A roar exploded from Gray’s chest, and he burst into a run, bellowing for his master at arms to assemble all of his forces to leave for Faegerliegh Keep. There wasn’t a moment to spare.
Everyone burst into a flurry of activity, shouts going up and people rushing back and forth as they scrambled to obey their lord. Gray threw himself into his armor chamber, yanking his sword and mace from the wall, as his squire dashed to gather his chain mail, chausses, surcoat and hauberk.
Gray dragged the mail shirt over his head, his thoughts racing. He had to get to her. He had to. Because for the first time in seventeen years he faced a battle that might spell death for someone other than himself, for someone he loved more than his own life.
And so for the first time in seventeen years, Gray prayed.
He asked God for the aid that had been forsaken him on the day Gillian died. He prayed and pleaded with all that he had, with all that he was, that he would reach Catherine in time…
Because the alternative would be a hell he couldn’t even begin to contemplate.
The little whore. Did she think she could outsmart him? Did she really think he would allow it?
Eduard stalked away from his tent, tightening his sword belt as he went. He relished the feel of the sheathed blade slapping heavy against his thigh as he cut through the cool morning haze. Ribbons of mist floated over the encampment, obscuring his sight and adding to his rage as he searched the piles of sleeping men for his captain at arms.
The bastard was nowhere to be found. With a fierce kick, Eduard roused one of his knights from a drunken slumber. The man sputtered and coughed as he sprang to his feet, ready to attack his assailant until he realized his master’s identity and saw the fury in Eduard’s gaze.
“Mi—milord Montford,” he stammered, dragging his arm across his mouth with a grimace. “How—how may I serve you this morn?”
“Find Robileau. Tell him to report to my tent immediately. As for the rest of the men, have everyone pack without delay. We leave for Faegerliegh Keep within the hour.”
“Faegerliegh, milord?” The knight’s brows knitted together in consternation. “Pardon, milord, but I thought we’d already traveled past Faegerliegh on our way to Ravenslock Castle.”
“Imbecile,” Eduard growled, his temper bubbling up again; he yanked the man by the back of his tunic and tossed him forward to sprawl in the dirt. “Never question my orders. I said Faegerliegh Keep, and ’tis what I meant. Now go!”
Without another word the knight scrambled to obey, hazarding a glance over his shoulder as he disappeared into the maze of tents. With another growl, Eduard spun on his heel and stalked back to his shelter, ignoring the dark, angry gazes of the men waking up around him as he went. Curse them all. Curse every one of them, along with their slothful captain.
And curse that bitch Catherine for attempting, for even one moment, to thwart him.
Yanking aside the silken flap to his tent, Eduard ducked in, sparing hardly a glance at Rupert, who sat, bloodied and exhausted, on the floor, still clutching his pouch of reward gold. Eduard focused instead on Juliette, crouching in the corner of the tent where he’d left her. She stared at him, eyes wide in her bruised face, wordlessly shaking her head as he stalked nearer.
“Nay!” She shrieked hoarsely, when he grasped her arm and hauled her to her feet. Pulling back his arm he struck her twice, hard, before allowing her to fall to the bed with a cry as she buried her face in her hands.
“Get out,” he snarled, not trusting himself to keep from killing her if he began to beat her in earnest as he longed to do. She meant nothing to him. Was worth nothing. But a dead woman would slow him down, or else make him a target for someone who might report of it back to the king.
Balling up her clothes, he reached down and grasped her arm again, dragging her from the bed and across the tent. Then, tossing her garments out in front of her, he shoved her through the flap and into the camp, not caring that she was wrapped only in the coverlet, or that the men’s hungry gazes would be sure to find her, even in the mist-laden air.
Rupert stirred to the sounds of her sobbing outside, and with a shouted command, Eduard ejected him from the tent as well. Let the bloody wretch join the men if he wanted the comforts of food and drink. Rupert had served his purpose and was of no more use to him. Right now he needed to be alone to think. And plan.
Pacing back to his bed, Eduard wrinkled his nose and kicked the piles of fur and cushions until they lay in a tangled mound at the edge of the tent. They’d need to be burned, reeking as they did of woman; ’twas a scent he couldn’t abide after his lust was sated.
Scowling again, he stalked to the magnificent, carved chair that he carried with him wherever he went and threw himself into it. Then, leaning back, he rubbed his finger across his lip, attempting to calm the fury that still boiled, it seemed, beneath the very surface of his skin.
Damn it, but he needed to concentrate. Needed to plot the day’s events anew and revise his ruined plans. Closing his eyes, he breathed in, trying to focus, trying to bring back the icy calm he needed to accomplish his mission. He envisioned his army turning back to Somerset, saw in his mind’s eye as they descended on Faegerliegh, saw himself crashing through the doors of the Keep and hunting down Catherine, with her two weak-minded whelps. And then…
Eduard’s eyes snapped open as he sat up, a smile edging at his lips. A rush of cold, hard purpose slammed through his gut, bringing back with it calm and focus.
’Twas perfect.
He’d reach Faegerliegh within a few hours—long before Camville could ever hope to get there, even if he’d left immediately after Rupert’s escape, which was unlikely, based upon the lad’s report that the only man who’d seen him was dead and unable to sound the alarm. Aye, he would have ample time to take his anger out on Catherine, even kill her if he wished, before Camville arrived. And then he could trap and kill him, too.
When the king demanded explanation for the debacle, Eduard could simply explain that his beloved sister had sought refuge at Faegerliegh after fleeing Ravenslock and her husband’s brutal rages—the same rages that had caused the man to beat his own twin sister to death years before.
But, Eduard could explain regretfully, Camville had followed Elise to Faegerliegh and killed her for her disobedience, an act that, once Eduard learned of it, required vengeance, resulting in his rival’s destruction as well.
Eduard broke into a full grin. ’Twas perfect. He’d have CatherineandCamville dead, and rather than gaining the simple third of Gray’s lands he stood to inherit otherwise, no doubt the king would grant him the bastard’s complete estates and titles for the losses he’d suffered.
He almost laughed with the perfection of it all.
