Warrior (39 page)

under the care of Varian.

“I will repeat this only once, Jaisyn.

I have Isolde and my men will kill her

if I do not return to them tonight. You

have a choice: your may allow your

sister to die or you may take her place

as our captive. We have need for you

beyond this night. The same cannot be

said for her.”

Opening her mouth to call her

guards, Jaisyn was stopped by the

maid’s quick words. “I would not do

that if I were you. You see, I am the

only one who knows where Isolde is

and I am the only one who can stop

the men I’ve paid from raping and

murdering her. If I do not return

before dusk, they will proceed, and I

think they will relish it—at least the

first part. She is quite beautiful, is she

not?”

Feeling bolts of fear and doubt enter

her heart, Jaisyn swallowed and

demanded, “How can I be sure that

you do not lie?”

The woman smiled and bowed her

head. She straightened and reached

into one of her dress pockets,

removing a small parchment.

“You can believe the letter or you

can wait for the messenger from

Lytheria to arrive with the news. I

would advise you to believe the letter,

for after this night, Isolde will either

be dead or safe in this castle, at your

behest.”

With shaking hands, Jaisyn opened

the letter and read it. The writing was

Isolde’s, the signature, her sister’s.

But how did she know that someone

had not forged this?

“You still do not believe?” the maid

asked with a raised eyebrow. She

reached once more into her pocket. “I

did not wish to upset you with these

but it seems I have no choice.” She

handed Jaisyn a small pouch. Feeling

the trembling increase, Jaisyn opened

it. The first thing she pulled out was a

long lock of auburn hair. As she

stroked it between her fingers, tears

threatened to fall from her eyes. She

tossed an angry glare at the maid,

whose neck she wished to wring.

They had cut her sister’s pride and

joy!

“There is more,” the maid said, in a

manner

most

unaffected.

Jaisyn

placed the lock of hair onto her lap

gently and felt around in the pouch.

Her hand closed over something and

she lifted it. It was a gold chain with a

Lytherian coin as its pendant, a

demure piece whose value lay not in

its cost but in its meaning. The chain

had belonged to their mother, and for

her sixteenth birthday, Wilhelm had

given it to Isolde. Her sister had

cherished the chain and wore it

whenever she could.

Enraged golden eyes lifted to those

of the maid, who seemed to find

humor in the situation.

“What have you done with her?”

“That all depends on you, Jaisyn,”

the maid said easily, smiling down at

her as if they were long-lost friends.

“Will you allow your sister to be

brutalized by some of the vilest men

I’ve had the pleasure of meeting or…

will you save her? Your sister’s life is

in your hands.”

Having no choice, Jaisyn glared at

the

woman,

whose

voice

had

gradually deepened as she’d spoken

to her. She lifted her chin.

“What would you have me do?”

Chapter 11

It took Vulcan two days to reach

Montak, and a few more hours to

reach the village that was the site of

the uprising. When he and his army

arrived, he recognized two things: the

king of Montak was there and instead

of the hostile environment he’d

anticipated, everything seemed calm.

Villagers

were

moving

around

carrying out their daily duties, women

laughed gaily in the streets. There

merriment only halted when they saw

the group of fierce-looking warriors

dressed for battle.

“Be on the lookout for surprise

attacks!”

he

instructed

them

nonetheless, wondering if there was

some plan of sneak attack. He

wouldn’t put it past them. This was,

after all, Montak.

Calls went up amongst the men and

Vulcan urged Shadowfax toward the

banner of Bael, the Montak king.

Shouts went up from the Montak

camp and Vulcan watched as Bael

rode into view, a few of his soldiers

behind him.

“Welcome, King Vulcan,” Bael

called, pulling his steed to a halt and

waiting for Vulcan to approach and do

the same. He was barely twenty-one,

if that old, with wavy dark brown hair

and green eyes that seemed capable

of lying even if they looked genuine.

Vulcan held up his hand and brought

Shadowfax to a slow stop. “It seems

soldiers from out of town riled the

villagers and fled.”

Murmurs went up among Vulcan’s

soldiers and his eyes narrowed on

Bael.

“Where did they flee?” he asked

coldly, wondering if Bael had decided

at the last minute to call off a rebellion

and was now inventing a lie to cover

his hide. Bael shrugged his shoulders

and indicated a man standing before a

cottage. “The villagers do not know,

but this man witnessed the entire

thing. After the Morden soldiers rode

to find you, my soldiers brought him

to me. Perhaps you would like to

speak with him.”

Vulcan nodded and dismounted.

After asking a few questions of his

own, he felt his heart stop for a

fraction of a second before it began

thundering wildly against his ribcage.

The villager had described the men as

foreigners of two kinds: one set of

men were golden with golden hair,

skin, and even those eyes, while the

others had been pale with shocking

red hair. He knew immediately who

the first group was but the second

group didn’t register in his mind. Still,

the fact that Lytherian rebels were this

far North made his mind run to Jaisyn.

They’d obviously staged this rebellion,

but to what purpose? If they had no

intention of killing him, it could only

be one thing. To remove him from

Morden Castle! And if so, why else,

but to get to his queen?

He was heading for his stallion

before the villager completed his tale,

his mind reeling with possibilities.

Perhaps Malcolm had decided to

‘rescue’ his beloved. Perhaps it had

been planned all along. He thought

back to the night before he left for

Montak, heard Jaisyn’s voice pleading

with him to believe that she’d never

had a lover in Malcolm. If Malcolm

was leading the rebellion, then his

wife was a lying, deceitful, cunning,

little

bitch! An

image

of

her

treacherous face passed through his

mind and he dismissed it.

He shouted orders to his generals

and vaulted onto Shadowfax. In no

time at all, he and his men were

heading in the direction from which

they came, Montak and their non-

existent rebellion all but forgotten. He

knew the horses were tired but they

had to continue on. Morden was two-

days ride from Montak and he’d

already been gone for two days. What

if Malcolm was leading the rebellion

and had already breached his castle

walls under the guise of friend? What

if his wife ran away with her lover?

Vulcan was not going to think about

that possibility but if she did, if Jaisyn

had chosen to leave with Malcolm…

the Gods help them all.

***

As soon as Vulcan arrived at

Morden Castle, he jumped from a

tired, sweating Shadowfax, and raced

through the great doors of the castle.

Soldiers and servants alike gazed after

him as he sprinted through the castle

and up the stone staircase. His

warriors instinctively ran after him.

Vulcan came to a halt before his

wife’s door. Two of her guards stood

there, telling humorous jokes before

they noticed him. They immediately

snapped to attention and bowed.

“Is my wife in her chambers?”

Vulcan demanded, approaching the

guards, who stepped away from the

door and answered in the affirmative.

Feeling a small shred of relief pulse

through him, Vulcan pushed the door

open and surveyed the room. The bed

hangings were drawn and through

them, he could see the small lump at

the center that was his wife. He

relaxed more, approaching the bed,

and parting the gauze-like curtains.

The first thing he saw was her curly

golden hair and he reached out and

touched it gently. So she had not run

away from him. His hand slipped

further into her hair, until his fingers

grazed her scalp.

She moaned, a low sound. It

sounded more an expression of pain

than pleasure. Vulcan turned her over,

pulling at her shoulders until she lay

on her back. What he saw had him

shouting and roaring, deafening the

silence that had previously permeated

the room, and bringing the obviously

sleeping woman in his wife’s bed back

to the world of the living.

Vulcan leapt off of the bed, staring

at the woman—he’d seen her before

—one of his wife’s maids, in horror

and anger. Hearing their lord’s cry,

the guards rushed in, followed by the

other guards who had been patrolling

the hallway.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Vulcan thundered loudly, glaring at

the woman before looking around his

wife’s chambers for any visible

evidence of her. The servant shook

her head slowly, as if trying to

dislodge something from her system,

before she groaned once more before

falling backward onto the bed and

writhing in pain. She had been

drugged.

“Fetch the apothecary and find my

wife!” he bit out to the guards

standing behind him. Vulcan knelt by

the bed once more, touching the

shoulder of the maid. She opened one

eye and he told her that all would be

well, that the apothecary would have a

remedy for her illness.

“Where is your queen?” he asked,

in the most calm and even voice he

could muster in such a trying situation.

His inner demon fought to be free,

and wanted badly to tear into

someone. The maid—no. She was a

woman and had been drugged on top

of it. His guards—soon. He’d given

them a charge, to watch his wife’s

every move, and they’d allowed her to

slip from their sight! When had his

army become incompetent?

The maid groaned but said hoarsely,

“Ta—taken.”

Vulcan felt an icy fist grip his heart.

He drew in a deep breath and asked,

“Taken where?”

The maid looked as if she was about

to answer, but stopped abruptly as her

face blanched further. Eyes widening

perceptibly, she rolled herself to the

edge of the bed.

Vulcan listened to the sound of her

retching, knowing that it was good

that she was doing so, and feeling the

urge to double over on the other side

of the bed and do the same. His wife

had been taken. He did not know

where…yet… but she had been

taken. With hundreds of trained men

swarming his lands, with hundreds of

soldiers patrolling his borders, his

queen had been removed from right

under their noses! He brought his

temper back in check and thought of

that. With hundreds of trained

warriors surrounding her, Jaisyn could

not have been taken if she’d put up a

struggle! He turned his gaze back to

the maid. Her retching had stopped.

He launched into a fresh set of

questions.