by Jody Hedlund
“Well, I don’t love him.”
“Yes, you do,” Bulldog whispered fiercely. “You’re just too stubborn to admit it.” He propped himself up on his elbows so that I had no choice but to look at the stubs of his missing thumbs. “Stop acting like a child, Juliana.”
“I’m not.”
He growled. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re a full-grown woman now. And you can’t live down here with a bunch of men forever.”
My gaze touched on the dirty, bearded faces of the men who’d become my friends over the past couple of years. None of them had ever paid any attention to the fact that I was a girl. Why would they start now that I was getting older?
“If it worries you, then I’ll start sleeping with the women and children.”
“You have to get married eventually.”
“Says who?”
“I do!” His voice thundered through the cavern. Several of the men stirred. Bulldog waited a few seconds, then continued in a lower voice. “Lord Collin is the kind of man your father would have picked for you if he was still alive.”
“Collin’s father offered a union when we were but children, and my father refused.”
“That’s because Lord Goodrich was a self-serving dog.”
I shrugged.
“Collin Goodrich is not his father.”
“I thought you said the only good nobleman was a dead one.”
“Well, this one is good for something.” Bulldog lowered his voice back to a rasp. “For taking you away from this pit.”
My mind tumbled back over all the experiences I’d had with Collin: the constant kindness he’d shown to me, the generosity, the tenderness. He’d even humbled himself enough to live with me in the caverns. He hadn’t required special treatment and had, in fact, attempted to learn as much as he could about our way of life, as well as adapt to mine.
Collin Goodrich was a decent, God-fearing man. Any woman would be blessed to have him as a husband.
A place deep inside me ached to be that woman.
Was Bulldog right? Did I love Collin?
Or was I merely growing more convicted of the wrongness of my stealing? I’d always felt justified. But what if God was displeased with my methods? Was He calling me to do something different? Something that wouldn’t lower me to the same level as my uncle? Because that’s what I’d done, hadn’t I? I’d resorted to the same ugly tactics Uncle used.
A sudden noise in the hidden passageway brought Bulldog to his knees. He unsheathed his knife and had it ready to throw before my fingers even connected with mine. My heart lurched with sudden keen longing. I suddenly desperately prayed the noise was Collin, that he’d come back, that he would admit he couldn’t leave my side.
Maybe he’d decided to stay with me in the forest.
I released a disappointed breath when the head that poked into the cavern belonged to one of the guards posted on duty above ground. “Thatch’s come back,” he whispered to Bulldog. “But he’s hurt somethin’ awful.”
Bulldog re-sheathed his knife and scrambled on hands and knees through the winding maze of tunnels faster than I could keep up. When we finally reached the base of the large hollowed-out oak that hid the opening of our caves, I was breathing hard and my pulse hammered with worry.
I crawled through the splintered bark of the tree and ducked out into the thick woodland that shrouded the entrance to our homes. The steady patter of rain greeted me, along with the sight of Thatch propped against a nearby trunk.
He leaned his head back, giving a clear view of his battered face. His straw-like hair was plastered to his forehead above bruised eyes and cheeks. Blood dripped from his nose and ran with the rain onto his swollen and cracked lips.
Bulldog rushed forward and fell to his knees in front of his son. “What happened to you, boy?”
Thatch shook his head and glanced wildly behind him. He tried to turn, but instead cradled his arms to his chest.
When Bulldog pried one of his son’s hands forward, Thatch cried out in pain. “Did you break your arm?” Bulldog asked.
I kneeled next to him. A glance at his hands told me he’d experienced much more than a broken arm. His fingers were bloodied, the tips punctured, his fingernails torn from the flesh.
The skin on my back prickled. My fingers closed around my knife, then went to the bare spot on my shoulder where my bow would have been had I not rushed out of the cave without it.
“He’s been tortured,” I whispered. But even as I spoke the words, Bulldog slipped out his dagger.
I’d seen enough torture and mistreatment over the years that the blood and gore didn’t rile my stomach. It only fueled my anger. “Who would do such a thing? And why?”
The soft whinny of a horse came from behind me. “I did it.”
I stiffened and tightened my grip around the knife.
“Drop your weapons or I’ll kill the boy,” came the low voice.
Bulldog’s forehead furrowed into deep crevices and his eyes narrowed. Slowly, he lowered his dagger as he spun to face the intruder.
I followed his example, unwilling to put Thatch in any further danger.
At the sight that met me, my blood turned as cold as the rain that was pelting my head.
There, on a pure white steed and wearing a white cloak, sat Lord Wessex. Another horse stepped out of the shadows, carrying Edgar. He gave a pointed glance around the woods at the wide circle of soldiers surrounding us, their bows stretched with arrows notched. All of them pointed at me. “We offer you our sincerest greetings,” Edgar said.
“And my deepest thanks to your boy for so kindly leading the way here,” Uncle said to Bulldog. “If you’d like me to put him out of his misery, just say the word. I have no need of him now that he’s cooperated so well.”
“What do you want?” I stepped forward.
The soldiers’ bows stretched tighter. But Uncle raised his hand to stop them from shooting. Instead, he gave me a cool smile, one that cracked the pockmarked skin of his face. I instead focused on his dark hair, which contrasted with the white hood of his cloak.
“She wants to know what I want.” Uncle exchanged a glance with Edgar. “What do I want?”
Edgar slid from his mount and crossed toward me. With each footstep, my muscles tightened. When I risked a quick glance next to me, I saw Bulldog’s lips had curled in a snarl. I put a steadying hand upon his arm.
Once Sir Edgar stood before me, he flashed a wide smile. Then with a vicious, almost brutal yank, he tore off my cap, ripping strands of hair with it.
I cried out at the pain.
Bulldog lunged for Edgar, but before Bulldog could manage a punch or kick, soldiers surrounded him and dragged him back. They yanked his arms upward behind him so that he had no choice but to fall to his knees with a moan of pain.
My hair tumbled down my shoulders. It was already damp from the rain, but with the steady patter now hitting my head, the curls flattened against my cheeks.
“It’s so nice to see you again.” Edgar tossed my cap to the ground. “Lady Eleanora.”
I didn’t respond.
“Or should I say, Cousin?”
“I’m not your cousin.”
He grinned again. Then, before I knew what was coming, he raised the back of his hand and smacked me across the mouth, his knuckles making contact with my lips.
The metallic taste of blood oozed between my teeth and onto my tongue.
“No more lies, Juliana.” He straightened his shoulders. “Or should I once more correct myself and say, Cloaked Bandit.”
I lifted my chin, and a trickle of blood dribbled off and onto my cloak. I met Edgar’s smirk head on and didn’t flinch.
So this was it. They’d finally caught me.
Chapter
15
I STEPPED LIGHTLY THROUGH THE BRUSH, ATTEMPTING TO cover my tracks. Glancing up, I squinted through the rain into the branches overhead. I expected to see a lookout guard, hear the soft blue jay call the peasants used in warning, o
r even find Bulldog lying in wait for me like the first time I’d come into the forest. But in the hour since I’d left my horse and men behind, I’d sensed no one.
Even with the light patter of rain on the leaves that were left on the trees, the woodland was too quiet. My gut told me something wasn’t right. The peasants always kept watch for intruders entering their deep area of the forest. Where were they today?
I studied the foliage, the trees, and the ground. Someone had been in the woods. And whoever it was hadn’t been very careful. I knelt and pushed back a tangle of brambles. There in the mud and sludge of fallen leaves were hoof prints. I shoved aside more of the thicket, revealing the clear outline of large boots.
I straightened, and my heart took a dive into my stomach.
Surely the prints were only those of scouts, the men Lord Wessex had sent in an attempt to find Juliana and her people. The soldiers wouldn’t be able to locate the hidden passageway. It was impossible to find without someone guiding them there.
Nevertheless, I lengthened my stride until I was almost running through the forest, heedless now of covering my tracks. My pulse pounded louder until it roared through my head. When I finally crashed through the brush surrounding the wide, old tree that led to the caves, I tried to catch my breath.
But at the sight that met me, fear pierced my chest. Blankets, rags, sleeping pallets, and the few possessions the peasants owned had been strewn over the ground and crushed. In the middle of all the destruction was a body sprawled facedown—a thin boy with a patch of dirty, straw-colored hair poking from beneath a cap.
“Blessed Mary.” I bolted toward the body, knelt next to it, and gently rolled him over. “Thatch.”
The boy’s eyes were closed and his face pale and bruised and beaten. One glance at his broken arms and bloody fingertips gave me all the information I needed to know about what had happened.
Thatch had apparently allowed his anger to make him careless, and had wandered too close to one of Wessex’s patrol while running off yesterday. The soldiers had captured the boy, tortured him, and under the duress of pain, Thatch surely told Wessex everything he hadn’t already gleaned from William and Mistress Higgins about Juliana and the Cloaked Bandit. Wessex had probably then set the boy free in order to follow him, and, inadvertently, Thatch led the cruel lord directly to the peasants’ hiding place.
I pressed my fingers against the pulse in the boy’s neck and felt for the rise and fall of his chest.
Thatch’s eyelids fluttered open. “Lord Collin,” he managed between cracked lips that revealed a gap where he’d obviously lost several more teeth.
I let out a relieved sigh. The boy was still alive.
“I’m sorry,” Thatch croaked, closing his eyes. Tears squeezed out and rolled down his temples.
“You had no choice.” I brushed my fingertips across the boy’s forehead, flicking off the dirt and bits of leaves that had stuck there. “Torture can make even the best man do things he’d never consider under normal circumstances.”
Thatch shuddered and pried his eyes open. “You have to go after them. You have to free her.”
I nodded. My body had already tensed with the need to fight. My mind had cleared as it did before a battle. I was past ready to charge after Lord Wessex and fight him to the death.
But first, I had to tend to Thatch. And anyone else Wessex had hurt. I scanned the carnage for other bodies.
“The women and children are still hidden underground,” Thatch said. “But they took all the men and Juliana as prisoners.”
The mere thought of Juliana at Lord Wessex’s mercy was too agonizing to imagine. I wanted to hit something, to rage until I was hoarse. I couldn’t bear to think what Wessex was planning to do to her.
“Go,” Thatch whispered weakly.
“How long have they been gone?
“I can’t be sure, but maybe an hour or two.”
If I ran fast enough, I might be able to catch up. But what could I do by myself against Wessex and his army of well-trained soldiers? I’d be wiser to approach Wessex calmly and with my own guards accompanying me. I had to stay rational even though my heart was pulsing with the need to rescue Juliana before it was too late, before she ended up like Thatch . . . or worse.
“Go after her and leave me to die,” Thatch said more urgently. “After what I did, I don’t want to live.”
I slid my hands under the boy as carefully as I could, but Thatch cried out in agony nonetheless. I suspected the thumbscrews hadn’t worked to get Thatch to cooperate, and so Wessex had resorted to methodically breaking bones in the boy’s body.
Fresh anger flooded my chest and poured into my limbs. How could Wessex be so callous to these poor, helpless people?
But even as the question stirred my blood, shame whispered through me. I’d been callous too. Maybe I hadn’t been cruel in the same way as Wessex, but I’d been ignorant and uncaring of their plight. I’d lived in luxury without giving any thought to their needs.
And now I prayed it wasn’t too late to change.
“I’ll go rescue the others,” I said. “But first, we need to take care of you and the women and children.” Before Thatch could protest again, I lifted him into my arms.
The boy gave another tortured scream, but blessedly fell into unconsciousness.
My hands had grown numb from the lack of blood flowing into my arms. Suspended by chains to the stone wall above my head, my wrists were raw where the metal dug into my skin. My toes barely touched the dungeon floor, even with the soiled straw I’d managed to slide underneath my feet in an effort to relieve the strain on my arms.
My throat burned and my mouth was parched. My face ached in each place Edgar had hit me. And my back was sore from the well-placed kicks he’d given me during the walk back to Wessex.
From the clinking of chains, the soft groans, and the heavy breathing, I knew the others were still alive too. But for how long?
When Uncle had marched us through the gatehouse and into the inner bailey, he’d narrowed his eyes upon me and said, “Welcome home, Lady Juliana. Enjoy being here while you can.”
I had no doubt he was planning to put me to death. I just prayed he’d show me mercy and take my life swiftly instead of prolonging the torture.
“Bulldog,” I whispered through the dank darkness.
He grunted from the cell across from mine.
“When they come for me, you need to overpower the guards and free yourself and the others.”
“I’m not leaving you here to die by yourself.”
“You take the others and run as fast as you can to Lord Collin. He’ll give you refuge.”
A clanking at the entrance of the dungeon sent a burst of urgency through me. “Please, Bulldog. I’ll be able to meet my death without fear if I know you and the others are safe.”
“If we attempt to overthrow the guards, we’ll only end up butchered.”
“You’ll end up dead anyway.”
Before I could argue with him further, the door squealed on its rusty hinges and opened wide. The heavy slap of boots and the brilliance of torchlight filled the dungeon. There were too many guards to count, obviously sent to bring all of us out to receive Uncle’s punishment.
My hope fizzled away. When I met Bulldog’s gaze, there wasn’t a speck of rebellion left in the depths. I had the feeling life had drained out of him when the soldiers had forced him to walk away from Thatch, to leave his only son half dead and sprawled on the ground.
When the guards released my hands from the iron clamps on the wall, I had the brief vision of lashing out at them, of leading an uprising myself. But my arms were so weak and numb from lack of blood that I couldn’t make my fingers work. My shoulders and sockets burned from the long hours in one position. I could hardly manage to walk without tripping between the two guards who led me up the winding staircase and out into the courtyard.
I gulped in a breath of the fresh, cold air, knowing it would likely be one of my last. And
as the guards marched me through the castle gates and into the town’s market square, I lifted my eyes heavenward. Even though the sky was clouded with the ominous gray of more rain, I envisioned my father peering down at me from heaven.
Maybe he wouldn’t be proud of everything I’d done, but today, finally, I’d be able to see him again and hug him. At least I could count one blessing from my capture.
When I reached the center green of the marketplace, where my uncle and cousin were waiting, the guards shoved me to my knees in front of them. I lowered my head and let my long, unruly curls hang in my face so that I wouldn’t have to look at the two men who’d destroyed my world.
Of course a crowd had gathered for the proceedings. I had no doubt many of them were curious to see me again after believing I’d been dead these past years.
My uncle spoke to the gathering for several minutes, listing my crimes as the Cloaked Bandit.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Lady Juliana?” Uncle’s sharp question cut into me. Was he giving me the chance to defend myself? Or was he merely wishing to humiliate me further?
I lifted my head and finally glanced at my uncle and cousin. Though my uncle was attired in pristine white as usual, I could only see the blackness of his heart. It showed through his eyes and the cruel lines in his face.
Next to me, a stake had been erected along with a heap of rain-drenched logs and branches. So they were planning to burn me? I shuddered with a momentary chill at the prospect of slowly roasting to death. The wet wood would drag out the torture for hours.
Uncle bent until his face was mere inches from mine. “I expect that you’ll admit to the charges leveled against you, that you will clearly confirm your guilt to this multitude.”
“And why would I give you the pleasure of such a confession?” I lifted my chin and glared at him.
Edgar’s backhand and knuckles connected with my cheek. Pain erupted in my head, shooting through my face up into my temple. My mind flickered with the edges of blackness. If only he would hit me hard enough to knock me unconscious.
Edgar took a step back and gave me a cool smile. “My lord. You forgot to say my lord. Don’t neglect Lord Wessex’s title of respect again.”
