His smile was that of a rake and her pulse thundered as he said, “I’ll be outside, m’lady, guarding the door, but if you try to escape, then I’ll be forced to sleep inside with you to make sure you stay until your husband comes for you.” His gaze touched hers and she lost her breath. “Where I sleep—how close to you—’tis all up to you.”
“Who was the outlaw?” Holt demanded of the commander of Ewan’s troops, a tall gaunt-looking soldier who never smiled. Connor was his name, and he had no family and no friends; he was a solitary sort who kept to himself. He gave a few of the men the willies. But the tall man was smarter than the rest of the lazy scum that were supposed to guard Dwyrain, and Holt needed his help. Now, Connor was checking the chain mail that had been cleaned and was hanging on pegs in the armory. “And don’t tell me the rogue’s name was Kelvin McBrayne, for I know better.”
“Nay, he was not McBrayne,” the guard said, fingering the tiny links, the metal clinking softly. “He looked more like … well … ’tis not possible.”
“What?”
“Years ago, I rode with Strahan of Hazelwood at Abergwynn, and the younger brother to Baron Garrick was a hotheaded lad who was eager for battle.” Lost in private thoughts, Connor moved from the mail to a wall of swords, the finest in all of Dwyrain. Old Ebert, sitting on a cask near the door and fixing links on a
nother mail tunic, watched as Connor picked up a sword and tested its blade. “This boy, Ware, disappeared in one of the many battles at that time. Rode his horse over the cliff and into the sea. Never heard from again. Thought to be dead.”
“And now resurrected?” Holt sneered.
Connor lifted a shoulder. “I know not, but the outlaw who came so boldly here knew how to act the part of a nobleman. His bearing, ’twas much like Garrick of Abergwynn.”
Holt turned this information over in his mind. A rogue nobleman, but why would Ware of Abergwynn have any grudge against him? They’d never met, and Holt was certain Megan’s abduction was aimed at him rather than Ewan—elsewise why do it on the wedding day? “This man—this outlaw—Ware or whoever else he may be, has spies within the castle walls.”
Connor’s head snapped. His fingers tightened over the hilt of the sword. “Spies?” he said, but Holt guessed it was not the first time that particular thought had crossed Connor’s fertile mind.
“Elsewise how could he have got in alone?” Holt lifted a small sleek dagger with a bone handle, testing its weight. It fit well into his palm. “ ’Tis your job, Connor, to ferret out the spies, find who they be, how they know the outlaw, and bring them to me.”
“What if I fail?”
“Do not.”
“What if I discover them, but their tongues will not be loosened?”
Holt turned slowly and faced the thin man. “There are ways to convince a man to talk. Some men do not do well with pain, others are more likely to speak if they think a loved one may be seriously maimed, still others can be convinced by bribery or by desire for a woman. I care not how you find the truth,” he said. “Do whatever it takes and you will be rewarded.”
“With what?”
“What is it you want?” Holt asked, expecting to hear an exorbitant sum.
“A woman.”
“Is that all?” Holt was relieved. Women were easier to part with than gold.
“Not just any woman, Sir Holt,” Connor said, his eyes slitting in eager anticipation. “I want the daughter of Ewan.”
Holt’s temper flared and he grabbed the soldier by his throat. Shoving him hard against the wall, knocking over a cask of sand, he growled, “Do not test me. Megan is mine.”
“ ’Tis not Megan I want,” Connor said, laughing despite the strong fingers at his throat. “Nay, ’tis the second daughter, the one with hair of gold.”
“Cayley.”
“Aye. If I find the spies in Dwyrain and they lead to the return of your wife, then I want the lady Cayley.”
“As your wife.”
Connor’s nostrils flared. “Nay, m’lord, I want her for my whore.”
“… to be robbed of yer wife on yer weddin’ day.” Red, one of the guards stationed at the door of the keep, was eyeing the peddlers, farmers, and hunters riding into the castle while observing some of the late-staying guests who were leaving at last. Red had always had an ear for gossip, so Cayley, on her way to her father’s chamber, tarried in the hallway, listening to what the men were saying behind Ewan’s back. “ ’Tis a shame, say what?” Red continued, speaking to a tall soldier with eyes as flat as the stones on the keep’s smooth floor. “To be thinkin’ all day that you’ll be weddin’ your wife and then to have her snatched away so some outlaw can ’ave his way with ’er, and don’t try and tell me that the lady’s virtue will be intact when she returns. She’s a pretty one, eh, and what man with blood flowing through his veins wouldn’t want a go at ’er?”
“You think she was stolen to become an outlaw’s whore?” the tall man said in a raspy voice that caused Cayley’s skin to crawl.
“I’m not sayin’ that was the reason she was taken, but I’ll be bettin’ my last piece o’ gold that someone besides Holt bedded her last night.”
“If so, that someone will pay and pay dearly,” the taller soldier replied. “Holt will not stand for it.”