Medieval Rogues (72 page)

As though becoming aware of her approach, the little girl stirred. Her eyes opened. However, her blue-eyed gaze didn’t seem to focus. She moaned again.

Faye stumbled to a halt. “W-what is wrong with her?”

“Drugged,” Brant muttered.

“Who would be so evil . . .” She choked on the vile words. “Who would drug a child?”

Torr shrugged. “Angeline would not stop crying. All day, all night. I told my two hired men to drug her, but even then, she would not cease.” He wrinkled his nose. “My guards and I met them on the road while pursuing you. The men were returning her to Caldstowe. I received their message about bringing her back, Faye, when you and I were drinking wine in my solar.”

Faye fisted her shaking hands. What she would give to slap that arrogant smile from his lips!

“When the two men demanded their payment, I vowed I did not know them and accused them of kidnapping.” He chortled. “After their killings, my men praised me for my brave rescue of Angeline.”

Faye curled her hands so tightly, her nails bit into her palms. “If she was miserable, why did you not bring her home to Caldstowe? Why did you continue with your loathsome abduction ploy?”

Torr gave a secretive smile and examined his sword in the flickering light. He wiped the bloody blade on the dead guard’s leg.

“Answer me! What if you poisoned her? What if you destroyed her mind?” With a strangled sob, she rushed forward. A few more steps, and she could drop to her knees, embrace Angeline, murmur comforting words—

Brant lunged sideways. He grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Faye.”

Fighting his hold, she cried, “Let me pass!”

“’Tis a trap.”

Standing beside Angeline, Val nuzzled her arm, as though to coax her to sit up.

Faye shrieked and struggled. “Let me go to her!”

“She is of little value to Torr. He has made that very clear.” Brant’s keen gaze bored into hers, demanding she heed him. Still, she fought, digging her fingernails into his hand.

“Faye, listen to me! Torr wants you. Something he believes only you can give him.”

As Brant’s words filtered through her haze of anguish, she froze. “Me?”

She glanced at Torr. One indolent hand on his hip, he watched their altercation. His smile oozed smug triumph.

“Think, Faye,” Brant said. “All that has happened, every moment to this point, has revolved around one event. One . . . object.”

“The journal.”

He frowned. “Not exactly.”

Then it struck her with the full force of a blow. “The gold cup.”

***

Faye’s hoarse words sent a chill shivering through Brant—one as icy as an ancient spirit whispering across his neck.

Tipping his head back, Torr laughed. The sound dripped with condescension. “Very good, Faye. I thought you too naïve to ever guess.”

Her face tautened with indignation. She looked angry enough to leap at Torr and scratch his eyes out, an impulse Brant thoroughly understood. However, attacking Torr would shift focus from the vital questions that deserved answers. Squeezing her arm, he murmured, “Easy. He owes us both an explanation.”

She glared at him, but her head moved in a stiff nod.

As Torr’s maniacal chortling escalated, Brant released her and secured his grip on his sword. He gritted his teeth, fighting his own war-honed instincts to lunge while Torr stood distracted and gloating.

The craving tempted like a heady wine. A stunned shudder rippled through Brant, for murdering Royce had been utter hell. Killing Torr, however, might just be a pleasure.

An appalling thought, to relish taking a life. Yet, it seemed the only way to save Faye and Angeline, innocent lives that didn’t deserve to be caught up in such hellish madness.

Torr wiped his eyes, his laughter ebbing to chuckles. However, his posture still bespoke a king assuming victory over a pathetic foe.

“Torr,” Brant said, with enough force to silence Torr’s chuckling. “Tell me—”

Faye thrust up her hand. Casting Brant a quelling glance, she said to Torr, “How did you know about the gold chalice?”

Fury crackled in her voice. The same rage had glinted in her eyes when she’d glanced at Brant. A sudden, unwelcome thought jarred Brant. Did she believe
he
had told Torr? “I swear to you, I never told him about the cup.”

Confusion dimmed the accusation in her eyes. “Nor did I.”

Torr smirked. “Elayne told me.”

“
Elayne
!” Faye’s hand flew to her throat, as though she would choke on the revelation. “She would never tell.”

The glee faded from Torr’s expression. “Ah, but she did. Eventually.” His lips curled back from his teeth. “She taunted me with the find. Smiled, in that wretched way of hers, while she lay in our bed. Told me I would never possess the chalice. That ’twas worth a fortune, and the riches belonged to Angeline.”

“Elayne promised,” Faye whispered. “She and I swore not to tell anyone.”

An ugly sneer twisted Torr’s mouth. “You believe you are the only one she betrayed?”

Torr’s venomous tone resonated in the part of Brant’s heart forever scarred by Elayne. How ironic that, on the matter of her manipulative nature, he and Torr agreed.

Yet, from what little he knew of her and Torr’s marriage, they had seemed well matched, their union blessed with a healthy daughter. What had Elayne done that Torr considered a betrayal? Brant sensed ’twas far more than denying Torr the gold cup.

“’Tis unfair to speak ill of Elayne when she cannot be here to defend her actions,” Faye said coldly.

“Pah! Do not think to revere her like a saint.”

“You took advantage of her infirmity. What did you do to her? Drug her?”

Faye shook as though on the verge of collapse. Brant yearned to close the distance between them, to slip his arm around her. Danger thickened, however, so close to sparking bloody violence, he dared not take his hands from his sword.

Torr smiled, an expression of disdain. “Did you know, Faye, you were the one person she believed she could trust with her life?”

Faye moaned.

“I told her that if she gave you the slightest warning I knew about the cup . . .” He slashed the air with his sword. “Not only you, but Angeline.”

“You are
mad
!”

“She drove me to it. I did what was necessary, for she refused to tell me where Angeline had found the chalice, or where you had hidden it for safekeeping. God’s teeth, but she was stubborn. Only the drug made her talk.”

Brant’s gut clenched with revulsion. Now he understood why the missive he’d received from Elayne had sounded urgent. Had she begged him to come to Caldstowe to help save her from Torr?

“Her illness made her weak. I could not have her die before she confessed all to me.” Torr shrugged. “I added the drug to the herbal infusions you administered, Faye.”

She gasped. “That explains why, at times, she was so . . . wild.”

“What do you mean?” Brant asked.

Faye’s eyes shone with tears. “She became frantic. I could scarce get the elixir in her mouth, she was so distraught.”

Wild. Frantic. Distraught. As Royce had seemed that night months ago.

An eerie hum rang in Brant’s ears, even as Torr said, “Elayne hated me. She even concealed a dagger in the bedding and tried to stab me.” He grinned. “I took the knife away and did not underestimate her again.”

“How could you be so cruel?” Tears streamed down Faye’s cheeks. “Just to find the treasure?”

“The riches are a legend.” Torr’s eyes gleamed. “I am not the first man to want King Arthur’s hoard. So did Brant’s brother.”

Torr spat the word “brother” like the coarsest oath. The ringing in Brant’s ears intensified, matching his boiling anger. “Royce did not seek the treasure out of greed. He wanted only the satisfaction of finding what had eluded others for centuries.”

“You lie. His desires were the same as any other man’s.” Torr’s gaze slid to Angeline, now sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Hatred contorted his face.

Foreboding skittered across Brant’s soul. As torchlight hit the little girl’s face more fully, he drew a sharp breath. Her features mirrored Elayne’s beauty. Yet, he also caught a striking resemblance to . . .

God above!

“I want the journal, Faye,” Torr growled, taking a step closer, “and the chalice.”

“Not until you tell me why you believe Elayne betrayed you. Because she would not let you have the cup?”

Brant’s head swam. If his suspicions were correct . . . “There is another reason.”

Torr’s gaze narrowed. He strode to Angeline, reached down, and yanked the little girl to her feet. Cringing, she began to cry.

Val growled. Barking, he darted around Torr’s legs.

“Please!” Faye shrieked. “She is your child.”

“Take a good look at the sniveling whelp,” Torr roared. “Does she resemble me?
Does she
?”

Faye flung up helpless hands. “She is your daughter!”

The loathing in Torr’s gaze answered Brant’s suspicions. His fingers flexing around the sword, he eased forward. “Torr is not Angeline’s father.”

“
What
?”

“She is . . . my brother’s child.”
 

Chapter Twenty

As the words Brant had spoken aloud registered in his consciousness, so did another realization. “Angeline is my niece.”

Shock, blended with humility, washed through him.
His niece
.

His responsibility, by blood.

Her face wet with tears, Faye stepped nearer to Torr. “Release Angeline’s arm. Please. She is not responsible for what happened between you and Elayne.”

Teeth bared, Val crouched, preparing to leap at Torr. He spat at the little dog. He didn’t let go of Angeline.

“Faye is right.” Brant moved to stand beside Faye. “Angeline is an innocent in this wretched mess. What I do not understand is how Royce and Elayne—”

“—fornicated?” Torr snorted. “Do you not know how a babe is conceived?”

“Elayne wed you at Waverbury, two sennights before you, Royce, and I departed for crusade. Royce and I attended the celebrations.”

“She married me and coupled with Royce not long after.” Torr’s angry face turned scarlet. “I found them together. ’Twas not the first time she had lain with him.”

Brant barely restrained a stunned oath. He’d known of Royce’s desire for Elayne, an attraction his brother had felt from the very first time he’d met her years ago. She had encouraged his attentions each time they’d met. Brant hadn’t known, however, of Royce’s affair with her, or that he’d committed adultery.

“She married me,” Torr went on, “because of my wealth. But she loved your brother.” His arm shook. When his fingers tightened on Angeline’s arm, she wailed. “Shut up,” he bellowed, “you pathetic—”

“Please,” Faye cried. “She is frightened.”

“Torr,” Brant snapped, anxious to draw Torr’s attention before he injured Angeline. “Are you certain she is Royce’s child?”

“Look at her! When I do, I see him.” Torr’s whole body trembled. “Elayne spurned me after our wedding night. Deceitful bitch! We argued over Royce and the way she spoke to other men. After that, she refused to lie with me.”

“Did Royce know about the child?”

“How could he? Even I did not know of the babe until I returned from crusade. One look at her, though, and I knew she was his daughter.” A muscle bunched in his jaw before his harsh gaze slid to Faye. “And you. Another betrayal, that you chose Meslarches over me.”

Her throat moved with a swallow. “Torr—”

“’Twas supposed to be a simple arrangement. You were to meet Brant, not be able to pay the ransom demand, and after a few days, beg me for help. I thought for certain you would realize only I had the means to help you. I would ride out with my men and return home with Angeline. A victory you would admire, Faye.”

“Oh, God!”

“You would revere me as a hero and come to trust me. One day, you would confide in me about the gold cup. I would ask to see it . . . hold it . . . Then, ’twould become mine.”

Brant scowled. “Using Royce’s journal, you intended to find the rest of the treasure. You would become the richest man in England.”

Torr’s lips slid into a wicked grin. “I would be hailed as the lord who defeated one of the greatest of all legends, not only now, but centuries from now. I would claim King Arthur’s riches. I would be . . .
immortal
.”

“By fulfilling Royce’s dream,” Brant grated between his teeth.

“I claimed his dream for my own.”

“Never!”

Laughing, Torr groped in his leather bag. “Ah, but I did.
Months
ago.”

The ringing, sharper than before, echoed again in Brant’s ears. His breath wedged in his lungs, trapped by a sudden, gut-wrenching revelation. He watched Torr drink, then lower the flask from his mouth.

“You . . . drugged Royce. That is why he was so agitated, rambling . . .”

Torr dragged a shaking hand over his mouth.

“Tell me the truth.” Brant screamed, raising his sword. “
Tell me
!”