Wild and Wicked

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Bells pealed throughout the bailey. A sentry yelled, “Lord Devlynn has arrived! He brings his son!” People dropped what they were doing.

  As Devlynn rode through the gates of Black Thorn, shouts rang out. The carpenters repairing the stables put down their hammers, the smith abandoned his forge, the armorer ignored the weapons he’d been cleaning and the boys netting eels in the pond looked away from their catches. Women carrying laundry and girls with egg baskets and water buckets stopped their tasks as the Lord of Black Thorn returned to his keep.

  “Welcome home, m’lord,” one man said as he yanked off his hat and bowed slightly. “We’ve missed ye. I see ye’ve got yer son.” A smile of crooked teeth peeked out from behind his red beard. “’Tis good that ye’re home.”

  “Aye, welcome,” a big-bosomed girl with braids and doelike eyes said, curtsying. Her lips curved into a suggestive smile and she batted her eyelashes slowly. Suggestively. Apryll felt a ridiculous spurt of jealousy.

  “Yale!” Bronwyn screamed in delight as she flew out of one of the huts and dashed across the bent grass and mud. Her face was alive, her brown curls flopping and streaming behind her. “There are new puppies in the kennels and yesterday Mother let me ride with her into the meadow and Uncle Collin said that he would take me on a hunt when you returned. Come!” she cried breathlessly, so excited she actually clapped her hands and jumped up and down.

  With a quick look to his father, Yale slid off his mount and chased after his cousin through the throng that had gathered. Laughing and chattering, they ran together along a muddy path that twisted past the well and a broken wagon.

  Apryll’s heart twisted as Devlynn reined in. How she envied Devlynn his family. Brother, sister, Aunt Vi, a niece and child, while all she had was Payton, one half brother, who was as close by blood to Devlynn and his siblings as he was to her.

  But for the sets of adoring eyes looking at their lord there were others as well, malevolent, shifty gazes, hard-set jaws, flared nostrils that were impossible not to notice. For the most part the angry glares were sent her way, but she was certain she saw more than one tight-lipped, hostile gaze taking in the baron’s return. Who were the men and women who hated him? Were they the traitors who had aided Payton in his raid? Or was she imagining things, she wondered as dogs barked from the kennels and sheep bleated in the fields. Mayhap it was her own despair, her own sense of guilt, her own anxiety about being away from her castle and the people who depended upon her.

  Laundry flapped in large, open sheds, smoke curled upward from chimneys, carts and wagons brought wares and the windmill’s sweeps turned in the cold, chill breeze.

  “Look at her—sitting upon her horse. As if she was the damned Queen of England!” The shrewish whisper was loud enough for Apryll to hear. She steeled herself. She was regarded by everyone within the keep as an enemy of these people, a threat to Black Thorn, the woman responsible for death and destruction. She refused to meet their eyes but sat proudly, chin high, shoulders level, spine stiff, ignoring the whispers that swept through the crowd, conjectures about her.

  “Who is she?” a fat laundress carrying a basket of filthy clothes asked her smaller companion, a birdlike woman with a beak for a nose and small, pinched features, certainly the source of the harsh whisper.

  “She called herself Lady Apryll of Serennog.” Yes, the same ugly tone.

  “That one? Nay. I saw the lady of Serennog on the night of the revels. A true beauty she was and dressed so fine, all in pure white silk—Lady Violet likened her to an angel.”

  “An angel straight from hell!” The tiny woman made a swift sign of the cross over her chest as if to ward off any evil spirits lurking nearby.

  The laundress’s small eyes lifted and she stared straight at Apryll upon her muddy mount. “But … but this one … the same woman? Bah!” She shook her head side to side and her short little nose wrinkled as if she smelled something putrid. “She’s so filthy and thin and she’s wearing a peasant man’s clothes.”

  “A disguise, you idiot,” bird-woman explained with a sniff. “And she’s not to be trusted. Look there”—bony fingers pointed at Apryll’s hands—“she’s a prisoner.”

  The fat woman stared at the reins running from the bridle of Apryll’s mount to Devlynn’s gloved hand.

  “And well she should be. She’s deadly. If not for her, young Yale would not have been kidnapped, the stables wouldn’t have burned and poor Grace wouldn’t have buried Seth and be a widow today, I tell you. That one”—she cast a hateful nod at Apryll astride her weary horse—“she’s heartless, she is, and deserves whatever fate Lord Devlynn has for her.”

  “Look at her face. See you not a bruise beneath the mud? Do you think he had to beat her?”

  “’Tis possible. The baron has a temper and this one would sorely test it, taking his boy. Remember what happened with poor Lady Glynda.”

  Apryll closed her ears to the gossip, though her heart was as heavy as if it were weighted with stones. As long as she was a prisoner within the walls of Black Thorn she would be hated. Mistrusted. Accused of every foul deed that happened.

  “Brother!” Collin dashed out of the great hall and down the steps to Devlynn, who was still holding the reins of Apryll’s horse. Collin slung an arm around Devlynn’s shoulders and hugged him fiercely.

  As he had never done before.

  Devlynn’s throat tightened and not for the first time in his life he felt a deep deceit, the kind of rift that can only be wrought by one you love.

  “Welcome!”

  “’Tis good to be home,” Devlynn admitted, though he glanced at the charred stables and remembered the men who had died for Payton of Serennog’s greed.

  “Here, George, tend to the horses,” Collin ordered a gangly stable boy as Devlynn extracted himself from his brother’s embrace. “We were worried,” Collin rambled on. Devlynn slapped Phantom’s reins into the stable boy’s hands but held tight to the straps leading to Apryll’s mount. “Miranda wanted to search for you, but I told her you would return.” He smiled and clapped Devlynn on the back. “And you’ve found Yale and Lady Apryll!” ’Tis time for a celebration! Come, come, no reason to stand out here in this bloody weather; let us have a cup.”

  Devlynn didn’t feel like celebrating. Not yet. There was much to do. He glanced back at Apryll and saw her elevate her chin even higher as she sat, waiting, upon her horse. Devlynn noticed the curious eyes staring at her, heard the whispers, and though they fired his blood, he ignored them. He could not defend this woman who had put his entire castle at risk. “Have the others returned?” he asked Collin.

  “Some. Not all.” Collin cast a glance toward the heavens where dark-bellied clouds promised more rain. “Come, Devlynn, let us have a cup by the fire.” His gaze traveled to Apryll and a smile of appreciation curved his lips. “What of her?”

  “She is to be locked away.”

  Apryll stiffened.

  “In the dungeon?” Collin asked and Devlynn saw his hostage pale beneath the mud upon her face. He walked to her steed. “Come on,” he said, offering to help her off the animal, but she refused his aid, clasped the pommel with her tied hands and swung her leg over the horse’s back to land a little ungainly upon the soft ground.

  “Oh, for the love of God, what is this? Lady Apryll is to come inside and be treated as the lady she is.” Miranda was standing at the top of the steps to the great hall. Her arms were folded under her breasts, her hair catching in the wind, the glint in her eye unmistakable.

  “She’s an enemy.” Devlynn was pulling Apryll toward the keep.

  “And you may lock her away, but not in some foul-smelling dungeon, brother, oh, nay. She can be kept in one of the chambers within the keep, a decent chamber with a fire and bed.”

  “So she can escape as she did the hermit’s cell?”

  “Only if you’re foolish enough not to guard her with someone you trust implicitly.”

  And who wou
ld that be? Devlynn wondered, for now he understood that deception and treachery ran deep within the thick castle walls.

  “How about you, sister? Would you have her be your charge?” he asked.

  “Why not?” Miranda eyed Apryll with a blend of fascination and awe. “But I’ll not keep her caged like an animal.”

  Devlynn hesitated. Could he trust his sister? “She is not to leave the upper chambers,” he said. “And she is to be under your watch unless she is with me. If she disappears again, I will hold you responsible.”

  “I would expect no less.” Miranda turned her gaze to Apryll. “Come along, you must be tired and hungry. ’Tis time you had some time away from my ogre of a brother.”

  “And you, lady,” Devlynn said, his eyes drilling deep into Apryll’s imperious gold orbs. “You are to obey me. Do not try to escape, for your very life and the lives of your brother and the men who rode with him are at stake.” He placed a hand over her upper arm. “I will tolerate no insubordination, do you hear me? You are my prisoner and if you try to escape again, I swear to you I will take my vengeance not only upon your skin, but on that of everyone in Serennog. No one—not a man, woman or child—will be safe from me, do you hear? You are to obey me.”

  “And should I bow down and lick your boots as well? Or mayhap, you should trade in this manacle for a leash and I will follow after you and sit at your side like some faithful, stupid dog.” A few men coughed. Women tittered.

  “You test me, woman.”

  “As you test me.” She took a step toward him and seemed not to notice that several people watching had gasped. “Now hear this and hear it well, Devlynn. I will never bow down to you. I will never give you my pride. I will never act the poor, beaten animal, do you understand? You can threaten me, torture me or kill me, but I will never beg, nor will I kneel at your feet.”

  By the gods, she was spirited. Her eyes gleamed with conviction, her jaw hoisted her chin heavenward, and even in the filthy, stolen huntsman’s tunic and breeches she managed to appear regal.

  The muscles at the back of his neck tightened. “Take her away,” he growled at his sister, “but do not take your eyes from her. She’s as slippery as any eel in the sea.”

  “Ah, but far more fetching, don’t you think?” Collin said as Miranda led Apryll into the great hall. “Even in rags she’s a beauty.”

  Jealousy raged through Devlynn’s blood, but he held his tongue. It infuriated him that he would feel anything but disgust for the woman. But his feelings for her were complex. Throughout the long ride to Black Thorn, he’d watched her, seen her smile kindly at Yale, even joke with the boy when they’d stopped for food or water. Once he’d spied her rumpling Yale’s hair affectionately with her bound hands, as if she truly felt some fondness for the child.

  And yet she’d been a party to kidnapping the boy. He remembered listening at the old inn, hearing her conversation with her brother. I would no more turn against you than you would against me. That had been her vow to Payton. At the time Devlynn had heard the words he’d thought she’d meant that she would do anything for Payton and that Yale’s fate mattered not, but during the ride to Black Thorn she’d displayed tenderness, even laughed at some of Yale’s antics, her gold eyes shining with something akin to caring for the boy.

  Was it all for show?

  Mayhap.

  Probably another ruse so that Devlynn would forgive her, a ploy to save her own pretty neck. Well, it wouldn’t work. He knew her too well.

  Disturbed, he walked into the great hall, expecting to feel elation and relief at being home; instead he felt only apprehension.

  His life since the night of the revels had changed. Forever. All because of the regal, feisty woman who was now his prisoner.

  Nothing would ever be the same.

  “You’re in love with Devlynn.” Miranda’s words echoed in the wide chamber on the second floor. Apryll stood by the fire, warming the winter chill from her bones. Two boys of ten or so were filling a large tub with steaming water while a girl with curly red hair and freckles spattered over a short little nose was adding fragrances to the bath.

  “In love?” Apryll shook her head violently though a part of her acknowledged the fact. A silly wayward part of her heart crumbled at the sight of the monster.

  “I can see it in your eyes when you look at him,” Miranda said with a knowing lift of one eyebrow. “’Tis an expression I’ve seen far too often. Many have loved my brother.”

  “Have they?” Apryll attempted to sound disinterested, when, if the truth be known, her heart ached at the thought.

  “Aye, but he rarely returns the favor.”

  Water splashed into the tub and steam rose to the ceiling. “Enough, be off,” Miranda ordered the boys and to the servant girl she said, “Leave the soap and towels. I will tend to the lady.”

  “But me mother, she said I was to bathe her and get her dressed.”

  “Then go down to Bessie and see if there are dresses within the keep that will fit the lady. Mine are too large, but Lady Glynda’s before she was with child might work. And we’ll need a chemise and something for the lady’s feet. Bessie should know where Glynda’s things are stowed.”

  “Nay!” The thought of wearing Devlynn’s dead wife’s gowns was loathsome and seemed indecent somehow. “I … I can wear these again, if they are but washed.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Miranda shooed the girl out the door and insisted Apryll strip from her dirty breeches and tunic, then settle into the basin before the water cooled.

  Apryll laughed without any mirth. “I think I’ll need some help,” she admitted, holding up her bound hands.

  “Devlynn is such a beast! What was he thinking?” Quickly Miranda slid a wicked little dagger from her pocket and sliced the leather bindings. As if she’d been a serving girl all of her life rather than the daughter of a lord, Miranda helped Apryll out of her clothes and into the tub. The water was so hot it stung, but within minutes Apryll’s muscles had loosened, she’d washed her hair and skin with the lavender-smelling soap and she’d managed to rub the feeling into her wrists and hands. She leaned her head against the tub’s rim, smelling the fragrant scent and sighing.

  Miranda walked to the window where she peered through the slats of the blinds, looking down to the bailey. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “Devlynn cares for you.”

  Apryll’s heart jumped but she snorted her disagreement. “I think not.”

  “Oh, he tries to hide it, but I saw his anger, his passion, the way he looked at you. He’s never looked at a woman that way, not even Glynda.”

  “His wife?”

  Miranda nodded and her lips compressed.

  “What happened to her?” Apryll asked.

  Sighing, Miranda glanced at Apryll, then walked to the fire as if suddenly chilled. “She was a headstrong woman, Glynda was. Beautiful and playful, but willful, as well. She and Devlynn had many rows. He wanted a castle full of children, but she did not. She’d had one son, ’twas enough.”

  “But I thought … I’d heard she was with child.” Apryll laved her arms with the fragrant soap, letting the warm bath water rinse away the lather as Miranda gnawed her lower lip.

  “She was. The babe died when Glynda did.” She closed her eyes for a second and shivered as if reliving the day of her sister-in-law’s death. “She and Devlynn had quarreled and she’d taken off not on her little jennet, but upon the wildest steed in the stable, a sorrel stallion. Devlynn had been beside himself and rode after her, giving chase, but Glynda took it as a competition. She pushed her horse faster and faster and when he balked at jumping over a fallen tree, Glynda was thrown off. She landed on the back of her head, breaking her neck. She was dead by the time Devlynn reached her.” Miranda rubbed her arms and shivered. “He blamed himself for her death and has never forgiven himself.”

  Even in the warm water, Apryll’s blood chilled.

  “It’s only been a few days since he tore off his mourning band. Such
a waste,” she thought aloud and then glanced at Apryll as if she’d given away a great secret. “To be in an unhappy marriage … oh, I know ’tis a sacrament, one that must be upheld, and that love has no place in marriage, but it seems foolish to be forever yoked to the wrong man.”

  “And you think Glynda was not in love with Devlynn?”

  “Of course she wasn’t,” Miranda said. “She was too busy being in love with herself.”

  “And what of you?” Apryll asked suddenly. “Where is Bronwyn’s father?”

  Miranda hesitated, opened her mouth to speak and shut it again. She handed Apryll a towel. “He is away.”

  “Is he returning soon?”

  There was a rap on the door and the serving girl appeared toting a heavy basket and three fine dresses before Miranda could answer. The girl held up each dress for Apryll’s appraisal. There was a pale gray watery silk, another heavy blue damask trimmed in fur, and a rich gold velvet with a low neckline and fitted bodice. Miranda tossed the first two onto the bed.

  “This’ll do,” she said of the gold gown as the girl handed her a basket filled with underthings. “You’ve done well, Anne,” she said, extracting a pair of black leather boots, and pattens. “Thank Bessie for finding them.”

  “She said there are more, if you need them.”

  “We might. But not today. Tell her to make sure they are washed and pressed and have these cleaned.” She scooped up the huntsman’s outfit, then dropped the dirty tunic and breeches into the girl’s outstretched arms. “Now, send up Ginny to dress the lady’s hair.”

  “Aye, m’lady,” the girl said before disappearing through the heavy door.

  “I don’t need my hair tended to.”

  “Of course you do,” Miranda said with a small, knowing smile. “The next time you see Devlynn you will look every bit the lady you are.”

  “Why?” Apryll stood and wrapped a towel around herself as she climbed out of the rapidly cooling water.

  “Because I want him to view you as you are, his equal, not as a peasant or prisoner.”