Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

“Aye, Garrick, and for Logan,” she said, remembering her vision and shuddering. She suddenly felt silly for letting the appearance of Wolf give her such joy, for surely Cadell was in trouble — serious trouble.

“Tell me of Abergwynn,” she said, searching Garrick’s face as she described for the tenth time the prison in which she’d envisioned Garrick’s son.

“All the dungeons were searched.”

“But could he have not been hidden somewhere else, then been taken to the dungeon later?”

“Someone would have seen or heard—”

“But you have no prisoners at Abergwynn and the walls are thick. If a traitor had gagged the child and hidden him away in the dark of the night, no one would have suspected.”

Garrick frowned. “I would like nothing better than to believe my son is in my fortress. When we return. I’ll take you to the dungeons and you can see for yourself.”

“Wh

en we return, I’m to marry Strahan,” she pointed out.

Garrick gave her a thin smile. “Only if he’s not the traitor you’ve named him.”

“Then I have naught to worry about,” she responded, but Garrick’s grin faded. His gaze touched hers, and for an instant she saw his silent agony. For his son? Or for his honor — the honor he’d destroyed when he’d lain with her? Morgana forced a brave smile. She loved Garrick, and though her pride had seemed to flee, she cared not. She was glad she’d lain with him. If their time was to be brief, she would live on her memories. As for sleeping with Strahan, well, that would never come to pass. Garrick would soon discover his cousin to be a traitor.

Muttering under his breath, Garrick helped her onto Luck, mounted his war-horse, and gave the signal to move ahead. She watched him ride proudly, his shoulders square, no helmet upon his head. Morgana cast a glance at the sky and shivered. If the fates were with them, they would reach Abergwynn on the morrow.

Clare’s mouth turned to sand. She stood on the battlement with Glyn and several of the servants as she stared down at the small band of soldiers — her cousin and his men. Strahan had come forward, close enough to the castle walls that an archer’s arrow might reach his evil heart. However, he was holding Cadell prisoner by twisting one arm behind the boy’s back. In his other hand he held a knife with a curved blade.

The message was clear: either open the gates or Cadell would die. Ware would be next. He was forced to stand farther back, at a safer range. Bound with thick ropes, his face ashen, his shoulders stiff and brave, he waited his turn with Strahan’s soldiers.

Clare’s heart twisted. What was she to do? Why had so many men — brave men whom she had trusted — turned against Garrick, and how had they caught up with Ware and Cadell?

“Clare!” Strahan yelled, his voice echoing through the valley.

“I could shoot him, m’lady?” the armorer said. A fistful of arrows was clutched in his big hand, and a quiver was slung over his broad shoulders. “Without hurting the boy, I could kill Strahan.”

“But the others would kill Ware,” she said, realizing that she had no choice but to open the gates and allow Strahan entrance.

“If we let them inside,” the armorer argued, “do ye think he will be spared?”

“Mayhap,” Clare said, though she saw the man’s wisdom. “Yet there’s a chance I’ll be able to reason with my cousin.”

The armorer’s expression turned grim. He spat on the stone floor of the tower. “The chance is slimmer than that of a mouse in a roomful of cats, m’lady. Sir Strahan has gone this far. He’ll not stop with your brother’s life.”

The words rang true, and yet she had to try. “If there is a way,” she said to the man, “to sneak one of the servants out, send him to the abbot of the monastery. Tell him that Abergwynn has fallen and he must get word to Daffyd of Wenlock.”

“I will—”

“But whoever leaves must be careful! Choose someone Strahan would not suspect … mayhap one of the children who work in the stables.” The plan was flawed; some of the children lied so often that even their mothers did not believe them. But Clare had no other choice.

“I’ll do it, m’lady.”

“Clare!” Strahan’s voice boomed again.

“Let him go!” she yelled, and Strahan moved quickly, slicing Cadell’s ear. “No!”

Blood spurted. Cadell’s agonized scream rang through the castle.

“No! For the love of God, no!” Glyn screamed at Strahan. She turned wide, terror-filled eyes upon Clare and clutched at Clare’s sleeve with desperate fingers. “Please, please let them in,” Glyn begged. Her face was the color of snow, her lips without blood. “I beg of you, please don’t let Strahan kill my brother bit by bit.”

“Clare?” Strahan’s voice boomed. “Next time ’twill be his whole ear, and I won’t stop there.”