Temptress

  He won’t hurt her. He wouldn’t. He didn’t harm these men, did he?

  She hazarded a glance in Sir Alexander’s direction and saw the swelling and discoloration upon his face. Payne, too, showed signs of a severe beating. Carrick may not have struck them himself, but he had instigated their wounds. Their capture had been his plan.

  She looked up at the man she loved . . . and was surprised at the emotion she felt. It had so easily come to her, that she loved Theron of Wybren. Her heart broke to look at him. To think she’d once believed fervently that she’d loved Carrick.

  Another snake. Was not Carrick behind everything? Aye, he claims not to have set the fires, nor killed Isa and Vernon . . . but how do you know he did not? Lies, lies, lies! Mayhap he did not do the actual murders but only ordered them. . . . Think of the one called Hack with his emotionless lizard eyes and brand upon his cheek. Do you not think him capable of the vilest of deeds? Yet his allegiance was sworn to Carrick. . . .

  She tried to shove the horrid thoughts aside and take solace in the fact that Carrick had given her his word.

  The word of a liar. And worse. If not a murderer, at least a thief and a man who thinks nothing of having his brother attacked and beaten senseless! Oh, he didn’t want him dead, he said, but that was afterward. He knew what his thugs and henchmen were capable of.

  She went cold inside. Slid her fingers through Theron’s.

  Carrick could do no harm in the secret hallways.

  Are you daft? From there he can do the worst of his deeds. Slip in and out of rooms as if invisible.

  She felt sick inside.

  What if he comes across Bryanna?

  Morwenna’s stomach clenched.

  Remember, even if Carrick seems innocent, he’s now trapped, and even a caged animal will strike its master if threatened.

  They reached the gatehouse, where every rushlight was lit and a fire roared in the hearth. Yet Morwenna felt cold as death, and she rubbed her arms as she viewed the priest.

  Father Daniel’s corpse was lying upon one of the tables that had been draped in sheeting. Blood stained his cassock from a wound in his abdomen as well as the horrid jagged cut across the front of his neck. His skin was white, as if all the blood had truly drained from his body, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling until Payne reached out and closed them gently.

  “If only Nygyll were here,” she said, but as the words passed her mouth, she felt a shiver slide down her spine. “Where is he?”

  The sheriff was examining Father Daniel’s wounds. “Has he been gone long?”

  “Since the night Isa was killed, you two, Dwynn, Father Daniel, and Nygyll have all been missing. Bryanna’s missing, too.”

  “Bryanna?” Alexander’s head snapped up. “What happened?”

  Morwenna let out her breath. She glanced at Theron. “She may have found the hidden door. The one you used.”

  “What hidden door?” Alexander said, his gaze centered on Theron.

  “The one I think the murderer used. It links to hidden hallways and chambers, even leads outside. I think that’s how he came and went.”

  “And Carrick’s in the room where there’s an entrance to these hallways?” Alexander roared.

  “Yes,” Morwenna admitted.

  Theron grabbed Morwenna by her arm. His fingers clenched tight, his jaw chiseled in stone. “Don’t tell me he knows about the damned door.”

  “Yes,” she said again, feeling a fool. How could she have trusted Carrick again? How? “He went inside just before you arrived.”

  “Bloody hell!” Alexander glanced at Theron. “You know the entrances to the passageways?”

  “Some of them.”

  “Then let’s go!” The captain of the guard glared at Morwenna. “I only hope we’re not too late.”

  He sensed it.

  Another presence.

  Someone else in his domain.

  The Redeemer listened hard, heard the barest of whispers. A female voice. Chanting.

  His insides twisted. Who dared enter his domain? He instantly promised himself that he would slay whoever it was . . . and then he recognized her voice. The breathless prayers were not the deep seductive tones of Morwenna, but those of the sister. He remembered watching her in her chamber: her curling hair that shone a deep brown red in the fire glow, the smaller but high breasts with their rose-colored nipples, the thatch of hair at the juncture of her legs, again with that same erotic, reddish hue.

  His member twitched at the thought of her sleeping restlessly, naked on the bedcovers, obviously in need of a cock to be thrust inside her. His cock.

  At the memory, his member twitched and he licked his lips as he thought of what he would do to her.

  Eventually she would die.

  She was not the chosen one.

  But now, with so much of his quest accomplished, certainly he could allow himself a bit of pleasure?

  ’Tis a sin. She is not the one.

  But she was a virgin. No man had been near her and, oh, to feel her tightness around him, to experience the shattering of her maidenhead, to hear her gasp in delight and horror as he thrust into her again and again, pushing, delving, claiming her . . . !

  He closed his eyes, realized that his breath was coming out in hard gasps, that his manhood was already rock hard and his heart was hammering wildly, pumping blood through his veins so fast that he couldn’t think.

  Stop! Do not lose your vision. This one, she would be but a dalliance. . . .

  And yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  It had been so long.

  First the young one. The virgin. He would claim her and then kill her, and then . . . then Morwenna.

  The chanting stopped, as if she sensed he was near.

  But it mattered not.

  He knew where she was.

  The sounds had come from the chamber where he’d stashed his disguises. An evil smile pulling on his lips, he stepped unerringly toward her.

  Morwenna and Theron entered the secret hallway through the doorway in Tadd’s room while Alexander placed his men in the other areas that Theron had mentioned, including the portal in the gardens and another hidden entrance in the solar. Even Lord Ryden, though he was clearly irked, had his men join in the search. And Dwynn, who kept nattering on about “the brother,” had insisted upon helping as well. They were all under Alexander’s command.

  Morwenna couldn’t move quickly enough through these unknown passageways. She believed somewhere Bryanna was waiting. Somewhere she was in danger.

  Somewhere she might already be dead or dying, the lifeblood flowing out of her in these dark, lifeless corridors.

  Using a torchlight, Theron led her into and through the incredible maze. He had insisted she not call out, not warn Bryanna or Carrick or anyone else who might be creeping through the labyrinth of their whereabouts, and Morwenna had agreed to his plan, though her heart was tearing inside. Bryanna, oh, sister, where are you? Where? With each step her dread mounted, and she found herself straining to listen for any noise—a muffled footstep, a quiet sob, the sound of frightened breathing—but all she heard was the rapid, uneven beating of her own heart.

  Morwenna couldn’t help but imagine the worst. What would they find in these dark hallways and secret chambers? More bloody, mutilated bodies? Bryanna’s? Oh, God, please, no. Please keep her safe!

  Theron showed her the viewing area with the slits looking down into her chamber, the solar, Bryanna’s room, and, of course, Tadd’s room, where she and Theron had made love.

  She wondered if the hideous creature who inhabited these dank corridors had watched as Theron and she had joined, their lovemaking wild and exhilarating and oh so private. Her stomach turned at the thought, but she couldn’t let her mind stray. Above all else she had to find her sister.

  She’d already come to believe that Carrick, true to his opportunistic nature, had used looking for Bryanna as a ploy to make good his escape. Well, so be it. As long as her sister was s
afe, Morwenna cared not what he did with the rest of his miserable life. That he’d played Morwenna for a fool yet again was of little consequence. All that mattered now was Bryanna.

  She heard footsteps.

  Morrigu, Great Mother, be with me this night.

  A soft but distinct tread.

  Isa, if you can hear me, I am your messenger of death. I will avenge you.

  And through the doorway to this hidden chamber Bryanna saw a light flickering, smelled the scent of tapers burning.

  He was close.

  Morgan le Fay, give me strength. Help me defeat this villain and rid this world of him.

  She thought of all the innocents he had slain, all the havoc he had wreaked, all the pain caused by his hand. She breathed in silently, imagining Isa’s face, hearing her voice, feeling her strength through the amulets, charms, and unlit candles she’d spread around her. She’d drawn runes in the dust, listening . . . waiting. . . .

  He was near.

  Her nerves tingled. She bit down on her lip.

  A shadow appeared in the hallway.

  Her heart nearly stopped. Her gaze never left the small opening to this airless chamber.

  Please, please, give me strength.

  He showed himself—a dark figure looming in front of her.

  As he lifted his light to peer into the darkness, she sprang, Isa’s knife in her hand. “Die, bastard!” she yelled, plunging the blade deep. “And if there is a hell, go forth and never return!”

  Theron froze as Bryanna’s voice echoed through the hallways.

  “This way!” he urged, guiding Morwenna down a short flight of steps.

  “Bryanna!” she yelled, no longer able to hold her tongue. “Bryanna!” Blindly she raced after Theron through the tight hallways. Fear pushed her onward; dread pounded in her heart. Surely her sister was safe! God in heaven, do not let her die. Please, please, do not let her die!

  Theron rushed into a small chamber and stopped short, his rushlight flooding the room with an eerie gold light. There on the floor was Bryanna, surrounded by piles of clothes, runes scratched into the dust, pebbles, candles, and odds and ends of things Morwenna recognized as Isa’s scattered throughout the chamber. The fallen body of Carrick, blood running from his side, lay at her feet.

  “He’s not yet dead!” Bryanna said, and in her hand she held a dagger with a curved blade. Blood was smeared upon it as well as on Bryanna’s hands. Her eyes were round with horror and something else, a bit of triumph. “I did it,” she whispered, standing and dropping the knife. Pale and unsteady, she looked about to swoon. “I avenged Isa.”

  From the floor, Carrick groaned. He rolled an eye upward and saw Morwenna with Theron. His lips moved slightly, pulling up at one corner. “Brother,” he whispered.

  “That you can still call me that after what you’ve done,” Theron growled.

  Carrick closed his eyes. “I . . . I . . . did not . . .”

  “Liar!” Theron said. “I trusted you with my life, and what did you do? Steal my wife? Kill our sister and brothers! Leave Morwenna pregnant! Christ Jesus, you deserve to die here alone or worse!”

  Carrick didn’t respond, and Morwenna stared down at the man who had been her lover. How had she trusted him? Why? Had she still felt a bit of love for him? . . . Nay, she thought, and she touched Theron on the shoulder. This was the man she loved. Never had she cared for Carrick as she did for this man, this good man.

  “We cannot leave him here,” she said.

  Theron let out an angry breath.

  “We cannot,” she repeated.

  “He killed Isa and Sir Vernon!” Bryanna said.

  “He told you this?” Theron asked.

  “I did not . . .” Carrick’s words drifted off and Theron bent down to his brother.

  “Whether you did or not, that is between you and God.” Handing Morwenna his torchlight, he said, “Take this and hold it aloft. I will carry him.”

  She did as she was bidden. “Come, Bryanna,” she said, but her sister didn’t move.

  “Wait,” Bryanna whispered, and the hairs on the back of Morwenna’s neck lifted. “We are not alone.”

  “I know, Bryanna. There are others searching the hallways. Sir Alexander and Sir Lylle and the sheriff and . . . Come on.”

  Bryanna didn’t move and Morwenna realized that her sister was beyond grief, beyond rationality. The fact that she had actually stabbed someone was so unlike her. “Please, Bryanna,” she said softly. “Show me how to get out of here.”

  “ ’Tis too late,” her sister said, her eyes widening in horror. “He is here.”

  “Who?” Theron asked, steadying Carrick’s unconscious body, which was slung over his shoulder.

  From the corner of her eye, Morwenna saw movement. Turning, she cast the light high. In its wavering light, looming in the doorway, sword in hand, was Nygyll the physician, wearing the bloodied garb of a farmer. His eyes were bright and feverish in the light, his gaze trained on Theron. “Pretender,” he whispered and lunged, his sword swinging wildly in an arc that would surely decapitate Theron.

  “No!” Morwenna flung herself at the physician.

  Theron ducked, dropping Carrick onto the floor.

  “Die, Arawn!” Bryanna ordered and shoved the rushlight into the physician’s face.

  He screamed in pain and dropped his deadly weapon. Morwenna reached for it, but Theron grabbed the hilt and with both hands buried the sword deep into the physician’s flesh. Eyes round, he howled and fell to his knees, the blade protruding from his back.

  “Curse you!” Nygyll said. “Curse you and all the sons of Dafydd of Wybren!”

  There was another scream and the rush of feet. Dwynn, careening through the passageways, shrieked as he saw Nygyll. “Nay! Not the brother! Not the brother!”

  The physician spit blood. “You should have died at birth,” he said. “You are not my brother, not my twin. . . . You . . . have only . . . been . . . my burden. . . . My . . . my curse.” He fell forward then, his head hitting the floor with an ear-splitting crack.

  Dwynn, his body racked with horrible sobs, tears raining from his eyes, fell onto the slain man’s body just as lights appeared in the outer hallway and men rushed forward.

  Alexander slid to a stop in the door of the chamber and held his torch high. “Holy Mother of God,” he whispered. “What happened?”

  Morwenna felt as if all the strength had seeped from her body. She slumped against the wall until Theron wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders.

  “It’s over,” she said, looking at the carnage around her. “It’s finally over.”

  EPILOGUE

  Castle Calon

  February 20, 1289

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I know,” Bryanna said from atop the spirited white jennet Morwenna had given her. “But I must.” She stared down at Morwenna and Theron, who were standing in the yard near the stables. The air was crisp, still holding on to winter, but Bryanna knew it was time.

  Isa had come to her last night in a dream.

  You must make your own way now, child. You have your own life to lead. Your own private quest.

  She knew not where the dream would lead, but she’d packed up all of Isa’s private belongings as well as a few clothes and a leather sack of dried food from the cook.

  “ ’Tis not safe for a woman to travel alone,” her sister insisted.

  Theron nodded his agreement. “You can stay with us here or at Wybren.”

  “Aye, and when we move to Wybren, you could be the Lady of Calon. I’ve already spoken to our brother of it.”

  “Someday. Mayhap,” Bryanna said. For now she needed to leave this place where so many had died. She stared up at the keep and thought of Dwynn, the pitiful twin brother of Nygyll, both of whom had been fathered by Dafydd of Wybren and born to another man’s wife. There had been rumors of the birth, of course, but it had been assumed that one twin had died, the birthing cord wrapped around his frail neck.
In truth, he’d survived and his younger brother, Nygyll, had helped raise the half-wit. But somewhere along his road, he’d succumbed to a rage at being treated as an insignificant bastard by his father, Dafydd—a rage so deep it had become obsession and insanity.

  Ryden, having both read the note Morwenna had written him and been witness to her challenge of his authority, had reluctantly ridden back to Heath. He had had not missed the powerful love shared by Theron and Morwenna, either. He had bade them a curt farewell and went, no doubt in search of another bride, perhaps with a larger dowry.

  Dwynn had stayed on at Calon, but Carrick, though wounded, had been able to leave on his own power, disappearing in the middle of the night yet again, leaving no note nor word. He’d been gone nearly a week and Theron had refused to chase after him.

  He was no longer cursed as being the killer of his family and burning Wybren, but he was still responsible for the thievery and attacks made by his men, including nearly killing Theron.

  Now Bryanna felt a moment’s guilt, for Carrick was not whole. The wound he’d suffered at her hand had cut deep into the muscles of his shoulder and upper arm, perhaps damaging tendons or nerves. He seemed to accept it as some sort of perverse punishment for his crimes; she knew it only as her biggest mistake.

  “Please reconsider,” Morwenna said, her hand upon Alabaster’s bridle.

  “I can’t.” She offered Morwenna a final smile and then pulled on the reins, and Morwenna let go of the leather straps. “I have much to do.”

  “I fear for you!” Morwenna whispered, and Theron hugged her close.

  “Fear not!” Bryanna saw a ray of sunlight piercing the clouds and took it as a sign from the goddess. Though her own future was murky and unclear to her, she was certain Theron and Morwenna would marry and be happy, having many, many children with black hair and blue eyes.

  On impulse, she blew her sister a kiss and then, before she changed her mind, she guided her horse through the gates and under the yawning portcullis of Calon.