Sharon Lanergan

by The Prisoner

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered, her heart increasing another beat.

  “I heard you cry out.” Brian glanced around the shrouded room, his expression unreadable.

  Constance hugged herself, suddenly aware her simple garment hid little from Brian’s gaze.

  “I had a dream, a bad one, that’s all,” Constance told him. At least the single flickering candle didn’t add much illumination to the room.

  “I heard you say no, and then just now you cried out.”

  Constance nodded. “I was startled when you came to the door. What are you doing out of bed? It’s late.”

  She was aware his room was not close to hers, so she doubted he’d heard her from inside his chamber.

  “I don’t sleep very well,” Brian admitted, backing toward the door. He looked uncertain. “If you are sure you are all right…”

  “Wait,” Constance said, moving to block his hasty exit. He’d come to her room. She didn’t want him to leave now. “You have dreams, too, don’t you?”

  For several moments Brian didn’t reply, just stared with sorrow-filled eyes. Afraid he would shrink back into himself, Constance took a step toward him. She met his dark gaze.

  “I have them, aye,” he said in an almost reverent tone. “They aren’t something I talk about.”

  “What do you talk about, Brian?”

  He smiled a little. “Nothing.”

  Constance sighed and turned away from him. She was weary of this constant fight to get him to open up. And her heart wasn’t in it. Not tonight.

  He touched her shoulder and her whole body quaked.

  “Want to tell me about your dream?” Brian asked.

  Constance exhaled, trying to ignore her reaction to the touch of his hand. When they were held captive together, his touch brought her comfort. But now it was something else. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for those feelings.

  “I don’t know if it will do any good,” Constance admitted.

  “Now you sound like me.”

  Constance turned to face him once more, hearing the amusement in his voice. She smiled back.

  “I certainly wouldn’t want that.” She sighed. “I dreamt about Loutrant.”

  “He can’t hurt you anymore,” Brian said, searching her face.

  “I know.”

  He grasped one of her hands in his and squeezed it. “He’s dead. I saw him fall from the tower myself.”

  “But he’s not dead here,” she whispered, tapping her head a little. She swallowed hard.

  Constance stepped to within inches of Brian. She released his hand and walked into his arms. He pulled her into his embrace.

  Being this close, feeling his strength envelope her, proved to be her undoing. She raised her chin just as he lowered his. Their lips met.

  She’d thought about kissing Brian often enough, but in her imaginings it had never been so passionate. Constance gasped against his lips, and his tongue plundered her mouth.

  Of their own volition, her arms came around his neck, and she murmured low in her throat.

  His mouth was bruising, demanding, intense just like the man. He broke off for a moment and Constance gulped for air, but Brian was not yet finished. Her lungs had barely filled when his lips descended on hers once more.

  Her fingers threaded through his dark hair, thick and coarse. His teeth nipped her bottom lip.

  Constance didn’t know how she ended up by the bed, but she felt it against the back of her legs. For a moment she stiffened, but then Brian pushed her gently down and covered her body with his.

  He pushed her wrap aside, one of his big hands splaying on her bare middle. The devouring kiss broke, and Brian’s lips trailed to her neck. Constance sucked in a breath, her fingers threading through his hair.

  She wanted him. Desperately, wantonly. She pulled his lips back to hers, her tongue fencing with his.

  Constance heard a shout from below in the courtyard. Not of alarm, but of warriors calling back and forth to each other.

  Then they froze as one. Brian stopped the kiss and his gaze searched hers.

  It was wrong and they both knew it. Somehow.

  Constance touched his bottom lip with her fingertip, and smiled. “You’d probably better go.”

  He nodded, letting out a shaky breath. His weight lifted from her and Constance pushed aside the overwhelming sense of disappointment. She straightened her wrap and sat up on the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” Brian said, looking away. “I shouldn’t have. I can’t…”

  Constance shook her head, cutting him off. She didn’t want to hear him reject her. Couldn’t bear it. “Don’t. It was naught. You wanted to comfort me because of my nightmare.”

  Brian laughed low, a hollow sound. “Nay, ‘twas not comfort I thought of.”

  Constance looked up, startled, her heart increasing a beat. “Brian?”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Constance. And I cannot help but be attracted to you.” Brian backed away, toward the door. “I want you. I can’t deny.”

  Constance opened her mouth to say something but he held up his hand.

  “But we can never be together,” he told her. He opened the door of her room and walked out, saying as he closed the door, “I can’t ever have you.”

  ****

  Six months earlier, the cell

  “Please wake up.”

  A touch on his cheek, the soft angelic voice. Brian opened his eyes.

  “Constance.” He closed his eyes again, his lids were so heavy. “Sleep.”

  “Not now,” Constance insisted, lifting his shirt to look at his wound. “I am sorry I am a little later than usual with your meal. ‘Tis dark already.” She flushed a dark red. “But I brought some things to care for you.”

  Brian watched her remove a damp cloth from under her gown. She placed it on his abdomen.

  “Ouch.” He flinched at the sting.

  “Sorry,” Constance mumbled, intently studying his sore. “I only wish I had some water to rinse the cloth clean.”

  “You’re lucky you got past Loutrant with anything.”

  She nodded, lowering her gaze, and pressed the cloth.

  Brian grimaced. “Tell me more of your family. It will take my mind off what you do.”

  “The Fitzroys?”

  Brian closed his eyes briefly, sorrowfully. “Aye. Tell me of your father’s friend, Hugh.”

  Constance glanced up for a moment and smiled. “He was a wonderful man.”

  I know, Brian wanted to say. Loutrant told him his father was dead a while ago. Brian didn’t know how long ago since he’d lost concept of time. “How long ago did he die?”

  “Four years. It was so hard on everyone.”

  It would be. Hugh had always been so strong. And Brian never got the chance to tell his father how much he meant to Brian.

  “How did it happen?” He struggled to make his voice sound casual, even though the pain went deep.

  Constance was now wrapping the wound with another length of cloth. She sighed.

  “He’d spent the night with Agnes, as he often did.” Constance smiled a little. “Agnes was the nurse of all his sons when they were born. After Hugh’s wife died, he and Agnes fell in love.”

  Brian felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He remembered. Feisty, impossible Agnes.

  Constance shook her head. “He was leaving in the morning and he just collapsed outside of her cottage. No one could revive him.”

  Brian blinked a few times rapidly to push away the moisture threatening. Of all his family, he missed his father the most. And he’d been robbed of so many years he could have spent knowing him.

  “There,” Constance said, and sat back to admire her handiwork. She tugged at the bandage a little. “It seems fairly snug.”

  “Thank you.”

  She pointed to the trencher. “I brought your meal also.”

  Brian nodded.

  Constance glanced behind her at the door, but neither of t
hem heard the approach of Owen yet.

  She turned back and asked, “Were you close to your father?”

  “Not as close as I would have liked,” Brian admitted. “I think I wasn’t what he expected in a first son.”

  “So you were the eldest?”

  “Aye. I didn’t take anything very seriously much to my father’s annoyance.” Brian toyed with his knee. “On the day I ended up here, I was supposed to meet with my father. To talk about the estates. But I never went.”

  And lost the last chance to see him. He would be forever haunted by his failures. They inflicted more pain than anything Loutrant could throw his way.

  Constance had tears in her eyes. “Mayhap your father is still alive?”

  “Nay,” Brian said. “Loutrant wasted no time telling me of his death.”

  “I’m sorry,” Constance said, brushing at a tear on her cheek. “He is so cruel.”

  “I don’t want to talk about my life. Anything good has long since left me.” Brian reached for her hand, so tiny in his. “I want to talk about you.”

  “What about me?” Constance sniffed.

  “What has Loutrant done to you, Constance? What has his cruelty cost you?”

  She hugged herself. “I don’t even know myself what he has cost me. Not entirely. But they will come for me. I know they will.”

  “The Fitzroys?”

  Constance nodded.

  “If there is one thing I have learned while here, sweetheart, it is you can rely on no one but yourself. You must get out on your own.”

  Constance protested, “Nay, you do not know these men. They will do all they can.”

  Brian smiled a little. “To retrieve a lady like you, I have no doubt they will stop at nothing, Constance. But you have to remember I thought at one time I would be rescued too. I was so certain of it.”

  “But they didn’t come,” Constance said.

  “Loutrant told them I was dead. Provided proof of my death. There was no one to rescue as far as my family was concerned.” Brian shook his head. “You cannot trust them to come for you, angel.”

  A lone tear fell on her cheek and he felt a monster for dashing her hopes. He did not want to hurt her. But he couldn’t let her have false hope either.

  Brian was grateful to hear the approach of Owen. He wanted to be alone now. To grieve.

  Chapter Eight

  Autumn, Fitzroy Castle

  Brian had been training for days, and so far, no one guessed his identity. He imagined they thought him hiding out in his room. They thought him a simple warrior. An impression he wanted them to have.

  Through for the day, Brian headed off the training field and toward the back of the castle where he would enter by the back stairs.

  He walked along the edge of the courtyard and was about to turn the corner of the castle when he heard the shout of a herald, followed by the sounds of approaching horses.

  Out of the castle came Telford and Stephen, so Brian blended in with other onlookers on the side. Curious, he removed his helmet to get a clearer view of the new arrivals.

  “Nick, welcome,” Telford called out to the leader in the approaching riders.

  His brother. He should have known. They must have sent for him to talk to crazed Brian.

  Shaking his head in disgust, Brian put his helmet on once more and headed for the back of the castle.

  He didn’t need yet another interfering brother. Brian knew who had carried him out of the dungeon. Knew who had played the role of older brother while he was gone. Was he still hoping to play big brother to the weakened Brian? To hell with them all.

  Brian had almost reached the back stairs, his mind on the arrival of Nick, when he stepped on a piece of cloth.

  Frowning, he glanced down at it. It was just a small square of cloth, but it was familiar. He crouched down and examined it. It appeared to have been cut from something larger. Turning it over, Brian froze, for a moment his mind reeling at what he was looking at.

  The black scrap of material had an embroidered lion with gold thread holding a dagger between its teeth. The Loutrant family coat of arms. Brian closed his fist around it.

  “Nay,” he said out loud. It could not be.

  ****

  Nicholas Fitzroy stopped his enormous black stallion before his brothers and with a little wave, dismounted.

  Constance watched from the doorway, content to stay in the background for now.

  As pleased as she was to see him, this was his brothers’ time with him. He’d been sorely missed by them all.

  Telford pulled Nick into a hearty embrace, laughing and talking all at once. Then Nick turned and ruffled Stephen’s hair, and Stephen snorted and pulled away. And Lucien stood by, quiet as ever, but with a welcoming smile on his lips nonetheless.

  “How is Marion?” Telford asked.

  “Increasing, but doing very well. She is no longer ill,” Nick replied. He turned and gave quick directions to the stable lad coming for his horse.

  “‘Tis a shame she could not come with you,” Stephen said.

  Nick nodded. “I don’t want her making such a trip right now. Her sister, Elizabeth, has come for a visit.” He glanced around. “But I have promised to return home soon.”

  Constance leaned against the castle wall. In a lot of ways, Nick resembled his older brother, Brian. Tall, dark hair, dark blue midnight eyes, tiny lines about their eyes she found very attractive. But Brian had lost a lot of the muscle he’d once had and was now quite a bit more slender than Nick.

  Nick also lacked the raw passion she saw in Brian. The darkness.

  Nick noticed her for the first time and with a broad smile held out his arms. She rushed into them.

  “It’s so good to see you again,” Constance whispered against him.

  He tightened his embrace for a moment than held her at arm’s length, studying her closely.

  “Are you all right?” he asked too perceptively.

  Constance forced a bright smile on her lips. “Never better.”

  Nick opened his mouth to say something else but Telford slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Come, you must be weary. Your old room is ready for you,” Telford said.

  Nick narrowed his gaze just a fraction at Constance, then he touched her cheek. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Constance pretended to study a fleck on her gown. She was grateful when his attention was once more drawn away by one of his brothers.

  The four of them went into the castle together. She felt a pang of regret for Brian. He didn’t have this. And didn’t even seem to want it.

  Since the night of her bad dream, Constance had not seen Brian. She couldn’t forget the touch of his lips on hers. Or how he’d told her he could never have her.

  They all hoped Nick could help Brian, somehow. She only wished she could believe it, too. She wondered if he was beyond anyone’s help.

  With a heavy sigh, Constance followed after them.

  ****

  Brian stared at the door of his chamber. He knew he’d hear a knock on it at any moment. A command performance before Nick. He took another gulp from his goblet of wine.

  Either Nick would come himself or else one of the others would ask him to join them for the meal. So he fortified himself.

  On the small table next to him was the scrap of cloth he’d found behind the castle.

  What did it mean?

  Tap, tap.

  Brian smirked. It was about time.

  “Come,” he said, snatching the square of cloth from the table.

  The door opened without any sort of hesitation, telling Brian all he needed to know without even glancing at the door.

  “Join me for a drink, Nick.” He gestured loftily to other chair.

  Nick sat down on the small wooden chair. It creaked under his weight. He eyed the decanter next to Brian.

  “Want some?” Brian asked. When Nick nodded, Brian poured him a splash of wine in the other goblet.

  “You don’t s
eem terribly surprised to see me,” Nick commented, his expression unreadable.

  “I saw your arrival,” Brian admitted. “I was a bit surprised then.” He smiled ruefully. “Not sure why I was, though. I should have expected this from those three.”

  “They’re concerned about you.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve lost my mind, you know.”

  Nick grimaced. “This is nothing to jest about.”

  Brian downed his wine and poured another. “Isn’t it? I find it all infinitely amusing.”

  “What has happened to you?”

  “Hmm.” Brian leaned back in his chair. “Let’s see. I saw the only woman I loved murdered in front of me, I found out about the death of my father from Finius Loutrant. Ah, yes, and I was locked away by the same Loutrant for what was it, thirteen years?”

  Nick raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “You are more sarcastic and bitter than when I left here.”

  “And you imagined I would change?” Brian shook his head. “You are all so wrong, Nick. I have changed. What you see is the real Brian. Or at least the Brian I am now.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that. You’re hiding, Brian,” Nick said. “Whenever things don’t go your way, you hide. If Father was displeased with you, you just avoided him. If a woman got through to you, you pushed her away.”

  The all-knowing Nick had spoken. Only he didn’t know anything. Brian shrugged. “Believe what you will. I care naught.”

  Nick took his first sip of the wine. He appeared to study the color of it in his goblet.

  “Everyone would like it if you came down to dine with us,” Nick said after a moment.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why?” Nick raised his gaze to Brian’s. His gaze was full of judgment.

  “I tried it once and it was a disaster.”

  “Keep trying.” Nick stood up and walked to the door. “You may not want or need them, but they need you.”

  The door closed behind Nick.

  Damn him.

  Brian threw his goblet across the room.

  Chapter Nine

  The silence was deafening.

  Constance picked at the swan on her trencher, not wanting to meet the gazes of the Fitzroys.