Adam’s tension eased at the reassurance. Perhaps the druids’ plan needed to happen. He wasn’t worried about the guards. He just didn’t need Sean seeing more than he already had.
Chapter 10
The green-topped towers of Castle Bright loomed over the peaks of the pine trees surrounding the road. The salty scent of the ocean wafted on the breeze. Rhys reined to a halt by the Raven’s Tooth, a large rectangular stone standing at the crossroads.
He clenched his hand tight around the reins as he stared up at the raven carved in relief atop the narrow stone.
“Head for the mountains. You’ll only have trouble if you stay here in the lowlands.” Neil’s voice rumbled in his mind again. They’d stood in this exact spot seven years ago, his body still aching and sore, but it was nothing compared to the raw pain that still lingered in his heart.
“Never understood why it was called the Raven’s Tooth.” Alan’s musing voice jerked him from the memory.
“Looks like a tooth.” Rorie shrugged.
“But ravens have no teeth,” Alan pointed out.
“Your people have strange ideas on the naming of things.” Jes tipped his head back to regard the stone. “I agree with Alan. This makes no sense.”
“Better than that hill you called a mountain in Gedrin. ‘The head of a cow,’ or something, wasn’t it?” A smirk twisted Rorie’s mouth.
Jes lifted his chin as he sniffed. “The mountain is known as the Spirit of the Black Dove, as you well remember.”
“Black dove? Is that just another name for raven?” Alan tilted his head, the faint quirk at the corner of his mouth belying the seriousness of his voice.
Rorie tossed his head back in a laugh as Bryn smirked. Jes narrowed his eyes before allowing a smile.
Rhys couldn’t bring himself to appreciate their levity. All those years ago, standing alone and lost under the shadow of the Raven’s Tooth, he’d had no idea what he would become.
Full circle. The path through the pines taunted him, glimpses of the white towers of the castle enough to make his stomach churn. As before, once he passed the Raven’s Tooth, there was no turning back. His men would disappear into the town to gather what information they could, and he’d be on his own once again to face Adam.
Alan’s chuckle broke through his reverie. Not alone. Alan would be with him, and Alan was still stupid enough to have his back, no matter how many times Rhys tried to push him away.
Rorie pulled a grey woolen cap over his distinctive tattoos. “You ready then, little man?” He clapped Jes’s shoulder.
“Do you really think that will be a disguise?” Jes straightened the sleeve of his jerkin.
“We won’t be here long, will we, Baron?” Rorie turned to Rhys.
Rhys shook his head. If all went according to plan, they wouldn’t be at the castle more than a few days. He caught the flashes of concern on his men’s faces, most obvious in Bryn’s. They knew something was wrong, even beyond his usual terseness.
“You know the plan,” he said. “Head out.”
They saluted and spurred their horses down the paths. Rorie and Jes went one direction. Rhys nodded to Bryn, and he took the opposite fork.
“You all right?” Alan asked after the men were safely gone. The concern in his eyes held an unsettling knowing.
“What happened to Neil?” Rhys abruptly asked.
Neil MacCullough had ignored the edict of the Clans and stood to help him when no one else would. They had parted ways here years ago.
“Respected by some, shunned by the rest,” Alan replied. “I think old Laird MacCullough is secretly proud of what he did.”
“But he never got any trouble because of me?”
“Have you forgotten what Neil is like?” Alan scoffed lightly. “I could count on one hand the number of people he doesn’t scare with that glare of his. Did he teach you that look?”
“Shut up,” Rhys growled and spurred forward. He’d gotten used to Alan’s cheerful banter again over the past week. But as they drew near to the castle, too many old memories were resurfacing. If he wasn’t careful, they’d overwhelm him.
Rhys and Alan pushed their way through the narrow and crowded streets. Vendors hawked their wares on the corners, and orphans and street urchins darted through the crowds relieving any unsuspecting passersby of their valuables. Most veered away before approaching Rhys, and the way cleared imperceptibly before them.
A merchant nearly fell over trying to get out of their way and Alan gave a strangled snort. Rhys turned in time to see him assume a mock serious expression. He rolled his eyes, and Alan smirked.
Several women waved coyly at Alan, their smiles turning to pouts as he ignored them.
They reached the drawbridge and paused for a moment to allow a troop of soldiers to march past.
“It’s not like you to be so quiet.” Rhys looked up at the imposing battlements and turrets soaring above them. The white stones used to be a welcome sight after returning from patrol or battle. Now they just reminded of him everything he’d lost in the shadow of the walls.
Alan’s gaze darted around, taking in the guards marching across the walls, and the soldiers standing at attention at the gates. “Do you think this will actually work?”
“It will, even if I have to pull this place down around Adam.” And slowly, if they’ve hurt Sean. Rhys led his horse over the drawbridge into the castle courtyard.
Rhys stated their purpose to a servant who ran for the steward. They were not kept waiting long. A thin, angular man descended the steps and approached them.
“I’m told you have business with my lord?” he said in a nasally voice.
“You can tell him that Clan MacDuffy is here for its Seer,” Rhys said flatly.
The steward shifted uncomfortably.
“And you are, sir?” he asked.
“The Mountain Baron.”
The steward took a full step back before regaining his composure. “I will inform Lord Adam of his visitors.”
Stable hands took their horses and the steward led them inside. The polished marble floor of the main hall reflected their blurred figures where the steward left them standing by the dais and hurried through a wide arched doorway. Similar openings connected to various halls that meandered the castle. The closed door of ocean pine to Rhys’s right led to what once had been the royal chambers. He used to walk it every day with the prince.
He jerked his attention away. Galleries opened up above the dais, wrapping around the entirety of the upper hall. Guards were stationed beside the fluted columns that rose up to support the vaulted ceiling on the upper levels.
Adam’s banner, a sea osprey on a grey and red field, hung behind the throne. Rhys scowled at the sight. The Seabrights’ banner, a white albatross on green field, had been moved to the eastern wall, still displayed in a position of honor, but shunted aside. The guards and servants all wore livery in Adam’s colors. Besides the banner, there was no other sign of the royal green and white.
“Subtle, isn’t he?” Alan muttered under his breath.
“Not like anyone tried to stop him, is it?” Rhys returned.
“They didn’t have any reason to.”
Rhys clenched his fist. They would have if they’d listened to me.
Along the western wall hung the banners of the lords who’d sworn fealty to Adam. Under the Seabrights, it held the colors of the Highlanders, Clans, and eastern lords. Now the wall looked tired and empty, the banners spread wide to fill the space.
They waited for nearly half an hour, left standing without offer of refreshment. Alan began to fidget. He kept glancing at Rhys, expression wide and worried as if expecting him to explode at any moment. Rhys remained as still as a stone, refusing to let any emotion show. The last time they’d stood together in this hall, he’d been in chains in front of a council accusing him of murder.
The steward reappeared, his hands fidgeting nervously. He looked to Rhys.
“Lord Adam Barkley,” he announc
ed. Around the hall, spears rapped the marble floor as guards stood straighter in attention.
Lord Adam strode onto the dais from a side door and took a seat in the chair that had once belonged to a king. Rhys clenched his hands, jaw tensing at the ownership in Adam’s confident posture.
Adam stared at Rhys for a long moment. His eyes brightened with recognition. He reclined more comfortably in the throne. “Well, well. The traitor returns. I hear you style yourself a baron now.”
“And I see you’re still pretending to be better than you are,” Rhys replied through clenched teeth.
Adam sniffed, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth. “And your companion?”
“Alan MacDuffy. He stands on behalf of Laird Brogan to bring about a peaceful resolution.” Rhys’s tone dripped skepticism.
“A resolution to what?” Adam raised his eyebrows in surprise, but the smirk remained barely hidden around his mouth.
Rhys shifted, but Alan smoothly stepped in front of him.
“You took our Clan Seer, Sean MacDuffy. My clan demands that he be returned home immediately. I am to warn you of the consequences should you refuse.”
“Consequences to me? What will people say of the Clans when they hear they sent a known traitor to my court?” Adam flicked a hand around the hall.
Rhys flexed his wrists, his fingers itching to draw a weapon.
“Laird Brogan felt it necessary for him to be involved. He has blood ties with the Seer,” Alan said tersely.
“I see.” Adam tapped a finger against his chin. “And what can I expect from your Laird in return?”
Alan took a letter from his belt pouch and handed it to Adam.
“The terms, set down by Chieftain MacTavish and Laird MacDuffy.”
“You will forgive me if I take some time to read over this?” Adam waved the papers.
“Please, my lord, we want no unfortunate misunderstanding to occur.” Alan smiled, but iron edged his voice.
Adam inclined his head with a return smile. “Until I’ve reached a decision, you will lodge here in the castle. I insist.” His façade dropped for a moment, and his smile turned threatening as he waved to his steward. “See it done.”
Alan gave the shallowest of bows. Rhys didn’t move.
“While you take your time, we wish to see Sean,” Rhys said. “Those terms depend on his healthy return.”
“As you wish.” Adam shrugged. “I’m afraid he’s in the dungeons. He viciously attacked and injured two of my men. He had to be restrained for everyone’s wellbeing.”
Rhys started forward, but Alan gripped his arm, restraining him for Adam’s wellbeing. Sean would never attack anyone.
“We understand, my lord,” Alan said.
Adam inclined his head and waved them away.
A servant and two soldiers guided them to the dungeons, staying a few steps ahead of Rhys.
“What happened to trying the diplomatic approach first?” Alan muttered to Rhys.
Rhys ignored him, the tension only building as they walked along the halls. He caught glimpses of the sea through the narrow slits in the walls. The only escape that way lay in a sheer hundred-foot drop to the rocks below. The corridor halted under the base of the southeast tower where a staircase wound down to the lowest levels of the castle and the dungeons.
Natural light dimmed and faded with each step they took down, replaced by lanterns hanging from iron brackets on the walls. A suffocating mustiness seeped from the stones as they descended, fading to the dampness of mold and worse smells as they passed under the archway into the cells.
The warden came to greet them from his small room protected by an iron-bound door. The jangle of his keys clattered in the stillness of the dungeon as he led them further down the narrow hallway between the cells that ranged on either side. The hall ended in darkness, leading to another level below even that.
Rhys choked a breath at the memory of the last time he’d seen the prison. Strangely enough, most of the cells stood empty, except for where the warden halted.
He unlocked it and stood aside. Rhys extended a hand, keeping Alan in place outside the cell as the guard gestured into the gloom of the cell. Rhys stepped inside and paused by the unconscious figure on the cot, heart pounding as he looked at his brother for the first time in over seven years.
Boyish features had hardened to those of a man. The beginnings of a beard stubbled the lower half of his pale face. He wore his thick auburn hair a little longer than Rhys remembered.
He clenched his fist in anger as he noticed the bloody bandage wrapped above Sean’s wrist.
“What happened?” Rhys asked in a measured tone. The soldiers outside the door glanced at one another, reluctant to reply. “What happened?” he thundered.
“It was the druids,” another prisoner spoke up from across the corridor. “They’ve been bleeding him for the past two days.” A soldier hit his spear against the cell door and the man stepped back.
Sean stirred as Rhys lifted the edge of the bandage to reveal a crusted and oozing wound. His eyes cracked open.
“Get me clean water and bandages. Now!” Rhys’s voice lashed.
Alan leaned against the door of the cell, hand on the hilt of his sword, and stared down the guards until one hastened to obey Rhys.
Rhys knelt by the cot and brushed hair from Sean’s forehead as he checked for fever.
“Rhys?” Some alertness came into Sean’s eyes. Rhys’s heart clenched at the sound of his voice, so different from that of the gangly youth he’d left behind. “You’re here.”
“Late again, am I?” Rhys unwound the bandage.
“It’s a bad habit.”
The wound had closed, but the precision of the cut confirmed the truth of the guard’s words. Sean had been wounded specifically to obtain his blood. The bandage had been tight enough to stop the flow, but a clear fluid leaked from the cut.
“As I remember most of the time it was your fault.” Rhys turned his gaze back to Sean.
Alan stood aside to let the soldier through with bandages and a cup of water. He set them down on the cot and quickly scuttled away after a glance from Rhys.
Rhys began to wash the wound, gently cleaning away the grit around it.
“Haven’t seen you in years, and you’re still trying to take care of me?” Sean lifted a shaky hand to keep the damp cloth against his arm as Rhys reached for a bandage.
Rhys came dangerously close to a smile. “You’re the Seer. What did you think was going to happen?”
Sean’s chuckle degenerated into a dry cough, sending another pang of concern through Rhys. After he tied off the fresh dressing, he lifted the cup for Sean to drink. Rhys allowed him a few sips before letting his head rest back on the cot.
“Time’s up,” the warden spoke up, gruff authority in his voice.
Rhys turned a glare on him, but Alan shook his head imperceptibly—don’t fight just yet. The same anger shone in Alan’s eyes, and his knuckles were white around his sword hilt, but they must wait until Adam gave them an answer to the Clan’s terms.
Rhys turned back to Sean, fighting the roaring protectiveness that had come rushing back after years of suppressing it.
“I’ll be back.” He made to stand.
Sean grabbed his arm in an urgent grip. “Rhys, be careful here. There is another power to be feared.”
“The druids?”
“They’ll stop you if you try to take me,” Sean warned.
“Don’t worry, Sean, we’ll get you home. Your family misses you.” He stumbled over the word. He swallowed hard, shoving away the anger and pain to focus on the task at hand. Getting Sean out.
“You saw them?” Sean asked, painful longing in his voice—the same longing that pounded at Rhys heart on his worst days.
“Aye, they’re well,” Rhys reassured him.
“I wanted to tell you--” Sean searched his face.
A scuffle at the door jerked Rhys’s attention away.
Alan had his h
and pressed against the warden’s chest, preventing him from pushing into the cell. A dangerous look sharpened Alan’s features. His patience was wearing thin.
Rhys had only to give the word, and they’d both rain down destruction on Adam and his men. But Sean’s grip on his arm nudged a small amount of sense back into his mind.
He took a breath, letting the cold rush in and surround his heart again.
Rhys pressed his hand. “It’s all right. Rest. We’ll come for you soon.”
Chapter 11
Seven years ago
Rhys stood in the great hall, flanked by guards. The manacles about his wrists clinked as he trembled with the effort of holding his aching body upright. Dark cloth covered the Seabright banner hanging behind the empty throne. The council stared back at him, no mercy in their eyes. All except for General Barkley. Faint triumph sparked in his eyes as Sarksten read out the sentence.
“Rhys MacDuffy, you are hereby named traitor to the clans. Your sentence will be carried out immediately.”
The guards grabbed his arms and turned him away as the council adjourned. Chieftain MacDuffy wouldn’t even meet his eyes as he moved past.
Rhys kept his head down as they marched through town, through angry, jeering townsfolk to the beach. The night before, Brogan had warned him about some of what would happen. Rhys had asked for death, but Brogan had said the council’s mind was already made up.
Death was too easy for what he had done.
Paved stone gave way to white sand as they passed the last low harbor wall. His feet stumbled through the thick sand as the soldiers took him forward, their hands still like iron around his arms.
It’ll be over soon.
They passed ranks of soldiers, some faces not caring, others vaguely sympathetic, but many filled with hate. He turned his gaze away, focusing instead on the grains of white sand that coated his boots with every step.
His breath pressed tight against his chest when he looked up again.
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