. He leaned forward in his saddle and smiled. “Well, well, what have we here?”
Her face slack with confusion, Gillian whipped her head around a
gain, looking for the men who’d been on the verge of attacking. There was nothing but…
Gillian gasped as a village, and the well-fortified castle beyond, came into focus.
Where was she?
She slowly turned to the men on horseback. They’d completely surrounded her now, every one of them dressed in medieval knight’s garb.
Had these men scared the others off? Had she hit her head? Was she unconscious and dreaming? She looked at a nearby headstone. Was she dead?
“Excuse me, sir. But can you tell me what just happened?”
The blond man’s smile turned into a leer. “With a surety, I can tell you what is soon to pass.”
Gillian swallowed and tried to move away. She glanced at the faces of the men surrounding her, and each sneering, sly, suggestive grin made her wonder if she’d escaped a bad situation, only to land herself in a worse one. What was going on?
Chapter Two
“You goatish, idle-headed, footlicker—”
Kellen’s sword clashed with Sir Tristan’s, cutting off his friend’s familiar insults, and he tried not to laugh as Tristan attempted to force a retreat. Kellen welcomed both the effort and the exuberance displayed.
Sir Owen, as well as most of the other men, stopped training to watch. “Come, Tristan, press forward! You can defeat him! He’s been in a foul mood for months now, and this is your chance to pay him in kind!”
Tristan continued to strain, his face red and damp. As he was one of the few with enough experience and muscle, and therefore a slim chance of beating him, Kellen was having more sport than he’d had in months.
“Aaaahhhhh!” Tristan managed to shove Kellen off, only to fall forward. Tristan’s face went from triumphant to angry as he realized Kellen had moved apurpose, and Kellen laughed aloud at Tristan’s wild expression, reminiscent of battles past.
On the sidelines, Sir Owen’s cheeks became red and he shook a fist. “Come, Tristan, fight harder. ’Tis not our fault his bride is late in coming. Defeat him!”
Off to the side, three young boys commenced cheering for Kellen, and Sir Owen turned to chase them away. Shrieking, they ran out of reach.