by Donna Grant
In his observations, he noted that while Sybbyl didn’t attempt to hide her disdain, Ravyn went out of her way to all but ignore Sybbyl. The times when Sybbyl did speak, Carac caught a slight stiffening of Ravyn’s body.
But the most interesting thing occurred when Ravyn spoke about Randall. Carac learned without asking a question or uttering a single word that Ravyn was definitely not working with Sybbyl and John.
Whose side she was on was another matter entirely.
Yet what he’d discerned was a good start. He’d uncovered more than he hoped for, actually. For starters, Sybbyl was the one running things, and John was scared of her. And with one sentence, Ravyn exposed Sybbyl and John’s plan to take Randall’s title as well as his lands.
The silence that fell after Sybbyl’s statement that Randall would not father a child was strained. Ravyn lifted her dark eyes to his. Their gazes clashed and held. Then, her lips curved ever so slightly.
“Do you flirt with every man near you?”
Carac frowned at Sybbyl’s question, immediately offended. But Ravyn calmly slid her gaze to the side and locked eyes with the witch.
“Are the barbs in your words because you feel threatened by me?” Ravyn asked softly.
Carac leaned an arm on the table and let his gaze move from Ravyn to Sybbyl and back again. The underlying tone in their words was a different kind of battle that he had never witnessed before. And it was fascinating.
He knew all about blood and steel, but this battlefield was a different kind altogether. One he wasn’t sure where to stand to avoid getting bloodied. Because their weapons were ones of words and looks that could char a man where he stood.
For John’s part, he kept his eyes on his food and didn’t attempt to interfere. Which was probably for the best.
“Threatened?” Sybbyl asked with raised brows. “By you?”
Ravyn eyed Sybbyl, the smile never leaving her lips. “I have always appreciated directness.”
“Then let me be direct,” Sybbyl said as she got to her feet. “If you want John, then take him.”
Ravyn drew in a breath and slowly released it. “I have always found that a strong man is more useful than one who can be...managed.”
“Then you obviously have no idea what it means to be a woman.”
“On the contrary,” Ravyn replied, her gaze turning fierce. “Strong women need strong men.”
Sybbyl made a sound in the back of her throat. “Then you are a fool.”
After a glance at John, Sybbyl turned and walked away. Only a moment later, John rose and mumbled something before hurrying after her.
Carac expected Ravyn to make her excuses and leave, but instead, she poured more wine into her goblet and looked at him as she drank.
“I apologize for that exchange,” she said once she’d set down her glass.
He smiled and shook his head. “I, for one, am not. It was interesting. A lot was said with few words.”
“I would have preferred to say what each of us really meant, but it is a game we women play,” she replied with a shrug.
“Why play it?”
The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “You men spar with weapons while women use words.”
“Some also use weapons.”
She laughed and tore off a piece of bread to pop into her mouth. “You still doubt that I can use it?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I would like to see for myself.”
Her smile dropped a little.
He very much wanted the smile back. What had he said that disturbed her so? “I hope you do not mind, but I had a closer look at the crossbow. What are the markings on it?”
“They are symbols for strength, wisdom, courage, and patience.”
“You put them on there?”
She grinned. “I did.”
“Why those four?”
Her gaze slid away as if she were deciding whether to confide in him. Finally, she looked at him once more. “When I was only four, my family was murdered. My father, my three brothers, my two sisters, and my mother. I was the youngest, and Mum pushed me behind her to hide me. Somehow, her plan worked.”
“My lady,” Carac said, shocked. “I am sorry such an event occurred.”
She swallowed and pushed her trencher away. “The feeling of such helplessness as my family screamed in pain haunts me to this day. It is why I learned to use the crossbow. The symbols are for me. Strength to remind me that I must continue on, wisdom to help guide me in all decisions, courage to face what I seek, and patience to wait however long I must.”
“What do you seek?” He suspected it was a who, but he held off asking that.
Ravyn smiled brightly, but it didn’t hold the light of earlier. “A lady cannot give up all her secrets.”
“I suspect you hold a great many.”
She blinked, her face frozen. “Why do you say that?”
“I am a knight, my lady. I look at others on a battlefield, but many times I can size up my opponent during a simple conversation.”
Ravyn licked her lips and put her hands in her lap. “Everyone holds secrets, Sir Carac. Some are little, some big. Some have only one, and others have so many that they almost suffocate.”
“Which are you?” he asked.
She looked at her lap briefly. “I am not sure you really want to know.”
“I do, actually.”
“I would like to take a walk. Will you accompany me?”
Surprised by the invitation, Carac nodded. They rose and walked toward the stairs that led to the battlements. “Would you like your cloak? The weather is chilly.”
She shook her head and continued onward. Carac walked beside her out onto the battlements. He clasped his hands behind his back while she looked pensively over the land as they strolled leisurely.
“How long has John been your liege lord?” she asked after a long while.
Carac was a little surprised by the question. “He is not. I amassed my knights over the years until I had the army you see before you.”
“Impressive,” she said as she stopped and looked at the fires burning from the camp two hills away. “So you hire your sword out.”
“I do, but I am also fair. Many times, just the arrival of my army makes my opponents lay down their arms and surrender.”
Her head swiveled to him, and she smiled. “Very impressive. So, you would say you are a fair man.”
“Aye. I try to be. I will forgive many things and offer mercy when I am able, but I cannot abide betrayal in any form.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered against the cold night air. Her eyes were bright in the moonlight, her gaze sharp. “What happened this morning at the battle?”
“Direct,” he murmured.
Ravyn shrugged, her lips twisting. “It is one of my faults.”
“Or a virtue, depending on how you look at it.”
“If you would rather not answer, I understand.”
He placed his hands on the cold stones and blew out a breath, watching it billow around him. He gave a shake of his head and looked at his camp in the distance. “In truth, I have no answer. My men are highly trained, but they did not have to even get close before Randall’s men fell dead.”
“What do you think was the cause?”
While Carac believed Simon, he couldn’t just blurt out that magic was involved or that Sybbyl was a witch. Then there was the fact that he didn’t know who to trust. His instincts told him that Ravyn was trustworthy, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
He shrugged. “I know not.”
After a moment, Ravyn turned to him and moved closer so their bodies were nearly touching. “Be wary, Sir Carac. Not everyone is as they seem. You appear to be a good man. Take your army and leave before it is too late.”
“I accepted a contract with John. I am here for a fortnight.” Damn, but it was hard to talk to her when she was so close.
“A pity you cannot get away from this place.”
Now that caused him alarm. “Why?”
“I like you, Sir Carac. If you cannot leave, then do not trust anyone.”
She began to turn away, and he grabbed her arm to stop her. “Explain yourself.”
“You would not believe me if I told you.”
He studied her a long moment. “You have been direct all evening. Why stop now?”
“Secrets.” She put her hand on his cheek before dropping her arm.
“Lady Ravyn, why would you warn me and then not explain what the warning is?”
“Is it not enough that I did caution you?”
If he were talking to a man, he would think he intended to attack someone at the castle, but Ravyn was a lady, which meant that he had to think differently.
“You can trust me,” he told her.
She smiled sadly. “I barely know you.”
Carac had to admit that she had a point. He released her arm, and she took a step back. There was so much he wanted to ask her, but she didn’t appear to want to divulge anything more.
“Thank you for the walk,” she said as she looked toward the camp. “There is no one listening out here.”
Just before she walked away, she met his gaze. In no uncertain terms, she told him that others could be listening inside the castle.
Carac remained for a few minutes, going through his conversation with Ravyn. Then he made his way down to the stables and saddled his horse.
He mounted and rode into the bailey. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He looked over his shoulder and saw a figure in a window watching him. As he was turning back, he saw a second figure in another window—both women. Which was Sybbyl, and which was Ravyn?
Carac rode toward the gate, nodding to the guards who opened them. He urged his stallion into a gallop over the rolling landscape to the camp.
His squire, Rob, was there to greet him and take the stallion. Carac made his way to his tent. Once inside, he found Simon waiting for him.
“Well?” Simon asked.
“Sybbyl is the one controlling John, as we thought. Also, she detests Lady Ravyn.”
Simon’s brows rose at the news. “Was it obvious?”
“They exchanged words,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ve never seen the like before.”
“Did you get anything else?” Simon asked.
“John intends to take Randall’s title. Oh, and Ravyn warned us to be careful. She also let me know that others are listening to conversations within the castle.”
Simon slowly nodded in approval. “I really need to meet her.”
Carac smiled as he recalled the fire in Ravyn’s eyes when she and Sybbyl exchanged words. Secrets or not, Ravyn was most intriguing.
Chapter 9
It was the witch. After all the years of planning and training and hunting, Ravyn was sure she had found the one responsible for killing her family.
But she wasn’t positive.
That horrific night was a blur of screams and blood—and the witch’s laughter. No matter how many times she tried, Ravyn couldn’t pull up anything more than the fact that the witch had golden hair.
Sybbyl certainly fit that profile. Even if she wasn’t the one who murdered Ravyn’s family, Sybbyl was a witch. And no doubt part of the Coven.
Ravyn didn’t get any sleep that night as she thought over coming face-to-face with Sybbyl, but that was nothing compared to hearing the witch’s cold contempt for Lord Randall. Not to mention the plan she and John had concocted.
Ravyn was a superb Hunter, but the one thing she hadn’t learned to do was read people. At least not well enough to claim to have mastered it. She wanted to believe that Carac was not part of John’s plan, but she couldn’t be sure.
On their walk, he had pressed her for answers. She wanted to give them to him, but she’d held back. Carac was smart. If he weren’t in league with John and Sybbyl, then he would figure it out on his own.
If he was...well, she had said nothing that could let anyone think she was a Hunter. Because Ravyn had no doubt the Coven kept their eyes open for anyone they even thought might be one.
“I’m ready.”
Ravyn turned her head to Margery, who was fastening her cloak. She gave the woman a nod, and they walked from the chamber together. Few were moving about so early in the morning, allowing them to walk the castle without running into anyone.
They made it to the stables without incident. After saddling both of their horses and checking weapons, they mounted and rode toward the closed gate.
Ravyn nodded at the guards. “Good morning. May we pass?”
“It is early, my lady,” one stated.
She held his gaze and smiled. “Very observant of you. I am an early riser, and as such, I like to get on the road before others. I have a long way to go, so please, open the gates.”
They hesitated, and just when Ravyn thought she might have to use a firmer tone, the guard motioned for the others to let them pass.
As soon as the gates were open, Ravyn nudged her mare into a gallop with Margery on her heels. Neither spoke for the next few leagues until Margery pulled even with her.
“No one is following.”
Ravyn drew back on the reins to slow her horse to a walk. “Good.”
“I thought they were going to keep us there.”
“I think they nearly did.”
Margery grinned. “That would have been a dreadful mistake.”
“Extremely,” Ravyn replied with a smile.
They looked at each other and laughed. Ravyn moved her mount off the road into the tree line. She kept watch as Margery changed from the gown to her Hunter attire.
When Margery finished, Ravyn quickly did the same. While she liked wearing gowns, she preferred to be in the leather breeches that would give her full movement of her body in a fight.
With her cloak fastened and hood covering her braided hair, Ravyn walked to where Margery held the horses and took the reins of her mare. “Ready?”
“Nay, but we do not have a choice.”
Ravyn put a hand on Margery’s arm. “We do. At least, you do. I asked you to remain and watch my back, but I know your heart is not here. Return to the abbey. I will be fine.”
“I am not going anywhere but with you,” Margery replied. She covered her lower face with the black scarf before she put her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over her mare. “I decided yesterday that this will be my last mission. I thought that this was what I wanted to do, and I know I am skilled enough with weapons to achieve it...”
“But your heart is not in it,” Ravyn repeated. “I know.”
Margery looked away and sighed. “There are many other ways I can help, and I intend to do that.”
“I know you will. Are you sure you wish to stay?”
“I am here already, and we both know you need someone to curb you every now and again.”
Ravyn grinned, even though her heart was heavy. She mounted and adjusted her cloak behind her before using a black piece of material to cover the lower half of her face.
She said nothing more to Margery as she clicked to the mare and headed across the countryside to Lord Randall’s castle. Ravyn knew Sybbyl was doing something there, and she was going to find out what it was.
They rode swiftly, keeping far from roads where they were likely to run into others. Ravyn wanted to get a feel for Bryce Castle and the occupants before she faced off against Sybbyl.
Ravyn also kept a wide berth from any of Carac’s army. She had no wish to run into him or his men. It was usually fairly easy to keep out of another’s way. Most saw only what they wanted, never noticing that she stood in the shadows completely covered except for her eyes.
But this wasn’t her typical mission—not that any of them were normal. Each assignment held its own problems and setbacks. However, this undertaking was personal.
While Ravyn knew that by allowing her feelings into it, she was putting herself at a distinct disadvantage, she couldn’t sto
p it. There were many things she learned to control or work to her advantage, but her emotions when it came to her family wasn’t one of them.
If only the hardest part of the assignment were her feelings. Close behind was Carac. She wanted to dislike him, but she didn’t. In the little time she’d spent with him, she discovered that he was intelligent and cool-headed. He didn’t make rash decisions or seem reckless.
Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t quite determine which side he was on. And that bothered her. Because she was unsure of his allegiance, she had to steer clear of him. The fact that he appeared as interested in Lord Randall as Sybbyl and John troubled her.
She slowed her mare and dismounted once they neared the edge of the forest, dropping the reins to the ground. The horses were trained to await them or come with a certain whistle. Ravyn glanced at Margery as she grabbed her crossbow and specialized attachment with several arrows so she could fire in quick succession. Margery gave her a nod before they set out.
They moved through the trees like ghosts, leaving only silence in their wake. Ravyn lost track of the hours she’d spent learning how to disappear in a crowded market or coming up alongside someone without them knowing she was there. But it didn’t compare to the time she devoted to moving through a forest, crowds, or other places while chasing someone.
Ravyn suddenly halted, her senses picking up that they weren’t alone. She pressed herself against a tree and listened while Margery did the same about thirty yards to her left.
Ravyn waited for a flight of birds or other startled animals to show her where the intruder was. But there was nothing. The forest remained calm, but her instincts were telling her that someone was out there.
And her gut was never wrong.
She turned her head to look at Margery, whose questioning gaze was locked on her. Ravyn gave a small shake of her head. Margery jerked her chin toward their destination, indicating that she thought they should go.
Ravyn motioned her forward, but she remained behind, watching. Nothing so much as shifted with Margery’s departure.
Ravyn tightly gripped her crossbow, her gaze scanning the area all around her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She was being watched. Was it a witch?
