Sharon Lanergan (15 page)

“I was wondering what your intentions toward Constance are,” Trevor said in a rush.

“What?”

“I know you’re, well, you’ve been with her, and I don’t want her to be hurt,” his son told him, developing a sudden interest in his own boots.

“Trevor…” Brian stopped, movement from below catching his attention. He leaned over the battlements and watched the hooded figure dash back toward the woods.

“What is it?” Trevor asked, frowning.

It was not possible and yet, Brian knew his eyes were not playing tricks.

I just saw Loutrant
.

“‘Tis naught,” Brian said, not wanting to sound the alarm while the king’s party was among them. Later after the king was gone, Brian planned on telling them of the sighting. “The wind in the trees.”

****

A weary Constance opened the door to her chamber. It was late. She’d spent a good deal of time talking with the Earl of Trumley. A very handsome and charming man.

For just a time she was able to forget the thoughts plaguing her. But now, they returned.

She closed the door and turned to face her lonely bed.

“Brian,” she whispered, her heart leaping at the sight.

Her bed was occupied by one of the two men who filled her every thought.

His smiled brightened the candle-lit room and he pulled aside the furs, inviting her in.

It was an invitation Constance would not refuse. She pulled off her garments and cast them heedlessly on the floor. She went into his arms.

He kissed her lips gently, then pushed her head to his chest, gently stroking her hair. His arms around her were heaven.

“Tell me,” his said softly.

“Tell you what?”

“Something has been troubling you. What is it?”

She toyed with his chest hair. Lord, would there ever be a time when they could talk about something other than Loutrant?

She reached up and touched his jaw. When he looked at her, she leaned up and kissed him.

“I don’t want to talk, Brian,” Constance whispered against his mouth, echoing what he often said. “I just want you to love me.”

She meant it in so many ways, too. Physically, aye, but she wanted him to love her. Wanted him to be hers. Always. They were destined for each other. This Constance knew, even if Brian did not.

“Constance,” Brian started to protest, but she cut the words from his lips with another kiss, this one more insistent.

She knew the moment he surrendered to the notion of making love instead of talking. The tension left his shoulders, his jaw became less rigid.

When they came together, Constance felt safe, and loved. The need for talk disappeared, at least for a time. And she didn’t even think of Loutrant.

In the early morning, Constance woke, fully alert. Brian was gone. She didn’t know when he had left her. She touched the spot on her bed where he had recently lain, holding her. Mayhap it was time for talk between them. Things she needed to tell him and certainly he needed to share with her. Even if he would not admit it.

Constance rose from the bed and quickly pulled on her kirtle and surcoat. She hoped to catch him in his own room, before he left to break his fast or training.

When she reached his room, though, Constance discovered it was empty. Disappointment washed over her. Where had he gone? It was still dark out.

She grabbed her cloak from her own room and hurried down the stairs. Before going out, she checked the Great Hall and the kitchens. She could not find Brian.

The air was crisp and her misted breath swirled in front of her. To the east, the first rays of the sun appeared but overhead, stars still shone.

“Brian, where are you?” Constance whispered.

To the right and left of her were Fitzroy warriors standing guard over the courtyard. Neither paid her any heed.

Constance stepped down into the main part of the courtyard and glanced around. Her chances of locating Brian seemed slim. He could be anywhere.

With a snort of disapproval, she turned, intent on giving up her futile task and returning to her lonely bed.

Constance was grabbed abruptly from behind and slammed into a hard muscular form. She opened her mouth to call out to the guards, but her captor slid his large hand over her mouth, silencing her cry.

“Hush,” Brian said into her left ear, causing shivers to go up then down her spine. She relaxed instantly.

Constance reached up and removed his hand from her mouth. “You scared me.”

“You should be frightened,” Brian said. “What the hell are you doing wandering around in the dark by yourself?”

“I was looking for you.” She pushed away from him and placed her hands on her hips. “Where have you been? Why did you leave so early?”

Brian lowered the hood of his own cloak and shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk.”

“You should have awakened me. I could have thought of something to make you sleepy.”

He shook his head. “I did not think.”

“‘Tis you who ought to have a care,” Constance admonished him. “There are all sorts of dangers about.”

“I have learned to take care of myself,” Brian assured her. He brushed his thumb along her bottom lip, then he showed her the wicked sword he wore under his cloak.

“The finest of warriors can be overcome by surprise,” Constance retorted. She hadn’t grown up the daughter of a warrior and learned naught.

Brian smiled and pulled her once more into his arms. “As long as we are both awake, shall we watch the sun rise together?”

Constance quickly agreed and he took her hand in his and led her to a wall to the east of the yard, away from the prying eyes of the watchful guards.

In truth, Constance had never been an early riser and she could count on one hand the times she had witnessed the sun rising.

The wall was short and wide enough that Brian could sit astride it, and Constance sat with her back to him. She leaned into his arms.

The sun rose slowly, turning the sky first a light pink, then orange, the rays reaching out to touch the day.

Neither of them said a word, and for Constance, it was a moment to treasure. The closeness, their shared experiences, the solid strength of Brian. All these things surrounded her, holding her in their grip. She wanted it to never end.

When the sun had fully risen, Brian placed a kiss on the top of her head. The experience was over.

With a regretful sigh, Constance rose from the wall and held out her hands to Brian. He took them and stood up.

“What are your plans for the day?” she asked, loathe to let him go.

He inclined his head, a mysterious smile curving his lips.

“What?” Constance demanded.

Brian turned and pointed to the hill where the Fitzroy graves lay. “I intended to go there this morn. Before I must see the king on his way.”

Constance stared at the consecrated ground and tried not to shiver. “I will come with you,” she said, trying to make her voice firm.

“Constance.”

She squeezed his hands. “I—I don’t know why, but I feel I must. Please?”

Brian gave her a look, but after a brief hesitation, he pulled her toward the hill.

Thinking to lighten the mood, Constance said, “When I was a young girl, I thought spirits walked there.”

“They do.”

Constance froze. “What?” He surely jested, and yet his expression was completely serious.

“Not the kind you think,” Brian explained. “You won’t see any headless spirits or crying white ladies.”

Constance blew out the breath she held. “Well, then.”

“‘Tis a place fraught with heaviness and despair. But also, a feeling…” Brian shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel their presence.”

Constance nodded and walked up the hill once more, tamping down her nervousness.

Reaching the top, she was amazed at what a lovely place it was. Flowers were everywhere, and birds sang in the nearby trees. She felt no despair.

“Where to?” Constance asked when Brian hesitated at the small iron gate.

“Genevieve.”

Chapter Twenty

Brian knelt and picked up a stem from the mound. Fresh wild flowers had been laid upon his dead wife’s grave since his brief visit of a few days ago. Probably Trevor.

Releasing Constance’s hand, Brian spread his cloak on the ground for Constance to sit on. The morning air was crisp, but he ignored it in favor of her comfort. He waited for her to sit, and then he turned his attention to the grave.

Brian wasn’t sure what he would say. He’d never had a witness to his talks with Genevieve.

“How often do you come here?” Constance broke the silence.

“Not often enough,” he admitted. “You know what the worst part is?”

Constance shook her head, her green eyes curious.

“I can’t remember what she looked like.” Brian laughed low and bitterly. “She was my wife and I can’t even bring her image to my mind.”

“Brian.”

“I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I wouldn’t even try. I took her innocence willingly. Without a second thought. But when our fathers insisted we marry, I was furious.”

Constance touched his arm. “You were very young.”

“‘Tis no excuse. I hated her, Con. I absolutely despised her.” Brian hung his head. “I felt so trapped.” He growled low in his throat. “I didn’t know what trapped was then.”

Constance moved closer on the cloak and threaded her fingers through his.

“She only wanted me to love her,” Brian continued, “but I wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. I flaunted other women in her face and never once cared what Gen thought of it. She gave birth to my son and I can’t even describe her to you.”

“It does not help to berate yourself like this, Brian,” Constance told him.

“I used to come here once a year on her birthday. A grand gesture. Such arrogance.” Brian’s mouth twisted. “But the thing of it was, I dreaded those visits every year. I couldn’t wait to get them out of the way. I couldn’t stop thinking of myself.”

“Oh, Brian.”

This time he shrugged off her comforting touch. He didn’t deserve her sympathy.

“On that last day, it was her birthday. I was anxious to get my visit over with because I’d just received a missive from Katherine. Or I thought it was from her.” Brian ran his fingers through his hair. “But there’s something else, Con.”

“What?” she whispered. Her voice was so soft it might have been carried by a breeze.

But Brian was afraid to say the words out loud. Loathe to admit there might be reason to question his sanity. He finally looked away from the grave and into Constance’s eyes. They glistened with unshed tears.

“I can’t bring up Katherine’s face any more. Once, it was burned into my mind, the sight of her being killed. What could I have done differently? How could I have saved her? She haunted my dreams and my every waking moment. But no more.”

Brian glanced up at a hawk flying overhead. Its piercing cry broke the quiet stillness of the graveyard.

“All she needed from me was my help. She didn’t need another complication in her life. But I couldn’t…wouldn’t stay away. I had to have her. And at what cost? I didn’t make things better. I made them worse. I took the one thing she feared the most, Finius, and goaded him into killing her.”

“Brian, nay.” Constance was biting her lower lip, shaking her head vigorously.

Brian went on, heedless. “He killed her right in front of me. And I could do naught but watch.” He exhaled. “I used to believe seeing it over and over in my mind and dreams were just punishment for my sins. But even that is gone.”

“It’s been many years, sweetheart,” Constance said taking hold of his hand once more.

Brian nodded, but said nothing. He was drained of energy.

“Listen to me, Brian,” Constance urged, bringing her hand to his chin and forcing him to look at her. “You can look at what happened the way you have been if you want, but you can also look at it another way.”

“What way?” he asked.

“You gave Katherine the only happiness she ever knew. How much worse would her life have been had she never known your love?” Constance shook her head. “You cannot change the past, Brian. No matter how you would want to.”

“Lord, when did you become so wise?” Brian asked, holding her hand against his jaw.

Constance laughed, and shook her head. “I am hardly so. I am full of advice on everyone else’s troubles, but on my own…”

“You could, mayhap, speak to me of these troubles you have.”

“I know,” Constance replied with a nod. Her tears dropped freely onto the cheeks. “And I will, soon.”

“But not now.” Brian shook his head. “We have much in common.” He rose from the ground and helped her. She grabbed his cloak on the way up.

“Where to now?” Constance wondered.

Brian glanced in the direction of the graves belonging to his parents.

Constance followed his gaze. “Hugh?”

“I haven’t been there since I returned home.” Brian blew out a breath. “Agnes says he was proud of me, but how could he have been?”

“I am also certain he was,” Constance said, looping her arm with his. “He spoke often of you.”

“Are you certain it wasn’t to say, if only Brian could have been more like Nick?” Brian asked, only half-jesting.

“Positive. Hugh loved all of his sons equally. I saw no favorites.”

“You were naught but a slip of a girl while he was alive,” Brian reminded her.

“It does not signify. I still know,” she insisted. She stood on her toes and kissed the edge of his mouth.

“Even still.” Brian stared at the graves, then turned away. “I will leave it for another day.”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye.” Brian steered her away and down the path.

Constance stopped when she reached the path overgrown with weeds. “What are these neglected graves?”

“They belong to the Loutrants who once lived here.”

“It looks like the weeds have been trampled on,” Constance remarked, pointing at the evidence.

“I know. I went there a few days ago.”

Constance met his gaze. “Why?”

Brian shrugged on his cloak. “Curiosity.”

“I see.”

“And I found something too.”

“Oh?” Constance asked.

“On one of the graves I found a ring,” Brian explained. He took out the insignia ring from a tiny slit in his cloak and handed it to her.

“‘Tis an L with a lion,” she whispered.

“Aye, ‘twas Loutrant’s,” Brian said, watching her. “He had it on when he fell from the tower.”

Constance closed her hand around it and looked up, her face gone completely white. Her bottom lip trembled. “What, what does it mean?”

“I’d like to know the answer myself,” Brian replied, his tone grim.

****

His brother stared, no doubt wondering if he was mad. Mayhap he was, Loutrant decided.

He was certainly tired of being cooped up in the tiny cottage Marcus now called home. The rain outside was bashing against the flimsy furs covering the small windows of the sparsely furnished structure.

Loutrant sat at a lopsided wooden table. The shortest of the four legs had been propped up by a leather pouch. It did little to help. In front of him was an untouched goblet of spiced wine.

Two days before, he himself had stepped onto the Fitzroy lands. Loutrant lands, actually, he corrected himself. Damn the king who had taken them away from the Loutrants before him.

But kings were always treating Loutrants unfairly, weren’t they? All the years of loyal service he’d given Edward and how was he rewarded? Nicholas Fitzroy now resided in Loutrant’s castle.

Loutrant gripped the goblet stem hard, imagining it was the throat of his enemy. For a brief moment it represented Nicholas’s neck, but it was not long before the neck changed to his greatest enemy, Brian Fitzroy.

He’d seen him. When he’d walked the grounds of the blasted Fitzroys, Loutrant had noticed Brian and his foolish spawn, Trevor, on the battlements. If he’d only had an arbalest with him he would have taken the shot.

“Can I get you anything, Fin?” Marcus asked from his chair near the door.

“You can stop staring at me as though you expect me to reach up and pull my ears,” Loutrant snapped. “I want this rain to end!”

“It’s gotten harder,” his brother commented glancing toward the door. “Some of the villagers said their cottages were flooding. ‘Tis lucky this one is a bit raised.”

Loutrant loosened his grip on the goblet and leaned back in the chair. It was time to act. He was fast losing patience. He’d never been able to wait for anything he wanted.

And he was through playing games. No more dungeons. No more beatings or torture. No more scraps of the Loutrant insignia. Even his ring. All of it, it was time to end his own torment once and for all. When it was over, he cared not for his own fate. The goal was everything.

Every one of them was to die. The whore, Constance, who he’d taken to his own bed. Loutrant would see her death was very painful. But she would be the second to the last to die.

The spawn, Trevor, he would die right before Constance. Loutrant couldn’t wait to hear the boy beg for mercy.

And all the brothers. They’d go too. One by one. Aye, it would be the last of the Fitzroys.

But none of them mattered. They were all just ways to get to the victim who meant the most to Loutrant. Of all he wanted in this world. Had ever wanted. This was what mattered most.

He wanted Brian Fitzroy dead.