Sharon Lanergan (8 page)

“And if Loutrant has killed the two people he feels betrayed him, why does he continue in his pursuit of the Fitzroys?”

“Madness, surely,” Constance replied.

The prisoner threaded his fingers through hers. “But you, Constance, you fell in love with him, didn’t you?”

Constance bowed her head, tears burning her vision. “Aye, I was a fool.”

“Ah, nay. It is not foolish to love, no matter how misguided.”

“I told you before he pretended to be a minstrel.” The tears fell freely and hit their entwined hands. “I allowed him to make love to me and for a few days I was so happy. I thought I’d found what I’d been searching for. We planned to run away together. He was a poor minstrel and I betrothed to Nick. It was the only way to be together. We rode away on a horse I’d stolen, and then, he brought me here.”

“Is that when you realized he was not what he said?” he asked gently.

She nodded and met his gaze. “When I saw the castle I knew something was very wrong. I asked him where he was taking me and he told me his full name was Finius Loutrant.” Constance rocked herself. “I tried to run away but he chased me down and…”

“And what?” he persisted.

Her throat clogged with tears, she cleared it. “He beat me and tore my clothes. He was furious I was trying to get away from him. Told me I was his prisoner. Then, he brought me inside and took me to one of the tower rooms.”

“I am so sorry, Constance,” the man said, his voice low and soft. “If I could take away your pain, I would. You don’t deserve this. Not because of Brian.”

Constance could not help herself any longer and she threw herself into the prisoner’s arms and cried against him. She felt his hesitation. Knew he did not want her to soil herself against his dirty and matted clothing. But she sighed with relief when his arms finally came up and held her against him.

“We will get you out of here, sweetheart, I swear we will,” he said against her hair.

Constance nodded and stayed next to him with his arms wrapped around her for a long time. She was loathe to leave his embrace. To her he was safe, comforting. Everything Loutrant was not.

She’d long gotten over the stench of the poor man. Years of living in these conditions did not change what she sensed to be true. He was a good, solid man with a heart to match.

“Constance,” he said after a while. “Owen will come for you soon.”

Constance knew he was telling her to let him go, but she would not. Not yet. She tightened her hold around his middle.

“I know, just a bit more,” she whispered.

He did not want to be rescued. But somehow she would see him freed. She just had to.

The approach of Owen shattered the security of the embrace. Constance wanted to weep with pity.

She lifted her head from his chest and met his dark blue gaze. Reaching up, she brushed her thumb along his bottom lip.

“Won’t you tell me your name?” Constance asked desperately.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. She squeezed the last of her tears from her eyes, and finally pulled away from his arms. It was torture.

Constance stood up, wiped her cheeks with the hem of her gown and hurried to the cell door, waiting for Owen to open it. She did not look back.

****

Constance held her breath, waiting for her guard to open the door. Clutched in her fingers was a heavy wooden bowl. She scooted closer to the wall, her heart beat pounding rapidly against her chest.

The sound of footsteps coming up the long stone stairs leading to her room alerted her to his arrival. She swallowed her fear. This was her only chance. If she failed…

She would not fail, Constance told herself sternly. It was not a possibility. Something she’d been telling herself all the time she’d been planning her escape with the man in Loutrant’s dungeon.

The footsteps stopped in front of the heavy wooden door and the key rattled in the lock.

Constance held the bowl aloft, gritting her teeth to keep from making any anxious noises.

“‘Tis time for you to feed the prisoner, Lady Constance,” the guard called, walking into the room. “Lady Constance?”

His back was to her and he was glancing around the room. He did not see her behind the door. Constance rushed the guard before he had a chance to search further. She banged him over the head with the wooden bowl as hard as she could manage.

Constance winced in sympathy when the guard moaned and dropped to the floor with a rather loud thud. Exhaling deeply, she knelt beside him, checking to see if he still breathed. She did not want to permanently harm anyone.

“Thank the Lord,” Constance whispered when she saw the rise and fall of his chest. “I am very sorry, but I need your clothes,” she told the unconscious man.

When she finished undressing him, careful not to look too closely at his unclothed state, Constance pulled on the breeches and tunic.

She scrambled up from the floor and hurried out the open door and down the long winding stone steps.

When she was nearly at the bottom, she slowed, cautiously listening to any sounds of anyone else coming. Constance peered around the corner. She had to go right from here, Constance recalled the prisoner telling her. He was well acquainted with Loutrant’s castle.

She ran to the right and through the narrow opening and down the hall to yet another door. It opened easily when she twisted the handle.

Only two more doors to go, Constance reminded herself, and she would be outside.

****

She was gone. Constance had managed to escape.

Brian had wondered when he did not see her for days. He missed her, of course, more than he ever imagined he would, but he prayed it meant she had gotten away.

A short time ago Owen confirmed his suspicions. Constance tricked her guards and escaped. Loutrant was furious, Owen said, and there would be hell to pay for a long time to come.

Brian was pleased, but a selfish part of him could not help but lament her loss. Once more he was alone.

Closing his eyes, intending to sleep, he was startled by the distant rumble of footsteps and the clang of metal. Frowning, Brian listened to the sound of the key clicking in the heavy wooden door. Owen coming to his cell again? Hadn’t he just left?

“Trevor?”

Such a familiar voice. Brian tensed against the corner of the tiny stone room.

“Trevor?” The voice again, louder, stronger and closer. “It’s Nick.”

Hell. It could not be. Please, Lord, let it not be his brother. Not now.

And then, “Uncle Nick?” The softly spoken words came from the cell beside his. At least his son would be saved. His heart gladdened.

“We’re coming, Trevor.”

“We?” Trevor’s voice was fainter still.

“All of us. Telford, Stephen, Lucien. We are all here.”

Mayhap they would not find his cell and he’d be left in peace. He was not ready to come out of the darkness.

Brian heard their heavy footsteps. They opened the first cell on the far end of his. He knew it was empty, as were several others, but he also knew if they opened each one, they would open his. In fact, it was likely Constance would have told them of the prisoner she fed.

The rattle of the key in his cell gave him all the warning he had. His brothers had arrived. They held their torches aloft, peering into the darkness.

In the far right corner Brian huddled as deep into the crevice there as he could. He shielded his gaze with his battered, bloody hand.

They would now see the man he had become. A barely recognizable creature with a long matted beard with things crawling in it no one would dare inspect. The clothes he wore were tattered and torn, made black from soil and feces.

His brother, Nicholas, the next oldest after him, stood the closest, with an arrested expression on his face. Behind Nicholas was a young woman with golden hair.

“Nicholas?” The woman said, grabbing the arm of his brother.

In the distance, Brian heard the approach of yet more men. Had the Fitzroys attacked Loutrant?

“That bastard!” Nicholas growled out, taking a step toward Brian.

Another man, Brian thought might be his youngest brother, Stephen, sagged against the wall for a moment and then doubled over.

“Who is this man?” the lady with Nicholas demanded.

“Holy Christ,” Telford said from beside her. The whole family had come. And now they knew the truth. Brian just wanted them to go away. Didn’t they understand he deserved this torment?

“Get away from me,” Brian croaked out between cracked lips. “Close the door and leave me be.”

“Brian…” Nicholas knelt before him, touched his arm. He shrank from it.

“Go away,” Brian muttered thickly. “I don’t know you.”

“Brian,” Nicholas whispered.

“Nicholas, who is this poor wretch?” A very richly dressed bearded man had come up behind his brother. Brian did not recognize him.

“He’s our older brother, sire,” Nicholas replied. “Brian Fitzroy.”

The king, obviously. That explained the man’s attire and bearing.

“I thought Brian was dead,” the king said, his tone perplexed.

Nicholas clenched his fist. “Loutrant has fooled us all, Majesty.” Nicholas placed his hands on Brian’s shoulders. “Brian, we’re going to get you out of here.”

Brian stared first at Nicholas then at the woman who’d knelt beside his brother.

“This is my wife, Marion,” Nicholas explained.

Brian slowly nodded. “Tired.”

“I know.” Nicholas reached for his brother’s hands and grasped them in his. He squeezed.

“You men help him,” the king ordered.

Two men stepped forward.

“Nay,” Nicholas cut in firmly. “I’ll carry him.”

Nicholas bent down to pick Brian up. Brian didn’t bother to struggle. He’d lost the will to fight it. Whatever happened now, Brian accepted it.

Chapter Twelve

Fitzroy Castle, Autumn

“Father?”

Brian stiffened. He had just left the stables; having gone to take another look at the stallion the king sent him as a gift. He turned to the right to see Trevor standing nearby, as though he’d been waiting.

“Trevor.” Brian felt a fool, for he could think of naught else to say. For the first time since their return to Fitzroy Castle his son had sought him out and he couldn’t make his brain work long enough to say something worthy.

Trevor lowered his gaze a moment. “Were you looking at Valiant?” his son asked uncertainly.

“Valiant?”

Trevor’s cheeks reddened, and he shifted his feet in the dirt. “Just what I call the horse the king gave you. Uncle Telford said you hadn’t thought of a name, so I, well…”

Brian smiled. “Nay, ‘tis a good name, I think.”

Trevor nodded and glanced away, toward the castle. “Were you going back?”

“Aye.”

“Do you think we could talk for a bit?”

Trevor’s red cheeks had darkened. This was not any easier for his son, it seemed.

Brian walked the few feet it would take for him to stand just in front of Trevor. It struck him his son was one or two inches taller than himself.

“Of course, Trevor,” Brian said. “Do you want to talk somewhere in the castle?”

“Nay.” Trevor shook his head. “Too many interruptions. You know my uncles. They mean well, but I don’t want them around.”

Brian understood very well.

“I was thinking we could talk up there,” Trevor suggested, then pointed to the top of the small hill where the Fitzroy graves were.

Brian hadn’t been there since the day of his capture thirteen years ago. He glanced at the hill, his blood freezing for a moment, time standing still, thinking about his last visit there to Trevor’s mother’s grave.

“If you do not want to we can go somewhere else,” Trevor said, his voice coming out in a rush.

Brian didn’t want to go to the graves. He was not ready to go where now his father, too, was buried. Almost without thinking, his hand rested on Trevor’s arm, and he shook his head.

“Nay, I cannot, not yet. Anywhere else,” Brian said, feeling monstrous for denying his son.

But Trevor accepted his decision and merely nodded. “Over by the ruins? We can sit on the wall there.”

“Aye,” Brian agreed, then placing his hand on Trevor’s shoulder, turned toward the west where the abbey ruins lay. His heart was gladdened by the fact Trevor wanted anything to do with him.

The late afternoon shadows enshrouded the ancient rocks, casting an almost ethereal gloom in the area. Brian briefly thought of the scrap of Loutrant cloth Constance had discovered but pushed it out of his mind. Now was not the time to dwell on Loutrant.

Trevor sat down on the walls with the swift grace of youth, his long muscular legs straight out in front of him. He had such vitality about him. Brian might have been like him once, but the memories no longer came easily.

Brian sat down his suddenly aching body. Lord, it was difficult getting old. Especially when faced with a son who would soon see one and twenty springs.

The afternoon breeze had picked up just a bit and Trevor pushed a stray lock of his shoulder length hair back.

“How do you feel, Trevor?”

“Feel?” Trevor frowned, appearing confused. “Oh, you mean have all my injuries healed?”

“Aye.”

Trevor flexed out first his right leg and then his left. “No more breaks. They feel good.”

Brian winced. Because of him his son had been through so much.

“Both the healer and Helen said I shouldn’t have any lingering difficulties,” Trevor assured him.

“Helen?”

“Marion’s maid. She dabbles a bit in healing,” Trevor explained. “She gave Uncle Nick a salve for his knee. He injured it in a battle some time ago and it pains him greatly.”

“Really?” Brian raised an eyebrow. His lips twitched. “I would not have imagined your uncle admitting any such weakness.”

Trevor watched him out of the corner of his eye. “What about you?”

Brian was already shaking his head. He cared naught for his injuries. Only Trevor and Constance mattered.

“Is there something specific on your mind?” Brian asked his son instead.

Trevor turned his head until he was fully staring at Brian. His eyes, the same dark blue of his father, narrowed.

“You always do that, do you know?”

Brian blinked. “What?”

“Dismiss anyone who shows concern for you. I want to know how you are doing.” Trevor crossed his arms and sent Brian a look daring him not to answer.

“I am well.”

Trevor shook his head. “Try again.”

Brian looked away, studying the horizon. What did they all want from him?

“I don’t expect you to tell me everything. I just want to know if your body is healed. You must have been beaten a lot by Loutrant.”

Brian struggled with what to say. Already weakened in his son’s eyes, he was loathe to add anything else. It was too humiliating. But he also knew if he shrank back into himself again he would lose a chance to get a little closer to the son he barely knew.

“At first,” Brian said, “the physical pain was nearly unbearable. Loutrant takes great pleasure in inflicting it.”

“Took,” Trevor said.

“What?”

“You said Loutrant takes but he is dead, so you mean Loutrant took great pleasure,” Trevor corrected.

Brian only wished he could be sure. “Aye. But, you have to understand it was different for me.”

Trevor appeared genuinely perplexed. “How?”

Brian swallowed the thick lump in his throat. “I deserved everything he did to me.” He held up his hand when he saw Trevor intended to protest. “Please. I thought so at the time. I believed I deserved the pain and so much more.”

“Why?”

Brian exhaled a slow painful breath, the ache in his chest making it hard to breathe. “Because of me, a young innocent woman was murdered by Loutrant.”

“His wife?”

“Aye. He killed her because of my love for her. He did so in front of me to punish me. Never once did Loutrant think about Katherine. She was merely a pawn to use against me. And I could do naught to save her.” Brian closed his eyes against the memories, but their intensity nearly burned his lids. He shook his head. “I deserved anything I went through.”

“But you couldn’t have known he would do something so vile.” Trevor leaned forward. “No one deserves to be tortured for loving someone.”

“Well,” Brian said awkwardly. “Anyway, after a while I didn’t notice the pain of the beatings so much. I don’t want to say I got used to it.” He shrugged. “I think he didn’t bother with me as much later, too. It was enough to know I was his prisoner and everyone thought me dead.”

“And now? You don’t feel any pain?” his son asked.

“Nay, there is none.”

Trevor nodded, a hint of a smile lighting his features. “We’ve never talked like this.”

“I know. You were very young when I left.”

“I was very young when Loutrant’s men jumped me,” Trevor said. “I’d like to think I’ve grown up a little since then. Although, I said some things the other day to you I regret.”

“Forget it.” Brian slapped his son’s knee slightly. “I have.”

Trevor opened his mouth to say something then closed it.

“What?” Brian prompted.

“I wanted to ask you about my mother,” Trevor said, his voice so low it was nearly carried away by the wind.

“Ah,” Brian said with a nod. “Of course. I should have thought you’d want to know about Gen.”

“Did you ever love her?”

The raw pain in his son’s tone made it difficult to tell Trevor what was in his heart. But he wouldn’t lie.

“When I met Genevieve I wasn’t even sure what love was. I wasn’t always likeable in those days. I was younger than you, actually. And too sure of myself and my charms. Genevieve was beautiful and sweet. But nay, I did not love her when I lay with her.”

Trevor sighed wearily. “And did she ever love you?”

Brian winced. “I think she did the first time when you were conceived. But my actions probably killed that love.” Brian steepled his fingers and stared at them. “Right after we were together Gen caught me with someone else. I know I hurt her. But then, when her father discovered she was carrying my child, he went to your grandfather and insisted on the marriage. Gen wanted to join the nuns, but her father would not let her.”

“So she was forced into marrying a man who cared naught for her,” Trevor said, his voice tinged with bitterness.

Brian raised his gaze to meet his son’s. “I didn’t love your mother as she deserved, but I did care about her. A great deal. But I did not do right by her. And I could have been so much more to her than I was. And for me that will ever be a regret.”

“Uncle Nick said you were not at home when she…” Trevor stopped and stared down at his fingernails. “When I was born.”

“Aye, I was not. I was with another woman,” Brian replied, his tongue not caring for the bitter taste of the words. Lord, what a waste his life had been. Would still be if he did naught to change it. But he did not know what to do.

“I understand more than you know.”

Brian glanced sharply at his son.

Trevor let out a shaky breath. “There is a woman, nay, a young girl, really, no more than fifteen winters.”

When his son did not continue, Brian prodded, “And?”

Trevor swallowed. “She has told me she might be carrying. I don’t think she is far along. We only coupled the first time a month and a half ago.”

Brian did not know what to say or do. He’d not been prepared for this. Had no idea his son was coming to tell him such news. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from it.

“Father?”

Father
. Lord, he was just getting used to the idea again. He could not imagine being a grandfather. Nay. It was not possible.

He blinked rapidly, looking away, his gaze falling on the tree where Constance had found the scrap of material. He looked downward and saw it. A boot print.