But Alyx couldn’t let go of that dream.
“Mayhap,” she said, wounded. “But it is my dream and you are not a part of it. You never will be.”
Douglas didn’t like competing with a ghost. Whether or not Torston de Royans was physically present, he was in that room as surely as if he was bodily standing there. It was an insult to a Scots to be competing with an English dream. Just as he was gearing up to try another angle, the door to the chamber opened.
“Doogie?” It was Robby. “The lads at the gatehouse need tae see ye. Will ye come?”
With a lingering glance at Alyx, Douglas nodded his head and quietly left the chamber. But Robby was still standing there, as was Edna. When the baby wailed, Edna disappeared into the second chamber, leaving Robby standing by the door.
Robby hadn’t had much contact with Alyx. She’d either been with Douglas, or Edna, or shut up in this chamber. She was such an angelic creature and he could see what had Douglas so fascinated, but the circumstances just seemed terribly off to him. Douglas was going to get them into a bitter war with the entire border and Robby was against that in so many ways. He didn’t want to see his brothers and mother killed and he didn’t want to see their way of life ruined. All because Douglas was obsessed with an English lass.
He felt rather sorry for the lass in spite of everything.
“Is there anything ye need, m’lady?” he asked politely. “Can I send for some food? Wine?”
Alyx’s gaze lingered on the man. “I have seen you,” she said. “Who are you?”
“They call me Robby the Red, m’lady.”
“Are you related to Douglas?”
“His cousin, m’lady.”
Alyx pondered that for a moment before coming closer, looking closely at the man as if inspecting him.
“Aye,” she said. “There is something I need. I need to go home. Will you take me?”
Robby’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, but I canna do it. Ye belong tae Doogie.”
“I do not belong to him. And I want to go home. Am I a prisoner?”
Robby wasn’t sure how to answer her. Edna chose that moment to emerge from the second chamber, carrying little Michael in her arms, and Robby looked to the woman to silently beg her for help. Edna, who had heard most of the conversation, wasn’t unsympathetic.
“I’ll keep at my son, Lady Alyx,” she said softly. “But Robby canna help ye. It would only get him into trouble.”
Alyx looked at Robby. “I do not want to get you into trouble, but I want go to home.” She suddenly teared up, her lower lip quivering. “It’s not fair to keep me here. I just want to go home.”
Bursting into soft sobs, she turned away, heading for the window. Edna and Robby watched her for a moment as she wept, feeling pity for the woman that Douglas was so determined to keep. Edna finally got Robby’s attention and gestured toward the door. Together, they left the chamber, but they both had the same destination in mind.
Douglas.
He may have captured Alyx, but he didn’t have her mind or her heart.
That, unfortunately, belonged to another and the more Douglas tried to keep her caged, the more she would slip away.
Byrness
It was just before sunset as Torston rode into the small village of Byrness.
Barely ten miles south of The Lyceum, it took him little time to get there. But his mood was cagey and tense, his eyes darting about as he rode into town, looking for any sign of a nine-year-old boy and a man holding him hostage. He felt guilty that he didn’t know his own son on sight, but that couldn’t be helped. He’d have to rely on observations and instinct.
That was all he had to go on.
On the ride south, he’d had a good deal to think about. Miles of nothing to do but ride swiftly and think about the greatest mistake he’d probably made in his entire life – sending his son away. But as he’d told Antonia, rather foolishly confessing, he’d been young at the time. He’d been so very fearful that a bastard child would damage his reputation at his new position. He’d been young, but not so young that he should not have known better. He should have faced up to his responsibility rather than send the child away like a dark secret to be hidden.
That lack of responsibility had started this entire situation.
And Morley… the man had been the one to arrange the child’s departure. Now he knew why, but he couldn’t give thought to that now. Given what he knew now about Lady Antonia, or more rightly Lady de Weese, he couldn’t imagine what the child had been through in his young life. The mere thought drove Torston to rage because he genuinely believed the child had a place of comfort and safety within the House of de Weese. Yet, that hadn’t been the case.
He fully intended to right his wrongs.
The sun was setting as he rode into town, his attention immediately going to the largest inn in the entire village, one named Lord Percy, named after one of the great families in the north. It was a big place, two stories of stone, with streams of warm light coming from the windows and the sounds of conversation and laughter. Torston had to start somewhere, so he figured that he may as well start here.
Pulling his horse around back to the livery and paying a skinny lad a pence to make sure his animal was fed and watered, he removed his weapons and his saddlebags. Just as he was leaving the livery, he noticed a horse that he recognized.
Awareness flickered across his face.
Quickly, he made his way into the inn through the rear of the establishment.
Now, he was looking for someone. Entering through the kitchen door, he passed by the kitchens as he entered the outskirts of a rather large common room. The ceiling was low, the floor of hard-packed earth, and the hearth was spitting more smoke into the room than it was up the chimney.
Being that he was rather tall, Torston had to bend over to keep his eyes from watering in the layer of smoke near the ceiling. He quickly perused the room, moving into a dark corner so he could do it without really being noticed.
The room was full of people on this night and the food was plentiful. People were eating and drinking, enjoying their evening, when Torston finally spied the man he’d been looking for, tucked over near the hearth. Quickly, he made his way to the man on the outskirts of the room.
“Lance?” he said with surprise as he pulled out a chair at the knight’s table and sat down. “What in the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be heading for Elmington.”
Lance looked at Torston in shock. “God’s bones,” he muttered. “You gave me a start. I saw the sword first before I saw the face. I thought I was in for a row.”
Torston shook his head, looking around the room, seeing if anyone was watching him. “Not yet,” he said. “But soon, mayhap. Thank God I’ve found you. What are you doing here?”
Lance shrugged. “I left Makendon a few hours ago and was making my way south,” he said. “I simply stopped here for the night. What are you doing here?”
“Something incredible. You have no idea what’s been going on since you left The Lyceum.”
“What?”
Torston removed his helm, setting it down with the rest of his gear. He ran a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp. “God, where to begin?” he mumbled. “The first thing you should know is that Winslow passed away early this morning. Died in his sleep.”
Lance’s eyes widened. “De Ameland is dead?”
Torston nodded. “He was a good man and shall be sorely missed,” he said. “I know you were close to him, Lance. I am sorry.”
Lance was still staring at him with wide eyes. After a moment, he blinked, clearly in shock. “My God,” he breathed. “How are Alyx and Dyl taking it?”
Torston closed his eyes briefly, tightly. “Dyl did not take it well at all,” he said. “He understands that his father is dead, but his grief is unrestrained. And Alyx doesn’t know yet.”
“Why in the hell not?”
“Because Douglas Kerr caught her wandering the woods and took her back
to Luckenburn Tower.”
Lance’s jaw dropped. “Kerr has her?”
“Aye.”
“And you sit here so calmly?”
Torston shook his head, grabbing for Lance’s cup of ale and downing what was left in the cup. “I am not calm,” he insisted. “Trust me when I tell you that. I intend to go after her, but I have a very big problem and that is why I am here. First of all, you needn’t go to Elmington.”
Lance’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”
“Because Lady Lilia is not allied with the Scots,” he said. “We know that for a fact. Furthermore, she is not Lady Lilia, but an imposter. The girl we thought was Lilia confessed everything to me. The real Lady Lilia died several years ago and Lady Antonia put an imposter in her place to ensure the marriage went through. It seems that Lady Antonia is not who she seems. She is really Lady de Weese, orchestrating this entire mess like a puppet master. What’s more, Morley is involved. He is Lady Antonia’s half-brother. But that’s not the worst of it.”
Lance was aghast. “Good God,” he hissed. “What more could there be?”
Torston sighed sharply; confessions did not come easily to him. “When I first came to The Lyceum, I bedded a serving wench and she bore my child,” he said. “Embarrassed and ashamed, I arranged for the child to be sent to a friend of my father’s, the House of de Weese. That is how the betrothal came about; the House of de Weese felt they were doing me a favor by hiding my son, so my father agreed to a betrothal with Lilia to show his gratitude.”
Lance was clearly overwhelmed by everything he was hearing. “But why are you here in Byrness?”
“Because Lady Antonia informed me that if I did not go through with the wedding as planned, she would kill my son,” he said. “The lad is being held somewhere in this town by a man under orders to kill him if anyone but Lady Antonia comes for him. I have to rescue the boy before I can rescue Alyx. Since you are here, I will need your help.”
Lance nodded seriously. “Anything, Torston, you know that,” he said. Then, he sat back in his chair and puffed out his cheeks. “You said much had happened since I left… you were not exaggerating. The world has exploded.”
Torston nodded. “Indeed, it has,” he said. “I need you to help me find my son so we can rescue him from whoever holds him. Then, I need you to return to The Lyceum immediately. Lord Harringham’s madness has consumed him and he is planning an attack on Luckenburn Tower as we speak. He is under the impression that we must destroy the Scots once and for all. Jess is there to try and control him, but I need you there, too. Lionel knows and respects you, and I fear you are the only one who can control him while I am off saving Alyx. You are also needed to deal with Lord Winslow’s burial. I’ve not had time to make any arrangements.”
Lance was nodding. “Understandable,” he said. Then, he swallowed hard. “My God, this is a mess. But one thing at a time. Let’s find your son first and make sure he is safe.”
“Indeed,” Torston said. He began to look around the room again, studying people. “I am told he will more than likely be locked up in a chamber with one man looking over him, so I do not think we’ll find him here in the common room. He would be in one of the sleeping chambers. There is another inn in this town, isn’t there?”
Lance nodded. “The Cow and the Pig,” he said. “It is at the other end of town, but it only has two sleeping rooms. I know because I stopped there tonight before I came here and was told they were full. The place is full of drunkards.”
Torston rubbed his chin. “I do not think they would be in a private home,” he said. “It has to be one of these two inns. Come with me.”
Lance did. Gathering his possessions, he followed Torston out to the kitchens where a man was shouting over several women who were preparing food at a frenzied pace. Assuming the man was the innkeeper, Torston called him over.
“What is it, m’lords?” the fat, sweaty man demanded. “I’ve little time tonight. Burned several loaves of bread, they did.”
He was referring to his servants but Torston ignored the comment. “I am looking for a man and a small boy, around nine years of age,” he said, digging into his purse and pulling out a shiny silver piece. He held it up for the man to see. “Do you have anyone in the sleeping rooms that match that description?”
The innkeeper was suddenly very interested in speaking to them. Reaching up, he snatched the silver piece from Torston’s grip.
“Aye,” he said. “A small boy and a man are upstairs, the last door to the left. In fact, I was just going to take them up their meal.”
Torston looked at Lance, the two of them surprised and very pleased that they’d evidently struck gold so quickly. It was better than they could have hoped for.
“I’ll take the meal,” Torston said. “And you stay out of it. Do you understand?”
The innkeeper shrugged. He’d already made a pretty penny by just giving the man information. “All I ask is that you not destroy the room,” he said. “Whatever you do, try to leave the room intact.”
Torston’s eyes glittered as he pulled out a second coin and flipped it to the man. “No promises,” he said. “Is there another way out of the room?”
The innkeeper looked at him, expectantly, and Torston knew what the man wanted. He pulled out yet another coin and handed it over.
“There is a window overlooking the livery,” the innkeeper said. “If he wanted to escape you, he could jump from the window.”
That made the situation a bit more fluid, but it didn’t stop Torston. He simply nodded and gestured to the food being prepared in the kitchen.
“Bring me his meal,” he said. “I’ll trouble you no further.”
The innkeeper turned back to his servants, bellowing at them to prepare a tray. As he did so, Torston turned to Lance.
“I’ll take the food to them, but you get out to the horses and make sure they’re ready to depart,” he said quietly. “Then, I want you to get to that window in case the man tries to jump out, or worse, throw the lad out.”
Lance nodded firmly. “Give me at least five minutes to get everything ready and position myself below the window,” he said, slapping Torston on the arm before grabbing everything but Torston’s broadsword. “Start counting.”
As he raced out the back door, heading for the livery, Torston began counting out the seconds.
They were the longest seconds of his life.
He wasn’t even sure he was counting correctly. Perhaps he was going too fast. He could see the livery yard from where he was standing and he’d counted out almost four minutes before he saw Lance emerge quickly into the yard leading two horses.
Knowing the time was upon him, Torston snatched the tray that a wench was preparing and headed to the second floor, up a flight of stairs that creaked and popped under his weight.
The corridor at the top of the stairs was narrow and dark. There were four doors from what he could see and the innkeeper had told him the last door on the left. Quietly, he made his way to the door and put his ear against it, listening. He didn’t hear anything. Rapping softly, he disguised his voice, trying to make it sound like a wench.
“Your meal, sir,” he said.
He didn’t think he sounded much like a wench, hoping he hadn’t just blown his entire plan, but someone unbolted the door from the other side very quickly. The next Torston realized, the panel was flying open and he found himself face to face with a tall, slender man with long red hair.
Torston flew into action.
He smashed the tray and its hot contents right into the man’s face, unsheathing his sword in the same movement. The man, startled and scalded, had no chance to retrieve his weapon before Torston rammed his broadsword into the man’s chest.
The fight was over before it even began. The man fell to the ground, bleeding out, as Torston looked around the tiny room for a small boy.
It was empty.
Feeling sickened, and possibly lied to, he was about to march out of the room and thra
sh the innkeeper when he heard a sound. Like a squeak, or perhaps a tiny gasp. He paused, but there wasn’t anyone in the chamber that he could see.
Unless…
Dropping to a knee, he peered under the small bed in the corner and saw two big, blue eyes looking back at him in the darkness.
“Ryston?” he asked softly.
The eyes blinked. He could see them glitter in the dim firelight from the hearth. “Who… who are you?”
It was the voice of a small boy. On pins and needles, Torston extended a hand. “Come out, lad,” he said gently. “I will not hurt you, I promise. Please come out.”
The child hesitated before scooting in Torston’s direction, finally taking his hand. Torston pulled the child out and tried to set him on his feet, but the boy’s legs collapsed under him. They wouldn’t support his weight and Torston ended up sitting the child on the ground.
“What is wrong?” Torston asked, greatly concerned. “Are you injured?”
The child was staring at him with tremendous fear. “Nay,” he said. “I… I cannot walk.”
Torston didn’t understand. “You cannot walk?” he repeated. “Why? What has happened?”
The child shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I have never walked. Adlai said I was useless and he put me under the bed.”
Torston stared at him a moment. No one had ever told him his child was crippled, so he was both confused and shocked. “Who is Adlai?”
The child pointed to the dead man on the floor, undisturbed by the sight of blood. “Him.”
Torston’s confusion remained. He looked at the man on the floor before looking at the child again. “You are Ryston, are you not?”
The little boy nodded. “Aye,” he said. “My father is a great knight. Do you know him?”
Torston smiled faintly. There was such adoration in the child’s words that it both touched him and magnified his guilt. Was it possible the child loved him after all he’d done to him?
“I am your father,” he said quietly. “I am Torston de Royans. I have come for you, lad.”
Ryston’s eyes widened. “You… you are?”
The Centurion Page 29
