The branded man’s eyes narrowed even farther and his lips twitched beneath his scraggly beard. “I imagine you’ll see him and see him soon, m’lady,” he mocked. Abruptly he turned on his heel, nodded toward his cohort, and, as the men around her parted, left the gatehouse.
Two soldiers saw that the men were walked out of the keep. Only when she heard the gates creak closed and the portcullis grind down did Morwenna breathe again.
“I don’t like this,” Sir Lylle said as the men went back to their posts. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced in front of the desk. “It feels wrong. As if it’s some kind of trap.”
“I don’t like it, either. I assume we have men following those two.”
“Aye, but the thugs will know it, too, will assume we’ve sent men after them. They will probably lead my men on a merry chase but I doubt they’ll lead us to Carrick or the captives.”
“Then we’ll just have to find them,” Morwenna said. “Whichever way the men go, even if they split up, we must track them all. And our men are not only to be looking for Alexander and Payne, but the physician and Father Daniel and whoever else is missing as well—including the two men we sent to search the town earlier.”
He nodded.
“It would seem that Carrick’s camp would be close if he was waiting for word of my decision from his men.”
“He may not even have made camp,” Lylle pointed out.
She agreed, her heart heavy when she thought of Alexander who, though he’d never voiced his feelings, had loved her silently. Then there was Payne and the distress of his loving wife.
“Mention this to no one; make your men swear to silence except to you and me. There is no reason to worry anyone in the keep until we know more.”
Again he nodded and she sighed loudly, a headache starting to pound behind her eyes. She started for the door. “Let me know the second you hear anything.” Pausing, she placed a hand on the doorframe and looked over her shoulder at the man who so feebly filled the captain of the guard’s shoes. Not only a smaller man than Sir Alexander, Sir Lylle was so much weaker. “Find them, Sir Lylle,” she ordered. “And report back to me immediately.”
“I’m not Carrick.”
His voice echoed through the great hall at Wybren as he managed to spit off his loosened gag.
The soldiers holding him and those who had gathered in the cavernous room turned, eyeing him suspiciously.
Imperious as ever, Graydynn laughed without an ounce of mirth in his voice. “Of course you’re—”
“Nay, Graydynn, I’m not and you know it,” he charged, his fury white-hot. “You recognized me.” With a quick hitch of his shoulders, he threw off the guards’ arms. “I’m Theron. Dafydd’s son. Carrick’s brother, aye, and I look like him, but I’m
not
Carrick.”
“Theron died in the fire,” Graydynn said, but his voice held less conviction as he studied the marks on Theron’s face, searching below what remained of his bruises and scratches, looking beneath his beard.
“I wasn’t in Wybren that night,” Theron insisted, memories of his past solidifying in his head. He stepped closer to Graydynn. “I left this keep when I discovered my wife in bed with another man, her lover, and no, the bastard wasn’t Carrick, either.” His lips barely moved as he spoke and everyone in the great hall became silent. “ ’Twas someone she’d known from Heath Castle, a man her brother Ryden had sent to watch over her.” Theron’s lips twisted at the irony of this, his wife’s ultimate betrayal. “I didn’t even know his name, but he was the one who died in the fire with my wife. He’s the one everyone assumed was me.”
“You’re lying!”
“Am I, Graydynn? Look at me. Look closely. All of us brothers, the sons of Myrnna and Dafydd—Byron, Carrick, Owen, and, yes, even I—looked so much alike we could fool those who didn’t know us well. Only Alyce, our sister, took after our mother; the rest of us were the image of our father. But you, Graydynn, you should realize the truth when it stares you in the face.”
“This is impossible,” Graydynn hissed over the murmurs of his men and the pop and crackle of the fire burning hot in the grate.
“Is it? Then how do I know that you stole wine from my father by bribing the cellarer?” he demanded, edging yet closer, smelling the scent of fear mixed with Graydynn’s sweat. “Because I did it with you. I was there. I think Wynn is still here, is he not? He can verify this.”
“Theron could have told you about the wine, Carrick,” Graydynn insisted. The tip of his tongue nervously licked his lips.
“Would I have told Carrick about the other secret you and I shared?”
“I know not what you’re saying.” But Graydynn’s nostrils flared a bit and there were doubts surfacing in his eyes.
“Sure you do, Graydynn. You remember.” Theron’s jaw was stone. “I caught you stealing Carrick’s knife, the one with the jeweled handle, remember? ’Twas summer . . . six years past and Carrick swore that if he ever found out who did it, he would cut off the culprit’s balls and stuff them down his throat!”
Graydynn visibly paled.
“I see you do recall that event. I assume you still have the knife.”
“You are Theron,” one of the soldiers said, stepping closer, his gaze scraping over the captive’s face. “I see it now.”
“And I remember you, Sir Benjamin,” Theron said to the thick-bodied man with a heavy red beard.
“Aye, and I know you, too,” another, smaller man, concurred. “I was in the service of your father for twenty years.”
“As was I.”
Other voices chimed in, agreeing. A laundress wiping her hands on her apron smiled through a sheen of tears. “Thank the Lord that you’re safe, Sir Theron. Thank the Lord!”
One man with thinning brown hair and eyes with crow’s-feet spreading from them stepped forward and stared at Theron long and hard. “You saved my life, or at least kept me from prison,” he said solemnly. “A man had accused me of stealing from the lord and you stepped forward in my defense. A week later the true thief was found.”
“You’re Liam,” Theron said, nodding. “Your wife, Katherine—nay, Katie, you call her—had twin sons a year ago.”
“Nearly two years past it is now,” the man said, a grin crawling across his face.
“By the saints, I thought you were dead!” another soldier yelled.
“My liege,” yet another called and fell to one knee. Several others followed, swearing their allegiance to the son of Dafydd, the rightful lord.
“Up! Up! All of you!” Graydynn commanded furiously, swinging his arms toward the ceiling as if willing his subjects to their collective feet. His sword was still in his hands and it cut a wide arc as he pointed toward the heavens. “This is . . . this is preposterous! This man is Carrick! A traitor! A murderer!”
“You lie!” Benjamin said and in one quick movement relieved Graydynn of his sword.
Theron narrowed his gaze on his cousin. “Have them cut me loose,” he ordered, but before the Lord of Wybren could respond, Benjamin, using Graydynn’s sword, sliced the bonds and cut the gag from his neck.
Liam rose from his knee. “ ’Tis sorry I am for my part in your capture, m’lord. I should have recognized you.”
“He’s not the lord here!” Rage and fear twisted Graydynn’s face. “Do not release him! Do
not!
We know not why he’s here.”
“He’s here because he belongs here!” one man shouted, and others yelled in agreement and held their weapons high.
“I came for the truth. I came to face you.” Theron’s voice was low as he tried and failed to control his own simmering fury. “And I came to avenge my family.” So angry he quivered inside, it was all he could do not to wring the bastard’s neck. “You killed everyone.”
“Nay.”
“You thought I was in the room with Alena, and you thought you murdered every last one of us, so that you could claim this barony as your own, as the rightful heir, the firstborn of my father’s brother. Only Carrick survived, and after he escaped, or did the dirty work for the two of you, you blamed the fire on him.”
“No, Theron . . .” Graydynn paled, hearing his own voice betray him and call him by name. “I . . . I had nothing to do with your family’s death.”
“Liar!” Theron shouted. “I know not how it worked between you and Carrick. Perhaps you two were partners. ’Tis no secret that Carrick despised our father, but what I don’t understand is why he would trust a snake like you.”
“I swear to you, I had nothing to do with the fire!”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t have to. I’m the lord here!”
“But you shouldn’t be. Not when one of Baron Dafydd’s sons is alive,” Benjamin pointed out, and suddenly a dozen sets of angry eyes were trained on Graydynn. The room went deathly quiet. Only the pop and hiss of the fire remained.
Sweat beaded upon Graydynn’s brow. “Listen,” he said and squared his shoulders, stiffened his spine. “You men—each and every one of you—have sworn your allegiance to
me
, have promised to lay down your lives for king and country. I am your lord, so take this man to the dungeon and lock him away or you’ll each be charged with treason.”
“We swore allegiance to the rightful heir of Wybren,” one man said, his lips tight.
“The king has recognized me as such.”
“But the king don’t know what you did.”
“I did nothing!” Panic strangled Graydynn’s words before he could compose himself. Anger took rein of his emotions. Fury radiated from him and a red vein throbbed at his temple. “If you do as I say, I’ll forget this bit of rebellion. If not, you will all be jailed. So understand me and understand me well. Take the prisoner away. Place him behind bars. I’ll decide what to do with him in the morn.”
“Wait!” A high-pitched voice cut through the room, and a soldier wrestling a smaller, wiry man entered from a side hallway. With another man’s help the soldier managed to subdue the captive.
Theron’s heart jolted as he recognized the man he’d seen lurking by the door to his room, the one he guessed from the gossip he’d overheard was Dwynn, the half-wit.
“I’m sorry, m’lord,” the soldier, red-faced and breathing hard, apologized to Graydynn, since he’d missed what had just happened. “After I called up to you to tell you about the spy, he bolted, and then got out a back door and halfway to the stables. We”—he gestured to the other sentry—“had to capture him again.” He cast his captive an angry glare. “Earlier I found him hiding near the well. I think he followed the other one here.” He pointed at Theron. He stopped then, his expression growing nearly comical in its confusion as he noticed Theron was neither bound nor held. “What’s going on here?”
Graydynn’s eyes narrowed on Theron. “So you brought allies with you?”
“Nay.”
“I come from Calon!” Dwynn said, nodding his head frantically.
“He seems to disagree,” Graydynn pointed out.
“He may have followed me, but I knew nothing of it.”
“I come alone. There—there is trouble in the keep!” Dwynn said, his gaze meeting Theron’s for a second before dropping to the floor again. “She needs help.”
“Who?” Theron demanded, but he knew. Morwenna’s image cut through Theron’s mind. His blood turned to ice. “What kind of trouble?” he asked, his heart thudding at the thought that she might be hurt, or worse.
“She—”
“The lady? Morwenna?”
Dwynn nodded. “She’s in danger.”
“How?”
“The brother,” Dwynn said, but still he wouldn’t meet Theron’s gaze. He bit his lip and acted as if he was giving up a great secret and was afraid he would be punished for it.
“Carrick,” Theron guessed tightly. “Carrick has returned?”
But Dwynn turned mute suddenly and wouldn’t say another word.
“Tell me!” Theron demanded, grabbing the smaller man by the shoulders. “Damn it, Dwynn!”
“The brother!”
It was useless. Frantic, Theron turned his attention to Benjamin. “I need five men and fresh horses. To ride to Calon.”
Ten soldiers stepped forward.
“Good.” He was thinking fast, already making plans, and he noticed Graydynn searching the faces of the men who hadn’t volunteered. He said to his cousin, “I’ll take care of my brother, Graydynn, worry not. But in the meantime I think your idea of the dungeon is a good one. I suggest you spend the night there and consider what you’ve done.”
“I did nothing,” Graydynn protested. “You can’t . . .” His gaze swept the room, his words dying in his throat as he counted all the men who seemed more than willing to carry out Theron’s wishes.
“No?” Theron’s smile was cold as ice. “Then,
Lord
Graydynn, you have no fear of retribution or of being punished, do you?” He slid a glance at Sir Benjamin and added, “Lock him away.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
T
he Redeemer fingered his knife.
He was ready.
Anxious.
His nerves stretched to the breaking point.
From his hiding spot behind the curtain in the balcony, he’d observed as Carrick was captured and dragged into the great hall, only to learn that the cur was really
Theron
.
The Redeemer’s insides curdled at that thought. He’d always assumed that Theron had died in the fire, and it made him feel unworthy to know that not only Carrick but now also Theron had escaped the blaze meant to wipe out the entire house of Wybren.
But now he did know the truth and that knowledge gave him power. Insight.
Worse yet, though, had been witnessing Dwynn, that idiot, as he’d been hauled into the great hall and inanely blathered things he should have kept to himself. To think that all the Redeemer’s carefully laid plans could be undone by that pathetic half-wit was irritating beyond reason. Dwynn, too, would have to pay the ultimate price.
Now Theron and his group of soldiers were on their way to Calon. Another irritation. One he would have to deal with. But first, Graydynn.
He’d managed to sneak from the balcony and down several flights to the dungeons—a horrible, dank place where only pestilence and despair could breed. The cells were, for the most part, uninhabited aside from the rodents, insects, and snakes that crept and slithered through the rusted bars of the jail. Water dripped somewhere, and the scents of mold, urine, dirt, and rotting straw mingled into an odor that burned one’s nostrils.