Sharon Lanergan (2 page)

His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “Poor Constance. Deluded little fool.” He shook his head. The pressure of his thumb on her mouth increased. “Imagine missing the Fitzroys. Have I not told you they are naught but evil?”

Constance nodded.

“I will make sure you no longer think about those bastards,” Loutrant vowed. “Perhaps if I dressed up as a minstrel again for you, my dear. You do seem to have a penchant for that type of man. No matter. You will only think of me. Perform only for me. Do you understand?”

Constance’s tongue clung to the roof of her mouth.

Loutrant grabbed a hunk of her hair and yanked. “Do you understand?”

“Aye.”

He pulled again. “Aye what?”

“Aye, Finius.”

Releasing her hair, he tilted her head to expose the column of her throat. He lowered his head and nipped her just under her ear. She knew better than to cry out.

“You will learn your place, little Constance. I vow you will.” Loutrant straightened up and grabbed her chin once more. “You do need to clean up, though. I do not care for the taste of blood. I will order a bath for you.”

Constance could hardly believe it. But his next words chilled her.

“And then I will bathe you.”

****

Fire.

Surrounding him, burning him. He fought the smoke blinding him, desperate to find the way out.

His fingers brushed the cold stones in front of him, heard the sharp, barking laugh. Turning toward it, the flames and smoke stung his eyes.

“You’ll never get out,” the disembodied voice jeered.

His legs gave out from under him and he hit the rock floor hard. Tasting blood, his tongue lined his bottom lip. His tooth had bitten through it.

The flames licked the soles of his feet. The pain seared through him, bringing an involuntary cry from his lips.

“Brian.”

“Ah,” he screamed, watching the rags he wore burst into flames.

“Brian,” someone said more insistently.

He held out his hand and watched in horror as it blackened.

Someone grabbed him from behind and fiercely shook him. He rolled away from them, desperately trying to put out the flames engulfing him.

He was grabbed again and shaken harder. A hand slapped his cheek.

Brian Fitzroy woke. He was tangled in the furs in his bed. Above him loomed a large bald man with a neatly trimmed beard. His brother, Telford.

“Brian, wake up,” Telford urged.

The glare from the sunlight streaming in through the window hurt his eyes. Brian shielded them. “Close the damn window.”

Telford moved from the bed and pulled the fur back over the window, sending the room once more into blessed darkness.

Brian wasn’t used to daylight yet. Wondered if he ever would be.

Telford sat down on the edge of the bed. “You were having a terrible dream.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Brian muttered.

“You screamed.”

Brian glared. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

Telford shook his head. “I am concerned about you.”

“Don’t be.” Brian struggled to sit up, his dark gaze resting on the nearby wall sconce. Even this flame nearly blinded him. He’d grown to resent the brightness.

“You haven’t been sleeping well since you’ve returned to Fitzroy.” Telford rose and held the furs aside for Brian to get out of the bed.

Brian padded naked to the wardrobe holding his clothes. Old clothes. He still could not believe his brothers had saved his clothes from thirteen years ago. They’d kept his room like a shrine.

Shaking his head, Brian opened the wardrobe and stared at its contents. It mattered little what he put on for he would spend most of the day as he had yesterday. In dark solitude. Brian fingered a brown pair of breeches.

“What occurred in this dream?” Telford asked.

Brian ignored him, pulling the breeches out and flinging them toward the bed. He yanked out a white undershirt and a brown jerkin.

“Mayhap it will help to speak of them,” Telford persisted, crossing his muscular arms across his chest.

Brian slammed the wardrobe closed and returned to the bed. He picked up the breeches and pulled them on with quick jerks. They hung loosely about him. He grabbed hold of the waistband and studied the excess material with self- loathing.

“I am naught but skin and bones. I must tie my waist with a rope like some maiden.”

“Brian…”

“Talking does not help, Telford.” He tied a rope around his waist, then pulled on the rest of his clothing.

Telford reached down and picked up his brother’s boots. He handed them to Brian.

Brian frowned at one of the boots. “I thought seeing Finius Loutrant fall to his death would help, yet it did not.”

Loutrant, the Fitzroy’s enemy for many years, had held Brian prisoner for the past thirteen years because of Brian’s affair with his wife, Katherine.

Recently Loutrant had been charged with crimes against the crown, but Loutrant, rather than face the punishment of a life in the Tower, fought the Fitzroys and ended up falling from a window of his own castle to the treacherous sea below. And Brian was rescued.

“It takes time, Brian,” Telford said.

Brian finished dressing and stood. Nearby stood a looking glass, one he had found himself staring into a lot lately and seeing only a stranger with drawn, gaunt cheeks and dark circles under nearly black eyes. He gazed at his image now and wondered at the face of a man who was thirteen years older yet no wiser at all.

“Brian?”

He tore his attention away from the mirror and returned to looking at his brother. A brother who had changed much over the years. For the first time since Telford awakened him, a smile tugged at Brian’s lips.

“Am I mistaken, Telford, or did you have more hair on your head than on your face before?”

Telford chuckled. “Aye, I did indeed, there is no mistake.”

Brian nodded. “Then there is much I missed.”

“Come.” Telford grew serious once more. He rested his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Ride with me. There is much to see on your lands.”

Bile rose in Brian’s throat. “I do not think I can.”

“There is naught to fear, Brian,” Telford promised, squeezing his shoulder.

“I know you speak the truth.” Brian sighed. “As you see it.” His lips lifted. “You aren’t going to give me some absurd lecture about facing my fears is the way to defeat them, are you?”

Telford nodded. “I was about to.”

“Forget it.”

“Only if you agree to the ride,” Telford countered.

Brian exhaled. “Very well.”

He was aware the servants and soldiers in the main hall stared when he stepped down from the stairs.

He didn’t blame them. He, too, would be curious about a man who’d been in a dungeon for many years of his life. A man Loutrant had vowed was dead.

For a while, when Brian had first been imprisoned, he expected his brothers. To wage war against Loutrant. To come for him. These thoughts kept him sane those first few weeks when lunacy threatened to consume his mind as it already had his soul.

Loutrant had known how to reach in and seize his very heart. Killing Katherine while Brian watched, unable to save the only woman he loved. Would ever love.

Yet still he clung to hope.

Loutrant crushed all hope the day he’d taken Brian’s ring and informed his prisoner the ring would be found on Brian’s burnt body. His family would never come for him, for they would believe him dead.

Brian did not wander the rooms of his own castle since returning from Loutrant’s Castle. He still remained a stranger and a mystery to those who worked for him.

He squinted at the glare of the flames all around him. He’d become some creature of the night.

“My lord.”

Brian jumped and staggered back into his brother.

Facing him was a small man, older than he himself was, bowing before him.

“Forgive me, my lord, I did not mean to frighten you,” the man said.

“I was not frightened,” Brian said. “Merely startled.”

“Uh.” The man looked uncertainly at Telford.

“Brian, this is your steward. His name is Wilton.”

Fool. Afraid of some little steward. What’s the matter with you?

“Aye, I do recall meeting you before.”

Wilton brightened. “Indeed, my lord. When you first came home.” He nodded and licked his lips. “I wondered when we might talk about your expectations.”

“Expectations?”

“For the running of the castle, my lord.”

Brian blinked. “Ah, well, I leave that up to you.”

“But my lord…”

“We can discuss this later, Wilton,” Telford interjected. “Pray excuse us.” He firmly steered his brother toward the doors of the castle.

“I should have stayed in bed,” Brian said.

“Brian, it will take time.” Telford shook his head, stopping by the large double doors out to the courtyard.

“Really? I was supposedly raised for his, Telford, and I don’t know anything about it.”

“You paid no heed before,” Telford reminded him. “But the situation is changed. You are different, Brian.”

“Not for the better, I fear.” Brian shook his head and placed his hand on one of the doors. “Time to get this over with.”

He pushed the door open and stepped out into the bright sunlight. It wasn’t the first time since his brothers rescued him. For the first few days after King Edward and his family came to Loutrant’s castle, Brian had struggled to stay in the light.

Until Loutrant’s death. Then it seemed pointless to embrace life as though it were something he cared about. Brian still did not care about life. These steps he took now were for his brother, and nothing more.

The sunlight scorched his eyes when he tilted his head to look up at the blaring sun. He winced in pain.

“Careful,” Telford warned. “Shield your eyes, Brian. It has been days since you have been out.”

Brian did as he was told and lifted his right hand to block the rays.

“Take a moment. You will need to adjust to the brightness. Living like a mole as you have.”

They stood just outside the castle for a time. He did not move. He would have to eventually, he supposed.

“The king sent a new horse for you,” his brother told him, breaking the silence.

“Why?” Brian asked, truly perplexed.

“As a gift.” Telford smiled. “A small token to try to make up for all your troubles, I suppose.”

Brian shook his head. “Leave it to a king to suppose a horse can make up for a life.”

“Brian, would you rather talk about it? You haven’t truly told anyone exactly what happened. We can ride another day.”

Brian lowered his hand and glanced at Telford’s troubled face.

“Nay, ‘tis a boring tale. Let us view this gift from the king.”

Chapter Two

The stables were well past the courtyard and around the corner. Brian noticed many soldiers milled about and most of them stared. He supposed he would be expected to meet with them eventually as their lord, but he had no liking for the task.

“Sorry, Brian,” Telford said as they walked. “They are all very curious about you.”

“Aye, ‘tis only natural,” Brian acknowledged.

They’d reached the stables and Brian was a little surprised at their familiarity. True, he’d grown up with it, but during his imprisonment he couldn’t even conjure up his brothers’ faces in his mind after a while.

Of course he hadn’t been able to get Katherine’s face out of his thoughts, ever. Even when he prayed her terrified face would no longer be etched upon his conscience.

Telford stood aside to let Brian into the stables first. At least it was blessedly darker inside.

“The king’s gift is at the back,” Telford said.

In the last stall at the back of the stables stood an enormous black stallion. A truly beautiful creature, the animal’s hair shone. Brian stroked his glossy mane.

He glanced back at the horse’s muscular hindquarters. “The king knows horseflesh.”

Telford smiled. “You’ll have to think of a name.”

Brian nodded. The animal was beautiful, but it had been a number of years since he’d ridden a horse at all, let alone such a beast.

“Brian?”

“Ah,” Brian said slowly, “I have a better idea. Let’s walk around the grounds.”

Brian didn’t wait for Telford’s response. He brushed past him and out the doors of the stable into the daylight once more. Taking a deep breath, he squashed the sense of panic.

“Brian, are you all right?” Telford came up quickly behind him, worry evident in his voice.

“Aye.” He would be even better if he were back in his room sitting in the darkness. He closed his eyes. “I can do this.”

“What?”

Brian shook his head, opening his eyes. “‘Tis naught.”

Telford watched intently for so long, Brian was sure his brother was about to pester him again to talk about his ordeal, and worse yet how he felt about it. But finally, blessedly, Telford broke his gaze and glanced first up at the clear blue sky, then around the grounds surrounding the stables.

“The village is just beyond there, if you recall.”

Brian did. But he wasn’t sure he could deal with a whole assortment of villagers gawking and pawing. Not yet.

“Not the village.”

Telford nodded and smiled. “Then shall we return to the courtyard? You might want to speak with some of the warriors there.”

Brian followed after his brother feeling a perfect fool. He couldn’t even get on a horse or go into the village. He’d become a coward. Filled with self-loathing, he stared at the ground while he walked.

For this reason, he didn’t see her until she was directly in front of him. The first he saw of her were the toes of her dark blue slippers poking out from beneath her gown.

Brian looked up surprised and met her startling green eyes. Eyes the color of the forests surrounding Fitzroy Castle. And they were framed by long, black lashes.

“Good day to you, my lord,” she greeted him with a smile rivaling the sun above. Her ebony hair, long and luxuriously glossy, fell down her back in ringlets. No headdress adorned her head.

Brian stepped back, distancing himself. Her smile dimmed a little.

“Constance, ‘tis good to see you,” Telford welcomed her.

Brian remembered her from his imprisonment. Loutrant abducted her and forced her to feed him his meals. He’d taught her how to escape from her guards.

“Good day to you also, Telford,” Constance replied. Then she returned her gaze to Brian. “I am very glad to see you up and around, my lord.”

“If you will excuse me.” Brian stepped around his brother and away from Constance. “I’m returning to the castle now.”

“But…Brian,” Constance spoke, but he didn’t know what else she intended to say for he was no longer within earshot.

“Brian, wait,” his brother shouted after him. His running footsteps echoed in Brian’s ears. The panic returned. He had to get away, get inside. His body shook.

Brian broke into a run, heading straight for the double doors of the castle. He knew Telford pursued him, but he did not turn back. He couldn’t breathe.

****

Constance stared at the retreating back of Brian Fitzroy and pretended it didn’t matter.

So he wants naught to do with you. No doubt you remind him of the torment you both endured.

The wind whipped a lock of her hair into her eyes. It stung, too, for surely that explained the tears that burned there.

Telford followed Brian into the castle but Constance remained where she stood. She turned from it and hugged herself. It was hard to shake the feeling she no longer belonged at Fitzroy.

Growing up as the daughter of Hugh Fitzroy’s dearest friend and commander of the army, James Portnoy, Constance’s whole life had been spent there. The Fitzroys were her family. Especially after her father’s death.

But that was before a minstrel calling himself only Fin had come into her life. With the face of an angel, Fin sang her beautiful songs of love.

For the first time in her young life, Constance had fallen in love. She didn’t know she’d given her love to a crazed murderer.

****

“Brian?”

Brian glanced up from his cup of spiced wine. He set it on the small table beside him.

“Come in, Stephen,” he called to his youngest brother.

The door to his chamber opened slowly, pushed cautiously by Stephen. No doubt his brother feared the dragon’s lair.

“It’s dark in here,” Stephen complained.

“I like it. Light the sconce if you prefer.”

Brian waited while Stephen reached over to the nearby wall and lit the sconce. The room instantly became illuminated. He managed not to wince.

Stephen stood awkwardly by the door, his hands twined together behind his back.

Brian smirked. “What’s the matter, Stephen? Is it your turn to watch the crazed brother?”

“Nay, nay, of course not.” Stephen ran his hand nervously through his light brown hair. “I’ve just come to see you.”

“Sit.” Brian gestured to a small wooden bench on the other side of the table.

Stephen smiled and took the seat. He eyed the wine next to Brian.

“Want some?”

Stephen nodded.

Brian found another cup and filled it with the spiced liquid.

“I pray you pardon me, Brian, but you do not look well.”

He did not feel well but he had no intention of revealing such to Stephen. Since earlier in the day when he’d gone out with Telford and ran into Constance, Brian had been drinking. It dulled his senses but also his thoughts and feelings. Something he needed.

“I am fine.” Brian downed the rest of his wine.

He turned his attention away from the wine bottle and instead studied the brother he barely remembered. Stephen had been very young when Brian’s imprisonment began. Barely older than Brian’s own son, Trevor. His boy had been seven and Stephen just ten. Their mother died when Stephen was just a newborn babe.

Before his rescue, Brian hardly paid attention to his young brother. And now the same boy was a young man.

“What are you here for, Stephen?” Brian decided to get straight to the point.

“We’ve never really talked before.”

Brian nodded. “Aye. You were still a snotty nosed brat when I was killed.”

“Only you weren’t.” Stephen glanced mournfully at his brother. “You know Father and Nick would never have rested if they’d known.”

At the mention of his father, Brian needed another drink. He gazed at the bottle. When Loutrant imprisoned him his father, Hugh, had been alive. He poured more wine into his cup.

“I know.”

“There was a body.”

Brian took a large gulp of his drink. “I know. Loutrant told me.”

“Bastard,” Stephen cursed.

“It’s over, Stephen.”

Stephen raised an incredulous brow. “Over? How can you say it is over? It’s not for you, Brian. Anybody can see.”

Brian glared at his brother. “Just let it go.”

“Nay, I won’t. You sit in here in the dark all day long. You won’t even come down for the meal. You run from Constance. God, Brian, you’re afraid of your own shadow.”

“Stephen,” Brian warned.

His brother ignored him. “I know you have dreams. You wake up screaming. Why don’t you tell me about them?”

“Why don’t you go to Hell?”

Stephen shook his head. “I don’t know you. You’re not like any Fitzroy I know. You’re not like the brother I admired so much when I was a boy.”

“No, I am not.” Brian’s jaw tightened.

“God, you were so impressive then. You exuded strength and confidence. Tell me what happened to you for all those years. I want to listen,” Stephen said.

It almost sounded easy. Somehow talking to his youngest brother would be different than Telford or Lucien, and he wouldn’t even think of talking to Nick about it. From what he had learned since his rescue, Nick had become more perfect than he was thirteen years ago. Stephen was less threatening.

Aye, if he were to talk to any of his brothers about the past, about the future, it would be Stephen. But he did not intend to talk to any of them about his ordeal. Not ever.

He was already so weakened in the eyes of his family, those around him. Why let them know the true depths of his failure?

“Go away, Stephen,” he whispered.

He heard his brother’s disappointed sigh. The table shook when Stephen used it to brace himself while he stood.

“Then you are truly lost to us,” Stephen said from beside the door. “We thought we were rescuing you, but we didn’t. You’re not here now anymore than these last thirteen years.”

Brian waited until the door closed behind his brother and Stephen’s footsteps receded down the hall. He picked up his brother’s largely untouched cup of wine and downed the contents of it as well as his own.