under the care of Varian.
“I will repeat this only once, Jaisyn.
I have Isolde and my men will kill her
if I do not return to them tonight. You
have a choice: your may allow your
sister to die or you may take her place
as our captive. We have need for you
beyond this night. The same cannot be
said for her.”
Opening her mouth to call her
guards, Jaisyn was stopped by the
maid’s quick words. “I would not do
that if I were you. You see, I am the
only one who knows where Isolde is
and I am the only one who can stop
the men I’ve paid from raping and
murdering her. If I do not return
before dusk, they will proceed, and I
think they will relish it—at least the
first part. She is quite beautiful, is she
not?”
Feeling bolts of fear and doubt enter
her heart, Jaisyn swallowed and
demanded, “How can I be sure that
you do not lie?”
The woman smiled and bowed her
head. She straightened and reached
into one of her dress pockets,
removing a small parchment.
“You can believe the letter or you
can wait for the messenger from
Lytheria to arrive with the news. I
would advise you to believe the letter,
for after this night, Isolde will either
be dead or safe in this castle, at your
behest.”
With shaking hands, Jaisyn opened
the letter and read it. The writing was
Isolde’s, the signature, her sister’s.
But how did she know that someone
had not forged this?
“You still do not believe?” the maid
asked with a raised eyebrow. She
reached once more into her pocket. “I
did not wish to upset you with these
but it seems I have no choice.” She
handed Jaisyn a small pouch. Feeling
the trembling increase, Jaisyn opened
it. The first thing she pulled out was a
long lock of auburn hair. As she
stroked it between her fingers, tears
threatened to fall from her eyes. She
tossed an angry glare at the maid,
whose neck she wished to wring.
They had cut her sister’s pride and
joy!
“There is more,” the maid said, in a
manner
most
unaffected.
Jaisyn
placed the lock of hair onto her lap
gently and felt around in the pouch.
Her hand closed over something and
she lifted it. It was a gold chain with a
Lytherian coin as its pendant, a
demure piece whose value lay not in
its cost but in its meaning. The chain
had belonged to their mother, and for
her sixteenth birthday, Wilhelm had
given it to Isolde. Her sister had
cherished the chain and wore it
whenever she could.
Enraged golden eyes lifted to those
of the maid, who seemed to find
humor in the situation.
“What have you done with her?”
“That all depends on you, Jaisyn,”
the maid said easily, smiling down at
her as if they were long-lost friends.
“Will you allow your sister to be
brutalized by some of the vilest men
I’ve had the pleasure of meeting or…
will you save her? Your sister’s life is
in your hands.”
Having no choice, Jaisyn glared at
the
woman,
whose
voice
had
gradually deepened as she’d spoken
to her. She lifted her chin.
“What would you have me do?”
Chapter 11
It took Vulcan two days to reach
Montak, and a few more hours to
reach the village that was the site of
the uprising. When he and his army
arrived, he recognized two things: the
king of Montak was there and instead
of the hostile environment he’d
anticipated, everything seemed calm.
Villagers
were
moving
around
carrying out their daily duties, women
laughed gaily in the streets. There
merriment only halted when they saw
the group of fierce-looking warriors
dressed for battle.
“Be on the lookout for surprise
attacks!”
he
instructed
them
nonetheless, wondering if there was
some plan of sneak attack. He
wouldn’t put it past them. This was,
after all, Montak.
Calls went up amongst the men and
Vulcan urged Shadowfax toward the
banner of Bael, the Montak king.
Shouts went up from the Montak
camp and Vulcan watched as Bael
rode into view, a few of his soldiers
behind him.
“Welcome, King Vulcan,” Bael
called, pulling his steed to a halt and
waiting for Vulcan to approach and do
the same. He was barely twenty-one,
if that old, with wavy dark brown hair
and green eyes that seemed capable
of lying even if they looked genuine.
Vulcan held up his hand and brought
Shadowfax to a slow stop. “It seems
soldiers from out of town riled the
villagers and fled.”
Murmurs went up among Vulcan’s
soldiers and his eyes narrowed on
Bael.
“Where did they flee?” he asked
coldly, wondering if Bael had decided
at the last minute to call off a rebellion
and was now inventing a lie to cover
his hide. Bael shrugged his shoulders
and indicated a man standing before a
cottage. “The villagers do not know,
but this man witnessed the entire
thing. After the Morden soldiers rode
to find you, my soldiers brought him
to me. Perhaps you would like to
speak with him.”
Vulcan nodded and dismounted.
After asking a few questions of his
own, he felt his heart stop for a
fraction of a second before it began
thundering wildly against his ribcage.
The villager had described the men as
foreigners of two kinds: one set of
men were golden with golden hair,
skin, and even those eyes, while the
others had been pale with shocking
red hair. He knew immediately who
the first group was but the second
group didn’t register in his mind. Still,
the fact that Lytherian rebels were this
far North made his mind run to Jaisyn.
They’d obviously staged this rebellion,
but to what purpose? If they had no
intention of killing him, it could only
be one thing. To remove him from
Morden Castle! And if so, why else,
but to get to his queen?
He was heading for his stallion
before the villager completed his tale,
his mind reeling with possibilities.
Perhaps Malcolm had decided to
‘rescue’ his beloved. Perhaps it had
been planned all along. He thought
back to the night before he left for
Montak, heard Jaisyn’s voice pleading
with him to believe that she’d never
had a lover in Malcolm. If Malcolm
was leading the rebellion, then his
wife was a lying, deceitful, cunning,
little
bitch! An
image
of
her
treacherous face passed through his
mind and he dismissed it.
He shouted orders to his generals
and vaulted onto Shadowfax. In no
time at all, he and his men were
heading in the direction from which
they came, Montak and their non-
existent rebellion all but forgotten. He
knew the horses were tired but they
had to continue on. Morden was two-
days ride from Montak and he’d
already been gone for two days. What
if Malcolm was leading the rebellion
and had already breached his castle
walls under the guise of friend? What
if his wife ran away with her lover?
Vulcan was not going to think about
that possibility but if she did, if Jaisyn
had chosen to leave with Malcolm…
the Gods help them all.
***
As soon as Vulcan arrived at
Morden Castle, he jumped from a
tired, sweating Shadowfax, and raced
through the great doors of the castle.
Soldiers and servants alike gazed after
him as he sprinted through the castle
and up the stone staircase. His
warriors instinctively ran after him.
Vulcan came to a halt before his
wife’s door. Two of her guards stood
there, telling humorous jokes before
they noticed him. They immediately
snapped to attention and bowed.
“Is my wife in her chambers?”
Vulcan demanded, approaching the
guards, who stepped away from the
door and answered in the affirmative.
Feeling a small shred of relief pulse
through him, Vulcan pushed the door
open and surveyed the room. The bed
hangings were drawn and through
them, he could see the small lump at
the center that was his wife. He
relaxed more, approaching the bed,
and parting the gauze-like curtains.
The first thing he saw was her curly
golden hair and he reached out and
touched it gently. So she had not run
away from him. His hand slipped
further into her hair, until his fingers
grazed her scalp.
She moaned, a low sound. It
sounded more an expression of pain
than pleasure. Vulcan turned her over,
pulling at her shoulders until she lay
on her back. What he saw had him
shouting and roaring, deafening the
silence that had previously permeated
the room, and bringing the obviously
sleeping woman in his wife’s bed back
to the world of the living.
Vulcan leapt off of the bed, staring
at the woman—he’d seen her before
—one of his wife’s maids, in horror
and anger. Hearing their lord’s cry,
the guards rushed in, followed by the
other guards who had been patrolling
the hallway.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Vulcan thundered loudly, glaring at
the woman before looking around his
wife’s chambers for any visible
evidence of her. The servant shook
her head slowly, as if trying to
dislodge something from her system,
before she groaned once more before
falling backward onto the bed and
writhing in pain. She had been
drugged.
“Fetch the apothecary and find my
wife!” he bit out to the guards
standing behind him. Vulcan knelt by
the bed once more, touching the
shoulder of the maid. She opened one
eye and he told her that all would be
well, that the apothecary would have a
remedy for her illness.
“Where is your queen?” he asked,
in the most calm and even voice he
could muster in such a trying situation.
His inner demon fought to be free,
and wanted badly to tear into
someone. The maid—no. She was a
woman and had been drugged on top
of it. His guards—soon. He’d given
them a charge, to watch his wife’s
every move, and they’d allowed her to
slip from their sight! When had his
army become incompetent?
The maid groaned but said hoarsely,
“Ta—taken.”
Vulcan felt an icy fist grip his heart.
He drew in a deep breath and asked,
“Taken where?”
The maid looked as if she was about
to answer, but stopped abruptly as her
face blanched further. Eyes widening
perceptibly, she rolled herself to the
edge of the bed.
Vulcan listened to the sound of her
retching, knowing that it was good
that she was doing so, and feeling the
urge to double over on the other side
of the bed and do the same. His wife
had been taken. He did not know
where…yet… but she had been
taken. With hundreds of trained men
swarming his lands, with hundreds of
soldiers patrolling his borders, his
queen had been removed from right
under their noses! He brought his
temper back in check and thought of
that. With hundreds of trained
warriors surrounding her, Jaisyn could
not have been taken if she’d put up a
struggle! He turned his gaze back to
the maid. Her retching had stopped.
He launched into a fresh set of
questions.