The Apprehension (Unexpected Circumstances 6)

“I have a gift for you,” Sir Rylan said. He looked at me for a moment. “Perhaps Queen Alexandra should return to the castle first.”

“My queen stays at my side,” Branford told him. “What gift?”

“I would like to discuss the terms of the gift first, if we may.”

Branford’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at our ally.

“Explain.”

Sir Rylan swung his leg up and over the saddle and dropped down next to his horse. Michael stepped forward and grasped the reins, moving the large animal off to the side and out of the way.

“You asked for the heads of Lady Kimberly and Sir Leland,” Rylan said. “You have offered a substantial bounty for them both—more if brought to you alive.”

“I have,” Branford said with a nod.

“I want you to remove the bounty on Sir Leland.”

“Because he is of your blood?” Branford asked as his upper lip curled into a sneer. “Lady Kimberly is of my own blood, I will have you know. It will not prevent her from receiving punishment for her treachery against my kingdom!”

“Not because he is of my blood, no.” Sir Rylan took a deep breath as he looked off toward the cart. “However, my uncle favors him. My uncle will still provide you with men, but he wants the price on Sir Leland’s head lifted.”

“He was part of this plot,” Branford said with a growl. “You heard it from my own cousin’s mouth. He was part of it from the beginning. He interfered with a royal bloodline. How could I possibly let that slide?”

“I intend to compensate you for it,” Sir Rylan stated.

“How?”

“You will cancel the bounty?”

“What compensation?” Branford said, demanding an answer. “What could possibly be offered in return for this grievous favor?”

“In return, I will give you this.” Sir Rylan took a few steps backwards until he reached the edge of the cart. Branford followed and we all peered into the back as Sir Rylan yanked back a rough blanket that covered a form lying in a pile of straw.

It was Lady Kimberly—bound and gagged in the back of the farmer’s cart.

“I need no other payment,” Rylan added.

Though I could feel the tension vibrating through the air as Branford’s hands clenched into fists, I was too consumed by my own thoughts as I looked down at the woman. Nelle’s words entered my head in a rush, reminding me that it was Kimberly’s conniving and information about Branford’s past that allowed Janet to exploit my sympathy and compassion and allowed her treachery into our rooms.

It was Lady Kimberly’s plot to kill Branford’s children as they tried to grow inside of me.

In an instant, my mind traveled to a place it had never before encountered. My vision became focused on the woman in the cart, and my limbs tensed as my throat constricted. She was the one who started this plan by revealing information about Branford’s past to his enemies. She was the one who devised the idea to kill Branford’s children, to deny him an heir, and to force him to take the concubine he did not desire.

A screech unlike any heard before came from my lungs as I lunged onto the cart and began pounding my fists into the former noblewoman’s face. She cringed back, as if she could bury herself within the straw below her, but I was unrelenting. She had no escape, and my hands burned and ached as they made contact with her head and shoulders.

I felt arms gently encircle my waist, but I paid them no heed—I just continued to rain blows down upon the woman below me. Even as the arms pulled me backwards off the cart, I screamed incoherently at her as I reached out as far as I could, trying to inflict whatever damage I could to the horrible woman who caused all of this suffering.

“Shh…hush, my wife.” I heard Branford’s voice as I struggled against his restraint. “She cannot harm you now…remember who you carry inside of you. Do not be upset; do not endanger our son with your anger.”

His words stilled me, and I no longer fought as he pulled me away from the wretched view of the woman in the cart. After he dragged me several feet, he stopped, turned me around to face him, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

I let my cheek press into the cool links of his chainmail shirt, finding the feel of the armor on my skin strangely comforting as tears streamed down my face. I fought back choking sobs as Branford continued to run his hand over my hair and whisper quietly in my ear.

“Kill her,” I choked out. “I want her to die.”

“I shall,” Branford said, making his words a promise. “She will.”

Footsteps approached us.