Sharon Lanergan (6 page)

Chapter Nine

The silence was deafening.

Constance picked at the swan on her trencher, not wanting to meet the gazes of the Fitzroys.

Brian hadn’t come down.

She knew he wouldn’t, but they all held out hope he wouldn’t be able to ignore Nick’s request.

“So, Nick,” Telford finally broke the silence. “How are things at your new castle?”

“Good,” Nick answered. “Being so close to the sea brings new challenges, but Marion loves the view.”

He smiled when he mentioned his wife. Constance liked that. Nick and Marion were in love. Constance stuffed the meat she’d been playing with into her mouth. Chewed it, trying to think of something other than a happy marriage.

“In fact, Tel, I was thinking, sometime in the next few months, mayhap you’d like to come to the castle and help me with crops and the village,” Nick suggested.

Constance glanced at Telford and saw his face light with immediate interest.

“I’d like that very much,” Telford enthused.

“Why don’t you take Telford home with you this time?” Brian asked from behind them.

Constance turned, shocked to her core. Brian stood just a few steps away from the dining table. His dark hair was wet, as though he’d recently bathed. He wore a dark blue jerkin, which closely matched his eyes. And somehow he appeared less thin than last time she saw him. Was it a trick of the candlelight?

For just a brief moment, Brian’s gaze went to her, and Constance shivered in reaction, then he looked away with such speed she almost thought she imagined it.

Brian walked forward and stopped when he reached the table. She knew his dilemma immediately. Only two spacers were available. One was next to his son and the other next to her.

“Come sit here, Brian,” Lucien offered, scooting into the space next to Constance, and indicating the spot he’d just vacated.

Brian inclined his head in acknowledgement and took up the space. A servant rushed forward with a trencher of food, which Brian eyed for a moment. The corners of his mouth lifted up just a bit.

Luc noticed it too because he asked, “What?”

“I was just remembering the trenchers Constance used to bring me,” Brian replied. “They left something to be desired.”

Constance opened her mouth to protest her innocence when she saw the surprised look on the faces of the men surrounding her. Brian rarely mentioned anything about his imprisonment.

“Aye,” Trevor agreed, drawing everyone’s attention. “‘Twas terrible slop.”

“Then we can all thank the Lord you are all with us now for this meal,” Nick interjected.

“Here, here,” Telford said.

Brian flagged down a servant for wine, then he turned back to the table, “As I was saying, why don’t you take Telford back with you when you leave, Nick?”

“Well, I thought mayhap you still needed him to assist you here.”

Brian shook his head. “I’ve got Luc and Stephen.”

Constance quickly glanced at Trevor. His father hadn’t mentioned him. Trevor’s fingers clenched around the cup of wine he’d just picked up.

She prayed Brian would glance her way, and after a moment of staring, he did. She inclined her head slightly toward Trevor.

“And Trevor,” Brian finished, looking over at Trevor, whose fingers had visibly relaxed.

“Still.” Nick shook his head.

“We can handle it, Uncle Nick,” Trevor broke in.

Constance lowered her gaze. Could they? She wasn’t so certain. Brian was not ready to run the estate.

“If you are sure,” Nick agreed.

“Very.” Brian chewed a bite of swan. “By the way, when are you returning?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” Nick smiled. “I’ve only just arrived.”

Brian looked thoughtful. “Surely you miss Marion and your own responsibilities.”

“Aye.”

“We don’t want to keep you from them.”

Constance squirmed in the growing tension now permeating the dining hall. Brian was doing his best to get Nick to leave. Why?

It occurred to her Brian might think Nick would be harder to avoid about the past. Telford might have had the right idea after all.

“Nick is right, Brian,” Constance said. “He just got here and it has been a long time since we all got to spend some time together.” She reached over and placed a hand on Nick’s arm. “I know you are anxious to return to Marion, but how long can you stay with us?”

“I thought about a fortnight,” Nick said.

“Terrific,” Brian muttered, reaching for his wine.

****

What in the hell was he doing here?

Brian backed away from the cottage door on which he’d been about to knock.

After another day of training he’d decided to go for a walk. It brought him on the outskirts of the village nearby. And also the dwelling of his old nurse.

Time to go back to the castle before Agnes realized he lurked outside.

The door opened abruptly. A woman, her hair long and white, peered out.

“I wondered when you might get around to visiting me,” she said. Aged and frail, dressed in a simple brown kirtle, she hobbled out of her house.

“Agnes?” Brian asked uncertainly. Years had passed since he’d seen his nurse. She’d grown so old.

“Of course it’s me,” Agnes said with a snort. “Are you coming inside or are you going to stand there gawking at me?”

“Actually, I was on my way home.” He backed up another step.

“So you’ve come all this way to run away?” Agnes clucked her tongue. “You are many things, Brian, but you have never been a coward.”

She had no idea. Brian shook his head.

Agnes stepped back into her cottage and held the door wide. Brian turned, ready to make his way back toward the castle. He had to stop being afraid. With a sigh he headed up the small stone step to Agnes’ house instead.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” Agnes asked, amused.

Brian glanced around the tiny dwelling. “Have you any wine?”

“Sorry, nay.”

Brian scowled. He could see a container of it in the corner on a small shelf.

“Sit down.” She pointed him toward a table with two chairs.

Brian grimaced and took the seat.

“I can offer you a small cup of ale.” Agnes walked over to a small side table and poured the ale, then water into the cup.

“I don’t need it watered down,” Brian protested.

“You drink far too much.” Agnes handed him the cup and then sat down at the table. “Have you eaten?”

He shook his head. “I have no stomach for food these days.”

Agnes snorted. “I am not surprised. But look at you. Naught but bones. You will eat some bread and cheese with me.”

“You are no longer my nurse, old woman.” Brian frowned into the cup of watered ale. What had possessed him to come to this old crone?

“For which we can both be grateful.” Agnes chuckled and tossed a hunk of bread in his direction. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten me.”

Brian rolled his eyes and in spite of himself, took a bite of the crusty bread. “You could have come to see me.”

“I am far too old to go traipsing up to the castle these days,” Agnes told him. “You are younger and more able to move about.”

Brian eyed her over the bread. “You do seem rather frail.”

“I’m old, Brian.” Agnes sighed and took a sip of her own ale. “And I have aged much since your father died.”

He swallowed a hunk of the hard bread. “That is why I am here.” He’d been unable to stop thinking of his sire.

She nodded, smiling sadly. “I thought as much. You want to talk of Hugh.”

He took the slice of cheese she handed him next and nibbled on it thoughtfully. Turned to stare at the small fire she had going in her hearth.

“I miss him,” he said.

“Aye, me too.” A lone tear dribbled down her wrinkled cheek. “You look a lot like him, you know. More than his other sons, though I see a bit of him in them, also.”

Brian let out a shaky breath. “I’ve seen more than thirty years pass and yet I still want my father like a little boy.”

Agnes shook her head. “It’s not like that. You didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“I know. I was so arrogant then. When he wanted to see me that last day I didn’t think much about it. If I didn’t meet him when he wanted, I knew he would be disappointed, but he would accept it and talk to me another time. He was always so patient with me.” Brian downed the watered ale. “I thought at the time neither one of us had anything to say the other wanted to hear anyway.”

Agnes reached over and placed her hand over his.

“Was he very disappointed in me? The way I was, I mean,” Brian asked, meeting Agnes’ gaze.

“Nay, not at all,” she assured him, squeezing his hand. “He loved you very much.”

Brian shifted in the chair. “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed in me.”

Agnes peered at his empty cup, her mouth twisted thoughtfully. “You want more?”

“Nay.” And he didn’t.

“Hugh wasn’t happy you didn’t meet with him on the day you disappeared, as you guessed,” Agnes said. “And he was brokenhearted over your death. But he was proud of all his sons.”

“I’m not like Nicholas.”

Agnes rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Who is? Your father didn’t expect you to be Nicholas. Or Telford or anyone else. He knew who you were, Brian.”

Brian nodded, feeling his chest constrict. “I just wish I could tell him how sorry I am.”

“You can. By not letting the rest of your years be wasted in bitterness and regret.”

Brian resisted the words forming on his lips.
‘Tis so simple for you to speak these words.

“How did he die?” Brian flinched at the words.

Agnes released her hold on his hand and hugged herself.

“That last night before was wonderful,” Agnes said, her voice wavering. “We had supper together as we often did. Hugh talked for quite some time about his boys.” She smiled a little, and Brian closed his eyes against the sharpness of the pain her words caused. “He didn’t seem ill at all. I would have sent for the healer if he had.”

Brian tried to bring an image of his father to mind but it had been so long since he’d seen him, and while in prison he blocked out a great deal. He wanted to forget then.

Agnes continued in a trembling voice, “We spent the night together. If anything he seemed more alive than he had in a few years. I cannot explain. Then, in the morning, we broke our fast and he went to go home to the castle.” She thrust her chin forward proudly, unashamed of her relationship with Brian’s father.

“And he did not act ill then?” Brian asked around his clogged throat.

Agnes hesitated, staring down at her old hands.

“What?”

“I am not sure,” Agnes said after a moment, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “He mentioned his stomach was a bit unsettled when he finished eating and mine was too. I thought perhaps we ate a little bad meat. Hugh agreed.”

Brian reached for her fisted hands and held them in his. She smiled through her tears.

“But then he walked outside and fell to the ground,” Agnes sobbed.

“I’m sorry, Agnes,” Brian whispered, barely aware of his own tears falling. “I didn’t mean to bring it all back to you.”

She shook her head. “Nay, you needed to hear.” Agnes brushed at his cheek.

Brian squeezed his eyes shut. “I just wish it helped.”

“Me too.”

Brian released her hands and rose from his seat. “I should return. If they look for me and find me gone, they will no doubt imagine all sorts of evils.” He smiled.

Leaning down, Brian placed a kiss on Agnes’ wrinkled cheek.

“That reminds me,” Agnes called as he walked through the door. “An old friend of yours has returned to the village.”

Brian frowned. “An old friend of mine?”

“Vanessa. She’s by to see her parents for a few days. She mentioned she would go to the castle.”

Vanessa? For a moment Brian had no idea who she was. The name did not seem familiar.

Agnes took pity on him. “Buxom blonde with an annoying laugh.” She chuckled.

Brian remembered now. Not a friend really. A former lover. Another complication.

Chapter Ten

Six months earlier, Loutrant’s Castle

Constance woke to a gentle brush on her cheek. She stretched, and cuddled the pillow her head rested on.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Her blood chilled at Loutrant’s words. Lord, had she really forgotten for a brief moment where she was?

Constance backed away from him, sitting on the edge, and pulled the furs up around herself to shield her naked body.

“Shy? After what I did to you last night?” Loutrant chuckled. “Foolish wench.”

He rose from the bed and walked away to the wash basin on the side. He was already dressed in his usual black.

“I have news for you, my sweet,” he told her, splashing water across his reddened cheeks.

“News?” Her stomach twisted, a strange sense of dread enveloping her.

Loutrant dried his face with a cloth and smiled. Had she really once thought his smile beautiful? Now it turned her stomach.

“I’m about to have another resident of my prison,” he said, coming toward the bed once more.

“What?”

“Someone you are acquainted with, I believe.” Loutrant smirked. He sat down on the edge of the bed once more. Placing his hand possessively on her leg, he continued, “A wonderful turn of events, if I do say so myself.”

Her hand went to her mouth to force the bile rising in her throat back down.

“Who?” she whispered.

Loutrant didn’t reply at once. He appeared to be considering her question, but she knew he toyed with her. He enjoyed seeing her squirm.

“A Fitzroy,” came his coolly spoken answer.

It was as she feared. She bit her finger to keep from crying out. She dared not give him the satisfaction.

“Which one?” she whispered. The hair on her nape prickled.

Loutrant leaned forward, taunting. “Which one do you imagine? Hmm? With what you know of them, which one do you think I have been able to capture?”

Constance thought about it.

It would never be Nicholas. He was too much the warrior to ever allow himself to fall to such treachery.

And surely not Telford, either. Though he was seldom serious about anything, he was strong and very wise.

Stephen was a possibility. He was a bit brash and reckless.

Lucien, she didn’t think so. Always thoughtful and quiet, he rarely went far from home, and would not be an easy target.

Constance was aware of Loutrant watching her, waiting for her to reach her conclusion.

It hit her like a blow to the stomach. She prayed she would be wrong, but somehow, she knew she was not.

“It’s Trevor, isn’t it?”

His smile, wide and nearly blinding in its brightness, told her she was right.

“Ah, see, wasn’t so very difficult, was it?”

“Why? He has done nothing to you!” Her fingers itched to strike the smug victorious look from his face.

“He is a Fitzroy,” Loutrant snarled, his gaze flashing angrily. “The spawn of Brian Fitzroy.”

His stress on the name Brian was so filled with loathing Constance shrank back further. How could Loutrant still hate a man who was dead?

Loutrant rose from the bed. “And I will not rest until every Fitzroy is destroyed.”

“I do not understand you,” Constance said, shaking her head. “You murdered Brian years ago. None of his family had a part in what you think he did.”

Constance knew she had just made a huge mistake.

Loutrant had turned his back on her and tensed. He turned to her, raw fury contorting his handsome features.

“What I think he did?” He shouted. He came at her, shaking with his rage. Grabbing her shoulders, his face mere inches from hers, he spat, “I
know
what he did. He took what was mine. And a thousand deaths of his could not appease me.”

Terrified, Constance could only stare at his bright red face.

Loutrant raised his hand and struck her across the cheek. “Do not ever question me!”

****

Brian waited for the silence in the cell next to his to be broken. For the last couple of days he’d been talking to his son, Trevor, whom he had not seen since the boy was seven.

Of course he was no mere boy now. And Brian still had not seen him. Only heard him next door in the cell.

“Trevor?” Brian finally whispered into the thick, dark quiet.

Still no response. Moments before, Brian had revealed the truth to his son. The stranger in the cell next to him was really no stranger. Trevor had been horrified and hadn’t spoken a word since.

It would seem the truth had been too much after all, Brian thought glumly. For a while, the closeness established between the two prisoners next to each other had fooled Brian into revealing more about himself to his son than he intended to. And all for naught.

Still, he had to keep trying for his sake, for Trevor’s, and for Genevieve’s.

“Trevor,” Brian called again.

“I wish you would keep quiet,” Trevor’s harsh, bitter voice came through the wall. “I do
not
want to talk to you.”

“I don’t blame you,” Brian replied, blowing out a slow, pain-filled breath.

“Excellent. Then stop saying my name,” returned his son.

Did he think it would be easy? Brian shook his head. What worthwhile had ever been? If all went as he planned, Brian would die in the cell and sooner rather than later. If he could at least get some absolution from Trevor, perhaps it would be a reasonably peaceful death. All things considered.

He did not want to die before Trevor was safe. He knew his brothers well enough to know as long as they had breath, they would do anything for Trevor and surely they were on their way to rescue him. At least he prayed it was so. Loutrant had not told them Trevor was dead as he had done with Brian.

“I know you hate me and for good reason,” Brian said.

“I’m trying to sleep.”

Brian smiled a little. Though Trevor was surely twenty now, he still had a sullen, petulant little boy sound to his voice.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you are a lot like I was at your age.”

“You know nothing about me,” Trevor said. “You have no right to make such a comparison. No rights at all.”

“That’s true,” Brian agreed. “But you have told me some about yourself.”

“I told Fool, not you.”

Fool had been the name Brian used when first Trevor was imprisoned. He’d realized instantly who the young man was and he gave the name because it explained what he thought of himself. Still did.

“I’m the same man, Trevor.”

“Mayhap. It matters not. I don’t care to speak with either of you.”

Brian closed his eyes and wondered whether he ought to stop trying. What in the world made him think he deserved absolution from his son or anyone else?

****

Brian watched as Constance stepped back into his cell, holding his meal. Her back was to him, she watched Owen’s retreating figure.

Owen closed the door, but Constance still had not turned around.

“Constance?” Brian finally called, unable to stand it any longer.

She turned toward him slowly, reluctantly, and he saw it. A large bruise covered most of her left cheek. His blood ran cold.

Brian struggled out of his corner, wincing in pain the effort cost him. He stood, ignoring the twinge of protest from his knee, and the ache in his side. “Loutrant did that, didn’t he?”

“Please,” Constance whispered, casting her gaze downward. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Brian took a step toward Constance and his knee gave out. “Hell,” he muttered, rubbing at it.

“Oh,” Constance exclaimed, forgetting herself, and hurrying forward. “You should be sitting down. Does it hurt overmuch?”

“Nay,” Brian lied. “Never mind.” He reached up and gently probed her bruise. For a moment their gazes locked, midnight to emerald. Then, his soiled hand against her pale white skin, save for the ugly purple mark, drew his attention and he pulled away quickly.

Constance put her arm around him and helped him limp back to his corner. Ashamed of his appearance he tried to shove her away, but she had ignored him.

“Sit down. I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Constance said, gently pushing him down.

“Why did Loutrant hit you?” Brian asked when he was once more seated.

Constance knelt beside him. “He told me something horrible and when I questioned him, he did this,” she whispered, gesturing to the bruise.

“What did he tell you?”

Constance shook her head sadly. “I do not want to talk about it. I’m just so tired of being here.”

Brian knew exactly what she meant. He reached for her hands and threaded his fingers through hers.

“You are not meant for this place, Constance.”

“Neither are you,” she whispered back.

“Aye, it is my fate to die here,” he assured her. “This I have accepted. But I do not accept you should. As I told you before, you cannot hope you will be rescued. Even if your family has plans of it, it will not be an easy task. Loutrant’s castle is well guarded and banked by the sea on one end.”

“Then there is no hope for me?” Constance eyes welled with tears.

“Nay, I did not say so. You must help yourself. You must escape on your own and go home.”

“How can I?”

Brian’s mouth thinned. “I will teach you. You will learn how to defend yourself and you will tell me about the habits of your guards.”

Constance nodded, then squeezed his hands. “You must come too.”

“It is too late for me,” Brian insisted.

“But…”

“The way to help me, Constance, is to get out of here. I cannot see this again.” He brushed her swollen and bruised cheek once more.

****

Autumn, a Village near Loutrant Castle

Loutrant watched the group of villagers warming their hands at the small fire they’d built in the center of the village. Night had fallen and he was hidden among the trees.

Four men stood by the fire, but only one held any interest for Loutrant. Among the men softly talking was his younger half-brother, Marcus.

Loutrant had been watching them for a long time and he was growing impatient for the men to break off and return to their homes.

“I should be getting back to my wife,” one of the men finally said.

At last. Twas cold among the trees.

“Aye, good night, lads,” called another.

One by one the men dispersed leaving only Marcus. He’d not seen his brother since before his “death.” In fact, Marcus had refused to give false testimony regarding the Fitzroys when Loutrant brought charges of treason against them.

“Marcus,” he called, his voice low so as not to attract undue attention.

Marcus glanced around, curiously. He shook his head and then started to walk away.

“Marcus,” Loutrant said a little louder.

His brother stopped in his tracks and turned, looking toward the trees. Loutrant stepped from them and gestured to him.

“Finius?” Marcus paled, backed up a step.

“Nay.” Loutrant held up his hand. “You are not looking at a ghost. It is me.”

“But how?” Marcus shook his head. “They said you fell from the tower of your castle.”

“I survived, somehow.” Loutrant gestured. “Come, I will tell you all. I need your help.”

“Nay. Not again, Fin. I cannot.”

Loutrant narrowed his gaze. “You have, mayhap, forgotten what I am capable of.”

Marcus ran his fingers through his sandy hair. “I have not forgotten, but you can no longer hurt me, Fin. Mother died last month. She is beyond your threats now.”

Loutrant clenched his fists and walked out into the center of the village, his anger making him lose his caution. He reached for Marcus and grabbed him by the throat.

“She may be out of my reach, brother, but you are not,” he seethed.

Marcus gasped, but held stubborn. “I am not afraid of you, Fin.”

“You have reason to be.”

Marcus struggled against the hold on his throat. “What can you do? Kill me? I do not fear death.”

Loutrant smiled, his face mere inches from his brother. “You are a brave lad, Marcus. You may not fear death, but you do fear pain. And I will see that your death is so incredibly painful you will beg me to end your suffering.”

Loutrant felt his brother tremble and knew his threats were having their desired effect.

“What do you want me to do?” Marcus whispered.

Loutrant loosened his grip on Marcus’s throat but he did not release him.

“Good, we will discuss my plan, you and I, and you can decide whether it is worth such agony to deny your brother your aid.” Loutrant glanced around the village disdainfully. “These villagers, they are loyal to Nicholas Fitzroy?”