The Beloved Scoundrel (34 page)

“You are mocking me,” Nebrov snarled. “You will see that—”

An outcry rose from outside the tent.

Gregor tensed, the smile faded from his face.

Nebrov nodded. “You see?” he asked softly. “It has started.”

“Then I must confront it. Perhaps you should stay in the tent, Marianna. I have decided a solitary death is more meaningful.”

She was already at his side. “You invited me to join you. I won’t stay here with this mongrel.”

“Very well.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at Nebrov’s livid face. “Perhaps you’d better accompany us to protect her. She has value for you, and you wouldn’t want her to be killed by accident. You’ve already made too many blunders.” He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Smashing windows, allowing your victims to die before revealing their secrets. It would be amusing, if it was not so sad.”

Nebrov’s face flushed as he strode toward the entrance. “I shall take great pleasure in making sure it takes you a long time to die. You have great strength. I might even manage to stretch out your agony for an entire month.” Triumphantly, he stared at the edge of the camp where several soldiers blocked the view.
“You will learn the price of—” He broke off in mid-sentence and then muttered a low curse.

Marianna stiffened in shock as her gaze followed Nebrov’s. The crowd had parted to permit a single rider to pass through, a rider leading a horse behind him. She heard the sigh of relief that issued from Gregor beside her.

“Niko.” He stepped forward as the horseman came near. “I trust everything went well?”

Niko nodded. “Four escaped. Eight prisoners. We have not counted the dead.”

“Excellent. You have done—” His glance fell on the saddle of the horse Niko was leading. He stiffened. “What is this?”

For the first time Marianna realized the horse was carrying a macabre burden. A soldier in Nebrov’s livery was slung across the saddle.

Niko grinned. “A present.”

Gregor strode forward, thrust his hand into the bloodstained hair, and lifted the dead man’s head. He swore beneath his breath. “Costain.”

Niko’s grin widened. “He squealed like a pig when I stuck him.”

Marianna swallowed to ease the sudden queasiness in her stomach.

“You cheated me, Niko,” Gregor said grimly. “I did not ask for this present.”

“I did not say it was a present for you,” Niko said. “It is a gift for the ravin. She offered a pouch of gold to the man in the troop who brought her Costain dead.” He frowned. “But I do not think he will be a sweet-smelling gift by the time we rendezvous with the ravin. We had better leave him here. Will you bear witness the kill was made?”

“Oh yes,” Gregor said grimly. “I promise I will discuss this kill in great detail with the ravin.”

Nebrov was staring in disbelief at Costain’s body. “The fool,” he said harshly. “By God, they’re all inept fools.”

“I suggest you leave,” Gregor said. “I am in extreme bad temper at the moment. I might forget that you still hold the boy and give the ravin another gift.”

Nebrov looked down at the panel he was still holding. “This is not the Jedalar, is it?”

“No,” Marianna said. “It’s not the Jedalar.”

“I’m surprised you admit it.”

“Because I want you to know that you leave here with nothing of value. You will still have to negotiate with us for Alex.”

“You took a great chance.”

“There was a possibility you might bring Alex. I had to make the attempt.”

“You were willing to risk the child for Draken.” His lips curled. “He has you so besotted, you will do anything for him. I believe you actually love the bastard.”

She didn’t answer.

“Is it true?”

“Why should you want to know how I feel? It is nothing to do with this.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “It is everything to do with this. Why are you so reluctant to make the admission?”

He was searching for the motive that had driven her to take such a chance. If she did not furnish him with one he would believe, he would begin to explore other directions. He must not do that; he must
be convinced. Jordan must have as much time as possible.

She met his stare directly and said the words she had not wanted to say, the words that were still too new and barbed with hurt. “I love him.”

He studied her for a moment. “Fool. I hope your passion for him is worth the boy’s life.”

Gregor shook his head. “Kill the goose that could bring you the Jedalar? As long as the boy lives, you have a chance of forcing Marianna to do what you wish.”

“There are other ways to force compliance.” He sneered. “If my man hadn’t been careless, her mother would have talked.”

“She would never have told you anything,” Marianna said. “Nor would I. Kill Alex, and you will never have the Jedalar.”

Uncertainty flickered briefly in his face. “We will see. I will consider your words. I may decide to bargain again with you.” He smiled unpleasantly as he mounted his horse. “Or I may send you the boy’s head. You will have to wait and see. It’s exceptionally easy to crush a young child.” He dropped the climbing rose panel on the ground in front of her. It did not shatter, but a large crack appeared at the upper-left corner. He nudged his horse forward until the animal’s front hooves crushed the fragile glass. “Like that. It is something for you to remember while I make my decision.”

He whirled his horse and galloped out of the camp.

“Don’t look like that,” Gregor said gently. “He would not kill the boy. He only wanted to make you suffer.”

She looked down at the broken glass at her feet. The scarlet roses were like glittering drops of blood on the earth. “He has made me suffer.” She stared at Costain’s body sprawled across the horse a few yards away. She wished it were Nebrov’s body. Ever since that terrible night she had been afraid of Nebrov. His gigantic shadow had darkened every moment. Now fear was being ousted by anger. He had killed her mother. He might still kill Jordan and Alex. Someone must put an end to this evil.

“We must break camp at once,” Gregor said. “We want to be out of Montavia and halfway to the Bordlin steppes by the time Nebrov reaches Pekbar. He will be in a rage when he finds Alex gone and is bound to ride after us with every man in his command.”

“If Alex is gone,” she said dully. If Jordan was not dead.

The thought sent another bolt of terror through her. She had spent a sleepless night trying to bring fear under control, but it was here again, staring her in the face. Jordan could be dead, and she wouldn’t even know it. He could have slipped into that castle and been captured—

She was suddenly impatient with herself. She was giving Nebrov every particle of the misery and heartache he had wished to incite. Jordan was more clever than any man she had ever met. He alone could free Alex despite the odds. She refused to let Nebrov win any more victories from her. She nodded brusquely. “You’re right, Gregor. We’ll start at once for Kazan.”

“Jordan will still be alive when we reach there, Marianna. You must have faith.”

She glanced at him and saw both understanding
and pity. He had been there when she had told Nebrov she loved Jordan. She wanted to tell him she had lied, that she had only been trying to delay Nebrov. It was impossible. She had been able to convince Nebrov because her words had rung with truth. Gregor, who knew her well, would not believe a denial.

“You will not tell him?” she asked haltingly.

He shook his head. “We have already robbed you of too much.” He paused. “I am sorry, Marianna.”

He was sorry because he knew that there could be no happiness or permanency in such a love. He was sorry because Jordan was the Duke of Cambaron and she was a craftsman. He was sorry because he knew Jordan’s passion would eventually fade, and she would be left with ashes. She smiled bitterly. “Don’t be sorry. Nebrov is right. I’m a fool. You should never be sorry for fools. It only encourages them never to seek wisdom.”

She turned and went into her tent.

I
don’t like it,” the ravin said. “You did not tell me you were going to practice this madness, or I would have had you confined in Rengar.” She glanced down the hill at the castle. “I will go with you.”

“You will stay here,” Jordan said emphatically. “I have no desire to lose my life because you believe any plan you didn’t make yourself is no plan at all.”

“One man alone? Of course that’s no plan at all.” She turned to Janus. “How strong are Nebrov’s forces here? How long will it take us if we lay siege?”

Janus shrugged. “Two weeks.”

“Which is two weeks too long,” Jordan said. “And
we don’t know if Nebrov gave orders for the boy’s execution in case of an attack.” He glanced at Janus. “Alex is being kept in the tower nearest the south wall?”

Janus nodded. “The door will be unlocked and unguarded at midnight for a period of fifteen minutes, no more.”

“What if the guards took your money and plan on taking Jordan’s head as well?” the ravin demanded. “Bribery is always unreliable.”

“True,” Janus said. “And they fear Nebrov.”

“You see?” the ravin demanded of Jordan.

“Then you’ll have the opportunity to swoop down and rescue me.” Jordan turned and started down the steep hill. “So we’ll all be happy.”

“I won’t be—”

He was not listening to her, Ana realized. Her hands clenched into fists as she watched him move like a shadow. Why would he not listen to her? She was tempted to call her captain of the guard and tell him to stop the fool before he killed himself.

If she did, he would never forgive her.

If she didn’t, he might be dead before morning.

Gregor would tell her to leave him alone. He had trained Jordan well, and if anyone could pluck the boy from that tower, it would be her son. Gregor would tell her that she must regard Jordan as she would any of her own soldiers.

But he wasn’t one of her soldiers; he was her son.

She looked up at the night sky. Clouds were covering the moon, but that advantage might not last. Another thing over which she had no control.

Sweet Jesus, she hated being helpless.

•   •   •

T
he iron door creaked as Jordan carefully opened it. In the silence it sounded like a crack of thunder to him. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The guards on the rampart gave no indication they had heard; they were still talking idly.

He stepped into the cell.

An overpowering odor of filth assaulted him.

Where the devil was Alex? He dared not call out. He took another step forward, peering into the darkness.

The corner. A small figure huddled in the far corner.

He moved across the cell, his boots sinking into straw and fecal matter. He felt a surge of anger. For God’s sake, he would not have kept a cockroach in this place, much less a child.

Now he was close enough to see the glitter of Alex’s eyes. Poor lad, he must be terrified. He wanted to call out to reassure him, but it was too dangerous. Just another few steps, and he could risk a whisper.

Pain tore through his kneecap.

He grunted and tottered on one leg.

Alex viciously struck at the other knee with vicious accuracy.

Jordan fell to the floor and reached out blindly as he saw Alex bolt past him toward the door. His hand closed on the boy’s ankle, and he jerked him off balance and down to the floor.

Alex struggled wildly, wriggling in his grasp.

“Alex!” Jordan hissed. “Stop! It’s Jordan.”

Alex froze. “Jordan?”

“Or what’s left of him. What did you hit me with?”

“I took the leg off the stool. I thought you were one of them.”

Jordan released Alex’s ankle. How much time had elapsed during the struggle? “We have to get out of here. The guards will be back soon.”

Alex was already moving toward the door.

“Wait.” He stood up and limped ahead of him. “Stay behind me.”

“How are we getting away from here?”

“We’re going over the south wall.”

They had reached the courtyard and from their vantage point the forty-foot wall appeared an insurmountable barrier. Jordan expected an argument, but without a word Alex followed him until they reached the rope that Jordan had used to scale the wall.

“I’m climbing to the top,” he whispered. “When I get there, I want you to tie the end of the rope around your waist very securely. When you’re finished, tug on the rope and I’ll pull you up. Can you do that?”

Alex nodded.

Jordan began climbing, his feet bracing against the wall. How long did he have? The fifteen minutes must be almost up. He pulled himself up on the ledge and glanced down.

Alex was already knotting the rope about his waist. A sharp tug on the rope immediately followed.

Jordan began to pull Alex up. The boy was a dead weight, and by the time Alex was on the ledge, Jordan was breathing so heavily, he was sure the guards on the rampart would hear.

“Now comes the hard part,” he whispered as he untied the rope from Alex’s waist. “We have to move
very fast. I’m going down ahead of you, but when I reach the quarter-way point, you’ve got to follow me. Brace your feet on the wall and hold tight to the rope.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “But I don’t know—” He drew a deep breath. “You’ll be right below me?”

Jordan grinned. “So close that you’ll crush me if you let go of that rope.” He started down the other side of the wall.

Four feet.

Six feet.

Twelve feet.

He stopped and waved at Alex.

Alex hesitated, gazing down at the ground.

Who could blame him, dammit? The lad was only seven years old. Jordan had decided to climb back up to Alex when the boy started down the rope.

Jordan breathed a sigh of relief. He waited until Alex had almost reached him before beginning to move downward again.

Twenty-five feet.

Thirty feet.

A shout from the direction of the ramparts!

“Hurry!” he called to Alex, no need for whispering now that they had been seen. He reached the ground. “Jump! I’ll catch you!”

Alex released the rope and fell to his arms.

“Jordan, they’re going to shoot!” Alex cried out, his gaze on the ramparts.