Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

She squared her shoulders. “Will Farmer is the one man in this castle that I trust.”

“The one man?” Strahan asked, obviously amused.

Morgana couldn’t back down now. Inching her chin up a little, she said, “I think there are many who would betray the baron.”

“At Abergwynn?” Strahan laughed, but Randolph did not. His bony face grew quite grim, his features even harsher, and the look he cast Morgana was murderous.

Ignoring the fear that settled like ice between her shoulder blades, Morgana plunged onward, addressing Garrick. “Many of your soldiers are Welshmen — Welshmen who have never been loyal to the king. As you’re Edward’s vassal, pledged to defend the English crown, the Welsh would quickly betray you should they find a leader.”

“You are Welsh,” he pointed out succinctly.

“Aye, but—”

“And you have some reason to hate me.”

She nodded. Lord, this wasn’t going as she’d hoped. Why did the man have to be so bullheaded? She knew he intended to leave the castle to search for his boy, and with that knowledge came fear — dank and smelling foul.

Garrick leaned back in his chair. “Yet you tell me of others who would deceive me — men I grew up with, men I have been to battle with, men who have saved me from more than one of death’s arrows?”

“’Tis not farfetched,” she said vehemently, and she felt the hatred in the room. It seemed to grow and pulse around her. How many of these very men would betray the man who trusted them with his life?

Garrick eyed her and thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “What do you propose I do?”

“Just be careful, m’lord,” she said a trifle breathlessly, and their gazes touched briefly, intimately before Morgana looked away and Garrick, obsessed with the need to save his son, swung his gaze back to the farmer. “Why would robbers steal my son and send no one to demand ransom?”

Will gingerly touched his swollen jaw and shook his head. “I know not, m’lord. But unless I’m a blind man, your boy was with that band of ruffians.”

“These outlaws, have they a name?” Strahan asked, obviously disbelieving the stranger.

“We didn’t get ’round to introductions,” Will said through two broken teeth, “but my guess is they were Dryden’s men. They roam Nelson Rowley’s land, and some say they are actually rogue knights who pay homage to Osric McBrayne.”

“I’ve heard this tale,” Randolph interjected. “That Osric McBrayne hires men to torment Rowley in the hope that Rowley’s servants and villagers will someday turn against him and join McBrayne in his quest to control all that Rowley holds. Eventually, some think, if McBrayne can get enough power, he’ll start a war with you, Lord Garrick.”

“Is that so?” Garrick whispered. “Where did you encounter this band of thugs, Will Farmer?”

At that point the bruised man crooked his thumb toward the east and told of the road on which he was attacked. It ran along the base of the mountains, he said, and followed a stream only half a day’s ride from the village near his farm.

As she listened to Will’s directions, Morgana watched the firelight play upon the leather of Garrick’s boots and glint in red highlights in the dark strands of his hair. His gaze was centered on the glowing coals in the hearth, but clearly his thoughts were elsewhere. Her heart ached for him, and for once she longed to soothe him, to smooth the lines of worry from his brow, to tell him things would be fine. But she wasn’t one to lie, not even for Garrick’s peace of mind.

“We ride at once,” he said as he shoved back his chair. The farmer glanced up expectantly. “You, Will Farmer, will return to your home with an empty cart and full pockets. We’ll buy all you’ve brought here and give you a decent horse as well; that old nag of yours looks as if he’s ready to draw his last breath. I want you back at your home with your family, should I need to speak with you again.”

“Thank you, m’lord. You’re most generous—”

But Garrick didn’t have time for the man’s gratitude. “Strahan, tell the stewa

rd to pay Will and add a little extra for his long journey. However” —Garrick leaned closer to the farmer, his features harsh and angular— “if I find that you lied to me, if this is just a ruse, I swear on the life of my son that you’ll regret it for the rest of your days.”

“I would not lie to you, m’lord,” Will said, his Adam’s apple bobbing indignantly.

Morgana believed him. The man was no liar, and yet she felt that parts of his story didn’t make much sense. Why no ransom? Why keep a child and his nurse if not for money? Were they planning to sell the boy — or get rid of him by some other means? Morgana shuddered and once again prayed that her visions would come and she would be able to help Garrick find his son.

The men exited, but Garrick took hold of the crook of Strahan’s arm. “You are to stay and guard the castle,” he said, and Strahan’s spine visibly stiffened.

“But why?”

“Because Ware is not strong enough.”

Strahan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He didn’t like being left behind on any war party. “I’m the best archer you’ve got, the best swordsmen. Why would you not want me at your side?”