Temptress (36 page)

Brother Thomas sighed and made a sign of the cross over his chest. “My grandfather’s fear was that his architectural masterpiece would be used for evil and so, it seems, it has.”

“You must help me find them, the rooms, the hallways, the . . . what? Secret doors?”

“As I said, Lady, I know not where they are or how to access them, just that they exist.”

Was it possible? The idea seemed outrageous, yet . . . Her skin crawled at the thought of someone lurking in the shadows, ever watching, coming and going at will.

Her stomach wrenched, but she wouldn’t believe it. Nay, nay, nay! There was someone else. There had to be.

“Come with me,” she said to the old monk.

“Nay, I must stay here.”

“Not tonight, Brother Thomas.”

“I have a duty to God. A promise to keep.”

Her fingers circled his wrist. “And you will not break it, but tonight, Brother Thomas, you will come with me and we will find these lost secret tunnels and rooms or whatever. I have a feeling it’s God’s will.” His eyes rounded at her blasphemy, but she ignored it. She was done with following a strict code of conduct—it had never fit her anyway. She was always breaking the rules, so tonight would not be that much different.

Her lantern swinging, she tugged on the old man’s arms and helped him down the stairs. “Heathens and heretics,” she whispered under her breath.

“What say you?”

“Nothing, Brother Thomas,” she said. “Come along.”

“M’lady, really, I have no idea where to start looking.”

She wasn’t deterred. “I do,” she said and thought of the chamber where just last night she’d given herself so eagerly to Carrick of Wybren.

 

“I didn’t kill them,” he said as he stood in the hallway outside the lord’s quarters at Wybren. He glared at his cousin and the handful of men behind him—huge body-guards with their swords glinting wickedly in the dim light from the candles mounted upon the walls. “I didn’t kill them,” he repeated, stepping forward, “but you did.”

“I?” Graydynn, weapon drawn, shook his head and laughed. “Oh, no, Carrick, you’ll not pin your crimes on me!”

“Who is the one person who has profited from all their deaths?” he demanded. “Certainly not me.” He walked closer, suddenly unafraid of Graydynn’s blade. Graydynn’s eyes met his, and a perplexed look crossed his features as he scrutinized his face. “ ’Twas not I nor anyone else who set the blaze, but you. Now you are Lord of Wybren, Graydynn, but before the fire, what were you?”

“This is madness!” But there was distraction in his proclamation.

“I think not.” His gaze drilled into that of the baron. Did he see something flicker in Graydynn’s eyes, a bit of guilt? Was there just a fleck of spittle at the corner of his mouth? Did one of his eyelids twitch slightly?

“Do not try to turn the tables on me. Use none of your tricks, Carrick.” Graydynn stumbled over the name, and his eyes narrowed a fraction as he studied his cousin. “They won’t work here. You, in fact, are not just a trespasser, but also a murderer and a traitor.” His words seemed to bolster him, to restore his own sense of power. “Did you not think I expected you? If not this night, then one soon thereafter? I knew of the attack against you, heard through my spies that the idiot Lady of Calon gave you refuge and helped heal you! But I knew once you were strong and able you would return here.” A thin smile played upon lips buried within the nest of his beard. “Why do you think you were allowed through the gates so easily?” he asked. “Hmmm? Why was only one simpleton of a guard allowed to escort you to the great hall? Did you really think I would just sit and wait for you to burst in, sword drawn, making the outrageous claims I knew you would? Didn’t you know that I expected you to outfox that one sentry? Where is he? In the potter’s hut?” He snapped his fingers and cocked his head to one side. “No, my guess is that I’ll find him in the mill.”

So, it had been a trap. Graydynn had set him up! Jaw tight, he poised for the fight bound to come. He looked for a chance, just one moment’s hesitation, to best Graydynn.

As if he could read his enemy’s thoughts, Graydynn grinned and a sparkle of invention came to his eye.

“And don’t expect anyone here to believe that you and I were . . . what? In league together? I see the lie forming in your eyes, Carrick.” He waved a hand near his head as if the idea had just occurred to him, but there was more to his words, an underlying warning, and yet more than that, too: Graydynn was worried. He went on, but it seemed as if it was for the benefit of the guards, as if Graydynn was playing a part. “I suppose you were going to say that I was the one who came up with the plot to kill your family and you were but the henchman, willing to do whatever I asked.”

That caught his attention. “What are you saying?” he demanded.

“No one here will ever believe you, Carrick!”

But there was something there. Something in Graydynn’s words that he had not considered. “You are saying you and Carrick plotted the fire together—”

“I said that ploy would not work!” Graydynn declared loudly. He swept his free arm toward the guards standing ready behind him. “We all know of your lies.”

Something was wrong here, something he was missing. Something very important. “You are blaming Carrick for your own deeds,” he said slowly.

From below came the sound of shouts and footsteps. “Lord Graydynn,” a deep voice called up the staircase. “Lord Graydynn! We’ve caught him! We’ve caught the spy!”

“Now what?” Graydynn glowered and pointed an accusing finger at his cousin. “Seize him and bring him downstairs!”

Now was his chance! In motion as the thought crossed his mind, he spun and broke into a run, his sword swinging in a wide arc in front of him. The guards sidestepped his blade and then thundered after him. “Halt!” a guard cried.

“Go to bloody hell!”

He was tackled from behind, a body slamming into his before he reached the doorway. He and his attacker fell together. His sword flew from his hand. He tried to lunge forward, but the guard atop him put a knee into his back and his spine popped. Fighting with every inch of strength, he nearly broke free, but another guard threw his weight upon both of the struggling men.

His face smashed against the floor.

He tasted blood.

Within seconds his hands were lashed by thick rawhide cords, his arms forced against his body. A gag was thrust into his mouth and roughly tied. Hauled to his feet, he was nudged forward, down the steep winding staircase and into the great hall.

Blood ran into his eye from a gash on his head as he gazed at the room before him. A fire crackled in the grate and torchlights glowed, reflecting in the gold threads of the ornate tapestries draping the whitewashed walls. Huge wheels hung suspended on chains from the ceiling and upon the wheels, interlaced with antlers, burned hundreds of candles, causing the room to glimmer and sparkle.

As before.

His heart clutched.

As he looked at the raised dais.

He’d sat there. With his mother, father, and siblings.

His heart thudding, the shutters to his mind suddenly flew open.

In a jolt, the curtain lifted.

His life snapped back into his memory. He saw himself at the great table, his sister on one side of him, his wife on the other.

His breath swept in through the gag as every piece of his life fell into place.

In the span of a single heartbeat, he finally understood who he was.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“
M
’lady!”

Morwenna and Brother Thomas had just reached the few steps leading to the main door of the great hall. She turned quickly and found Sir Hywell running toward her.

“Please, wait,” he said.

“What is it?” She tried not to snap, but she was tired and anxious to get at the task of finding the hidden doors and secret hallways within the keep—if indeed there were such things. On her way from the south tower she’d wondered more than once if the old monk was not quite in his right mind, if he could have created the idea of “hallways within hallways” in all those years of solitude. Still, it was something to do, to search for.

“There is a party of men outside the main gate and they want to speak to you.”

“Now?” she asked, glancing up at the dark sky. Though the rain had abated, the wind was cold as Satan’s breath, the night pitch dark, and the promise of more rain or sleet heavy in the rumbling clouds overhead.

“Aye, they have come with prisoners.”

“Prisoners? Who are these men?”

“I know not, but Sir Lylle has detained the two who have shown themselves. They claim there are more waiting in the woods with their prisoners.”

“What do I want with their prisoners?” she snapped and then stopped herself. “They have found Carrick? Or the killer?”

Sir Hywell shook his head. “Nay, m’lady, they claim they have Sir Alexander and the sheriff.”

“What!”

“That’s what they’re saying.”

“As captives?” she demanded. “But why would anyone imprison the captain of the guard and Sir Payne?”

“I know not,” he admitted, and even in the darkness Morwenna read the confusion on his features.

“I’ll be right there.” She turned to the monk. “Brother Thomas, please, wait for me inside. You can warm yourself by the fire and I’ll be back. We can then start our search.”

“Mayhap I should return to my room.”

“Nay! Please . . . just give me a few minutes. I won’t be long,” she promised. “Sir Cowan,” she called to the guard at the door, “would you please see that Brother Thomas has a mazer of wine and ask the cook for some jellied eggs, or cheese, or a bit of smoked eel.”

“Please, do not go to any trouble.” But there was a glimmer in the monk’s eyes and she swore she heard his old stomach rumble.

“ ’Tis none,” she assured him quickly. She was in a hurry and she did not want to have to retrieve him yet again from the tower. “Come along.” She shepherded the man up the steps, delivering him to the door. “Sir Cowan will take care of you.” Over the monk’s bent shoulder, she met Sir Cowan’s eyes and silently insisted that he take charge of the man. “As I said, I’ll be back directly.”

Then she was off, following Hywell along the dark paths, feeling the night close in on her. Her pattens collected mud and the wind cut through her cloak as she made her way in the darkness and wondered who had the nerve, the outright audacity, to take Sir Alexander and Sir Payne captive.

“God’s teeth, I swear I’ll kill him with my own hands,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Pardon, m’lady?” Hywell said.

She shook her head and lied, “ ’Tis nothing.”

Firelight glowed from the windows of the gatehouse and most of the garrison was awake. Those who had dozed had been roused and the few who had been up playing dice and chess had abandoned their games. Some of the men had collected in a large chamber of the gatehouse; others were posted strategically on the wall walks.

Sir Hywell escorted her to the captain of the guard’s chamber, where a guard stood at the door. Inside, Sir Lylle and five knights surrounded two men she’d never seen before. The taller of the two had a brand upon his cheek, was missing a front tooth, and wore an air of indifference that bespoke a soullessness that Morwenna noted immediately. The mark on his cheek told her he’d already been branded a criminal, and his eyes were lizardlike and cold. The second man was three inches shorter and years younger, not more than a boy. His skin was unblemished, his hair a mop of red-brown strands. He held a cap in his hands and worried the brim, nervous as a mouse in a roomful of cats.

“These men insisted on seeing you, Lady Morwenna,” Sir Lylle said, and Morwenna met the taller man’s eyes. “They surrendered their weapons.”

Morwenna didn’t wait for introductions. “I understand you have two of my men, that you’re holding them hostage.” She advanced toward Lizard Eyes. “You are to release them both immediately.”

“That’s why we’re here,” he said. “To bargain for their release.”

“Bargain? Why would I bargain? Tell me, where are they?”

The branded man’s smile stretched to show off the gap between his teeth. “With Carrick of Wybren.”

She knew it! That lying underbelly of a snake! So angry she was almost shaking, she curled the fingers of one hand tight and said, “Then why is he not ‘bargaining’ with me? What kind of coward is he, and how is it you work for him? Why did he send you?”

“To ensure that he’s not falsely accused and arrested.”

“
Falsely
accused? He’s kidnapped two men and is worried about
false
charges?” She shook her head and slowly uncoiled her fist. “I’ll not deal with either of you. If Carrick wants to bargain for his life or his freedom, then he should do it himself.” She leveled her gaze at the taller man, and from the corner of her eye she saw the shorter one squirm. “You know, I should toss both of you into the dungeon, or better yet, the oubliette. We have one here at Calon.” The younger one was sweating now, biting at his lip. “And then I should just forget about you.”

“If any harm comes to us, then your men are as good as dead,” Lizard Eyes said.

“Then go. Tell Carrick that he’ll have to deal with me himself, and if any harm comes to Sir Alexander or the sheriff, I’ll see that he’s hunted down like the lying dog he is.” She glanced at Sir Lylle. “Do not return their weapons to them, but escort them out of the keep.” She turned her attention back to the taller man. “I expect to see Sir Alexander, Sir Payne, and any other free man in your . . . ‘custody’ by dawn. With or without Carrick.”