Glaring at the man, for Sebastian never could judge his own strength, Logan gingerly twisted his torso. The already sore muscles caused by his fall the night before, slowly stretched along his back, the pain and stiffness easing a bit. “The next time I find an unwanted guest underfoot,” he stated tersely, “I’ll keep your unorthodox method of ousting him in mind.”
Sebastian snorted. “Unlikely, friend, for yer heritage prevents ye from lowerin’ yerself to use such a base action.” He suddenly grew serious. “Tell me, milord, was yer mission prosperous? Is the bastard ready to feel the fury of our swords?”
“I have learned much, Sebastian. Be patient. Our revenge will fall upon him soon enough.”
The man stopped short. “Patient!” His voice exploded through the night air like the report of a cannon, rousing nearby forest creatures from their nests and burrows. “Yesterday would not have been too soon for me.”
“Agreed,” Logan bit out with more reserve. “But if we move too fast, we could lose all! Come. I will tell you what I have learned when we are secured in the cave.”
A grumbling Sebastian cursed beneath his breath, then slowly followed his companion through the stream. As he did so Logan could feel the raw anger fomenting in his friend. The emotion was not aimed at him, he knew, but at Sebastian’s hated enemy, Edward MacHugh.
Over the years Edward’s treachery had reached far and wide, Sebastian Doyle being only one of the many who had suffered from the evil that dwelled in Edward’s darkened soul. United by chance, Logan and Sebastian shared a common bond, one desiring a common end.
It was near Muircairn Castle that Logan had come upon Sebastian. At age sixteen, on one of the many occasions when he had sought to spy upon his stepbrother, he’d nearly found himself caught in the path of Edward’s vengeful destruction. From a stand of trees Logan had secretly watched a band of pillagers swiftly riding away from the burning village that stood not far from the castle walls, Edward at the forefront of the group. Hastily Logan had followed the marauders only to come upon the helpless Sebastian as the man floundered in a bog. Cast there by Edward’s men and left to die, the red-faced man struggled to free himself without success, the bottomless mire slowly sucking him under. Quick of action, Logan had tossed him a thick rope and pulled him from the fen, saving Sebastian from an untimely death.
As the man rested on the mossy earth, intermittently spitting bits of mud along with a string of condemning curses, Sebastian, a widower and a blacksmith by trade, relayed to Logan how Edward had laid waste the small village because the crofters and merchants were unable to pay the exorbitant rents MacHugh had required of them. Sebastian’s own establishment, which stabled several prized steeds, had been burned to the ground. When he had tried to resist he’d been grabbed by his meaty arms, swept up among the ravaging bunch, and carried from the village. As thundering hooves echoed in his ears he had gazed back over his shoulder to see several small children who had been trampled in the siege. Envisioning their broken, lifeless bodies anew, Sebastian had cursed with verve, then vowed his vengeance. “I’ll kill the murderin’ bastard!” he’d exclaimed. “Were Henry Chandler still alive, naught of this would have happened!”
“But what of his son?” Logan had asked, carefully feeling the man out.
Sebastian had eyed him with malice. “What? MacHugh? He’s the bloodthirsty cur who did this!”
“No, the young one. Chandler’s rightful heir.”
“Ah, ye mean young Logan. The poor lad apparently met his end with his sire. No one knows for certain. His body was never found. Wolves probably carried it off and devoured it. The poor lad.” He’d shaken his head. “Terrible it was. Terrible.”
Not remembering ever having seen the big man before, Logan had asked, “Did you know this Logan?”
“No. I had met the father, but not the son. However, I did see the boy from afar. Handsome lad, he was. My wife—God rest her soul—and I had just come to the region, and young Logan was out ridin’ with his father. They…” Sebastian had swallowed his words. Eyes narrowed, he’d gazed up at the Gypsy boy. “Why so many questions about the late earl and his son? Ye were but a wee shavelin’ yerself when they met their deaths. How is it ye know of them?”
Something had told Logan he could trust this bear of a man, and he’d confided his true identity to Sebastian.
At first the man had scoffed, stating it was impossible. “Young Chandler was said to have eyes of gold. Come closer, boy, and look at me! Then the truth will be known.” When Logan had moved to his side, squatting next to the man, Sebastian had gulped. “By the saints! Ye—ye—impossible! Besides, ye are a Gypsy!”
“Half Gypsy,” Logan had stated. “You’ve seen my eyes, so now the truth is known. If you are willing to join me, we can destroy the bastard who did this to you, the same man who killed my sire and stole my title and lands. Except for the Rom, you are the only one who knows I still live.” He’d stood and extended his hand, offering to help Sebastian from the ground. “Will you join with me, sir? Together we can gain our revenge.”
After a long, assessing moment Sebastian had linked his big hand with Logan’s smaller one, and for the past eight years the pair had planned and plotted, waiting for the appropriate moment to inflict on Edward MacHugh his due. And he will receive it soon, Logan thought, confident it was so.
Having climbed the unmarked path up to the cave, the two men gingerly slipped past the wild rosebush that guarded the entry and passed through a narrow slit in the seemingly solid rock. Several yards into the dank-smelling hole Logan placed a bundle of twigs on the dying embers of a cooking fire. The dried wood blazed to life, chasing away the eerie blackness enclosing the men.
Logan’s and Sebastian’s shadows attached themselves to the stone walls, their sleek surfaces worn smooth by centuries of moisture gliding down their sides. A small stream ran through the cave, gathering itself into a shallow pool in the chamber beyond the one where the two men stood. Beads of moisture fell from the ceiling, hitting the pond, the hollow sound echoing through the cavernous void. Gradually the collected liquid seeped through the porous stone, making its way to the outside world, giving rise to the small stream running along the base of the hillside.
Sebastian motioned to the dirt-covered rock. “Sit and tell me what ye have found out this past month.”
Logan folded himself onto the damp floor. “I’ve found out Edward has not grown soft over the years.”
“Had ye expected he would?”
“No!” he declared passionately, thinking of Kristiana and what she had endured. “But others have suffered under his hand and will continue to suffer unless we stop him.” He looked at Sebastian. “Were you able to enlist all the men we’ll be needing?”
“So far I’ve assembled six-and-thirty. But a few will have to be trained in the use of their new weapons after they’re forged.”
“All of them crofters, I suppose?” Sebastian dropped his gaze, and Logan shook his head, “Three dozen motley souls against a veritable army. Edward has three times that many men, and they are all well-schooled in fighting. How can we possibly defeat him? With hoes and scythes?”
“It matters not what the instrument of death is, so long as our enemies meet their demise. But to allay yer worries, our men will carry swords, shields, axes, spear poles…and whatever else I can make.”
“But can they defeat MacHugh?”
“Their hatred of the man will give them the strength needed to do so. Some are from Muircairn, and because of the terror Edward has imposed upon them, their desire to see him fall is as strong as ours. All of them have suffered in some way from his brutality. If nothin’ else, determination alone will see them through to the end, whatever it might be.”
“For their sakes, pray it is enough,” Logan returned, his tone mocking, “for it’s obvious their skills won’t garner us a victory. What is your estimate of when they’ll be ready to do battle?”
“A month… possibly two.”
&nbs
p; A growl coursed from Logan’s throat. “Only a few moments ago you were ready to descend upon Edward like the wrath of God! Did you think to conquer him alone?”
Sebastian chuckled. “Ye would have been with me. Together we would have gained our revenge.” In the firelight he noted Logan’s scowl. “Is that not what ye told me when we first met?”
“I was overly eager in my youth. Age has made me wiser and far more cautious.”
A dozen years Logan’s senior, Sebastian arched a bushy red eyebrow; his hand massaged the thick tangle of russet hairs growing along his jaw. “Oh, ancient one,” he teased, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim light, “tell me of the wisdom ye have acquired through the ages so I might learn from yer many experiences.”
Logan fought to withhold a grin. “I have learned to shun bogs for fear I’ll come across another like you.”
Sebastian guffawed. “Not likely, milord. I am one of a kind.” His merriment settling, he retrieved the firkin sitting beside him, along with two tin-plated cups. “Have some wine and tell me of your journey.”
Logan stretched out by the fire and accepted the filled cup, then sipped from it. The wine settled into his stomach, and as he gazed into the flames he related everything he had learned about Edward’s movements. Nothing was held back—nothing except his helping Kristiana. “If only our men were ready to fight. Edward has fewer than fifty of his warriors with him at Harcourt Castle. The odds would be better for us if we could ride now. The Baron Harcourt was reported to be a fair and just man. Those who were loyal to him might willingly join us against Edward. I am positive we could slip inside the castle walls before he even realizes we have done so.”
“To attack on yer own ground would be far safer. Once the villagers learn the young earl still lives, they’ll all be willin’ to fight for ye. Ye know no one at Harcourt Castle. Besides, who will show us the way? The young lass whom ye carted into camp with ye?” Sebastian noted how Logan’s gaze had suddenly latched onto his own. “From the cover of the wood I watched yer arrival. Who is she?”
“She’s Harcourt’s daughter.” He saw the curve of Sebastian’s brow as it rose questioningly. Last night, before Kristiana had fallen asleep, she’d spoken briefly about the events that had led to the tragedy at her home. Logan now related the same to Sebastian. “Kristiana was to be married to Edward—or at least the betrothal papers were to be signed. However, Harcourt must have decided against the arrangement. In the ensuing fight Edward slaughtered the baron. Afterward the girl was nearly violated by Edward, but somehow she managed to escape. With Edward and his men on her heels she rode into my camp, falling straight into my arms. She fainted. I had no choice but to hide her. Luckily Edward was drawn off by the steed she’d been riding as it went crashing through the wood, where I’d set it to running. If it were not for the black beast’s timely interruption, my head would have rolled across the glade. Of that I’m certain.”
“MacHugh… did he recognize ye?”
“No. He viewed me only as a poacher and a nuisance. But I’m positive he’s searching for the Gypsy cur who stole his intended bride. He seemed most adamant about finding her.”
Angered that Logan had jeopardized their plans, the younger man almost losing his life in the process, Sebastian erupted: “Ye are a damned fool for havin’ involved yerself in her predicament! Get rid of her before she ruins all we’ve worked for.”
“What is it you want me to do with her?” Logan countered heatedly. “She has no place to turn. She’s alone, without resources. If Edward ever finds her, I shudder to mink what he’ll do to her. At least with the Rom she will be safe. No, Sebastian, I won’t desert her. Besides, she might be of use to us. When the time comes for us to move I’m sure shell be willing to offer her assistance. Like us, she hates MacHugh with a vengeance.”
“Does she know ye are Logan Chandler, third Earl of Muircairn?”
“No. She knows me as Balo, her Gypsy savior.”
Sebastian eyed Logan at length. Suspecting there was more to Logan’s involvement with the girl than mere sympathy for her plight, he cautioned: “Take care, my friend, yer heart does not become the ruler of yer head, unless ye want to end up losin’ both.”
“Have faith, Sebastian. No woman has the power to sway me from my goal. You know as much. There is only one thing I want, and it is to see Edward MacHugh suffer for his treachery. I look forward to that day only. Until it comes I will not rest.”
“Aye. But just the same, it would be wiser if ye’d rid yerself of the girl. By keepin’ her with ye, ye run the risk of Edward findin’ ye both. In doin’ so, he might learn yer true identity. That done, yer life will be worth nothin’.”
Logan saw the deep concern that shone in his friend’s eyes. “The girl will be kept well hidden. As for me… I doubt Edward can tell one Gypsy from another.”
“Perhaps not. But Edward is known to destroy all for the sake of destroyin’ one. Ponder my words, Logan, then decide which course it is ye wish to take.”
His gaze turning toward the fire, Logan stared into the flames. Was it wise to risk the lives of the people who had saved him merely to protect an outsider?
Suddenly Kristiana’s lovely face came to life within the fire. She gazed up at him, tears flowing from her luminous green eyes to slip downward over her cheeks. Her soft voice echoed in his head, pleading with him not to take her back to Edward. He closed his eyes, but the vision of her would not leave him. A silent curse rolled through him, his decision made.
“I won’t desert her,” he repeated, his intent gaze again finding Sebastian’s. “Not until I know she is safe. Meanwhile, I promise to remain cautious. If Edward is bent on finding her, that means he will not wander too far from Harcourt Castle. At least I hope not. Besides he has no way of knowing if she is with the annoying Gypsy he encountered or if she has taken refuge with a nearby crofter, so he will most likely use the fortress as the central point for his search. Likewise, once the girl is out of harm’s way, I intend to stay close to him. Have the men ready no later than a month hence. At that time we will meet here at the cave and solidify our plans. I want to move at the dark of the next moon.” Logan rose and handed Sebastian the nearly full cup of wine. “I must be going. The Rom will be moving out at dawn. Until the next time we meet, my friend, Godspeed.”
Sebastian came to his feet. “And a prosperous journey to ye, Logan,” he said, hugging him close in a brotherly fashion. He pulled away and added, “Remember my words of caution. We are too close to seein our plans come to fruition. It would be a pity to allow yer feelings for the girl to lead ye in another direction.”
“The only emotional attachment I have to her is one of empathy. I understand what she has suffered… is now suffering in the aftermath of what has happened to her. There is nothing more to it,” Logan stated firmly.
“Aye,” came his friend’s simple reply. Even though Logan had denied any feelings other than compassion for the girl, Sebastian was convinced the younger man was being less than truthful with himself. “I’ll see ye in a month, milord. By then our crofters will have become warriors. They’ll be ready to fight.”
“I’ll pray they will,” Logan said before he exited the cave.
Leaving Sebastian behind, he slowly made his way back to the encampment. As he stepped from the thick cover of the woods he stopped momentarily, his gaze searching out Kristiana’s small form. Observing she now slept, he decided that henceforth he would keep himself far away from her. He would not desert her, but no woman would be allowed to ruin his plans, not even the intriguing green-eyed beauty whom fate had tumbled straight into his arms.
Turning, a weary Logan made his way to his own pallet, spread on the ground by his uncle’s wagon. Lying atop the covers of his bed, he gazed up at the heavens, the wide expanse frosted with stars. He prayed he would be able to honor the promise he’d just made to himself. Through fierce determination he’d harden his heart, and any feelings he might have harbored for his lovely goddess would
soon die. It will be done! His silent vow made, he rolled to his side, facing away from Kristiana, and his eyes fell closed.
As the rays of dawn broke across what promised to be a clear azure sky, a peacefully slumbering Kristiana was startled awake when a foot met her soft rump. Jerking to a sitting position, she blinked and, with a confused frown, gazed up at Balo’s aunt.
“Lazy Gajo,” Rupa chastised harshly. “Get up! Sidi needs her breakfast. Soon we are to move, so make haste with your tasks or you’ll be left behind. Start the fire. When you are through doing that, come fetch me, and I will show you how to draw the water from the stream. Now up with you!”
Yawning, Kristiana watched the woman march off across the camp to her own cooking fire. Accustomed to the comfort of her bed, she slowly stretched, relieving the stiffness that had settled in her bones from sleeping on the hard ground. While she did so she glanced around the camp, searching first for Balo, then Sidi, Neither was anywhere to be found.
When she finally came to her feet Kristiana thought to unbind her hair and braid it anew, but she remembered Balo’s warning that among the Gypsies a woman’s hair never flowed freely in front of anyone except her immediate family. Not wanting to be scolded by any of the unfriendly breed—especially Rupa, who seemed to watch her constantly, ready to pounce on her for the slightest infraction-she smoothed back the stray hairs that had escaped the braid and walked toward the once-crackling campfire.
As she stared at the lifeless coals she groaned inwardly, wondering how she could possibly bring them to life. Quickly she retrieved a stick and poked at them. Just below the gray ashes she discovered a slight orange glow. Slowly she fed twigs and branches to the fragile embers. To her relief, small flames began devouring the fuel, and soon the fire blazed anew.
With the first of her tasks completed she went in search of Rupa. Not finding her at her wagon, she again glanced around the encampment, hoping she could spot her. Like Balo and Sidi, she was nowhere to be found, so Kristiana walked back to Sidi’s wagon. Eyeing the line of kegs, each at one time having contained water, she pondered what could possibly be so difficult about drawing such. Water was water, she decided, grabbing a keg. Then she set off toward the small stream hidden in the wood.
Deeper Than Roses Page 6
