Wild and Wicked

  And what then? Have the black-heart follow you? Oh, she would love to lock him away in her chamber. See how he liked that! She slid a glance at the bed and bit her lip. She had enjoyed the lovemaking.

  Lovemaking? Hah! There was no love involved in what they’d shared. ’Twas just the sex act between a man and a woman.

  Her heart twisted at the thought and she called herself every kind of romantic ninny she could think of as she threw on the hated dress and everything it represented. But she’d wear it proudly. When she saw Devlynn again, she wouldn’t so much as comment about the clothes.

  When she saw him.

  If he returned.

  With a sigh, she flung herself into a chair and ignored the food. She wasn’t hungry and her mind was racing with thoughts of escape. Again. Ever since she’d met the Lord of Black Thorn, she’d been on a mission to get away from him. Her fingers drummed against the arm of the chair. Where the devil was Devlynn? Why had he left her without a word? Was he looking for Payton? Or the rest of his army? How long was she to wait here? And for what?

  Through the window she saw a sizzling fork of lightning split the dark heavens. A clap of thunder shook the walls of the castle.

  Apryll shivered. Mayhap someone would take pity upon her as they had when Devlynn had locked her in the hermit’s cell in the tower and release her. Or her brother would storm the castle and free her.

  Disgusted, she remembered again Devlynn promising her that he would hand down his own kind of punishment. So this was it. He intended to mortify her, to make her squirm, as she would be the object of ridicule within Black Thorn. Her cheeks flushed at the thought, but she held her head high and tossed her hair over her shoulders.

  Damn him to the very depths of hell, she would not break.

  There was a light rap on the door. “Lady Apryll?”

  Yale!

  “Come in.” She was on her feet in an instant.

  She heard the sound of muddled voices as Yale spoke with the guard. A moment later the door opened and he was inside.

  “Why are you in here?” he demanded. His eyes, so like his damnable father’s, were worried.

  “I’m being held prisoner.”

  “By Father?” Lines of concentration marred his smooth brow. His jaw thrust forward.

  “Aye.”

  “But why? He likes you.”

  “It has nothing to do with liking,” she said, though she doubted Devlynn cared a whit about her. Last night he seemed to care for her, but ’twas only lust, a moment’s mistake; she was silly to think otherwise.

  She took a seat near the fire and motioned Yale toward the other chair. “Eat some, if you like,” she added, pointing at the tray of food Anne had left on the table.

  Yale snatched up a piece of dried eel, plopped it into his open mouth and chewed thoughtfully, suddenly seeming more man than boy. “You did not answer my question. Why are you a prisoner?”

  “Because your father blames me for some of the bad things that happened here.”

  “The fire.”

  “Yes … and kidnapping you.”

  “But it wasn’t your idea. You didn’t know about it,” he protested.

  “That’s right, but how would you know?”

  “The night I was taken. I was sleepy, aye, but I heard parts of conversations between Payton and the others. The conversations are …” He frowned, his small face scrunching as he tried to come up with the right word. “They are … like a fog, or a dream … I don’t remember all of them, just bits and pieces that come and go.”

  “Because of the potion.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “It is all … fuzzy, but I am sure I heard Payton tell someone he knew you would not go along with a kidnapping so he did it himself. When I asked him about it later, he said it was part of the game.”

  “There was no game.”

  “Yes, I know.” Yale swallowed the bite of eel and reached for another. “So, now, I will tell my father and he will release you. You will be free.”

  “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid,” she said, not daring to think of freedom.

  “It should be.” He stared at her as if he thought all adults made life much more difficult than was necessary. “You saved my life, didn’t you?”

  She cringed. “I think not. My brother would not have harmed you.”

  His eyebrows drew into a knot. “Payton cares not for anyone but himself. Including you. He is evil, you know.” With that, Yale popped the morsel into his mouth and sprang to his feet. All traces of his adult side disappeared. “If my father does not release you,” he said with a naughty lift of one eyebrow, “then I shall do it.”

  “Nay!” She wouldn’t let the boy risk his father’s wrath. “’Tis something I will work out with the baron.”

  Yale’s grin was that of a brash, wayward youth who considered himself invincible. “We shall see.”

  “Yale, do not!” she ordered as thunder rolled over the distant hills.

  Feigning as if he held a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, he spun on his heel, leaped over a small bench and rapped on the door in one swift motion. With a creak, the door opened. Offering Apryll a conspiratorial wink, Yale whispered, “I shall return.”

  “I have a confession.” Miranda’s voice was soft, her lips compressed, guilt shadowing her eyes as she ducked beneath the overhang of the armorer’s hut, where Devlynn had been checking the stores of weapons.

  His gut tightened. Was she going to admit that it was she who had betrayed him? “I’m not a priest.”

  “My sins are not against God,” she said, the fingers holding the hood of her cloak in place white-knuckled as a drip of icy rain fell from the roof and splattered on the ground. Lightning flashed over the hills.

  “What is it?” he braced himself.

  She bit her lip. Closed her eyes for a second. Devlynn’s heart pounded. “It was I who helped Lady Apryll escape from the tower. I betrayed you.”

  “And why did you do this?” he asked, but she didn’t answer until a dung cart rolled toward the main gate. Devlynn watched as the cart-pusher called to the gatekeeper to open the portcullis. The sentry, who had a list of those who had been allowed in, started the winch.

  “’Twas not that my loyalties weren’t with you,” Miranda said as a stray drop of rain slid down her nose. “But I could not stand to see a lady, a woman who reigned, be treated as a common prisoner.”

  “Should she be treated differently than a man should he have breached the castle walls? Remember, I did not throw her into the dungeon.”

  “I know. I have regretted my deed ever since … I … was misguided.”

  “By whom?” His eyes narrowed on his sister because never before had he known her to lie.

  “By my own sense of pride and … what I wanted.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you have plotted against me?” he hissed, his voice low. He grabbed her upper arm, fingers digging past the fine wool to her flesh.

  “Nay!” She tried to yank her arm free as thunder smacked loudly.

  “Listen, sister, I have sensed the unrest here at Black Thorn. There are traitors within the castle walls who helped Payton of Serennog. Are you one of them?”

  “Devlynn, no! I … I only let the lady escape because … because …” She closed her eyes a second, gathered herself and shook her head. “… because she is all that I wished to be. Aye, Devlynn, I have envied you your station, have wished that I’d been born a man, that I would have been groomed to rule this keep, but I would not betray you.”

  “Other than to let my prisoner go free.”

  “Have I not confessed?” she said with a haughty toss of her head. Her cowl slipped to her neck.

  “Confessed, yes. Atoned, no.”

  “Then lock me in the tower, brother, do what you will—”

  “Mayhap I’ll ship you back to your husband.”

  She blanched. Swallowed hard. “You would not,” she whispered, and the sound was desperate; it gra
ted upon his heart, for he had a soft spot for his sister. “Please, Devlynn. Anything else.”

  “Lord Devlynn!” The sentry’s voice called over the drip of rain and the creak of wheels. “Sir Collin has returned … with prisoners!”

  “What—?” Miranda was already flying across the bailey, mindless of the icy rain spitting from the sky.

  “Wait—do not let them in—!” Devlynn yelled, but it was too late. The portcullis had already been raised, allowing the cart through, and twenty or more horses with riders clamored into the bailey. Some of the men upon the muddy steeds were bound. Others walked on leads. Collin, triumphant, was at the head upon his bay, his smile wide, his eyes bright. Blood stained one part of his tunic.

  “Brother!” he cried victoriously, his eyes sweeping the crowd that had gathered. “I’ve captured the traitors. No more will those within the walls of the castle have fear! Black Thorn has been saved!”

  Devlynn felt a tension in the air, more to do with those within the keep’s wide walls than the lightning crackling in the air. He glanced at the faces of those Collin had taken prisoner. Some strangers, some men he’d trusted. The captain of the guard, Rudyard, sat stone-faced upon a brown horse. He stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge Devlynn, his arms tied to his body with a long length of rope.

  “Oh!” Miranda cried when she spied Spencer, dirty and straight-backed upon a dun stallion streaked with mud. She mouthed his name as Collin dropped lithely to the ground.

  “Where is Payton of Serennog?” Devlynn asked and felt the hairs on the back of his nape raise. Something was wrong here. None of his soldiers would meet his gaze. Devlynn’s right hand curled instinctively over the hilt of his knife.

  “Dead. Killed by his own men. We came upon his body in an old inn, the very one where he had kept Yale prisoner.” With a wave to those who were with him, he clapped Devlynn on the shoulder, his hand gripping hard. “Come, let us go inside out of this weather. ’Tis time to celebrate with a mazer of wine.”

  From the corner of his eye, Devlynn saw the blade, a wicked little dagger that flashed bright in the gloomy day. “Now, brother,” Collin whispered into his ear, “die.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Alarm bells sounded.

  Thunder clapped.

  Footsteps pounded.

  People screamed.

  Apryll threw herself at the door, her fists pounding on the hard oaken planks. “Let me out! Please. Someone!” Good Lord, what was happening?

  Lightning sizzled, flashing through the window.

  The door to the chapel was flung open. “Come!” Yale cried. “Lady Apryll, hurry!” He vanished into the closet and Apryll followed down the curved staircase and through the priest’s alcove to the empty chapel. Through the open doorway she heard the sound of clanging, horses shrieking and men yelling.

  Oh, God, she thought as she flew into the bailey and saw the melee of men in battle. ’Twas as if she’d stepped through the gates of hell.

  Devlynn jabbed his elbow into his brother’s side and swung ’round with his sword. Collin fell back, but his knife found its mark. Hot pain erupted in Devlynn’s shoulder as his own sword found Collin’s side.

  His brother fell to his knees and pain tore through Devlynn’s soul. Collin! Why?

  “Get this man help,” he yelled, but as Collin collapsed, his knife falling from his hands, Devlynn spied Rudyard break free of the fraudulent bonds restraining him, lift his sword high and kick his horse forward. The steed sprang. Rudyard swung hard, his deadly blade reflecting a blinding flash of lightning.

  Devlynn ducked, his own weapon held high. Swords clashed loudly, the hilt of Devlynn’s weapon reverberating in his hands. “Go to hell, you bastard!” Rudyard crowed, turning his horse so quickly it reared.

  Zzzt!

  Thwack!

  Rudyard jerked. With a horrifying cry he tumbled forward. He landed headfirst in a puddle, an arrow protruding from his back. From the corner of his eye, Devlynn caught a glimpse of a woman in white. Apryll was running through the bailey, her white dress flowing around her, a long bow clutched in her hands. “Yale!” she was screaming. “Yale!”

  Then he saw his son. Atop an empty cart, a sword in one hand, crouching as if he were going to slay the man at the other end of the cart, the soldier determinedly advancing upon him. Devlynn’s heart stopped when he recognized Spencer.

  No!

  Devlynn ran, leaping over men writhing upon the ground, clutching wounds and moaning while blood seeped into the muddy ground and pooled around them. Thunder cracked. The wind raged and the fighting went on. Screaming, yelling, clanging, neighing, a horrid cacophony of sound while the stench of blood filled his nostrils.

  Spencer advanced, wielding a mace in one burly arm, holding his sword in the other.

  “Don’t let this happen,” Devlynn growled under his breath, either at himself or God, for it did not matter.

  The boy backed up, slicing in the air with his smaller weapon, staring directly into the maw of death. Spencer’s eyes glittered, his expression hard with battle. Devlynn leaped, climbing over the wheel of the wagon just as the soldier brandished his razor-sharp sword.

  “Stop!” Devlynn commanded, pushing Yale over the side of the wagon, his sword crashing against Spencer’s blade. But the big soldier swung his mace and as Devlynn stepped back, then lunged forward, his blade piercing Spencer’s broad chest, a woman screamed and the mace crashed downward, splintering the sides of the wagon.

  Yale! Where the bloody hell was Yale? And Apryll? God be with her. Twisting hard on his sword, he watched as Spencer dropped to his knees. Devlynn yanked out his blade and blood spurted, spraying the wagon. With a rattling breath and a bubble of dark liquid the big man fell forward while a woman squealed as if in agony.

  He caught a glimpse of Miranda, her hair flying, her legs racing over the bloodied grass to the wagon. “Spencer, no! Oh, love, please, no, no, no!” She climbed over the wheel and fell upon the dying man. “Don’t leave me,” she cried, tears streaming from her face. “Don’t leave me and Bronwyn. We need you.” She was pushing his hair out of his eyes and cradling his head, but ’twas too late—the light in his eyes had dimmed.

  Devlynn left her to mourn her hero, the traitor who had nearly killed his son, then he spied Yale and Apryll, standing together, the boy managing a cross-bow and Apryll with her long bow drawn back, a deadly arrow aimed straight at the heart of a stocky man with a red beard, a man he didn’t recognize.

  “Call them off, Roger. All of them,” she ordered. “And tell me where my brother is.”

  “I suggest you do as the lady says,” Devlynn said and then, seeing that the fight had left most of the men, that those of Black Thorn, those who had lived and worked within the keep’s walls, those whose fealty was true, seemed to have the upper hand, yelled, “All fighting is to stop. Now! Sentry!” he bellowed. “Ring the alarm bell!”

  Roger dropped his weapon. “’Tis over,” he admitted.

  “And you shall be hanged for your treachery,” Apryll charged. “Where is Payton?”

  “Dead, m’lady,” another man said. “Run through by Rudyard.”

  “Wh—what? Nay …” Apryll’s face was suddenly whiter than the gown had once been. “Nay, he is alive … he must be.” All of the fight seemed to leave her and she swayed for a second. Devlynn stepped forward, determined to catch her, but somehow she found the strength to stand. Tears ran down her face. “Those who have killed my brother and those who have carried out his vengeance against Black Thorn will come before me,” she ordered. “Each and every man.”

  Devlynn turned to the men who still stood in the bailey, their weapons now on the ground or slack in their hands. “Enough!” He spied a group of traitors held at sword point by a few soldiers and several peasants and freemen, the butcher holding a meat cleaver high, the smith wielding a pipe, a sawyer gripping a broad axe. “Take them to the dungeons and have the physicians see to the wounds. We’ll need bandages a
nd …”

  He felt a hand upon his shoulder. “You’ll need a bandage,” Apryll said, drawing her fingers back and showing him his own blood.

  “’Tis not all,” he whispered and pulled her close. “I think, lady, I need you.”

  “And I think you be confused because of the battle and your wound.”

  “What you think counts not,” he said with a half smile as he wrapped one arm around Yale’s shoulders. “I’m the lord here. You are my prisoner.”

  “Have I not earned my freedom?” she asked and he shook his head.

  “Far from it, lady. For all your deeds, you’ve earned a life of servitude.”

  “What?” She threw down her weapons. “Of all the bloody, bullheaded, impossible—oh!” His lips crashed down upon hers and he kissed her as if his life would soon end. He felt her swoon against him, tasted the salty tracks of the tears she’d shed for her Judas of a brother, and realized that he would die before he would let her go.

  Lifting his head, he said, “Marry me, Apryll of Serennog.”

  “But … I …”

  “Let this be the end of the curse, let us join together for peace, and prosperity. Black Thorn and Serennog.”

  She bit her lip. Hesitated.

  He stared deep into her eyes. “I love you.” His voice was only a whisper but it echoed through the chambers of Apryll’s heart. Lightning sizzled through the dark night sky. “Marry me, Apryll. Take my heart and my life. Be the mother of my children. Stay with me forever.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Could she trust him? This emotion she felt welling up from the deepest part of her?

  “What say you, woman?” he demanded and she felt a smile pull at the corners of her lips.

  “Yes,” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!”

  “Then let the banns be posted,” Devlynn ordered. “Apryll of Serennog will become my wife!”

  Epilogue

  Lady Black Thorn heard the baby crying in the next chamber. Ah, she was a fussy one, her daughter. While the baron had the audacity to snore, Apryll pushed herself out of the bed and padded barefoot through the rushes to the antechamber where the infant was working up to lung-bursting screams.