by Alexa Aston
Then his eyes wandered to Wrynne—and he knew.
The last thing Ferand saw was the look of triumph on James Wrynne’s face.
“Ferand?” Elia paused and then gripped his arm. “Ferand!” she cried. “What’s wrong?”
It looked as if he wanted to tell her something but couldn’t speak.
She grabbed his shoulders and shook him but the gesture suddenly made her dizzy and she stopped. A wave of nausea ran through her. Sweat broke out along her hairline.
“It’s all right, Elia. Here, take a sip of wine.”
Her fingers fell from Ferand’s shoulders. She looked at James. He seemed to blur.
“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, her voice sounding far away.
“You look parched.”
“I feel . . . so weak . . . and . . . Ferand . . .” Her voice trailed off. She had trouble finishing the thought in her mind, much less speaking.
James pressed the cup to her lips. Elia took a tiny sip and stopped.
Though her thoughts clouded, she realized something was terribly wrong with Ferand.
And he had drunk more wine than she had.
She pushed James’ arm away, knocking the cup from his hands. “I feel sick.”
“You will be for a bit but it won’t last long,” he said in a soothing tone. “Rest your eyes, Elia. You’ll be better soon.”
“Ferand . . .”
“Your husband is fine.”
“Not . . . my husband,” she slurred.
“What?”
James’ fingers dug into her arms painfully. He shook her. “What do you mean?”
“Pretending.” Her lids grew heavy.
“You pretended to be married.”
“Aye.” Her chin dropped to her chest.
James took her face in his hands and raised it, bringing his close to her. “You are not married to de Montfort?”
“Nay. He said . . . safer. To travel. Home. Pretend.”
James blurred again. “That’s very good news, Elia.”
“Love him,” she murmured, her eyes drifting shut.
He lifted her from the chair. She wanted to protest but found her mouth too numb to move. Fighting to keep her eyes open, she saw he propelled her down the narrow corridor. They reached a staircase. James swept her off her feet and carried her down it.
“Where are we going?” she asked sleepily.
“Home.”
“Good,” she sighed. “Missed . . . home.”
Elia drifted in and out, her dreams so strange she didn’t try to understand them. She thought she was on a horse but didn’t remember climbing on one. She hoped Midnight was enjoying his rest. She hoped Ferand wouldn’t be mad at her because she’d told James the two of them weren’t married. She felt so sad that she hadn’t known Stephen was wed to Audrey. She wondered if the queen had delivered her babe.
Gradually, Elia’s head began to clear. Her mouth was bone dry. It made swallowing hard. She sensed motion beneath her and realized she was riding. She opened her eyes and saw an arm around her. It wasn’t Ferand’s arm. Whose could it be? She raised her head slowly and saw the countryside whizzing by in the early morning light.
“You’re awake,” a familiar voice said.
“James?” The word came out sounding like a frog’s croak.
He slowed the horse. Her belly lurched. Elia leaned over and was sick as the horse stopped. James held on to her waist, tilting her away as she continued to retch until nothing more came up. At least she seemed better now. More like herself.
Lowering her to the ground, he swung from the saddle and gripped her elbows.
“I told you that you would be fine.”
She looked around. “Where are we? Where’s Ferand?”
“Your false husband?” James asked.
Elia tried to pull away from him but he held on tightly. Too tightly.
“Let go,” she ordered, slapping at his hands.
“Have it your way,” he said, releasing her.
She swayed and gripped the horse’s mane for support, closing her eyes again as she tried to make sense of the situation. She heard James moving behind her.
Without warning, something tightened around her wrists. Elia’s eyes flew open and saw that he wrapped a length of rope around them. Her head cleared in an instant as her anger spilled over.
“By the Christ, what do you think you’re doing, James?”
He gave her a sly look. “Securing you—and my future.” He tied a sturdy knot and smiled as he admired his handiwork.
“Take me back to York at once!”
James cocked his head. “I thought you wanted to go home, Elia.”
“I want Ferand,” she insisted. “Where is he?”
“I assume still asleep at the table where we left him.”
“You drugged us,” she accused.
“I did,” he confirmed. He reached for her but Elia stepped back.
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded.
“For half a dozen reasons, at least,” he said. “My family’s estate is almost penniless. Our crops have failed several times and my father gambled away most of our gold before his death.”
“I am sorry to hear that, James, but what has that to do with me?”
“I could ransom you back to your family,” he mused, “but I don’t want a price on my head. More than likely, I’ll sell you to the Scots. They’d pay a small fortune to have a de Wolfe as their prisoner. You know how they loathe your family. It’s the most powerful one in the north. To have a de Wolfe—even a woman—would bring them joy.” His smile smacked of evil. “Those bloodthirsty bastards will enjoy passing you around till they use you up, my sweet.”
Cold fear swept through Elia. James was right. For the Scots to get their hands on their worst enemy would be a day of celebration for them.
She had to talk him out of such a crazy scheme. Her life depended upon it.
“Why would you do such a thing, James? We were friends as children.”
He shrugged. “We were. But that ended long ago.”
“You hate me now so much you’d sell me to be raped and tortured by England’s enemies?”
“I hate your brother enough to do it. I wish it could be him but you’re the next best thing. And they might not kill you, Elia. They could marry you off to one of their clan’s chieftains and hope it gave them leverage with your father.”
“Why do you hate Stephen so?” Even as she asked the question, Elia suspected she already knew the answer.
“I loved Audrey Wilde from the time I could walk. There was nothing I wouldn’t have done for that girl. We were supposed to marry. Everyone knew we had an understanding between us. Then the great Stephen de Wolfe stepped in with his glorious name and handsome looks and wealth and lands. He turned Audrey’s head—and she never looked back.”
James glared at her, rage in his eyes. “I swore I would have my revenge on the de Wolfes. You’ll be the start of it.”
Elia turned and ran.
Chapter Thirteen
“Wake up, my lord,” someone insisted, shaking his shoulder.
Ferand peeled one eye open and saw an overturned pewter cup on the table, wine splashed across the surface. He remembered the look on James Wrynne’s face and pushed his hands against the edge of the table, forcing his head up.
A fierce pounding greeted the action, as if someone slammed a fist repeatedly above his eye. He looked up and saw a woman at his shoulder, the same one who’d brought them upstairs.
“Are you ill, my lord?” she asked.
“Nay. Wrynne put something in the wine.” He brought his hands to the side of his head and pushed, trying to quiet the noise.
“Oh, my.” Her hands flew to her mouth. “This . . . this has never happened here before. I can assure you of that. I run a reputable place.”
Ferand sighed. “I am sure you do.” He thought a moment. “Where is your nearest horse trough?”
“Behind the inn.”
>
“Take me to it.” He tried to stand and staggered back into the chair. “Do you have someone who can help me there?”
“Aye, my son. He’s probably in the stables. Wait here.” She hurried from the room.
He tried to figure out why Wrynne had taken Elia. Was the man in love with her? Ferand rested his forehead against the table until the woman returned.
“My lord, I’m here,” a young man said as he latched on to Ferand.
Ferand did his best to help, pushing off using the strength in his legs. Though wobbly, he managed to cross the room, leaning heavily on the boy assisting him. They made it down the stairs and through the kitchen. Once they reached outside, he halted.
“Give me a moment.”
Seeing a well a few feet away, he instructed the woman to draw a bucket. Once she did, he told her to throw it in his face.
“I beg your pardon?” She looked appalled.
“Just do it,” he muttered.
She complied. The cold well water helped shock him enough to stumble to the trough. Ferand plunged his entire head into the water, keeping it there till his lungs burned in agony. Only then did he raise his head, gasping for air. Both the woman and her son gaped at him. He shook his head like a wet dog would. He almost felt normal. The pounding had subsided.
“Were you in the stables when James Wrynne left?” he asked the boy.
“Aye. I saddled his horse.”
“Did he have a woman with him?”
The boy flushed bright red. “He did, my lord. He said the whore had drunk too much and couldn’t service him. He was taking her back to find one who could.”
Rage tore through Ferand. He grasped the boy’s tunic in both hands and yanked him close, until their noses touched.
“That woman is no whore! She’s my wife,” he growled.
He hurled the boy away. Immediately, Ferand regretted losing his temper and hurried over, extending his hand. He gripped the boy’s hand and brought him to his feet.
“My apology. I am upset about my wife’s disappearance.”
“It’s . . . it’s all right, my lord,” the young man said. “I would be, too. She was a beauty. I should’ve known she wasn’t a whore.”
Ferand took a deep breath. “Did Wrynne mention where he was headed?”
“Nay. But he did go north. Toward Monk Bar.”
Monk Bar was the gatehouse on the north side of the city. If Wrynne left York to return to his home, that would be the direction he would go. Night had already fallen, which meant Wrynne would have to go slowly. His horse would also carry a second rider in Elia. Ferand could catch up to them.
And kill James Wrynne.
He looked to the woman, who eyed him warily. Reaching into his coin purse, he handed her several coins.
“For our meal and any charges Wrynne did not pay you before he departed.”
She glanced at the money and back at him, her eyes wide. “Thank you, my lord.”
“I am sorry I abused your son.”
The woman grinned. “He’s gotten worse when he’s been up to mischief.”
“When we pass this way in the near future, I will plan to stay at your establishment,” he promised.
“We look forward to having you. And your wife.” She gave him a hopeful look.
Ferand nodded and hurried back to where he’d stabled Midnight. He’d already settled his bill at the inn. He saddled the horse himself and trotted through the teeming streets, reaching Monk Bar more quickly than he’d anticipated. Unfortunately, the gates had closed for the evening and the guard on duty refused to make an exception.
“Bring me to your lord commander,” Ferand said, brooking no room for a refusal. He handed Midnight’s reins to a nearby soldier.
The first guard led him to an adjacent hut. The moment they walked in, Ferand knew fortune smiled upon him.
“Thomas Atlee! So this is where you wound up.”
The knight lowered his feet from the desk where they’d perched and squinted. “Ferand de Montfort? Is that you? You sly fox.”
Atlee shook his hand and pounded him hard on the back. “How long has it been? Scotland, I’d guess.”
“Aye. Bannockburn.”
The two men reminisced briefly and then Ferand got to the point.
“I have a favor to ask, old friend.”
“Name it. I’ll see it done,” Atlee promised.
“I need to get through the gate. Now.”
Quickly, he explained how Elia had been drugged and taken. The soldier who accompanied Ferand to Atlee spoke up.
“I remember them, my lord. They rode through Monk Bar moments before we closed the gate. The woman looked ill to me but he said she was merely tired. Threw the toll at me and rode through in a hurry.”
Atlee stood. “Come.”
The three men returned outside. Atlee wished him the best and Ferand climbed atop Midnight again. The commander signaled for the gate to open and Ferand rode through. The open road lay ahead.
Somewhere out there, Elia needed him.
Elia ran as she had when she was a girl. Her grandfather had always teased that she was the swiftest of his grandchildren, even if she was the youngest and a female. It frustrated both Kenneth and Stephen that she could run circles around them and seemingly never tire. It had been many years since she’d run, but staying alive proved the best motivation.
Thinking she could lose James, she cut into the woods. She darted around trees and leaped over fallen logs, all the while thinking at some point she needed to stop and pull out her blade. Though her wrists were bound, she wanted the baselard in hand.
As she raced deeper into the forest, James continued to shout, cursing at her with venom. If he caught her, he would beat her into submission and still sell her to those miserable Scots.
Elia refused to think that would happen. She was a de Wolfe.
She darted to her left and made a wide arc, hiding behind a huge tree trunk. Bending, she pulled the dagger from her boot and took a moment to catch her breath. She could still hear James running, screaming obscenities. Quietly, she began making her way back to the road. If she could get to his horse, she could ride to safety.
But which way?
She could head toward home—or she could go back to York. Back to Ferand.
In truth, it didn’t call for a decision at all.
Elia emerged from the woods and saw the horse a short distance away. Quickly, she sprinted toward it. She reached the animal and grabbed onto the horn while slipping her foot into the stirrup. Throwing her leg over, she tried to grab the reins while still holding her blade.
She wasn’t going to be able to do both. Not with her wrists restrained.
Then James came crashing from the trees, cursing at the top of his lungs. As he rushed toward her, Elia steeled herself.
De Wolfes show courage. De Wolfes never back down.
He reached her and grasped her calf. Grinning up at her, he whispered, “Got you.”
Elia plunged the dagger into his eye.
She grabbed the reins and kicked the horse as James crumpled to the ground—and turned the beast south. To York.
To Ferand.
As she rode, Elia prayed to find him alive. She had no way of knowing if James had given Ferand a fatal dose of whatever he’d used to drug their wine. She begged the Virgin to have spared Ferand’s life. They must be reunited. Ferand had to know that she loved him.
Minutes later, she spotted a rider coming from the opposite direction. Dust kicked up in the road behind him, thanks to the speed with which he rode. She tamped down the panic that threatened to rise. Now unarmed, her wrists still locked together, she worried about defending herself from strangers.
Drawing closer, her heart leaped for joy. It was Ferand, on Midnight, racing toward her. Elia pulled back on the reins and swung down from her mount. She saw the moment he recognized her.
Suddenly, he was there, his arms around her, kissing her as if they had no tomorrow. They both tri
ed to speak at once, only to return to more passionate kisses. Finally, Ferand broke the kiss and then kissed her forehead. Her eyes. Her cheeks. Her mouth. Laughing as he did.
“I love you,” he said. “There’s no other woman but you. I need you in my life, Elia. By my side. At Kinwick. Bearing our sons and daughters. Sharing every precious day together.”
He gave her a long, deep kiss, the action as convincing as his words.
“Please, my love. Marry me. Leave the north and come south as my bride. Never, ever, leave my side. I know I ask so much of you—”
“Not any more than I’m willing to give,” she finished. “I could never love any man as I love you, Ferand. You are my everything. Now and forever. Beyond forever.”
“Beyond forever,” he echoed. Then he glanced down and frowned. “Wrynne’s work?”
She nodded as he pulled a blade and sawed through the cord restraining her. As he did, Elia told him why James had kidnapped her. When she told Ferand what James had planned, she saw the rage that filled him.
“I will kill him!” he roared.
Elia flattened her palms on his chest. “I already have.”
His eyes widened, then a slow smile began. “I knew you were the woman for me, Elia de Wolfe. We only need to ride to your father and wed once we arrive.”
Ferand’s arms enveloped her as his mouth found hers again.
Chapter Fourteen
They came over a rise and Elia spotted Castle Questing.
Home.
But not for long.
As Ferand urged Midnight on, Elia prepared herself to see her family again. Already, her emotions ran wild after their visit with Aaron Wrynne, James’ brother. Ferand had convinced Elia no good would come of sharing what James had done to her and it would bring shame to his family. As they traveled north, they came across James’ still body lying in the road and secured it to his horse, bringing it back to his home for a proper burial.
Aaron broke down when they arrived and he saw James’ horse bearing his master’s body. Ferand explained how they’d been set upon by highwaymen, which also explained their bedraggled appearance. He then told of how they’d discovered James’ body only a league north of where they had been attacked and assumed he’d lost his fight against the same thieves.
