“What’s this?” Payton demanded.
“What’s this?” was the reply.
“Listen, boy, if you know what’s good for you you’ll not—”
“Listen, boy, if you—”
Payton lunged, grabbed the kid by the front of his tunic. “Do not mock me.”
“Do not mock me.”
“Are you daft, boy? I could snap your neck with one hand.”
“I’m not daft and my father could snap your stupid spine, bone by bone, with one finger. Now, remember, you are to call me by my new name. Death.”
So be it, Payton thought. “Then, Death, it would serve you well to wrap yourself in one of the furs I was kind enough to give you and go to sleep.” Slowly he uncurled his fingers and to his surprise the boy did as he was bid, taking his wooden sword, tucking it close to his body and using one of the furs for his blanket. He nestled into a clean spot on the floor, away from the owl droppings but close enough to the fire for warmth, and offered Payton a boyish grin.
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night to you, too.”
The boy just stared a him with those damnable gray eyes so like those of his father. In a gesture far older than his years, he arched one black eyebrow.
Payton understood. “Good night, Death.”
Apparently finally satisfied, the boy closed his eyes and rolled over, facing away from the fire’s shifting flames. A few seconds later he was asleep, softly snoring and thankfully not jabbering on and on.
The tense muscles of Payton’s shoulders relaxed a bit and he decided to open a jug of wine.
After the last two days and nights, he deserved a drink.
Mayhap two.
Death. ’Twas a foolish name. Stupid. Proof of the boy’s innocence and brainlessness. Death. Payton strode to the corner where the supplies were kept and glanced up at the owl’s roost. The big bird had abandoned his nest to avoid the humans and fire and to hunt. Death.
Payton grabbed the wine jug by its handle, pulled out the cork and took a long swallow. The soothing liquid eased down his throat and he closed his mind to the thought that the boy’s self-proclaimed new name might just be a premonition of what was to come.
Apryll eased her way to the side of the pallet and to her surprise, after only a bit of resistance, she eased away from her captor. Her heart thudded in her chest, beating as wildly as the wings of a suddenly caged bird, but she, ever so slowly, made her way to the flap of the tent.
She’d watched and waited, witnessed the guard’s shadow stop its pacing as he sat in front of the fire. From the slump of his shoulders, she thought he might be dozing and now, as she peeked through the slit of the flap, she had the ready excuse that she had to again relieve herself, that she was certain her monthly time was upon her. The way men shied away from such talk by women, she was certain she could convince him to let her have some privacy.
As it was, she didn’t need to resort to the lie, for the guard was, as she had hoped, leaning against the bole of a sturdy oak. His eyes were shut, his mouth slightly agape.
So the dog … where was the dog? Quickly, she scanned the camp and saw the bitch curled into a ball, only a piece of bone beside her, ears down. Fortunately the wind had kicked up again and rustled though the branches overhead. Along with the gurgle of the stream and crackle and hiss of the fire, the rush of the breeze gave her more cover than a still, quiet night. Carefully she slunk around the perimeter of the tent, ducking through the shadows to the tether line where the horses were dozing.
She searched for the fleetest, did not recognize the stallion in the dark of the night and, with freezing fingers, took the first animal she could untie, a dark mount with splashes of white upon his legs and chest.
Her ears straining for any sound from the camp, she held her breath as she wrapped the reins of her horse’s bridle around her already freezing fingers. The night was bitter cold, though she was sweating from sheer nerves, her muscles tense, her mind spinning with images of what Lord Devlynn would do to her if he woke to find her missing.
Dear God, help me, she silently prayed as she led the beast along the northward path until she was certain enough distance was between her and Devlynn’s band, then she swung herself astride the beast’s broad back and urged him into a quick gallop. With moonlight as her guide and the wind at her back, she rode through the thickets and over the streams, heading straight to the old inn where she hoped she would find Payton and the boy.
She felt a moment’s relief to be away from the camp where she’d been held prisoner and didn’t wonder why she’d escaped so easily yet again.
Nor did she realize that as she guided her stolen horse down the moonlit roadway her every move was being watched and tracked.
Chapter Fifteen
“Saints be damned,” Devlynn growled to himself as he watched the woman steal the brown steed and ride through the night-dark forest.
To Yale.
His smile was pure evil. She’d reacted just as he’d expected, just as he’d baited her, and he had no doubt that she would lead him straight to his son. ’Twas all part of his plan.
Though, he had to admit as he straightened from his hiding spot behind a rotting stump, falling under Apryll of Serennog’s spell had not been what he’d intended. And yet he’d found her irresistible. Ah, she could be charming, and sensual, and even amusing. And deceptive. Do not forget who invaded your castle, burned the stables and stole your son. Whether by intent or association, she is a murdering kidnapper, make no mistake!
Angry with his conflicting emotions, he stealthily gathered a few of his things—weapons, a bit of food, a bedroll. ’Twas evident enough that one, mayhap several of the men who rode with him were traitors. But who? He eyed the sleeping men who’d been with him for years, soldiers he’d trusted, some he’d called friends.
Orwell was stretched out near the sorry lot of tethered horses, his face in repose, his aquiline nose prominent over a scruffy black beard. Friend or foe? Loyal or a traitor?
Lloyd, a big bear of a man with reddish hair and an odd sense of humor, a man who more often irritated than appeased, was now wrapped in a cloak, snoring loudly, his head propped on a mossy pillow. Was his heart true, or black as the night? Would he defend the honor of Black Thorn or gladly slit Devlynn’s throat?
How could Devlynn sort out the true from the false?
The other men in this group were of no consequence, even the fool of a guard who was slumped near the fire, dozing.
Who were the traitors? Who? No doubt there was one, perhaps more, in this small band. But there were others who had split from him at the crossroads, and still more within the walls of Black Thorn, those who had welcomed the invaders into the castle, who had helped them escape, who had even gone so far as to release Apryll from the tower.
Someone was leading the enemy, someone who would profit from Black Thorn’s fall, someone he had trusted.
’Twas his lot in life, he thought angrily as he glared at those sleeping around the campfire. He could sneak around, tie and gag each one, threaten with a blade at each lying throat, but he had no time. Each man would be stubborn, the truth not easily lodged from his lying tongue.
Nay, ’twould be better to ride alone, take the best horse and the lead bitch and follow Apryll’s trail by himself. ’Twas ironic he thought with a sneer, he, the lord, responsible for hundreds of lives, with an army of men whose sworn allegiance had come easily, now without anyone he could trust. Leader of hundreds, friend to none.
His thoughts were as dark as the stygian night as he took a short path away from the glowing embers of the fire. With a soft, nearly soundless whistle to the dog, he saddled the finest steed—a pathetic creature when compared to Phantom, one he’d tethered apart from the rest—and took off alone, urging the black steed into a quick lope to keep up with the hound, a bitch so well trained by the kennel master that she would not bay unless Devlynn gave the order.
The night was damp, thick with mist,
the horse’s hoofbeats muffled in the mud and leaves. Cold air pressed against his face as he leaned forward, eyes straining in the moonlight. He watched the dog silently race through the forest, nose to the wind. Within minutes, she had found the main road where instinctively she turned due north.
To Serennog.
Had Apryll told the truth? Was his child already shivering in the dungeons of that old, crumbling castle? The thought chilled him to his very core. And he didn’t believe anything Apryll had claimed. He could trust her no more than any of his own men.
Someone was conspiring against him. Someone he trusted. Someone who had formed an alliance with Apryll of Serennog. His first thoughts were of his brother, as he remembered Collin dancing with Apryll, remarking on her beauty, causing jealousy to spurt through Devlynn’s blood on the night of the revels.
His own brother.
But had Collin not betrayed him once before? And had it not been over a woman? Glynda’s face appeared before his eyes, flashing brown eyes, white skin and straight red hair that caught in the wind. Devlynn’s fingers curled more tightly over the reins. Aye, Collin could easily be a traitor.
As could Miranda. His loving sister had never approved of his leadership. And she had her own secrets to hide. Firstborn and ignored by a father who only wanted sons. Would she be so bold as to defy him?
Or Rudyard, captain of the guard and forever sullen? There was insolence in the man’s eyes and disrespect as well.
Scowling, he urged the horse onward after the fleeing hound. The wind slapped his face and the moon was hardly visible, but Devlynn was determined to find Apryll and his son. Until he did, ’twas madness to try and sort it out. As soon as he caught up with Apryll again, he would find a way to force her to reveal the truth. The thought of the last time he’d been with her, how warm and lush her body had been, how the heat between them was a living, breathing thing. Oh, ’twould be a pleasure loosening her tongue.
His cock grew hard at the thought of kissing her and touching her breasts, of feeling her moisture deep inside, of hearing her soft moans … by the gods, he ached for her and he was suddenly uncomfortable in the saddle as he rode, the smooth, rhythmic gait of his mount forcing the leather pommel to rub against his stiff member.
What the devil was wrong with him?
He couldn’t allow lust to interfere with his purpose. He had to find Yale and ensure his safety. Nothing else mattered. Certainly not bedding Lady Apryll.
For the moment, he had only to track her to the lair where Yale was held.
Yes. First he had to catch the wench.
Then, if she did not lead him to his son, God help her. He’d force the truth from her beautiful lying lips, or die in the ecstasy of trying.
At last! Through the wisps of early morning fog, Apryll spied the old inn. Firelight glowed through the windows and Devlynn’s big gray destrier was tied beneath the sheltering branches of a tall pine tree. At least her brother had not altered this part of the plan, she thought as she swung off her smaller horse.
Her bones ached from her long ride, but she couldn’t think of the exhaustion that threatened her, nor would she let her thoughts wander to the man she’d left in his tent, the Lord of Black Thorn, who by this time had probably awoken and discovered she’d duped him again.
With chilled fingers she tied her horse next to the stolen steed, then, squaring her shoulders and ready for battle, she marched through the sagging door of the old inn.
Payton and the boy were inside.
A doeskin robe pulled close around his neck, Yale sat near the fire while Payton poked at the embers with a long, charred stick.
At the sound of her footsteps, he whirled, free hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Sister!” His face split with a relieved grin.
“Aye, I’m alive,” she spat, crossing the hard earthen floor. “No thanks to you.”
“You were following me and disappeared,” he argued, straightening, the flames behind him crackling hungrily over a piece of mossy wood.
The boy stood, a crude wooden sword in his hands. “Who are you?” he demanded.
Payton’s eyes narrowed. “This is my sister.”
“She is with us?” the boy asked, hitching his chin at Apryll.
“Us?” she repeated.
“Aye, she is on our side.” Payton nodded.
“Wait—whose side—what side—what the devil are you talking about?”
“The game.” Yale’s eyebrows slammed over eyes the same silvery hue as those of his father.
“I was beginning to think that you would not arrive,” Payton said quickly, dismissing the boy.
“Where are the others?”
“Not here yet.”
“Captured?” she asked, thinking of the men who had risked their lives for her, for her brother.
“I know not. What happened to you?” Payton asked as the boy continued to glower at her suspiciously and the fire crackled and spewed smoke up a chimney, missing many stones.
“I was … detained.”
“By my father!” the boy guessed, his eyes brightening expectantly. He turned on Payton and twirled his crude sword in the air. “I told you, he is coming for me.”
“He’s on the other side,” Payton said, only confusing Apryll further.
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“The game,” the boy explained, making no sense whatsoever. “What’s your name?”
Her brother snapped his fingers. “Ah, forgive my manners. You two haven’t met yet.” One side of Payton’s mouth lifted as if amused at the situation, while Apryll was ready to grab him by the throat and shake some sense into him. She shot him a look meant to warn him that they would share words later, when alone, but his cocksure grin only grew wider at her obvious vexation.
Later, she reminded herself, she would deal with him and insist they return the boy. For now, she tried to act calm. She turned her attention to her brother’s hostage.
“I’m Apryll, Payton’s sister.”
“Lady of Serennog,” Payton clarified with the hint of a sneer.
“Lady?” The boy gave her a quick once-over, eyeing the muddied huntsman’s breeches and tunic. “You look not like any lady.”
“It’s her disguise.” Payton turned toward the fire again, poking at the logs with the charred stick, and Apryll stepped closer to warm her hands. Truth to tell she was chilled to the bone, tired and hungry.
The boy wasn’t impressed. “No lady I know would wear man’s clothes.”
“Well, I’m not like other ladies,” Apryll said.
Yale snorted. Agreement or contempt? His gray eyes, so like his father’s, were suspicious and his dark hair fell forward over his forehead just as Devlynn’s did. Apryll felt a curious tightness in her chest at the resemblance and she hated to think what would happen should Devlynn catch up with her before she’d executed her plan to free his son.
Yale stepped closer to her, dragging the doeskin, his gaze focused upon her cheek.
“What happened to your face?” he asked impudently. “Were you in a fight?”
She touched the spot beneath her eye where Payton had struck her and sent her brother’s curved back a withering glance. “Of sorts.”
“And you lost?”
For the time being. Apryll’s stare was as cold as death, but Payton, tending to the coals, didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder. “’Twas not a contest.” Apryll walked closer to the boy. “But a mistake.”
“Still, you lost.”
Payton’s shoulders tightened and he finally dusted his hands and straightened. His face was a mask of irritation. “It does no good to ask questions!”
“He’s just curious.”
“He’s a pain in the arse, that’s what he is.”
“But you brought him here.”
A muscle worked in her brother’s jaw. “Mayhap a mistake.”
“Then—”
“No!” He flipped up a hand, cutting off her tho
ught. “He stays. ’Tis all we have to bargain with.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed on his captor. “You would sell me?”
“Without a second thought,” Payton snapped. “To whatever thug would pay a decent price.”
“You would not!” Apryll was outraged. She once thought she knew her brother, understood what drove him, but she’d been fooled, for he was far from the boy she’d grown up with, the sibling she’d trusted. Payton had hardened over the years to become this harsh, bitter man consumed with a need for vengeance.
A vengeance you accepted when you agreed to be a part of his plan to raid Black Thorn. How could she have been so blind? So foolish? Payton had killed several men already. He wouldn’t think twice about getting rid of the boy if it served his purpose. She had only to feel the bruise upon her cheek to realize how ruthless her half brother could be. Yet she couldn’t allow him to bully her or the boy. She managed a smile for Yale. “You are safe with us.”
The boy seemed unconcerned. “I can take care of myself.”
She doubted it but thought it time to turn the conversation. “What has happened to Bernard and Samuel?”
Payton shook his head. “I know not. They should have angled back this way and arrived last night.”
“And Melvynn, Isaac and Roger? Were they not to ride the direct route along the ridge? Or did you alter the plan again?”
“Aye, they should be here,” Payton said, striding to the doorway to glare into the morning as if he could will them to appear. “And nay, the plan remained the same. They were to lure the soldiers of Black Thorn into the hills, then douse their torches and ride here.” He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.
“You think something happened to them,” she guessed and again felt an icy stab of dread.
“I know not.”
“But one of the parties should have made it.”
“Aye.” He shrugged, but tension was visible in the set of his jaw as he turned to face her again. “We’ll wait.”