The Beloved Scoundrel

by Iris Johansen

  “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.

  • • •

  The 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 t
o 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.

  Jordan set him down and grasped his wrist. “Run for the hill!”

  He glanced back as they started up the steep incline. Soldiers were streaming out of the gate.

  A bullet whistled by his ear.

  At least they’d had no time to launch a mounted attack. In another minute he and Alex should be out of range. Once they reached the horses at the top of the hill, they should be safe. It was nearly impossible for anyone to overtake horses from the ravin’s stable. He must just make sure to block the boy from those bullets spitting from—

  The ravin!

  “Dammit, no! Go back!” Jordan shouted.

  She paid no attention. She galloped down the hill with two horses in tow and reined in her stallion before them. “They saw you! I told you it was a stupid—”

  “Be quiet,” he said through clenched teeth. He tossed Alex onto the smaller horse and slapped the animal on the buttocks to send it at a run toward the ravin’s forces on the hill. “And get out of here!”

  The ravin’s eyes blazed at him. “You get out of here!”

  Another bullet whistled by him as he pulled himself onto the saddle. “That’s my intention. If you would—”

  He did not hear the bullet, but he saw the ravin’s eyes widen in horror.

  “Jordan!”

  CHAPTER 14

  The red tents billowing on the barren Bordlin plain looked like a cluster of radiant butterflies that had mistaken a desert for a garden.

  Marianna could see a number of people milling about, but they were still too far away to recognize. Any one of them could be Jordan.

  Or none of them.

  “What if they aren’t here?” she whispered.

  “They will be here.” Gregor started down the hill. “Come. We will go and find your Alex.”

  She nudged her horse into a trot. Her heart was pounding, her palms cold and clammy. She must not be nervous. God would not let Alex or Jordan die and that monster live.

  But God had let Mama die.

  As she and Gregor drew closer, she quickly eyed the crowd who were gathering to greet them. No Jordan. No Alex. No Ravin.

  The tents. They had to be in the tents. Just because she didn’t immediately see them was no sign they were not here. The ravin’s forces would not have abandoned them at Pekbar—

  “Marianna.”

  Alex!

  He stood several yards away, garbed in ragged trousers and shirt, a broad smile on his face and a wooden basin in his hands.

  She slipped from her horse and was running through the crowd toward the small figure. He looked like a Gypsy boy, she thought tearfully, all tousled black curls and big dark eyes.

  “Alex!” She dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms. “Alex, you’re—”

  “Let go. I can’t breathe,” Alex said gruffly. In spite of his words, his arms were holding her just as tightly. “Stop crying, Marianna. I’m quite all right.”

  She pressed her cheek to his. She had forgotten how endearingly fragile his child’s body felt in her arms.

  “You’re getting me wet,” he said impatiently. He had evidently tolerated enough affection for the moment.

  She drew back but kept her hands on his shoulders. She wanted to keep on touching him, assuring herself that he was here. “I’m sorry.”

  A smile illuminated his face, and his fingers went up to touch her tear-streaked cheek. “You’re wet too. You’re going to drown us, Marianna.”

  “Are you well? Did they hurt you?”

  A shadow crossed his face, and his gaze slid away from hers. “A little.” He quickly called beyond her shoulder to Gregor. “Hello, Gregor. You’re a day late. We got here yesterday afternoon, right on time.”

  He chuckled. “I regret my tardiness. We took a longer route to avoid running into your former hosts. It is good to see you, lad.”

  “It’s good to see you, Gregor.” Alex knelt to pick up the basin that had gone flying from his hands when Marianna had grabbed him. “I have to take this to Jordan. The wound—”

  “Wound!” Marianna inhaled sharply. “What wound? Are you hurt?”

  “No, I told you, Jordan—”

  “Jordan’s hurt?” She jumped to her feet. “How bad? What—”

  “Hush, Marianna,” Alex said. “If you would listen, you’d know by now.”

  She stared at him in astonishment. The maturity and authority that echoed in his words were foreign to the Alex she knew. And the change was not only in his voice, she realized. His face was thinner, the baby fat gone, and dark circles were imprinted beneath eyes that met hers with a fearless clarity.

  “Jordan isn’t hurt either.” He turned and started across the camp, motioning for her to follow him. “It’s Ana who was shot.”

  “Ana!” Gregor was off his horse in a heartbeat. “Where is she?”

  Alex pointed to the large
tent at the edge of the camp. “It was a bullet that—”

  Gregor muttered something beneath his breath and ran toward the tent.

  “He doesn’t listen either,” Alex said in disgust. “She’s not badly hurt. Jordan says the wound in her shoulder is clean. It’s only a question of keeping it so.”

  She tried to keep her tone casual as she asked, “Jordan is well then?”

  He nodded, and suddenly his expression was filled with enthusiasm. “It was splendid. We climbed a rope up the wall and— Well, Jordan climbed it and then pulled me up to the rampart. Next time I’ll do it myself.”

  “There will be no next time,” she said firmly.

  The shadow returned, wiping the childish enthusiasm from his face. “I hope not.”

  But he was not sure. All the security he had known at Cambaron had vanished, and he was again the little boy who had thought a warm blanket a treasure in a cold world. It was not fair. Anger soared through her. “I promise that you’ll be safe now. Have I ever lied to you?”

  “No, but sometimes bad things happen that no one can stop. I forgot that.” He straightened his thin shoulders. “But if you try hard, sometimes you can make it better.”

  What terrible things had happened to him in these weeks that he had tried to make better? “Alex, are you—”

  “Jordan was worried,” he interrupted. “He said you were in no danger, but last night after supper he rode up to the hills. I think he was watching for you.”

  “Was he? I don’t see why. He was telling you the truth. I was quite safe, and Gregor and I didn’t have any grand adventures like you did.”

  “You wouldn’t tell me if you did,” he said shrewdly. “You’d be afraid I’d be worried.”

  Another flash of maturity. “Well, I’m anxious to hear all about yours.”

  “When I have time.” He frowned. “Ana needs me now.”

  She looked at him in astonishment. “The ravin?”

  “Ana,” he corrected. “She helped save my life, you know. Now I have to help her.”

  “I’m sure she has many people here to help her.”

  His jaw set. “I have to do it.” He looked toward the tent. “There’s Jordan. Here’s the basin, Jordan,” he called out. “Shall I fill it with hot water?”