Love Never Lies (2 page)

His father always jested, ‘If there’s any trouble, make sure you’re right in the middle of it.’ Well, he was in the middle of it alright. But somehow he didn’t think losing his manhood at the age of twenty-one would make his family proud.

Winning the wager between him and his two brothers of who could bed the most wenches and gain the most riches in a year seemed foolhardy now. In fact, all the scrapping and wagering, and competitions their sire deemed necessary for manhood paled when compared to losing his bullocks.

But he was a Fortin.

He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

 
He swallowed past the lump in his throat to shout, “There’s
no place where I won’t find you
!” Followed by another string of oaths—words he had shouted over and over again as the two men-at-arms, Ram and Talbot, wrestled him onto the wooden table in the guardhouse to chain him down—words he continued to curse as they ripped down his braies.

The chains bit into his flesh where he strained against them. While the blade drew nearer, he concentrated on remembering every sharp, irregular feature of their faces. By the blood of God, before he died they would feel the sharp edge of his sword pierce their merciless hearts. The children he might have sired would have justice.

“Halt!”

The blade ceased its descent.

The Earl’s scarred face swam above Alec like a craggy apparition below a receding thatch of chestnut hair. What now? Had Agnew come to watch, as he had last eventide when they robbed him and nearly beat him senseless, before dropping him in the dirt on the guardhouse floor? Mayhap, Agnew wished to do it himself.

Alec squinted through swollen eyes to focus on Agnew’s face, in hopes of gleaning his motives. But the black throngs of rage would not let him think.

Then, as if through a dream, his liege lord, Richard Beaufort, stood over him, his face dark, hazel eyes alit with green fire. His short-cropped, golden hair rose from his head, as though he had been raking his fingers through it for hours. And no doubt he had, as they were fast friends as well as fellow combatants, a mere five winters separating them in age. “Release him at once!” He commanded. “You have the wrong man.”

If not for the chains, Alec would have kissed his noble face.

“How did this happen?” Beaufort demanded.

“’Twas an honest mistake,” Lord Agnew said in gruff tones, addressing himself to Lord Beaufort, as though Alec were some lackey who ceased to exist, instead of the son of one of the most powerful Earls in Cornwall. “How could I know she was lying? Fortin’s bedded every wench in the castle in the short month he’s been here. ‘Twas not until Lord Guilford returned and confessed that I knew aught was amiss.” Agnew shrugged. “No harm done. He’s fit to ride.”

Released from his chains, Alec’s temper burst with the force of a charging boar. “No harm done!” He gritted past his parched, raw throat. “You beat me and rob me and have the spleen to say I’m not wronged.”

Agnew’s eyes widened as if with surprise.
“Robbery?
I know naught of that.”

“I wonder what the King would make of your justice!” The blood boiled in Alec’s veins. He would have knocked Agnew’s brains out if not for the two men-at-arms who rushed forward to grab him. His honor tarnished, and the spoils of two years fighting—gone, in the blink of an eye.

“You forget yourself,
Monsieur
.” Lord Agnew’s voice rang cold and hard, lacking any remorse. “I’m Earl of these lands. King Stephen leaves all matters of local justice to his barons. Even if he had time, he wouldn’t interfere.” Agnew turned on his heel to stalk from the dank shadows of the guardhouse without
so
much as a backward glance.

The men-at-arms released Alec,
then
followed at an ambling gait.

Alec’s gaze burned into their retreating backs. How he itched to knock their greasy, black heads together until they cracked. “Dog-hearted knaves!” he said with a snarl. “I’ll wipe the smile from their faces when next we meet.”

“Agnew’s favorite wolfhounds.”
Beaufort slashed him a wry smile. “Twins I believe.”

“But not identical, I think, for one is uglier and duller than the next.”

Beaufort gave a dark chuckle. “Don’t underestimate them. They’d slit your throat without provocation.”

Alec snatched up his braies, his mouth twisting in a grim smile. “Or cut off your balls.”

“Yea, ‘twas a fortunate twist of fate Lord Guilford arrived when he did to take responsibility and marry the maid.” Beaufort shook his head, casting forth his frustration in harsh tones. “Agnew’s an arrogant ass. He wouldn’t rescind his judgment, despite my pleas on your behalf.”

“Fortunate for me, but not for him,” Alec ground out. “I’ll not forget this insult.”

“’Tis better you do, for now. Agnew’s a powerful man. Save your spleen for the crusade. Now that Matilda’s given up her bid for the throne and retired to the continent, King Stephen is intent on protecting his interests in Normandy. As our most powerful neighbor, France has always been the greatest threat. Keeping an eye on King Louis and his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, will be no easy task. But there’s much wealth to be had, if we’re successful in gaining the information the King craves.”

“Yea, revenge can wait,” Alec agreed. His family and his country came first. “‘Twill
give
Agnew time to forget.” Alec followed Beaufort into the pink light of the awakening courtyard, his ordeal reverberating like an earth tremor, making his teeth ache. ‘Twas well they were riding from this place. With every bruise on his body screaming justice, he’d likely do something rash if forced to swallow Agnew’s hospitality one more day.

He dared not risk it. Success on the crusade meant everything, not simply wealth, or a chance to spread his wings away from the smothering censure of his family, but proof once and for all, that he was every bit as able as his brothers.

Beaufort was right. ‘Twas better to wait—savor his revenge. There would be many long hours in the saddle in the months ahead to form the perfect plan. And when he returned, he would have the means to execute it.

Better still, Agnew would not see it coming.

Six Years Later

Mercury snorted great puffs of steam, pawing at the earth, spattering wet leaves behind him. Like his master, the black destrier was impatient for battle. And there would be a battle, Alec was certain of it. The party they planned to intercept carried a hefty coffer—the dowry of Lord Agnew’s niece.

After six long years of waiting, he would finally have justice—the silver taken from him returned, and more importantly, his honor restored.

When they emerged from the long narrow stretch of road through yon forest, more than the sun would blind the eyes of Agnew’s men. The glint of Alec’s sword and a score of his men would be there to greet them in the clearing. What he wouldn’t give to see Agnew’s face when he discovered his precious cargo missing.

The coo of a dove carried through the tunnel of trees.

A crow cawed in answer.

“‘Tis the signal, my lord.”
Alec’s squire, Will, edged his mount closer, hazel eyes glittering. Sweat beaded on his brow, dampening the nut-brown curls that clung to his forehead. “What if they won’t give it up?”

“Then we fight.”

“We should have taken Lord Agnew for ransom. There’d be more profit in that.”

“If we could get to him.”
Alec’s tone turned wry.
“Which of course we cannot.
Agnew’s no fool. He’s made too many enemies to leave his fortress without ample protection.”

“But, his men are rusty. We’re fresh from battling the Saracens.” Will shifted in the saddle like a pup ready for a scrap. “They’re no match for us.”

Alec chuckled, remembering himself at Will’s age—eager to prove his courage, no matter what the cost. “Draw in your fangs, lad. We’re not here for blood, only for compensation. The lady’s dowry will do well enough.”

“But ‘tis also a distraction, is it not, to gain the benefice of lands awarded to you from the King?”

Alec gripped the reins tighter, slicing Will a sharp look. “How do you know this?”

Will’s cheeks stained crimson. “Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t mean to overhear, but Lord Beaufort’s voice doest carry when he’s into his cups.”

“So last night in the hall, when everyone lay snoring on their pallets, your ears were pricked as high as an ass.” Alec cast his eyes heavenward. He should have known the lad would be too keyed up to sleep. Curse Beaufort and his loose lips. The siege on Highburn was to be kept secret until they executed their plan. If the recent threats against Agnew’s strongholds in the North did not keep him occupied, the loss of his niece’s dowry should. “Who else knows of this?”

“No one, my lord.
I swear on the soul of my mother. I’d never betray you—after all you’ve done for me, taking me as your squire, having faith in me when no one else would on account of my size.” Will’s back went straight in the saddle, an expression of pious resolution settling over his face. “But I understand if you wish to punish me.”

Alec resisted the urge to smile. Will had sprouted a head taller since he took him on as his squire. He ate more than Alec and his two brothers at that age put together. Alas, his body had matured, but he had not yet learned to hold his tongue. Half a haunch of venison, a priest’s scowl, nor the sight of a naked wench could shut him up.

And yet, Alec had grown attached to the lad. “Your loyalty isn’t in question. You’ve served me well, and I have no doubt will do so again. Now cease your womanly prattle and make ready. The reward we seek draws near.”

Alec stood up in the stirrups to brace himself in the saddle.

The time had come to avenge his honor.

***

The sharp caw of a crow lifted Isabeau’s gaze to the leafy canopy overhead. ‘Twas strange such a creature would dally here when the field of freshly sheaved wheat they’d passed was so close by. The thought had barely left her head when her palfrey began to dance sideways beneath her.

Her cousin, Barak cantered up beside her. “Can I be of assistance, dear cuz?” he said, grinning down at her from atop his amber warhorse, continuing to keep pace with her. He wore no helm for protection, only his hauberk under a red surcoat, no doubt wishing to flaunt the rich, chestnut curls framing his arrogant face. “Mayhap you should ride in the wagon with Maddie, or better still,” he cocked one brow suggestively, “With me.”

His lingering, green gaze made her stomach revolt. But Isabeau managed a tight smile just the same. One more day and she would be free from him stalking her, like a wolf needing to be fed. No more looking over her shoulder in the hall or the courtyard, only to find him sniffing at her skirts. She could soon go hawking without him insisting he must come along.

Yea, the time could not pass quick enough.

Were his interest benign, or prompted by familial love, she could have born his attention well, even welcomed it with open arms. But ‘twas not so. Even today, he insisted on accompanying them when the protection of six men-at-arms was clearly enough.

“Nay, I’m in no need of company,” she said with forced brightness. “‘Tis best you see to your men.”

“But I’m here to protect you.”

“That’s very flattering.” She feigned a sweet smile. “But come the morrow I’ll no longer need your protection.”

His smile faded to half. “Unless of course your betrothed meets with the same fate as the last, then you’ll have no choice, but to
come
running back to me.”

Something in his words, a bold possessiveness mayhap, made her stiffen. “The war between Stephen and Matilda is over, ‘tis unlikely Lord Hogan will meet the same fate.”