Love Spell: Book 2 of The Grimm Laws (22 page)

A look of horror came over Edward’s face. “Gathered? You mean that thing was inside of me? Gathering information? For what?”

Wisteria angled herself so that she could look directly at him. “Now, this is very important. In that dark vision you saw, you were tormented by someone or something, what was it?”

Edward’s jaw began to work as he shook his head. “Um … I can’t really say for sure. What I mean is that I don’t know if it was an actual thing or person,” he hedged. “It was more like an overall black feeling.”

Wisteria’s eyes narrowed. “Tell us the truth, Edward.” Her voice sliced like a whip through the room. “Who was it?”

A look of hatred twisted over Edward’s face, and the words seemed to rip out of his throat. “It was Rush!”

The accusation hung heavy in the air as Wisteria put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my gosh!”

Alexander went to her side. “What?” The anguish in her eyes made him go weak in the knees. “What is it?” he demanded. “Tell me.”

“The shadow crawler probed Edward to ascertain our weak spot, although I’m sure Griselda already knew what it was, but she takes a fiendish delight in toying with her prey before the kill.” Her voice broke. “Don’t you see, Alexander?” She put a hand over her heart. “It’s been right in front of us the entire time, only we couldn’t see it. Our weak spot is Rush!”

“
A
re
you certain this will work?” Rushton whispered. He stole a glance at the guard, walking a few paces behind him and Jack, his sword pointed at their backs. They’d traveled on horseback for a day until they reached the foothills of the mountains where they’d been forced to dismount and continue on foot.

“We are about to find out,” Jack countered, a sly look in his eyes.

“Cease talking!” the man behind them ordered. “I know ye are up to no good, and unless ye want me to split you in half, ye had better have my gold.”

Jack let out a mirthless chuckle. “Oh ye of little faith. Almost there.” He glanced at Rushton. “Right?”

Rushton took in the scope of the jagged mountain that was looming larger by the moment. “Aye, not much farther.”
He hoped.

The man grunted. “I don’t trust either of ye, and if we don’t come upon this cave before the sun sets, I am going to gut ye like hogs and leave ye for the wolves.”

A shiver ran down Rushton’s spine. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun’s rays were beginning to fade. The man meant business, and considering the sheer size of him, he certainly had the brawn to back up his threats. His eyes were a cold gray, and he had a thin scar running along the edge of his jaw—a battle wound no doubt from one of the many wars he’d fought. He’d heard the other guards address him as Sir Erik Duncan, and they all did so with deference. He was the master of the dungeon, and most lived and died by his word. That’s why Rushton was surprised when Jack told him that it would be Erik helping them escape.

Jack had purposely waited until the dead of night to outline his plan, and even then, he’d spoken in hushed tones for fear that someone would overhear. Erik, he learned, often took large bribes from the prisoners on the promise that he would help them escape. “The bag of coins only buys me an audience with Erik,” Jack explained. “If he agrees to help us then he will require more.”

“How do you know this Erik can be trusted?”

“I don’t,” Jack said.

“Well, that’s just splendid! Your entire plan hinges on the integrity of that pea-brained brute that has been strutting around here like a peacock.” He punched his fist in the air, causing the chain to rattle, then he kicked his bucket across the room.

“Shh,” Jack hissed. “Are ye trying to awaken the palace?”

Why was he even listening to this derelict? He was obviously insane. And he’d allowed himself to get sucked into the delusion of escape. “I am not at all interested in hearing any more of your ridiculous plan.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, an amused expression on his face. “Oh, and I suppose that ye have more pressing matters that are commanding thine attention?”

Rushton kicked the dungeon wall, ignoring the pain that shot through his toes. “Anything is better than listening to the likes of thee!” He was locked away in a dungeon with a madman, and yes, Jack was right. There was nothing he could do—nothing except stand here and listen to some insane plan. He let out a humorless laugh. “Let us pretend for a moment that we can trust Erik. You said that if he helps us then he will require more.”

Jack nodded.

“Where do you plan on getting more? I am not exactly made of money and from the looks of thee …” He made a point of running his eyes over Jack’s ragged clothes. “I believe you have faired more poorly than I.”

Rather than shrinking back from the inspection, Jack met his gaze full on. “Mock me if ye will, but I, for one, have no intention of rotting in this dungeon. Your trial is set to commence in three days time, and the whisper down here is that ye do not have a prayer of being found innocent. They will execute thee for sure.”

A dark coldness settled over Rushton. Everything Jack was saying was true. He knew it already, but somehow, hearing it spoken out loud made it worse.

“Now, if ye want to stay in that cell and wait for death then that is your business, but I am offering thee a chance for freedom.” His eyes burned with determination. “I need your help.”

Their eyes locked, each of them sizing up the other.

“I may know of a way to get my hands on some gold,” Rushton finally said.

Jack gave him an appraising look. “’Tis more like it. Do tell … quickly. The guards will want to know my answer when they bring the morning meal at first light.”

Rushton then told him about the cave and the gold that was hidden in a cavity there. He and Edward had discovered the cave on one of their many explorations. It was Edward’s idea to hide the gold. He wanted a stash somewhere away from the kingdom in case he ever needed it. Edward was the ultimate strategist and was always trying to protect himself against every contingency. The gold was a safeguard in the event of an extreme situation. As far as Rushton was concerned, this qualified, although Edward would most certainly disagree. Thinking of the last time he saw Edward, standing over him aloof and pompous, made his blood boil. It was hard to believe they had once been as close as brothers. He turned his thoughts from Edward and focused on the problem at hand. It had been at least a year since Rushton had been to the cave, and while he knew its approximate location, he was worried that he might not be able to find it quickly enough to appease Erik. The other thing that was bothering him was Jack. While Erik had been going on about his lack of trust in them, all Rushton could think about was how little he knew about Jack. When Jack had first confronted him about the escape plan, he’d had his doubts as to whether or not Jack could actually pull it off. The fact that they were standing here, out in the open and away from the castle, was a testament of that; however, they were far from free. For all he knew, Jack and Erik were planning to join forces and slit his throat the moment they got their hands on the gold. Rushton had told Jack that there were twenty-one pieces of gold in the sack, while in reality there were closer to two hundred. Erik was demanding fifteen pieces as payment for their freedom, and Jack had insisted that they share the remainder. The trick was how to give Erik the fifteen pieces and Jack his share without showing them the rest. One hundred and eighty pieces of gold would set him up for life. He would never want for anything again. He could disappear and start anew. Possibly buy a manor somewhere far outside of the kingdom boundaries. Far enough to be removed from Edward’s grasp. He would have a nice home, horses, servants … everything a man could want. A wrenching ache settled over him. Nay, he would not have everything. The truth was, he would never have the one thing he wanted the most—Cinderella.

He could hear the faint sound of rushing water. His pulse quickened. They’d broached the first stream when the sun was high in the sky. At first, he’d thought that was it, but there was no marker, and he remembered that the water had been swifter. Still, he followed the stream for some time, just to be sure. To his disappointment, the stream took a sudden turn underground, vanishing completely. They’d wasted a good portion of the day following the wrong stream. If this one weren’t it … He wouldn’t let himself finish the thought. It had to be it. He halted in his tracks and listened, trying to hear the water. He pulled the small vial from underneath his tunic. He wore it around his neck, held by a thin, leather strip. His mother had managed to smuggle it to him during her visit to the dungeon. “For when you need it most,” she said.

“But how will I know when to use it?”

“You will know,” she said, pressing her hands around his. “Inhale a couple of drops. No more.”

If ever he needed help it was now. He opened the vial and inhaled. The musky scent seemed to skip his nose altogether and go straight to his head, tingling his senses. Not realizing that he had stopped walking, Erik barreled into him. Rushton stumbled and accidentally took in a large whiff of the liquid. This time it burned up through his nose and seared its way into his head. He closed his eyes against the blinding pain. Then without warning, Erik shoved him in the back, knocking him to the ground where he broke his fall with the palms of his hands. The remaining contents of the vial spilled out onto the ground.

Jack spun around to the large man, his eyes blazing. “What are ye doing?”

Erik swore. “He’s lucky that I did not run him through.” He lifted his sword. “But if we don’t reach the cave soon, I will do just that.” He glared at Jack. “Starting with you.”

The world started to spin, and Rushton fought to get his bearings. Then as quickly as the dizziness came, it left and everything became clear. Rushton held up a hand. “I am well.” He stood.

“Thy hand. ‘Tis bleeding,” Jack said.

Rushton looked down. He saw the blood but didn’t feel any pain. All he could think about was Erik, pushing him to the ground. He faced him full on, craning his neck in order to meet the man’s eyes. “Sword or not, if you ever lay a hand on me again, I swear I will kill you!”

Erik’s eyes registered surprise a fraction of a moment before they narrowed. Rushton braced himself for an attack. He may not stand a chance against the giant of a man, but at least he would die with his honor intact. Since they’d started on their trek, he’d been sizing up Erik, trying to determine if he could best him in a sword fight. The man was big but clumsy, and if Rushton had access to a sword, then he might stand a chance. His eyes never left Erik’s face, even as he crouched into a fighting position.

“You think you can defeat me?” Erik said, the sound rumbling deep from within his broad chest.

Rushton didn’t say a word but kept his eyes fixed on Erik, his senses going on full alert. It was those slight nuances that would let him know the precise moment the man would attack—a shift in the eyes, flick of the wrist, tensing of the muscles—all sure-fire signs that if heeded, would give him the edge. He saw Erik’s grip tighten around his sword. The moment of truth was here. A tiny part of him wondered where he was getting the nerve to go against this giant, but then a surge of adrenaline raced through him and everything seemed to slow. The power was intoxicating. He felt the blood pulsing through his veins, felt the steady beat of his own heart. Then he heard Erik’s heart beating. Slowly at first and then fast and chaotic like a horse galloping out of control. He could smell the fear on the large man, oozing out of his pores, making him weak and uncertain. He nearly laughed. Despite the fact that he was half Erik’s size and unarmed, the man was afraid of him.

The power that flowed over him was as certain and absolute as the red sun setting behind the peak of the mountain. Somehow, in a way he couldn’t explain, he knew that he possessed the strength to rip Erik apart.

Erik lunged at him, and Rushton sidestepped his attempt to jab him with the sword. Before Erik could turn and come at him again, he grasped Erik’s free arm and twisted until the sound of a breaking bone rent the air. Erik let out a howl and attempted to strike a blow with the sword, but his movements were clumsy. It took little effort for Rushton to bring the man to his knees. Erik’s cloak flapped back, and Rushton caught the glint of a ruby. His fury climbed to new heights when he realized that the ruby was one of two that were inserted into the metal of a dagger—his dagger. Evidently, Erik had stolen it when it was taken from Rushton on that first night when he was arrested and thrown into the dungeon. In a flash, he wrenched the sword from Erik’s hand. He motioned. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

Ever so slowly, Erik unsheathed the dagger and held it out to Rushton.

“Throw it on the ground,” Rushton ordered. He pointed the tip of the sword at Erik’s chest. “Do it!”

Erik threw the dagger on the ground.

Ruston raised the sword in the air, relishing the look of fear in the large man’s eyes when he realized that his demise was imminent. Power surged through him—the anticipation before the kill.

“Halt! What are ye doing? Have ye lost your mind?”

The words seem to be coming from far away. He ignored them at first and focused on the primal urge to level the lethal blow that would vanquish the enemy.

“I said
halt
!” He felt a tugging and turned to the voice. Jack was holding onto his arm. He ripped it from Jack’s grasp, knocking him to the ground before turning his attention to Erik. The large man was weeping and holding his broken arm.

“Please, just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone where ye are. Ye don’t have to pay me anything. Please, I beg thee. Have mercy. I have young children at home. They will starve without me. Please.”

Rushton’s eyes glittered. “
Mercy
—an interesting concept seeing as how you were just trying to kill me.” He laughed. “Unfortunately, mercy is not on the table today. Say thy prayers, heathen, for you are about to meet your maker.” He brought the sword down for the kill but missed his mark when Jack rammed him from behind, knocking him forward. A hot rage seized Rushton, blinding all reason. He forgot about the man on the ground and charged at Jack who managed to elude the thrust of the sword the instant before it gashed him. Rushton was the stronger of the two, but Jack was scrappy and fast. He managed to stay out of reach until he tripped and fell. Rushton grabbed him by the hair of his head and held the point of the sword to his neck.

Jack’s eyes were wild. “Ye are under the influence of that potion! Think about what ye are doing.”

“Liar!” Rushton shouted. “Ye were planning on joining with Erik to betray me.”

“If that is so then where did he go?”

“What?” Rushton turned to where he’d left the man, lying on the ground. He was gone.

“The moment ye turned on me, he hightailed it away from here. This is not you. Ye are not a killer.” Jack swallowed hard. “Think about it.” He pointed to the empty vial, hanging around Rushton’s neck. “It was that potion ye were sniffing, right before Erik pushed ye. Think, man! ‘Tis the potion that is making thee crazy.”

The right side of Rushton’s head was beginning to throb. He mulled over the words, trying to decide if they had any validity. A hint of uncertainty started creeping in. “You are a liar!” He pushed the tip of the sword to Jack’s neck.

“Think of Cinderella! What will she think if you become a cold-blooded killer? You will lose her for sure,” Jack finished hoarsely.