His jaw clenched so hard it ached. If he could believe what Quinn was suggesting, then the man who was in his own employ had gone to Wybren and set upon seducing the woman he was supposed to watch over.
Ryden’s muscles tightened. A bad taste rose up his mouth. He realized that Quinn, on the other side of the fire, was staring at him, trying to read his reaction.
When Quinn saw he had Ryden’s attention again, he said around a mouthful of rabbit, “So you see, m’lord, the rumors about Carrick being alive are true.”
“Who told you this?” Ryden asked.
“One of the Carrick’s thugs himself, a man who goes by the name of Hack. Odd-looking fellow. Got a brand on his cheek and eyes that hardly blink.” Quinn chewed and cleaned his teeth with his tongue. “Anyway, Hack, he was well into his cups one night at the alehouse, and he bragged to me about being part of Carrick’s gang.”
“Why to you?”
“Cuz I was buying the ale,” Quinn said smugly. “I learned a lot that night.”
Ryden wanted to shake the information from him but contented himself with tossing a wet, mossy branch of oak onto the fire. The flames hissed, smoke churning upward.
Afraid the lord had lost interest in his tale, Quinn added, “So this Hack and two other men, they beat the brother senseless, nearly killing the man, and Carrick found out and threatened them all with their lives. Turned out he didn’t want him killed, just warned not to raise trouble about the fire at Wybren. Carrick, he got all upset. Furious at the men. Said they weren’t supposed to kill him, just warn him. Anyway, they left him for dead.”
“And Morwenna’s hunters found him.” Ryden rocked back on his heels and felt a little better knowing that the man Morwenna had tended to these last weeks hadn’t been her old lover after all. Mayhap all his worries about her changing her mind about their impending marriage were for naught.
He considered what would happen if he chose the right course of action.
Wouldn’t he appear the hero, her champion, if he brought Carrick and his band to justice? He smiled at the thought and motioned for one of the men to bring a second jug as he drained the first. Not only would he rid the barony of a wicked band of thieves and cutthroats, but he’d also bring Carrick of Wybren to justice for the murder of his family
and
free Carrick’s hostages!
Satisfaction filled him as he considered his future as the Baron of Calon as well as Heath, Wynndym, and Bentwood—the last two keeps compliments of his prior wives. Ah, yes, his power would stretch far and wide. . . . He sipped from his cup and congratulated himself on his foresight. Before he’d left Heath, he’d sent three spies ahead of him to search for the band of robbers who were reputed to inhabit the forests near Calon. Ryden had decided to flush them out before he and his party were attacked. His plan, it seemed, had worked perfectly.
“Have another swallow of ale,” he said to the spy. “Once it’s dark, you’ll take me to Carrick’s camp, where we’ll surprise the bastard and free his prisoners.” His smile deepened at the thought of turning the tables on the traitor once and for all.
Carrick’s capture at Ryden’s hand would be sweet, sweet justice.
Finally Alena would be avenged.
And Morwenna would become his bride.
She clutched the knife to her chest.
Alone in the dark, she waited.
For him.
The murderer who took Isa’s life.
He would be back, Bryanna thought, as she sat on a pile of clothes that he’d left. Disguises. To hide his identity and to allow him to walk through the keep unnoticed.
She’d spent hours exploring these passageways, and her heart had pounded in fear that she would unexpectedly come across the monster, that he would slice her as he had the others. But she’d kept on her mission, making it a quest to explore as many of the dark corridors and chambers as she could, carrying one torchlight after another as they burned down. There had been several torchlights in place along these narrow passageways, waiting to be lit. She’d risked collecting others by stepping into the hallway near her chamber, or by the kitchens, wherever she found a door and listening until she heard no sound from the other side. Twice, she’d nearly been spotted by guards searching the keep, but each time she’d managed to slip into the hidden corridors once again without being seen.
She’d learned a lot about this unknown labyrinth.
Mazelike, the corridors sprouted off each other, some ending in chambers with no other exit, others leading outside. In the hours she’d been in the semidark, she’d found wider areas where the monster could watch through the slits in the wall, stare down into private chambers, observe without being seen.
Goose bumps crawled up her arms at the thought of him lurking in the dark, waiting, watching, perhaps smiling, or licking his lips or touching himself.
But it would end soon.
He would return; she was certain of it.
And when he did, she would be ready.
She reached to her neck, where hung the leather strap with its smooth stone. She did not feel a second’s guilt about sneaking back to the physician’s hut and taking Isa’s necklace from her. Nor did she feel bad about creeping into Isa’s chamber and taking all her treasures: herbs, candles, string, stones, dice, a book of runes, and this, her tiny dagger with its wicked, curved blade. Bryanna had stuffed the lot of it into an apron that had been hanging upon Isa’s wall, and then she’d carried everything back here, to this chamber, where she was certain he would return.
“Worry not, Isa,” she whispered. “I will end his miserable life.”
Be careful, child. He is like the wind, unseen but ever-present. Do not let down your guard.
Ever.
“So there is supposed to be a second set of hallways, and you think Theron used them in his escape,” Carrick said as they once again searched through the solar and chambers that were her quarters.
“Aye. I know not how else he could have gotten past the guard.”
Carrick slid her a glance that said he knew more, but he didn’t voice what was on his mind. “Let’s go through the room he was in again, inch by inch.”
“I’ve been through it three, nay, four times!”
“But it’s the only place from which we know for certain someone disappeared. You cannot even be sure that Bryanna was in her room when she went missing.”
Bryanna!
Dear Lord, where was she? Why had she not returned?
Upon agreeing to a pact with Carrick, Morwenna had taken Sir Lylle into her confidence. The knight had been aghast at her alliance, but she had insisted that he accept her decision. Only Sir Cowan, Sir James, and the temporary captain of the guard knew that Carrick was in the keep, and while he and Morwenna had searched the upper story, other soldiers had been sent to the lower rooms of the keep as well as the buildings, shops, and huts inside the inner and outer baileys. Another small group had been sent into town, and the castle itself seemed empty, only a few servants going about their tasks.
Once again they entered Tadd’s chamber and for a moment, Morwenna wished her brother were visiting. Tadd was a pain in the backside, aye, always looking to lift a skirt or drink a pint, but he was true of heart and . . . Oh, fie and fiddlesticks, what was she thinking? Tadd would only get in the way. He would point out time and time again her failings, so it was best that her brother not visit anytime soon. Not until she had restored some order and found their sister.
Spurred by her thoughts of saving Bryanna, Morwenna walked to the center of the room and stared at the four walls.
Carrick was measuring the floor by his strides. “We know that if there is a passageway, it does not run along the main hall, for there is not enough room. The walls into which the doorways are set are not wide enough.”
“Aye.”
“And the wall to the outside of the keep is unlikely as well—see the width of the windowsill—which leaves the wall between this chamber and the next, to the left of the fireplace, elsewise whoever was building it would run into the corridor.” Morwenna nodded and Carrick continued. “The only place for a secret door in this room is there, near the grate, running toward that wall, or on that long wall without window or door or fireplace.”
“Or the floor,” she said, and he nodded, smiling a bit.
“Or the ceiling, but there seems to be no way to reach the ceiling, no ladder nor stones that are pushed out a bit to allow for climbing.”
She eyed the floor as he studied the ceiling. “Have you noticed that these chambers, up here on this level, are different in that they are not covered in whitewash?” Carrick asked. “The stones are allowed to be their natural color; the mortar, too, is gray.”
She nodded. “I thought it odd when I first arrived but decided it was the style of the lord who constructed the keep.”
“Perhaps it was done this way to hide the secret doorways, to make certain that no one would come in and fix the wattle and daub or limewash the walls.” His eyes narrowed as he examined the stone and mortar that reached to the ceiling.
Morwenna kicked the rushes out of the way, studying the mortar, even scooting the bed to one side. “Nothing,” she muttered. Shadows had deepened as their fruitless quest had continued. Now Carrick lit the fire with an ember from the hall rushlights as she did the same with all the candles in the room.
“ ’Tis impossible,” she muttered.
“Only if you think it so. If you believe that there is a doorway to this room, then we shall find it.”
She silently prayed he was right but was about to give up when she saw the scratches, long marks upon the floor near one corner. Her interest quickened. “What’s this?”
Carrick was beside her in an instant. He bent to one knee, touched the stones. Feeling along the crack between the wall and floor, he grinned. “You found it, Morwenna!” he said. “There’s an opening here.” He ran his fingers over the crack. “Now we have to find a lever, or a latch, or a keyhole, or something . . .”
And then she saw it . . . an unlikely niche in a rock. She reached inside, felt a piece of metal, and held her breath. “I think I found it,” she whispered and pushed hard against the latch.
Slowly the doorway appeared.
Before she could step through, a soldier’s voice boomed down the hallway. “Lady Morwenna!” he cried.
“Bother!” she muttered. Hurriedly she handed Carrick one of the rushlights. “Go!”
“You don’t want them—” He hitched his chin toward the door where the sound of boots pounded.
“Not yet. Now go. Hurry!”
Carrick ducked through the newly found portal and Morwenna ran to the door.
Sir Lylle reached her just as she shut the door to Tadd’s bedroom behind her. “What is it?”
“Lord Ryden has arrived,” he said, a bit breathless as he approached. “And he’s not alone. He and his soldiers have captured Carrick of Wybren’s band of criminals.” His smile was wide. “Now you will no longer have to deal with him, m’lady,” he said proudly.
Morwenna’s heart dropped. Carrick was already deep in the hidden passageways of the keep. “Good. You stand guard here and I’ll go greet the baron. Don’t let anyone in or out. Including yourself.”
He seemed puzzled, but she said, “ ’Tis a test, Sir Lylle,” and she didn’t explain, knowing that he thought it was probably a test of his loyalty, to see if he truly was worthy of the position he had filled while Sir Alexander was gone. “Is anyone else with them?”
“Just the cutthroats and the sheriff and the captain of the guard,” he said, and she wondered at the whereabouts of the others. Theron? Dear God, was he still in the dark passageways she had yet to explore? And Bryanna? Had she followed after him? Where the devil was Nygyll? And Dwynn? And Father Daniel?
The longer they were missing, the more worrisome it was. “Please take me to Lord Ryden and send a messenger to the sheriff’s wife that he has returned. Bring her to the great hall. Then return here, to your post.”
“But Carrick could escape.”
“Place sentries at each end of the hallway, at the top of each staircase,” she ordered. She was already marching rapidly toward the main stairs, bracing herself for the confrontation with the man she had vowed to marry.
“Death and dog’s breath,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulders.
She had nearly reached the bottom step, had already heard the sound of male voices coming from the great hall and recognized Lord Ryden’s laugh, when another horn sounded outside and Sir Hywell threw open the door.
Now what? Morwenna thought in frustration.
A blast of winter air blew inside, causing the rushlights to flame brighter. “A party has arrived from Wybren,” he announced.
Graydynn. No!
Morwenna ground her teeth. Stiffening her shoulders, she strode into the hall just as Theron, wearing a tattered and muddy uniform, entered from the other side. Her heart leapt and her breath seemed stolen from her lungs. She stared into his blue, blue eyes, shocked by her overwhelming sense of joy.
“Morwenna,” he said as other men joined him. “I’m not—”
“I know!” Without a second thought she threw herself into his arms. “Thank God you’re alive . . . Theron.”
She held fast to him, felt the comfort of his arms surround her, and only when she heard a cough did she realize that Sir Ryden of Heath, the man she’d agreed to marry, was standing only a few feet way, his gaze blistering, his face red with suppressed fury. His nostrils quivered and he managed to somehow look down his nose at them both, as if the spectacle Morwenna had created disgusted him.
“Ryden,” Theron said as Morwenna stepped out of his arms.
“Theron.” Ryden stared at the younger man with eyes that could bore through granite. “Mayhap you can tell me how you escaped the tragedy of Wybren,” he said, moving slowly forward, his words as measured as his steps, “while everyone else, including your wife, my sister, perished?”