Wild and Wicked

  “What I need is to be unbound.” Yale held up his fists, stretching the leather manacle taut.

  “In time. All in time.” Payton snatched the cup from her fingers and glared down at her suspiciously. “Bloody ingrate. I give the lad a new adventure, and what does he do? Complain.” He laughed, took a swallow, and Apryll held her breath as his brows slammed together. “What be this?” he muttered, running his tongue over his lips and frowning. “The wine—”

  “Would you rather have water?”

  He snorted and scowled into his drink.

  “Can we not eat now?” the boy cut in, glaring darkly at Payton through a fringe of shaggy hair that had fallen over his brows.

  “In a minute,” Payton growled.

  “If I eat not now, I’ll surely starve and die and then my father will—”

  “Stop it! Didn’t I just tell you I’m sick to death of hearing about your damned father?” Payton swore roundly and Apryll, hoping to stay his anger, stepped in.

  “Don’t bother yourself with the boy. I’ll handle him.”

  “Will you now? What of all that talk of taking him back to his father?”

  “’Twould be impossible. I hate to admit it, brother, but you’re right. Devlynn of Black Thorn would slit our throats in a minute if we did not have something to bargain with and the boy is his weakness.”

  “He’s not weak!” Yale cried, standing, his face red with indignation.

  “Just do as Payton says,” Apryll told Devlynn’s son, hoping her brother wouldn’t see through her ruse. “You are our prisoner now.”

  “You’re as bad as he.”

  Her heart stung but she managed a cool smile. “Mayhap he’s as bad as I am, for I’m the ruler of Serennog.” Was it her imagination or did she see a gleam of something unholy in her brother’s eye? “He does what I say.”

  “’Twas your idea to kidnap me?” the boy asked, disbelieving.

  “Nay. But now that it’s done, I understand the wisdom of it. Be good and no one will harm you.”

  “And if I’m not?” he asked boldly. Oh, he was a brave one. So much like his father.

  “Do not even consider it,” she said in her sternest voice. She had to convince both her brother and the boy that she intended to keep the son of Black Thorn hostage. “Do as you’re told and all will be well.”

  Payton’s eyes narrowed. Obviously he didn’t believe her quick change of heart, but the boy was more gullible.

  “Then my father will kill you as well. And then … and then he’ll gut you and roast you like that rabbit and cut off your head and … and he’ll feed you to the vultures and—”

  “Enough!” Payton finished his wine in one swallow. “The lad makes my head ache. Give him something to eat.” Then, with a devious, self-satisfied smile, he walked to the corner near the wine jug, retrieved his pouch and withdrew the vial. Apryll’s heart thudded. Dear Lord, would he see that she’d double-crossed him? “And I have something special for you, boy,” Payton said.

  “What?” Yale asked suspiciously.

  “A little wine.” He filled the mazer again and winked at Apryll, who held her breath as he dumped the contents of the vial into Yale’s drink. “Now, a toast to our success,” he said, slurring his words. “And to Serennog.”

  “I want nothing from you,” Yale spat. Shaking a small, manacled fist, he refused to drink. He kicked at a tiny pebble, shooting it into the fire. Sparks erupted and wafted up what was left of the chimney. Overhead the owl flapped his great wings and a few feathers fell, like long, drifting flakes of snow, from the rafters.

  “Drink.”

  “I’ll not!”

  “Listen, boy, you’ll do as I say.”

  The heir to Black Thorn leaped to his feet. “No.”

  Payton’s fingers touched the hilt of his knife.

  “Come, Yale, be not unreasonable,” Apryll suggested quickly. “A little wine with the rabbit and fowl would not hurt.”

  “But—”

  “If you don’t do as I say,” Payton cut in, “you’ll go hungry, for we ride after we eat. We can wait no longer. The rest of the men will have to catch up.”

  “You would leave them?” Apryll asked.

  “I have no choice. No doubt by now Black Thorn is tracking you with that dog of his. So we eat and break camp,” he said around a yawn. “By the saints, I’m tired.” He stretched, then poured himself another drink and Apryll, after cutting up the charred rabbit, offered a leg to Yale. Upon prodding the boy actually sipped from his mazer, satisfying Payton, who sat near the fire, gnawing on a dove’s wing and tossing the bone into the fire.

  “So, this be not a game?” the boy clarified as he bit into the meat.

  “No. ’Tis very serious,” she said.

  “Do you plan to kill me?”

  “Never!” Apryll was emphatic.

  “Of course we will, if you don’t hold your tongue,” Payton said, yawning and blinking hard as if trying to stay awake, while the boy sucked the meat from the small bones and took a second piece of meat.

  “Then you are a thief,” he accused Apryll. “And a murderess.”

  “She killed no one.” Payton was stretching out in front of the fire and yawning.

  “But she is the ruler, did she not say so? It was on her word that people were killed.”

  “Bloody hell, what does it matter who did what?” Payton snapped. “You are the prisoner. That is all you need to know. Now, quiet down. We’ll all rest for a few minutes and then we’ll break camp.” He turned a groggy eye on the boy. “Sleep. You’ll need it.”

  “’Tis the middle of the day.”

  “And we will ride long into the night.”

  “Payton is right. You should rest.”

  “But I be not tired.”

  “You will be …”—Payton’s brow furrowed—“or you should be …” And then, as if he’d finally understood what was happening as the boy hadn’t become drowsy from his wine: “By the gods … Apryll … you did not … you would not have …” He looked into his mazer, then over the rim at his sister. “If you have betrayed me, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “I would no more turn against you than you would against me,” she said and he seemed as if he wanted to argue further, but the potion took hold and within seconds he was sleeping soundly, snoring like an old man, not knowing that the Lord of Black Thorn, from his hiding place on the other side of the rotting walls, had heard every word.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Devlynn tightened the cinch on Phantom’s saddle. Then, assured that all the horses were ready for a long ride, he coiled his fingers around the hilt of his sword in a death grip. Noiselessly he slunk through the gray drizzle and around the perimeter of the old inn to the entrance where a door hung open. Weapon drawn, he slipped inside, where a fire blazed and the smell of seared meat was heavy in the air.

  Payton was sleeping soundly, his body stretched in front of the grate, his mouth hanging open. Apryll, still wearing the huntsman’s clothes, had her back to him as she bent over his son, adjusting Yale’s bonds. Devlynn crept in the shadows, easing closer, and she didn’t notice, but the boy, peering around her slim hips, started to speak. His gray eyes sparkled and his mouth curved into a triumphant smile.

  With a quick, silent shake of his head, Devlynn, moving silently as a lion after prey, pressed a finger to his lips and Yale understood, immediately shutting his mouth and shifting his attention to the woman working with the straps surrounding his wrists.

  But she’d already caught his change of expression and turned, just as Devlynn crossed the room and grabbed her from behind. She started to scream. His free hand clamped over her mouth. His other arm still holding his sword, fastened securely over her waist.

  “Not a word,” he breathed into her ear as she stiffened and struggled, fighting him tooth and nail. The scent of her reached his nostrils and the position of her backside, drawn so close and thrashing wildly, threatened to arouse him. With a n
od over her shoulder, Devlynn met Yale’s gaze and hitched his chin toward the doorway. Yale shot to his feet and dashed toward the door while Devlynn struggled to drag Apryll with him. He backed toward the opening, his gaze nailed on Payton, the bastard, sleeping as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

  Wrong, Devlynn thought as Apryll struggled. “If you do not come quietly, lady,” he warned in a deadly whisper, “I swear I will slay your brother as he sleeps.”

  She bucked, writhing and twisting, trying to bite through his glove.

  Devlynn’s grip tightened. “You seal his fate. He’s already killed some of my men and kidnapped my boy. Do you think I would not enjoy running him through?”

  At that she stopped fighting him and he was able to draw her out of the smoky dark cave of a building and into the winter-cold air where Yale, still rubbing his wrists, was waiting.

  “Untie me,” he ordered his father.

  “You do it,” Devlynn said to Apryll, for he wasn’t loosening his hold upon her. Not yet. “Set him free.”

  Thankfully she didn’t refuse. Without any show of rebellion she unknotted the leather straps surrounding Yale’s small wrists and within seconds he was free. Yale grinned widely as he rubbed the skin of his wrists and shook his hands to get the blood flowing again. “I knew you would come,” he said to his father. “Even when I thought ’twas only a game, I knew you would rescue me. I told them so.”

  “Shh! This is no time to crow,” Devlynn cautioned. “There are others to worry about.” His ears strained, for he thought he’d caught the sound of hoofbeats gathering speed, but he heard nothing now. ’Twas only his imagination getting the better of him. “Now, Yale, you must help me if we are to escape.”

  “Aye, Father.” The boy was suddenly sober. Intent.

  “Good. Bind the lady’s hands. Use the leather straps that she removed from your wrists.”

  Apryll shook her head and jerked against him.

  “Do I have to warn you again?” Devlynn growled, wrestling her and clenching his jaw, for the feel of her back and buttocks against his body heated his blood and his thoughts were turned from the moment to memories of touching her late at night—hot skin against fevered flesh. Angry with himself, he added, “’Tis not too late to go back. Mayhap it’s time to send Payton’s pathetic soul straight to hell.” Her resistance melted. She stopped fighting.

  Somehow it was a hollow victory.

  “You want me to tie her?” Yale asked, reluctance heavy in his voice, as if he couldn’t believe his father would order him to bind a lady.

  “Yes. Now! Quickly.” Again he thought he heard the muffled sound of hooves trampling the forest floor. The dog sensed it, too. Her nose was to the wind, her eyes locked toward the forest to the south; she growled low in her throat and the fur behind her ears raised.

  The boy did as he was bid. Apryll twisted her pretty neck so that she could skewer Devlynn with a gaze filled with pure loathing.

  “Now, you watch her—here.” Devlynn handed his son his sword. “And if she so much as moves, shout to me.” His gaze held the self-righteous fury in hers. “Do not cross me,” he admonished as he ducked quickly into the inn.

  Her heart thundered. Did he mean to go against his word and slay her brother? No matter what crimes Payton had committed, Apryll couldn’t stand the thought of Payton being murdered as he slept. Though Devlynn had left his sword with the boy, he had only to use a knife he’d hidden upon himself, or Payton’s own weapon. She took a step after him, but Yale blocked her way.

  “Do not make me call him,” the boy suggested. “’Twould be a mistake.”

  “Not my first,” she said, ignoring his sword.

  “Father!” the boy cried as she swept into the old building and found Devlynn with Payton’s sword at her brother’s neck. “Wake up,” he ordered.

  Payton, on his back in front of the fire, groaned in his sleep.

  Devlynn nudged him with the toe of his boot. “Rise, cur!”

  “He can’t!” Apryll was soon across the room and kneeling at her brother’s side. “I put a potion into his drink, the same drug that he gave Yale on the night he was kidnapped.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was trying to get the boy back to you. Without any more bloodshed.”

  Yale appeared in the doorway. “Horsemen approach.”

  “Damn!” Devlynn drew back his sword, but Apryll flung herself on her brother.

  “Kill him and you’ll never know who within your keep betrayed you.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. He turned away from her brother. “Hurry!” he ordered Yale. “Run to the other side of the creek. There is a horse waiting!” He grabbed Apryll roughly and pulled her toward the door.

  Glimpses of men astride racing horses flashed through the barren trees and drizzling rain. Hard faces etched with determination were close enough that Devlynn recognized his captain of the guard. Rudyard, riding hard, was following the lead of a man Devlynn didn’t recognize, a tall man on a reddish horse.

  Traitor! A man he’d trusted with his men, to guard his family. A dark-hearted Judas. And only the first of many.

  “Now,” he said, pulling Apryll toward the horses he’d already saddled. He forced her onto the destrier she’d stolen just as he heard shouts over the thunder of hoofbeats tearing through the forest.

  With the reins of Apryll’s mount in his fist, Devlynn vaulted onto the gray’s back. Phantom bolted. The dog followed. Icy water splashed upward as the horse plunged into the swirling current. Devlynn glanced over his shoulder and saw Apryll, wrists bound, clinging to the pommel of her saddle to stay astride. Nose lifted, her horse trailed the gray.

  Rebellious gold eyes clashed with his for a heartbeat. Devlynn spurred his mount on. If the lady of Serennog was foolish enough to fling herself into the icy water and hard stones, so be it.

  Phantom scrambled up the rocky bank and Devlynn’s arm felt as if it would be ripped from its socket as Apryll’s horse balked. He yanked hard on the reins and the brown horse plunged up the embankment, white-stockinged hooves flinging mud. The dog caught up with them and shot forward through the stark trees. Birds squawked and scattered, rain dripped from the gray skies and behind him he heard shouts.

  No doubt they’d been spotted.

  He urged Phantom ever faster and spied Yale upon the black steed. The boy was already heading south along the path and smiled triumphantly as Devlynn caught up with him.

  “Home?” Yale asked, and Devlynn, his heart swelling with pride for his courageous, reckless son, nodded.

  “Fast. As if Satan himself is on our heels.”

  Yale grinned widely. “Hiya!” he shouted, leaning forward as the black shot ahead.

  Devlynn followed, his eyes scanning the horizon in all directions, for, though the boy seemed not to know it, his words were not idle. The Lord of Black Thorn was certain that, in the guise of Payton or other traitors he’d not yet identified, Lucifer himself was searching for them, intent on dragging them both through the portals of hell.

  Horses.

  She heard horses.

  Dozens of them from the sounds of it.

  From the knoll, Geneva looked through the bare trees and saw riders approaching a sagging, weathered building where she sensed Payton was hidden. Alive. Oh, love, she thought, her heart aching, the sins I have committed for you. She had to face him, to tell him she’d lied. But all the horses and soldiers—they were a ragtag bunch, led by a man with an unfamiliar face.

  The hairs on the back of her neck raised and she feared for Payton’s life. But before the soldiers reached the old building in the weed-choked clearing, she heard a shout.

  “Hurry!”

  It came from a tall, dark-haired man … the baron of Black Thorn … she’d seen him in her visions, for he was the death of her beloved Payton, the devil incarnate, the man she’d agreed to help destroy.

  He was holding a sword in one hand and dragging Apryll out of the inn. A boy raced across the
creek as the lord threw his captive onto the back of a sleek brown horse, then climbed astride a gray destrier and escaped across an icy stream just as the soldiers, shouting and milling, seeming about to give chase, burst into the clearing.

  Payton. Her heart froze. Where was he? She had the sense that he still lived and yet would the beast of Black Thorn leave him alive?

  Nay. Her heart froze in fear and she started toward the ancient building. Mayhap her vision was muddled, or perhaps she’d angered the gods that had given her the curse of her “sight” by lying. Could she be wrong? Even now, was Payton lying in a pool of his own blood, mortally wounded by Devlynn of Black Thorn?

  On wooden legs she began to run, faster and faster, down the knoll, through the trees, ignoring the brambles that tore at her gown or the rain that dripped from the sky and spattered her face, dripping down her neck in freezing rivulets.

  No! She thought. He can’t be dead.

  She stumbled, her ankle wrapped by a vine, but she caught herself, hands splaying in the mud. Nausea rose quickly, her stomach churning from the lack of food and sleep.

  Sweat poured out of her forehead despite the cold. She retched. Violently. Emptying the bit of juices from her gut, leaving her feeling weak. Yet she pushed herself upright and as the nausea faded, she made her way through the forest to the clearing.

  The horses were now free of riders. Men’s voices sifted through the cracks in the walls.

  “Bloody Christ, wake up, will ya?”

  “Where’s the boy? Bloody hell, did he get away as well?”

  “What happened here?”

  “Wake up!”

  “Did you see Devlynn of Black Thorn? ’Twas him or his ghost and the Lady Apryll. He threw her onto a horse and they took off across the stream. Even now they ride farther from us. By the saints, can we not wake him up?”

  “Is he dead?”

  Payton! Her heart twisted and tore. She flew through the door, where she found a bedraggled group of men standing around the fire and the prone body of a man, the man she loved.