Holly had heard tales of these men before. They’d been spotted skulking at the borders of her father’s land more than once. They were infamous for terrorizing their master’s own villeins—robbing them of their pathetic earnings, beating old men and dragging their virgin daughters into the forest for a bit of brutal sport. They were slovenly and vicious, their eyes narrowed by an inbred appetite for depravity that made them seem more beast than human.
But somehow the man who stepped out from behind their ranks—his ebony surcoat and hose immaculate, every hair slicked back into flawless alignment, a genial smile pasted on his handsome features—made them look no more menacing than a band of bumbling pages.
“If ’tis not the damsel in distress herself! How very courteous of you to spare us the bother of rescuing you. I do find sieges to be most tiresome.”
Holly had been clutching Nathanael’s sleeve without realizing it. She pried her fingers loose, reluctant to exhibit any sign of weakness before this man. “Nathanael, what is he doing here?”
Nate’s patronizing smile faltered. “Why, he saved my life. I lost my way in the wilderness. Were it not for the baron’s kindness and hospitality, I might have perished.”
Eugene de Legget snorted with contempt. “We found him wandering in circles, half-dazed with hunger and thirst, mumbling a rather tedious string of mea culpas beneath his breath. He was only a few feet from your father’s border at the time.”
“You never told me that,” Nathanael said indignantly. “I thought I was still in Wales.”
“Of course I told you. You were simply too delirious to remember.” Eugene turned his oily charm on Holly. She was surprised he didn’t ooze right out of his surcoat “Once the good brother informed us of your grave predicament, we were only too willing to offer our assistance. I must confess you don’t seem much the worse for wear.” He reached out to finger a curl. “I like it. ’Tis rather … boyish.”
His lips caressed the word, shedding an entirely new light on his penchant for maidens who’d yet to celebrate their thirteenth birthdays. Suppressing a shudder, Holly ducked out from beneath his hand. He shook his head at her rudeness.
She grabbed the front of Nathanael’s robes. “Do these ruffians look capable of conducting a siege to you? I see no crossbows or battering rams. And where are the scaling ladders? The catapults? The archers?”
Nathanael blinked like a man reluctant to wake up from a pleasant dream for fear of discovering it had been a nightmare all along. “I—I do not know. I just assumed the baron knew what he was about. He promised we would save you.”
“Aye, most likely by slipping into Gavenmore by night and slitting the throats of its helpless inhabitants. How could you be so impossibly naive?”
Eugene tsked beneath his breath. “Don’t be so hard on him, Holly. I found his innocence to be rather touching.”
She faced de Legget, lowering herself to address him directly for the first time. “Then make good on your vow, my lord. Escort me to my father at once.”
“ ’Twould be my most humble pleasure, my lady.”
The tension seeped from Holly’s shoulders. Perhaps she had overestimated de Legget’s villainy after all.
His lips puckered in an apologetic moue. “But I’m afraid ’twill be quite impossible.” He reached to his braided belt and unsheathed a small silver dagger.
Holly took an instinctive step away from Nathanael, then another. As de Legget stalked her, two of his rogues seized the priest by the arms.
He squirmed in protest. “I say, sirs, unhand me this minute!”
Holly’s back came up against a tree. Eugene twirled the knife in his deft fingers.
“If you harm a hair on her head …” Carey snarled.
Elspeth whimpered, her eyes bulging with terror.
Only Holly was silent, determined to stare Eugene down with all the scorn at her disposal. She forced herself not to recoil, not even when he pressed his hot mouth against her ear and whispered, “You won’t be quite so haughty when I’m through with you, my lady, for I have every intention of bringing you to your knees. One way or another.”
The dagger’s blade grazed her cheek. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carey start to struggle. Saw the sword at his throat notch away a sliver of flesh, sending a rivulet of blood trickling into the neck of his tunic.
“You might bring me to my knees,” she hissed. “But I won’t be reduced to slithering on my belly as you do.”
She bit back a cry of pain as he seized her hair, hacking away a single curl with icy detachment. Drawing a folded parchment from the velvet purse dangling from his belt, he sealed the curl inside.
“This should do to ensure the effectiveness of my demands. Were I not so chivalrous, I would throw in your tongue as well. I’m sure your husband has endured enough of its nagging to recognize it.”
Holly swallowed her retort, for once in her life choosing discretion over valor. She almost wished she hadn’t when one of his henchman seized her around the waist, crushing the breath from her with a burly forearm. She knew she really ought to be grateful she couldn’t breathe. The toothless fellow smelled nearly as bad as he looked.
“Bring the horses,” de Legget commanded. Two of his cohorts slunk off through the trees.
“I believed in you, sir,” Nathanael said softly, looking as bewildered as a child by his rapid change of fortune.
Eugene slanted him a glance, as if just remembering his existence. Holly cared nothing for the look. A knot of foreboding tightened in her chest. As de Legget approached the priest, the dagger shimmering like quicksilver in his fluid hand, she bucked and clawed in a futile attempt to escape the giant.
The baron’s heartfelt sigh would have melted winter frost. “ ’Tis the most tragic failing of we mortals, don’t you think, brother? That we so consistently disappoint each other. But you still have faith in your God, do you not?”
Nathanael nodded, his dark eyes somber. “Aye.”
Eugene’s tender smile spread. “Then give Him my regards.” Grunting in satisfaction, he rammed the dagger into Nathanael’s breast.
A scream of anguish ripped from Holly’s throat. Carey went down beneath a sea of flailing arms and legs. The hand clamped over Elspeth’s mouth could no longer muffle her squeals of horror.
As Nathanael collapsed, Holly managed to shake off her captor and stumble forward.
Even as a damning stain blossomed on the front of his robe, he stretched out a hand toward her. “Forgive me,” he whispered, his eyes going so hazy and unfocused she could not have said if he entreated her or God. “Please forgive me.”
Holly’s fingertips grazed his; Eugene’s henchman caught her around the waist, jerking her out of his reach. She wailed her frustration as Nathanael’s eyes drifted shut and he rolled to his back.
Eugene reached down, coolly withdrew the dagger, and wiped the blade on the parchment still in his hand. “May God rest his pathetic soul.”
Ignoring Holly’s murderous glare, Eugene strolled over to where Carey lay pinned to the ground by four hulking men, his lower lip puffed to twice its normal size and one of his eyes already swollen shut.
“Do try not to kill him or break his legs.” Eugene tucked the parchment into the waistband of Carey’s hose. “Either eventuality would necessitate finding a new messenger and I really haven’t the patience.”
As Eugene grabbed Holly’s elbow and jerked her toward the waiting horses, she winced at the sickening thud of fists on flesh and the sound of Carey’s helpless grunts.
“You bastard,” she spat, blinded by a hot torrent of tears as she stumbled past Nathanael’s still form.
His fingers dug into her tender flesh. “Remind me to teach you to address me with more courtesy when I’m your husband.”
“I already have a husband!”
His cold smile sent a shaft of pure terror through her soul. “Not for long, my lady. Not for long.”
Holly soon learned that there were more grueling wa
ys to travel than perched sidesaddle on a palfrey in the rain. Such as being trussed hands and feet and heaved like a sack of grain over the back of a monstrous destrier. Each thunderclap of a hoofbeat jarred her spine and set her teeth to rattling like dice. Cold gobbets of mud spattered her face. She shivered to imagine the effects of such torture on Elspeth’s frail bones.
As the hours passed, her thoughts churned in rhythm to the horse’s strides, stirring up a maddening maelstrom of grief and regret. If only her love had been strong enough to win Austyn’s trust. If only she hadn’t baited Eugene. If only she’d never enlisted Nathanael’s help in her mad scheme. He might be safe at Tewksbury this very moment, nagging the servants about their lack of piety and chiding her papa for hawking when he should have been attending Mass. A rush of warm tears blurred the flailing hooves.
She sought to dry her eyes by offering up a prayer for Nathanael’s poor unshriven soul. But each time she closed them, ’twas not Nathanael’s pallid face she saw, but Austyn’s—Austyn sprawled in a puddle of his own blood, his dark lashes feathered against his cheeks. Austyn the hapless victim of another man’s obsession. Was Eugene’s treachery to be the fulfillment of the dreaded Gavenmore curse? Was her beauty truly to be her husband’s doom?
Holly had no more time to ponder before her horse was snapped to a halt and she was dragged off its back by the clumsy paws of Eugene’s personal giant. As he heaved her over his beefy shoulder, she caught a chilling glimpse of their destination.
She should have known Eugene would be too cunning to risk taking her to his own castle, where word of her captivity might spread to her papa’s ears. He had chosen for his den a crumbling ruin of a watchtower so shrouded with ivy that from a distance ’twould be nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding trees. Here in this isolated glade, there would be no curious villeins, no prying servants, no chattering pages or squires to spread gossip or intervene in whatever diabolical revenge he had planned. Here she and Austyn would be completely at the mercy of de Legget and his henchmen.
Holly shuddered.
She knew Nathanael would have frowned upon appealing to the capricious mercies of a pagan faerie, but as she bounced along over the colossal shoulder, she pressed her eyes shut and whispered fiercely, “Please, Rhiannon, you may be a faerie, but if you’ve a woman’s heart, keep him far, far away from this place.”
CHAPTER 29
Sir Austyn of Gavenmore was a haunted man. He stood on the battlements of his ancestral home, blinking rain from his eyes to gaze toward the eastern horizon. His crimson surcoat was plastered to his skin. The frivolous border of ivy embroidered along its back weighted his shoulders like fetters of iron.
Rhiannon’s revenge was naught but a mild scolding compared with his wife’s retribution. The faerie queen’s shade could only bedevil one place at a time. Holly’s ghost was everywhere.
It waddled along the riverbank, strewing marigolds in his path. It patted anemones into place around his mother’s grave, glancing up at him to reveal sparkling violet eyes and an impish nose smudged with dirt. He passed it on the stairs, lugging a tub of scarlet poppies up to the battlements.
Austyn reached out and brushed a raindrop from the withered petals of one of those poppies.
The first manifestation had occurred only hours after Carey had escorted Holly from the castle. Austyn had been in the solar with Winifred and Emrys, packing away his plans for completing the castle and calculating how much of Holly’s dowry had already been spent on ordering slate and sandstone. He intended to return every penny to the earl as soon as he could recover it.
’Twould be only a matter of weeks, Austyn supposed, rolling a scroll into a neat tube with methodical hands, before the king’s tax collectors would be pounding at the door, threatening to seize the castle and its meager lands if they could not pay. The prospect no longer distressed him as it once had. Without Holly, the keep was naught but an empty shell. A tomb for his dreams.
Ignoring Winifred’s worried glance, he rested his aching brow in his hands. A discordant jangling drifted to his ears. He lifted his head, a crazy hope sputtering to life in his heart.
“Did you hear that?” he inquired of Emrys.
“Hear what, sir?”
Shoving his way past his puzzled steward, Austyn flew from the solar. He skidded to a halt in the south corridor, fully expecting to find the iron candelabrum bobbing up and down on its tarnished chains.
The candelabrum hung silent and still, its rusty music playing only in his head.
Austyn slid down the wall to a sitting position. ’Twas of little import that Holly’s ghost had made itself invisible. He could still hear the echo of her merry laughter.
He crouched in that darkened corridor until nightfall, finally rising only to have his dazed steps carry him to the door of the north tower. When he realized where he was, he turned and resolutely sought the barren confines of his own bed. After tossing and thrashing for hours, he shot bolt upright from a fitful nightmare to the angelic strains of his wife’s singing.
He bounded from the bed and pelted up the winding stairs. But when he threw open the door of the tower, hollow silence greeted him. Surrendering any pretense of sleep, Austyn spent the remainder of the night in the window seat, gazing at the bed and remembering how Holly had so generously shared both it and her warm, loving body with him. When Winnie discovered him there the following morning, he refused to allow her to tidy the chamber, fearing her efforts might banish the scent of myrrh that still clung to the rumpled sheets.
He understood why his grandfather had forbidden anyone to disturb the tower after his grandmother died. ’Twas as if the man never relinquished his hope that the woman who had once inhabited it might someday return.
Austyn’s final glimpse of Holly had assured him that his hopes were no less vain than his grandfather’s. He would never forget the proud set of her shoulders, the haughty cast of her features, the wounded look in her beautiful eyes. He had sent her away to protect her, yet she seemed to believe he had broken faith with her in some irredeemable manner.
After his fourth night in the window seat, Austyn decided ’twould be best to have Emrys brick up the tower door to ensure that never again would any Gavenmore man be tempted to punish a woman for his own sins. ’Twas only then that he remembered there would be no more Gavenmore men after him. The curse had not only robbed him of his wife, but of his children as well.
Austyn’s hands clenched on the rain-slicked parapet as he imagined what magnificent sons Holly would have given him.
He had yet to give the order to seal the tower, for he knew that he would be walling up his heart as well, this time forever. Then there would be nothing left for him to do but spend the remainder of his days wandering the castle in search of his wife’s ghost and rattling his own invisible chains.
Shaking the rain from his hair, Austyn turned away from the parapet, driven by loneliness to seek the one man who shared his exile.
Austyn slid his knight across the chessboard, then watched his father’s pawn pick it off, feeling nary a sting of regret. Rhys had been almost placid since his attack on Holly. ’Twas as if the ugly spell of violence had exorcised some dark demon from his soul. Compassion had tempered Austyn’s first urge to cast him into the dungeon. Instead, he had committed him to Emrys’s reliable care, determined that his father would never again harm another woman.
Emrys poked at the fire he had built to ward off the damp while Winifred plucked and cleaned a chicken with efficient hands, striving to conceal her fretful glances at the door of the great hall, but failing miserably. Austyn’s own concern was mounting. Carey should have returned more than two days ago. Perhaps he had chosen to linger at Tewksbury until the rain cleared, Austyn told himself. He refused to humor his own impulse to glance at the door between every move, not wanting to reveal his pathetic eagerness to hear news of Holly.
His father’s muteness suited his own brooding temper so well that he flinched with surprise when Rh
ys snapped, “Check.”
Stealing a glance at the door from beneath his lashes, Austyn slid his king out of the path of his father’s bishop, carelessly leaving his queen unguarded.
Rhys captured her, cornering Austyn’s king to cement his victory. “Checkmate.”
“It seems the best man won,” Austyn said, forcing a half-hearted smile as he began to rearrange the pieces for another game.
“I think we both know that’s not true, son.”
Austyn jerked his head up. His father’s blue eyes were as clear as Austyn had seen them in years. The sight pained him. Reminded him of a time when his father had been his only hero. A time when they’d all been happy.
“I was in the courtyard,” Rhys said softly.
Austyn lined up his pawns in a precise row, struggling to keep the anger from his tone. “Holly told me. ’Twas rather boorish of you, don’t you think? Eavesdropping on your own son and his”—he clenched his teeth against a pang of anguish—“bride.”
Rhys shook his head. “Not then. The night my mother jumped.”
Austyn’s hands stilled. This time when he met his father’s gaze, he found he could not look away.
“I hadn’t seen her since I was a small boy,” Rhys said, “so I slipped up to the tower to visit her. I was the one who told her that Father was with his doxy. She started to cry. She hugged me very tightly and told me I was a good lad and she loved me with all of her heart. Then she sent me away.” He stared at the chesspiece in his hand. “Perhaps if I had stayed … if I hadn’t told her about Father’s woman …”
Austyn was surprised to learn his barren heart still had any forgiveness to offer. He held up one of the smallest chessmen. “ ’Twas never your fault. You were naught but a pawn in your father’s game of jealousy and revenge.”
“She loved me, you know. She was a loyal and devoted wife.”
Austyn fought to keep his own bitterness at bay. “ ’Tis fortunate you can remember your mother with such charity.”